Two days passed. Five missions were carried out. The REDs completed each one flawlessly. And the RED's love for Operator grew. She had become the ultimate defense, her unseen mines and pressure plates far more harrowing than a seven-hundred pound, heavy caliber tripod-mounted sentry gun beeping eerily in the hallway. These deadly explosives resembled silent, scentless death, and with no material or mechanics to detect them, the BLUs were utterly slaughtered once they crept into the RED camp. And so the remaining defensive classes became offensive, thus given more firepower to carve through the BLU base with ease. They had captured more briefcases than in the history of the RED team, even with the lack of their trusty Engineer. Operator was RED's savior, the final class that allowed the REDs to go beyond stalemates and into more difficult victories. The teams were no longer at equal strengths; with Operator, RED team was legendary.

It was a pleasant change for Sniper. He no longer had to glance behind his shoulder every other minute to find Spy with a dagger brandished and aimed at his back; due to Operator's new installation of sensor mines at the entryway of every deck, anything BLU would be blown to pieces once they passed under the doorway. The BLU Spy had already learned his lesson during their latest mission, leaving a charred Frenchman and a very gleeful Australian at the end of the completed task. Sniper was finally able to sleep without the mental prickle of some sharp, offending object digging in between his shoulder blades at night, squirming beneath his sheets as he struggled to purge the sensation from his consciousness. He was grateful for that.

Each day brought success to the RED team. Today was no exception.

"You win!" roared the Administrator, her voice laden with snide pleasure as if she had done the deed herself. Simultaneously, Scout, Heavy, and Soldier bellowed in victory, raising their weapons in the air with glee as they enthusiastically chased the retreating BLU team, still eager for further bloodshed. The enemies' defeated cries echoed across the two bases, followed quickly by sharp cracks from a bullet loosened from its barrel. The hollers were immediately cut off, and faintly, a gurgling croak was heard.

Sniper sighed as he settled himself onto the exposed deck, his long legs dangling over the edge as he removed his hat from his head, swiping a hand over his thick black hair, still moist with sweat due to the blistering heat of New Mexico's deserts. The remaining REDs slowly made their way back into the base, shoulders slumped in exhaustion but faces cracked into wide, relieved smiles. As Pyro passed, he glanced up at Sniper and threw him a cheerful thumbs-up. The Australian grinned in return and nodded his head. The pyromaniac practically danced back inside.

The boisterous trio eventually made their way back across the bridge, each equally splattered in a fair amount of blood and gore, displaying wolfish grins as they explained to each other how many pieces their opponents exploded into, several accounts rather morbidly detailed. Sniper grimaced in disgust, his lips curling in repugnance as the three shoved each other through the door, snickering obnoxiously.

Certain that his entire team was inside, Sniper allowed himself a weak chuckle as his eyes softened, easing his muscles to a more relaxing position. He scanned the tattered, battle-scraped landscape fondly, allowing a wave of peace to take him. He always enjoyed the end of battles. There was always a quiet stillness in the air, when the birds slowly emerged from their holes to greet the dusk for a short while, content that no further battles would ensue. In these hours, Sniper felt at home, with the setting sun on his back and the tiny creatures chirping anonymously around him. Although the birds sounded nothing like those in Australia, he still enjoyed their songs and the soft flutters of their wings.

A flicker of red caught his eye and Sniper snapped out of his revere, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He focused his gaze curiously on Spy, who stood leisurely outside the base, staring at the wooden boards that made up the entryway, the smoke drifting lazily out of his cigarette. Sniper waved at the Frenchman to catch his attention, eyebrows drawn in a curious wrinkle. The masked man's gaze flickered to the Aussie and nodded curtly to him. Pausing for a moment too long, the Spy stepped inside the base and disappeared from Sniper's line of sight.

Sniper frowned, his lips drawing into a thin line. Sliding himself off of the deck and landing on the dirt with bent knees, Sniper then straightened and followed Spy into the base.

"Oi, Spook!" he called out just as the silhouette of the man began to fade into the shadows. Spy paused and turned, arching an eyebrow at him with awaiting puzzlement, his gloved hand folded behind his back as he still held his cancer stick in between his fingers. Sniper paused in front of him, running his gaze along the Spy's form, searching for anything out of the ordinary. A wound, perhaps, or an oddly misshapen limb. Was his tie too tight? Suit too wrinkled?

Spy cleared his throat loudly, narrowed silver eyes boring into Sniper. "Iz zhere somezhing you need, bushman?"

Sniper jumped at the sudden sound, lips curling further into a frown, and flashed him a skeptical look. "Yer alroight, Spook? Ya look a little…outta sorts."

Spy displayed an air of indifference sprinkled with annoyance as he withdrew the cigarette from his lips to exhale a cloud of smoke into the air. "I am perfectly fine."

"Pig's arse," Sniper growled, earning another raised eyebrow in return as Spy gazed up at him. He stared steadily into Spy's eyes, tilting his head, his brow twitching as he peered through his golden aviators. "Somethin's bothering ya," he murmured.

Spy only blinked, his face cold with aloofness, as the cigarette continued to burn, the scent of nicotine wafting into the air. The Frenchman shrugged, spinning on his heel, and walked away, waving a hand in the air. "Whatever suits you, bushman."

Sniper grunted in irritation as he stared at Spy's retreating back, his eyes widening. "Now 'ang on!" he cried, having to run to catch up with the Frenchie once again. Spy did not cease walking, and so Sniper fell beside him, matching his stride evenly as his eyes narrowed even further. The Frenchman paid him no heed, his back straightened and face the perfect description of cool composure.

The Aussie didn't buy the façade. Something was bothering the spook. It was the anomalous gleam in his eyes and the stiffness of his shoulders. Spy had always been the paradigm of perfect posture, but he seemed…too rigid today. His expression was guarded, and Sniper noticed Spy's hand drifting closer to his revolver more than normal. The Frenchman was wary of something. He seemed…chary to even enter his own base. The Australian scanned the Spy once more before his eyes dawned in revelation.

"It's Operator, isn't it?"

Sniper knew he had struck home when Spy halted, swiveling his head to stare at the marksman. He still remained unperturbed by Sniper's words, but his acknowledgment was enough to encourage the Aussie further.

"Ya don't trust her."

Spy arched his eyebrows at Sniper and finally—finally—he responded:

"Trust iz a notion I do not believe in."

Sniper snorted and shrugged. Of course the spook wouldn't make this easy. He had to use a play of words. "Alroight, ya trust her less than the rest of us. Rather, ya don't consider her a teammate."

Spy regarded him for a long moment, withdrawing the cigarette from his lips as the white cloud of smoke slithered from his mouth. He nodded and muttered, "Oui."

Good. Good. He was making process. Spy was answering his questions. Just as long as he kept them short and simple, maybe his luck would run through. "Why?"

Spy's expression finally shifted in response, and he displayed a look of amusement, as if he was watching a child fail the most simplest of puzzles. Sniper felt his ears redden, but he kept his expression neutral. When Spy realized he would receive no reaction from the Aussie, he sighed.

"'ow long 'as Mademoiselle Operator been 'ere, Sniper?" The dry tone of his voice made it feel as if Spy was mocking the Aussie. Sniper fought the urge to wriggle in discomfort and annoyance.

He paused before muttering, "'bout four days, I suppose."

Spy nodded slowly, as if he was encouraging a child to sing the rest of the alphabet. Sniper burned with irritation. "And 'ow many teammates now fight to sit wizh 'er during our eating breaks?"

Sniper's brow furrowed as he paused thoughtfully, running the numbers and faces through his head. His eyes narrowed as he watched Spy curiously, the answer slipping out of his lips like a waterfall. "Almost all of 'em, excluding you, Demo, an' me."

Spy nodded again with the same infuriatingly slow motion, silver eyes focused onto the Aussie as his eyebrows rose skyward, staring at him expectantly. Sniper could practically hear the Frenchman's deliberately long drawl slithering into the space between them, whispering You cannot honestly be that dull. Muttering incoherently beneath his breath, Sniper rubbed his chin pensively, lips curling into a frown.

And then understanding dawned. His lips parted slightly as he gaped at Spy, disbelief rushing over him as swiftly as a rushing river.

"Yeh think Operator is a mole!"

The exclamation was not loud enough to echo across the base, but Spy's eyes narrowed in silent disapproval at its volume, gaze darting along either side of the corridor. Grunting softly, he took a deep draw from his cigarette, curling his lips into a delicate 'o' and allowing the smoke to drift out of his mouth for an extensive amount of time. Once the white cloud completely escaped his lips, he tapped the cigarette with his finger, ridding the ash that accumulated at the end of the cylinder.

"And you don't?" he murmured, his thick French accent laden with scorn.

Sniper struggled to ignore the sneer in Spy's voice as he shook his head slightly, tossing out his hands on either side of him. "I wouldn't believe that the Administrator would hire a traitor, is all!"

Spy scoffed, raising his eyes to the heavens as if to ask God why he had to deal with such an imbecile. He cast Sniper a derisive, grim sneer as he shook his head and retorted, "Not everyzhing iz zhe black and white picture you perceive, bushman."

A spark erupted into Sniper's chest as he glared at the Frenchman, lips curling into a snarl. "Wot's that supposed to mean!?" he demanded.

The masked man snorted humorlessly as he tossed his diminished cigarette onto the ground, snuffing it out by grinding it underneath the sole of his shoe. "How can zhe most observant class be so dull in such a situation?"

The spark ignited into a flame of anger as Sniper shoved his finger into Spy's chest. "It would 'elp if yeh weren't so bloody secretive! An' you yourself are not so trusting as Operator is!"

Spy's nose wrinkled and his lips curled into a disgusted frown as he swiped the Aussie's hand away, acting as if it was a maggot-ridden corpse. "Oh? 'ow so, bushman?"

Sniper snapped his head back to bark in hollow laughter. "'How so'!? Yeh accuse Operator of bein' a spy when you yourself are one! That's yer occupation! Yeh honestly think that anyone on the team could trust you, the masked man who won't even give his teammates the time of day to tell us yer name! And even if yeh did, wot's to stop yeh from lyin' to us? How can we tell between truth and lies, especially when lyin's been yer whole life! You don't help any of us during the battles, and you just slink away when fights get hairy." He shook his head bitterly, his fury with Spy's quips overwhelming his sense. The words left his lips before he considered them. "Yeh might even be less trustworthy than the sheila herself, because I'd as sure as hell don't trust ya."

Snarling a second later, Sniper spun on his heel and stomped away, not giving the Frenchman a second glance as his stomach boiled with rage, lips twitching silently as he reached the end of the corridor.

When he looked back, Spy was gone.