This chapter took longer than expected but boy have I been busy!

To make up for it (maybe a bit?) I've finally uploaded Nath's own playlist. If the name, 'Where's My Silver Lining' doesn't bring it up on 8Tracks, then searching 'Foe Fay' should get you there :)

Also check out the Tumblr blog foeyayfanart for the ammmmmmazing cover art by Pinapin.

The general consensus seems to be that if I stopped posting here people would be able to follow me over to Ao3, which is reassuring. I will probably continue to post here though so that I haven't got half a story hanging around on one site and a finished one on another.

It was ten by the time Sniper woke up. That gave him two hours to get ready for that day's fighting. Two hours. Plenty of time. Half an hour would do. No need to move.

Sniper's thoughts were slow and sluggish, the nights events and the lack of sleep leaving both his body and mind feeling heavy. So heavy. He didn't want to move. Didn't need to. He still had two hours. Two hours to get up, move his van, get washed, gets changed, grab something to eat. Getting to his van was going to be awkward. Underneath the blanket he was still just in his boxer shorts. He'd have to try and keep out of sight of his teammates, not feeling up to working out a convincing lie about why he was in his underwear.

He didn't feel up to much at all really.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes to just lay there and think. Sleep didn't seem like a possibility anymore, so his thoughts were all he had.

They weren't happy ones. He was just so tired. Just so fed-up. Where would this end? What would it take? He felt like they were both heading for destruction, him and the BLU Spy. How else could this end but in one of their deaths? Or both? But how could anything ever end in death here, when dead men got back up to fight over and over again every day?

But he couldn't leave. He was a dead man walking himself. No identity, no friends, no family, no money, no contacts. If he was on any other contract he could ask to move teams, but on contract zero there was no such options.

Maybe one day the Spy would wake up and realise that he needed to be the one to end this. The one to leave and take himself away from Nath. Because surely this obsession couldn't be good for him either? But what were the chances of the BLU Spy doing the right thing for once in his life? None at all, Sniper was sure. None at all.

So what? What could end this? What would it take for the BLU Spy to finally stop? What did he want? What did he really want?

Sometimes, when he was alone with his thoughts and the next ten years seemed like a life sentence, Sniper thought of giving up. Surrendering. Falling to his knees in front of the enemy spy and telling him to just do it. Whatever his end goal was, whatever it would take to end this all once and for all. Just do it.

But then he'd find himself listening to Scout talking at a him a mile a minute, his eyes bright and his arms all over the place as he told Sniper funny stories about his brothers. Or knocking back a cool beer with Demoman as they gazed up at the stars and talking about nothing important at all. Or laughing as Heavy teased Medic for mangling his English again. Then he'd realise he could never do it. He didn't have much left in life, but Sniper could never give up on it. Never truly surrender. Nothing the BLU Spy had ever done was enough to break Sniper and he intended to keep it that way.

It was just a pity that in this place of violence, the Spy was the one person who seemed to seek out contact with him. Nath had never really got what the fuss was about physical contact until his first relationship. He'd understood the appeal of sex and had been interested in giving the whole kissing business a go, but he'd never realised how great other stuff could be. The light scratch of nails down your back. The heel of a palm kneading into tight shoulder muscles. A thumb circling idly around the ball of your foot. That relationship had brought so many perfect, innocent little instances of contact.

But it had never been something that would last. They'd both known that. Hannah was an American exchange student studying in Australia for a year. Maybe that's what made their relationship so good; they both knew it was going to be short lived so they had to make the most if it.

They tried making it work long-distance, but their letters became fewer and further between and Sniper found himself craving more than that. Because once he'd discovered how great that contact could be, even for the guy who'd always called himself a loner, he wanted more. Needed more.

Except he was an awkward human being. Always had been, always would be. He had friends now for the first time in his life. University had brought him into contact with the kind of like-minded people he could have never hoped to meet back home. But Hannah had seen something in him that apparently no one else could. Nath ended up ruining a couple of relationships with female friends by mistaking their friendliness for interest.

He'd been an idiot back then. An obsessive, touch-starved idiot who allowed himself to be dragged off to parties he hated just in the hope it'd lead him to what he craved. Instead he found loud music, awkward conversation, and drugs.

Then he met Justin Rowley. Justin 'I'm only gay when I'm drunk' Rowley. And in trying to kindle the same kind of relationship he'd had with Hannah, he ended up fucking his life up beyond repair.

Justin hadn't wanted a relationship. He hadn't wanted anything to with Nath when he was sober. It was only when they were both buzzed on alcohol, and sometimes something stronger, that he'd return Nath's affections. But there was so much he wouldn't do. No kissing, no hand-holding, no sleeping in the same bed, no full-on sex. It was a frustrating time for Nath. He tried pushing Justin into things he wasn't interested in more than once. At the time the rejections made Nath angry. With hindsight, he was glad of it. That was not someone he wanted to be.

During their two months of ignoring each other during the day and drunken fumblings in friends' bedrooms during the night, Nath's work suffered. He almost lost his scholarship over it. Then someone found out about them. Or maybe people had always known; they'd probably never been sober enough to hide what they were doing all that well. Either way, the rumours got out. And then Nath did lose his place at the university. He was lucky not to end up in jail.

That was a low point. A week to vacate his dorm. Nowhere to go. He couldn't return home, his parents would be too ashamed. He couldn't let them know.

But he had a contact. A friend. Well, a 'friend'. Someone who knew his talents. Someone who'd made him an offer he'd almost taken when he was young and desperate and angry at the world. Just as he was now. So he took it. Packed his things up, threw away his art supplies and picked up a rifle.

Nath thought it would make him feel powerful. That it'd finally give him a chance to prove how dangerous he really could be. And for a while it did. He could ignore all the guilt, the anxiety, the sense of worthlessness when his whole world was reduced to the sight down the barrel of a gun and the twitch of his trigger finger.

And shooting heads off paid better than art ever would. But in the end it brought him no happiness, no human contact.

Especially not once he caught the attention of someone higher up the ranks. They wanted him for more important things they said. More danger, bigger pay cheques. Just the thing to keep him from thinking about what a disaster his life had become before he'd even hit twenty. Just the thing to earn him power and respect, he thought. He thought wrong.

The problem was that in this insane country, being able to cleanly kill a target from a mile away was not a valued skill. And it certainly wasn't respected, not amongst these men and women. A proper Australian assassin challenges their opponent to a one-on-one fistfight. No backstabs. No poisons. No clean shots. Just your fists and your wits and your strength.

It was stupid. Moronic, even. Nath lost count to how many assassins died to a target calling for backup or contacting the police, or simply having a gun to hand. Common sense, Nath said. Cheating, they called it.

So they got Nath in. Not to kill anyone. Not to be counted as an equal. No, they wanted him as backup. Snipe anyone who tries to interfere with the assassination. But never the target themselves, even if they were armed. Leave that to the real deals, they told him.

Then along came Carl. Tall, blond, handsome, well-muscled Carl. The perfect picture of Australian masculinity. Things seemed normal for the first month or so. All apart from the compliments. Carl was the only person around who'd ever say, 'nice shot,' or 'well done,' or 'good working with you.' Nath started pushing to be paired with him more often. With Carl he almost felt like a partner, not extra baggage. Nath liked working with Carl, and it turned out that Carl liked working with him too. He'd never seen all that good at spotting innuendoes, flirting or come-ons. It took him a long while to work out just how much Carl seemed to like him.

Nath was up for it. He preferred women best, or slim men, but he was so lonely, so in awe of the older man, that he was happy to return the interest.

It was new territory though. Stuff Nath had never thought he'd actually do. He was nervous, but he was keen too. Right up to the point when he wasn't.

Later, as he perched gingerly on the edge of the medical bed, the doctor asked him if it had been assault. Eyes cast down, face red and eyes shiny, he'd said nothing. He didn't know the answer. No one had ever thought to sit Nath down and tell him that giving enthusiastic consent beforehand means nothing, nothing at all, if they ignore you when you beg them to stop.

Even Nath could read the disgust on the doctor's face. He'd taken the lack of a yes to mean a no. The doctor worked for the same people as Nath. He was a criminal living off the radar, not someone who would report him to the police. But he would report him to their superiors.

Nath took any jobs offer abroad he could find after that. Still working for the same organisation, but in different locations. He didn't care where. As long as it was away from Australia. He left with barely a backwards glance. With barely a regret. His parents never forgave him. In a way, Nath never forgave himself either.

He found himself in America. He also found himself fed-up of shooting people for a living. Gradually, over several years, he eased himself away from the organisation. Turning down or performing poorly on enough of his contracts that one day they finally stopped.

He was free.

Then he met a strange lady. She made him nervous. She took him in and made him breakfast. And somehow over a single morning, everything clicked into place. She seemed fascinated with him and he was fascinated with her. Michelle, the beautiful woman from New Orleans. Her Jamaican mother raised Michelle all on her own, her late, French father leaving her nothing but her name. She was five years older than Nath, and so much cleverer, so much better looking. A real social butterfly, him, the drab moth. Nath never worked out what he'd done to deserve her.

He loved her. Adored her. Would have brought her the moon, the sun and all the stars if only she'd asked him.

And then he killed her.

He didn't deserve any happiness after that, not after what he'd done. And he got very little of it.

There hadn't been anyone since Michelle. And there wouldn't be for the next ten years either, it appeared. Not unless he went and sought out the BLU Spy and agreed to accept whatever that man wanted of him.

Sniper couldn't do that. Being alone forever would be better than spending another moment in the BLU Spy's company.

'Sniper? Sniper, are you awake?'

'Yeah,' he said, his voice croaky from lack of use. 'I'm awake.' He pulled himself up to face a now masked, and smiling, Spy.

'I spoke to the Administrator this morning.'

'Beat Medic to it did you?'

'He was going to? No, it was better that I did it. She's always suspicious of Medics, thinks they're just contacting her to get more funds for odd experiments. But she tends to listen to us spies. Well, usually. So I reported last night's events to her. Turns out she already knew some of it.'

'What? How?'

'She has cameras set-up that captured you coming into the base and up to the dispenser.'

'Oh.' He hoped there weren't cameras elsewhere. Like in here. Or in the showers.

'After I told her the rest of what happened—well, what I know of it, she decided to dock the BLU a whole month's wages for for attacking you out of hours and out-of-bounds. A whole month!'

'That's...great,' He aimed for enthusiasm and failed miserably.

Spy's face fell. 'I know it's not, well, ideal, but it's better than I expected! I did suggest that maybe it would be best for the BLU if he was working at another base but she' said she has no current transfers available.

A month's wages. Sniper guessed he should be pleased. It wasn't as though he could report the issue to anybody higher up if the Administrator ignored the problem. But all the same, it did little to cheer him up. 'Did you get in any trouble though? For us seeing your face?' If the cameras had seen him at the DSS dispenser, they would have caught Spy without his mask too.

'I...well. It was only a minor fine. Really. Nothing to worry about. I'd happily pay triple to see the BLU Spy put in his place.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. This is all the BLU's fault. Never you forget it. This is all his fault, not yours.'

Spy looked so earnest. So sincere. It made Sniper's insides twist up.

Why? He wanted to ask. Why do you seem to care so much one moment and then betray me the next. Why? But he couldn't say it. He was too tired. Too heavy. He'd have to ask at some point just so he could get closure on the issue, but for now he wanted to cling on to the idea that he actually had an ally in all of this.

God knows he needed one.

'You are still going to move your van aren't you?' Spy asked.

'Yeah. I'll stick it against the outside wall opposite where it is now.'

'Are you sure you don't want to move into the base?'

'Yeah. It's just not the place for me.' Too busy, too loud, too much of everything.

Unsurprisingly, Sniper wasn't at his best for that day's match. His eyes felt itchy and tired, making it hard for him to concentrate well enough to hit tricky targets. He missed far more than he should have done, including a really easy one on the enemy Heavy that Scout berated him for afterwards. Apparently he would have got the Intelligence back to base if it hadn't been for that. Sniper understood Scout's anger but wished the kid would just shut up and leave him alone.

He also wished Spy and Medic would stop hovering. The two men just 'happened' to be passing by far too often. At least they brought good news a few times.

'I caught that BLU Spy trying to backstab Heavy and shoved my bonesaw through his gut!' Medic crowed, waving the saw about in his hand.

'Shot him at point-blank range,' Spy told Sniper, leaning against the wall and smirking around his cigarette. 'He didn't even see it coming.'

Sniper enjoyed hearing about any misfortune of the BLU Spy's, and it was nice having people backing him up for once (even if he still wasn't sure about his team's Spy) but all the same, he didn't like feeling as though they were babysitting him. He was a trained mercenary for Christ's sake! He shouldn't need to other people constantly looking out for him. He should be able to handle this situation by himself.

Sniper wished he could.

Spy's fourth visit was the one that went unusually. Because it wasn't Spy. Not his Spy anyway. Sniper knew it straight away. The first clue was the timing. Spy had only passed by about fifteen minutes ago and had said he had plans to go off after the enemy Intelligence as he left.

'Hia, Spy. Had any trouble?'

'Oh, nothing I can't handle.'

That was the second clue. If he'd said, 'Nothing we wouldn't expect from our BLU friends,' Sniper would have relaxed. But this spy hadn't given the correct response. Sniper forced a hollow chuckle and slouched where he sat, allowing his fingers to move subtly towards the nearby kukri.

The third clue -not that he needed it- was the way the Spy moved. The RED Spy had stayed near the door whenever he visited, giving Sniper space. He understood what it was like for a Sniper to have someone come up behind him on the battlefield.

This Spy sauntered right into Sniper's nest. Sniper watched the BLU out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to look out of the next window along, hands in his pockets. Sniper wanted to say something witty or scathing about the BLU team. Something that would force the Spy to agree with him, and if possible, insult himself, in order to keep up his disguise. But Sniper had never been very good at thinking up things on the fly like that. Instead, he casually asked, 'Seen much of the Intelligence today?' The Spy nonchalantly lit a cigarette and shrugged. It was unsettling to see such a familiar gesture and to know that it was part of an act put on by an enemy wearing an ally's skin.

Sniper watched the Spy's hand drift back towards his pockets. He didn't allow it to get there. Without any warning, he swept up his kukri and leapt to his feet, his rifle clattering to the ground. The Spy flinched. Before he had chance to do anything else, the kukri swept along his side. BLU Static and red blood arced from the wound.

He stumbled back, the disguise failing. One moment the RED Spy was glaring at him, face twisted in the pain. The next, it was the BLU.

Sniper advanced on the Spy, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. He was shaking. He couldn't tell if it was from fear, rage or adrenaline. Whichever it was, Sniper hoped the BLU wouldn't notice.

There was so much Sniper wanted to say. So many accusations and insults. He couldn't get his thought in order enough to say any of them, and he didn't think he could trust his voice right now anyway. So he gave the Spy the silent treatment.

It was satisfying, so satisfying to force the Spy to back away. So satisfying to see fear flick across his face. Sniper didn't really want to get that close to him, knowing how often the Spy had a trick up his sleeve. Often literally. However, he couldn't let the Spy back out of range, not when he had his Ambassador in his holster.

Sniper saw the movement. Saw the Spy go for his gun. He lunged forward. His kukri wasn't a weapon made for stabbing, but that didn't stop him from keeping the tip razor-sharp. It sliced through the meat of the Spy's forearm and pierced him just below the ribs.

Elation swept through Sniper at the Spy's startled cry of pain. Sniper's heart was racing, his chest heaving. This was it. This was triumph. This was revenge.

He wrenched his kukri free and the Spy staggered backwards with a hoarse gasp, his hand clutching his bad arm, both pressed against the wound on his abdomen.

'I'll get you for this,' the Spy spat, his pale eyes wild. 'I will make you suffer for this.'

'I know,' Sniper said as he swung his kukri into the side of the Spy's neck. The Spy collapsed down to his knees, blood gushing from the wound. Sniper kicked him in the chest, sending the Spy to the floor. Another slice across the neck and the BLU was dead.

Sniper could have taunted the Spy. Could have drawn that death out slowly, made him suffer. But that wasn't his way. He'd already let this kill become too sloppy for his standards.

He spat on the floor next the Spy's corpse. 'It was worth it.' He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or the dead BLU. Sniper was shaking still. Just slightly.

But he'd won. He'd actually won another of their fights. About time.

Sniper collected up his belongings and left in search of another vantage point without a backwards glance.

The Spy respawned, seething. How dare he? How dare he? That had been the most painful death he'd ever suffered at the Sniper's hands. He must have done that on purpose. What a stupid mistake. Surely the Sniper must know he'd only made things worse for himself.

The Spy's hand strayed to his pocket, fingers brushing against the shape beneath the fabric.

Oh yes. He'd nearly forgotten about that. The Sniper was going to just love it.

Remember to check out that playlist if you're a music fan! :)

Also, as a little extra, check out chapter 4 of 'Term's Tumblr Prompts and Requests Collection for a short story about the BLU Spy that will give you some information you might not see anywhere in Foe Yay, or at least, not for a very very long time.

One last note: Homestuck anon- Yes, I do read the reviews! Every single one of them. The lovely long reviews that make me smile, the constructive criticism that gets me thinking and the random one-line stuff that makes me go, 'Well okay then.'

Since fic writer's are putting up stories for free, reviews and comments are kind of like a reader's way of giving them back something for their time and effort. The vast majority of fic writers read their reviews and love getting them :) I tend to reply to longer ones myself, but haven't been doing that as much as I should recently because life has been busy. I still appreciate the heck out of them though!