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lyricalt · 11 days

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[tf2 mini fic] roll over

BLU and RED spies take a smoke break together.

(Implied R!Sniper/R!Spy, PG)

bonus scene: the sequel for all bite. There was no way to fit it neatly in the main fic so here it is.

---

There is something different about RED Sniper.

BLU Spy considers the body, slumped awkwardly in its seat. He taps his foot in contemplation.

Something is off. It bothers him that he cannot quite place it, but he has an instinct for this kind of thing. He remembers the way RED’s sniper had turned a little too late from the window. That flash of annoyance across his face had been fun to see, per usual, and he’d died quite appropriately to the butterfly knife.

At the risk of soiling his shoes with blood, BLU Spy kicks the body so that it falls to the floor, splayed out and arms akimbo. He cranes his neck and pulls out his disguise kit.

After a moment, he blinks. Ah-hah. He sees it now. The change. He snorts, flipping through his paper masks until he finds the one with RED Sniper’s face on it.

“How interesting,” he says with a laugh, and takes a pen out from his pocket to make the correction.

---

There is a secluded backdoor in one of the factories with an awning that hardly anyone uses. The spies tend to take their ten minute smoke break there, away from the main battle but still close enough to hear whatever’s going on. It’s irrelevant on when the daily smoke break occurs, but this time BLU Spy leaves a note for an early meeting.

They smoke in silence for a bit. Both are leaning against the wall with the locked door between them.

BLU Spy speaks up first, letting his arm fall back to his side, flicking ash from his cigarette. “There’s a possibility I had to update my disguise kit because of you.”

“Hm? Someone on my team wearing a new hat?” RED Spy asks.

They speak in the privacy of French, casual and pleasant, because it’s their only chance in the day to not be so secretive. A nice ten minutes to shoot the shit.

“No. It was something very subtle. But you know me, always obsessing over details.” BLU Spy pauses, just shy of being dramatic, because he can’t very well hold it in. He’s been waiting ages to speak to his counterpart today.

“You do have an eye for them, Bleu. Well?”

“Your sniper, Monsieur Rouge,” Bleu says, watching RED Spy very carefully. “The one with the, hm, ‘keen eyes’ and ‘fast trigger’.” After a moment, he gleefully punches RED’s arm. “You sly dog.”

For three seconds, Rouge’s expression is one of perfect blankness. Bleu is about to congratulate him on his poise when Rogue shoots up from the wall to grab Bleu’s upper arm, shaking it with such intensity that Bleu fears his arm might vibrate out of its socket.

“No. Don’t tell me he’s wearing that. Not in public,” RED Spy starts, so aghast he abandons his carefully cultivated European French and slips back into his natural Quebecois accent. “This can’t be. I didn’t think he would-”

“I saw it myself.” Bleu shuffles the paper masks in his kit and carefully removes Rouge’s grip off him when he almost drops the entire stack. “Would you like to see? I’ve already added it to my repertoire.”

Rouge has since launched into a litany of “no no no no no no no, he can’t do this to me-” while Bleu takes his time finding the right mask. A second cigarette makes an appearance in Rogue’s fingers. He begins to smoke both at the same time. It’s a nostalgic sight to see. Bleu has not seen Rouge double fist cigarettes since their days at the university during final exams.

Rouge hisses, “Please, M. Bleu, don’t put that o-”

Pleading hands grasp at his sleeve to no effect. Bleu slips on the disguise. Poor Rouge looks like he wants to perish on the spot from sheer mortification. His eyes dart to BLU Spy’s throat.

There is nothing at Bleu’s neck. Rouge would see his sniper’s RED uniform in perfect order, not a hair or button out of place.

BLU Spy lifts the kukri illusion, pointing to a very nice piece of strap fitted along the shoulder, a touch thicker than the rest of the sling. At first glance, it appears to be a nice lanyard to hang an extra carabiner on the shiny metal ring.

Or perhaps something else could be clipped on such a fine metal ring. Who could say.

“Quite subtle indeed,” Bleu says, imitating RED Sniper’s voice, though the intonation is entirely wrong. He smiles, serene, and doesn’t hesitate to deal a killing blow in the form of a head tilt and a playful, “Arf-arf.”

There is a third cigarette between Rouge’s fingers. He squats down and smokes them all in silence, sucking them down to the filter. He looks like he wishes for the ground to swallow him up.

They still have four minutes left of their break so Bleu takes pity on the man and pulls off the mask. The disguise fizzes away, leaving him back in his blue suit. He pats Rouge’s shoulder and joins him squating on the ground, forearms resting on his knees. There’s only so much aloof leaning against a wall that he can take in a day.

He nudges Rouge. “It’s going well, I take it?”

A sullen pause seems to be the only answer Rouge is willing to give until he finishes his cigarettes. After brushing off a credible amount of ash away, he grumbles, ”Yes.”

“Ah, my dear, so it really would’ve never worked out between us. How could I have competed with a piss-smelling hobo living in a dirty van? But don’t fret, sweet rival of mine, I still hold a special place in my heart from our delightful fraternity days-”

“Disgusting. Awful. Should you not wait to enact psychological warfare upon me until after our ten? At least you’ll be paid for the effort,” Rouge says stiffly. He sighs, rubbing his temples. “Take me back to Respawn. I need more ammo and cigarettes.”

Rouge hands him a blade. Bleu cackles, not minding that Rouge has somehow stolen his own butterfly knife off him. Quite talented at that, those quick hands, even amongst other spies.

“But of course,” he says, and slits RED Spy’s throat neatly.

For a very entertaining day ahead of him, it’s the least he can do

---

Sniper gets cornered on the way to supper after his shift. It’s Spy, who looks unusually harried.

“Promise me,” Spy says, serious, “Promise me you will not wear that thing around your neck in public.”

Sniper almost sputters. Awfully bold of Spy to bring it up in the middle of the hallway, in public, which seems like the opposite of what he wants. That thing could only mean one item in particular. Sniper puts up his hands, hissing softly, “There's a reason why I became a sniper, spook. I like hidin’ and stayin’ out of sight. You think, of all people, that I’d be an exhibitionist?”

He truly cannot think of a worst thing to do. It’s a hard pass, if Spy ever asks this sort of thing from him, and Sniper wonders if this is going to be some kind of boundary-setting conversation. He hopes it isn’t. Not in the middle of the hallway and not right before supper. He’ll have to take his meal up in a tree if the conversation goes poorly—he can already feel a haunting embarrassment creeping in.

“Are you?” Spy asks.

“No!”

-----------------------------

Note:

RED Spy = French Canadian

BLU Spy = Cajun

Neither are European French, though they both speak it professionally. (Professional Frenchmen.)

I suppose the reason Sniper thinks he sucks at learning French (on his own) is probably because Spy is speaking French Canadian in their private moments. Ah well!

#bloody suit #sniperspy #sniper x spy #tf2 #posting at 10pm pst on a work night we are ok

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