Chapter Text
Spy checked and re-checked his information but there was no doubt: this was the location he was looking for. Spelled out on this small piece of paper, obtained for him by one of his reliable sources, were the co-ordinates of a small patch of land in Northern Australia. Rumor was, that's where his target could be found. Spy stubbed out his cigarette, trying to resist to urge to immediately light another one and failing. His nerves were shot.
He ran a hand through his hair, still unaccustomed to the feel of it on his bare fingers even after three years. All that time wearing a balaclava had almost changed his image of himself completely, to one of flesh constructed almost entirely of fabric that stretched and conformed. It had been BLU's idea; the mask had not ever been something he routinely wore before they'd hired him. He had thought it comical and ridiculous. Why would a spy wear something that announced loudly to the world that he was a spy? But the company insisted, and the technology involved made the mask easy to ignore. Funny, now that he didn't have to wear it, he missed it just a little.
Making travel arrangements had always been dreadfully boring, but in the back of his mind lurked the promise of seeing *him* again. And it made the technical details just a little easier to endure.
**********
Paris was enveloped in a lovely layer of snow, and as his plane took off, Spy gazed down at the buildings and street dusted in white and felt a pang of longing. It would be a very long journey to Alice Springs. It would take multiple planes, and amount to about two straight days of traveling. But it was worth it. Worth it to see him again. To say he was sorry. To have him in his arms.
Spy was getting ahead of himself. There was a good chance that Sniper wouldn't even want to talk to him, let alone accept his apology.
He and Sniper had not parted on good terms. And Spy knew that he himself bore the entirety of the blame.
If Spy was a man of few words, the Sniper was practically mute. So the idea that they'd leave the war together and start some semblance of a life had remained… well… unspoken. Unofficial. Not as if the alternative was to have it written in blood; some sort of binding contract. But the excuse Spy clung to at the time was that they'd never agreed on anything out loud. So how could he be held responsible for breaking a promise never made?
Flimsy. But it was all he had to cling to besides knee-knocking fear.
Their last night together had been amazing. The war was over after what seemed like an eternity and the entire team was giddy with anticipation. Sniper and Spy had leapt at the chance to sneak away from the impromptu festivities and lock themselves up in the sniper nest with a bottle of wine from Spy's personal stash. They'd done things that night that made Spy blush to think about even today, three years later. Sniper had held him down and mapped every inch of skin, fingers and tongue prodding every inch, tasting and biting until Spy had been forced to wrestle his way on top, screaming, "Enough!" Sniper had laughed at him; a deep, hoarse laugh that vibrated through the both of them and became contagious. Suddenly they were both laughing and wrestling, trying not to get an elbow or a knee anywhere too delicate as they play-fought for the top position.
Spy lost the wrestling match. Sniper credited the victory to being in better shape, but Spy knew it was because seeing the gruff man actually smile and laugh made him shiver like a schoolgirl.
And it made him feel even more terrible about what he was planning to do.
He let Sniper fuck him that night; a first for them. Sniper was amazing, taking his time, bringing them both to the edge and then back. Tender at first, and then not at all. He became a wild animal, grunting and biting; marking the Spy as his. Claiming him.
Spy was sore and exhausted when he suggested they finally open the bottle of wine. A harmless sedative in Sniper's glass ensured that the hunter would be knocked out until the next day with not even a headache to show for it.
Spy had suddenly found himself fully dressed while Sniper lay unconscious on his cot, snoring lightly. Spy tucked him in, arranging him so he would wake up well-rested and secured the blanket around his shoulders. He kissed Sniper's forehead and said his goodbyes.
It was the single most cowardly thing he'd ever done.
Forcing himself back to the present, Spy waved over a Stewardess and ordered a stiff drink.
******************
54 hours later, Spy felt that his eyeballs had turned to sandpaper and his brain to mush.
It was unnatural for humans to travel so far. It was against God's will. How humans ever survived before air travel was beyond his ability to comprehend.
When he arrived in Alice Springs, even a full six hours of sleep at a nearby motel had done little to erase the toll that 10,000 miles had wrought.
And the *heat.* Paris being in the clutches of winter meant that Australia was enjoying a "modest summer" according to the woman he'd rented a room from. Spy kept his sour attitude in check, refrained from eviscerating her and stocked up on ice.
But now was the morning of his main objective and there was even more traveling to be done.
He rented a car with a fake ID and bought a road map. He marveled at how little space humans actually took up in this country.
A stranger peeked over his shoulder and asked, "What's all the way out there? Area's not really tourist-friendly."
Spy grumbled at being interrupted. "I'm meeting someone, if it's any of your business."
She raised her hands, "Alrighty then, mate."
******************
5 hours passed quickly, in direct contrast with the rest of the trip.
A speck on the distance made Spy's stomach do a flip. As he neared, he realized there was no driveway and parked his car on the side of the road.
He could see the back of the camper van sticking out from behind the house. A modest, one level shack with an outdoor toilet.
Spy chuckled; it was perfect for Sniper.
He dragged his forearm across his brow, sporting a few beads of sweat in the stagnant heat. He said a quick prayer to whatever god may have been listening and got out of the car, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
He hadn't remembered a gift. Shit. In the midst of his panic, he shook his head and reminded himself that Sniper would probably have laughed and punched him in the face if he'd brought a gift. Such a cliché, and they were not "gift people" anyway.
"Ne pas être un lâche," he scolded himself.
The house was a good half-mile from the road; by the time Spy reached the front door he had a pretty substantial full-body sweat going. He fixed his hair, dabbed his brow with his sleeve and knocked on the door. "Please be here."
*************
Mon Dieu, Spy thought. He's beautiful.
The wilderness and sunshine and heat had clearly been good to Sniper. He'd answered the door in a pair of jeans and nothing else and Spy was stunned into a temporary swoon like he hadn't felt in years. The hunter looked as though he'd been cut from marble; tanned and smooth and perfect. Darker than he'd ever been in the States, with a few freckles dusting his shoulders. He even had more muscle mass, obviously the result of living off the land all by himself.
Spy allowed himself the briefest of glances down, taking in the sight of Sniper's trim waist and those legs that seemed to go on for miles. He'd made fun of Sniper for being all legs on more than one occasion, but in truth it was something he always found attractive.
Whereas Spy felt a blush rise to his face, as soon as Sniper laid eyes on him the hunter's face went stone cold.
Spy made a mad, desperate attempt at a sentence. "I… it's been a while."
Silence.
"I've come to… I really wanted to… see you. It… it's been a while." Fucking idiot, he thought, hating himself.
Sniper glanced to his left, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "You've got 30 seconds."
Spy's heart fluttered; his voice. He missed that low, carnivorous sound. "I think it will take longer than that to say what I've come to say."
"Not 30 seconds to talk, mate." He spat the last word, clearly using it in favor of another 4-letter word. "30 seconds to run before I come back with a gun and start shootin'."
And then he slammed the door.
As great as the urge to weep like a child was, Spy shoved it aside and knocked on the door again. "Please," he shouted. "I've done wrong, but I've come to explain myself. I need… I need you and I can't deny it any longer."
Silence. Then from behind the door, "You've got 10 seconds now!"
"Merde!" Spy took off running in the direction of his car, and a few seconds later heard Sniper's front door open.
The deafening sound of a shot rang out and he felt rather than heard the zipping of a bullet whipping past. "Jesus!" The car was so close, he was almost safe.
Another gunshot, and a sharp pain bloomed in his right calf, sending him hurtling into the dirt face-first. Besides the pulling of every single muscle in his upper body as he hit the ground, he recognized the pain of being shot all to well: at first it just felt like being punched. The sting and burn of the actual bullet only registered in your body seconds later. His hands automatically reached down to clamp on it, trying to staunch the flow of blood, and he writhed in pain until Sniper's shadow fell across his prone body.
Spy took deep, gasping breaths as he gazed up, squinting against the blinding hot sun. When the Sniper made no move to finish him off, Spy dared to ask, "Now can we talk?"
Sniper let his rifle rest against his shoulder and reached out the with other hand. "Let's have a look at that wound."
Spy gratefully took the offered hand and hung on Sniper's shoulders as he limped back towards the house.
TBC