AN: Hooray new update

I finally awaken later that afternoon, dazed and confused as to why my legs ached and why my wrist was so weirdly stiff. I sit up and massage it, moving it in all directions when I steadily recall last night; this morning too, suppose. Gosh, I'm hungry.

I take a deep breath and squint around my room, my eyes resistant to the sun's brightness being thrown through the window. I feel crunchy, if that makes any sense. Every twist and stretch pops some sort of joint as I attempt to break in my crisp, well rested body that struggles to convince me to lay back down. By the time my eyes have adjusted to the light and my fatigued body surrenders, I hear a knock on the door. Before I can decide if I want anyone to come in, the knob is being turned. I throw myself back down onto the mattress and under the covers I've spent at least fifteen minutes trying to break free from. The door shuts behind the intruder and I hear a familiar voice with a French accent speak.

"Do you plan on sleeping ze day away?" it asks, somehow already irritated with me. I hold still; maybe he'll go away. He sighs heavily, and a few seconds later I hear him walking. Unfortunately for me, it's not out the door. I feel his body weighing down the corner of my bed and I can just imagine the annoyed, furrowed brow on his face.

"Pyro," he says my name firmly, but I don't budge. C'mon already, take a hint. He sighs again, as if his mouth was just overflowing with them. He reaches toward me, a shapeless bundle of blanket, and gently shakes me. I'm sure he was going for a shoulder jostle or something, but his fingers prodded my ribs instead. I squeak and my hands instinctively jerk down to cover my ribs; I'm unable to repress the giggling caused by the sudden touching of the most ticklish part of my body.

"What do you want?" I ask, ignoring the noises I just made while trying to fix the look of embarrassment on my face. I remain mostly obscured by my blanket, revealing only my eyes and above. He looks at me, his lips graced with a very slight and subtle upward slope.

"Are you..." he pauses for unnecessary dramatics, "...ticklish?"

"What's so funny about that?" I ask, slightly annoyed, as his smirk grows wider.

"Nozing, nozing…" he says, like it's obviously something. I suddenly feel defensive.

"You saying you're not?" I challenge.

"Don't be ridiculous, I would never have such a silly weakness," he scoffs, drawing a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket. God, it's like he's trying to set up a tickle fight or something. That would be super dumb, but part of me can't help but want to anyway.

"Do you have to smoke constantly?" I ask instead, sitting up and waving the thick smoke away from the air around me. He shrugs, but blows his smoke away from me.

"Bleh," I gag. "Couldn't you at least crack a window if you're gonna stink up my room?" He obliges, then finally gets to the reason why he's in my room.

"What on Earth were you up to last night?" he asks, standing across from me. I can tell he is trying very hard not to sound overly curious.

"What's it to you?" I say, wanting to see if I can get away with keeping him in the dark. I really don't feel like putting up with the look he'd surely give me, but I doubt that I can get away with it. If I drag out this conversation, though, then maybe he'll get frustrated and give up. I can tell it's already sort of working because he looks at me with his arms crossed, cigarette pinched between two fingers. I meet his eyes and we have a stare down until he retakes his seat on my bed. It's difficult to keep from scooting away.

"Tell me," he demands. Like it'd be that easy.

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" I say louder than I mean to, anger taking hold of me. He proves, yet again, that he is one of the few people I know that can so easily infuriate me while he takes a moment to puff his tobacco.

"You owe me."

"Do not." I know I do, but my instinct is to disagree.

"You do, and you know it."

"I would have been fine," I say, a dose déjà vu flooding my memory. He looks at me and says nothing, both of us knowing how full of shit I am. He hasn't bothered to tap out his ashes, so the fragile ash tower is getting dangerously close to tumbling onto my bed. I cross my arms and stare into his steely gaze, only slightly aware that my heart is beginning to get restless. I tense slightly at the completely irrelevant revelation that pops into my mind—I have never seen this guy's face. I mean, I've seen parts of it through his mask, like I can now, but never his whole face. What if he's a ginger? I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the thought. Of course, he notices and narrows his eyes.

"You'd better not get ashes on my bed," I tell him, managing to keep the image of freckles and bright orange curls away. He doesn't break eye contact as his finger twitches and, with the gentlest of taps, sends the ash cascading onto my blankets.

Is he serious? That's so—ugh! Childish! My face turns stony, reflecting my brewing rage. I cannot believe the ability that this man has to instantly change my mood, like flipping a switch. I indignantly fling the covers off from my bare legs, trying to flip the ashes into his lap. He tenses and his mouth grows into a tight line, but doesn't move. Neither of us break eye contact as I quickly rise from my bed. I manage only a fluttering blink when I realize that I am not actually wearing any pants. Boxers are basically shorts, right? The corner of my mouth twitches when I remember the last time I thought that phrase. With composure intact, I walk to my door and open it.

My heart is racing at the risk I am taking, but I think it'll be fine. The door pulls open, so I'm hidden from any passersby in the hall. The Spy has risen from my bed by this point and patted his own nasty ash from his lap. I stand steady and tall, waiting for him to either walk out the door I've generously opened for him, or—the or is what's testing my strength. Or what? I'm absurdly nervous at what he might do and I feel my tenacity ebbing away slowly, starting at my knees that desperately want to knock together. I manage to hide all of this, but my breathing is unavoidably faster than average. I can't believe how quickly the tension has increased in this room. It went from a likely tickle fight to this...whatever this is.

Standing ramrod straight, he slowly and confidently walks toward me with his hands in his pockets. His cigarette is halfway gone, but still smoking, hanging precariously from between his lips. My formerly-statuesque strength grows even weaker when I remember that the Spy is, indeed, a tall man. I gulp, but pretend I didn't as he stands nearly toe to toe with me. He keeps his head high, making his dropped eyes dark and threatening from below.

"I'm sure you see the door," I say, blown away and proud of the confident ice and lack of quiver in my voice. With my hand still on the knob, the anticipation builds. He places his right hand onto mine and I know he must feel it shaking, but a silly part of me wants to believe he doesn't. The leather of his glove is cool against my skin, but I feel the warmth of his palm seeping through. I gulp again to keep my heart from crawling out of my mouth.

"I do," he responds quietly, but I can't remember what I said a second ago. The glass wall of apprehension is suddenly shattered when he roughly slams the door with his hand still pinning mine to the knob. Much closer than toe to toe now, his glossy, pointed shoes seem to be trying to take the place of my much smaller, bare feet. My knees buckle, but the man is far too close for me to fall onto him. The smell of his cologne and smoke fill my nostrils and head and make it almost impossible to regain a foothold. I feel the anger in his eyes burn into my own. I don't notice my trembling because my racing thoughts can only question why he is so furious with me.

"W-why are you so angry?" I whisper, wishing very much for the voice I had earlier.

"Because you seem to think zis is a game. What do you zink will happen if you are discovered?" he asks me with smoky breath, his moving lips no longer holding his cigarette that now lay fallen, charring the floor between us. I can't answer him, I can only attempt to blink my eyes dry. "You will not be fired, you will not be sent home. You will be killed. Zat is what happens if you deceive ze Administrator."

"W-what?" I stutter. I didn't think about that. I didn't know I...it can't be true. "You can't know that for sure, you're just trying to scare me," I accuse him, sounding childish. How could he even know these things for a fact?

"Get away from me," I say suddenly, trying to look everywhere but into his stupid, horrible eyes. I weakly strike his chest, but he barely flinches; my arms are ridden with—what is this? Fear, sadness, anger? All I know is I'm going to be sick if I don't get some fresh air.

"Calm down," says the Frenchman. It sounds as though he now regrets agitating me, but calm? How am I supposed to 'calm down'? When it's obvious that I haven't stopped panicking, he takes matters into his own hands—arms, really. He's much stronger than he looks; I realize this when he grabs me and holds me steady against his body. My arms are squeezed between our chests and my face pressed to his shoulder. I'm stuck between him and the door as I try to pry myself lose to no avail. I'm completely out of wiggle room and have no way to gain any sort of advantage over him. To my own surprise, I realize that I have an urge to fall limp in his arms, to collapse and let him hold me like he had the previous night, but I refuse to let myself do so. When he realizes I'm as calm as I'm going to get, he releases me and holds my shoulders at half his arm's length away.

I am suddenly overcome with the bizarre desire to kiss him. He's so close to me, and I can't remember the last time I was kissed. His scent no longer flips my stomach; it only makes my heart race. His mouth is so close, it would take no effort to reach. I swallow and meet his eyes with parted lips. But what I see makes me discard the notion of whatever I was considering. I see no anger, or pity, or desire, or sadness. I see nothing; they are emotionless.

Heh, and for a minute there, I nearly believed that he might've cared about me. Now sobered, I clear my throat and speak calmly.

"I see your point. Please leave now." I ask cooly—or at least, I think I managed to hide my hurt feelings. I easily brush his hands off from my shoulders. God, I feel like such an idiot. What's there to even be hurt about? I wish the Spy would just go. I can't believe I almost let myself forget about the whole sabotage thing enough to think about doing something like that, especially with a certain Aussie that sometimes jogs around in my mind. When the Spy finally leaves, I cross my arms and lean against my closed door.

"Jesus…" I scoff to myself. It's kind of funny...am I really that desperate for a kiss? Enough to look for it in a man like the Spy? I chuckle to myself. The Spy, though—I really considered it! I start snickering, then laughing insanely, similarly to how I would in the midst of battle. Next thing you know, I'll be making kissy faces at the Medic! Oh man, I guess it's really been awhile. Even before joining the team, it'd been awhile. I guess a girl can get a little lonely. Ah, well.

I dab the corners of my eyes, satisfied and now in good humor. I'm glad to at least be rid of how the Spy made me feel, even if it's just for the time being. God, he is acting like such an idiot: keeping secrets, hiding emotions, and being one confusing bastard. I can understand him to a certain point. I mean, if I was hiding some terrible deception from the whole team, I'd also act like that. Then again, I would never betray my friends that way.

"Ohh…" I breathe out loud, wide-eyed, finally understanding my own feelings. Spy is—was—the closest friend I had on the team, of course his behavior hurts me. He's a jerk, but that doesn't make it any easier to brush that sort of thing off. We had a love-hate relationship, at least to me, but overall, I guess I really did like him. Damn, has it really been so long since I've had a friend close enough to make me feel like this? I shake my head, completely ready to stop thinking about this. I dress in uniform, ready to quiet my complaining gut. I'm reaching the end of my rope with that man; I think it's about time I bust his whole deal wide open. All I need is some proof and a plan.

So, does anyone have any ship preferences? Cause I'm still debating, it can still go anywhere at this point. Please tell me in reviews or whatever and favorite and follow if you like what you read. Hope you enjoyed!