The weekend arrived, and Sniper finally made his way back to town. He'd borrowed Engineer's truck for the ease of transportation, Scout and a heavily layered and hooded Pyro in tow. Multiple hours of the young Bostonian trying to make up for the silence of his companions was taxing, but the trip had to be made.

He'd returned with a slightly larger bounty than on previous trips. There were the usual little odds and ends, plus a sizeable pile of yarn balls of many colors, but Sniper had been overtaken by a desire to splurge a little. He had plenty of money, why not actually use some of it? Not a whole lot, he still had retirement in mind after all, but there was no harm in spending a few dollars after spending nothing for so long. A shiny new record player and stack of albums sat on the little table, waiting to be unboxed. Some of the other REDs had started to complain about his hogging the old ones, and Sniper had decided it was high time he had his own personal set. He wondered if this counted as a new hobby. He could probably use a few.

A small rug covered a portion of the cold floor; the bed now had an earth-toned quilt on it. He still wasn't entirely sure about the quilt. It was thick and soft and warm and would make excellent additional comfort for the cold winter…but it was a quilt. The woman at the register had given him an odd look, eyes flickering over the scar on his grizzled face. It wasn't usual fare for a mercenary outdoorsman.

But he'd thought Spy might like it, with its subtle patterning and color scheme, and he'd had a vision of the two of them holding each other tight under it in the chilly night, and that had been enough.

He ran a rough hand along the stitched surface of the quilt. It was funny. He was really starting to feel more comfortable indoors; the need to dash outside for a brief respite from the closed-in architecture of the base was occurring less and less. Sniper didn't see himself ever becoming 'domesticated', but it was fuel for the fire inside. For once, something boded well for life after RED.

Perhaps it all came down to loneliness; the particular type of loneliness he'd experienced for years without ever quite realizing it. When you were outdoors, it was easy to be lulled into the feeling of always having company of some sort, even when you were the only human around for miles. As empty as a place might look, there were almost always insects and other tiny creatures just out of sight. If nothing else there were always plants, shifting in the breeze, drinking up sunlight and water. There was always the sensation of having something alive nearby.

But when you were in a room…that was it. There was nobody there, just you. Just you and the silent, looming walls that boxed you in. That was when you really learned what 'alone' meant.

It had taken Sniper years, but he'd finally realized this. Matters were still complex, unfortunately, he got uncomfortable around crowds; it was hard to find that magic number of people he could tolerate for a period of time without getting nervous and twitchy. One seemed to be a good number so far, at least. With Spy around, a room was just a room and could actually be very pleasant to inhabit. Slowly but surely he worked away at making such a room more personal, more his, and the outdoorsman found himself quite happy in it. Maybe eventually he could say the same about other things.

"And what is this?"

He jumped. Spy was standing right next to him, looking at the object of Sniper's focused attention with cool interest. He hadn't even heard the door open and close.

"Don't do that!" Sniper snapped, glancing back at the door. "Did anyo—"

"Non, no one was around. Do you think I would let someone see me?" The cigarette shifted from one corner of the Frenchman's mouth to the other. "So what is this quaint little thing? A gift for your mother?"

Heart sinking, Sniper's hand fell back to his side. "Oh. Well, I, y'know. It's winter an' quilts is warm, an'…I know ya like dark reds an' browns an' fancy patterns, so…" His voice trailed off in embarrasment. Spy's eyes swivelled up to his face.

"I am sure it will be quite…serviceable," Spy said delicately.

.

Raspberry, strawberry, lemon and lime…

Spy's eyes snapped open. "Pies. He is singing about pies. Your musical tastes leave something to be desired on occasion, convict."

"Took me a few listens t'get it," Sniper said sleepily, eyes shut, "But I don't think he's really singin' about pies."

The newly purchased record spun on, the cheerful song playing low and uninterrupted as the two figures lay there under their miscellaneous blankets and quilt, listening. Spy's eyes narrowed.

"Oh," he said. "How droll." He rolled over and tucked his head under Sniper's.

.

The door slammed, echoing in the empty hallway. Sniper ran one clenched fist across the wall as he stomped off in silent anger, occasionally pounding it against the flat surface. A second pair of heated footsteps clicked off into the opposite direction in the distance.

Bloody goddamn poncey-ass stubborn spooks! Every time things seemed to be going really well something always came out of nowhere to disrupt it, and it almost always ended in a flaming row. Few people could argue like a pair of mercenaries, or at least do so and survive intact.

Well, maybe it wasn't all out of nowhere. There were predictable things, like Spy being too snooty about something for Sniper's tastes, or Sniper being too unrefined for Spy's. A fair few arguments flared out of one trying to cajole the other into coming to their homeland; it always began as an innocent word or two about vacations and wound up as a plea for something else. But the greatest source of conflict came out of one particular subject matter: what Spy was going to do after the contract ended.

It had seemed a small issue, when it first popped up. But it had grown and grown, each conversation over it becoming more heated, more quickly. Sniper knew the retirement of a good spy wasn't a simple matter, even one that was beginning to procure a few grey hairs. But he also knew that it was possible, that it could be done. Not everything was like in the movies. He wondered how much was Spy's workaholic nature, and how much was a refusal to come to terms with his aging.

Among the many things that kept Sniper up at night, this was now chief. It was all too easy to imagine himself sitting alone, waiting, while Spy was getting up to God knows what, and with who. Or Spy's luck finally running out for good, with no respawn to fix everything, leaving him alone permanently.

He'd only just found a solution to his loneliness, he didn't want it all falling apart already. Bloody goddamn po—

"The hell wos that aboot?"

Sniper jerked to a halt, hand raised to pound against the wall once more. He'd been lost in his angry thoughts and had nearly walked right into Demoman and Engineer. They stood in the hall of the main living area, obviously just finishing up a conversation of their own, and were staring at him.

Fist slowly unclenching and lowering to his side, Sniper tried to save face. "Oh, just, y'know…'nother argument with the folks. Nothin' much."

The Scotsman nodded understandingly. "Aye, I ken wot ye mean. M'mum's always on m'case aboot everythin' too, an' that's with her suppoortin' me line o' work."

"Parents, eh? I guess it's the same no matter what ya do fer a livin'," Sniper said, smiling nervously.

"Ach, ain't that f'sure." Demoman nodded to Engineer and began to walk away, rubbing his head. "Jus' try not t'slam so many doors after, a'right?" He waved to the two of them as he rounded a corner.

"Sure thing, mate, sorry," Sniper said. He waved back, even though the other man was already gone.

"There ain't any phones in this part of the base, you know."

Engineer was leaning back against his bedroom door, arms crossed. His face was strangely neutral, but his eyes were locked onto Sniper with a searching intensity that made the Australian nervous.

"Er…that so?"

"Yep. Only a handful'a phones in the whole complex, an' only one's for personal use. Clear across the base. An' you just came outta your room."

"Oh. So I did." Sniper didn't like where this was going.

"I ain't callin' the others dumb, anythin' but," Engineer continued, his hands shifting to his workbelt, "But they don't notice some things like I do an' they're a mite easier to convince with the rest."

"Truckie, I.."

"I don't like bein' lied to, Down Under," the Texan said, sharply.

"But I wasn't—I didn't mean…!" Sniper was growing paler by the moment. There was nothing worse than a fear coming true. Engineer was one of the best mates he'd ever had, and it looked like he'd blown it. "Truckie, c'mon!"

"Truckie nothin'. Helluva thing, knowin' you trust the spook more'n the rest of us. More'n me." And with that, the diminutive man opened the door behind him, and quietly slid inside without another word.

The door shut and the lock clicked firmly, a noise that echoed in Sniper's despairing ears louder and longer than any door slam. The worst part was knowing that he'd have probably done the same in Engineer's position.

.

Later that evening, Sniper timidly approached the man's campfire, a bottle of fine brandy tucked in the crook of one arm. Engineer said nothing, but eventually made room on the large split log for the other man to sit. They both knew that when Sniper broke out the brandy it was for a special occasion or some other important reason. Like saying sorry.

"I wanted t'say somethin', mate," Sniper said quietly. He gestured to Engineer to hold out an empty beer bottle, and he carefully poured several fingers of the quality alcohol into it. "But I didn't know what. The hell you say about somethin' like that to a friend?" Engineer's head tilted towards him. "Didn't want ya t'think less of me. Or think I'd be hurtin' the Team." His nervous hands tightened around the neck of the bottle.

Engineer let out a long, low sigh, and sampled a small mouthful of the brandy. "Ahhh, I know, fella. You hidin' things hurt, 'specially since I felt like I was gettin' tossed t'the side. But I know why you did. Sometimes logic don't always win out, I s'pose."

"Sorry, Truckie. Fer what it's worth." Sniper held out a hand.

The other man regarded it for several long moments. Just when Sniper began to fear things were no good, Engineer finally extended his free hand and shook it. "It's worth plenty, big guy."

Sniper smiled in relief. They sat in silence for a while, sipping at their respective drinks. Some minutes later, Engineer cocked his head at him again.

"But…Spy? Really? I seen cats an' dogs better suited to each other." The Texan's nose was crinkling at the thought. "That Spy, he's—"

"…A bit better than ya'd think. I was amazed too, mate, but we seem to do alright. I dunno what else to say, though."

"That's just fine, spare me the details." Engineer looked away, taking a pull at his brandy. It made Sniper's insides twist a little to see the faint hints of how uncomfortable his friend was with the subject matter.

More silence, another cock of the head.

"Y'know, I never figured you of all people for a queer, Stretch."

"Trust me, neither did I." Sniper looked down at his hands and the bottle clutched within them, reddening.

After a moment's hesitation, Engineer gently patted him on the shoulder. Sniper's head lifted and he gazed at the Texan with a quirked eyebrow. The man looked conflicted but determinedly supportive above all else, so a little half-smile appeared on his long face.

"If it makes ya feel better, Engie, I ain't attracted in the least to a single one of you other ugly old bastards."

Engineer let out a rough belly laugh at that. "Thanks, pardner. I think."

.

He started awake with a convulsion, gasping for breath and sweating despite the cold. For several seconds he couldn't move, the sleep paralysis loathe to release its grip on his body. It only added to Sniper's panic, and when his limbs were finally under his control again he grasped jerkily at his chest, willing his poor heart muscle to settle down.

He'd never had as many nightmares as he did here at RED, especially after the respawn incident. Sniper thought he'd seen it all and was used to it as well, but his unconscious mind kept throwing alarming images and deep doubts at him in the dead of night.

Spy dying, his various friends and Teammates dying, Sniper himself dying; all permanently. The respawn suddenly breaking, and the people who'd put their trust in it disappearing forever. His disapproving parents giving up on him for good, telling all his other relatives to shun him as well. The contract with RED going on and on and never ending, with Sniper stuck in this endless, futile game of a battle forever. Doors that should've remained locked being opened, revealing the horrible truths that Sniper had thrown his life away to fight for. The respawn suddenly breaking, and the people who'd put their trust in it waking up scarred or horribly maimed, with no hope of recovery.

That last fear had been the focus of Sniper's latest nightmare. He'd been blown up a number of times, here on the RED battlefield, but not all of them had been instant deaths. The pain and agony played out in slow motion in his dreams, coupled with the terrifying numbness of body parts damaged beyond repair. Or worse, not even there anymore.

He'd lain there, shattered, possibly in pieces, feeling his life force drain away. Everything had gone black, then grey, then white, as he'd regained consciousness in the respawn room. Then the horror had gripped him, filled him up and choked him, as it stole upon him that the revered machinery had malfunctioned once again. The sleep paralysis had had its secret influence, and he'd lain there, struggling futilely, a maimed and broken man, as Medic and Spy and all the rest stood over him, looking down with disgust and pity. Spy had—

The now-awake Sniper held his breath, several details finally hitting him in the dark silence. A gentle, rhythmic sighing reached his startled ears, and the hair on his body stood on end at the presence of another living creature close by. He rolled over, and there was Spy, sleeping not more than half a foot away.

Sniper boggled at the back of the man's head. How the hell had the Frenchman gotten into the locked, quiet room without him noticing? Again? And then gotten into bed with him at that? He really was a top-notch spook.

The nerve of the bugger, Sniper thought to himself, a flush of anger rising to replace his night-time terror. No apology, no nothin'. A vicious argument, one caused by Spy and his refusal to commit to any possible future, and hours of silence and avoidance. All that and he thought he could just waltz right into Sniper's bed like he owned it? Like hell!

…But it was incredibly calming, having someone nearby in the dead of night like this, to distract from the nightmares and worries. Sniper wanted to give the Frenchman a piece of his mind, but the urge was rapidly fading. His heart rate and breathing slowed to normal, his tense, shivering muscles relaxed.

This was silly, crikey. He was a grown man, a mercenary. It was starting to get annoying, the amount of times he'd had to repeat this to himself lately. Only little children and excitable sheilas got this relieved by sleeping with someone near. He—

A small snort issued from Spy as he unconsciously adjusted his position under the covers. He slid backwards some, and when he bumped into Sniper's form he sleepily slurred several words in French. He remained there, thin frame pressing against Sniper.

To hell with it, Sniper thought with a sigh. He moved closer to his…his lover in resignation. Shutting his eyes, he eventually fell back asleep, and had a much more sound rest for the remainder of the night.

.

The days went by speedily, one following the other in quick succession. Everybody huddled indoors to hide away from the deep winter when not in battle, though Sniper, Engineer and a few others still ventured outside for a campfire in the fresh if bitterly cold air once in a while. Crazy backwards American weather, the marksman would think, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"So when're ya gonna take the mask off?" Sniper asked suddenly one afternoon. He was sitting at his tiny bedroom table, long legs stretched and jutting out from underneath to a ridiculous degree.

Spy's steely gaze tore itself away from the window to settle on the seated Australian. "We are well alone, so now if you wish." The gloved hands began to rise.

"Oh! No, that ain't what I meant. Though you can still do that if ya want," Sniper added hastily. The Spy went maskless nearly every time they were together in private now, day or night. It filled Sniper with a sense of well-earned privilege.

"No?" It stayed on, the Frenchman's brow wrinkling considerably. "Explain."

Sniper's stubby pencil tapped a nervous beat on the surface of the table. "Well, I mean. When're ya gonna take it off fer good?"

The other man's eyes narrowed. "If this is yet another attempt to press me into retirem—"

"Look, I don't wanna argue again!" Sniper said wearily. "I was just curious, is all. Whenever yer all done spyin', wotcha gonna do? S'odd, thinkin' of you takin' that ol' thing off an' leavin' it off. Ya gonna use yer disguise kit instead?"

"If I give up the balaclava, why should I continue with disguises?"

"Well…y'know. The…the scars. Ya ain't gonna cover 'em up?"

Spy looked at him in disbelief. "You think me that weak? That vain?"

"Yer startin' to do a lot of assumin' yerself, mate!" Sniper frowned. "I just wonder 'bout attractin' attention is all. We're both pretty beat up, but yers is more obvious. That's a whole lotta starin' an' shit comin' down the line."

"Let them stare," Spy said with a contemptuous wave of the hand. "I was in an accident, or perhaps I am a veteran of the war in south-eastern Asia. France has a history there, and I have read about many of your fellow countrymen making the journey there lately." He looked pointedly at Sniper.

Well didn't he just think of everythin'. "I s'pose. But—"

"A secret agent takes great care with his identity, yes? However marked I am, it is hidden away, just like everything else about me. When I am done I may take off the balaclava and melt away into the crowd, having both never existed and being already gone. What enemies I have accumulated over the years would not know where to begin, and with any luck we would both be old enough for them to no longer care."

"Alright, alright." Sniper looked down at his half-written letter. "I just hope my ugly mug hangin' around don't make it easier for 'em."

Spy paused at that. "I am sure it will not be an issue," he said eventually.

A few more sentences were skritched out; the rapping of the pencil on the table repeated itself. "Piss, what do I say," Sniper muttered, staring at the page.

"Say about what, dearest convict?" Spy seemed glad at the change of subject. "Is it yet another letter to home sweet home?"

"Yeah, it is." The fretful lip-chewing began. "I still don't even know what t'say about me cut-up face, let alone you."

The Spy inspected his gloved fingers, apparently unconcerned. "So say nothing. It is no business of theirs what you do with your life."

"But they're family! They're me parents!"

"Fine, fine. There will be a good time eventually to say, I am sure. If not…well. It is still your life, to do as you wish. Do not frown so, it deepens the lines on your face."

"Yer a right pain in the arse, is what you are."

"Quite. In more ways than one, possibly." The smirking Spy leaned with his cheek in his hand, elbow propped on the bushman's shoulder.

"Yer awful."

"You have no idea, convict."

"You gonna keep goin' with this 'last word' thing?"

"Possibly." The elbow was removed, chin and hands were shifted to the top of his head. Sniper could see the wicked grin. "As if you would want it any other way."

.

The days ran by, sprinting and shoving each other out of the way. The RED Team members present at that point of the battle were shocked at the sheer amount of feral rage with which Sniper attacked the BLU Pyro; in all their many months together they'd never seen him so angry. The man fought close personal combat only when he absolutely had to, especially on the frontlines; seeing him charge in red-faced and bellowing was something else altogether. Even Soldier was taken aback at the ferocity.

Maybe it had something to do with the RED Spy's latest death? The laser sight of the rifle had lit upon the thin, charred corpse sprawled brokenly on the ground, and after shaking violently it had winked out; less than a minute later and the BLU Pyro was so surprised at what came next they didn't have time to react.

The force of the enraged Sniper's kukri blow gutted them instantly, but even when dead the man was still stabbing and slashing at the body, kicking and spitting at it, and several of the REDs had had to drag him away before any of the stunned BLUs snapped out of it.

That night Spy kept wincing and complaining, telling Sniper to relax his grip on him before he ground his damned bones together. Sniper would silently comply, but it wouldn't be long before his haunted mind thought about the sad little burnt body in the dirt or how much he'd enjoyed killing that Pyro, and his grip would retighten. They huddled under the bed's many layers, Sniper afraid to let go of the other man for too many stupid reasons to count. It was a rough night's sleep.

.

The days began to blur and melt into each other. Sniper was shocked when he realized it was nearly Spring already, where had the time gone? The ridiculous stalemate of this private war was starting to get to him; he began to remember nothing of the days and weeks and months but the time he spent with his French companion, and bits and pieces of that with the other REDs. He'd never felt so stir-crazy in all his life. How much time was left in his contract? He couldn't remember, he hadn't seen the thing since he'd signed it nearly two years ago, and even then the details had been a little hazy around the edges. Sniper sure hoped he hadn't accidentally agreed to a contract period of 'Forever'.

He had to get out of here, the job was making him feel more claustrophobic than an empty locked room. Sniper wanted to flee, to run with Spy to wherever and never look back. He was sick to death of all the fighting, blood, pain and, well, death. Dying so much wore you out. As did so much killing, even if it wasn't real killing. But he was a Professional, with a capital P, and he wasn't about to break an agreement. He'd just look into it next chance he had.

Snipers were patient, it was their entire job to be patient. He could wait it out. He was overreacting was all. It was going to be over any day now, he was sure of it, then he could get on with his life. Any day now.

Probably.

.

Life was a blur; a worried, fretful blur with little pleasant moments in it here and there. Sniper lay in dozing contentment, discovering the joy of sleeping in during the weekend with someone in his arms. The early Spring was still too cold to put away the quilt and various additional blankets, and the two men were entwined together under the pile, enjoying the silence and each others' warmth. Both were early risers by nature, but there was something to occasionally letting a few hours roll by like this.

Spy's head was propped against Sniper's shoulder, their arms tangled together, and he was gazing up at the ceiling. Sniper was gazing at nothing in particular, aviators sitting closed on the little table out of reach, but it was pleasant nonetheless. Add another to the list of things he hadn't realized he'd been missin' out on, he thought.

After a while Spy tilted his head and looked up at Sniper, a careful, thoughtful expression on his face, like he'd been considering something for some time. Sniper blinked at him, smiled, then went back to his blank gazing. He wasn't fully awake yet.

The thin Frenchman stretched up slightly, until his face was pressed gently against the side of his head, mouth against his ear. That ain't too bad, Sniper thought pleasantly. Several syllables were whispered in his ear, and suddenly he was fully awake.

He stared at Spy. Spy had quickly turned away and was looking at the shaded window, his face completely blank but fraying at the edges. The two of them had been together long enough for Sniper to read the signs, and he could tell that the man was angry at himself for what he'd just done.

"It is just a word that occurred to me," Spy said with forced carelessness. "A silly name, possibly fake, possibly heard somewhere in passing, who knows. Make of it what you will. Maybe you will find a use for it."

Sniper's heart was doing flips. He'd gotten so used to the two of them calling each other Sniper and Spy…

Licking dry lips, he nervously leaned in to Spy's ear, hoarsely whispering a few syllables of his own. He tried not to shake.

Spy's expression cleared immediately, and he smirked with sheer delighted amusement. "That is ridiculous. It suits you completely."

"I figured you'd say somethin' like that."

The smaller man had opened his mouth for further sharp mockery, but all that came out was a whmpf of expelled air from being semi-crushed by the joyful Australian. For all that was going on right now, moments like this made the little pilot light inside burn brightly in defiance, and it was only a matter of time before it lit up an exit.