There's five new pieces of art to check out over on my foeyayfanart Tumblr! Huge thanks to Leoleoteterev and Teamfortress2islove!
Next day's match was even duller than the last. No Sniper. The Spy should feel more relieved to know his Sniper was all right but without that added mystery to keep him going, things were more boring than ever.
All the same, he forced himself to wait a few hours after the match before heading over to the RED base. It was early hours of the morning thanks to how late the matches at Doublecross ended. Why they couldn't ever just do normal working hours, the Spy didn't know.
No one was awake so far as the Spy could see. He'd have his Sniper all to himself.
He found the infirmary door locked. Not a surprise. How long it took him to break in was though. Either he was getting rusty or that had been a damn good lock. Probably the latter; the Spy didn't need to practice to be great at everything he did. It was just natural talent.
Sniper didn't look as bad today. His breathing was still raspy but not as obviously laboured. About half of the bandages had been removed, showing injuries that were healing. The scrapes and scratches he could see didn't seem to match up with the injuries the BLUs had given him though. It took the Spy a couple of minutes to work out they must have been caused by the Sniper's being kicked about on rough concrete. Poor thing.
The Spy stroked the back of his hand down his Sniper's cheek, avoiding the oxygen mask. He wasn't going to touch that; he'd learnt his lesson last time.
Sniper really needed a shave. The thought of doing it for him, of running a sharp blade across his Sniper's jaw and throat, was thrilling. It wouldn't be the same with his Sniper unconscious though. His Sniper would have to be awake, eyes wide, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously, the blade inches from slitting his throat at all times. The Spy could give him a little nick with the blade anytime he tried to move or protest. Yes, that would be fun. Another time, perhaps.
The Spy's hand drifted up towards one of his Sniper's sideburns. At least he'd kept those when he got his haircut. They suited him more than they had any right to. The Spy's hand rose higher, carding fingers through his Sniper's hair. Sniper made a soft sound in the back of his throat. The Spy paused. When Sniper's eyes remained closed, he started stroking his hair again, imagining how pleasant it would feel to have Sniper's fingers scratch lightly against his scalp instead. The Spy stopped, frowning to himself. As if he'd ever take his mask off in front of a RED. He had his own scars to hide.
The Spy sighed. It just wasn't the same with his Sniper asleep. He imagined the glares he'd be getting if Sniper was awake right now but unable to stop the Spy from touching him. His Sniper could be a real feisty one. He missed their fights on the battlefield already. The Spy would never let his Sniper know how close to winning he'd come in so many of their little scraps. That was where the fun lay. The Spy could be certain he'd win the majority of the fights; they were stacked in his favour after all, what with him being able to pick the time and place. But there was always that edge of uncertainty. That heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping uncertainty. Fighting with his Sniper was almost as much of a rush as he imagined the other things he'd like to do with him would be.
But no fighting now. The Spy was here to watch over him. His own personal guardian angel.
Sniper murmured in his sleep. Whatever it was was lost to sleep and to the oxygen mask but it reminded the Spy of something. He wanted to be here when his Sniper awoke, but it was best that it wasn't him.
The Spy pulled out his disguise kit. Who to choose? Pyro? No, waking up to find that monstrosity at your bedside wouldn't be good for anyone. Scout? Too yappy. To obnoxious Engineer? Too grumpy. More interested in machines than people. Soldier? No, too loud. Too American. Heavy? He'd rarely seen the two of them interact; he didn't know if they got on. Demoman? A possibility. They seemed to be friends. He'd have needed to bring a bottle of alcohol along to be convincing though. Spy? He rejected that idea at once. Him and Sniper appeared to get on too well. He wasn't going to allow his Sniper to think Antoine was the one waiting there by his bedside for him.
Medic then. It was the option that made the most sense, given the context and setting. However, it was the most risky. The real Medic could choose to check up on his patient anytime during the night, and if he did, no amount of clever lies or excuses would be enough for the Spy to convince the Medic that his exact double had any good reason to be in the room.
The Spy-as-Medic pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down facing his Sniper. He wished he could wake his Sniper up. The Spy poked Sniper's leg. Nothing. He took hold of his knee and shook slightly. Still nothing. The Spy sighed. He'd just have to wait. He let his thoughts wander as the minutes ticked by, marked only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. How could he use this situation to his advantage? How could he get his Sniper to understand how much the Spy had done for him? Mercy killing him. Checking up on him. Risking punishment and a nasty death and the hands of the REDs to be here. For him.
But as hard as he tried, the Spy couldn't think of a way of putting, 'I came and held your hand and stroked your hair,' in a way that didn't give away too much of himself. Leave him too vulnerable.
The Spy sighed again. RED Sniper was a mess, but so was he. It was just easier to hide. Except he couldn't be hiding it too well if he kept coming back here. The Spy found himself wondering how this would all end. A pointless worry. It could only end one way. He just hadn't worked out exactly how he was going to get the Sniper to be his.
If the Spy was being honest with himself, and that was a very difficult thing for him to be, there was a chance he might have slightly messed things up in his earlier encounters with the RED Sniper. Laughing at him first time they met. Scarring his face. Kissing and groping him. All that murder. It had been fun, but somehow it had yet to get the Sniper into his bed.
Maybe, just maybe, he should have taken a different approach. He could be charming when he wanted to. Charming like the handsome tom cat that came winding around your legs, asking for food when all he was really interested in was that pretty queen in heat of yours. If he'd flirted a little with the Sniper, acted impressed and intimidated by his skills, perhaps that would have moved things in a more satisfying direction. Then again, he hadn't known Sniper liked men then. And by the time he did, he'd already rather chewed his Sniper up and spat him back out again. Not the best way to play with his toys, he had to admit.
But nevermind. The past was in the past and all the Spy had to do know was work out how to use the present and the future to get himself the happy ending he wanted.
His Sniper really was handsome, even when asleep and bandaged. Maybe even more so now: the tall, broad-shouldered man cut down to size. His lankiness hidden under sheets, his face calm. Still needed a shave though.
There was so much more about this man that the Spy knew nothing about though. He was currently waiting on a contact to get back to him with some much-desired new information. The man had promised big and said it has something to do with a past partner but refused to give away anything more. Infuriating man. The Spy really had to get around to killing him one of these days, work permitting.
He had his uses though, even the Spy couldn't deny that.
Sniper made a little noise in the back of his throat. The Spy's eyes snapped to his face, alert. The oxygen mask was still on, still working. His Sniper was all right, right?
Sniper shook his head slightly, frowning in his sleep. He looked like he was in pain. He made another sound, like someone grumpily responding to being woken up too early. His eyelids fluttered. And then cracked open.
The Spy held his breath. Sniper looked at his blearily. Confusion flickered across his pale face. 'N—no,' he rasped, shaking his head again.
'Shh-shh-shh,' the Spy-as-Medic said, trying to sooth him.
'No no no!' His Sniper seemed even more distressed than ever, his eyes unfocused and the heart monitor spiking next to him.
The Spy reached out and took his hand, murmuring reassurances that didn't appear to register with his Sniper. The Spy rubbed his thumb in soothing circles across his Sniper's knuckles. 'Shh-shh, it's okay, it's okay. You're all right. Nothings going to hurt you here.' It didn't occur to the Spy what an odd thing that was to tell an adult mercenary. He also missed the irony of him being the one to say it.
Sniper turned away, eyes screwed shut, bruised chest rising and falling in stutters. The Spy didn't let go. 'It's okay, it's okay,' he repeated. Gradually his Sniper's heart and breathing rates settled down as he fell back to sleep.
The Spy still didn't let go and wouldn't do until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps an hour or so later.
He cloaked as the real Medic entered and slipped away before the door to the infirmary could swing shut again.
He'd be back. Tomorrow he'd be back.
It was with a mixture of disappointment and relief that the Spy found his Sniper awake the next day. He'd been wanting to be the one there for him when he woke up. Without the Spy, it might have been Antoine or Medic or some other RED that welcomed him back to the world of the living. If anyone had bothered being there for him at all, that was.
The Spy had to wait until everyone had got to bed before he risked sneaking back in. His Sniper was sadly fast asleep again by then, but looking much better. There was colour back in his cheeks and the smell of eucalyptus hung much more heavily in the air than before. He couldn't tell for sure but the Spy thought his Sniper might actually come out of this all right. He'd be okay. The Spy was sure of it.
Relief washed over him, which the Spy immediately rejected as a ridiculous thing to feel. This was just an enemy Sniper. Just a Sniper. Just his Sniper. His. It hadn't been until the threat of losing Sniper hung over his head that the Spy had to force himself to accept that this scruffy, lanky man was...important in some way. To him. The Spy hated it. It was too vulnerable a thing. A weakness to be exposed and manipulated.
The Spy was so deep in thought that he didn't register his Sniper stirring until he made a questioning little, 'Mrrr' noise. The Spy started, distracted. Sniper didn't look fully conscious yet, not really. As much as the Spy wanted his attention, it was best he got more sleep. 'Go back to sleep, Sniper,' he said with Medic's voice, squeezing his wrist lightly. He hoped his Sniper missed the slightly fervent look there must be in his eyes as it occurred to him how thrilling it would be to pin both of his Sniper's wrists to the bed.
But this was neither the time nor the place for that. His Sniper closed his eyes again and drifted away once more.
The Spy wanted to kiss him. Desperately, hungrily, with questing tongues and bitten lips and dazzling, frantic heat between them.
But he couldn't have that. At least, not now.
He considered kissing his Sniper now anyway, for all that it would be one-sided. He reached out a hand towards the oxygen mask and then hesitated.
No.
He'd learnt his lesson the first time. Sniper needed that on. The Spy shifted away again. He didn't stay long this time, his own thoughts leaving him too restless and unsatisfied to linger here.
On Friday the Spy stayed away just to prove to himself he could. On Saturday though, he couldn't resist any longer. He headed over during the evening and made sure to keep a close eye out for any sign of activity before he headed into the infirmary. Through the window he could see his Sniper sitting up in bed, propped up by numerous pillows. He looked much better now with, all the monitors and breathing equipment pushed away from his bed now. The metal trolleys that would usually be used for wheeling Medic's supplies about had been commandeered for what looked like paints and pencil crayons. Sniper himself had something, a canvas, the Spy thought, lying against his knees. The look of intense concentration on his face suggested he was working on something. The Spy had never watched his Sniper draw before. He immediately found himself itching to head inside but forced himself to wait.
The Demoman came and paid Sniper a visit. The Spy huffed and shifted on his feet as they talked. Eventually the Demoman left, leaving behind a can of beer as a gift. A can of beer. That man had no taste.
The Spy waited another five impatient minutes before heading in, his heart beating faster than normal, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
His Sniper looked up as he entered the infirmary and smiled at him. Actually smiled. At him. The Spy's breath caught in the back of his throat.
'Hia, Medic! Back again?'
Oh. Yes, not at him, but at 'Medic.'
'Yes, there was just something I came back for,' the Spy lied. He used the excuse to draw closer to his Sniper and peer at his canvas. Sniper's arms shifted slightly, as though to hide it.
'Not shy, are you, Sniper?' the Spy teased.
Sniper shrugged. 'Just feels weird when people watch me doing anything arty to be honest.'
The Spy nodded but kept looking. What did he care if his Sniper thought Medic was being rude? It was the least the Medic deserved for spending so much time with his Sniper. Time the Spy could have been there instead.
'Bit pink, isn't it?' the Spy asked, gesturing to the painting. It was of a stag's head painted with a full spectrum of colours, starting with pink that moved into red and then orange down one antler, moved into yellow and green for the head and then swept up into blue, purple and back to pink up the opposite antler. Either by design or by accident the paint had ran liberally down the canvas in places, lending a slight surreal edge to the drawing.
Sniper hunched his shoulders up protectively. 'Just that bit at the top. I wanted to try out my new paints and they're brightly coloured, that's all.'
'Well, it's...very good,' the Spy said, though he knew very little about art.
'Thanks,' Sniper said, still sounding guarded.
Great, here he was wanting to have a quiet talk alone with his Sniper and the RED had to act all defensive. The art was apparently even more of a sensitive topic than he'd assumed. The Spy immediately found himself wracking his brain for ways he might be able to use this against his Sniper but none came it mind. Unless...
'Rather queer though.'
'What?' Sniper said, a flicker of fear crossing his face.
'All those rainbow colours. You don't want people thinking you're queer, Sniper. What would the rest of the team have to say?'
Sniper stared at him, shock and hurt visible in his mismatched eyes.
It made the Spy's heart skip a beat. Good. Drive him away from the Medic. Find a way to drive him away from Antoine and Demoman and the rest of his team. Then he'd have no one else to turn to. Then he'd see who really cared.
Sniper turned his head away. 'Just, new paints. Like I said. And don't worry, I wasn't planning on showing it to anyone. I just wanted something to do.'
The only problem with the Spy's plan was it killed the conversation dead in the water. His Sniper looked hunched-up and miserable and not the slightest bit interested in talking to the Spy anymore. Damn. Despite waiting so long for him to wake up, conscious Sniper was somehow so much harder to deal with.
'Weren't you looking for something?' Sniper asked without turning back around.
The Spy-as-Medic nodded and went routing around in a random cupboard. He would have to retreat for now, but he'd be back.
Later that day, the real Medic entered the room. 'How are you feeling, Sniper?' he asked cheerfully.
'Fine,' Sniper grunted, not looking at him. Medic stopped. Sniper could be quiet at times and put on a grouchy face if he didn't want to be disturbed, but he'd been insisting he felt much better all week. An attempt to get Medic to let him out early, he knew. This sullen behaviour was unexpected.
'Any breathing issues? Extra discomfort? Bowel problems?' Medic insisted.
'No,' Sniper replied flatly.
As Medic moved past Sniper, he spotted the canvas propped up against the far side of Sniper's bed to dry.
'Ooh,' Medic said, adjusting his glasses as he peered down at the painting. 'Very vibrant! Wonderful use of colour.'
'That's not what you said earlier.'
'Sorry?'
'When you were in here around two o'clock.'
'Sniper. I haven't been in here since this morning.'
