A/N: Oh dear, I've been gone for so long, I swear I'm not dead! I came home, and jet lag hit me hard, and then school slammed me even harder, and I've just gotten the time to write, and I know it's not a long chapter, but I had thought you all might want some writing rather than having to wait who knows how long for me to tack on another thousand words. So, in advance, sorry for the shortness and the lateness! D: I hope you all enjoy!

Thank you all for following and adding this to your favorites and reviewing! You cannot understand how incredulously overjoyed that makes me!

To Millia (since you don't have an account or decided not to log in lol): The reason I call each of the REDs' by "RED's Spy" or whatever is because I was attempt to drive across a subtle point that I never planned on expanding on through this one thing, so I was actually surprised anyone brought it up o: The reason I do that isn't because that's how I just decided to do it, but because I wanted to show that each class isn't the team they are a part of, they just belong to it. If that makes sense? It's like saying that a backpack belongs to you, but that doesn't make the backpack you. In the end, they're people, not just RED tools (though really, we all know that's a big part of it). So I hope that explanation made some sense and didn't just confuse you more!

And thanks for your suggestion! I will certainly think on it!

And as for your second suggestion, ahem you inspired this chapter. C:

Enjoy, everyone~!

Sniper pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, stepping in with a soft greeting to Heavy and a nod. Scanning the white area, he spotted the enemy spy stretched out on a cot, and he scowled. "So, yew didn' kill 'im, 'eh?"

"Nein. Zhere is so little zhat a dead body can tell me, but a live one? Zhere is no end to such information! And he might even tell his secrets," Medic replied, pulling Spy's earphones from his pocket and showing them to the Australian.

"'ah still think we should kill 'im," he grumbled, glaring at the RED.

"And vaste a perfectly good specimen? Nein!" The German protested with a huff.

"'Perfectly good'? Doc', 'ah think yer confused. Scout found 'im curled up on the floor." Even as he said that, his expression soured further – what kind of a man would ever be caught curled up in a ball on the floor? Ridiculous.

"And zhat is vhy he is perfect!" Upon further inspection, Sniper saw that the spy was strapped down to the cot, his limbs stretched out fully.

"Wotever, mate," he muttered, nonplussed, approaching the restrained RED. The enemy he hated most could do little more than twitch and glare – and speak. Even though it was not his own handiwork, the Australian could not help but smirk triumphantly. "Can't do much like this, can ye', ya' spook?" he taunted.

RED's Spy glared at him, even though his teeth were gritted. The man exhaled shakily, paused a moment, and then snapped, "What would you know about my abilities, bushman?"

"I'm sure I could ask Doc' over there if I had any doubts. Looks te'h me like yew can't move a finger." Sniper looked down at the spy, and the RED flipped him off. "Huh. So yew can move a wee bit. 'ah think I know yer abilities now, yeh weasel."

"Do you really, now." The spy pulled together his best attempt at appearing bored, but the underlying pain cut through the mask, and Sniper was not impressed. As the RED fidgeted and squirmed, trying to get out of his bonds, the Australian leaned against the wall, watching him for a while – who knew what the Frenchman could do while Medic's back was turned? With each fidget and twist, Sniper's grin only grew.

"Wot's the matter, spook? Can't stay still fer a coupla' minutes?" Sniper shook his head. "How yew ever snuck into our base is past me – ya'd need to stand still fer too long!"

"Oh, and you're one to talk, you filthy jarman! All you do is sit in your cardboard 'nest!' You do not even leave to piss! I have no idea how you became a sniper- you would have to walk to find your targets!" the RED spat hatefully, refusing to back down despite his overwhelming disadvantage.

"At least I wouldn't twitch like a jackrabbit all the way!"

"And you would move slower than a tortoise!" the spy harrumphed, adding, "if at all!"

"You'd be throwin' looks over yer shoulder every second! Wot, 're yew afraid yer shadow would get ya'?"

"If you knew anything about undercover work, you would know that such is an enemy's best hiding spot!"

"Bloody 'ell, they were right when they said no one likes a spook – even their own shadows 're out ta' git 'em!" Sniper laughed, and watched as the RED winced, pulling a strange face. The expression was gone as fast as it had come, returning back to that furious glower.

"At least I know how to cover my own back. Do you know how many times you have simply let me walk right behind you and stab you? I cannot keep count any longer!"

"Yeah? D'ya know how many times I've gotten a perfect headshot on ya' just because yer twitches are so predictable? Yew keep habits like a desperate civilian!" Sniper shook his head slowly, his triumphant grin beginning to feel forced.

"And what about you! Your mantra of 'professionals have standards' is a list of principles you only wish you could abide by! What kind of professional collects his own piss?" The spy strained against the bindings holding him down, raising his head to better glare at Sniper.

"At least I have standards! Yew would backstab yer own team if yew thought you could get somethin' outta' it!" the Australian snarled, hands curling into fists. The RED flinched then, and Sniper frowned, bewildered for a moment. Had he hit a nerve? "Hah! 'Course yew would. 'S what a spy does, ain't it?"

The spy groaned, his head falling back against the cot. "Shut up, convict," he grumbled.

"Wot was 'at? 'Ah couldn't quite hear ya'!" Sniper responded, raising his voice.

"Shut. Up. Bushman," the RED repeated.

"And why should I, ya' spook? Did 'ah hit a nerve? Did ya' backstab yer own teammates? Were they surprised yer a traitor?" Sniper asked, watching the spy carefully.

"Mon dieu! For a lazy jarman, you certainly love talking, don't you?" the RED snapped, though it seemed as if he were pressing closer to the mattress of the cot, trying to curl up.

"'s'not every day I git ta' see yew like this, yeh' mongrel," Sniper shot back. The spy growled something that the Australian could not catch, and Sniper was suddenly aware that something was probably very off. He had never known RED's Spy for a pansy – and he certainly would never admit that he was in pain to an enemy. Or discomfort. Or whatever it was.

And then the spy moaned, his voice cracking in agony.

"Oi, Doc', wot's wrong wit' 'im?" Sniper asked, looking away from the RED for just a moment.

"I believe he has zhe same thing Scout vas suffering from. Zhat, Herr Sniper, is vhy he is perfect. I am trying to see exactly vhat is causing it, how it is contracted, if it is contagious—"

"Alroight, alroight, Doc', 'ah get it. Yeh' want ta' use 'im and figure things out. 'Ah'll just leave ye' to it." Sniper tipped his hat to the doctor, walking away from the bound and pained spy without looking back. Frankly, the idea of keeping a prisoner and not killing him, or getting information from him bothered him. Especially if it was RED's Spy. Maybe 'ah'm biased, he thought as he let the doors swing shut behind him.

Scout was bored. The day's battle had ended, and as soon as Medic had shown up to take away RED's spy, he had been shut out of everything and anything that was happening with the prisoner. The others had expressed various opinions on taking a captive, but, as Soldier put it, "They took you in without a thought about it, Private. We are returning the favor!"

And as long as they didn't kill him, he didn't really have much cause to complain. Besides, Medic seemed excited, as if taking RED's Spy captive could bring him closer to some answer or another. Scout didn't really care – one less spy on the battlefield was one less enemy to watch out for. And if he was safely contained, then he wouldn't be killed by an errant bullet or rocket.

Most of the team had returned to their quarters, save for Sniper and Engineer, who were conversing in the mess hall over cups of coffee. Scout didn't quite feel like interrupting them – who knew what they were talking about, anyway? So, the runner decided to go see Medic and their RED captive. The German had ordered him to come in every evening, to check for any changes in his 'condition'. Whatever. Besides, he had a few questions for the spy. Rather, just one. And this was his chance to get an answer.

With that in mind, he hurried to the hospital wing, deep within their base. He popped through the doors so quickly that Heavy – who was standing by them as usual – snatched him out of the air, his grip suffocatingly tight. Scout yelped in pain, twisting in the vain hope that he could relieve the pressure on his still-aching ribs. Heavy dropped him almost instantly, pulling his hand back as if it had been burned.

"Am sorry, leetle Scout surprised me!" he explained, worried.

"'s'fine, big guy. I ain't hurt," Scout replied, fixing his shirt with a grin at the Russian.

"Ah, zhere you are!" Medic called, looking up from his work at the commotion.

"Yeah man. Here I am," Scout replied, entering the room. His gaze locked onto RED's Spy immediately, and his stomach dropped away from him in the same instant. He grasped the wall beside him desperately for support, the wave of nausea pushing through him suddenly. The room spun slightly, and he barely spotted Medic scrutinizing him. The sight of the RED, bound and twitching, brought the phantom pain back to his own neck. He fought to look away, feeling a little better the moment he managed to do so. "What the fuck is wrong with me…?" he asked quietly. Scout's gaze fell upon Medic, who was frowning deeply at him.

"I vill need to look into zhis…you should have been cured," Medic murmured to himself. He turned, putting his hand to his chin in thought, and turned to leave the room without another word. Scout realized that this was probably his perfect chance to get his answer, but if it made him sick to just look at the spy, how was the RED coping with it?

"Hey, man…" he managed, not meeting the RED's gaze or even looking at him. Scout fought to chase off the last of the nausea, and he turned until he could just see the spy in his peripheral vision. When nothing of distasteful nature happened, he risked another glance.

Nothing.

So he looked over fully, and realized he was being stared at. He flinched, expecting the nausea, but it never came.

"What does ze leetle rabbit wish to say to me?" the RED asked, looking quite disinterested with the whole affair. If he was suffering from the same thing that Scout had been, then he should be in excruciating pain, shouldn't he?

"Why didn't ya' kill me?" he asked suddenly, looking straight into the spy's eyes. The RED actually winced, looking sorrowful for just a moment, and then the mask was back. He was his usual infuriatingly calm self in just an instant.

"Shouldn't ze leetle bunny be grateful I spared him?" the RED asked sardonically, and Scout frowned.

"Sure, whatever ya' want, just tell me why."

"Why? Because I wanted to."

"Ya' stupid, good-fer-nothin' spy! Tell me why you didn't kill me!" Scout may let Soldier order him around, and his teammates command his moves in battle, but he was not going to let this answer get away from him. "Tell me."

"Fine, since ze leetle rabbit wants so desperately to know," RED's Spy huffed, twitching again within his constraints. "I did not kill you because the news on respawn shocked me, and I was not quite certain what I should do. Are you pleased now?"

"Yeah, sure, man," he responded, before turning to leave. That had not been as exciting as he had hoped—

A sudden, shuddering BOOM! derailed his train of thought, and as the floor began to shake, he felt his legs giving out beneath him, leaving him slumped against the wall, the nausea returning in a flash of dizziness. As the room turned to chaos, he struggled to get his bearings.