Spy glided from shadow to shadow up to the perch, feet silent and cigarette extinguished.

Sniper hadn't moved from this tower for a some time today, and the bomb cart had crept closer to it as BLU pushed. To Spy's mind, this as much as waved a "come bother me" flag, and he was happy to oblige.

He would make it quick, though. This close to the cart, anyone could come wandering by and hear something they shouldn't. Sniper really should move to a more distant, private perch anyway; Spy would be practically doing him a favor by taking him out before any other BLUs in the area got ideas.

Yes. In and out, a quick stab. If he was quiet about it, Sniper wouldn't even know he was in the area until he woke up in Respawn. This was important, somehow.

He slipped into the dusty room at the top, balisong at the ready, and crept straight toward Sniper's open back.

But Sniper, hunched over his rifle, was holding up a finger. "Just a moment, possum," he murmured.

Well, Spy was nothing if not a gentleman. With studied innocence, he leaned against the window frame and practiced sleight-of-hand tricks while he waited.

There was that moment of coiled focus, then a boom. Then a distant scream. Sniper skipped the usual insult, however, and merely reloaded, looking thoughtful.

"What on earth is a possum?" asked Spy, trying to decide whether to be insulted. "It sounds…unpleasantly rural."

"Harmless critter," said Sniper, and seemed to smile at a private joke. "I've heard the ones here are great at playing dead, among other skills." He gently set down the rifle, then stretched his neck. "So, business or pleasure?"

Spy spread his hands. "Why not both? I am an efficient man, and you are so very fun to antagonize."

Sniper opened his mouth, hesitated, and seemed to change his mind about what he was about to say. "What's the occasion?"

"Our Heavy is none too happy about that shot you made in the map room."

Sniper had the quiet, satisfied expression of a craftsman looking at a newly finished masterpiece. "It was a bloody good shot. Glad he agrees."

"And when Heavy's blue, BLU's blue."

He'd been watching the other man closely, and was rewarded when Sniper gave a whole-body wince as the pun hit home.

"I was just gonna let you stab me, but if you torture me first you'll need to fight for it."

"I sincerely doubt you were." Spy could feel his expression, if anything, get smugger. "The pun also works in German," he was compelled to add. "Blau is 'blue,' but also slang for being intoxicated."

"And the pun's even funnier when you have to point that out, eh?" Sniper was still smiling, Spy realized, a faint, fond smile that caused something vital in the pit of his stomach to clench.

"One must provide allowances for the linguistically deficient among us," Spy said, with noble forbearance, and inclined his head gracefully in Sniper's direction. "Nonetheless, our dear Heavy's patience is limited. Needs must that I murder you now."

Sniper had risen to his feet and was looking, with abstracted puzzlement, at the empty windowsill where he'd left his kukri. "Heh, you can try. But however this ends, I'll see you 'round."

"Seeing me? You can certainly try."

Sniper peered out and down from the window - there was shouting and fighting nearby out there, but evidently no giant knives had fallen out recently.

"You didn't even notice me steal it, did you." Spy tsked, and tossed the kukri over. "You must be going blind in your old age. Perhaps you need a second pair of glasses to wear on top of your current ones...six-eyes."

"Spoken like the nasty 20/20 visioner you are. Someday when you're old and decrepit, you'll know my pain. And I will laugh at you for it." Sniper raised an eyebrow, and the kukri. "Shall we?"

Spy sniffed, and adjusted his cuffs. "This would be much faster for all of us if you would simply turn back to your work."

Sniper looked almost sad. "Now, mate, where would be the fun in that?"

Spy dipped his head in agreement, and struck.

They crashed to the dusty floor, and Spy spared a millisecond's sorrow for the fine herringbone on today's suit before the tussle began in earnest.

It was too close range for Sniper to bring his kukri to bear - Spy made sure of that, with judicious wriggling - but the bushman also managed to knock away his most readily available weapons in the fall.

Outside the perch, explosions were going off, rockets were being jumped, and übers were engaging. But inside, there was nothing but the sound of harsh breathing as they wrestled for dominance.

Sniper slapped away Spy's second knife, skittering it into a corner, and Spy hissed in annoyance. No matter, if he could just reach down -

But Sniper seemed to be expecting that knife as well. How many times had they played this little game and danced this little dance, Spy wondered in the breathless breaths between attack and riposte. They knew each other far too well by now.

Spy got a superficial slash in with the fifth knife, before Sniper managed to kick it away as well. And for a moment, they were evenly matched, strength to strength, flexibility and reach and cunning all adding up to a thread-fine balance.

Spy, half-pinned, met Sniper's eyes. The aviators were long gone, crushed somewhere in the struggle. So it was those startlingly grey, startlingly vulnerable eyes that looked back at Spy, in a long, searching gaze, with all the careful-intense focus he sent down his rifle scope.

Spy inhaled, and -

The world went white, then bloody.

A few seconds later, Spy would realize it had been a Soldier and a Demo, air-jousting just outside the window and joyfully exploding each other and themselves in the process.

But in that moment all Spy felt was incandescent, visceral fury at being interrupted, of his Sniper being taken from him when he was so close -

His vision came back, spottily.

Spy found himself sprawled, undignified, on the floor, a leg and half his side numb in a way that signaled rapid death. Hopefully before the pain started to hit.

There was a weight on his chest. Was that normal? That wasn't normal.

Head ringing, he looked down and tried to focus.

Sniper had taken the bulk of the shrapnel, and appeared to be missing a limb. The blood that hadn't already sprayed the room in the blast was pumping out of him with every heartbeat.

Spy let his head fall gently back to the floorboards.

"Rude buggers," mumbled Sniper into Spy's red-soaked shirtfront.

"This is exceedingly annoying," agreed Spy, and spat blood to the side in a more-or-less dignified fashion.

"I'd pull out…the cigs for you," Sniper said. There was a horrible wet sound with each breath. "But arms…not moving. Nothing movin'…really…"

"No worries, mate," said Spy. He tried to raise an arm to reach for the case himself - and perhaps nudge Sniper's head into a more comfortable position to die in -

Ah. There was the pain. So much for that plan.

Trying not to gasp too obviously, Spy said, "I shall simply go cold turkey until- until the Reaper arrives. No doubt it shall be a trial."

"Two whole…minutes, eh? 'mpressive."

"I will have you know, sometimes I go a full quarter hour."

Even with half his body screaming, Spy could still feel the little curve of Sniper's smirk against his chest. "Tell…all the blokes…that?"

"I promise them all- all night. Professional liar, 'member?"

There was a tiny huff that might have been a laugh.

Spy's head was swimming now. He was so, so tired.

"Sniper?" said Spy, and chanced another look down.

Sniper's breaths were faint and thready. His lips were white.

"Sniper?"

But if he could hear, he couldn't answer.

That was good, though, because Spy didn't know what he had wanted to ask.

Eventually Sniper's heart stopped, and the rhythmic spurts of blood became oozes, then a few last quiet drips into the wide, silent darkness.


A/N:

Australian possums are adorable, which is why the word "possum" is used as an endearment - kinda like how you might call someone "darling". Sniper knows this, and we know this, but Spy doesn't, does he.

This is probably my favorite scene in the fic.


Rosewick267 - Oh absolutely. No beta = no one to stop me from nattering on as much as I like lol. And while Spy's real good at jumping to wrong conclusions from a standing start, Sniper is a bit of a logical plodder (though his conclusions, conversely, are usually correct). In their own way, they are both incredibly dense lol.

bingus1man - Yes, I was surprised too! Tasmanian devils are real as well, amazingly.