#)(er.

Bad habits were basically second nature to the team. Drinking-slash-poker nights every week, obsessions with work or whatever else, overeating, smoking, you bloody well name it.

Sniper was no different. He himself indulged in drinking—- usually alone, and only sometimes with the team if he’s dragged there— and smoking— when his nerves aligned with the off-chance of a pack being in his vest pocket. He had been trying to quit, knew that the habit was bad for remotely every body part, but he couldn’t find it in himself to quit. Especially in the recent few months. 

Because call it fate, luck, or misfortune, when Sniper popped open his cigarette pack in a break in between matches, Spy materialized next to him and asked for one. And despite all his instincts screaming to never trust a spy, Sniper flicked one toward him anyway.

That was the start of it all, that day. 

Spy began to find the Aussie more and more, asking for cigarettes whenever he got the chance. To Sniper’s credit, he kept giving. After a month or two of that, it evolved to the two having proper smoking sessions together; bi-weekly, thirty minutes per. Then somewhere in the four-month mark, that evolved to them having little conversations in those sessions.

Much to everyone’s confusion, including the man himself, Spy found Sniper to be good company. And much to Sniper’s confusion, he found Spy to be good company, too.

Sniper was generally soft-spoken, it was a fact of life at that point, and most everyone kept their distance both for themselves and Sniper’s sake. But Spy respected that very thick wall he’s built around himself, only ever had superficial conversation, never pried too deep, never pushed too much. And for some reason, Spy put himself through the utter burden of not smoking the fancy stuff that cost more than Sniper’s entire uniform to be around him. He couldn’t find it in himself to be irritated. 

Then one day, Spy left.

Contract season always was a bitch, left everyone jet-lagged and a little pissy, but Spy objectively got the short end of the stick. Being an experienced agent and having worked in espionage before the job out west, he was naturally sent out for more complicated jobs. Which essentially meant he had to leave for weeks at a time.

Sniper spent the first few days just fine, being used to isolation and all. But about a week in, he noticed that he wasn’t burning through his cigarettes like he was not seven days prior. In fact, the pack kept him through almost a whole week and a half, unlike before where he had to buy a new one every four days.

That little thought carried through to the next few weeks. And during a lull in conversation one day, he decided to bring it up.

“Cigarette packs take a lot longer to finish without you, mate,” Sniper said, starting the conversation, a rarity.

Spy’s response was simply raising an eyebrow at him. Sniper quickly backtracked.

“That, that sort of  sounded gay, but I meant it as in you’re always… takin’ my fuckin' durries.”

Spy continued to stare for a few more moments “...Interesting choice of words,” he half-chuckled.

“Oh, go to hell, spook,” he snapped, no real bite behind it.

“It appears I am already there, if this smoke has any indication,” Spy quipped right back.

That little interaction gave way for their regular surface conversations to… jokes made, stories shared, generally just more than what they’d been doing for the past half-year.

Then sometime in the next few weeks, it hit that Sniper found himself looking forward to their meetups. And he realized, maybe not for the first time, that he was actively liking them.

When Spy pushed for something like deeper conversation, he was okay with it. When he found himself looking for the Frenchman (maybe possibly because he was a touch lonely, but shuttup), he was okay with it. When he wound up telling Spy the story of one of the more significant scars near his shoulder, he was okay with it.

Which shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did because, well, Spy was a polite man, ignoring his quips on the battlefield and his interactions with Scout. He reckoned he just thought it was unlikely that the assassin would talk to, let alone spend time with, in Spy’s words, a “repulsive bushman”. But admittedly, Sniper was pretty glad that he hit the one in one million chance that Spy asked for a cigarette that day.

He smiled at the thought.

Words: 765

Some outfits and doodling for a character from a friend’s OCT! thinking a lot about how a sea-dwelling culture would dance underwater

Many thanks to @lunainvidia for the good idea food and original characters :D