A special thank you has to go to Astabeta for stepping in and proofreading this chapter for me while the boyfriend is away in a field somewhere, doing fieldy stuff.

The next night, Sniper's time finally ran out.

It was his turn to do the cooking. He had ingredients scattered all over the kitchen counter, and a recipe book propped up against the wall using a salt shaker and a ketchup bottle. The book was extremely battered and stained, but Sniper had managed to find a legible page.

Normally, if he cooked for himself he'd just throw anything in together that sounded like it would work and hope for the best. That's partially what he was aiming for here too, but the problem was just how much of everything to use. He was used to cooking for one or two people, not nine. And these weren't normal people, they were hungry mercenaries. The recipes were all for meals that were intended to serve four. Sniper decided to triple the amounts listed, just in case. It was better to have some leftovers than to leave his teammates wanting more.

Twenty minutes later, Sniper finally had twelve chicken breasts with lemon slices wrapped up in tin foil and shoved in the oven, along with two huge pots of rice on the go. He was feeling rather frazzled. It was hard to cook a meal when you didn't have a clue where things were kept. He tracked down a small vegetable knife and set about tackling the rest of the vegetables.

He was so engrossed in the job that he didn't notice when someone else entered the room.

'What the fuck, man? You crying?'

Sniper jumped, almost dropping the knife.

'What? No! These are just really powerful onions, that's all.' He sniffed and rubbed the crook of his arm against his face, eyes still watering under his aviators.

Scout came over and peered down at the offending vegetables.

'You're not even doing it right.'

Sniper gritted his teeth, annoyance flaring up in his chest. The Scout was, what, ten years younger than him? And he thought Sniper didn't even know how to chop up some bloody onions?

But there was something else lurking beneath his irritation, something that he hated about himself but couldn't avoid.

The need to fit in. The desire to be liked. The desperation for the approval of someone who had already dismissed him. Years of being the independent loner came crashing down the moment anyone made it clear that he wasn't worth their time.

Sniper could trace it right back to the school playground. He'd been the lanky little scruffily-dressed kid with the weird eyes who was behind in all subjects but art. Of course his every attempt to engage with the cool kids had failed miserably. There had been a couple he thought he was friends with, but then Susie McEvoy from the year above had taken him aside one day and told him they were just pretending to like him because it amused their mates. At some point Susie McEvoy's had decided that it was her responsibility to point out things like that that he missed. He never could work out whether he should feel thankful towards her, or resentful.

So he bit back a scathing retort and tried to sound good-naturedly interested when he said, 'Yeah?'

'Yeah. First, don't use that knife, it's shit. Use one of these bigger ones.' He pulled two out of the knife block and dumped them on the counter, and grabbed a clean chopping board.

'If they're strong onions like these, you're best chopping them on top of the oven here 'cos you can just flick on the extractor fan and it gets rid of most of whatever it is that makes your eyes water.'

'Fumes?'

'Yeah, probably. Then you chop off the top and bottom like this. Most of the fumey stuff is in the bottom section so you can just cut a chunk of that away as long as you've got enough onions. Then don't just start hacking away at them like that, you gotta cut them in half. Leaves you with a couple of flat surfaces you can put on the board, see? Then you slice 'em up fine going one way. Doesn't matter if it's a bit uneven. Then you turn 'em sideways like this and chop back across. Look, that leaves everything all diced up properly. Then you can do the bit you were trying before.'

Scout placed the heel of one palm on the top of the knife, right near the end. Using that as an axis, he moved the knife in a semi-circle across the board, bringing it down again and again on top of the onions as he went.

'Look, all nice and neat and no tears, right?'

Okay, so maybe the kid did know something about chopping up onions.

'Uh, right, yeah. That seems a sensible way of doing it.'

'And if you've got a bit of extra time, leaving them in the fridge or freezer for a bit beforehand helps with the eye stinging thing too.'

Sniper nodded. His mum had taught him that trick a long time ago.

Scout eyed the rest of the vegetables waiting to be prepared. 'You know how to cut up a pepper properly?'

'Probably not,' Sniper replied, trying to keep bitterness from slipping into his voice.

'None of the others did either, 'cept Medic and Spy. And our last Snipes. He knew, like, everything though.

'Look, so with peppers, after you've cut around the stem and popped it out and then sliced it into thirds, you should cut the rest of it up from the inside. Everyone always turns them over and cuts 'em up from the outside but the skins tougher than the flesh so you're just making extra work for yourself. If you slice it into strips from the inside like this, it's much easier. Then you can just cut the slices into little chunks—it was chunks you wanted right? Yeah? Good thing too, 'cos chunks is what you're getting.'

Sniper copied Scout, and to his annoyance, found that the boy was right about how much easier it was. Quicker too.

The two of them set about preparing the rest of the vegetables. Sniper had expected his younger teammate to leave as soon as he'd finished showing off that he was better than Sniper at something, but he stuck around.

Wanting to even the playing field a little, Sniper asked, 'You know how to skin and gut animals too?'

'Oh yeah, our old Snipes showed me.' Scout wrinkled his nose. 'Kind of gross really.'

'You see people getting their guts blown halfway across the map every day,' the marksman pointed out.

'Well yeah, but I don't go sticking my fingers in it, do I?'

'No, that's Medic's job.'

To Sniper's surprise, Scout actually laughed. A little knot of tension in his stomach began to ease.

'So, you uh, got on well with the last Sniper?'

'Yeah.' Scout frowned down at the pepper he was slicing up.

'What was he like?'

'He was cool.' Scout stopped moving, the knife resting against the board. It was stained a watery red from pepper juice. Sniper thought he'd ruined everything, but then Scout started talking again.

'He was real cool. He knew, like, everything there was to know about hunting and tracking and fighting and just life, you know? He was always telling me stories about the crazy shit he got up to when he was younger, and showing me how to do stuff. Like he taught me how to sharpen knives properly and how to do woodwork and he even let me have a go with his rifle and everything. We went hunting in the woods a couple of times and damn, he was such a fucking awesome shot! Like there'd be this deer like miles away and I wouldn't even see it and then a moment later it'd be dead, just like that! And he showed me how to skin 'em and it was just the grossest thing ever, you know? But it was cool all the same. And he'd always share his beers with me even though the others make a big fuss about it, which is stupid 'cos I'm twenty and I kill people for a living, why shouldn't I have a beer?'

Scout continued to ramble on about the previous RED Sniper until all the peppers and onions and Sniper's confidence were cut down to size. It might have left him feeling like a rather inferior replacement for his predecessor, but it was nice to have the kid talking to him instead of making snarky remarks about him. When Scout finally stopped, Sniper jokingly asked, 'Any tips for green beans?'

'Eh, just remember to wash 'em, and if you line a few up together you can just top-and-tail 'em all at once, that's all.'

Nothing Sniper didn't know, but he nodded an acknowledgement anyway. Then he asked a question he'd been wondering about for a while.

'What, uh, actually happened to the last Sniper? All I know is that there was some kind of respawn glitch that meant he couldn't do his job anymore.'

It was a few moments before Scout answered, his head bowed over the chopping board. He didn't look around at Sniper at all as he spoke.

'Yeah, there was a respawn glitch. A fucking stupid respawn glitch. Snipes should have been fine. He should have come back through and straight after that asshole Spy. Instead he just collapsed on the floor in respawn.. I tried to help him but he couldn't get back up. That sick freak had done all kinds of things to his legs. Kept him alive for ages. Respawn should have fixed him right up still but there was some kind of power issue. If respawn goes down properly there's a back-up to catch us but this was just a tiny little power surge that fucked stuff up for like a second. But it happened at just the wrong time. It glitched and Snipes came through with permanently fucked up legs.

'It's fucking unfair. The Spy hardly ever did that kind of thing to him. Just stuck with backstabs most of the time, you know? And that's even if he could get anywhere near 'cos Snipes had really good hearing and got him most of the time.

'But that BLU fucker does this thing. I dunno if anyone's told you about it. He likes to kind of pick on one person for a while and kill them as often as he can. And for some reason—I dunno why—he'd been after me for a while. Snipe's didn't like that, and went gunning for the Spy to give him a taste of his own medicine. Got so many dominations on him, it was great. But then one day the Spy jumped him. Engineer says there's no way he could of caused the respawn glitch as well, but I dunno man. Either way, it happened and suddenly Snipes couldn't walk anymore. So they fired him and then we ended-up with you instead.'

'Sorry,' Sniper said.

Scout sighed. 'Nah man, not your fault.'

'Still sorry to hear what happened to your mate. That BLU Spy is a right bastard.'

'Fuck, yeah, he is.'

Sniper opened his mouth, and was just about to tell Scout about the problems he'd been having with the man, when a wave of shame rolled over him, choking him. No. He couldn't tell anybody about that. Sniper knew the Spy's actions weren't in any way his fault, but there was still a part of him that couldn't stand to admit any of it to another person.

The two of them stayed silent the rest of the time it took to prep the final few vegetables, both lost in their own thoughts. Then Scout went to the fridge to grab a can of Bonk- his actual reason for coming into the kitchen in the first place- and left Sniper to do the rest of the cooking.

One by one the rest of the team traipsed into the kitchen, hopeful looks on their faces. Sniper had to keep telling them 'another five minutes,' 'just a little while,' and 'not much longer.'

At last dinner was ready and Engineer took over serving duties.

Looking around the room, Sniper noticed there was one person missing. 'Hey, does anyone know where Spy is? He doesn't think I'm going to be that bad a cook, does he?'

'Nah, mate,' Demoman said with a grin. 'I bumped into him earlier and he said to give you an apology from him 'cos he might be a bit late tonight.'

'What's the frog up to now?' Scout asked.

Demoman shrugged. 'He didn't say. Spy stuff I guess.'

The RED Spy leant against against a drab grey wall and waited. He was trying to appear nonchalant but inside he was feeling irritated. This always happened. He made a point of being early to meetings because it was the professional thing to do. So of course, he always made a point of being late. Petty bastard.

Seventeen minutes after the agreed time, the BLU Spy finally arrived. He was smoking a cigarette and looking bored, as though he hadn't replied to the RED's message almost as soon as he'd sent it, or scheduled their meeting for the very next night.

The floodlights from the distant bridge cast half of the BLU Spy's face into stark shadow, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness.

'Evening,' Spy said shortly.

His counterpart smirked. 'I think you mean morning, Antoine.'

'Technically,' he replied stiffly. The odd hours at Double Cross meant that what felt like evening to them was actually early morning. And of course the connard had used his real name. The RED Spy could never do something so unprofessional himself. And of course, the BLU knew that.

'I don't see the file. Where is it?'

Ah. It hadn't taken him long to pick up on that.

'I wasn't able to bring it with me,' Spy admitted.

'Did you at least take the time to make a copy?'

'No. You didn't give me long enough.'

'Oh. What a pity. I would have thought you could have at least managed that. Oh well, if we have no further business...'

'I memorised it. I can still give you all the information.'

'Hmm. But that wasn't what we agreed. You promised me you'd bring the file. You have not. I see no reason to uphold my end of the bargain if you can't be bothered to hold up yours.'

'It's all in here,' the RED Spy argued, tapping the side of his head. 'It wasn't a very large file.

The BLU narrowed his cold eyes, and sighed.

'Very well. You tell me the information and I'll decide whether or not it's worth it.'

'That's not what we agreed!'

'No, it's not.' He left the words hanging there. An icy silence fell between them, the taller BLU standing with his arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.

'His name's Nathaniel Mundy. Born the thirty first of March, 1944 to a George and Henrietta Mundy in a town called Hawker.'

The BLU Spy kept his face blank as he memorised the details. Nathaniel. That was what Nat was short for. And he was thirty one years old, a little younger than the Spy would have guessed.

'He grew up in the South Australian outback, near Flinders Ranges National Park. He appears to have done poorly at school but the file claims he went on to do the first year of a scholarship in Fine Arts,'

He sounded so sceptical that the BLU couldn't help interrupt, 'But of course. He is after all, quite the fine artist.'

The RED tried to hide the look of surprise that flickered across his face. The BLU's smirked. It had been worth giving away that little piece of information just for that reaction.

The RED Spy opened his mouth to continue when his counterpart waved a hand at him dismissively. 'Just tell me something interesting, will you?'

In reality, it was all very interesting, but it was just too satisfying to wrong-foot Antoine.

'Ah well, there's his psychiatric report of course, but it's not exactly reliable. It lists him as having a borderline developmental disorder but I don't think that's actually a thing that exists.'

Oh great, the BLU Spy thought to himself, I have a thing for a mental retard.

Then he took a moment to consider that. No, of course he didn't have 'a thing' for the enemy Sniper. Where had that even come from? He was just here to collect more information that could be useful to him and his team. He felt nothing but disdain and contempt for the RED Sniper. Those feelings were easy to identify, but he refused to go digging any deeper to see what other emotions he could find.

'Then there's the usual stuff of course,' the RED continued, 'suspected personality disorder. Suspected psychopathic tendencies. Suspected empathy disorder. Nothing new there.'

Their employers seemed to think very little of the mercenaries and would accept any labels slapped on them by their half-rate psychologist. They never seemed to notice that she had a habit of putting almost the exact same things on everyone's reports. Maybe they just expected all mercenaries to be lacking in the empathy departments. Who knows what gave them that idea? Or maybe they just never bothered reading the reports.

BLU Spy himself really hadn't got on with the woman at all. That was what he blamed for the insultingly long list of conditions he'd been labelled with. Him, a narcissist? Of course not!

The only times the psychological evaluations were useful was when they included past reports by real doctors. That was how he'd found out about the enemy Medic's paranoid tendencies, after all.

'What else was on his file?'

'Blood type O. Moved to America when he was twenty-one. Lived in California for a while. Got into the mercenary business at nineteen, and stopped at about twenty-six. Uh, he's single. No children mentioned. Few relatives, none in the USA. Doesn't know any other languages. Has scars on his torso from a crocodile bite and one from a bullet wound to the leg.'

The RED Spy paused, trying to remember what else was mentioned in the folder.

'Not allergic to anything. Visited Britain during his childhood, and Belgium and Canada later on, most likely for assassination jobs.'

The BLU stored each piece of information away in his head. It was really annoying not having the actual file in front of him though. He missed the days when they'd been easy to steal. Now the Administrator kept a close eye on all of them.

'Does it say why he only completed one year of his scholarship?'

The RED Spy hesitated. The BLU zeroed in on him immediately.

'You agreed to tell me everything.'

'Yes. It's a bit vague, but it seems he left due to rumours about a relationship with a fellow student.'

'Sounds unlikely. Isn't that half the reason teenagers go off to college or university in the first place?'

'It was a male student.'

RED Spy felt awful. He might have given a good number of details away about the Sniper already, but this was the first one that his enemy had properly reacted to. Just for a moment, the BLU Spy's eyes widened and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Maybe this deal had been a mistake after all.

'Anything else? How long did he sign up for?'

'Ten years. He's on Contract Zero.'

This time the BLU didn't even try and hide it, he smiled widely, a terrible gleam in his eyes.

'Contract Zero, you say? Now that is a surprise.'

It shouldn't have been. The Sniper was a foreign, and most likely, below-average intelligence, mercenary. Just the type that would go for. The BLU Spy hadn't met many men on Contract Zero, but he knew all about it. They'd find someone in prison with the skills they wanted and use their contacts within the industry to get a little something changed. Namely, their sentence from whatever it had been before, to the death penalty. The privatisation of the American prison system had made that easy.

Even the most stubborn man will agree to work for you if the alternative is death. Of course, they wouldn't want the mercenary to know that it was their fault the sentence was illegally changed. That kind of thing can lead to a little bit of ill-feeling from time to time. Much better to make them think they were being rescued. It made them so much more compliant and willing to throw away ten years of their lives.

The BLU Spy wondered how much trouble the Sniper must have got in to for killing him out of hours. They wouldn't have let him off easily. liked to keep a tight leash on their property. And that's just what the RED Sniper was, wasn't it? Not a valued and respectable employee like him, just property. This was better news than he could possibly have hoped for.

'Anything else?'

'No, that's everything,' the RED Spy lied.

The BLU nodded vaguely, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to argue.

'Well then, I will agree to "act professionally" as you put it, for let's see... a month.'

'Three months, we agreed!'

'Yes, but as I have already reminded you, you failed to live up to your side of the deal. I don't owe you anything.'

'But I gave you all the information.' The RED was trying to hide his panic now. He'd given away so much about the Sniper and got so little in return. 'Why not two months?'

'Two months of just backstabs would be far too dull.'

'I don't see why. That's what you're hired to do after all!'

'Can't I mix a little entertainment in with work though?' the BLU asked, smirking again. It was so much fun to rile up his counterpart.

'It's unprofessional.'

The BLU Spy sighed. 'How about a month and a half then?'

'All right,' he agreed stiffly, 'a month and a half of nothing but clean backstabs and no targeting him more than the rest of the team.'

'Nothing but the cleanest of backstabs,' the BLU promised. 'And no targeting,' he lied.

They reluctantly shook hands with each other to close the deal, and went their separate ways.

The RED Spy refused to glance back over his shoulder to check the BLU wasn't following him, but he listened carefully for the sound of footsteps all the same. He did not trust the BLU Spy.

How he hated that man. So smug and self-satisfied and unprofessional. Antoine had no idea how he could have once admired him so much.

He tried not to be too harsh on his younger self. Everyone made mistakes. But all the same, he felt a twist of deep self-loathing towards his teenage self.

He'd always been so impressed by the confident and charismatic boy in the year above. The BLU Spy had been popular and talented and handsome and dangerous, everything the RED wanted to be. He'd never bothered hiding his admiration and always pretended he didn't mind the put-downs he got in return.

Now, the memories burned. He didn't regret attending the boarding school that was far more than it pretended to be. But he did regret ever looking up to the man who'd one day be his enemy. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the gloating looks the BLU always gave him. Clearly, he remembered those days too.

Spy bumped into Sniper on his way back into the base.

'Ah, there you are, Spy!'

'Have I missed dinner?'

'Ah, yeah, sorry. But I made more than we needed so there's plenty leftover. I put it all in the fridge. I'm afraid I put too much lemon on the chicken, it tastes kind of metallic. Like eating a fork really. The others said they thought it was fine but I think they were just being polite.'

'Even Scout?'

'Yeah, actually. Maybe the chicken wasn't as bad as I thought. Where you been, anyway?'

'Oh, just doing spy stuff.'

Sniper snorted. 'Fair enough, then.'

He began to walk away when Spy called out to him.

'Wait, Sniper! Look, I've managed to get the BLU Spy to agree to start acting a bit more professionally. He's promised just to stick to normal backstabs for the next month and a half, no funny business allowed. You tell me if he breaks that promise, all right?'

'Oh,' said the Sniper in surprise. 'Um, good. Thank you.'

Spy nodded to him and left before he could ask how he'd managed it. How could Spy explain it in a way that Sniper would accept?

'So I gave away nearly all the private information listed on your file to the man who seems creepily obsessed with you. Also, I kind of told to him you might be a bit of a queer, but hey, at least I didn't tell him you went to prison for murdering your fiancée!'

Perhaps not.

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