Work Text:
Spy is in the process of wrapping up some gossip with Heavy when Sniper approaches them. As far as Spy knows, Sniper can't understand Russian outside a few creative swear words and the prefixes to go along with it, but it's not particularly difficult to hear the closing lull of a conversation. Heavy actually motions for Spy to address Sniper, as if Sniper hovering behind him hadn't already been obvious.
"Got time for a favor?" Sniper asks Spy. He nods a greeting to Heavy.
Spy leans back in his chair, studying him. Sniper is asking out in the open rec room for anyone to hear so it shouldn't be a call for anything… inappropriate. Nevertheless, it's Spy's day off, and he'd rather not do anything too strenuous besides practice his casual Russian. "I'm not particularly interested."
"Yeah? Give you a hundo for your time then."
That gets Spy's attention. So the favor is important enough to interrupt his conversion with Heavy, but not critical, yet pressing enough to offer a small sum of monetary compensation. Now Spy is curious.
"By the hour?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"By the task," Sniper clarifies, already getting out his wallet. He keeps it closed, though he thumbs out a corner of the bill, the numbers one, zero, and a hint of another zero peeking through. Proof that he has the money on hand, like any good commissioner. "Should take less than an hour if you quit fishing for more info. I promise you, it's easy money."
"Well, I do enjoy easy," Spy says, and holds out his hand for the payment up front. A hundred dollars isn't actually much in their realm of mercenary work, but he's more interested in whatever task Sniper needs him for.
"Would also like easy one hundred USD," Heavy says, miffed.
"Sorry, mate. Need the spook's expertise," Sniper says, apologetic as he pulls out the cash, "Unless you got an Invis watch then I'll gladly take you instead."
"Spy, let me borrow watch," Heavy says.
"For one hundred USD, I will happily lend it," Spy replies, pretending to unclasp the band with an air of gratefulness. "Please."
"Bah. Never mind then." Heavy snorts. He stands from the table, swatting Spy's wrist to stop him. "Have fun getting shot."
"What?" Spy says, stopping just as he's taking the one hundred dollars from Sniper.
"Hey now," Sniper says, while still forcefully pressing the bill into Spy's palm. He gives Heavy an inquisitive look. "How'd you figure?"
Heavy shrugs. "Why ask for Spy's help? Why need him and his watch specifically? You are sharpshooter wanting to improve head shots. It is not hard to figure out."
"That ain't a half bad guess," Sniper admits.
"Besides, you would not pay money to Spy, in front of me, for the other kind of favor."
"What," says Spy.
"What," says Sniper.
"Sexual favor," Heavy clarifies, unnecessarily.
It's not often that Spy has to tell Sniper of all people to shut up, but Sniper's face is getting to be that telltale shade of embarrassed red that might lead to some fumbling excuses or, worse, lies that Sniper has no skill in passing off as truth. Spy deftly folds the one hundred dollar bill in half and, with a quick sleight-of-hand trick, gives Sniper's palm a warning poke with the corner before putting it into his pocket.
"…Yeah, that ain't it," Sniper eventually says, absently rubbing his hand without blinking.
"As I have said," Heavy says, clearly agreeing. "You need him for target practice, or some calibrations involving cloaking device. Maybe both."
"Crikey. You're good."
"Have you considered a career in espionage?" Spy asks.
"Then what will poor little Spy do?" Heavy says, heaving a merciful sigh. "I will not take your job. Or your one hundred dollars."
"You're lucky you're good company to keep," Spy says pleasantly in Russian.
"I'm a fucking comedian," Heavy replies, stoic expression unchanging.
"Нет ничего смешного," says Sniper.
Heavy doesn't wince over terrible pronunciation and awful word cadence so Spy does it for him.
"Please don't try to interject," says Spy. "You don't even understand what you're saying."
"Fuck you," says Sniper, in perfect Russian form, which is admittedly a versatile comeback for many situations. He even sounds like a native, but the entire team seems to have a knack for mimicking each other's favorite curses.
"Hah! Sniper can have career as comedian too," Heavy says, patting Sniper on the back.
"Thanks, mate."
As Heavy makes his tactful exit, Spy turns back to Sniper. The two of them exchange rueful glances. There isn't much of anything to say, though Spy feels as if he's dodged a metaphorical bullet as far as interpersonal relationships go.
Taking physical bullets, however, seems to be his forte for the moment.
"I understand what you want me to do," Spy says with a sigh. "Let's get it over with."
It turns out Spy's job isn't as simple as standing fifty meters away and having Sniper shoot him.
Sniper takes him to the northern part of the base, completely out of view from the enemy's own territory, and up a flight of stairs to one of the watch towers. They aren't even this discreet when they want to have a quick tryst, and Spy's mild curiosity turns into sharp interest when Sniper opens a dusty crate and pulls out a parcel with a Mann Co. label stuck to it.
"Got a new rifle accessory," Sniper says by way of explanation. He opens it, letting Spy peer inside. "Wanna test it first before taking it out in the field."
Nestled inside is a scope attachment that doesn't look any different from the one Sniper currently uses. It has a couple of more wires perhaps, and when Sniper picks it up, Spy can tell by the heft that it's quite heavier. He doesn't have a single guess to what the new scope does, but he watches Sniper carefully. Usually with a new toy, Sniper is noticeably excited in his own private way, as giddy as any mercenary would be with a new weapon—cradling it, cleaning it multiple times, and sometimes having short bursts of chattiness that rivals Scout's level of rambling.
It's telling that Sniper only shows his usual amount of quiet focus, very businesslike in the way he handles the attachment instead of fawning over it. Spy assumes Sniper doesn't much like the upgrade.
"What's the difference?" Spy asks, getting straight to the point.
Sniper holds it up to his eye, using it to mime looking at Spy and likely getting a good view of the stitching of Spy's mask. The corner of Spy's mouth twitches into a half-smile, wanting to see Sniper's focus shift, but Sniper doesn't react.
"Lets me see through cloak tech," Sniper says, one eye closed. "Your Invis watch ain't shit with this."
Spy pauses. The smile stays frozen on his face.
"Is this technology out in the common market?" he asks. "I haven't heard any word of this."
Sniper lowers the scope, giving Spy a knowing look. "Nah. Mann Co. weapons division sent me this. I don't think Bluey down the way knows 'bout it yet. S'why I need your help testing it out."
"Sniper, you should've told me this was product testing," Spy says, holding his hand out, "I would've done it for free."
"Nah. Nah. Now you're under my dollar. I'll hear less gripe from you," Sniper says, handing Spy the scope. He chuckles, leaning forward. "Why? Worried 'bout your job?"
"I may have some minor concerns once it's patented and released," Spy mutters, putting the scope to his eye. The zoom makes it impossible for him to see Sniper standing in front of him. He frowns, blinking, and puts the scope back up and closes one eye. "I might have to steal this on behalf of all spies."
He hears Sniper say, "Do that, mate, the NDA's gonna kill ya."
"They should be killing you for breaking it in the first place."
He can't see anything at all. Spy is pretty sure there's not much skill involved in using a scope, but for some reason Sniper completely disappears from view every time Spy tries to look at him.
Distracted, he misses dodging to the side when Sniper takes his wrist, pulling the scope away so that he can bump his forehead against Spy's.
"I'm the NDA," Sniper clarifies with a cold little smile. He plucks the scope attachment from Spy's hand.
Spy does respect a man with principles, and he's fond whenever Sniper strips them both back down to their basic boundaries. Spy glances at him with a raised eyebrow. Sniper's touch lingers for a second too long, resting against his head, and just as Spy thinks he can sneak tilting more towards him, Sniper lets off.
"…I should have asked for double." Spy sighs. "What are the downsides of this scope? Why not keep it on?"
It would've already been on the rifle, ready to use if there hadn't been a significant deterrent. Sniper sits down to swap the attachments with practiced ease.
"Well, that's the thing with this new one. It turns everyone not cloaked invisible," Sniper says, in a similar tone one might use to tell a punchline.
"What," Spy says.
"Yeah. I'll see you spies and no one else. Then even when I do spot 'em, all you gotta do is turn off the cloak."
"I see," Spy says, now understanding that it hadn't been his own ineptitude with the scope. No wonder he couldn't see Sniper right in front of him. What a relief—though Spy is starting to realize that Sniper had just paid a hundred dollars to watch him squirm and jump through several mental calculations of having an important battlefield tool be rendered useless.
"Yeah. Not exactly viable. Anyhoo." Sniper hands Spy the old scope. "Take a look out the window. I set up some markers for you to sit pretty on. Ten meters. Fifty. Eighty. Gonna test the range. Manual said max optimal distance is 'round seventy-five meters."
"So you are going to shoot me," Spy says, resigned. He looks down at the designated markers and then at the expanse of dirt he would have to stand in.
"I'm only testing the range of the scope, darl. Won't be shootin' you unless you beg nicely for it."
"And if I threaten rudely?"
"Maybe later," Sniper says, and does finally treat Spy to an eyebrow waggle before shooing him off. "Would rather get a private room for that."
"Can you see me?" Spy asks into his watch.
"Crystal," replies Sniper, voice tinny through the earpiece.
Spy glances up at Sniper, only ten meters away on the second story of the base. He waves, and observes with mild concern as Sniper's hand goes up to wave back. The Invis watch ticks against his wrist, counting down the cloak tech. Spy flicks his hand, turning it off.
"Aces," says Sniper, and Spy can see him scribbling on a notepad at the window. "Alright. See you at the fifty mark."
It's too unbecoming to kick at the dirt in such nice shoes so Spy just turns and starts walking.
"Can you see what am I doing now?"
"Giving me a strip tease," Sniper says.
As tempting as it is to take off some layers under the desert sun, Spy is most definitely not.
"They've sent you a defective, perverted scope," he says, "Send it back."
"Maybe they oughta look into that. Make a scope that gives you x-ray vision."
Spy can imagine Sniper's leer.
"And how many fingers am I holding up?" he asks instead.
"One bird. Two," Sniper reports immediately, "Now you're doing the jerk off and go-fuck-yourself motion."
Spy's cloak runs out of power in the middle of it. If there's anyone to see him make rude gestures towards base, well, then that's their problem.
"That's so many fingers, Spy. You know I don't like that many all at once."
Even though he's invisible, Spy can feel Sniper's laser trace over his grin, the flicker quick flash of red in his eyes. There's a trick to the cloak that makes the dot sight pass through him, but Sniper tells Spy there's a moment where the point can rest on an invisible solid body, giving the form away—something about refracting light waves and the sun shining at just the right angle. It doesn't happen often, and Sniper explains the chances are always low, but he's seen it before.
They spend some time testing this, turning Spy around and letting the laser focus on the mundane parts of his body—chest shots for killing slowly, lower extremities to only cripple or distract, heads for cleaner kills—until Spy becomes sweaty and overheated under the sun, and Sniper's the one to call the tests done.
By now Spy is eighty meters away, near invisible even without the watch. He can only see Sniper as a tiny figure at the window, unable to tell if the rifle is pointed away or at him. The scope starts losing it's effectiveness at seventy meters, only able to catch slivers of Spy's suit.
"It's a long walk back to base," Sniper says, wiggling the laser between Spy's shoulders. "Need help with that?"
"I thought I was going to have to beg nicely," Spy says, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. The laser briefly pauses at his throat, which Spy learns that Sniper is only looking at him eye-to-eye through the scope—it's charmingly polite, having the rifle aimed at the thinnest part of the body while still being lethal. Spy can move scant inches in any direction and be off Sniper's crosshairs.
"Consider it thanks for being my test dummy. I oughta shoot you with the scope anyhow, see how it looks. I'll kill ya neat."
"You should work on your incentives," Spy mutters. He taps his wrist to activate the cloak. His poor watch buzzes hotly at his skin, not used to being reactivated so much and so soon. "Very well. Do what you must."
If Sniper had an ounce of teasing left in him, he might've let his laser sight play over Spy's body again. Spy thinks about saying something sly, but there's something flattering about the brisk flick of the laser going immediately to his forehead. No lingering, no anticipation. Spy doesn't even have time to smirk in Sniper's direction before the muzzle flashes from the window.
Spy thinks he hears a sharp yelp of surprise before the rifle crack.
Then there's nothing else but black curtain of a clean shot through his head.
Spy wakes up in the respawn room to Sniper's loud swearing through his earpiece.
"-ck! Fuckers! Bleedin' hell, eggheaded ratfucks-"
Caught off guard, Spy winces and attempts to pull out the earpiece but his mask in the way so his fingers dig at the cloth ineffectually. He gives up trying to free it from his ear as Sniper trails off into annoyed muttering.
"Are you alright?" Spy asks, heading out of the respawn room. "What happened?"
"My own bloody muzzle flash blindin' me own damned eyes through the scope, is what happened. Nearly pissed m'self," Sniper snaps, his accent getting thicker by the second, "Bloody hell, busted piece of shit. And I got me sunnies on. Imagine if I hadn't, I'd be the fourth blind mouse."
Checking back a laugh, Spy starts moving towards Sniper's nest, a little quicker than his usual saunter.
This proves to not be very secretive or discreet. He runs into Heavy in the hallway, and Spy has the sinking suspicion that the smile on his face might have given Heavy the wrong idea.
"Only heard one gunshot just now," Heavy says, raising his brow. "After one hour since you two left together. So I was wrong. It was a sexual favor after all."
"I promise, it was not," replies Spy, thankful that Sniper has enough sense to go quiet when he hears him suddenly speaking in Russian, "We were working."
"Sure," says Heavy, switching back to English to better convey his skepticism and add to the insulting nature of his tone.
Spy waves him off. The more he denies anything the less convincing it becomes. Ironic, considering this is one of the few times Spy is being completely honest.
"Fine, you caught us," he calls out from over his shoulder, "I'm running back to give him a second blowjob worth fifty dollars."
In his ear, Sniper says, "The hell's 'meenet' mean?"
"Oh. You two really are working," Heavy says, surprised. "Sorry. My mistake."
Spy rolls his eyes.
Spy finds Sniper hunched over a crate with his head in his arms, still mumbling under his breath. The scope attachment lays at his feet with a little scuff mark along the side. Either Sniper flinched hard enough to drop his rifle—which Spy finds unlikely—or he simply smacked the scope against the wall in anger—which seems more believable.
With a laugh, he approaches Sniper's huddled form. Seeing as he has no choice but to take advantage of Sniper's incapacitated state, Spy lifts Sniper's face up between his hands, rubbing his temples in soothing circles with his thumbs. Sniper stares pathetically up at him, pupils constricted, and Spy can tell from the slight jitteriness in his eyes that Sniper is still seeing flashes in his vision.
"Oh, mon pauvre chou," Spy chides, patting away. "Terrible Mann Co. sent you a new toy and it's no good..." He injects as much mockery as he can, just so it's easier to feel Sniper relax and see his answering wry look.
"You're just happy the scope's buggered," Sniper grumbles.
"That could be it," Spy muses, and holds up a finger in front of Sniper's face. "How many?"
"Cute," Sniper says, slapping the offending hand away. He presses his face to Spy's chest, attempting to get relief from the bright daylight in Spy's jacket. "You're a bastard. I'm still seein' stars."
Spy has to admit it is strangely endearing to have Sniper do away with his staunch sense of independence to be coddled, as exaggerated as the whining is. It's not a trait Spy would have thought Sniper would show, or something he would enjoy entertaining. He thinks of Sniper's cold little smile, which isn't the same one he currently feels against his chest, and tries not to be saccharine by holding off the impulse to kiss the top of his head.
"You keep laughing," Sniper groans, "I can feel you laughing."
"How could I not? Your new scope doubles up as a flashbang." Spy snickers. He glances at the notepad Sniper had left on the floor, scrawling lines and numbers that he would have loved to skim through. Unfortunately, the NDA is much too busy trying bury into his vest so Spy decides to not risk it. "Knowing their practices, I'm sure Mann Co. will be delighted by your report back."
It's just as well he had held off the urge to kiss Sniper. Sniper lifts his head, craning up to plant a small one under Spy's jaw for him.
"Another hundo if you write the report for me?" Sniper offers.
Spy lets that opportunity slip by as well. After all, what would Heavy think if he finds out that Spy had ended the day with two hundred dollars in total? Four blowjobs. Spy can't risk that either.
"Not a chance," he says, and lets himself be pulled down for negotiations.