Someone pointed out to me that I completely missed the introduction of this chapter. I have really got to start paying attention. It's back now, and if you rereading this, you get a little bonus.

Also, likes to remove my little dividers. Why does it do that? I have to go back and put them all in again. Gosh!

Sniper cocked his rifle and lined up his shot. Sheets of rain blew across the compound, turning the figures in his crosshair into blurry blobs. Today was not a good day to be a Sniper.

He growled and dared to take a step closer towards the skirmish. The wind had taken a turn was now soaking him with the full force of the downpour. The calls of his teammates were drowned in the maelstrom and the whistling in his ears had turned deafening. He didn't know if it was the wind or an approaching rocket.

A bullet whizzed over Sniper's head.

Well, at least the opposing sniper was having trouble too.

There was nothing for it. He tried his luck and sent a few random shots out into the torrent. He didn't like wasting ammunition, but with ten minutes left on the clock and no chance of overtime, he was running out of options.

He knew the situation was desperate when he actually considered just pulling out his kukri and jumping into the fray. He could probably squeeze in a few last minute kills if he was lucky.

A muffled cough behind him interrupted Sniper's thoughts.

With a grumble, he slung his rifle over his back stepped back from the ledge.

"What do you want, Spook?"

"Moi?" The RED Spy leaned against the back wall, doing his best to look dignified as he shielded his cigarette from the wind. "Why, I am simply here to give an old friend moral support."

"Sure y'are. More like take the piss. I've been round long enough to know how you tick."

Spy pressed a hand to his chest. "I did not think I was so transparent. You 'urt me Sniper."

"Come off it. You know I'm done for." Sniper sighed. He gave one last lingering look at the battle. It was hopeless and he knew it. With a heavy heart he joined Spy's side. He took off his sopping hat and gratefully accepted a cigarette. "Guess it was goin' to happen sooner or later. I wonder what Solly's got in store for me? Crikey, did you see what he put Heavy in? Poor bloke. That just ain't professional."

"I admit, I was curious also." Said Spy. "Of course, I simply did not 'ave ze patience to wait, so I took ze liberty of consulting Soldier. You are in for quite ze night!"

"Get out! Bloody hell Spook, can't trust you as far as we can throw ya." He folded his arms and feigned outrage. The rain was really picking up now, and the battlefield had descended into muddy chaos. A sudden explosion rattled the ground before a distant shriek of Scout reached their ears.

He couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "So… what's in store for me then?"

"Oh ho Bushman! And here I though you were an honorable man. Well, I do not want to spoil ze surprise. Where would ze fun be in that?"

"Y'know, you're just a bloody great tease, aincha?" Sniper took a deep drag on his cigarette before the wind could blow it out.

"Oh oui, I know." Spy smirked.

When Sniper first laid eyes on his frock, he was gobsmacked. The fine fabric spread out across his bed like a gossamer yellow ghost from the past. It dredged up uncomfortable memories. Memories that he'd thought he had left far behind him.

He only knew one thing. Soldier couldn't have chosen this dress by coincidence. Someone must have tipped him off, and Sniper had a fair idea who the culprit was. He balled his hands into fists, only barely managing to keep his temper in check. "Bloody wanker," he seethed. "When I see that tosser I'll set a boot up his clacker!"

Sniper's outrage was short-lived. He looked at the dress again and slumped his shoulders in defeat. For now, there wasn't much he could do. Despite some animosity, the rest of the team had dutifully worn their dresses. Sniper didn't want to be the first to be a poor sport about it. Even if he did refuse, he knew that Solider was just beyond his bedroom door, armed to the teeth and ready to forcibly dress any troop thinking about deserting their duties.

The elegant outfit slipped over his square frame with surprising ease. Goosebumps tingled across his skin as the satin slid down his legs. Sniper reached around the back of the dress to pull the zip and was taken by surprise when a hard lump formed in his throat. He thought this part of his life was dead and buried. He was a mercenary now. Cold, ruthless, professional.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the painful memories that were threatening to bubble to the surface. Sniper tried to get grip with a few deep breaths and repeatedly reminded himself; it was only a dress.

Despite being a vivid canary yellow, the colour didn't detract from the grace of the dress. The wispy strips of material attached connecting the wrists and waist emphasised every movement of the arm. The plummeting v-neck was speckled with sequins, shimmering as they caught the light. They followed the cut of the dress, until the bottom flared out at ankle length. The hem was lined with small fluffy yellow feathers. Satin, elbow length gloves completed the look.

The strappy gold high heels fit as snugly as the dress. It was the kind of shoe that would break your ankle if you took even the slightest misstep. The rugged Australian was all too familiar with that occupational hazard. Far too many of his dancing partners had fallen victim to the peril of those impractical shoes. Once again his memory turned to his younger days. "Bugger," he whispered, gripping his skirt in panic. He couldn't get emotional. Not wearing this. His team would never let him forget it.

The clack of Soldier's boots at his door made it clear to Sniper that his time for lamenting was over. Now all he could do was step outside and face the music.

Sniper took in a deep breath before switching to his game face. He was cool, calm, professional. He wouldn't let a pretty ballroom dress undo him. If he had to wear a dress, he was going to take it the only way he knew how.

Like a man.

Sniper's debut as the lady of the base was, strangely, not as agonizing as he had feared. As more team members were subjected to this hazing, their sympathy increased. The only real antagonists that remained were Soldier and Scout. Nevertheless he took their mockery admirably. He was more interested in having a few words with Spy. The wily Frenchman however, was mysteriously absent.

The day wore on until dinnertime rolled around.

Scout elbowed Pyro in the side. "Hey, can you ask Cinderella over there to pass the salt?"

"For the last bloody time, this is a ballroom dress!" Sniper thumped his fists on the table, making the cutlery rattle. "I ain't some empty-headed princess."

"Could've fooled me. Are you going to get the salt or do I have to wait another century, toots?"

"Someone else can get it. I'll get sauce on my sleeves." Sniper stroked his gloves fondly.

Engineer tilted his helmet to give Sniper a proper look. "Ah say Sniper, if you weren't an old fellah, I'd almost say you were a vision and a half."

Sniper wasn't sure how to take that compliment. "Cheers?"

Soldier had just refuelled with a hefty plate of barbecue ribs and now had renewed vigor to belittle his cadet. "Are you enjoying yourself, Private! Do you think this is some kind of sleepover where we drink tea and plait our hair? You are a disgrace and a delinquent!" He wildly brandished his steak knife. "I don't see your head hanging. Hang it! I want to see the shame in your eyes."

Sniper hung his head because it was just easier that way. He looked down at the chest hair sprouting over the neckline. A self-respecting dancer would have waxed that off. He really would have to even out his tan too.

"This is dancing dress?" Heavy piped up with interest. "Does leetle Sniper know how to do this, what do you call it, ballroom?"

"No." Sniper said quickly. "Never done it in my life."

"It is just, you were so good at the ballet. Maybe..."

"I've never done it, alright!" Sniper rose from his seat. "And you can quit pestering me about it. I'm done here."

Sniper left abruptly, leaving the rest of the team too look at each other in bemusement.

Soldier addressed the remaining team with self-satisfaction. "Take note men! That there is textbook shame. We'll make a man out of him yet!"

When the day was done and dusted, Sniper was just thankful to return to his campervan and be away from those hooligans. It hadn't taken him very long to adjust his centre of gravity and master the art of walking in heels, but even so, they were murder on his feet.

He flopped onto his foldout mattress with a groan. What a day. He stared at the grimy roof of the van and finally allowed himself a moment of weakness. Old memories of Sniper's days on the dance floor flooded his thoughts. As hard as he had tried to move on, his former life as a competitive ballroom dancer haunted him. His passion for dancing hadn't ended with ballet. His aptitude for the art of movement only intensified as he entered his teen years. It quickly became an addiction. He trained daily and thrived in the cutthroat environment that was competitive ballroom dancing. He wanted to be the best, and the international championship was the shining target that would prove his worth.

No. That was over now. He had moved on. This little incident was simply a bump on his new path as a hired assassin. With another sigh he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He reached down to remove his gold stilettos.

His hand hovered over the strap. He simply couldn't bring himself to take them off. As comical as they looked on his large feet, he unable to resist leaning back and admiring their shape.

He stood up and approached the mirror above his kitchenette. Sniper grimaced and ran a hand down his unshaven cheek. Perhaps he should spend just a little more time on his appearance. Maybe then he wouldn't look like such a broken old man who got himself into situations like this.

He stepped back to get a better look at himself. Okay. Maybe it wasn't terrible. He let his hands drift down the sides of the dress, feeling the rough texture of the sequins brush his fingers. He turned his body to the side and appraised his figure. At least he hadn't let himself get out of shape. The cut of the dress wasn't exactly harmonising with his boxy torso, but it could be a whole lot worse.

Away from judgement, Sniper finally surrendered to his desires. He twirled on one foot and shimmied his hips as he practised a few basic ballroom steps. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and was quickly overcome with embarrassment.

Bugger this, thought Sniper. Wearing this damn thing must be warping his mind. He stepped back from the mirror and away from that bizarre reflection. He began to pull at the zip on the side of his dress, eager to get out of it.

"Do not stop now Bushman, I am enjoying ze show."

Sniper whirled around to discover Spy perched on the end of his bed, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette.

Enraged, Sniper's hand unconsciously darted to his side, searching for his absent kukri. "You! How the hell did you get in? Piss off!"

Spy clearly wasn't in a hurry to leave. "'ow rude. Do you treat all your guests so poorly?"

"You ain't my guest. You ain't even on the waiting list. Out!"

Spy flicked from ash from his cigarette and leaned back on the bed. He looked around the small van at his leisure. "This is where you retreat to at night? You really must update your décor. It is just… depressing"

Sniper took two steps towards the interloper. He was ready to forcibly remove the Spy if necessary.

"But I am surprised, Sniper. Wearing this dress seems to have rattled you. You are supposed to be a man of composure."

Sniper gripped Spy by the lapels. "And I wouldn't suppose you had something to do with it? Huh? You been doin' your homework? Snoopin' through my history?"

Spy pulled Sniper's hand from his suit and brushed the crumpled fabric in distaste. "Please. I would 'ardly be a good spy if I didn't have a dependable reserve of blackmail material."

"Even from your teammates?"

"Especially your teammates. Ze biggest mistake you can make is thinking that you can trust someone." With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, Spy reached into his coat and revealed a manila envelope. The name 'Sniper' was written on the cover in black marker. Never had a flimsy sheet of cardboard looked so ominous.

"What's this?" Sniper pulled away warily. "What've you got in that?"

"Oh, just a few little inconsequential things. I don't know if it would interest you."

"Spook!" Sniper balled his hands into fists. His patience was stretched tissue thin.

Spy cracked the folder open and began to flick through its contents. "Well, since you seem to be so curious, I did find something that aroused my interest."

He pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping and handed it to Sniper. Their hands brushed as the brittle paper slid into Sniper's hand.

Sniper looked down at the newspaper in disbelief. It was a short article, published by the Adelaide Times and dated 1954. However, it was the image that really set his emotions awhirl. It was a grainy black and white photograph of a handsome young man with oiled back hair, dressed to the nines in a pair of pressed pants and a glittering vest. Beside him was a ravishing woman with curly dark locks. Remarkably, her dress was an exact replica of the outfit that Sniper was now wearing, right down to the sequin. Their smiles were pained as they faced the camera.

The headline burned into Sniper's eyes.

National Ballroom Champions Disqualified

Sniper slowly sat down on the bed beside Spy, his shoulders hunched and defeated. He gripped the paper in his hands, unable to tear his eyes away. There was a long pause before he could muster the will to talk. That headline kept squeezing his heart.

Disqualified

"Me and Fran. We worked so hard. Blimey, that was a long time ago…" He crumpled the paper in his fist and looked forward with an icy intensity. "It was the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix. The biggest competition in Australia. We trained like dogs to get there. Fran, she… she begged to stick with the routine. But no. I was a stubborn bloody idiot. Got cocky, tried to be a maverick. Thought I could win it with my own steps." Sniper took a deep breath. His voice grew thick with emotion. "I made a fool of myself. Both of us. We were disqualified and banned from future competitions. I never danced again."

Not expecting such a heartbreaking revelation, Spy could only try to comfort Sniper by pulling an arm around his shoulder. "That was an international championship, I believe. I hear you were quite ze accomplished dancer. Pity."

The venom in Sniper's voice shocked Spy.

"You happy now Spook? Huh? Proven what you needed to? That I'm a failure and a fraud? Congratulations."

Sniper shrugged off Spy's arm and rose to his feet. He kicked off his gold heels, shuffled over to the medicine cabinet and produced a half-empty bottle of whisky along with a grimy shot glass.

"Well, you've done your damage. Piss off. I can't even look at ya."

Spy didn't move. He pulled out his cigarette case as Sniper knocked back two glasses of amber liquid in quick succession. Watching a man on the edge of emotional stability was always an interesting experience.

Sniper shook his head after the last acrid shot. He looked back up at Spy. "You still here? Got any more surprises in your rotten bag of tricks?"

Spy took a drag on a fresh cigarette and returned Sniper's heated gaze. "Non. You may find this 'ard to believe, but I was never here to 'umiliate you."

"Is that right?" Sniper chuckled in disbelief before pouring himself another shot. "Of all the lines I've heard from you, that one is grade-A rubbish."

Spy adjusted his tie and arose to approach Sniper. Naturally, Sniper watched his every movement in suspicion. Spy dared to run a finger down the front of Sniper's dress, feeling the texture of the sequins through his leather gloves. "It would be such a shame if this dress did not serve its purpose tonight."

Sniper didn't like their proximity and stepped away. "What does that mean?"

Spy smiled, making sure his cigarette didn't fall from his lips. "I happen to be an experienced dancer myself. Your specialty was the Paso Doble, was it not?"

Sniper's eyebrows skyrocketed into his hairline. "You?" He spluttered.

"Oui. This is not so strange, is it? I am a man of many skills. It just so happens that dancing is a requirement of my profession." He held out his hand for Sniper. "I simply needed to confirm that is was indeed you in that photograph. So, will you join me tonight? It has been so long since I 'ave had the opportunity."

Sniper looked at Spy's outstretched hand. He kept his face as unreadable as cold stone. Seconds passed without a move until Spy had to pull his hand back. He didn't want the moment to get any more awkward.

"Well," said Spy as he flicked away the remains of his cigarette. "It does not 'appen often, but I know when I am rejected. I should not be surprised. I overstepped ze boundaries tonight."

He smoothed his coat down and moved towards the door. "I won't push ze issue any further. I bid you adieu."

Spy pulled the rickety handle and fresh night air billowed into the van. He slyly looked over his shoulder. "However, If you should reconsider, you know where to find me. I can guarantee you, I am 'ard to beat."

The door snapped shut and Spy was gone.

Sniper, blinked at the empty space where Spy had stood. He looked up and caught himself in the mirror's reflection once more.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, and poured another shot.