Chapter Text
The desert is the desert. Sure the others complain of the heat and the dust, but it's nothing compared to the outback. Blazing sun and desolate wastelands cause dirt and dust to cake up in your lungs whether you want it to or not. But the desert is exactly that, so Sniper doesn't complain.
It takes quite a bit to make the bushman mad, hell even irritated, but if there's one human being on planet Earth who's calling in life is to infuriate and irritate him, it's Spy. The enemy Spy to be more specific. The Spy on his own team he hardly even speaks to, a few words here and there passed in the halls. Nothing too major, both Sniper and RED Spy are private men, and both are okay with that.
The BLU Spy on the other hand, is in Scout's own terms, "Fuckin' crazy!"
At first Sniper doesn't agree, since he isn't one for judging people without knowing them, even if he is the enemy. But that's before the Spy focuses his attention on him.
It starts with paranoia. Every once in a while whilst camping out in his nest he sees or hears movement behind him. Its nothing knew, but when he whips around to brandish his Kukri, ready for the glint of the Spy's balisong, it never comes. The silent back stab never comes either, and it makes Sniper uncomfortable and wary.
Next Sniper can swear he smells the man. Strong French cologne and the stench of some sort of berry cigarettes fills the nest, but when Sniper turns, there's no one there. Day in and day out the same cycle repeats and Sniper swears the BLU Spy is tormenting him, making him far more paranoid than is healthy. Sniper doesn't understand it. If Spy reaches his perch, why doesn't he take the opportunity to take the kill? If he was in the other man's position he would take the chance. He doesn't understand the man's game, but at least the Spy isn't interrupting his own work too badly. The smell of those berry cigarettes almost becomes a comfort to him as they whisp through his nest. Eventually Sniper stops reacting to the smell and the slight movements at the corners of his eyes. The only thing he moves at is the clacking of a balisong opening in expert hands.
Then suddenly, it all stops. Completely.
He doesn't smell the cigarettes and he doesn't hear anything suspicious, and after the fourth day when Sniper shoots the head of a BLU Scout zooming by, an idle thought of where Spy has gone wanders through his head. All day it niggles at the back of his mind, and although it doesn't cause his work to suffer, Sniper feels far more exhausted than normal by the time the work day begins winding down.
Ten minutes are left in the match and Sniper is trying to get a few more headshots in before the round is done when the familiar scent of berry smoke floats through his nest. Although Sniper notices, he doesn't react to it, pulling the trigger of his rifle and taking out a BLU Demoman with ease. What he doesn't notice, is that he's physically relaxed at the smell of those cigarettes and at the faint whisp of French cologne.
Sniper's breath chokes when a searing pain slices through his concentration. It feels like someone is trying to separate him in half, and he probably isn't that far off in his assumption. He feels blood pool and drip out of his mouth and his lungs crackle with the fluid now building up in them. His hands are paper white on the grip of his rifle, and he can't move. The wound is not an instant kill. This is an injury to endure and slowly bleed out from. This is entertainment, this is amusement, and when Sniper hears a low laugh in his ear and the familiar sound of a Spy de-cloaking, he knows that Spy did all of this for some sort of sick fun. "You should not ever let your guard down around me, ma petite proie," Spy's whisper is sharp over the roar in his ears and he can feel blood starting to seep through the front of his shirt as Spy digs and twists his knife further into his body. "I hope you do not plan to underestimate me again."
Sniper grunts angrily and he turns his head as far as he can in his injured state. His eyes meet with the cold grey of the other mercenary's, "Piss off," he growls, spitting a mouth full of blood onto Spy's face on the 'P'.
Spy's almost disturbing smile drops completely and the next thing Sniper knows is that he's waking up in the respawn room. The match is over, his spine tingles, and his mouth still tastes of blood.