AN: What's this? An update already and not a month and a half later? That's insane! Anyway, thank you everyone for the reviews and follows that I got on my last update, I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

"To the RED team!" the Sniper toasts, raising a beer.

"The RED team!" we all yell back in unison, clinking bottles with whomever was near. Casual drinking turns into party drinking as soon as our toast drink is over and the first sip is taken. We quickly notice that the Demoman hasn't pulled the bottle from his lips and has every intention to finish his beer in one go. We all, of course, encourage that kind of behavior here. Chanting the word "chug" over and over until he finishes warrants another toast. Soon enough, no one needs an excuse to drink.

With firewater flowing, poker soon takes too much focus for our inebriated minds. We resort to card games that are much more simple.

"Got any…uh," I squint at my cards. I see the black five in the corner of a card start to waver around like it's doing a little dance. Man, fives are just terrible at dancing. Oh, look, it has a friend; a red duplicate of itself. Yeah, go red!

"Oh my gaaawwwddd could you take any longer?" Scout groans at me. I huff; that was damn rude.

"Got any fiiiiives?" I ask, drawing out my words and holding up five fingers from my bare hand. I ditched my gloves so long ago, it feels like I never had them on. Are gloves even a thing, or have I imagined them my whole life? I turn my head to search for some sort of proof of their existence when the Scout answers my question.

"Go fish," he tells me holding back a laugh.

"Oh noooooo!" I say tragically—how will I ever reunite the five family now? What will the five of spades and five of hearts do without their five of clubs son and five of diamonds daughter? What a sad story. I can see it. The five of spades always blamed the five of hearts for the kidnapping of their children—she was in charge of watching them when they went missing. But the five of hearts always blamed her spades husband. He's always been a selfish bastard with no heart. I laugh suddenly. Get it? No heart. My laugh is cut off by the Sniper's demand for me to give up my threes. I do so without feeling much loss; I only had one, anyway.

The game cycles through the four of us—that includes me, Scout, Sniper, and Demo. The Engie and Soldier are in a heated game of Slapjack while the Heavy struggles to listen to the Medic explain the effects of alcohol on the human brain, as well as the brains of mice, fish, eagles, and elephants. He explains his experiments in great detail, pouring a shot of vodka for every time the Heavy had him re-explain something. So, roughly every three to five minutes.

On the Scout's turn, he slowly turns me with a mocking grin.

"Got any—" his sentence is broken by a sudden burst of laughter, "Any fives?" he finishes.

Oh no! Not my fives! I promised I'd reunite them with their children I—wait a sec.

"You're not allowed to ask, I already asked you and you said you didn't have any, you liar liar pants on fire. Gimme your fives!" I demand, assuming my words made it through to him and make a snatch at his cards.

"Hey, that's cheatin'!" he yells at me, moving his hand away, flashing me the five of clubs son and diamonds daughter.

"The children!" I gasp, "It was you!" I bellow, shocked, and point an accusatory finger.

"Nuh-uh! I didn't have these when you asked me for them," he lies, twisting his face ridiculously to hide his smile.

"I'm calling the police, baby snatcher!" I scream and rush at him. Scout sees it coming and runs out of the way, slinging a chair in my path, cackling as he darts around the tables. The chase is on, even though I trip on everything I possibly can. We draw the attention of our teammates as we reach a stalemate on either side of a table. We both stand across from each other, panting and tense, waiting for the other to make a move.

"This town ain't big enough for the both of us," I growl.

Scout laughs and mimics me with incoherent grunts and nonsense. "I can't even hear you, ya dummy, but let's go, you and me. Ain't no tables for you to…uh—" he seems to lose his point about the tables quickly, but picks himself back up. "Don't you try and run this time," he warns.

Now I laugh. As if I'd ever run. I'm the toughest of the tough, the baddest of the bad, and I'll be damned if I'm not the best cop on the force. Nix that last thing and I've told no lies.

"Oh please!" Demo interrupts, "I'll out-bevvy both'a ye! I'll out-bevvy all both'a ye!" he slurs, addressing the entire room. I'm struck with deja vu. Whether the Scout was talking about a punching fight or a drinking fight, Demoman has decided on the latter. I glance around quickly for any sign of the Spy; he's not gonna sabotage me this time.

I stamp a foot on the seat of an upright chair and put my hands on my hips, posed like a hero.

"You're on," I say confidently, despite my words being unheard. My other challengers and myself gather at a table. The Medic, who seems morbidly fascinated with our inebriated selves, and also seems to be completely sober, pours the shots with a steady hand.

It's between me, Scout, Demo, Heavy, and Sniper. The Engie and Soldier opt to continue their game, warranting automatic forfeits from them. We glare around at each other, all equally determined to take the other down no matter what. I won't lose this time, as long as big-nosed dumb-dumb keeps his beak out of my business.

The first one out, surprisingly, is not the Scout. It's the Heavy.

"Ah, vell," the Medic chuckles, "He's already had two whole bottles of vodka." He laughs it off as the giant man sits hunched and unconscious in his seat.

The Scout is out one shot later, rushing out of the room to most likely barf his guts out. No shock there. I'm so pumped to out-drink these fools, to teach these punks a lesson. It's gonna be so sweet when they finally accept me as the drinking lord and master. They'll have no choice when this is all over and I've won.

When I start to sense my limit, I see the Sniper is as well; it's reflected in his face. The Demo, on the other hand, hardly seems changed. Shit—I can't lose this. Two shots later, I'm getting concerned. I'm not so sure I can beat the cyclops. He's so strong.

"Cheater!" the Soldier yells suddenly, making all of us jump. I even let out a tiny scream. "I don't play with cheaters!" the Soldier tells the Engineer who only laughs hysterically.

"How am I even supposed to cheat at Slapjack?" Engineer chortles.

"What did Jack ever do to you? STOP SLAPPING EVERYONE!" Soldier, in a fury, demands and stands quickly so he can whip his chair across the room. We all watch the chair soar through the air majestically; like a bald eagle or a hawk, or a some other equally graceful flying thing. Its grace is shattered with its body as it breaks to pieces in contact with the unsuspecting Demoman, who swears loudly and retires to the floor.

I've done it. I've beaten him. I stare wide eyed for a moment before jumping to my feet and pointing to the man on the floor.

"He's out!" I insist to the Medic.

"I suppose he's out, then." the Medic says jotting down a note probably about how I'm gonna mop the floor with Sniper. I can beat him, easy.

"Oi," the man burps nauseously, "Watta you say we make this more—" he burps again, "a little more interesting?"

I sit silently as a response.

"If Oi win," he points to himself as though he had very little control of his hand, "I git to see yer face, eh?" he waggles his head excitedly,

"An', if you win, Oi'll…uh…" he thinks with difficulty, scratching his scalp. "Oi dunno, Oi'll letcha burn somethin' in mah room," he says, shrugging uncaringly. Anything? This is the perfect opportunity to punish him for messing with me, the drinking overlord of the entire world.

Yes, a perfect deal. I jut my hand out and we shake loosely.

"Take a record of this, Medic. Oi'm not lettin' 'im back out afta this—"

"I'm not sure, Sniper, perhaps this deal is better not made," the Medic says uneasily. I reel back, flabbergasted. What, does he think I can't win?!

"No," I exclaim, pointing to him, "It's definitely on!"

The Medic's face is still uneasy, but he consents to the deal anyway, muttering something about wishing the Spy was here. I roll my eyes, but remain silent. I slam my shot glass against the table loudly, wanting it to be filled with more alcohol immediately. Medic takes the hint and we sling back our drinks with renewed eagerness. It's down to the wire and I'm losing control of my body. Every movement seems to take twice as much concentration. I'm not even completely sure of what's going on anymore. The only thing in my mind is one thought: Drink.

And I do. I drink and drink. By the time I start considering the possibility of losing my job over this bet, I hear a thunk and feel the table rattle under the weight of the Sniper's head. My eyes struggle to focus on his blurring outline. Having ditched his glasses and hat awhile ago, he's lost his trademark silhouette. He lifts his head and mumbles groggy nonsense.

"You've hit your limit, Sniper," the Medic tells him, calmly resting a consoling hand on his shoulder. I watch the Sniper deny it, raising his face a couple inches, then surrender his head back to the table. It takes a few seconds to register.

I've done it. I've won—I want to scream words of victory, but settle on incoherent yells of victory. Yes! I'm perfect I'm the greatest; everyone sucks except for me!

"I zink our Pyro has hit 'er limit as well," an all-too-familiar cringeworthy idiot's voice says. I turn to the Spy and cross my arms.

"Well well well, if it isn't big-nosed dumb-dumb," I slur like I'm greeting an archnemesis.

He rolls his eyes and places a guiding arm around my shoulders and begins moving me upstairs.

"You want to challenge me, too? I can beat you, I can beat anyone. I am the master drinker, you're the master…idiot," I laugh.

"I am sick and tired of having to babysit you," he says, and I scoff. Psh, I'm not a baby. I'm an adult, and I tell him so, but he doesn't have a response. Of course he doesn't, he's too dumb and his nose is too big so his brain is always overpowered by his sense of smell. Now I finally understand him. I laugh again. We reach my room and he dumps me off like an unwanted prom date. He turns to leave. While he's walking away, I suddenly have a terrific idea. I quickly pull off my mask and begin stepping out my suit; as long as I'm in my room I might as well.

"Hey, big nose!" I call to his back. He stops and turns, looking at me with a hilarious face of sheer disbelief. I snicker and sloppily gesture for him to come over. He does, but stops about three feet from me. I giggle a little and continue to motion him forward. I see suspicion grow on his face, making my laughter harder to hold back; he's so dumb with his dumb face that doesn't know anything. Look how confused he is, haha. So silly, so dumb.

"What do you want?" he asks and I realize he's been standing there, less than a foot away, watching me laugh at my inner commentary. I clear my throat, his irritated face now far less amusing. He's close, but not close enough. I shrink the space between us with a half step. I tilt my head back to keep eye contact with him. My eyes narrow slightly when I realize how lame it is that he has a height advantage on me. To make up for this sheer unfairness, I rise to my tip-toes, only to have my balance taken by God's omnipotent hand. Logically, I use the Spy for balance. My hands rest on his chest for a moment, but quickly move to his shoulders when I feel his heart practically punching at my palms; that's rude. He catches me by the waist. I wonder if he's lost his footing as well because he doesn't move his hands.

A minor setback, but this is fine. This'll work just fiiiiiiiiine. I smile a little at my elongated fine. Heh, fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—I need to concentrate. My eyes distract the Spy's so I can unnoticably slide my hands up to his face.

I gently feel the concaves of his cheeks, no roundness at all. It feels crazy compared to the face I'm used to touching, which is mine. His cheekbones are so—what's the word? They're so THERE, like, IN YOUR FACE.

He isn't smoking, for once.

I keep getting distracted.

With my hands on his cheeks, I sneakily sneak my fingers under the edge of his mask. My fingertips meet rough stubble on his jawline. Good, now I just need to be fast. Quick. Speedy, one might say, speedy like that mexican hamster. Speedy Gomez? Garcia? Speedy Gerardo. Yeah, that's the one…but wasn't he actually a chipmunk?

I focus my eyes on the normally unreadable ones of the man in front of me. I'm shocked to find that this time is one in a million when I know exactly what he's thinking. I've seen this look before. My heart figures it out before my muddled drunken mind can catch up. My thumping chest urges me to push on before my head can wrap around the yearning in the look he gives me, the look that's normally paired with a kiss—ackkeuuhgah! Ah. AH.

Before I can do any sort analyzing of the sloshy mess of thoughts, emotions, and alcohol that's manifesting itself into a whirlpool in my brain, I grip and pull back the Spy's mask. I see a glimmer of something flicker across his eyes so fast, you'd think it was Speedy Gerardo. I watch as his eyes cloud with his familiar mystery. We stand frozen in place. Clutching his mask, I stare up into his face. My god, his face.

He's…handsome. The kind of handsome that there's no getting around. Pointed, slightly cleft chin, strong jaw, big nose, obviously—but it fits. Well-kept brows and deliberate stubble. Sadly, he's not a ginger, but worse than that, he is absolutely my type. To be fair, everyone is my type when I'm this drunk. The Spy statue breaks when a lock of slicked-back hair falls forward, disheveled from the abrupt mask removal. He blinks and drops his hands, leaving cold spots on my waist. He slips his mask from between my fingers calmly. He replaces it and pins me with a cold gaze.

"You could 'ave just asked," he says icily, causing me to furrow my brow. Is he upset? What for? I remain silent as he exits my room. Oh, I hope I didn't embarrass him or something. I sigh and try to remember that he totally sucks. And has a MASSIVE nose.

Thank you, if you made it this far, and please tell me what you think in the reviews; it really means a lot when you do. See you next update (most likely in about a week.)