The drive over to Francois' apartment was a quiet one...too quiet. There was a general uneasiness omnipresent in the car, at least , from the direction of Francois. The more Mick tried to begin a conversation or throw in a memory that the both normally would deem fond, the shorter the answers coming back became and the more Francois wriggled relentlessly in his chair. The Sniper began to feel that what he was about to see wasn't going to be pretty, far from it, in fact. It was hard for him to separate a realistic expectation from downright bedlam, and perhaps that was the most frightening part of their journey. That or the distant look in the ex-Spy's eye as he drove.
Suddenly, the car pulled up to the outside of a block of flats overshadowed by tall buildings that appeared to be abandoned long ago. It was a generally gloomy image that Mick just couldn't quite picture Francois returning to every single day. Something just didn't appear to sit right.
"So...we're here." Francois said slowly, looking towards Mick with an expression that could be compared to a child about to show off a school project that they knew they would be in trouble for due to a lack of effort. "A real 'beauty', right?"
The sad thing was that Mick couldn't tell if he was serious or not.
"Well, come along. You'll have to wait outside while I get my things, I shouldn't take too long."
Raising an eyebrow as Francois hopped out the car and walked briskly towards the block of flats, Mick took a second before swiftly following him. At first, the idea that Francois had requested he not go into the flat wasn't suspicious at all. Nothing had given the Sniper any sort of clue as to what was awaiting the pair as they walked into the block of flats, the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke causing the Australian to wrinkle his nose for a split second. The walls were stained with god knows what, and every door to each flat was either stained with the same substance or had paint peeling from it.
"Yea, a real beaut', mate." Mick echoed the Frenchman's earlier words with a raised eyebrow, turning his ocean blue eyes towards said Frenchman with almost a questioning expression to only see the other keeping as expressionless as possible.
"We're here." Came the reply minutes later when nothing but silence had filled the halls after the Sniper's almost sarcastic comment. They stood before a door with the strange substance staining the corners, as well as peeling paint near the top. "You wait here, alright? Then, we can travel to your ranch tonight."
With that, he whipped out a set of keys and swiftly unlocked the door in order to push inside. At first, he struggled with said door, grumbling in irritation as it would have appeared to have jammed while he had been absent from the flat.
"Merde, I can't call the janitor up here again, I bother him a little too much in regards to this bloody thing. He always tells me he'll get this door fixed and never does..." Francois complained quietly, cheeks warming and becoming a light rose colour in embarrassment as he barged his shoulder against the stubborn wood. "Move, damn you!"
"'ere mate, lemme try." Mick offered, gesturing with a hand for the other to stand aside. Upon seeing him nod and shift nervously to the right of the door, the Australian bowed his head and looked at the door in particular caution before jerking forward and allowing his boot to make contact with the door resulting in a thunderous banging that echoed around the whole block of flats. Nothing, and so he did it again. A beat, nothing changed. "Stubborn little-" the Australian snarled under his breath, taking a step back before delivering yet another powerful kick to the door-this time it giving way beneath his foot and causing him to stumble harshly into the flat with a small yelp of surprise.
"Mick? Are you alright!?" Francois called from behind him, slipping through the door to see the Sniper had tumbled head first into one of the many black bin liners that filled the little flat. "Did you land on anything sharp? Did you hurt yourself?"
"Ah, shaddup, i'm fi-" The Sniper groaned from where he'd fallen, raising his head and pausing at the sight of black bin liners everywhere. "What the-"
"Welcome to my home, Mr. Mundy."
"What the hell d'ya mean welcome to your home? This is hardly a home, mate, and I do hate to say that." Mick stared at the ex-BLU with raised eyebrows, "why the hell d'ya live like this, Spy?" he asked, getting a scolding look from the ex-BLU in return that was almost as though he wasn't being taken seriously. "From what i'd heard, you never were like this?!"
"Mick, for the last time this evening, I told you to call me by the name Francois." Waggling his finger a little, Francois edged through the mess of his flat towards the kitchen. "Since you're here, would you like a coffee? Tea?"
"Stop avoidin' the subject." The Sniper shot back rather sharply, following him towards the kitchen while nearly tripping over some bags on the way and stumbling into the kitchen counter. "I'm not fallin' for that one."
"Stop being so persistent," the Frenchman replied, sounding perhaps a little bit more sharp than he had meant to, "it's none of your concern. Let's just have this coffee, i'll grab my things and i'll stay at your ranch for the week."
"A week? Na, mate, after seein' this i've decided you're staying longer at the ranch."
"Come again?!" Francois stared at Mick with mouth hanging open, unable to quite comprehend why the Sniper was all of a sudden so insistent. Did he really not understand that the ex-Spy didn't care about his flat in all reality?
"Mate, i'm gonna be frank with ya, you're a mess." The Australian said in the most serious tone he could muster, riling up the Frenchman extremely in the process, and tipping his hat over his eyes. "You're flat looks a bloody tip, and you don't give a shit. You live in a block o' flats that look like and smells like the Scout's have come 'ere with Brent and pissed everywhere. You also look like crap, your eyes look as though you've been punched by Misha or someone. This isn't you, this isn't what the Spy I knew was like-"
"Mick, i'm going to be frank with you," The Frenchman imitated the other's tone, eyes narrowing and brow creasing in a slightly higher level of irritation, "i'm not the Spy anymore, am I? My name is Francois Renard, a Frenchman living in a place that could be mistaken for a criminal hideout and raided at any time. The reason I haven't taken any of these bags out or unpacked is because I travel, don't get the wrong idea by what you see around you."
"Look, i'm not trying to be rude. All i'm sayin' is come stay with me a couple o' weeks instead of the one, just to take a break from this place, yeh?" Giving a hopeful expression, Mick didn't back down and, as he saw Francois hesitate, he knew he was winning this argument. "C'mon, a couple weeks won't kill anyone, will it?"
The Frenchman stared at the Australian in silence for a good couple of minutes, the only sound occupying the silence being the quiet whistle of the kettle, coupled with the roaring jets of gas fuelled fire, heating its contents... A good, old fashioned, kettle in an old fashioned apartment. His steely eyes moved away from oceanic blue and towards the piles of bags that made the flat feel ever so much smaller. As it was true that a couple of weeks out of town would be a positive change of pace, it was more a question of would anyone...well...the ex-BLU refused to think further on that point lest he completely refuse the Sniper's offer after all.
"...Allow me to gather my things, and i'll come with you to the ranch. We'll discuss how long I stay with you on the way, is that a fair offer?"
Upon suggesting this offer, Francois shifted a bit and attempted to get past Sniper, in order to get to his room. Unfortunately, he had to press himself against the other to squeeze passed, a mumble of an apology leaving both of them in unison and causing the situation to become somewhat more humour filled rather than awkward and the pair began to laugh softly at each other's expression. Eventually, the ex-Spy moved and shuffled out of the room leaving the ex-RED in a fit of giggles.
"Alrigh', a fair deal." He mumbled all too late, giving a soft sigh and shaking his head with a rather silly smile on his face. Perhaps things will be fine, once Francois was away from his home and was much more relaxed.
"Mick! You get back here now!" Francois called as he raced down the stairs of the block of flats, face red with the effort of running at full pelt after such a long time.
"Oh, come on! We're going to the same bloody location! How about, you bloody hurry up?!" Mick called from the bottom of the stairs, looking upward with that typical grin on his face he had been known for ten years ago. In his hands, he held two of Francois' bags, having offered to carry the rather bulging bits of 'luggage' and running off with them before the ex-BLU could say no. "So, you comin'? Or, am I stealin' your stuff and going back to the ranch on my own?"
"Non! Wait for me!" Francois shrieked, jumping down flights of stairs now until finally he landed on the bottom level and crashed into the Australian. The pair of them stumbled, and Mick dropped the bags he had been carrying to catch the Frenchman as swiftly as he could manage without falling over himself.
"Eager, much?" He teased, eyes twinkling with amusement before he motioned for the Frenchman to follow him. "C'mon, mate, the ranch awaits."