Chapter Text
Sniper was pissed off. Or as closed to being pissed off one can be when they’re exhausted to near delirium. He dragged the pair of binoculars up to glance through them into the horizon, marked out only by the end of the smattering of stars.
Nothing.
He put the binoculars down again with a sigh, slouching his back. He adjusted his hat to cover his eyes, but sleep refused to come to him. Instead, a nagging voice filled the void:
Professionals don’t sleep on the job.
Yeah, well, sometimes professionals get very stressed out when extra hours are piled on them with no notice or extra pay!
He shifted, irritated—by the empty horizon, by Soldier—but above all, himself. He knew it was useless to do so, and it only made things worse, but he couldn’t help but begrudge himself for his insomnia. He’s had it since he was a teen, and was told it’s something you just get over. And he did—for a while. But it always came back in waves at a time, lasting weeks to months, creating a cycle that persisted through the decades of his life.
And when it hit him, it hit him hard. Lack of sleep led to poor performance. Poor performance led to disappointment, which led to self-loathing, which led to stress. Stress led to even less sleep. And on the cycle goes.
So when Sniper was caught snoozing under his hat’s brim during a particularly uneventful day of battle, he was conveniently blamed for their team’s failure. Soldier—that bloody dogfaced rat—immediately reported him to the administrator, who punished the entire team in return, and now everyone blames Sniper for it!
Professionals don’t sleep on the job, but bugger if everyone doesn’t slip up every once in a while. Besides, it’s not like the other team gained some sort of advantage, or the war will end any time soon. Both teams could join together in a bloody conga line and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.
But if you snooze, you lose, as the saying goes, and their team lost the intelligence. Sure, they got it back later, but they had hell to pay for it. And that special hell came in the form of a 24/7 look out on the roof of the highest part of the base, one mercenary at a time, spread out in shifts about two hours long, even longer on days without battles. Sniper, being the scapegoat for the technically-his-fault series of events, received the most unwanted shift, from 2 AM to 4 AM, which also happened to be about the only period of time Sniper could manage to really fall asleep in.
It was also the coldest part of the night, where the wind picks up and runs right through your bones. That, too, prevented him from being able to rest. He held himself tight and shuddered.
A gust of wind whirled through, Sniper clenching his teeth at its unwelcome. But for once the breeze failed, and the true cause of the sound revealing himself beside him.
Sniper started, instinctively raising a hand to his kukri from its sheath. He let it fall once more as he looked up to see Spy, who seemed to have brought something with him.
The Frenchman first shook a folded blanket and rested it on Sniper’s shoulders. He then sat down beside him, lifting one end of the blanket to cover his shoulders, too, and laid out before them two mugs and a warm thermos.
“What’s all this?” Sniper said after staring at these items in confusion.
“This is a mixture of hot chocolate and coffee,” Spy replied as he twisted the lid of the thermos open, and poured some into a mug. He placed it in front of Sniper. Then he filled his own.
“Oh… I mean, what… why?”
Spy studied him a moment, then pulled out his cigarette case from his coat.
“This is the deal,” he began, reaching for his lighter, “I keep you company and you return the favor.” He lit his cigarette, and had a puff.
Sniper knit his brows, processing what he had just heard. “Wait, so you want me to stay up for four hours instead of two?”
“Isn’t four hours with a friend better than two alone? Besides, I did bring you this.” He gestured toward their drinks.
Sniper paused in thought. He wasn’t shaking anymore from the cold, especially with a steaming mug of mocha in his hands. He did hate the thought of doubling his shift, but he also knew he wouldn’t sleep easily afterward anyway. And maybe Spy has a point—misery loves company, right?
“Alright, it’s a deal,” Sniper said. Spy hid his smile with a sip from his drink.
A moment of silence fell over them, and Sniper couldn’t help but feel awkward.
“Soooo,” the Australian began, “why me?”
“Well, I do have the next shift.”
“Right.”
“And I consider you a friend.”
Also right. Sniper and Spy’s friendship is a relatively new thing, since they initially felt animosity toward one another. Despite being on the same team, their rivalries with their counterparts sparked a mutual dislike and distrust. But where the conflict started, it ended: on the battlefield, not through words but actions. Working together, they made quite a team: Sniper on the lookout while Spy crept up on an unsuspecting victim, and Spy picking off those who decide to confront Sniper in his nest. Since then, they developed a sense of respect, and even traded off banter here and there, until they gradually found themselves actually enjoying the other’s company. And though they first seemed polar opposite, they realized they had a lot in common: careful men who thought before they acted, who could keep a cool head in most situations (though Spy does get annoyed with Soldier and Scout, but who can blame him?), who preferred spending most of their time alone, and were reserved without being unfriendly. The pair couldn’t find a more kindred spirit with anyone else on their team.
Sniper smiled. Spy certainly put off an aloof exterior, but he was always so thoughtful. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. “Care for a cigarette?”
“Nah, thanks. Maybe later.” Really thoughtful. “Does this mean you’re not pissed at me for… well, this?” Sniper gestured at their surroundings.
“Of course not. If anyone’s to blame it’s that connard of a Soldier,” he rolled his eyes. “But it hardly matters now.”
“I guess. I mean, I did fall asleep on the job.”
“And it’s foolish to think this will help, when you already look like a raccoon.”
“Hey!” Sniper frowned. “You’re not exactly helping either”
“Au contraire!” Spy retorted, putting out his cigarette before flicking it from the lookout. “Now you are warm, relaxed, and comfortable. Why not sleep now?”
“And you stay up and keep watch?”
“Certainly.”
Sniper was almost blown away. “Is there some kind of catch?—if I do fall asleep, that is.”
“None. I just found that it’s quite nice to have someone watch your back on the battlefield.” Spy gave a friendly smile.
Sniper couldn’t help but return it. “All right,” he said, “I’ll try.” He leaned back, closed his eyes. But the situation felt too awkward for him to be able to relax enough to manage even a light snooze.
After a few minutes passed—though it felt like hours—Sniper heard a soft hum begin from the man beside him. The Australian did not open his eyes, but he certainly did not expect a lullaby. He wondered if the Spy thought he had fallen asleep, or that he thought this was supposed to help.
A melody rose in the Frenchman’s throat and his lips parted into a song:
“Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer
Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler
Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes
Je me fous du monde entier
Tant qu'l'amour inond'ra mes matins
Tant que mon corps frémira sous tes mains
Peu m'importent les problèmes
Mon amour puisque tu m'aimes…”
His voice was sweet and low, comforting like a mother singing her child to sleep. Sniper did not dwell on this analogy, but let himself be soothed by melodious words he did not understand. Slowly, he drifted into sleep, both men with closed eyes pretending they were together, alone, under the stars of the French countryside.
“Status report!”
Sniper startled awake from the gruff voice of Soldier, panicking that he had been caught sleeping again until a second voice responded:
“Nothing.” Spy was audibly annoyed. Soldier took no notice.
“I see Sniper is still here as well!” Soldier clapped the Australian on the back. “Being diligent for a change, I see! Good! Dis-missed!” and he turned away, taking up the binoculars in his hands to stare keenly out.
Spy went down the ladder which lead up to the look-out. Sniper followed.
Inside once more, and both quite fatigued, they found no words to say to one another. Instead, Spy merely shrugged and took his leave. Sniper left in the opposite direction, realizing only until he reached his van back outside that he still had Spy’s blanket draped around his shoulders.
Their team won the battle that day, so despite the unpleasant task of sitting in the cold to watch over an empty desert, Sniper’s mood had improved. Only a few days ago, he was fretting over his shortcomings, stressed that he was failing his job, and that he was succumbing to its pressures. But the victory, however temporary, lifted the team’s spirits after so many losses.
Sniper went to his watch, with Spy’s blanket draped over one arm and a pillow tucked underneath the other. Out his camper, in the base, up some stairs, down a hallway, through a door, and up a ladder with a hatch. He dropped the pillow for his seat, and shook out the blanket before wrapping himself in it.
Before he could settle down, a familiar voice greeted him. “You’re late.”
Sniper smiled, sitting down. “I know.”
“I brought tea,” Spy offered as he uncloaked, the familiar thermos and mugs in hand. “Care for some?”
“Oh, sure, thanks. What kind?”
Spy poured some out, sitting down beside him. “Chamomille. It’s relaxing.”
“Mn,” Sniper said, grateful once more for the hospitality but unsure of what to say.
A pause fell over the two.
“You seemed less distracted today,” Spy said as he took a sip.
“Oh?” Sniper raised a brow. “I thought you were supposed to spy on the other team.”
“Of course. But it’s as they say: keep your enemies close, keep your comrades closer.”
Sniper chuckled lightly. “So that’s what this is all about?”
“Partially... Maybe.”
Sniper smirked. “You ever do this with Soldier? His shift is right after yours.”
“Ugh, no,” Spy waved his hand, shooing the idea away as if it was a fly. “The last thing I want to hear is that buffoon barking at such an ungodly hour.”
Sniper laughed. It wasn’t such an unusual thing, for the man to laugh, but it was usually minimized to a bemused grunt or a quiet chuckle at best. Sniper was quiet, withdrawn, serious more often than not. Spy appreciated that about him. But he also took care to appreciate his laugh, hearty but light, with dimples playing on his unshaved cheeks. Spy smiled.
“Yeah, Soldier’s like that,” Sniper nodded with a grin, wiping a tear from his eye. “Bloody fool’s kinda why we’re out here now, eh? No thanks to me, a’course.”
Spy put a supportive hand on the Australian’s back. “Well, thank you anyway,” he said softly.
Sniper looked at him for a moment, but rather than withdraw Spy’s hand softened on his back. Sniper relaxed, leaning his head on Spy’s shoulder. Spy returned the gesture, resting his own head on Sniper’s, and let his hand drop to wrap around his waist. Warm under the cold starlight, they drifted to a peaceful sleep.
“Sniper.”
He woke to a whispered voice and a gentle pat on his arm. He turned his head, which somehow managed to slide down to rest in Spy’s lap. Seeing Spy’s face looking down at him, he widened his eyes with sat up with a start.
Just as they assumed a less embarrassing position, the Soldier blasted up to the lookout.
“All clear,” Spy said flatly, giving Soldier a mock-salute before departing.
Soldier turned to Sniper. “Doubling watch again! Good work, private! I’m promoting you to lieutenant!” He reached from his pocket and slapped a flattened bottle cap with a pin through it to Sniper’s chest.
“And watch out for that frog,” he uttered in a low voice, eyeing Spy as he left. “I have a feeling he doesn’t take this mission seriously.”
“Uh… Right, mate,” Sniper said.
“Good, then! Dis-missed!” and he clicked his heels together with a salute.
Sniper just gave him a nod, feeling mildly confused, but mostly relieved that Soldier didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. Not that he had reason to.
Right?