"My mission is before me, my enemy is around me, my mission is death, my mission is met."

Bailey wasn't entirely sure where he had heard the old Sniper mantra, but it had served him well up to this point. He was tired and aching, his shoulders cramped, and the whole roost definitely needed a cleaning. Not that the place stunk – he was fastidious about making sure the place was as difficult to detect by scent as it was by anything else – but he did not like a messy work area.

Lonely, too, he noted, frowning as he gazed quietly through the scope of his rifle. His younger brother had been training with him up in this perch for weeks before leaving to move on to the intelligence point. Not that he minded. Flynn was a fantastic Sniper, better than he was, and he was happy to see him moving up in the world. Sniping wasn't a group profession anyway. It was one man against the world, and that was the way he preferred it.

It hadn't been more than a few minutes ago that he had company, though it was company he would've much rather done without. There were very few people Bailey hated, and he got along with most of the RED team out here protecting the control point, but the Spy was someone he just could not bring himself to see eye-to-eye with. Tristan was good at his job, and was often gone for days at a time infiltrating the BLU team's base to see what kind of intel he could gather on their next move, but his personal habits often got the Australian riled up more than he cared to admit.

Oh, he had tried to remind himself that it wasn't his business. He wasn't supposed to care who was banging who around here, but Tristan had taken an unpleasant liking for the newest member of their team, their new Scout Catherine. Cat was a very sweet young lady, with an emphasis on young. Bailey suspected she could be no older than eighteen, and he knew for a fact Tristan was into his thirties at least. The girl may have enjoyed coming up to annoy him in his perch, and he may have constantly threatened to throw her out the window, but he did enjoy her visits and she knew he would never hurt her. He really felt almost like he could treat her like a younger sibling, despite having a younger brother of his own and being aware of Cat's own seven older brothers. Her relationship with the RED Spy revolted him to the point of nausea.

When Tristan came up, it was a rare situation and Bailey hated it every single time. The Frenchman had a nasty habit of taking on a holier-than-thou attitude and his presence always tended to put Bailey in a horrible mood. In some ways, this made him better at his job as it made him even more eager to pop off some BLU bastards, but in others, it made him edgy and uncomfortable, and it wasn't how he wanted to spend his evenings.

He could hear shouting and gunfire below, and occasionally, the perch shook just slightly with the force of an explosion, either from Callum or the BLU team's Demoman. Hell, he mused, it could have just as easily been from either team's Soldier as well.

What was surprising, however, was the sound of someone climbing clumsily up the ladder to his perch. Bailey was immediately on the alert, sitting up straight and ducking into a darkened corner, keeping his gun trained on the doorway. If it was someone on his team, fine, he would slip out... but if not, they would have a very unwelcome greeting.

Surprise clearly registered on his face when a haggard figure finally staggered in, clutching his midsection, blood trickling between black gloved fingers and staining an already red suit. "Tristan?" When the Spy turned to him, expression wild, like some hurt animal... "...fuck."

Without giving the other man time to react, Bailey sprung to his feet, rushing forward to slam his fist directly into the unprotected jaw. The strike was enough to deactivate the disguise, and instead of a RED Spy stood a BLU one, slammed back into the wall and shaking slightly, his hands still clutched over his middle. "You're quick..."

"Would've had me all bailed up if I hadn't been paying attention, there," Bailey responded, tone a low growl. "You must be new. Trained Spy'd 've known I've got no love for our spook. Only time he'd come up here in a fight'd be t'put one in me."

The young man opposite him blinked a couple of times, giving the Sniper an appraising look. He was injured, pale blue eyes glassy from blood loss, but he clearly still had a grasp on the situation. "Foolish of me, zen. You have me cornered, bushman. My life is in your hands."

Instinctively, Bailey brought up his rifle, glaring through the scope at the man before him. It didn't surprise him to see the Spy so calm, but at the same time, something about this situation seemed uncomfortably unsporting. "I could kill ya. Put you outta yer misery like th' sorry figjam you are. Got a good clean shot..."

"Zen do it." Bailey tensed. The BLU Spy was looking back at him now, matching his gaze as he spoke. His face was pale but his expression remained calm, and the older man couldn't help but notice how young he looked, even with the balaclava blocking most of his features. "After all... you and I are both masters of killing when our enemies cannot fight back."

He shouldn't be hesitating. He shouldn't be hesitating and he knew it, but at the same time, he couldn't pull the trigger. Perhaps this was exactly what made Flynn such a good sniper, being able to shoot an enemy in the face point blank, but...

Finally, he growled, stalking forward. Without any warning, he made sure to completely disarm the Spy, causing him to make a few rather startled noises. The sounds of battle were already starting to wane and he had a feeling, judging by the hoots and hollers of his own team, that they had successfully defended their point. That meant he had even less time than before. "Yeah? Well unlike you, I prefer a good hunt. Not shootin' a kicked dog. You're a sorry mongrel, but I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction of a mercy kill. If I kill ya, it'll be splatterin' that worthless head'a yers across th'landscape when y'least expect it."

The unpleasant sound of pain the enemy Spy made when he finally picked him up actually made him smile a bit, even more than the rather surprised look on his face. "What in ze world are you doing?"

Bailey snorted, carefully balancing the Spy with one arm while climbing down to the ground level. His van was right behind the perch... perfect place to hide him. No one else ever went near the damn thing unless they planned to come up into the tower. "What's it look like? I already said I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction of a mercy kill. I prefer t'give a bloke a fair go. I'll get you good'n healthy, then let you run off like the backstabbin' coward you are. Then, when I got a good shot and a clear day? I'll put a bullet through yer skull."

The young man gave a derisive snort as the door to the camper van swung open and the pair headed inside. For several moments after that, neither one spoke. Bailey unceremoniously dumped his cargo onto an empty cot, smirking a bit at the grunt of pain it elicited, before he dragged out a first aid kit and set about patching up the stab wounds littering the BLU Spy's front.

"You have a terrible bedside manner," the Spy complained. "Like a nurse with a tendency toward sadism."

Bailey snorted, pulling hard on a bandage, tight enough to cause the BLU Spy to grunt again. "You earned that, mate. Now keep yer bloody mouth shut while I finish."

Though clearly frustrated, the BLU Spy turned his head away, scowling angrily the entire time Bailey patched up his injuries. They weren't as fatal as he was sure Tristan had likely intended them to be, if only because the younger Spy was most likely considerably lighter on his feet, appearing to be a good half head shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter than his own teammate. He was fair skinned naturally, which made his pallor from the loss of blood even more stark, and his pale blue eyes were intense enough to make even the jaded old Sniper look twice.

Part of him mused that it was likely exactly what the Spy wanted... to be considered like a human instead of some monster that prowled the night, seeking to end the lives of the unsuspecting through trickery and lies.

When he finally finished, he was rather proud of his work. Their Medic, a sweet girl named Idelia, had made sure the entire team knew at least basic first aid, and he had made sure to learn a bit more. It wasn't easy to get out of a sniper roost, after all, when you were bleeding out. As he sat back, the Spy turned his head to face him again, expression looking considerably less irritated than it had before. "Zo. Zis was your cunning plan? Hiding me in zis sorry excuse for a vehicle until you can properly shoot me in ze face?"

Bailey scowled, tipping his hat back to glare down at the Spy properly. "Are you really that bloody dense that I have to explain myself all over again?"

"No. But does this not seem somewhat... how do you say... abnormal for a RED operative? Harboring an enemy Spy?" The young man arched his brow. "Ze least you could do is offer me a cigarette, if you are to be keeping me hostage."

It took every ounce of willpower in Bailey's body not to slug the Spy again. "I don't smoke. So deal with it."

He got to his feet, moving to dig around in the cupboard when a noise outside caught his attention. With the lights on in the van, someone must have realized he was inside. With a quick, biting order to the Spy to stay put, he slipped outside and closed the door behind him just in time to see the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Callum – the RED team's Demoman – trotting in his direction. The dark-skinned Scot had a broad grin on his face, bottle of scrumpy held loosely in his left hand as the right came up for a cheery greeting.

"Oi! There y'are, Bailey! Cat tried hollerin' up to ye, but we figured you were jes' scannin' fer more'a them BLU knobdobbers on th'horizon." It was a wonder, Bailey mused as the Scotsman continued to speak, that he ever actually understood what the happily drunk demolitions expert was saying. "C'mon now. 'ave a round with us! T'ain righ' fer ye t'hole yerself up ou' here with no company."

The draw of having a drink was pretty strong after the evening he'd had, but Bailey just shook his head. "Nah. I'm damn stuffed. Prolly gonna call it a night soon as you head back."

If he hadn't been absolutely positive the Demoman was completely and totally hammered, Bailey probably would have suspected the look he was given to be a scrutinizing one. Instead, he took it for what it was, and smiled when the Scotsman grinned and clapped him on the shoulder firmly. "If y'say so. Rest easy!"

He waited until the other man was well out of sight to head back into the van, only to find the Spy watching him with a rather amused expression. He did not appear to have moved, but the Sniper did not trust Spies in the least. "What's so funny, spooky?"

"Bailey is your name, zen?" As soon as the Spy spoke, the Sniper flinched. Damn Callum for being so loud when he was sloshed. "What a nice name. Bailey. Rolls off ze tongue rather pleasantly."

The Sniper scowled. "You shut yer damn mouth... dirty yobbo..." His lip curled up in a sneer as he grabbed two cans and walked to the hot plate. "Bad enough I gotta look atcha till yer belly heals up. Don't wanna hafta listen t'yer fool mouth th'whole time, too."

Though the young Spy at first quieted at the scolding, he didn't once take his eyes off the Sniper as he worked. "It is Laurent, by the way."

Bailey stopped, turning away from the hot plate and the pan full of soup to give the Spy a long look. "What'd you just say?"

"My name," the younger man replied. "It is Laurent. Since we are being agreeable, we may as well be civil as well."

That had not been at all what Bailey was expecting. Laurent's expression was completely unreadable with that balaclava on, and at least so far, he'd been completely unwilling to remove the damn thing. So the Sniper sighed and turned back to the counter, grimacing a bit. "Right. So Laurent it is, then." Stopping to pour the heated soup into two mugs, he headed back over and plunked back into his seat, setting both on a nearby stool as he worked to prop up the Spy. "Don't get too used t'this treatment. I'll be nice to ya, but don't expect me t'spoon feed you or any shit like that."

Laurent tipped his head back slightly, giving a grunt of pain as his midsection was strained by the movement. Once he was settled, he gave a weak smile. "I would never dream of asking you to do such a thing anyway."

Though Bailey wasn't entirely convinced, he handed Laurent a mug full of soup anyway. Not surprisingly, the balaclava did not come off and the Spy sipped the soup in silence, not looking up once the entire time. When he was done, he simply placed the mug out of the way and leaned back, glancing down at his torso, bringing up a gloved hand to touch the bandages only a few shades lighter than his skin.

"Shouldn't mess with that." Bailey didn't even lift his head as he spoke, lower half of his face partially obscured by his own mug. "...so how'd you manage t'get yerself on the wrong side of ol' Tristan's knife?"

This time, Laurent's face went from calm and casual to downright vicious, pale eyes fixing on the Sniper so sharply that Bailey actually drew back, blinking in surprise. "Zat is not important, nor is it for you to know," he pointed out in a tone that was very nearly a hiss. "I'm tired, and I have lost a great deal of blood. I need to sleep. I suppose zat while we are being civil, I can trust you not to kill me while I rest?"

Bailey leaned back in his seat, lowering his unfinished mug. Narrowing his eyes, he sighed and stood, collecting the other mug and walking over to drop both into the sink. "Only if I can trust you not t'kill me. I've go' a job t'do, even if it's dark out."

The Spy said nothing, only going still as Bailey removed the extra pillows from beneath his head and settling with his eyes shut once he was prone again. It took a long moment for Bailey to be convinced that he was genuinely asleep. He had seen more than enough people feigning sleep to keep from being attacked or noticed to be able to identify the signs, but Laurent's chest was rising and falling slowly, eyes closed lightly.

This wasn't right. He couldn't shake that feeling. He should not have been doing this at all, and his gut continued to insist that he should have just shot the Spy where he stood instead of bringing him down here. His kukri was in reach... he could end this so quickly. Just one quick downward slice. That's all it would take.

His jaw tightened as he looked at the Spy laying in the spare cot, narrowing his eyes. Just do it, he told himself. Just do it and end it now. With luck, BLU wouldn't realize for some time that their Spy was dead and that would give RED just the advantage they needed to push the dirty bastards back from the control point.

He lifted his chin, staring down his nose at Laurent's still form before his eyes flicked over to the kukri nearby. Just one chop...

Laurent woke the next morning with a start, blinking his pale eyes at the unfamiliar ceiling as the world came back to sudden, unpleasant clarity. He was in a great deal of pain, but that much was easy to ignore. He hadn't trained as a Spy for nothing, after all. What was most disconcerting was that this was clearly not his room at the BLU base. This was...

Right. This was that crazy bushman's camper van. He had tried to hide out in the sniper perch and the man had been a fair bit smarter than he expected. The Frenchman frowned, looking around the room curiously. He had not been tied down, which surprised him a bit, and the room was strangely devoid of anything weapon-like. He didn't even see his suit jacket anywhere.

The Sniper was also suspiciously absent. It didn't exactly settle his mind to think that the gruff hunter was somewhere hiding, waiting for him to just try and leave, despite the fact that a little voice in the back of his mind hissed that this strange man would very likely never do anything of the sort. The kukri he'd seen on the way in the night before still lay in its usual place.

He was just contemplating sitting up when the back door swung open again and the Sniper strode in, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Laurent hadn't noticed before, but the RED operative was actually quite tall and lean, all long arms and legs and very little in the way of extra weight. Honestly, from the way his face was made, he looked almost gaunt.

"See you're up finally," he was saying, taking off his hat to shake water from it. "Got us a nasty rainstorm out there. Came up outta nowhere... not too bad. We needed a good rain. Means a ceasefire, an' I don't have t'spend my day up there."

Laurent arched his brow thoughtfully, blinking at Bailey. "Zen why go up zere at all? Why not simply stay in here and keep dry?"

The Sniper snorted, placing his slouch hat aside to dry as he walked toward a partition, grabbing a dry red shirt as he went. "Place up there was getting' filthy. Took th'time t'clean it. I'm an assassin, not some wasted old dero." He grunted a bit, moving behind the partition to change, tossing the soggy shirt and vest out from behind it absently. "Sleep all right?"

The question caught Laurent off-guard and he blinked, tipping his head faintly to one side. "Ah... yes. I'm sorry. I slept fine." He shifted a bit when Bailey stepped back out, buttoning up his shirt. "I'm surprised you asked."

"What? Think I'm bloody 'eartless or somethin'? You're a BLU, but that don't mean you ain't human. Told ya I was gonna get ya back in workin' shape, so I am." Grabbing a box, he sat down, digging out what appeared to be a granola bar to offer the Spy. "Here you are, spooky. Sorry it ain't nothin' fancy. I live pretty simple out here."

Laurent didn't object to the offered food, at the very least. He wasn't extremely hungry, but he was also smart enough to know he needed to eat in order to heal properly. After noting that the Sniper was eating from the same box and the packaging hadn't been tampered with, he settled into the dry bar. It was hard to process, thinking that someone he had spent the entirety of his career learning to kill could possibly be such a soft, gentle individual. The thought unsettled him and he shuddered, sinking back into the pillows. "You are certainly not what I have come to expect of Snipers."

He arched his brow when Bailey smiled, pushing his sunglasses up so that they sat atop his head. Despite his age – he had to be at least in his late 30s, pushing 40 if not already there, Laurent assumed – he still had a sort of youthful liveliness about him. Dark brown eyes focused on him for a long moment. "Expectin' me t'be some kinda crazy bushman, makin' my clothes outta skins and crawlin' on all fours? I'm a professional, mate. I have standards."

"Well... yes." All at once, Laurent's eyes widened and he grimaced, sinking back further. "Non, non, I did not mean it zat way, I simply meant... no, it has nothing to do with your rather impeccable sense of cleanliness, I assure you. It was more... you are simply kinder zan I was expecting."

Bailey seemed to relax a bit at that comment. "Well... my mum raised me right. Got a little brother who's not too different, but he's a better shot. You're pretty tin-arsed it weren't him up here. Little bastard woulda really nailed you one, no questions asked."

The comment did not answer any of Laurent's questions. All it really did was pose new ones, and the first one was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Zo... why didn't you?" Bailey lifted his head, clearly startled as he gazed at the younger man. When he didn't reply, Laurent pressed on. "Why did you not take the shot? You go on about keeping things clean... not giving me ze pleasure of a mercy kill..."

"You told me last night that what happened with you an' Tristan wasn't my business." When Bailey interrupted, Laurent blinked, looking at him in surprise. The Sniper's expression had hardened from the kind, easy smile he'd worn before. Now he looked his age, weather worn and world weary. "This time it's my turn. I didn't wanna off you without you havin' a fair go, an' unless I say otherwise, I ain't changin' my story. Am I clear, spooky?"

Laurent frowned, tipping his head up as his jaw tightened. This man was far too difficult to read and it was starting to infuriate him. Once he was well enough, he would solve that problem very quickly. "Transparent."

It wasn't long before the rain stopped, which prompted Bailey to get up and head back outside. All of this suited Laurent just fine, as the Sniper had not been particularly talkative at that point anyway. He seemed more interested in sulking about, which frustrated the young Spy even further. He could not fathom why the Sniper was behaving like a bipolar bear.

Maybe it was better if he never did.

Bailey hadn't been up in the perch long when the sound of someone rapidly scaling the ladder caught him off-guard. It couldn't have possibly been Laurent. The Spy was still far too weak to be doing scaling on that magnitude and Tristan was much heavier. Which meant only one person.

Turning just slightly, he scowled at the tiny figure of Cat bounding up into the loft, her round baby face all but exploding with a sunny smile, showcasing her two prominent front teeth. She cut a rather silly sight, and cute as she was, he couldn't help but wonder why Tristan was so fascinated with her other than the fact that he got his rocks off with younger women... or that she was as close as he could get to some sick fantasy.

Pushing down a renewed desire to beat the everliving crap out of Tristan, he forced a tight smile at the tiny Scout. "Hey there, scoot. What brings you up here?"

"Callum said you turned down drinkin' last night," the girl chirped pleasantly, hopping up to sit on the edge of the window. "That's not like you. You always come down and drink with us when we kick some BLU ass. You not feelin' good?"

Bailey just snorted, pulling his hat down to shield his eyes from the midday sun. "I'm feelin' fine, you little gremlin. And don't even think of suggestin' I see Idelia. She's a sweet girl, but she's got more t'worry about than an old bloke hidin' out in his perch. Why're you up here, anyway?"

The tiny girl just smiled, leaning back with her legs stretched in front of her. It wasn't so much that she looked so young, he realized. She was always moving, and as a result, her whole form was lithe and tough, sturdy muscles rippling just under the surface. For as childish as she may have appeared, it was a constant reminder that she truly was not a child at all. "I came up here to see what you were doing, mostly. Tristan said BLU's not doing anything right now... too busy licking their wounds. You don't have to sit up here and drink that swill you call coffee all day."

The Sniper didn't reply at first, lifting his head to give the still grinning Scout a rather sour look. "You're feisty today, aren't you? You an' Tristan have a go this mornin'?"

All at once, Cat's cheeks heated up and she puffed up a bit, smile disappearing as her cheeks turned almost as red as her shirt. "That's a low blow, Bailey! Besides, what Tristan and I do in our spare time is none of your business!"

He couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was just how much time he'd spent with that idiot Spy down in his van so far – as little as it was, he realized, it felt like a lifetime – but the way Cat had immediately gone on the defensive reminded him very much of Laurent. He grinned and stood. "You're a piece'a work, Cat. Jes' messin' with ya. Not tryin' t'get on ya." He smiled and cuffed her shoulder gently, to which she responded by sticking out her tongue. "Now, now. No need t'get all clucky with me. What do you even do when you don't gotta go 'round beatin' the skulls of those BLU mongrels?"

Though she still looked sulky, Cat did her best to school her expression to indifference, rocking forward a bit. "Usually I read. Mom sends me all kinds of books, and each one of my brothers writes me a letter. Not just one big letter, either... I get a letter from each one of 'em. Don't you and Flynn keep in touch?"

Bailey pursed his lips. "...not as often as I'd like. I talk to our parents more. Anyway... you're a spry kid. Got myself a bit of an ache in the ol' noggin. Care runnin' back to Idelia an' getting' an old man some asprin?"

"Old man, he says," Cat mocked, more to herself than anything, as she slid down from her perch, stretching briefly. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be back in no time. By the way, I can hear Sydney barking in your van. Did you remember to feed him this morning?"

Sydney! Bailey had to resist the urge to wince. That Spy was locked up in the camper with nothing more than his mangy old cattle dog to keep him company, and he hadn't even told him the dog was there. This, he reckoned, was most certainly going to end poorly. "I'll go do that now. When ya get the asprin, just leave it up here. Gonna get washed up once I feed the old mutt and I don't want you walkin' in on me arse naked."

Cat shrugged and was down the ladder before he'd even gotten completely pushed away from the wall. Once he saw her sprinting back to the base, he gave a sigh and headed into the van where Sydney was baying happily. Laurent, he was amused to discover, was just staring at the dog in surprise, eyes wide. Bailey couldn't help but grin. "I see you've met my bluey. Don't mind Sydney. He's a good boy... just a big baby who don't care much for not havin' any attention. Ain't that right, Sydney?"

As he reached down to scrub the dog's ears gently, Laurent gave an indignant huff. "Forgive me for being so surprised. I was not expecting you to have a trained attack dog here."

"Attack dog? Hah! Sydney wouldn't hurt a flea unless it was by accident." He moved to the side, away from the Spy, to grab a can of dog food. "He mostly just sleeps on me when it gets cold out here. An' let me tell ya... it gets bloody cold. Got plenty of extra blankets, though, so you should be all right."

The Spy snorted a bit, watching as the dog trotted off after his master, tail wagging fiercely behind him as he snuffled about for his breakfast. "I never really noticed ze weather."

Bailey gave him a long-suffering scowl, though his expression tried to stay as calm as it could. "Well, that's fair. Your team don't live in a barn."

Laurent couldn't help but cringe at that. He did have to admit, BLU team had a considerably more modern set-up than the REDs, whose rustic outposts resembled something one might find falling over sideways in the American Midwest and South. He had never really considered that it may be uncomfortable for them, however. For all the time he'd been with BLU, he'd always suspected it was just the way RED preferred to live.

It just hadn't occurred to him that maybe they lived this way because they really didn't have any other choices available to them. He frowned. He should not be feeling guilty... and he most certainly should not have been so focused on something that wasn't getting well, getting out, and giving this Sniper the balisong to the back he so rightly deserved. "Zo. I suppose I shall have to deal with your company for the entirety of the day."

"Seems that way. At least till I hear that little gremlin run up to the tower. Gotta get the asprin I had 'er go get." He sat back a little, then leaned down, lifting the bandages near Laurent's midsection. The Spy jumped visibly when cold hands brushed his stomach, fixing the other man with a very careful look. "Well, still pretty nasty under here. Then, it's only day too. I reckon this'll mend just fine."

Laurent scowled. He didn't much care for being handled when he didn't expect it, and this fell quite neatly under being handled. Not that he could really grouse or complain. The Sniper was only checking his injuries, and he knew there were very few people who would take such extreme care in this kind of situation. "Your hands are like ice."

Bailey snorted. "Jes' had my hands on a chilled can'a dog food. What're you expectin'? Mittens?" He readjusted the bandages carefully. "You're thin as nothin'. I've seen sick dingoes with more meat on 'em than you've got. Is that part'a yer Spy trainin'?"

Indignant, Laurent simply looked away. "What made up my training is top secret. A man simply needs to be thin enough to get into small areas when you do a job like mine."

The Sniper leaned back a little in his seat after that, making a thoughtful sound. "Top secret, eh? Where d'you think I got my trainin'?"

"At a shooting gallery?" Laurent returned dryly.

Rolling his eyes, Bailey leaned back. "Very funny. Got my trainin' the ol' fashioned way. Shootin' big game out in the GOFA. Decent enough, and it made me a pretty good shot."

That made Laurent lean back a little bit, his expression somewhat uncomfortable. There was one thing about a man who was capable of killing anyone at a distance just by pinpointing a spot on their forehead and pulling the trigger, but the fact that he had learned it just by shooting large animals in an unforgiving location - he assumed that GOFA must have been some strange Australian slang for a very wild place - gave him a chill up his spine that he was unable to surpress, his shoulders drawing in slightly as he glanced away. "Learning by doing, zey call it?" He tipped his head back. "I wish I could say I was not surprised. You do seem like ze sort of man to be able to do such a thing, however."

"It takes a different kind of man to be able to kill without thinkin' about it. You can't let yerself get distracted by the work that's thrown atcha. Ya gotta just... plug ahead, I s'pose is the best way t'put it. I don't reckon you'd get it, what with all this skulkin' around in alleys and stabbin' blokes in th'back when they don't hear ya comin' business." He paused when Sydney ambled up to him with a sleepy yawn, plunking his head on his master's leg. Bailey quietly obliged to scratching his ears. "Don't think I could do that myself. Spies, y'always gotta watch yer back. Me? Folks know there's gotta be a Sniper somewhere."

Laurent arched his brow at that, leaning back to give Bailey an appraising look. "No. I don't think zere is as much difference between us as you think." When Bailey looked at him, he smiled a little. "Look at it zis way. When I go to kill someone, I hide in plain sight. I either disguise myself as a teammate or cloak myself entirely in order to get close. You? You hide up here, in plain sight. Anyone could see you if zey looked close enough, but no one cares to. Why? Who knows. I just know we both have jobs much more similar than either of us may truly expect."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment after that, dark brown meeting icy blue, but finally, Bailey smirked. "Think that's how it works, do ya? You and I bein' that much alike? Ain't true. We're two different men, you and me. me? Like I said... I'm a professional. Ain't many could do what I do. Ain't many could do what you do. And neither one of us is capable of doin' what th'other can without a whole hell of a lotta trainin', so let's not fool ourselves, right?"

He smirked and stood, walking over to a nearby coffee pot to set it to boil as Laurent watched him curiously. He knew he was right. Snipers and Spies, they were much more alike than the Sniper perhaps cared to admit, but it was a fact Laurent was very aware of. No one cared to be backstabbed or sniped. No one really liked the jobs they did, either, and they had become fast, mortal enemies under the best of circumstances. As soon as a Spy was uncloaked on the field, a Sniper's first job was to take them out. Alternately, a Spy could sometimes turn a battle around by taking out a Sniper who was picking off sentries and crippling Scouts.

No, the Sniper and the Spy were more alike than he had ever previously considered. Perhaps that was why they could never properly get along. Just too many similarities for the two to ever cooperate on the level.

"I simply cannot figure you out, Bailey. One moment, you are ready to take off my head... and ze next, you are joking and laughing like we are old friends. Do you have... what is ze word... multiple personalities or something?"

What answered him first was a puzzled expression. Bailey glanced over his shoulder at him, lifting his head to rub the back of his head for a moment. "I'unno. Can't say you make much sense t'me, either. Tristan barely ever says two words t'me without tossin' in an insult jes' t'see if he can get my hackles up. I'd say he's the only person Sydney don't like. Says a lot that he seems to be pretty okay with you. No better judge'a character, my dad always said, than a dog. They know what's in yer head. If a dog don't like ya, ain't many people who would."

Laurent smiled a little at that, glancing down at the dog that was now sitting next to him and giving him anxious, pining, longing looks. Finally, he tugged off one of his gloves and reached over, allowing the dog to sniff his palm before rubbing his head lightly. "I always did prefer dogs myself. It would seem you and I have at least one thing in common. Rather unusual, non?"

Bailey chuckled at that, leaning back against the counter so he could look back over at Laurent. "Nah, not really. Y'know 'ow you said I'm not what you expected out of a Sniper? Well. You sure as hell ain't exactly what I expected of a Spy. I reckon I'm a pretty good judge'a character an' while you might work fer BLU, I don't think yer that much of a problem. Jes' a new guy what don't quite know he's on the wrong side yet."

"Sides. Hmph." Laurent scowled, his lips twisting into a sneer as he narrowed his eyes. "Does anyone even really remember what zis whole silly conflict is all about? No one seems to have been able to tell me."

The Sniper just shrugged. "Beats me. If anyone remembers what this whole mess is about, no one's talkin'. Suits me fine, though. I've got a good job and a roof over my 'ead, good friends and food on my table. Pay's good, too. I don't question a job what lets me keep my family healthy and safe back home in Australia. Don't tell me you'd think of backin' out?"

The camper van was quiet for a long moment as Laurent took on a rather affronted expression, lifting his chin indignantly. "Back out? Hah! Those are a coward's words. I have my contract and I will never give up until I am dead... or until I have assisted my team of spilling the blood of as many RED operatives as possible, and I may retire in peace to the city of my birth."

"Don't think I'd ever go back home," Bailey commented. Laurent gave him a strange look, but Bailey just shrugged and continue. "M'serious. Australia's my homeland an' all, but there's a great big world out there, all full of adventure. There's good huntin' in Africa and the American west. Who knows? Maybe I'll find me a nice girl... settle down somewhere..."

He trailed off, leaning to the side as both of them heard the unmistakable sounds of someone scurrying up into the sniper nest. "Your friend?"

Bailey nodded. "Yeah. Guess I'd best go up and get that asprin for ya. Figure you must be in a world'a hurt. Lay still, a'ight?"

He did not give Laurent time to respond, instead doffing his hat and slipping out in silence, leaving Laurent alone with his thoughts. He hadn't expected this at all. The man was all at once infuriating and intriguing, but... what was he supposed to do?

Left alone with his thoughts, it was all Laurent could do to sit and boil, wondering over why exactly he had been shown such kindness by someone who should have been trying to kill him.