Archive of Our Own ^beta

Snider’s attention is in two places, one being the physical entrance to the ballroom, and the other on the abstract idea of his brother pulling this off or getting them killed in the next hour.

He’s feeling antsy but he doesn’t show it because he’s a natural born poker face and he’s not an idiot. He’s also feeling antsy without his gun but being who he is, who can blame him? He knows though that nothing would stand out worse than a waiter with an antique gun at a World’s Empire get together.

Some other flitty noble passes by him, grabbing a glass from his platter with deft grace, most attention paid on their conversation partner. They laugh and Snider watches them from the corner of his eye, with the studied discipline of an animal. He just as soon (catching the words “marble floors” and “absolutely stunning”) ignores them again. The uniform is tight and bothersome, and the conversations around him were shallow enough that they weren’t worth listening to. (He’d tried for the first hour but tuned out after the seventh mention of someone’s summer villa. It made him feel like throwing up.) 

He’s wondering how Enfield was doing. If he was on time he should be sneaking through the back halls by now. He trusted him, but there was some deep restlessness that wanted the fight that might come. Maybe it was all the guests. Maybe, it was just being without his weapon. 

It was a party they were infiltrating this time. The nobles seemed to like any excuse to throw them to either revel in their wealth or to show it off. (He’d half heard this was for someone’s anniversary but he just as soon tuned out on that too).  It was just as great for the resistance however; this one was at the estate for a very loyal mayor, who was trusted with very sensitive documents that they very much needed. Enfield would be the star this time around, as the one to sneak away with them, and Snider was the backup if things just so happened to go south. He was in charge of insuring the escape, the one to fight off whoever wouldn’t let them go. Enfield was better at talking his way out of things and Snider was calmer under pressure. It was perfect. This was just the grating part of it.

Snider is glancing back at the entryway. They had no choice but to hide his rifle in the living room by the entrance. It just made more sense and it would be too risky to put it in the ballroom. They’re just banking on the fact that people will go to where the party is and not accidentally find it. He had voiced his own concerns about it; well. Perhaps ‘concern’ wasn’t the best way to put it: more like complaining. He didn’t like putting his gun in some place so far away, out of sight. But Enfield had subdued him the only way he especially could, without even thinking. He was hearing him out on the way there, and had smiled, like remembering something:

“Oh, before I forget,” he had interrupted, “Master gave me something before we left.”

He pulled two candies out of his pocket, and handed one to him. Snider is not surprised it was from Master because it was the same hard candy they always gave them. When he looked back up, Enfield was still smiling.

“Think of it like a good luck charm.” He explains, reassures, “It can be our reward with a job well done.”

Snider wanted to contest it. These were sweet and fake platitudes and Enfield was doing that thing he always does with him; hearing him but not really listening, and trying to wave off what he was saying. But he told himself it would be too much of a bother, and just pocketed the candy, without a word.

He still has it. If he reached down he could still find it in his pocket. But it’s not like he’s hungry; he’s never hungry. He begins to feel a little irritated with Enfield however.

The ballroom is very bright around him, sparkling from decorations, tinkling with glasses. It’s all very delicate compared to his situation. But there’s cold comfort in the idea that the richer someone is, the less they think of the help.

Someone swipes another champagne glass from his platter. Snider blinks at attention and sees it’s bare. It’s a little demeaning to think that he’d actually have to play the part of waiter too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, Master had promised the next mission would be more interesting. He’s thinking of reminding them of that as he makes way for the kitchen to restock. 

Compared to the soft and graceful atmosphere of the party, the kitchens were much more chaotic. Bustling with orders, a staff trying to just survive the night. If Snider was a more poetic person, he might compare this to World’s Empire, a gleaming front supported by the back breaking work of the common man. But he’s not. He honestly could care less. He just needs a new platter. He goes to grab one of the many already prepared off the kitchen island but someone grabs his wrist. He snaps his head at attention and is met with a smiling assistant chef, a familiar face. He already knows the words that will come next.

“Ran out of champagne? I was thinking since the night is almost over we should start serving the guests seltzer.”

Snider blinks, trying to remember the next part of the code. It’s a bad sign that it’s already being used now. He’s a terrible actor and when he says it, it’s automatic like a machine.

“Do you have some in the back?”

He is inconspicuously led to the back, and when they’re alone the resistance member busies herself filling glasses with seltzer as she whispers to him.

“Your brother contacted us.” She speaks hushed and fast, all the fake niceties from earlier gone, “He’s been caught up.”

“Caught up?”

“There were people guarding the mayor’s room. They seem to be on changing shifts so he’s waiting until there’s an opening.”

Snider frowns and glares at nothing in particular. He’s wondering why Enfield hasn’t just shot the people yet, but he guesses there’s no use worrying about it now. He looks back at the kitchen.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing yet. Just...be prepared.”

Enfield’s being too careful, he thinks with some tiredness. He has half the mind to just go up there himself and take care of it, but it’s just the antsiness talking. They’ll be there a bit longer is all. He just doesn’t like the sound of it. He takes the newly refilled platter, the seltzer water sparkling clear in the glasses. He looks back at the resistance member, vaguely recalling he should say something here. He doesn’t remember.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes to check in.” He says instead.

“O-Oh. Right.” She says, a little taken aback, “See you then.”

He turns back and starts to leave the kitchen. This should be fine, he thinks, but there are risks. The longer they stay there, the more potential there is to be caught. If guests start to leave that means there are less people for the guards to watch. Things that have potential to look off will be more noticeable. Worst case scenario they will have to abandon the mission and waste this good opportunity. But Enfield knows this. Kinder people would know Enfield was the one person who has it the worst right now.

Snider just thinks his brother needs to get a bit reckless. But he supposes that careful nature of his could be cute anyway.

As soon as Snider swings the doors open he’s met face to face with the familiar gas mask of a World’s Empire soldier. He freezes.

(A thousand tactics run through his mind: throw the platter at him, kick him, making a run for it seemed the most logical, wait how did they already find us-)

“Oh, perfect!” The soldier exclaims and only then does Snider notice he’s not looking at him, but the drinks, “Seltzer, right?”

Snider is still on ‘fight’ mode, so he could only manage to utter a halfhearted “Hn.”

“Good. Just what I need.” The soldier finally looks at him, “Could you come with me? I got, uh...a ‘guest’ who needs that right now.”

Soldier or not, Snider knows better than to turn down the request of someone so clearly armed. He doesn’t look behind himself because he knows better. He wasn’t going to blow his cover by so obvious mistakes. He agrees and follows the soldier.

But why a soldier? He’s thinking. Was it for the mayor? But there he was now, near the cake, entertaining a crowd of esteemed politicians. Something felt off about this, but he keeps cool. As long as they hadn’t been caught and as long as this wasn’t about Enfield.

(And if it was? He knows exactly where his gun is.)

That was another thing however.

He feels cold the more hallways they travel.

They end up right at the room where it is. Likewise, there is another soldier stationed there, at the ready. He doesn’t regard him.

(Several more tactics: Attack one, take his gun, take out the other before he can react and then the unarmed one-)

Finally the other soldier notices them. He visibly relaxes.

“Oh thank god, you found one?” He asks his comrade.

“Yeah, like, the only one.” He laughs, and it’s like Snider isn’t even there “How is he?”

“Still angry. Here, let me.”

He leans backwards, knocking on the door with a fist.

“Sir? May we come in?”

The silence is only three seconds long. Then, a very low and irritated voice muffled by the door:

“I told you don’t come back until-”

“We found some, sir.”

Silence. Snider’s catching on that voice; it’s oddly familiar and not in a good way. Still, this situation is nothing like he thought, but he still keeps his guard up. It’s nice to know they might still be in the clear at least.

“...Good. Hurry up.”

One soldier opens the heavy wooden doors for him, standing in a way that clearly means he won’t be following him in. The living room was just as it was when they came in earlier: nicely furnished, cozingly antique, put together like a showpiece. Someone has lit the fireplace and the room is comfortably warm. Immediately Snider is looking at the couch, where his gun is supposed to be stowed away under, that was positioned between two end tables. But there is someone sitting on the couch, bent over, holding a handkerchief to their nose. He freezes when he sees what hangs from their other hand by a strap; a pink gas mask.

The person looks up, and Snider already knows who this is. He must have faced them countless times, in a different place, in different settings. He’s only ever seen their face for brief moments before they would disappear. The modern gun, still in uniform, watches him with partially glazed over eyes. The firelight catches on their long pink hair, shimmery and pretty.

He’s looking at the drinks.

“Finally.” He breathes. He puts his mask on the couch, and switches over his hold on the handkerchief. He holds his free hand out, authoritative, “You. Come here.”

Snider stays. They hadn’t been told a modern gun was invited. Enfield needed to act and now if this is the case. Especially if Snider’s gun was now in such a risky place, their hope of escape less likely at this point. He needs to get word to his brother somehow, and he’s getting too caught up in those ideas to register what was told to him.

It doesn’t go missed. The modern gun snaps his fingers to get his attention, like he was some kind of dog. He’s glaring at him now.

“Are you deaf? I told you to come here.”

The tone is more sinister. A soldier clears his throat behind him.

“You’re in the presence of Special Executive Like Two.” He explains, and adjusts his gun in obvious warning, “It would be wise if you listened.”

Snider is almost ready to laugh at this, but the modern gun does it for him.

“What the hell was that? Are you trying to scare him?” Like Two laughs, “How long have you been dying to say that?”

The soldier instantly shrinks back, “Er, Sir, I’m sorry-”

“You. Waiter.” Like Two ignores him, snapping his fingers in succession now, “Hurry up. I have a headache.”

Snider cautiously approaches, but there’s no flash of recognition the more he closes in. He just wordlessly offers the platter and Like Two takes a glass, letting out a loud sigh. He lowers the handkerchief and Snider pauses. The other side is covered in stark red blood, and his enemy sniffles looking to see if it’s stopped. He casts a quick glance to his soldiers before he folds the handkerchief. Snider catches on to this; he’s very good at finding the details people try to hide. Maybe he was hurt earlier? If that’s true, it could be an advantage on their part. Like Two takes a sip, and Snider decides he should make his exit now. He needs to get word to Enfield.

“Where are you going?” Like Two says, without looking at him, watching the bubbles in his glass, “I didn’t say you were dismissed.”

Snider says nothing but he can’t help but glare. Like Two smiles at him, and he can’t tell if there’s a maliciousness about it, or some tiredness.

“Someone will need to take the glasses back.”

He takes another sip (not so much a swig as a sip , he did it delicately like a bird with fixed elegance.) If Snider was wiser he would just stand there and take being ordered around, stand and wait for his chance to warn his brother. But he’s been built for a battlefield first, so his first instincts are to treat other things in accordance. Besides, it burns him to see him sitting there like that, easygoing, a menace that couldn’t be touched. He doesn’t know how many times he’s made their lives harder, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He’s just a bit spiteful. He’s maybe, just reckless.

“Are you drunk?” He asks with some cutting tone, “That’s not champagne you know.”

Like Two regards him, but he’s not the one who gets riled up.

“Hey, you-!” A soldier turns at the ready, but stops when Like Two holds a hand up.

“Stop. I don’t need you guys being my babysitters.” He says, primarily unoffended. Instead he watches Snider with some exhausted interest. Like he was too tired to get worked up, so he just switched to unnerving notice. Like a cat that watched a mouse, weighing its fate against his own whims.

“I’m not. I’ve just been so busy that I forgot to take care of myself.” He smiles sarcastically, “You see, some of us have to work very,very hard so people like you can live in peace.”

“Is that what you call it?”

He spoke to Snider like he was a child, so Snider feels justified in biting back. Mission be damned; if anything went bad his gun was still in here anyway. He wouldn’t take being talked down to, and especially not by an enemy he already hated. Like Two continues to study him with that same holier-than-thou smile. He tilts his head.

“I honestly can’t tell right now if you’re trying to be brave or if you’re very stupid.”

“If it offends you so much, you can find someone else to wait on you.” Snider smiles back.

He may or may not realize the weight of these words, and what he’s saying. Mostly he just wanted to be free of this room. It only briefly occurs to him this may all be a set up and his gun might not be there, that he was being put through this charade out of some childish bully tactic; but any illusion of this is quickly dispelled. Like Two sighs, and sits back on the sofa, partially reclined as he takes another sip.

“Nah. I think if I had someone scared I’d feel like screaming. You’re stupid but I guess you can stay.”

Inwardly Snider curses but he hadn’t decided just yet to do anything drastic. He’s a cut-and-dry kind of person, but he knew it would be stupid to start anything here and now when they haven’t even gotten what they needed yet. As much as he was feeling driven earlier he’s deflated when he remembers Enfield. This isn’t to say he doesn’t think he can’t save his brother if worse came to worst (far from it, he’s sort of charmed by the idea in fact). It’s knowing he wouldn’t be happy with him later, and that his foolhardy pride wouldn’t compare to a mistake on a mission like this. If he can’t warn his brother, and he can’t kill this person, then he guesses he had no choice but to keep an eye on them, keep them occupied, and buy Enfield some time. It’s not in his nature; in fact, it goes against everything that is in his nature. But if Snider has to play distraction rather than soldier then he doesn’t have much choice does he?

(For the millionth time he thinks to himself that he will remind Master later to put him on a better mission. A killing one.)

 “Or,” Like Two blinks in realization, “Maybe you are scared?” He guesses. Snider feels briefly offended, his scowl not changing. 

“What makes you think that?”

“Look, I get it,” He shrugs, casually, “seeing a soldier at a party like this would make anyone nervous. It’s not like you’re the first one here who’s been acting weird with me. So you can cut the act, I don’t feel like dealing with it right now.”

A thought strikes him. He was so late to think of this, Snider is almost mad at himself. He’d gotten so cushy and declawed by the previous conversations that he had nearly missed the gold mine he had here. If he would not get any good intel from the pampered nobles at the party, then he would probably have better luck with a special ops in the military. He was framing this all wrong; he was not trapped in a risky conversation with an enemy but properly disguised to get enough good info out of him to make this all worth it. It should be stated that it’s hilarious to think Snider had any charm to turn on to extract anything with ease; but he tries. Briefly he thinks it’s ironic that right now he had the job best suited for Enfield and Enfield had the job best suited for him. But, well, what was a battle if not trying to best the odds against you?

“I did think it was strange to see a soldier here.” He confesses. His tone hasn’t changed, he sounds more inquisitive than suave, but to be honest he wasn’t trying for suave anyway. 

“I would have changed but this was all last minute.” Like Two sighs taking another sip, “I’m just filling in for someone.”

Oh, good, he thinks. So this wasn’t planned at all.

“For another soldier?”

Like Two smiles oddly then, not looking at him, but more like he had heard a bad joke. It was in between hearing something distasteful and holding a bad secret. He shrugs, looking into his glass.

“Something like that.” He says in a way that meant he wasn’t going to elaborate. Snider is impatient.

“There’s a military base near here. I didn’t think the mayor would be friends with soldiers, though.” 

“You interested in the military or something?” 

Snider stops. He can’t tell if this was said with accusation or a casual throwaway question. Like Two is watching him though with interest. As much as he gives Enfield grief for it, he guesses there was an art to being friendly but not suspicious. He tries.

“...Not really.”

“Liar. You’ve been glancing at me this whole time.”

Snider won’t correct him but he’s loathe to put on the persona that he was at all interested in joining World’s Empire. He chooses to stay quiet.

“You’re a weird guy, huh?” Like Two laughs at him, and Snider sees that saying nothing means he just opens himself up to criticism, “I can’t tell if you’re being difficult or if you’re just being shy.”

“...I’m not being shy.”

“That’s exactly what you would say if you were.”

Snider’s scowl deepens but looking at Like Two he can only see he’s taking pleasure at his expense. He takes another sip, still eyeing him, and Snider finally sees he’s being relegated to a plaything. It’s so close. His gun was right there, his chance to reclaim his pride. He stays complacent.

“Well, he’s not really friends with us.” Like Two explains, thankfully switching topics, “Thinking he’s our friend makes me want to throw up.”

“That bad?”

“You want to know what he said when I first showed up? ‘Did you have to come dressed like that?’ Bastard. Like we’re the ones serving him. I had half a mind to shoot him, but I can’t.”

Snider looks at the gun for a brief moment, but flicks his eyes back up. “Why not?”

“Look, if you’re at all interested in joining the military let me warn you: there are going to be a lot of people you’ll want to shoot but can’t. There’s an order to these things.”

Snider sarcastically thinks duly noted but keeps his attitude to himself. He doesn’t tell him he had no worry about that ever happening but he’s focusing on something else. 

“You could have, though.”

Like Two is looking at the bottom of his empty glass and he seems very tired, but somehow comfortable. He reaches over and places the empty glass back on Snider’s platter, replacing it with a full one. 

“Yeah.” He confirms, “I could have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Like Two laughs.

“Oh, so I was wrong on both counts.” He points out, mockingly, “You’re not an asshole and you’re not shy; you’re just a sadist.”

Snider narrows his eyes, “I’m not-”

“Look, it’s fine. There’s plenty of you guys in the army too. I don’t care.”

Snider feels something squirm in his stomach at the thought of being compared to any of them. He’s starting to want to switch jobs with his brother. Like Two tilts his head, fingertips on his forehead. He must be still nursing a headache, and his pink hair falls softly with his movement, flickering in the light of the fireplace. He looks surprisingly delicate, Snider thinks. He’s seen so many of them on the battlefield, all muscle or arrogance or firepower. But here, he lacked all of that. For all the fight Snider is raring for, his prey won’t look like the opponent he wants.

“Look,” Like Two says with a sigh, “You can see how I’m dressed, right? It’s different from the other soldiers.”

Snider eyes his fishnet clad legs. It was putting it lightly but he says nothing.

“I’m too high up to act out like that. It would be nice but someone asked me to be here for him.”

Snider blinks. He catches on to this last part.

“...Him?”

Like Two looks up at him. His gaze is very heavy then, like he was finally putting himself back into focus, the edges of him sharpening in defense.

“The person I’m filling in for.” He says in a halting sentence. Snider decides to retreat for now, knowing when things were getting too dangerous and when to keep up the curious waiter bit.

“Are you strong?”

“Huh?”

“If you’re high in rank then you must be strong, right?”

Snider knows he’s strong, of course, he’s faced them enough times to know better, but he plays to the facade. Something seems to retreat in Like Two and he goes lax again, the atmosphere taking in a breath.

“I guess you could say that too.”

“Then that’s all that matters, right?”

A part of being charismatic and crafty means that you have to fake your own reactions and emotions. That one’s own beliefs should be shrouded in effectated interest, that you have to make your own persona to appeal to your conversation partner. That it is less about you, and more about dressing oneself for the opposing party. Predictably, this is where Snider is failing. He’s too much of a narcissist to completely hide his own thoughts and feelings. He’s simple in the fact that he only needs these truths to live, and that other people are more of a background rather than something to consider. He’s incredibly independent like this and this is why he fails at this. When he responds with that sentence he doesn’t know it, but he’s dying his act with his own colors. He does actually believe that strength is all that mattered. He’s also baffled to think that the people he’s hunted, the people he’s fought against, were so simple as to be bossed around by humans. It’s easy to make a villain of an enemy you don’t know. It’s easy to make the mythology of them. To have that broken by knowing one was having a bad day was a strange thought to him and so he retaliates in kind.

“Sadist.” Like Two accuses again, grinning, and Snider glares at him again. Like Two is unaffected by this, impervious to the intimidation he was trying to put on. It’s starting to wear on Snider, the fact that he couldn’t defend himself with either words or bullets.

“If it was me,” Snider responds, beginning to get defensive, “I wouldn’t be so weak willed as to let someone talk to me like that.”

“Oh my god, now you’re insulting me? You must think you’re a real cool guy.” Like Two laughs like Snider was being very stupid. Snider wants to shoot him, but he won’t. He looks away. It’s right there, under the couch. He’s cursing Enfield to hurry the hell up already. Like Two shifts in his seat; he’s leaning forward now, his legs crossed, and he’s still holding that champagne flute like it’s an accessory. Like he was a part of someone’s audience.

“Ok, I’ll indulge you. I want to hear how a servant thinks he can do my job.” Like Two is smirking, “If you were in my position, what would you have done?”

“I would-”

“You can’t shoot him. That’s the first rule.”

Snider’s face screws up in frustration, like he’s eaten something bad. Like Two is bouncing a leg as he waits, interested but in a way a bully would be. Whatever stress he was carrying was being distracted by this, Snider can tell. Well, he thinks, at least that part hadn’t changed. But he was loathe to be anyone’s toy and so he takes this challenge for what it is. Admittedly, he’s being stupid; there was no point in entertaining this, and there was no point in keeping this up. He could have left by now, but Snider didn’t want to leave this room with the idea that he was running away. It was a cheap prize, but he was a cheap man.

“I....” he thinks on it. Tries to put himself in that situation. “I would have told him to be grateful I was even there.”

“Hm. Good start.” Like Two concedes, taking another birdly sip, “But he thinks the same thing. You just look childish if you say that. Try again.”

“I would ignore him.”

“I know you’re poor, but have some sense of decorum. Try again.”

“Threaten him.”

“God, you really want to go that killing route, don’t you? Try again.”

“I just wouldn’t go in the first place.”

“Wrong. Try again.”

“How is that wrong?”

“You can’t cancel. I told you, I’m here for someone, didn’t I?”

Snider thinks on this for a few more minutes before he blurts it out. He doesn’t think of the consequences, he just doesn’t like being told what to do.

“I would blame the person I’m filling in for.”

Like Two pauses mid-sip at this, taking the drink down from his lips. He looks up at him, and his good cheer has seemingly been driven away again. He’s an easy read, and he’s looking at him with that same long-suffering look he keeps slipping back in to. Snider wonders if this meant he’s won. He wonders if this means he can go now. He wonders why this is such a touchy subject for someone so strong. 

He wonders what can shake up a weapon that was so bent for destruction.

“It’s not that easy.” Like Two says cryptically. Snider doesn’t want to let this go, because he’s like a shark smelling blood in the water. He had endured enough and he wanted his victory.

“Of course it is.” He argues, “If someone made me do something I didn’t want to do then I would be mad at them.”

“I can’t get mad at this person.”

“You said you’re a higher rank. What good is it if you’re going to end up like this?”

It is Like Two’s turn to frown, to start to pout when he’s under attack. He leans against the arm of the couch, acting as if the opposing wall is much more interesting then Snider was. He takes a few minutes before he responds, dwelling on his thoughts, but still biting when pressed against a corner.

“Sadist.” Like Two accuses again.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Like Two glances up at him. It is not kind, but still tiredly spiteful.

“You know, maybe you would be perfect for the army. You don’t let up. You have a lot of guts to talk to me like this.”

“I told you; if you don’t like it then find someone else to wait on you.” Snider reminds him, smiling. 

The look Like Two continues to give him is withering and hateful. He’s still bouncing his leg, impatient, and Snider finds himself watching it. He thought it was silly for a soldier to have such high heels, but he’s in too good a mood to think about it long. He’s gotten an edge on the conversation, he’s in a situation he hates, and now he gets to play bully so he does.

“I can find someone else for you.” He offers viciously, “Someone who you would like.”

“No.” Like Two instantly shoots back, sweetly, “You get to stay. After all, I can tell how much you like being here.”

Snider should have felt insulted by this. He should have gotten mad. But there’s something in that guess, in that diagnosis that makes him burn. It’s not anger; not fully at least. Flavored with it but not fully. It was similar to the moments before battle, the held breath, the static of anticipation. The familiar fire he feels when he aims, the natural and known embrace of a fight. This was him; not disguised niceties or quiet spywork. It was the closest thing he’ll get tonight. We can consider the fact that he could press this point, play a different role, to play at being innocent and scared and retreat to warn his brother. He has a bevvy of better routes he can take instead of staying here. But Snider is ridiculously single-minded and driven. He does not consider these avenues, not when he sees red. 

He smiles at him, something unrestrained and cold. He does not answer him. Like Two seems to get the answer well enough anyway. He’s about to say something but Snider is quick to the trigger.

“Move.”

Like Two blinks.

“What?”

“Move over.”

“Hey-”

 Snider cuts him off by practically dropping the platter on the side table, the glasses jumping, making Like Two flinch in surprise. He catches him further off guard by taking a seat next to him on the couch, throwing himself on it like it’s been a long day. Like Two looks at him with suitable offense and bewilderment. He struggles for a few seconds trying to catch up and see that he really had just done that.

“...What the hell are you doing?” He finally spits out.

“I was tired of standing.” Snider says plainly, still looking forward, “Your drinks are there anyway.”

Like Two seems to filter through a myriad of emotions as he tries to put together what is going on. Offended first, then incredulous. Partial disgust, probably from the idea that a servant thinking they could act like this in front of him. Snider is anticipating anger, which was also what he was hoping for. (He wants the fight that comes with it, of course.) But Like Two surprises him by shaking his head, putting a hand to his forehead again, and then laughing, appalled.

“God.” He says shakily between laughter, “What the hell is your deal?”

“I told you,” Snider says simply, reaching up and loosening the bowtie around his neck, “If you hate it, get someone else.”

“I should have you fired.”

“Then do it.”

He finally looks over to him, daring him. They hold each other’s gazes for a moment, as if waiting for the other to crumble, like these acts and threats were the only things they could hold against each other. If we were to take away the deeper politics going on here, one could see that it was just a rebellious waiter and a baffled special ops at odds with each other. Vying for the position above the other, the disobedient lesser against the unfair greater. And this is probably how Like Two sees it. For Snider it’s just a fight. It’s just getting back what he wants in the ways he had no choice but to use.

“...I thought of an answer.” Snider says, breaking the silence. Like Two is still watching him fiercely, warily.

“An answer?”

“For what I would have done in your position.”

Snider leans his head back, his dark hair sharp in the firelight, confident. Like Two frowns, but doesn’t interrupt, letting this play out.

“After he insults me,” Snider begins, “When he turns around. I would shoot him then.”

“I said you weren’t allowed to shoot him.”

Snider can’t help himself. He grins.

“The gun goes off by accident.” He explains, “The bald spot on the back of his head? I’ll tell them I mistook it for a shooting target.”

They let this sink in for a moment. It happens, together. On the surface it will look like Like Two was the one who broke into laughter first, but honestly, Snider lets out that rare malicious laugh as soon as he sees him smile. They play off each other like that, share the dark joke for what it is. Something in the room either tightens in tension or goes soft with relief. It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like a turn in the conversation. When he looks at him, Snider can’t tell if he’s won, but he can tell he’s being appraised with some respect. It’s not a victory, but it’s nice to be taken seriously. At the least, he looks pleased with him in some way. When they get it out of their systems, Like Two shakes his head again, brushing some hair out of his face.

“You’re a riot. I can’t tell if I should have you punished or keep you around.” He takes a sip, cheeks flushed, “I guess you’re a nice distraction.”

Snider doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure how he feels being seen as something so cheap. But he can’t help but like having an excuse to be there. He glances past him, to the drink tray. It’s a momentary decision, done out of overwhelming self-confidence and a way to test the waters. He motions to it with his chin.

“Hey. Hand me one.”

Like Two scoffs almost immediately. “Why should I? Get it yourself.”

Not quite there yet. It bothers him a little just as much as it motivates him. He can at least see he’s not being thrown out yet. Snider decides not to let it bother him. He reaches over Like Two instead, taking the initiative, deftly grasping a glass by its stem. If he was at all nervous to be so close to a Modern Gun he wasn’t showing it. And, to be honest, he wasn’t feeling it either. Snider is always assured like this, knowing he was the force to be reckoned with than the one to be thankful he was even alive.

(One could argue; where is that careful nature? But this was such a bizarre situation and he was itching for a fight, so what did he need that for anyway?)

When he looks, he catches Like Two studying him closely, intensely. When he sits back, his eyes follow. Snider will not address it. He tastes the drink; its similar to what he usually drinks but crisper, sweeter. He can’t say he likes it. It’s too rich.

“You don’t like this job, do you?”

Snider almost wants to laugh again, but he won’t. It would be too obvious. He shrugs.

“Not really.”

“I say that because you’re really bad at this.”

Snider smiles at this in response. He feels like he’s in on some bad joke; that he didn’t even know half of it. 

“I bet,” Like Two shifts in his seat, facing towards him now, “you would do better in the military. You look more suited for that.”

It’s getting very hard not to laugh at any of this. He’s so close, but so off the mark, that Snider wants to laugh at him but he can’t. Perhaps on the surface he’s not winning, but he feels inwardly he is. 

“Well, you know, I was complaining before, but it does pay well.” Like Two keeps changing topic, looking down into his drink, “Pays better than whatever you’re making here.”

“I don’t care about things like that.”

“No? It’s one of the few ways to get out of poverty, you know.”

He knows, and it’s one of the many issues the Resistance had with them. But those were human matters and human worries. Snider didn’t care about that either.

“Actually, let me guess.” Like Two snaps his fingers like the idea comes to him, “You’re interested in the artillery.”

God, it was practically killing him at this point. Snider keeps up his poker face.

“I never said that.”

“A lot of guys join just for the weapons. I mean, it makes sense, we’re the only ones allowed to have them.”

Snider should be wondering how Like Two went from distaste and anger to bragging about the empire. He should be questioning how they were suddenly getting into this casual back and forth. But he doesn’t, because it feels so natural he doesn’t even realize something is wrong. He cannot say he feels comfortable, but it’s more like he cannot find a reason not to. He is not scared, he’s not guarded, and he is definitely not a coward. Maybe that had to do with it. Or we can suppose that something else is swimming under the surface, new and unnoticed. That neither see. Blind but subdued.

For now, Snider thinks it’s incredibly ironic and hilarious that he’s trying to sell him on firearms considering who and what he was. He’s struggling to come up with lies, though. He decides to take another sip to avoid having to respond.

“Was I right?” Like Two presses. Snider is floundering.

“Does it matter?”

“Oh.” He laughs again, “Shy.”

Snider, despite himself, flushes. It’s an involuntary response to an unexpected attack.

“You’re just bragging now, aren’t you?”

“You like being difficult.” Like Two teases, ignoring his barb, “You don’t have to be so shy, you can be honest.”

He finds himself in a tough position; if he denies then it casts suspicion on him. If he accepts, it’s a wound to his pride. Snider doesn’t know what to call this; the infuriating back and forth where he doesn’t get to savor his victories. He tries to think of something to bite back, to stop this line of questioning, but Like Two can see he has him cornered and plays with him as result.

“Actually,” Like Two tilts his head against the couch, “I bet you wouldn’t be able to hold a gun anyway.”

Snider takes a special offense to that, and retorts without thinking.

“Of course I can hold a gun.”

“You look too weak.”

“I’m not-”

Snider stops when he feels it. Like Two has reached over like nothing, placing a hand on his upper arm, placing soft pressure against his bicep. It’s not like Snider has never been touched before, but something in him makes him stop. Like some strange electricity was running through his body. In any other situation he may just go quiet and observe this, but he doesn’t have that gift of calm here. Instead, he feels shaken, his heart clenches and it confuses him.

“Look at this; no muscle at all. You’re all skin and bones.” Like Two mocks, and Snider is confused as to why he wasn’t feeling anything too. “I bet you don’t even work out.”

He takes a while to get back to his bearings, to snap out of whatever stupor this was. Snider jerks his arm away, and Like Two just looks up at him impassively. Snider glares down at him, trying to impart some hostility here.

“I can hold a gun.”

Like Two says nothing to this. The silence makes Snider’s defense look weak, feeble in comparison. He’s not sure if he’s stumbled into the trap or if Like Two just conveniently took the chance. His arm still feels strange, alert, but the feeling of shock has moved to his heart. It’s odd. He hates it because he does not understand it. The closest feeling he could relate this to, was the moments he would pull the trigger, the moments when he lands that perfect shot. It was something like a successful momentum. He’s surprised to find his mind feels jumbled too. Instantly, because all he knows and understands is violence, he wonders if something’s been done to him. Like this was some attack.

He’s predictably not too bright. He places his glass on a side table, not in the mood for a drink. Instead he blurts out the first thing he can think of, and in turn, reveals to himself what he’s been thinking of.

“I don’t care about the money or the guns.” He says, dark and questioning, watching his reflection in the glass, “There’s only one thing I envy about you.”

Like Two seems to like this implication. He leans in to listen. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“The power.”

Like Two seems surprised to hear this. Then, he grins, laughs.

“I knew you were a sadist.” He teases.

Snider doesn’t hear him. He feels separate from himself in a way he’s never been before. It felt wrong to confess it, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He had no equal on the base. Nobody who surpassed him, and while he took pride in that, it could be lonely at the top. He doesn’t hate the isolation; no, his needs aren’t so sweet as to want a friend. What he wants is...is? 

What is it that he wanted? 

A challenge? Someone who could understand? Someone he didn’t have to look down on? He fails himself here, because he neglects his heart. All he knows is his hunger but he doesn’t know the source, the reason. He does not examine himself because he doesn’t see the point to. He just knows there’s one solution: to grasp at his big brother and to tear into him until finally he bent into what he wanted, until Enfield stopped being difficult and be the person he said he was meant to be.

And what was this? A child breaking his toys out of some frustrated confusion. 

But he knows there is only one kind of opponent out there that’s been able to shake him. Something solid, not just a concept, but a real flesh-and-blood opponent. Enfield’s remodeling is still just a faraway dream, but they were here now, the unforgiving reality. And so something is forcing itself out of his heart, clawing for answers. 

What is it like? To have that strength? To be truly unbeatable?

(To somehow not let that be enough?)

“You’ve fought people before, right?” Snider asks, still feeling very far away. His heart is pounding, the same as it does on the battlefield.

“Right.”

“And you’ve killed people.”

Like Two makes a face. He swirls his glass.

“Don’t make this weird.” He sighs, “I was just enjoying this.”

Snider doesn’t understand what’s being said. He’s too revved up to lose momentum anyway: “I just want to know; how does that feel?”

“Killing someone?”

“No.” He tries to think of how to word it. “To know you’re always going to win.”

Like Two stops. He glances to the side, and his expression is soft for once. He is neither displaying hostility nor sarcasm for once. Being asked this must have brought some barriers down. Snider is not relieved to see this, but he does feel something go tight in his stomach. What was wrong with him? His body was reacting in ways he’s never felt before, not in a setting like this. Maybe something was done to him. Like that moment on the hill, some outside force keeping him tame, that he couldn’t control.

Like Two looks back up at him. His lashes are long, Snider thinks reflexively. 

“It feels like the world was made just for me.”

He’s hearing it in his ears now. His heart. And he didn’t think someone could put it in words so well. He didn’t even know he had wanted words for it in the first place.

“I like my job,” Like Two goes on, voice gentle, “I like getting what I want. I don’t mind working for it. And I always know I’ll come out on top. Those times when I win...I don’t know.”

He takes a sip. Snider is only now noticing the lip gloss marks he’s left on the glass.

“It feels like it’s meant to be.”

Snider doesn’t realize he’s found his answer, for that disheartened search. Maybe what he always wanted was for someone to put it into words for him. 

To know someone shared that feeling.

Like Two twirls one of the ends of his pigtails between his fingers, dense to Snider’s changed mood. “Hm. You know, no one’s ever asked me that.” He says offhandedly, “I’ve never thought about it before.”

“It comes easily to you.” Snider points out, matter of fact, in disguised awe.

“Of course it does.” Like Two is starting to hit his stride now, and he sits upright, imperious, “World’s Empire is unbeatable. It only makes sense that I’m strong enough to protect it.”

He catches on then, subtle as it was. Like a thin crack on the corner of a mirror, missable but a threat. Snider, half between admiration and hostility, decides to dig in. 

“That’s why you fight? To protect them?”

“Hm? What other reason is there?” Like Two shoots back, but his tone is more questioning then offended, “I get anything I want because of this job.”

He begins to count it out on his fingers: “Clothes, food, a nice house to live in...what else could there be?”

For a moment, we can say Snider is not cunning here because the obvious mistake to exploit was right there, but he does not take it. Instead, his mind is still trying to wrap around this way of thinking. He is puzzled, for a variety of reasons. He has never considered the motives of the enemy side; what was the point in that? All he needed was to know they were strong, he was allowed to fight them, and on a personal level he found them incredibly distasteful even if he couldn’t say why. So hearing this, he tries to make sense of it. It wasn’t even that he could say that he could sympathize or understand. His confusion similarly wasn’t born from the fact they were on opposing sides. It was born from his own personal belief clashing with a superficial point of view. He tries to think of how to word this without outing himself. Despite his current mood, he retains a modicum of self-preservation.

“If it were me,” He begins, “I don’t think any of that would be important to me.”

“Thought as much.” Like Two counters, “You don’t strike me as the type. Alright then; what would you fight for?”

Snider is caught on the fact that he’s noticing these things about him, making sense of him. His heart is still pounding hard. He’s never cared about attention before, but he finds it intimidating to be seen now.

“I think the fighting is good enough.”

Like Two laughs. Snider knew he would, but he’s not shaken up this time when he expects it. It’s strange, noticing a pattern between you and someone. He wonders what that means. He wonders when did he begin to notice just how fragile someone looks when they laugh.

“So a reward means nothing to you? You just want to fight people?”

Snider frowns. He wants to communicate to him that it’s because it’s what he was built for, born for, but he knows he can’t. He hates his constraints. He never thought of himself as one who wanted to be understood, be he wants it now. He chooses an easier and less suspicious path.

“It’s frivolous. And tiresome. I don’t need useless things. If I can fight, and I can win, that’s good enough for me.”

“You’re really obsessed with being strong, for a guy who doesn’t have any muscle.”

Snider feels himself bristle again. He glares at him.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Of course I am.”

Like Two looks at him sideways, partially upwards because of the height difference. His gaze is hard, and imparts some meaning. It’s so much that Snider betrays himself; he looks away first. He hears a light clink, and then a shift on the couch. When he looks back he finds Like Two reclined, looking up at the ceiling. He looks tired, but relaxed. It was surreal to think this was the same person who has shot at him, nearly killed him, and he’s done the same in return.

“Alright then, how about this,” Like Two begins, “Don’t you want some proof of winning? To know you’re the strongest?”

“If I know that, then that’s enough.”

“You’re telling me that there’s no one out there you want to impress?” Like Two smiles, and tilts his head towards him, “Someone to intimidate?”

Unwillingly, Snider thinks of Enfield. Cold shoulders and mixed messages. Praise directed elsewhere. The person he could be in the dark.

A pair of pliers and a repair room at night.

Finally, he had thought hungrily then. Some connection.

“No.” He lies.

“Arrogant, aren’t we?”

“You can say what you want. It doesn’t change how I think.”

“I guess for someone who has never been on the battlefield you’d never understand,” Like Two continues, and as much as Snider wants to correct him, he can’t, “But that kind of pride is different from anything else. And I like knowing I’ve earned it, so I like having proof of it. Even you must know there’s a hierarchy in this world, right?”

Snider knows. He thinks of all the guns he’s overpowered before.

“And I like knowing I’m at the top.”

Snider considers this. He’s surprised at himself; when put that way, he begins to understand it. He glances at him, and smirks.

“And you called me arrogant?”

“Well, I’m just stating the truth, right?” Like Two smiles in return, like they were sharing another dark joke. 

He finds it very odd, but comforting, to think they could talk like this. This is not about Snider wanting to see the enemy side, or to sympathize with them. Rather, his strange feeling is beginning to feel cozy, like he’s beginning to get used to it. He has nothing to compare it to, but he’s starting to feel fine with it, not complacent, but tamed. He’s struggling to find something to relate to it, but there are just so many different ideas for it. It was uncontrollable. It was thrilling. It was nice, but it was hard to handle. He’s not himself. He is completely himself. He does not like how this makes him feel, but he also doesn’t want to leave this room.

A conversation he wants to keep having.

What a novel thought, for a person like him.

“Huh.” Like Two announces, “Weird.”

“What is?”

Like Two blinks. He stares straight ahead, and then places delicate fingertips on his forehead. 

“My headache is gone.”

Snider says nothing. He thinks he should say something, but he doesn’t know what. Instead his stomach turns in knots, and he doesn’t know why. Like Two crosses his legs again, one over the other, and Snider watches. Like Two blinks rapidly, like remembering something, and looks up at him again.

“Oh. I think I thought of something.”

“What is it?”

“Isn’t there someone you would want to protect?”

Snider stops. His knee-jerk reaction is to say ‘no’ but the memories come unbidden.

Sunshine. Smiles. Effort and love. Someone who has amazed him to be both weak and yet somehow strong. A rose scarred hand on his own, gentle and breakable. (So many, many times he thinks they could be broken so easily.) All the times he tells them ‘I don’t need that, I don’t need that, I don’t need that’ and yet they kept returning to him just like he needed, just like he wanted. He has yet to name that connection, and as much as he resisted it, it nurtured him, it stayed with him. Was that obedience? Foolishness? Enfield called it love. Is that love?

Still he knows one thing for sure: They only needed him. For them, he knew he was enough.

“...So there is someone.”

Snider snaps out of his thoughts, and finds Like Two looking at him tiredly, like he’s lost patience. That earlier comfort has hardened somehow. The defenses have gone back up. When did that happen?

“I didn’t say that.” Snider defends himself.

“Oh, please.” Like Two sneers, “You got this starry look in your eye. Am I right?”

Snider doesn’t understand what he means. All he knows is that stars are those bright things in the sky. He ignores this.

“I wouldn’t call it wanting to protect them.”

“So I was right.”

Snider riles up again. He hates when he does that, when he begins to ignore him. He asserts himself.

“They need me to fight for them.”

Like Two stares at him, but doesn’t say anything. He looks like he wants to, but second guesses it. What Snider notices instead is how he’s lost any softness from before, back to looking irritable and seething. It bothers him, as much as he didn’t think it would. Like he had finally grasped something and then felt it slip through his fingers. He didn’t think conversations could be so tiresome. He felt right and then wrong in the span of only a few seconds.

“It was a weird question anyway.” Snider instead accuses, “It’s soft for someone like you.”

“Look, I just-!” Like Two starts then stops, pouting. He seems to notice he’s getting childish. He’s mindlessly twirling the strands of his hair, trying to think of a way to reword this. Snider catches on quick. He doesn’t let him go that easily.

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in the first place.”

“Quit being stubborn.”

He glares up at him over his glasses. 

“Watch your tongue.” He warns.

Snider momentarily forgot their situation there. He doesn’t try to correct it; he’s too stuck on the hitch in their conversational rhythm. His stomach still feels tight with something, anxiety or expectation. Without room for excuses or flattery, Like Two gives up his fight. He looks away, angry and bashful. He takes in a big sigh.

“...I only said it because I do that too.”

Snider grasps. It takes him a few seconds to fully understand what was said and that it was actually said. He almost wants to laugh at him. He said this softly, like an embarrassed child, that Snider almost wants to mock him. For all the bravado before, for all his confidence, he was displaying some weakness here.

 He does not know, or realize, that he’s also reacting negatively because he does not like this fact. Who could that be? For people like them, the enemy he disliked, to have someone they fought for? He doesn’t like the idea that Like Two had someone that special to him.

Is it because he doesn’t want the enemy to have a heart? But even that doesn’t feel right to him. His stomach hurts. He reaches for his previously abandoned glass. He takes a sip of his sparkling water to try to distract himself, and in the span of a few seconds, and fueled with resentment, his mind puts together the puzzle pieces.

He swallows. He takes the glass down from his lips. Snider blinks.

“...Is that the person you’re filling in for?”

Like Two cuts his eyes at him. He looks speechless. It’s how Snider knows he’s right.

“...Does it matter?”

“It does.”

Something feels pulled taut then. Whatever comfortable space they had made for themselves, whatever understanding they had reached, was broken again. Fractured with a need for answers and intensity. Snider doesn’t think twice on what he says. He just knows he feels annoyed and hates a hypocrite when he sees them.

“I can understand what you’re saying.” Snider clarifies, putting the glass back down, “It makes some sense. But if you’re really fighting for someone then it looks like it’s wasted on them.”

“The hell did you just-”

“You have your pride. You’re strong, I’ll admit that.” Snider talks over him, tone getting bitter, “You won’t even let me get away with anything.”

Like Two just watches him.

“So who is so important to take advantage of you like this?”

It’s there. In just a brief moment. Like Two’s eyes widen at his words. Then it is gone, as he glances away quickly. Snider was waiting for him to point his gun at him, but instead he sees him thinking this over. Considering. He narrows his eyes then, and purses his lips. He tilts his head to the side a bit, towards the door. For a second he thinks he’s ignoring him, but he finds him glancing at the soldiers, still stationed and ready.

“You better watch what you say here.” Like Two practically hisses, but whatever message he’s trying to send is lost on Snider. He wasn’t done talking.

“I’m just telling you that it doesn’t make sense. You want to act high and mighty but aren’t you the one losing here?”

“Hey-”

“I saw you when I came in here.” Snider rails on, “Your nose was bleeding. Are you falling apart or something?”

Like Two goes pale. He continues to say nothing. 

“If that’s the case who would send you here in that condition?”

The room feels very still then, the only sound between them being the crackling of the fire, and the distant sounds of the party. (Snider had almost forgotten there was even a party at all.) He waits to see Like Two’s reaction, because he knows he’s right and he’s also feeling spiteful. But he finds it odd to find he wasn’t mad at him. Instead it was something aimless, directed at an idea and a situation.

 At this point, again, Snider feels like someone else is saying these words, like he is watching himself do this. He could turn this around on himself; why does he care? Did he forget why he was here? This person, for all his faults and his mistakes, was nothing to him but an obstacle in a longstanding marathon. So what has gotten into him?

Like Two finally moves. It is very graceful, thoughtful as he does it. He does not stop staring Snider down when he does; very subtly he moves his hand that was holding the glass. He holds his arm out to the side, in an elegant sweep. Then he drops the glass.

It breaks into many little pieces. 

Snider watches it, baffled. The water stains the carpet. He looks back up, but Like Two is still staring at him, dead-eyed.

“Oh.” He says in a cold, cold voice, “Clumsy me.”

Snider blinks. He is speechless.

“Well? Pick it up.”

“...I’m not-”

“I said pick it up."

He goes cold. It’s very rare he feels scared at all; he usually translates it into enthusiasm, bloodlust. But this feels very different from a battlefield, and it feels too hostile for his liking. It was like a switch had been flipped. He had not realized it but he had triggered something in him. Snider does not know what to expect at this point. He glances at the soldiers, but they don’t move, backs turned towards them.

He looks back, and Like Two is still staring him down.

He thinks of the mission. He takes the excuse, and does as he’s told. In lack of any better action, he begins to pick up the glass pieces, to play his part, to look busy. It feels briefly indignant, but it's a shaky atmosphere. He sees movement in the corner of his eye. When he looks up, Like Two is still looking down at him but now his head is tilted towards the door.

“Both of you,” he addresses the soldiers, and Snider watches their shoulders stiffen in response to their boss’ voice. Like Two glances back at Snider then, confident.

“Close the door.”

A cold air fills the room. Like Two keeps his eyes on Snider, not looking as the soldiers do as they were told. The door closes with a heavy and final thud, leaving the two alone. Snider is now seeing how badly this has gone for him. Privacy was not a good sign. This scenario could go down a lot of different ways, and none of them were good. However, more than fear, Snider was feeling frustrated. That feeling he was grasping at was falling from him even more. It’s like nothing had changed at all. It was grating on him.

He wasn’t even wrong.

Very briefly, he sees something glint under the couch.

His gun.

He glances back up, but does nothing. He just notes its presence, hyper aware of his situation.

He stands up and places the glass pieces back on the platter. When he meets his gaze, Snider glares at him back. Like Two is still watching him, soft in the light of the fireplace. He hates that, for a brief and embarrassing moment, Snider realizes what it meant when people said someone was beautiful.

“Sit down. It creeps me out when you look down at me like that.”

“I-”

“Sit down.”

The tone is icy, and there’s no lightness in his voice now. Just very inhibited and apathetic orders. Snider takes a moment before he obeys. He likes to think he’s not really obeying as much as he’s making it easier on himself. Like Two looks him up and down, almost methodical, and then finally turns away. He grabs a new glass lightly, and sniffles. He takes a sip.

“...I’m having some thoughts about you.” He begins, “Thoughts I don’t want.”

Snider knows he’s meant to listen now. He knows exactly what’s being said, because the accusations are true. But he hates that he has to because he also felt like he was being wrongfully convicted. In the corner of his eye, he sees Like Two rub a thumb over the assault rifle next to him.

“If I’m right this could turn out very badly for you.”

He looks into the drink, the very picture of a professional.

“You’ll find this hard to believe, but I don’t hate you. So I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong. Do you want to prove me wrong?”

When he looks back up at him, Snider doesn’t back down. Like Two seems to note his silence. It practically oppresses the entire room. Instead Snider is catching on that first part, a narcissist to the end. He doesn’t hate him? Is that true?

“Why is it important that you know who that person is?”

“You’re taking this awfully seriously.” Snider immediately shoots back. He’s finding that silence just means his answers would be assumed so he won’t let them. He was sure he was in a dangerous situation now, but he doesn’t care. Instead he is single-mindedly focused on one thing; that he was not being heard. That Like Two was obviously running away. Snider was not scared of theatrics and he was not scared of threats.

Just like any other danger, it just made him sink his teeth in more.

“You can’t be this dense.” Like Two says after considering his answer. Snider scowls; he did not appreciate getting jerked around like this when the core of the subject was right there.

“All I’m saying is that it doesn’t make sense you’re so sensitive about this. It’s not my fault they made you come here, and it’s not my fault you listened to them. I just don’t understand why.”

Like Two flares up, goes to say something, but then stops. His hand is now gripping his rifle, and Snider keeps an eye on this but doesn’t care. He could posture all he wanted, but it didn’t mean Snider would back down. 

“Christ, you’re arrogant.” Like Two says in a low tone, mostly to himself.

“Guess I’m not that ‘shy’, am I?”

Snider smiles when Like Two shoots him a look. It was probably intended to be a joke, or at least, as much of a joke the two could have between them. Well, Snider at least found it funny. 

But he’s surprised when Like Two stops. His shoulders relax a little and he averts his gaze. He’s still pouting, of course. But he looks deep in thought, considering his actions.

Snider wishes he knew what he was thinking. He never found it a problem before, knowing he will never truly hear another person’s thoughts. But here he is a little frustrated, that there was a place he could not enter, things he would never see.

“Before,” Like Two changes the subject, “You said they were taking advantage of me.”

Snider blinks. Was that all?

“So?”

“Why did you word it like that?”

He thought it was the most obvious thing in the world, but he guesses he gave them too much credit without thinking.

“What else is this? They sent you here to be ridiculed and you just took it. I’d think someone like that is unforgivable, wouldn’t you?”

Like Two’s face flushes. It was almost as pink as the rest of his outfit.

“Don’t insult him like that.” He says low. He’s still missing his point. Snider is tired of this runaround. He probably doesn’t even have a concrete reason now, but just had a need to be heard, a frustration at being silenced. He wants him to understand. He wants him to see.

“Why not? Maybe you are right; it doesn’t matter who he is.” He glares at him here, disgusted, “Trash is trash no matter who it is.”

Like Two looks at him aghast. It’s mixed with anger but mostly surprise.

“...You have no idea, do you?” He asks, mostly to himself, dumbfounded at this scenario. Snider flares.

“I told you it didn’t matter, didn’t I?”

He seems to take this in. Angry, but confused. Thrown off. Maybe he was finally hearing him, Snider thinks, and before he could lose that he continues. At this point he’s mostly disgusted at this scenario, at this power inequality. Like Two tries to get a word in, but Snider intercepts this. 

“You like to act like you’re in charge but from what I can see, you’re just being taken advantage of. Why are you making excuses for them?”

Like Two says nothing.

“If you’re as strong as you say then have some self respect.” He scoffs, “Shouldn’t they be grateful to have you anyway?”

“Stop it.”

Snider notices it late. Like Two has finally looked away, his face turned away from him. He can’t see his expression, can’t even picture it. But there is one thing he can see; the right hand he adjusted.

The hand gripping his assault rifle.

Snider does not pause on this. He does, of course, realize the dangers. But he also sees he’s finally being heard. He looks back up, to Like Two’s turned face. 

“It looks to me” he finishes,  “that you make a lot of excuses for people who hurt you.”

The words settle in the air, and then silence fills the room. The tension feels pulled taut again, like the wire on a bomb about to go off. Snider prepares himself; he is expecting the violence. But mostly it feels like some relief to say what he was thinking. It’s odd. He still has no idea who this person is, but he can’t help feeling mad at them. It’s strange to hate a person he doesn’t know. He tries to find his reasoning, but when he finds the answer, he can’t believe it.

He is mad for Like Two.

It’s ridiculous. To be mad for an enemy and yet here he was. Indignant and disgusted and frustrated. It feels ugly and messy. For all the pedestal he put them on, the projected idea of worthiness, he can’t help but be angry that it all had come undone.

Like Two looks so strong, he thinks. Capable. And yet wasted potential.

After what feels like forever, he finally hears it.

He thinks he must be hearing things. It’s a very small sound, inconsequential and modest. But it builds up, slowly. A small hiccup. And then a sniffle.

Like Two lets go of his gun. He wipes at his face, and then looks at Snider. Snider’s eyes go wide, in shock.

Like Two is crying.

Instantly, Snider’s mind goes blank.

“Would you stop,” Like Two chokes out, but stops, trying to muster some steadiness, “Would you stop saying all the things I’ve been thinking?”

It’s obvious he’s trying very hard to hold himself together but even that fails him. He crumbles. Snider cannot think of a better way to put it; it’s like he falls apart. He hunches his shoulders and ducks his head, using the back of his hand to wipe at his tears, trying to stop them. He looks so small there. Switching from confident to weak so easily. Snider is too shocked to even react. He struggles, lost and confused.

“...What,” Snider blinks, “What are you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. Like Two looks back up at him, angry, and he can see how stupid of a question it was.

“What the hell does it look like?!” He yells, offended, “I’m crying! Are you trying to make fun of me or something?!”

Snider says nothing. Even he knows he did something bad just now.

Like Two’s fire dies down quickly enough. He looks very tired, and overwhelmed. Humiliated. He looks away again, too exhausted to stay mad.

“This is a mess.” He announces, and sniffles, “Forget what I said. Just forget everything, alright? You’re dismissed.”

“...What?”

“Just go.” Like Two says, taking off his sunglasses, still trying to wipe at the tears, “Don’t tell anyone about this. If you do, I'll hunt you down myself and shoot you.”

Snider is still trying to process this. He feels like there’s so much going on right now and while he’s a clever mind in battle, he is absolutely useless with emotional things like this.

It’s not that he’s never seen tears before (countless prisoners they’ve saved, scared children, soldiers begging for their lives). It’s just that he’s never dealt with them. It’s a foreign idea to someone like him, purely biological and uncontrollable. Which is probably why, even more, he’s shocked to see the enemy capable of crying at all.

They can cry.

Even powerful and unstoppable forces like them could cry? So even they were weighed down with these useless things, humbled by needless distractions. Humanity could be such a curse, Snider thinks. He’s more baffled to think  that they were just as susceptible to feeling overwhelmed. He’d always thought they were stronger than them. He must have subconsciously thought they were strong enough to overcome these things too.

He was wrong, however.

So they could feel the same things as a human? It’s so strange.

He thinks, also, crying could look very ugly. That it looked very painful.

His instinct tells him to leave. To take the out. This is his perfect chance, to get back to Enfield and to warn him, and to forget any of this even happened. Christ, did he cause this? It’s such a terrible feeling to think he triggered this. Why did he care? His mind has gone from blank shock, to a spinning whirlwind. He should go. Why aren’t you going?

Snider is surprised to know that he wants to stay. He wants him to stop crying.

He has no reason for this. He’s too panicked to investigate for the reason. He just knows, in his heart, he hates seeing him cry and he wants to make it stop.

Soldier he is, he switches tactics. How do you get someone to stop crying? He couldn’t just tell him; he would probably get mad again. How did he see it before? He remembers a long time ago, a mission he and Enfield were on. They were driving forces out of a town. He remembers the crying children. Enfield got them to stop. How?

They were hiding in a safe house. He remembers Enfield stopping them before they left. “Give me a moment.” He had said. He’d approached them gently, smiled at them. Patted them on their heads. Reassured them.

Snider blinks out of the memory. Something in him recoils. He was not going to do something so embarrassing. He scraps the idea.

(He is briefly reminded of the mortifying differences between him and his brother. He wishes Enfield were here. He would have handled this better. He was supposed to handle these things.)

His mind is equally still cycling on what Like Two had said: “Stop saying all the things I’ve been thinking.”

Snider’s heart hurts. Like he’s been shot. He can’t leave, he thinks. He needs to think of something.

“...Why are you still here?”

“What?”

Snider had been in such a daze he was forgetting time was passing. Like Two’s small voice broke through his thoughts. It was still struggling, above a whisper, and cracking like a mistake. He hiccups. His face is red now, blotchy with tears and shame.

“I said you can go.” He says firmly.

“...I don’t want to.”

Like Two glares at him, pouting. Snider doesn’t know how, but he keeps messing this up.

“If this is pity, you can shove it.” Like Two mutters, trying to choke more sobs down, “Just go.”

Is that what this was?

Snider knows what pity is; more importantly he knows something pitiful when he sees it. And he knows this whole display is just an embarrassment, but it doesn’t disgust him. To pity something is to look down on it, and this wasn’t that. He is scrambling to find things he recognizes in this landscape, to find common ground to help him through. And it dawns on him, slowly, what this was. That he knew it:

Helplessness. Fear. A terrible feeling to know your strength was not enough.

And he knew what helped him in those moments.

Perhaps it’s not directly, but he is grasping for solutions and he’ll take what he can get.

He grabs Like Two’s wrist, who looks at him offended at the sudden action. But before he can yell at him again, Snider reaches into his own pocket, and shoves the candy onto his open palm.

It is a ridiculous solution. And it is the most earnest thing Snider has ever done.

Like Two looks at the candy, baffled, blinking away tears. He looks up, and they hold each other’s gazes for what feels like forever. Snider’s heart is pounding again. He’s never known shame, but he feels something very similar to it now. Distantly he’s thinking how someone as strong as this could have a wrist so delicate, something he could wrap his whole hand around. He’s a little mad, but he doesn’t know at what. He just hates having silence after the decision.

“...What,” Like Two gulps, and then grimaces, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s candy.”

“I know that,” he bites, “why are you giving me this?”

Snider’s irritation grows. He hadn’t thought this through, and he hates the consequences he has to endure. He wishes this was over with.

“Just take it already.” He pressures, feeling foolish. He lets go of his wrist, cold after contact.

Like Two goes to say something, and then stops. He’s trying to process what was just told to him. It’s another confusing moment he is thrown into, and his eyes are still glassy from the crying. He looks down at the candy.

“...This looks cheap. Like it’s meant for kids.” He complains. 

“Give it back if you don’t want it.”

Like Two looks back up at him. Snider wishes he would stop looking at him so much.

“...Are you trying to cheer me up?”

Snider feels repulsed at the implication. He has a million responses in his head but they all sound weak. He decides to say nothing, avoiding his gaze, and crossing his arms. He didn’t think giving him this would give him so much trouble. He had not asked for all the complications that arose with it.

He assumes Like Two will just throw it back at him; will just get mad again. And to be honest, he’s not far off. Like Two briefly considers it, because this was such a weird scenario and he’s ashamed enough to keep lashing out. This was all so unbearably stupid, from the crying to this gift. He’s not used to things like this.

He looks down at the candy.

Snider is surprised when he hears the crinkle of the wrapper. When he looks again, Like Two has unwrapped it, and is now holding it up to the light.

He’s looking at it tiredly, tear stains on his cheeks. It is a vibrant red when illuminated, like a ruby.

He brings it down and eats it.

An awkward silence fills the space. Snider watches him, amazed. Like Two stares straight ahead as he chews on it, and when he finally crunches on it, something shifts. The scenery somehow brightens.

He chuckles. And then laughs.

“This is so cheap.” He says astounded, “All it tastes like is sugar.”

He continues to laugh, incredulous, wiping away at the last of his tears. Snider doesn’t know what to make of it. He thinks he should be offended, but he’s not. He actually finds he’s not thinking about himself at all. Instead, he’s just relieved.

Good, he thinks, he finally stopped crying.

“Is this your idea of making me feel better?” Like Two shakes his head, twisting the wrapper between his fingers, “You’re really bad at this.”

The relief runs out and Snider is filled with irritation again. He frowns, glancing to the side.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“God, make up your mind; are you a jerk or are you trying to be nice? I can’t figure you out.”

“I just wanted you to stop crying. I didn’t want anything else.”

Like Two says nothing. He takes in this answer pensively, and it makes Snider regret even saying it. The crinkling of plastic fills the space between them. Like Two crunches on the candy again. Something comfortable settles in between them, unsaid but felt. The silence did not feel overbearing, but like it’s own conversation, equal and stable. Existing between only two people. The fire shifts behind them, and Snider finds himself watching the shadows against Like Two’s gun. Like Two stops fidgeting with the wrapper.

“...You know, you,” Like Two breaks the silence, “You almost committed treason back there.”

“What?”

“It’s why I had them close the doors.”

Snider blinks. He tries to put together what he’s saying. Like Two looks at him sideways through their lashes. And then it all falls together.

It all makes sense, and simultaneously still won’t. He had built up that person to be such a worthy opponent, and now he finds another reason to want to fight him. In a long tally of crimes, he looks at this person in front of him, and feels angry that they were another mark. And it’s incredibly surreal. Strange. Almost, offensively, infuriating. 

(He should be cursing their lost chance; that the Resistance had been so close to seeing the Emperor in the flesh. That he almost had the moment to finally fight him head on. It probably says everything that these thoughts don’t even drift across his mind.)

“Do you regret saying those things now?” Like Two asks gently. Snider doesn’t even need to think of his answer.

“Of course not. I still think it’s true.”

Like Two does not smile. He does not glare at him this time. Instead he seems to consider this, and then drop it. He leans back on the couch, and looks upwards. 

“I can’t hate him.” He confesses, “I don’t think I could ever hate him. No matter what you or anyone says about him.”

Snider wants to contest this. But he feels like he should be quiet now. Like when seeing something unspeakably beautiful, like he has to be silent out of respect. 

“I had a nightmare recently.” He continues. His voice begins to sound very far away. “At least, I think it was a nightmare. But I wasn’t able to protect him. I saw a future I might not be able to prevent.”

Snider relaxes. He leans back with him, dropping his arms, letting him speak. 

“So lately I’ve been trying my best. But…” He closes his eyes, in pain, “But sometimes I think like you do. I get lonely. And frustrated. I don’t...Sometimes I wonder if he sees what I’m doing.”

“He’s ungrateful.” Snider cuts in. Like Two opens his eyes, frowning deeply.

“He’s not.” He says instantly. “He’s just…”

He trails off. Snider realizes there is something here, a clue, something about the enemy they’ve never seen. But Like Two does not pick the thread back up. Instead he sighs, drained.

“I just don’t know how I’ll be able to protect him if I get thoughts like that. I hate it. Maybe I’ll fail because I’m like this. Maybe I’m not strong enough for him, even though I want to be.”

Any of these hints, any of the tactical advantages these confessions were, were lost on Snider. He is single-minded in this moment now, forgetting a war and thinking only of what was said to him. He’s trying to make sense of it. Emotional matters were a mystery to him, so he thinks it’s so needlessly complicated for Like Two to feel any of this. And yet, he knows he has done the same thing.

“I’ve had nightmares like that, too.”

Like Two turns his head towards him.

“...Yeah?”

Snider looks up at the ceiling and if he closed his eyes, it would come back to him. Not just the nightmare, not just the desperate feeling against an enemy that wouldn’t die. But also the weight of Master in his arms, heavy, fluttering between life and death. All his own fault. The result of his own weakness. He had gotten so used to the feeling of them always being there, that he had felt so frantic to know they could die.

They had survived that day, but a deep scar had been left on Snider’s heart. A grief that he only needed to feel once, and would never forget.

“I wasn’t able to protect someone.”

Like Two watches him.

“It’s frustrating, to know you’re not strong enough. That there’s something else out there. It makes sense to want to prevent that.”

It feels strange to Snider to relate to someone. He was so used to isolating himself, that a connection like this was unfamiliar. All of this was out of his comfort zone, that he finds himself struggling. And yet he’s trying. He wants him to understand this too, like everything else. They shared something.

Another strange thought. He shared something with the enemy. It left a bad aftertaste.

“...That person.” Like Two clarifies, “You mentioned them before too.”

“Hn.”

“They’re important to you?”

More unfamiliar land. Snider doesn’t like the way it’s put. He holds Master in some high regard but nothing he’ll admit, or has words for. He shrugs instead.

“They’re weak. They need me, that’s all.”

Like Two’s expression softens again, from exhaustion to something like relief. Hope. His eyes at least look a little brighter to Snider.

“Yeah. I think I get that.” He agrees. 

Another comfortable silence falls between them. Snider has never talked about these things with anyone; he’s never seen or felt the need to. And yet it’s relaxing somehow. Like sorting out a mess together. Untangling this complex web of thoughts and ideas and laying them in order to compare and consider. He thinks it’s very bothersome to have these thoughts in the first place. He’s only ever wanted a few things, but being born like this brought a wave of unbidden complications sometimes. Still. It was nice to have someone to share this with. He glances at Like Two who is still looking ahead in deep thought.

So. He speculates. He guesses he was something more than a good fight.

Like Two chuckles.

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

“...What do you mean?”

“You don’t have any advice?”

“I don’t have anything like that for you. I can’t fix your problems.”

“You really are bad at cheering up someone.”

“I already told you, that’s not what I was trying to do.”

“Sadist.”

Snider is starting to get flustered. He realizes that Like Two is recovering just fine; he’s gone from crying to teasing him again. He feels ridiculous for making him stop now that he remembers how he’s like normally. Although he would usually ignore it, now it’s gotten on his nerves enough that he can’t.

“Hey.” Snider calls out.

“What?”

“You keep using that word.”

“So? You hate it?”

Snider doesn’t know what he means. He just stares at him, stoically. 

“What does it mean?”

An awkward silence falls on the room, lost on Snider. Like Two’s face drops. He looks at him, wide-eyed. And then, like the final punchline, he bursts into laughter. 

Snider, despite himself, flushes. To him, it had just been a question.

“Are you serious?” He asks him rhetorically, holding his stomach, “Are you stupid or what?”

He feels like he’s fallen into a trap. He glares at him coldly, too self-important to grace that with an answer. 

(There is a sound of pounding footsteps in the hallway, but neither notice.)

Like Two finally calms down, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head, incredulous, still grinning.

“I can’t make heads or tails of you.” He confesses, “Are you an idiot or not? Are you trying to help me or are you being stubborn? God, I don’t even know your name.”

Snider wants to correct him again. That he wasn’t trying to help, that he didn’t intend something so sweet. But his words die in his throat, feeling lost at his own reasoning too. More importantly, he’s realizing that he won’t be able to tell him anything. That all of this, as crucial as it felt to him, will mean nothing in the end. This was a mission. He was the enemy. Shared feelings or not, he’ll never be able to revisit this again. It feels just like that time again, to lose something just as he saw how much it meant to him.

He hates it. He hates when he feels powerless like this. When he can’t get his way.

(There are now raised voices coming from the ballroom. Still, neither notice.)

The couch shifts. When Snider looks, he’s surprised to see Like Two has leaned over now, towards him, supporting himself with one hand on the cushions. His face is so close, that Snider feels his heart stop. His purple eyes look curious, and they’re still red from the crying.

“Actually,” Like Two says softly, “have we met before?”

“What?”

He blinks. Snider has never been so acutely aware of personal space before this, but now it feels so daringly ignored. He is beautiful, unadorned with scorn or conceit. Snider feels pain in his stomach again, but this time it’s less of a tangle of knots, and more like a gentle flutter. Expectation. Panic. He watches Like Two’s lips as he realizes:

“You look familiar.”

Snider goes cold. 

Then, finally, they hear the gunshots.

It’s muffled by the doors but it’s a distinct sound in the ballroom. They both look at the door in attention. A woman screams in horror, and then the heavy sound of soldiers’ yelling. More gunshots. Snider doesn’t have to put two and two together; he already knows, and yet he feels frozen in space. His situation has gone from bad to dire. 

Footsteps pound down the hallways, towards them, and then the door bursts open. It’s one of the soldiers from before, but this time he’s injured. He’s holding his stomach, futilely trying to stop the bleeding of multiple gunshot wounds. His panting can be heard through his gas mask. He’s leaned against the door frame for support.

“S-sir!” he struggles out, as he slips down, “the Resistance…!”

He collapses, leaving a long blood trail on the frame from his descending hand. Like Two snaps his head back to Snider, his expression going from shock, to angry recognition. 

He does not get the chance to defend himself; he’d lost the chance a long time ago.

Snider thinks fast. Just as Like Two lunges for his gun, Snider kicks it away. In reward, Like Two sharply punches him in the face, and Snider sees stars. It all happens so fast; adrenaline takes the driver’s seat. He tries to regain his senses, his cheek begins to ache. When he looks he sees Like Two has already reached his gun and is aiming it at him. He is furious, and his face is red with contempt.

“Bastard!” He yells at him, “You bastard!”

Snider dives behind the couch as he shoots, laying low to the floor as the bullets fly through the couch. Fragments of fabric float through the air, the smell of gunpowder fills the room. Snider’s ears are ringing, and he sees it under the couch. His gun. Just as he had left it.

“You’re one of them! I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t-!” Like Two is still raving, as he marches towards him, “Get out here and face me!”

He kicks down the couch, and aims. He stops. He is shocked to find himself staring down the barrel of Snider’s gun. Snider is staring him down, with the patient focus of a predator before prey, his chest rising and falling fast with panic. He slowly rises from his crouching position, tall and ready. He feels a familiar static in his hands, the power he can unleash but hesitates. He’s at a loss for words. This was all happening so fast and it has gone so wrong. He was thrown back to familiar land, the thing he had wanted, but now he can’t help but hate it. Like Two is quick to put two and two together, looking at him and then his gun, and grits his teeth.

“When I’m through with you,” he threatens, “I’ll make them melt you down for parts.”

 “It’s not what you think.” Snider says coldly.

“No?! Were you having fun?! Seeing me like that?!” Like Two screams, and his voice nearly cracks, “It must have been a real laugh, huh?!”

It should have been, he thinks. It really should have been. His mind feels scrambled and it's like the world falls away. He can’t make sense of any of it. What did he care how he felt? But he hates being misunderstood like this. He doesn’t take long to dwell on it because he doesn’t have the privilege. Like Two looks in so much pain there, ready to kill in defense of his own pride. That’s not what Snider wanted. You’re so fragile.

(God damn it, why are you so fragile?)

Like Two’s hands are shaking on the trigger. Snider takes his chance.

“I wasn’t lying.”

He stops. He’s still glaring him down.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not lying!” Snider bites back, his blood boiling, “Would you quit being so stubborn, and listen to me?!  I meant it! I meant everything!”

Like Two’s expression softens. He recognizes something in that tone, something familiar in only a short span of time. A thousand things are being said between them, in that tense moment. Snider wants to be understood but he doesn’t know why he wants to be understood. He just wants the truth, even if it does nothing for him. What the hell was wrong with him? His heart hurts, he’s desperate for some answer, and none of this is right. He feels sick with something, not himself, and yet still. Yearning.

“Everything...Everything I said was true.” He says finally, both as admittance, and a realization to himself.

Like Two does not lower his gun. He does not pull the trigger. But his face changes; he goes from anger, to confusion. Sadness. Like he is going over their whole conversation and trying to find the flaw but nothing comes up. His voice trembles. It sounds fragile, on the edge of breaking.

“Why?” He asks, “Why would you tell me something like that?”

Snider is speechless. He doesn’t know the answer either.

But he can tell he’s hurt him even more.

And then, as if in slow motion, he hears a gunshot. 

Like Two’s face grimaces in pain as he falls. Snider watches, astounded, but his own gun is still cold in his hands. He blinks, shocked, and when he turns to look he sees him there.

His brother with his still smoking rifle. 

Enfield raises his head, and his expression is worry, eyes soft with panic.

“Snider! Are you okay?” 

He rushes over but Snider can’t respond. He feels separate from himself. For once he feels very hopeless. Enfield, of course, does not notice.

“Things went bad,” he explains, “But I got the documents. I didn’t know there were soldiers here! Did he hurt you?”

Snider hears him, but it’s like he’s at the bottom of a dark well and struggling to hear echoes. All he can manage is to shake his head. He looks at Enfield’s work; Like Two has been shot in the knee and he’s still shaking in pain. He holds it, cursing, his blood vibrant against his pale legs. His gun has fallen from him. Snider feels intense anger, but he doesn’t know at what. It wasn’t right; this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“We should go.” He says, his voice hollow, and turns to leave. He feels sick just being here, as if leaving the room would take all this back.

“Wait.” Enfield calls. “Snider. Don’t be lazy.”

Snider turns around, glaring. He’s ready to snap at him, but then stops. Enfield’s back is turned to him, and he’s aiming down at Like Two. Like a hunter ready to put an animal out of its misery.

“Really,” he sighs goodheartedly, “There’s no need to leave a job half-finished.”

Snider is lightning quick, as he rushes over and shoves his gun down. Enfield looks surprised at his expression, and although he doesn’t know what kind he’s making, he doesn’t care. Like Two equally is watching this confused, going from victim to rescued in only a few seconds.

“Leave him.” He orders.

“What? Why?” Enfield asks, without a hint of offense, “What’s gotten into you?”

He falters. It’s there again, consequences for his actions. He doesn’t know what he wants; he wants to leave there. He wants to be understood. He wants everything that happened to mean something. Stupid banter. Half-hearted reassurances. Being understood. He doesn’t know why any of that was important, but he wants it to be. He felt something then; new and thrilling and exciting. He doesn’t know if that means anything. Snider is not one to introspect on things like this. Rather, he follows his instincts. All he knows is that he liked it. He wanted him to stop looking so pitiful. To stop being hurt. 

It’s so stupid. You’re so strong but the world keeps doing this. And he can’t help this either, no matter how much pride he had in himself. Why is it that he could be a terror on a battlefield and yet fail here?

It’s not fair. It makes no sense.

But he feels, he hopes, that he can do this much.

“...We don’t have time to waste.” He just says, authoritative, finding his voice again, “Hurry up.”

“Snider-”

He cuts him off by grabbing Enfield roughly by his upper arm and dragging him away. He’s quick to shrug him off, frowning, noisily voicing his disapproval. Snider is used to this so he ignores it. On their way out, he looks back. 

He looks small there. Broken. He is glaring at him like death, processing the message in his actions. He is noticeably still, his hand only casually laid over the bleeding wound. Like a wounded animal, facing its death with dignity. Snider wants to explain himself; justify everything. He wants answers. He wants to know what he’s thinking. If anything that happened between them meant something to him too. If he believed him. A large part of him feels he’s owed that, like he should take those parts of him and know they belonged to him. 

You are wasted on them, he can’t help but believe.

Snider looks away.

It’s not as if there would be any point to it however. He was still here and he was still there, and there was no crossing that.

(It’s not fair.)

They are almost home free before it happens. Down the hallway, and smelling the night air. It only happens in a few seconds but it was like life was in slow-motion. He will remember this later when he’s in the clinic, staring up at the ceiling. Master at his side, holding his gun, tired but relieved. Life rushed past him in that aftermath, but it was like he stood still in time. Remembering.

To be honest, he can’t help but remember it. It keeps replaying in his mind as much as he does not want it, every detail, every tremor of the heart. It’s how he remembers the smell of the night air. How he remembers his face.

Snider had not heard him; it’s more like he sensed it. Like a base animal instinct. He had turned his head but it was too late; he remembers the sharp pain first. His own blood splattering against the walls. The distinct ring of gunshots reverberating against his ears. He had looked down. The familiar gouging from an assault rifle, his chest dotted with bullet wounds.

His vision blurs just as the pain hits. Enfield screams his name. He reaches for his gun, but not him.

Before Snider fell, just as he gave way to bright light, he saw him.

Like Two at the end of the hallway, struggling to keep balance, aimed and cold.

That keeps coming back to him. When he closes his eyes. When he sleeps. The way he stood there, in pain, and glaring him down. It was simultaneously so familiar, and also so foreign. When he resurfaces, his mind feels blank. And when he is alone in the infirmary, when the night presses in, he stares listlessly at nothing. 

While usually he’s glad when he can avoid human things, human consequences, in those moments he wishes he could get scars. He places a hand over his chest, but the skin is smooth, thanks to Master’s healing. There is no trace of the bullet wounds, and it makes him sad.

He can’t blame him. He knows that.

Instead he wishes he could talk to him. That if he had the chance to see him again, he could have taken his hand and placed it over his chest. Shown him where he had shot him. Reassured him.

See? Snider would have told him; You have nothing to worry about.

You’ve always been strong enough. Capable.

It’s impressive that even a crybaby like you, could get such a good shot at me.