Chapter Text
Spy enjoyed his morning coffee in relative peace, his mug in one hand and his balisong flipping around his hand. He usually sat outside with his coffee, but with the weather changing, the cold forced him to spend his mornings inside. He disliked the noise of the busy mornings, but he'd rather not lose any fingers to frostbite.
He positioned himself in a remote corner in an attempt to not only keep a low profile, but to avoid as much of the kitchen chaos as possible. He watched everyone go about their morning routines, the weight of his knife shifting as he absentmindedly flicked it open and closed. The motion was instinct at this point, but something about it calmed him. Flip swing click. Flip swing click. Perfectly accurate. Perfectly precise.
His mind was other places as he watched the other mercenaries trip over each other in an attempt to get their food and get ready for their day. But as small and discreet as he tried to make himself, another body in the combined kitchen dining room is still another body.
“Heya, Suits, finally got too cold for ya’ out there?” Spy internally groaned. It wasn’t too late to take his chances with the frostbite. Within a second Scout was far too close for comfort, causing him to lean away. “Your mother never teach you not to play with knives?”
“Did your mother never teach you about personal space?” He quipped, standing up to make space between them. He flipped his knife closed before looking at it and slipping it back into his suit. “And I am not playing with a toy. You of all people should know the importance of keeping your reflexes swift and your senses sharp. One false move could send us all back to respawn.”
He gave the Scout a look sharper than the blade he was previously juggling. He was done here anyway. The Medic did not appreciate him smoking indoors. He glanced at the Scout who seemed to be flushed.
“If you have nothing more to say, I will be taking my leave.” He silently slipped away, leaving nothing but an empty coffee cup by the sink. It was unfortunate that he still craved the weight and motion of the knife in his skilled hands.