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Chapter Text

Like most terrible ideas, it started with alcohol. Lots of alcohol. The BLU team took home the victory by a long shot, humiliating the RED, and they celebrated in their base's mess hall. Bottles popped. Beer poured down eager gullets. Loud laughter bounced off the walls.

“I dunno who ta thank--” Vinny belched. “--thank first. Oh I know. Me!”

The Scout thumped his chest and bragged about how he'd been the one to rush in, grab the intel, and make the mad dash out while the enemy tried to fill him with lead. He'd had almost the whole damn RED team on his heels. As he recounted the story, the number of enemies chasing him grew, until enough men to make three RED teams had been on his heels.

“Oui. But did you forget about me?” Enzo interrupted, a half-empty liquer bottle in his hand. “Who was that Spy who made it past enemy lines to discover the intelligence room in the first place? A roguishly handsome bastard, I'd say, and quite clever.”

“Yeah, I guess you helped,” Vinny said with an eyeroll. “But I did most of da work.”

They clinked their bottles together and swigged.

“Those RED team ladies didn't know what hit 'em,” George barked. The Soldier was lucky that their Pyro wasn't in the room at that moment. The other mercs were at least 60% sure that Juarez was a girl. But they never took off their mask or suit in the presence of others or responded to “What gender are you?” questions, so there was no way to tell.

“Ha-ha-ha, yeah.” Vinny snorted. “Hey, look at me!”

He clutched at his heart with one hand while resting the other against his forehead melodramatically. Then he swooned into the wall and theatrically crumpled to the floor.

“Oooh! Oh my!” he squealed in a falsetto. “I'm the RED team! I'm so scared of you big strong BLU team boys. Look at me, I'm fainting!”

He broke out laughing and snorting. “See, that's what they were like. I swear.”

“Or like this.” Enzo started gasping suggestively. “Oh, mon Dieu! You BLU team men are so STRONG! Please, ravish me!”

The Spy grabbed Vinny's beer bottle and picked up his liquer flask in the other. He held the empty bottles against his chest in a crude imitation of breasts. “Gentle--(hic!)--men!”

The other mercs laughed uproariously at the stupid sight. Some of them cackled so hard they started wheezing.

“Wait, wait,” Kerry spoke up with they could string words together again. “I got an idea. Hold 'em there.”

Their Engineer produced some leather strips and buckles. From where, it didn't matter. The results were what was important. In a matter of moments, he had a harness rigged up to hold the bottles in place. The curved glass domes, with the rubber corks sealing them, really did look like a plump pair of breasts adorned with pert nipples.

“Ooh la la!” Enzo cooed, striking a provocative pose now that his hands were free. He shifted his hips to the side and rested his hands behind his head. He swayed his chest, making the bottles shake slightly. This gave Vinny an idea. The Scout chuckled stupidly as he ran off to his locker. He returned with a 4-pack of Mad Milk.

“At first I was thinkin', it would be a funny beer keg,” he explained, “but then I had a better idea.”

Because of course. What else do you put in a breast-themed harness but milk?

And the Spy leaned into the act real hard. He swept to the side dramatically, making the milk slosh around in the boob bottles. He hefted them, one in each hand.

“Mon Dieu!” he cried. “I need to be milked. Who can I satisfy with mother's milk?”

They held back at first. It became a battle of wills. Whoever went for it, outed themselves as the kinky one. Eventually, Hemi took the bait. The Sniper approached, knelt slightly, and pulled out the cork. With Enzo moaning sluttishly above him, he lapped and then sucked at the milk coming out of the bottle. Mad Milk wasn't that appetizing to him, having a weird metallic aftertaste. But if he backed out now, everyone would see his raging hard-on. This drunken game accidentally revealed a deep-seated kink of his.

“Oh, what a good boy,” Enzo purred. “My, my, how thirsty you are.”

That did it. Hemi almost choked on the last swallow of milk. Coughing, he stumbled back and tripped over a chair.

“I'm still so full on this side,” the Spy went on, cupping his other 'breast'. “Be a dear and take care of this one, won't you?”

Now it was their Medic's turn. Rolf, having had one Bier too many, hobbled over to Enzo. He also was leaning into this roleplay schtick.

“Fraulein,” he slurred, “I need to--(hic!)--inspect you. For mammary cancer. Must do a--(hic!)--breast exam.”

“Ah, but of course!” Enzo thrust his chest out for the doctor. “Please. Do not be shy.”

Rolf cupped both “breasts” and rubbed them, mumbling vaguely medical things. Then he went in for the kill, popping the cork out of the bottle and drinking the remaining milk. In a few sucks, he drained the bottle. He delicately lapped at the “nipple”, then pulled back with an approving tut.

“Ach! A fine, healthy breast. Lactation will--(hic!)--continue as long as the breasts are stimulated in this way.”

“Très bien!” He winked at the others. “There will be much more where this comes from.”

For him, that was a throwaway line. Once it left his lips, he thought no more of it. The night grew deep. Alcohol's effects wore off, and the mercs stumbled off to bed. The Mad Milk harness was discarded of, the jokes forgotten. Enzo settled into his four-poster bed, under his photographs of beautiful women, and thought nothing more of the night's events.

But his words would come back to haunt them, when they turned out to be true.

Chapter Text

Mad Milk came from a dairy farm where they raised cows purported to be “98% non-radioactive.” Vinny figured that as long as he didn't turn purple or start growing extra limbs, he'd be all right. If he was lucky, the radiation might give him superpowers! At least, that's how it worked in his comic books. He didn't draw the correlation between handling the milk bottles and the itchy, tingly sensation his hands developed afterward.

Enzo woke the next morning with the hangover of the century and not much memory of what had happened the night before. His antics with the harness and letting his teammates “nurse” from him were lost in an alcoholic stupor. In the moment, that was for the better. The embarrassment would only make his headache worse.

The Frenchman fixed himself some well-scorched toast, hoping it would help. He flagged down Juarez and got the Pyro to torch the bread with their flamethrower. The arsonist was eager to help. Enzo washed down the toast, more charcoal than bread at this point, with a cup of strong dark coffee. His headache abated somewhat, but it was replaced with a tight and hot sensation in his chest. He attributed it to heartburn and went about his day.

No battle today. The REDs nursed their wounds and grudges in their base, leaving BLU time to enjoy some leisurely activities. Enzo settled down in his study with a copy of Les Miserables. He had reached the infamous section all about the Parisian sewers. He found himself wading through a sewer of his own, that being Hugo's meticulous prose descibing the underground. The day had brought agreeable weather to Teufort, allowing him to slide open a window and feel the breeze.

Even though the story enthralled him, the tightness and burning in his chest persisted. The constricting feeling had him loosening his tie and shedding his suit jacket for once. He felt a little naked without it, but the strange feelings were just too much. Unfortunately, Rolf had picked this one day to run errands, taking his medical knowledge with him. Enzo would have to tough it out until he returned. He swallowed an aspirin and went outside to take a smoke break, hoping to at least distract himself from the burning inside.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, it had turned into an unbearable sensitivity in his chest. Every minute shift of his clothes sent his nerves spiralling. The mere touch of fabric against skin, something that barely registered on a normal day, felt magnified ten times over. Enzo couldn't bear it anymore and stripped off his shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. He sunk into his armchair, eyes squeezed shut and breathing steadily. An evening gust blew into the room and ghosted across his pecs, and even that was enough to send his nipples perking up.

He cracked an eye open and looked down at himself. It may have been his imagination, but his normally flat pectorals seemed slightly larger. The Spy was no gym rat and hardly built up the muscle in that area. How peculiar. He touched one, only to recoil with a hiss when it sent a shock of nerves cascading down his spine. They tickled his core. He exhaled heavily.

“What the hell is going on?” Enzo wondered aloud. He'd never felt like this before. His theory about this being mere heartburn was quickly falling apart. But what else could it be, he wondered. Perhaps he was falling ill with a new and devastating virus. There was only one way for him to know.

His chance came when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Rolf had finally returned from his errands. Enzo hastened to find some way to cover up without setting his nerves afire. After scrambling fruitlessly through his closet, he decided to just drape his bedsheet over himself. He looked like a Roman potentate, but it did the trick. With the white sheet trailing behind him, he hurried to the infirmary.

Rolf had hardly begun to unpack when Enzo burst into the room. The doctor looked rattled and hastily shut his still half-full briefcase. A square foil wrapper fluttered to the floor. Enzo paid it no mind. Instead, he was on the Medic in an instance.

“Monsieur Rolf, I believe I have a problem,” he confessed. “But it is a sensitive matter.”

Rolf glanced quizzically at him, taking in the sight of the Spy with a white sheet layered haphazardly over his torso, yet also with his pinstripe pants and patent leather shoes still on.

“Eh...What is it?”

“Is the room secure? May we speak freely?”

Rolf looked around at the empty infirmary. “No-one here but us. And my birds.”

“Good.” Enzo dramatically threw off the sheet, putting his naked chest on full display. “I have inexplicable symptoms!”

“Guh!” Rolf exclaimed, not expecting such toward behavior from the Spy. But he recovered quickly and began an examination. He had Enzo take a seat while he ran a stethoscope all around his body, listening as the Spy breathed deeply. He took blood pressure and temperature and all that jazz.

During the exam, Enzo's chest tenderness turned into something else. Now, he felt two sharp aches deep inside the muscle tissue, centered in each pec. It sent him wincing and crossing his legs. On the surface, his nipples burned.

“Have you begun any new medications without my knowledge?” the Medic inquired. “This could be a side effect.”

“Non,” replied Enzo.

“Any other behavioral changes? Chemical exposure?” Rolf's voice sounded hoarse, more husky than yesterday. “The Scout complains of throat inflammation after drinking too much of that Bonk garbage. It cannot be good for him to drink radioactive material like that. Although I woke up with a similar feeling this morning. Could hardly speak!”

“Non, I have only...” He trailed off as memories of last night resurfaced. “Oh mon Dieu.”

“Vas?”

“The Mad Milk,” he mused. “We were all exposed to it last night! You drank it! And I had it up against my chest.”

“Mein Gott!” The Medic snapped off his stethoscope. “Who knows what effects it may have. Herr Spy, would it be an overstep if I were to...”

He gestured awkwardly. Enzo nodded.

“Do whatever it takes, Doctor.”

Rolf leaned in and cupped Enzo's pectorals. The Spy stiffened up at his touch, but allowed him to gently palpate the tender muscles. Muscles that were much too tender, in fact. Muscles that had grown again since he'd last looked, and were now squishing under Rolf's touch. Muscles that weren't muscles so much as—

“Herr Enzo, please remain calm as I tell you this,” the Medic said, “but I believe you have grown mammary tissue.”

Enzo blinked. “You mean, like—?”

“Ja. There are significant fat deposits that were not there before. Und I see you have not gained weight elsewhere.”

Enzo, lips pressed together, cupped his pecs. They were soft, and they sagged slightly in his grip. He let them fall.

“And you suppose exposure to the Mad Milk did this?”

“It is possible.”

The twin aches in his chest flared into a constricting pain that left him gasping. “Doctor! What can you do to stop it?”

Rolf had to say three words he really hated to say. “I don't know.”

“WHAT?” The Frenchman gripped him by the labcoat. “What kind of worthless doctor are you? I will not sit here and grow breasts while you do nothing! Reverse the effects. Cut out the tissue. Do something. Anything at all!”

“Herr Enzo, let go of me!” The Medic tried to push him away. “I do not know anything about your condition. If I siphon out the fat tissue, it may very well grow back. Look at how quickly it has grown already.”

Tensely, the Spy released his grip on Rolf. “But you will research this, will you not?”

“I will,” Rolf promised. “But until then, we can only wait this out. Be sure to tell me about any new symptoms.”

Not comforting words. The Spy draped the sheet over himself again. Donning his snug suit now would be too much. He cloaked himself so he could return to his room in secrecy. Upon arrival there, he flung the sheet off and collapsed onto the bed, covering his face. He dared a glance down. Normally, his torso lay flat like a plain when he was on his back. Now, he had two small mounds interrupting the expanse. Two aching, burning mounds that seemed to grow by the hour. He didn't know when this would end, but he knew he was at the beginning of something new and terrifying.

Chapter Text

When he had gone to bed, the mounds on Enzo's chest could start to fit into an A cup. Upon his awakening, he found that they had grown in his sleep. His breasts, he thought with disdain, poked up and tented the sheets. And the sheets, he noticed, had unusual wet spots. The Spy was most certainly not a drooler or a night sweater. He was not prone to wet dreams, either. He lifted one of the wet spots to his face and sniffed. An odd sweet smell lingered there. Almost vanilla-like in its odor.

This was no case of a fine lady with sweet perfume in his bed. No, the last time he tried to smuggle a paramour into his room, it was a disaster. It had to be something else, and he suspected what it was. A cold clammy feeling of ill-at-ease creeped over him. He glanced down at his chest, noticing that his nipples seemed to have turned larger and darker since the night before. He swallowed hard and squeezed his left breast. To his dismay, but not his surprise, a bead of white bubbled up on his nipple.

“Oh, isn't that wonderful,” he groaned. “Growing breasts was not enough. I have to lactate, too.”

He pressed on the other breast, producing the same results. A heavy sigh escaped him. Feeling stupid beyond belief, he gently squeezed both of his mounds. The movements were slow and awkward. Drops of milk dripped from his nipples. A supreme discomfort came over him; his body was not supposed to do this.

But he had to empty himself now, or risk springing a leak at some inopportune moment. Enzo didn't want to know how his teammates—or worse, the other team—would react to seeing the Spy with large and milky breasts. He slipped into his bathroom to take care of this issue. He had his private washroom installed despite the jealous mumblings of his teammates. Complaints from management for “wasting” company funds fell on deaf ears, too. His moment of vindication had come, for now he knew he'd made the right choice.

After locking the door behind him, he leaned over the white marble sink. Avoiding eye contact with his reflection, he kneaded his ample chest. Milk trickled out of him and pooled in the sink's bowl. The warm wetness on his chest disgusted him.

“How much milk is in me?” he wondered aloud. He could only force out a few drops at a time, so at least it was not that much. He glanced up and caught sight of his reflection. There he was, naked from the waist up with twin globes hanging off his chest. White beads spurted from their dark swollen nipples. He was bent over like an animal to be bred. He cringed.

Milking himself (how he hated to think of it in those terms) only took a few more minutes. His breasts quickly ran dry. He plucked a plush towel off its hook and dried off each slick nipple. He had emptied himself of his milk, but the round softness of his breasts persisted. Of course, why not. Why should it be that easy to get rid of them?

But he couldn't hide in his quarters all day. If he tried that, eventually the other mercs would come looking for him. Then they'd assuredly find out about his new condition. No, if he could find some way to hide his chest growth, he may stand a chance of flying under their radar. But how would he do that, he wondered.

The thought briefly crossed his mind – perhaps he could swipe a bra from Juarez's underwear drawer. Once he got over the humiliation of wearing such a thing, it might provide support for his swollen chest. But then again, he still wasn't sure if Juarez even wore bras. And then if the Pyro caught him rummaging through their underwear, they would certainly get the wrong idea. He could end up as French toast. No, he'd have to find a different way to conceal his breasts.

Enzo looked tentatively at his bedsheets. They weren't his nicest set – that would be his luxury silks, brought out when he had a special guest in his bed – but they were still high-thread Egyptian cotton. Materialist that he was, he couldn't bear the idea of cutting them up into makeshift breast bands. But what else could he use?

His linens were spared when he finally swallowed his pride and cut open a pair of his underwear – clean, of course – to make a slightly stretchy band. Now, he'd seductively removed many bras in his time, but donning a makeshift one was new territory. He clumsily wound the fabric around his chest, trying to find the perfect fit. If he tried to immobilize his mounds, he couldn't breathe. If he gave himself ample space to inhale, his tits hung free. After many tries, he found a fit that mostly worked and he pinned the band into place.

The Spy didn't stop to admire his work. Enzo slipped on the rest of his suit. He found that fitting his breasts into his shirt posed a challenge. The suit jacket closed much tighter than it used to. But he managed to fasten it, and with that, he ventured outside his quarters. Hopefully, the other mercs would not pick up on his discomfort.

Because he could feel it. His boobs jiggled with each step. The fabric rubbing against his nipples teased him, just as it did yesterday. The swell of his chest was obvious. He kept his head up and looked straight ahead as he made his way towards the kitchen, on the hunt for a coffee.

Not running into any of his teammates on the way lulled him into a false sense of security. He was thinking about maybe mixing it up this time and stirring a dash of sugar into his usual black coffee, when he came face to face with Hemi.

Merde.

At first, the Sniper took no notice of him. Hemi read from a bird identification guide while poking at a plate of bacon. A cup of tea steamed next to him. Enzo thought about cloaking, but hiding from Hemi wasn't an easy task. Despite the cloud of general stink that surrounded him, the bushman had an impeccable sense of smell. His hearing was nothing to sneeze at, either. He finally spotted the Spy in his peripherals.

“Mornin', spook,” he said, barely looking up from his field guide.

“Hm. Bonjour,” Enzo replied, bringing up an arm in a vain attempt to make his bosom less obvious. “I see you have not cleaned up after yourself again.”

Hemi glanced up to ask a question and froze in his tracks. His eyes came in for a landing on Enzo's boobs.

“Oh,” he said with an emotion that doesn't exist.

“Bushman!” the Spy warned with an emphatic gesture. He moved his arm too quickly, making his breasts shake. Hemi couldn't take his eyes off them. The slightest bit of blush reddened his cheeks.

“There was an accident,” Enzo continued, voice strained. “This was not supposed to happen. And our trouillard of a Medic won't do a thing about it.”

Enzo could have sworn a slight look of relief flickered across Hemi's face, but for now, he was too embarrassed to notice.

“I need to go,” the Sniper announced, shooting up from his chair. He left his bacon and tea behind and scuttled down the hall. Enzo heard the bathroom door smack shut.

The Spy put on a fresh pot of coffee. While waiting for it to brew, he sat in the Sniper's chair and inspected his abandoned breakfast. His book lay open to a page with a picture of tiny bird. It bore blue and gold feathers, and it carried a grub in its beak. The caption said –

“Eurasian blue tit,” Enzo read aloud. “Hm.”

Minutes passed, and Hemi didn't return to the kitchen. His food was getting cold. Enzo started down the hallway to ask the Sniper if he still wanted his breakfast. As he reached to knock on the door, he heard heavy breathing and grunting. And then a very sexual moan.

“Hnnngh...Enzo...”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Enzo flattened against the wall. He couldn't stop listening to the Sniper jacking off in the bathroom, much as he wanted to flee. Hemi climaxed with an ascending groan. Enzo cloaked himself. He heard terrycloth rustling, a zipper closing, and then the sink running. After a tense moment, the bathroom door swung open.

What had just happened startled Enzo so much he didn't even notice that Hemi hadn't washed his hands. Normally, that would have disgusted him. But how could he think about that, when he'd just overheard his teammate masturbating to the thought of him?

A couple minutes passed while Enzo stood there, invisible and wide-eyed. He took a deep breath, decloaked, and strode back to the kitchen. Not making eye contact with Hemi, who had resumed reading his field guide, he gracefully took a seat across the table. Even so, he could still feel the bushman's eyes on him.

The coffee maker beeped, then began to pour out a libation of dark roast.

Chapter Text

Tense silence hung over the breakfast table for exactly five minutes and forty-three seconds. Enzo wordlessly sipped from his coffee. Hemi kept glancing between his book and the Spy. Or, rather, the Spy's bosom as it squished into the edge of the table. His mouth was drawn in a tight line. His tongue clicked against his front teeth. His right leg bounced.

“Is something bothering you, bushman?” Enzo asked at last.

“No,” Hemi replied, stabbing a fork into his stone cold bacon. “What's it to you, spook?”

The Frenchman just made a “hm!” sound and pushed his empty mug away with one finger. Inwardly, he carefully planned his next move. He'd say something mysteriously intimidating, like “I know tht you know” and get Hemi to fess up on his own terms.

He didn't get to enact his master plan, though, because the least subtle member of the team made an appearance. The Soldier came crashing into the kitchen, carrying the RED team's briefcase.

He slammed it down on the table. A handful of other BLU members followed in his wake.

“All right, ladies,” George boomed. “Tea time is over. The RED team has got to be planning their strike-back, and they could attack any day now. Let's read their intelligence. It's like what they say about the Communists – you must know the enemy to fight the enemy!”

“How do you plan on unlocking that?” said Enzo of the number-pad lock on the case. He quirked an eyebrow sarcastically.

George slammed a fist down on the briefcase lid. It immediately popped open. Now it was his turn to look smug.

“Commie engineering. It's no match for my American fists.”

During this exchange, the Engineer had approached the table. Kerry picked up some documents from the case and leafed through them.

“They're building a bomb,” he reported, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. “It ain't nuclear, just a regular bomb. They wanna load it on a cart and roll it to our base, by the looks of it.”

“Ha! That gommy thing couldn't knock a wee bunny off its bum,” their Demoman, Macre, commented as he looked over the blueprint. “We'll make easy work of it, Ah kent.”

“I say we blow up all the tracks that lead to our base!” George declared. “Then it won't be so easy for those ghouls to roll their little pop rocket to us. We can rebuild them later.”

“When did breakfast turn into a debriefing?” Enzo spoke up, annoyed. “We have a room for these sorts of conferences.”

Without realizing it, he had been pressing harder into the table. His breasts did not appreciate the extra pressure, and in the middle of his speech, he could feel a warm wetness on his skin. And now that the others' eyes were on him, they could see—

“Enzo, why is your shirt wet?”

Two wet patches grew on the Spy's chest. Twin dark spots on his suit jacket highlighted where his nipples were. His face went red. But he had enough of dancing around the matter.

“I'm leaking,” he said stiffly. “Handling that toxic sludge Scout calls 'milk' did this to me.”

“Leaking?” Macre asked. “You mean, as in...milk?”

“Sweet land of liberty. He's making milk?” George was aghast. “But I thought only pregnant ladies could do that! ...And pregnant men, and pregnant people with unclear genders, like Juarez, even though I don't think Juarez is pregnant, and...what was I talking about, again?”

“Gentlemen!” Enzo's face burned under his balaclava. “The radioactivity from that sludge made me grow breasts and lactate. There! Are you pleased now?”

The other mercs stammered, not sure what to make of this new plot development. Kerry, way too uncomfortable with it all, grabbed the briefcase and left the room. George started reaching for a breast without realizing what he was doing. Enzo smacked his hand away.

“Bête! Do you always go around touching breasts without permission?”

George sheepishly stuck his hands in his pockets.

“So what are we supposed to bloody do about it?” Macre spoke up. “Ah know I said my guns could 'blow yer tits off' but I dinnae mean it literally.”

“Not let him fight. It's a liar...lia...lib—it's going to be a problem! Too many things could go wrong. He could have to leave in the middle of the fight to milk himself! He could leak and it could ruin his disguise! Hell man, that disguise gizmo of his might not even cover his boobs anymore.”

“Those eejit REDs may get distracted by his rack. We could use that as a strategy.”

“Too risky. They might be wooed by him and kidnap him.”

“GENTLEMEN!” Enzo shouted. “Have you forgotten I'm right here? Our useless Medic refuses to fix my problem, and all you can think about right now is strategizing?”

The bomber and the fighter glanced at each other awkwardly.

“I need a smoke break,” he muttered. “Au revoir.”

He stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall, before ducking into an empty office. He slipped his cigarette case out of his breast pocket with much difficulty and lit up. He couldn't even cross his arms properly with how much his bust stuck out. He exhaled his anger in big smoky puffs. Those buffoons, he thought. Some team. Their Spy was dealing with an unwanted life change, and they were preoccupied with how it would affect their silly war. Brutes. Oafs, the lot of them.

He sensed someone standing nearby and his expression darkened.

“What do you want now?” he growled at them. “Monsieur Soldier, if you are here to bother me more, then...”

Enzo trailed off. The Sniper's tall form lingered in the doorway. He leaned with one hand resting on the frame. During the outburst at the table, he had stayed silent. Enzo had sort of forgotten he was even there. He dropped the nub of his cigarette and ground it to ash under his patent leather shoe.

“What do you want?” he asked, in a much gentler tone.

At first, the bushman stumbled on his words. “We need to talk.”

Enzo chuckled. “That's the first time I've heard that line from you. You didn't strike me as the chatty type.”

“If you're going to come clean, spook, then so should I.” Hemi exhaled heavily. “I don't know why it trips my trigger. But something about you with breasts is hot as fuck. There, I said it.”

He knew it, but hearing it from Hemi's own admission burnt the tips of his ears and curled his toes.

“I figured as much. Like when I heard you pleasuring yourself earlier.”

“Bloody hell!” The Sniper's eye twitched. “You—you—“

“Worry not, bushman. I will keep your little secret safe. What do I have to gain by telling our teammates that you were masturbating to the idea of me, hmm?”

Hemi chewed on his lower lip. He glanced behind him, just to make sure.

“In that case, I have one more request for you.”

“Oui?”

The two words came out desperate and husky. “Fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, spook. Do you want it?”

Enzo studied him for a moment. He mostly had feelings for women, but every now and then a particularly well-built man caught his attention. The BLU Sniper did have a nice frame, tall and wiry. He had a steely glare and angular features. His odor had kept Enzo from noticing these assets before, but now that he was seriously thinking about it...

“It's your choice, luv. Won't force anything on you.”

Oh, merde! The way he purred out “luv” shot right through Enzo, leaving him hard. He made his choice quickly. He undid his tie and let it flutter to the floor.

“Do the rest.”

Hemi was on him in a moment. He was eager, but kept a steady pace as he began unfastening Enzo's suit jacket. Halfway through undressing the Spy, he paused to start taking off his own clothes, and then to lock the door for good measure. They didn't want to be interrupted. One by one, clothes items came off and hit the floor. Then it was just Enzo in his mask and Hemi in his tooth necklace.

It started with a hungry kiss, with Hemi nibbling at Enzo's lower lip. His hands traveled across his partner's body, stopping at the breasts. He flicked his thumbs over the nipples, making Enzo gasp slightly.

“Oh, you like that, slut?” He did it again, sending drops of milk flecking. “White gold. I think I'll have a taste.”

“Please,” Enzo gasped.

The Sniper licked his left nipple, then sealed his mouth around it and started to suck. At the feeling of gentle suction on the aching, sensitive nipple, Enzo curved into the feeling and moaned. Reflexively, he reached behind Hemi's head and pulled him closer to his breast. In response, the bushman's hands wrapped around his back.

“Mmm...yes,” Hemi breathed when he came up for air. “I like the taste of you, spook.”

“Drink your fill.”

Hemi didn't need to be told twice. He greedily drank from Enzo, spurred on by his slutty moans. When the left breast ran dry, he disengaged with a pop of his lips and switched to the right. As he drained that tit, he began to subtly rub his crotch against Enzo's. He smirked as the Spy's breathing grew heavier, more desperate. His grip on Hemi's shoulder tightened.

Hemi smoothly leaned forward, making Enzo recline in turn until he was flat on his back. He took hold of the Spy's ankles.

“Stop teasing me and do it already, bushman!” Enzo snapped.

The Sniper chuckled and did as he was told. Slinging Enzo's legs over his shoulders so that they were in a mating press position, he bore down on the other man's nethers. Despite not using lubricant, he slid in without much trouble. Enzo made a choking sound as he was filled, then a series of needy grunts.

“Look at you, slut,” Hemi growled between thrusts. “So eager to take me. You can't help yourself, can you?”

Enzo's tits shook whenenver Hemi thrust into him. It was a tasty sight for the Sniper. He increased his speed. Before long, white beads bubbled up in the Spy's nipples.

“Oh, take a butcher's at that,” he teased. “You're leaking again, spook.”

Not too long after being milked, Enzo was filling once more. As Hemi hammered at his ass, his breasts spurted milk like little white fountains. The Sniper even caught a few drops in his mouth. He licked his lips. Between thrusts, he grabbed at Enzo's breasts and squeezed them.

“You look good flat on your back. I reckon you'll get real used to looking up at me.” His voice dropped at least an octave and gained a crackly edge. Heat built up in Enzo's core, mounting and mounting until—

The Spy came with a shout, under the sharp-toothed smirk of the Sniper. Hemi didn't last much longer and finished inside Enzo. He pulled out and smacked the Spy's ass for good measure.

“Well, spook. You know how to satisfy a man's urges.” Hemi began pulling his clothes back on. “Glad I could get my chance. What with you gettin' the doc to fix your little problem.”

Still on his back and leaking on both ends, Enzo paused to catch his breath. He peered down his supine body, past the pair of mountains on his chest. Slick patches of milk and sexual fluid left his skin shiny. But this time, instead of the discomfort and embarrassment, he felt something else. Arousal. Hemi had been right. It was hot as fuck.

“As a matter of fact, bushman, I have changed my mind,” he replied. “I'm going to keep them.”

Chapter Text

Rolf peered over his glasses at him. “Are you sure? The last time you visited me, you wanted me to do whatever it takes to get rid of them. And now you want to keep them?”

“Oui.” Enzo, sans a shirt, sat up straight on the medical bed. “I've changed my mind, Doctor. That is all.”

The Medic took some notes on his clipboard. “Very well. But I must warn you, Herr Enzo. Neither of us knows very much about how your condition will develop. It may become more difficult to reverse things if you change your mind again.”

Enzo didn't respond. He went for his cigarette case, only to be met with a disapproving glare.

“No smoking in my laboratory,” Rolf said, for like the hundredth time – the Spy's nicotine addiction was a perennial annoyance for him. “Ahem. Are you willing to let me run tests as needed?”

“Yes, doctor...I suppose I can let you do that.”

“Don't sound too excited,” Rolf said dryly. “The situation could be worse, you know. Do you think the RED Medic would even give you the courtesy of asking? That man is a certified freak. He would subject you to all kinds of experiments.”

“So I've heard. He likes to insert organs from exotic animals into his teammates.”

“Indeed he does. Stay away from him, bitte.” Rolf flipped to a new page on his clipboard and started writing something down. “Now, as you may be aware, your body will expend more energy to produce milk. So you will need to increase your caloric input. In other words, eat more. You're a stick as it is.”

Enzo snorted, but whether it was a scoffing or chuckling snort was unclear.

“Furthermore,” he went on, “having large breasts can make moving around on the battlefield more difficult. So, I took the liberty of designing a compression garment for you. A nursing bra of sorts. The Engineer helped me make it. Try it on.”

Rolf disappeared behind a screen on the other side of his laboratory and returned with a garment bag. Enzo opened it to reveal something resembling a harness, with a beige strap of material to go around the chest and leather shoulder straps. Two holes sealed with zippers were cut in the front, with a pair of bottles and suction tubes attached. He looked quizzically at the doctor.

“Function over form,” was Rolf's reply. “The bottles and tubing are detachable. When not in use, the padding will absorb any milk you leak. I would recommend pumping before every mission.”

Enzo's lips pulled tight. The idea of having a milking apparatus on himself made him feel a little queasy. He knew he'd have to relieve himself of his milk from time to time, but he preferred it like how Hemi had handled him. Gently nursing from him with soft lips. The thought of having a machine do it just made him feel like a cow. But if he had to do it...

“I suppose, Doctor. However, one thing.”

“Ja?”

“Did you really have to tell Monsieur Kerry about this?” A look of irritation crossed his mug. “How did you even get him to help you? He seemed disgusted when he found out about my condition.”

Rolf smirked. “He's a man of science. Like yours truly.”

The Medic's hands twitched. He really wanted to see his project in action. With a demure sigh, Enzo fastened the compression garment around himself. A small band, like a little belt, wrapped around the bottom edge. Rolf explained that it was for adjusting the compression, and helped him find the right tightness. For a relaxed situation like this, Enzo preferred to have it loose. He could tighten the garment when he needed to look more presentable, or to fit into his suit.

Next came the less enjoyable part. Enzo opened the zippers, exposing his nipples. The suction tubes pinched the very sensitive nubs, making him suck in a tense breath. After Rolf asked if he was ready, the doctor activated the device. The suction tugged at his nipples in a quiet rhythm, pulling dry at first and then coaxing out small streams of milk. Enzo looked down as little as possible. The sight of milk, his milk, traveling down tubes and emptying in bottles was just too strange for him at this time. He'd need to get used to it. Still, the sense of milk leaving his full bosom also caused a wave of relief to wash over him. He hadn't emptied his breasts since the night before, and he was beginning to grow uncomfortable with how engorged he was. He shut his eyes and let the machine suckle him.

“Vell?” asked Rolf. “What is the patient's opinion here?”

“It will do, I suppose.”

“All that's left is to test it in action.” Rolf stood up.

“Indeed. And that opportunity should come...”

“Mission begins in five minutes,” the Administrator stated over the intercom.

“...right about now.”

=====

Unlike his peers, who came charging out of their base when the mission began, Enzo went for a more stealthy exit. He slipped through shadowy parts of the complex, past timber crates and sandbags. He knew his territory well. He could make it from the BLU base's entrance to RED territory without ever stepping into view.

Today, the mission was to capture all control points. The Administrator's croaky voice filled their ears as she announced the contest and capture of each spot on the map. RED, having got their breather of a few days, had nursed their strength back. BLU captured point after point, but couldn't hold on to them for long. RED grabbed their territory back with a vengeance. The Spy prowled around enemy territory, trying to sense the rhythm of RED's movements about the area. If he could do that, he may be able to predict which points they'd go for next, and he could rally the BLUs to focus their manpower there.

It wasn't an easy task. The RED Pyro kept sniffing around Enzo's favorite routes, swinging their flamethrower around. He took care to avoid the arsonist and their weapon of doom. Not only did the threat of burning loom, but also, a single puff of flame could nullify his disguises. And as deep in the enemy's base as he was, that could have deadly consequences.

The Spy took shelter in some supply boxes as the enemy Pyro came his way again. He was out of bullets and needed a new plan. A container of rations almost fell on his head, and he grabbed it before the noise could alert the beast. Turning over the small box, he got an idea. Silently he peeled open the packaging and removed the best part of the rations – the brownie. He tossed the dessert in the Pyro's general direction. The ploy worked, and the firebug went straight for the brownie, like a dog after a biscuit. While they bent over to pick it up, Enzo went in for a backstab.

“You got blood on my suit,” he said disdainfully to the prone corpse.

But the wetness on his suit wasn't blood, it was something else. He had started leaking again. The Spy rolled his eyes and groaned.

“The padding will absorb any leakage,” he sneered in a mockery of Rolf's voice. “Right.”

As the minutes ticked on, BLU drew closer to a victory. They had one last point to capture to turn things in their favor. RED wouldn't let go of it easily, though. Their Engineer stood guard over the spot, with a heavily armed sentry at his side. He slapped his wrench against his palm, daring any BLUs to try their luck.

Enzo was willing to take the gamble. He cloaked himself and ascended some crates stacked up next to the rooftop area. A critical weak point that those idiots had failed to secure. All he had to do was get rid of the Engineer and his machines, and the control point was as good as blue. A fat green fly landed on the Engineer's head, and he glanced away from his precious sentry to swat at it. Smirking, Enzo tossed a sapper at the machine.

Soon after came the sparks flying as the machine failed.

“Sentry down!” cried the Engineer in distress. Enzo laughed heartily and dispatched him with a few revolver shots. He got ready to step on the point, when—

“It was over here! The bastard can't have gone far!” called the enemy Soldier's annoying crowing voice.

“Merde!” Enzo cloaked and made a run for it. He scampered away, leaving no clues of his presence except for dirt stirring if someone looked carefully. Speaking of looking carefully, the Spy was too busy watching his back to see the RED Medic coming from the other direction. And in that Medic's defense, it's hard to notice an invisible man running at you. They collided, with Enzo going heels over head and plastering sideways on the ground. Medics were stronger than they looked. The German tripped and landed on his stomach.

The collision with an enemy made the Spy's disguise fizzle out, and so the two men's eyes met for a moment. Enzo fumbled for his revolver, only to discover that he'd spent his last bullets taking out the Engineer. His knife wouldn't do shit now that he didn't have the element of surprise anymore. So he just lay there stupidly for a moment, with wet spots on his shirt and his compression garment coming undone.

“Was is das?” the RED Medic stammered. His eyes lingered on the obvious outline of Enzo's boobs. “Milch?”

Usually the Spy could dish out some devastating insults, but all he could muster in this moment was a lame “Get away from me!” He pushed off the ground and kept running, but the interruption had bought the enemy team some precious time. The RED Soldier and his friends caught up and opened fire. Enzo went down with a whole lot of bullets in his back.

In a blink, he was in the respawn room. The Administrator announced BLU's narrow defeat, capping it off with a sour remark about how they had found new ways to disappoint her. Enzo sighed heavily and rested his head in his hands. His chest throbbed.

He decided he needed two things. One was a cigarette. He had one smoldering between his lips in a flash. Easy. The other was Hemi. Rolf's compression garment had disappointed Enzo immensely, and he knew he needed a professional to take of him. With luck, the Sniper would be itching to deal with his post-defeat slump in a...carnal manner.

Only one way to know. Enzo rose to his feet.

Chapter Text

An explosion rocked the barracks. Enzo didn't flinch. He watched out the window as his teammates jumped and danced around the crater where a giant bomb used to be. They'd successfully captured the the bomb that the RED team planned on attacking them with, and then they'd set the damn thing off anyway. It was Macre's idea.

“Ach! That was a beaut!” he raved. “Freeeeeedom!”

“BLU forever!” shouted George. “It's like the Fourth of July!”

Enzo chuckled and shut the window. He'd enjoyed a few quiet days since the flubbed mission to capture control points. It seemed that now those times had come to an end. He glanced back at the bed. Somehow, the loud boom and shaking ground had not roused Hemi. The Sniper lay on his belly, making snuffling sounds in his sleep. A good fucking and drinking his fill of warm milk had knocked him right out. Enzo's nipples were still sensitive from all the attention that Hemi's mouth had given them.

He would remove his smelly, milk-slurping paramour from his room later. Right now, Enzo preferred to change into clean clothes and read his book. He still hadn't finished Les Miserables. He made it through about twenty pages before his comms device buzzed.

“Spy, it's Pauling,” said a static-laden woman's voice on the other end. “I've got reports that RED is looking to get their intelligence back. They may be headed your way. Be on the lookout. Do you copy? Over.”

“Affirmative, madmoiselle. Over and out,” Enzo told her. He shut his book and sighed. No day could truly be free of nonsense. He glanced over, wondering if he should wake up Hemi. Maybe not. He could be cranky when woken up. Enzo settled for leaving a note. Be on guard for REDs, it said. Shoot first and ask questions later.

He slipped his butterfly knife and revolver into his pockets. He hurried to the intel room on light feet. Really, they should have probably picked a less obvious place to keep the sensitive documents. Practical or not, that was where the briefcase was, and Enzo needed to make sure no RED scum made off with it. He held his jiggling breasts in place as he hurried down the stairs and through the hall.

For safety, he cloaked before peering inside. The only noise came from the air conditioning. The captured RED briefcase was still in its glass cage. The security camera pointed at the cage kept watch, and its eye would catch any intruder who approached the goods.

Well, it would, if it there wasn't an arrow piercing it. Enzo's eyebrows raised. It must be the work of the RED Sniper, who had a bow and arrow as his weapon of choice. The Huntsman, he called it. But the arrow hadn't been there yesterday, so...

“They're here,” he murmured to himself. Keeping himself cloaked, he pressed to the wall and shimmied over to a shadowy spot behind some plastic barrels. Sure enough, the RED Sniper entered the room, another arrow nocked on his bow. The RED Medic followed close behind.

“Took out their cams,” the huntsman said. “Get the case.”

Enzo regarded with scene with disdain. That was their recon team? A Sniper and a Medic? Even if they wanted to go the steath route with light manpower, they should have brought their own Spy. The Sniper felt so pleased with himself for killing a damn security camera. How pathetique.

Spy slunk around the perimeter of the room, getting himself into position. He flicked out his butterfly knife. He lunged from hiding and planted the blade squarely between the Sniper's shoulders. The bushman gasped, coughing up blood. Enzo twisted the knife and kicked him to the floor. Naturally, this made his disguise vanish, altering the Medic.

“Scheiße!” the Medic shouted, swinging his medigun around. It wouldn't do much if he shot it at Enzo, but the Spy fell victim to it in a different way. He got clocked in the side of the face with the heavy gun and staggered back. Enzo, seeing stars, groped for his revolver. This gave the enemy Medic a second to get out the right weapon.

Turns out, the RED Medic was quite the quick draw. He had a gun primed and pointed at Enzo in a split second, and firing in another. The Spy braced, futile as the gesture might be. But instead of lead ripping flesh, all he felt was a pinch and a sting. He blinked.

A small red syringe stuck into his neck, right where it met his shoulder. Hell, it hurt more when Hemi gave him a love bite during sex. Enzo laughed.

“Oh, I've been stung by the bee,” he said sarcastically. “Was that supposed to hurt, you pitiful excuse for a physician?”

He pulled the needle out and flicked it away. Meanwhile, the RED Medic stood there, idly spinning the wheel of his syringe gun.

“Please, do try again. I'll even stand still for you.” He let his arms hang open, as if inviting more shots.

“Nein,” answered the enemy Medic, still not moving.

“Eh?” Enzo's eyes narrowed and he readied his gun. “What are you playing at?”

“I do not want to give you an overdose,” the Medic replied with a calm shrug of the shoulders.

“Of what?”

“Nothing much, just the cocktail of tranquilizers I shot into you.” He grinned wickedly. “Fast-acting benzodiazepine and some friends.”

Furious, Enzo took aim, but the enemy Medic had already scurried into hiding. Worse still, the drug really was as fast-acting as he'd claimed. It only took a few minutes to bring him down. The Spy felt himself slipping away. His legs felt like they had lead weights tied to them, and as if his head was filled with sawdust. His steps faltered. He dropped his revolver. His vision swam with blinking clouds, and his knees gave out. He landed in the dust, his head turned just enough to see a pair of silhouetted figures approaching him.

Chapter Text

He hadn't truly fallen asleep, but the drugs left his memory hazy enough that he might as well have. When his mind was clear enough again to process where he was, Enzo found himself tied to a chair by the arms, waist, and ankles. That didn't bother him – being captured was a fairly common occurrence in his line of work. What did bother him, though, was seeing his clothes piled up in a corner nearby. His suit jacket, pants, shoes, and compression garment had been neatly folded and placed well out of reach. Enzo was naked save for his underwear and balaclava. Humiliating. Cool air and bare chair metal chilled his skin.

“Merde,” he cursed, glancing around. “What is this dump?”

He seemed to be in a shed of sorts, about the size of three bedrooms. Sunshine peeked through cracks in the battered wood making up the structure, but other than that, the only light came from a dim yellow bulb hanging off a ceiling beam. With this limited light, he could make out a few stacked straw bales and an empty oil drum. The barn had the stale, slightly damp smell of a place that had not been lived in for quite a while.

“You RED team dogs!” he shouted into the dark. “Show yourselves, you cowards.”

“Cowards?” a syrupy Southern accent answered. “Interesting thing for a Spy to say. But you might have a point. Let's introduce ourselves, Gunther.”

“Jawohl.” The RED Medic stepped into the frail circle of light, accompanied by the RED Engineer. Their arms were folded behind their backs.

“Sorry about the circumstances,” said the RED Engineer. “I suppose you would have preferred it if I just sent an invitation instead. (He laughed at his own joke.) You know we didn't really visit for the intel, right? Anyway, this fella here is my pal Gunther. And me, you can call me Hetch.”

“Please, do go fuck yourselves.”

“Now, now, there's no need for nasty language. We're all friends here.”

Enzo hocked up some spit and expectorated it in Hetch's general direction.

“We're going to have so much fun. Isn't that right, Gunther?”

“Oh, yes.” The Medic let out a diabolical chuckle. “Shall we get started?”

“Be patient, son. I haven't told the Spy – Enzo is his name, right? – the rules of our game.”

Hetch paced around the chair, occasionally resting his calloused hand on Enzo's head. “You see, you and I know each other well. That's how it is, every day; we head out to do our silly little mission. I make machines. You break them. It's quite a cycle, and I must say...I'm not the biggest fan of it.

“Isn't it weird how everything I've designed, you've destroyed with your sappers?” the Engineer continued. “Teleporter down. Dispenser down. Sentry down! Only thing more annoying than that has to be our teammates constantly calling for a Medic.”

The German nodded knowingly.

“So, I thought I'd mix things up a bit, to make these skirmishes of ours more interesting. Tell me what you think of this.”

He reached into the dark and pulled out something. It looked like the hollowed-out shell of a dispenser. A gaping hollow space was in its middle, large enough for someone to sit down inside it. Enzo quirked an eyebrow at it.

“It don't look like much right now, I know,” the Engineer went on. “But it's got lots of thought put in it. I built this little dandy just for you. You like destroying my machines, so how's about you be one of my machines for a while?”

“Absolutely not,” the Spy spat. “All those degrees and you're still too stupid to realize I will never help the enemy team?”

A brief look of hurt knitted Hetch's eyebrows together. Gunther stepped forward.

“Well, you see, you don't have a choice in the matter,” the Medic explained. “Now, when we found out about your condition ...”

He reached down and flicked one of Enzo's nipples, making the Spy tense up and hiss.

“...it fascinated me, as a man of science. A man who has grown breasts and lactates—truly fascinating. I simply had to have you in my laboratory so I could study you. If only you were on the RED team; that would have made things much easier.”

“Spare me your villainous monologue, kraut. The sooner you are done with this stupidity, the sooner I can kill you both and esca—“

Gunther shoved a rag in Enzo's mouth, shutting him up. “Don't interrupt me!”

“He may have a point,” Hetch spoke up. “Why don't we cut to the chase? Let's get you strapped in. You'll be here for a while.”

A lot of violent threats left Enzo's mouth, muffled by his gag. His mind raced as he came up with plans to off both of these fools and get back to the BLU base. After all, any Spy worth his salt knows how to use anything in his environment. But first he needed to get out of these ropes. As he struggled in his bonds, he felt a familiar pinprick where neck met shoulder. Gunther stood over him, another syringe in hand.

“A good doctor always keeps a mild paralysis drug on hand,” the Medic said. “For dealing with unruly patients.”

Like the tranquilizer, this drug cocktail acted fast. Within moments, Enzo had frozen limbs and slowed senses. He couldn't do much more than glance around and moan through his gag as he was removed from the chair and carried over to Hetch's machine. Working together, the Medic and the Engineer got the Spy into position. They forced him into a sort of squat, placing him in the hollow of the device. His arms went over his head and were strapped into place. His ankles slipped into restraints at the bottom of the machine. His hips were secured into a sort of girdle, keeping him rooted in place. Then, to his horror, out came a set of plastic tubes and bottles. His eyes widened.

“Oh! I'm so sorry,” Hetch said with an aw-shucks hand to his forehead. “I forgot to tell you what my machine is for. What a goofball I can be sometimes! You'll be feeding the RED team. That's all those knockers full of milk are good for.”

Enzo couldn't do a thing as the cups were attached to tubes and went over his nipples. Hetch threaded the hoses through the machine and secured them to resevoirs for holding milk.

“Are you comfortable?” asked the Engineer as he stepped back to admire his work. “Now that right there is a dandy good sight.”

Enzo shook his head frantically. Gunther rubbed his hands and wore an eager, maniacal grin. Hetch took out a remote control. He glanced at the captured Spy, then down at the big red switch, and he flicked it.

The machine hummed to life, and the cups on Enzo's tits bit into his swollen, tender flesh. The suction was way too aggressive. His nipples, rock-hard, burned. He moaned in pain. Milk poured out of him, traveling up the tubes and emptying into the bottles. Gunther watched the spectacle with wide, eager eyes. It probably turned him on. As for Hetch, he wore a vindictive smile.

“It works like a beaut,” he commented. “Let's see you sap this one.”

The machine drained Enzo of his milk with vicious efficiency. That may have been the only saving grace of the ordeal – it only took about ten minutes to empty him. Hetch had barely settled down with a book. He read while Enzo moaned and whimpered five feet away. He ignored the Spy as he rattled around in his restraints. The soft whirs of the machine alerted him when it started to pull dry.

“Looks like that's all he's got for now,” he stated, rising to his feet. He patted Enzo on the head. With a click, he disengaged the milk bottles from the machine, with about two glasses' worth of liquid in each one. He held a bottle up to the light and swilled it around. Gunther snatched another one without even asking.

“Ach. I need samples for study.” He stuffed the milk bottle into his medical kit.

“You think I need to pasteurize this first?” Hetch asked. “Eh. Bottoms up.”

He swigged the bottle's contents in a few gulps. He licked his lips. Enzo's face wrinkled up in disgust. Yes, Hemi had been drinking his milk for days now, but this was weird.

“Vell, what do you think?” Gunther asked. “Your professional opinion?”

“Dee-licious,” Hetch answered. “It's nice and sweet. Want a taste?”

“Maybe later. I need to get this to the lab first.”

“Suit yourself.” Hetch bent down and pulled the cups off of Enzo's breasts. “I'm gonna see if I can make cheese curds out of his milk. Have a pal from Wisconsin who gave me the recipe years ago. You think the team will like it?”

“Maybe, maybe.”

Enzo rattled in his bonds. Of course Hetch didn't plan on taking him out of the machine itself. He patted the Spy on the head.

“Thanks for all your help!”

Enzo let loose a stream, no, a river of curses and threats. You goddamn fucking bastards, you sons of bitches, when the team finds you they'll beat you to a red paste, I will cut your penises off, that kind of thing. Too bad it was all lost on the gag in his mouth.

“We ought to be going,” Gunther told Hetch. “He'll be nice and engorged tomorrow, or even later tonight already.”

Flicking Enzo's nipple before standing up, Hetch followed him into the dark. “Woo-ee! Makin' bacon. Speaking of, I'm thinking BLTs for lunch, what do you say?”

Enzo couldn't hear Gunther's response, just muffled chatter. Somewhere, a door shut, leaving him alone in the dark. For however long.

Chapter Text

Hetch had returned a few hours later with half of a cold BLT. He said something about how his prisoner needed to eat to keep his strength up, but Enzo hadn't really listened. Instead, he planned on what he would do once the gag was out of his mouth. He considered biting the Engineer to be beneath him, as much as he wanted to harm his captor. Maybe he could find a way to dislodge his false tooth and release the cyanide pill hidden within it. But no dice. The RED Engineer stuffed the sandwich in Enzo's mouth before he could so much as get out a “Va te faire foutre!” It was a nice enough sandwich, but stone cold, and being force-fed it hurt the Spy's pride.

Unfortunately for him, this became his routine. About three times a day, either Gunther or Hetch showed up to feed him, followed up by studying him like a lab rat or milking him. One day after capture, the RED Medic tipped his head back, holding a vial of a clear liquid. Enzo had struggled, but the doctor pinched his nose shut and rubbed on his throat, forcing him to swallow whatever it was. It turned out to be some kind of growth hormone, because in the days that followed, his bosom swelled even bigger. When he was first kidnapped, he was a little larger than a C cup; now, he was pushing double Ds. He also got prolactin and domperidone to keep him producing. Gunther was fond of roughly squeezing the Spy's tits and pinching his nipples to knead out milk samples. Enzo tried to keep quiet when he did it, because his pained whimpers only excited the mad doctor even more.

Worse still, they knew his secrets, somehow. Because one day, Gunther came in with a pair of small pliers. Enzo did not like the look of it. The doctor pulled out his gag and watched dispassionately as Enzo spit and cursed him out. He raised the gadget to eye level.

“So,” he said. “Which one is the false tooth?”

Enzo glared. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Our Spy has one too. He keeps a cyanide pill under it, just in case. Where's yours?”

“I don't have a false tooth.”

“Tell me which one it is, or I'll pull them all out, one by one. I'll find it one way or another.” Gunther got way up in his face, clicking the pliers dangerously. “Try me.”

Enzo swallowed hard “Lower left second molar. Number 18.”

“Good boy. Don't want you getting hurt while you're our guest.” As a reward for his cooperation, Enzo got a dental speculum jammed in his jaws, forcing them open while Gunther worked on him. The Medic pulled out his false tooth, skillfully but painfully. Tears welled up in the Spy's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He watched as Gunther confiscated his last chance of escape, tucking it in a sealing envelope. Then the Medic oh so thoughtfully staunched the bleeding by stuffing gauze back in his mouth.

If he escaped this one, Enzo swore to make that doctor's existence a living hell from now on.

As for Hetch, he liked to sit and relax while he watched Enzo get milked. His visits came about half as often as Gunther's. By then, Enzo's breasts were painfully engorged. His chest throbbed. Blue veins bulged. Trickles of milk leaked from his erect nipples. He gave Hetch a good show once the milking cups got attached. It didn't just suck milk from him; it also tore obscene moans. To his horror, he started begging the Engineer for relief. To which Hetch would chuckle, pat Enzo's head (a tic of his, apparently), and tease him before flicking the switch. The stimulation from the machine gave pain, but also pleasure, and he was dismayed to feel his dick twitching during a milking. But neither Gunther nor Hetch touched it. They were content to let him stew in his arousal without release. He couldn't even grind his hips, since they were rooted in place.

Days passed. Surely the BLU team would have come looking for him by now? They had to have noticed their Spy had gone missing. Hemi had to be hungry for Enzo's sweet nectar. Rolf was probably worried about him, or wanted to know if his compression garment had worked.

Or the team really didn't care about him. Was that his reward for being a lone wolf, he wondered. Mighty until you fall, with no-one to help you up.

He started to wonder where, exactly, this shed of doom was. Hetch and Gunther seemed to be its only visitors. He didn't see head or hide of any other REDs. That is, until the enemy team's Demoman and Scout paid it a visit. The two entered the barn practically glued to each other, laughing and slapping each other playfully. The Scout made a bad pun about baseball, which cracked the Demoman up. They passed a bottle of scrumpy between themselves. As far as Enzo could tell, they had no idea he was even there. For his own pride, he decided to let them keep thinking that. He thought that this was just a goofy boy's night out thing, until the Scout pulled his hoodie off and started pawing hungrily at his companion.

“Easy there, bunny,” the Demoman said with a chuckle. “Ah haven't even finished me scrumpy.”

“Let me help ya, then.” The younger man grabbed the bottle and knocked back what was left in it. It may have been a little too much for him, because he doubled over and wheezed, grabbing the Demoman's arm for stability.

“Too much for ye, laddy?” The bomber shucked his armor and unzipped his jacket, revealing a sculpted torso. This elicited an excited giggle from the Scout.

“Nope!” He was staring at the washboard abs. “Come on, Hamish, stop teasin' me.”

Hands started straying over bodies. Hamish went to work on the Scout, unbuckling his belt and slipping it free. Then off came the runner's pants, leaving him in his boxers. The Scout returned the favor by undressing his partner, leaving him with just his jacket hanging open. While the Demoman peeled off the Scout's boxers, the smaller man started stroking his penis. He had an erection built up in no time.

Hamish licked his lips at the sight of the Scout's vagina, flushed pink with excitement. “Danny, boy, you look so delicious.”

The Scout chuckled and rolled on his back, swinging his legs up to allow better access to it. “Have a taste!”

Hamish didn't need to be told twice. He went down on Danny, eating him out like it was his last meal. Pleas of “yes!” and “more!” fell from of the Scout's mouth. Enzo blushed hard under his balaclava. He wasn't expecting to witness members of the enemy team fucking like rabbits right in front of him. His own member hardened and his breasts throbbed. He rocked his hips as much as his restraints allowed, which wasn't much.

After eating out to his pleasure, Hamish inserted himself into Danny. The Scout let out a debauched moan.

“Faster – GOD! Faster!” he shouted, grunting when the Demoman thrust into him. “FUCK!”

Enzo's breath came out ragged. He was on the edge now, dangerously close to revealing himself. In more ways than one. His erection threatened to rip through his underwear.

“Ya like that, bunny?” Hamish panted. “You like the feeling of me in you, little slut?”

“YES! God, yes!” The runner's legs were locked around the Scotsman's neck.

A whine escaped Enzo, but Danny's excited gasps thankfully covered up the noise. Hamish hit his sweet spot. The younger man's head tipped back and his eyes rolled up as he climaxed, moaning shamelessly. His slick leaked out around the penis slotted in him. His back arched up, his flat chest rubbing against the Demoman's toned one.

Hamish kissed his cheek. “Feel good, luv?”

“Uh-huh,” Danny panted.

“I'm close, too.”

“K-keep going.” His face bloomed pink. “Finish in me.”

“But laddy, Ah don't have a rubber—“

“Do it. I need you.” He was riding cloud nine, too euphoric to care about the consequences.

The bomber thrusted into him until he, too, came with a yell. He pulled out, still hard, and admired his partner. White goop leaked out of Danny's hole. Tensed muscles relaxed. Hamish leaned over him, caressing his face and stroking his hair.

“Yer so beautiful.”

Their tender moment got interrupted by Enzo not being able to hold it anymore. The Spy let out a moan, at least some release from the heat building up in him. He'd been treated to artisan pornography starring his enemies, and it was just too much. Immediately, two pairs (or one and and a half pairs?) of eyes snapped over to him.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” chanted the Scout, rolling up and groping around for his clothes.

“What the feck?” said Hamish of the sight of a restrained, gagged, busty, mostly naked BLU Spy locked in a dispenser.

“It ain't what it looks like?” Danny ventured, pulling on his boxers and pants. He was so scrambled that he put his clothes on backwards.

Enzo yelled something muffled by his gag, rattling in his binds. What he was hoping to accomplish, not even he knew. Maybe the REDs would just kill him now and put him out of his misery.

But instead, the two haphazardly dressed mercs just looked at each other uncomfortably and fled. The barn doors rattled shut, leaving Enzo alone in the dark yet again. He knew something he wasn't supposed to, but a whole lot of good it would do him now.

He could only wait until his next, and certainly far less pleasant, visitor.

Chapter Text

A few more days had passed since then. Enzo had a few things to think about: wondering where the hell his team had gone, how much he wanted to unload his revolver into his captors, and how badly he needed to be milked. And, of course, a lot of his mental real estate was taken up by images of the RED Demoman and Scout having sex. After the incident, Hamish and Danny did not return to the shed. A reasonable response to what happened. It wasn't one of Enzo's better moments. He should have looked away, shut his eyes, held his hips still, anything. His next encounter with them would end badly, he knew, whether it was during a battle or not.

The sunlight poking through cracks in the wood told him it was afternoon. The regularly scheduled milking and doses of hormones had Enzo producing more than ever. Most of the time, he was grotesquely engorged. He rolled his hips in discomfort at his swelling chest. The rag in his mouth, slick from his saliva, came loose. Enzo spit it out, grateful to have at least some reprieve.

With no-one else to speak to, he talked to himself. He filled the air with the sound of his own voice. He found himself humming, then softly singing a folksy song. It was good that he remembered the lyrics, because he needed something on his mind besides milk, anger, and sex. The music distracted him from his discomfort. He became so enraptured in his song that he almost didn't hear the barn doors creaking.

Almost.

He stopped short and listened in. A Spy's ears are always so keen. Something was different. This was the wrong time of day for a visit from his captors. He heard the latch jangling. Someone who didn't have the key. Perhaps, then...

Well, whoever it was came through the door so forcefully, they just about blasted it from its hinges. A beast of a silhouette filled the doorway. Sunlight flooded in from behind. Broad shoulders, a timpani-drum belly, arms bound in thick ropes of muscle...yes! It was a Heavy! Enzo's heart lifted. Finally, his team was here to help, and they'd sent Pascha. The giant man could make easy work of the RED team scum. He was built like a truck and could hit just as hard.

Then the Spy's eyes adjusted to the light change, and his spirits fell as he saw the Heavy's color.

The RED merc glared over at him, his eyes almost shining. His fists tightened. But of course. He was RED, Enzo was BLU. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to beat him into red paste. But not to kill him outright, most likely, for then respawn would whisk him back to BLU territory. No, he was here as a torture method – Enzo was sure of it. He gulped. The Heavy turned and ran towards him.

“Non, non!” Enzo yelped. Trapped in his bindings, he could only watch helplessly as the Russian bear charged at him. He squeezed his eyes shut as a massive gloved fist came down at him.

A crash filled his ears, and his world rocked from side to side along with the machine. He had expected a smashed skull and soaking in his own blood. But that agony failed to materialize. Instead, he opened his eyes to see pieces of the machine strewn around him and the RED Heavy standing over him. The giant man's expression was unreadable. Enzo glanced up, confused.

“What the...?”

“Go,” said the Heavy. “Littol man should go back home.”

“Did...did you free me? We are on different teams, you know.”

The Heavy scowled. “I do this for Doktor, not you. Now go, before Heavy changes his mind.”

Fair deal. Enzo picked himself up and started to run. Out of the shed and into the light. He squinted as sunlight flooded his vision. Gravel bit at his feet. He didn't care that he was naked save for his underwear or that his breasts shook wildly with each step. All that mattered right now was getting back to his base, now. If someone recaptured him, he could be looking at an even worse situation than the one he'd just escaped. And the RED Heavy probably wouldn't spare him a second time. But what had he meant, Enzo wondered. Obviously “Doktor” meant a Medic, but...it couldn't be his own team's Medic. Gunther would be furious to find out that his lab rat, his milk cow, had slipped away. Which left...

Enzo almost froze in his tracks when the puzzle pieces fell into place. He might have an explanation for the nature of Rolf's “errands”. And here he thought the reason for Rolf's excitement was the new chemical agents and surgery tools in his suitcase. It was a lot of information to take in, and he wished he had a cigarette at that moment. He needed the smoke break.

And then he paused again as he realized he had no idea where the fuck he was. He knew RED territory as well as he knew his own team's, and this wasn't it. Around the shed stood a battered country home, fields overgrown with weeds, and a rusted-out pickup truck. He was on some dumpy, abandoned farm in a wooded area. Mentally, Enzo kicked himself for thinking that escaping could be so simple – of course they'd hold him prisoner in a remote place.

If only he had Hemi with him, he thought. The bushman could find his way around the countryside with his ears stopped and a blindfold on. Enzo was much less navigationally gifted. This might require some playing by ear. Making a frame with his fingers, he studied the farmhouse. The afternoon sun lay behind it. He'd found east. Better a little than nothing at all, he supposed. Assuming that the house faced civilization, he headed on his way.

Flies buzzed around him as he wandered through the patchy woods. No matter how much he swatted at them, the bugs wouldn't leave him alone. The hairs on his arms and back stood up; Enzo didn't realize that the air in the woods is chiller than in an open field. Pebbles bit into the soles of his bare feet. Low-hanging tree limbs swung into his face. After so much time in the dark, the sunlight felt like it was going to blind him. And, of course, his boobs wobbled and swung with each step.

“I hate nature,” the Frenchman muttered, marching on. “I had better not have to camp out here tonight.”

He heard distant popping sounds. Gunfire of some sort. In most cases, going towards mysterious gun noises is a bad idea, but it gave the Spy a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it was a sign that he was close to the base after all.

The periodic popping sounds crescendoed into proper bangs as he grew closer. Enzo wished he had his spy supplies with him; cloaking before he approached the unknown shooter would be much safer. He had to rely on old-fashioned sneaking. Crouching low, he passed through the undergrowth. It was torture on him, because all the stiff weeds brushed against his swollen breasts. They tickled the sensitive skin, reminding him of how he needed to be milked. A plant stalk poked him right in the nipple, and he swallowed a gasp.

His sneakiness was rewarded with the sight of a camper van, parked under a copse of white birches. A thoroughly extinguished campfire lay nearby, along with a cooking tripod. So one of the Snipers had gone for a camping trip, and probably to do some hunting as well. Enzo lay in wait for the bushman to return, praying that this time it would be a BLU. He didn't know anything about Hemi's RED counterpart. The extent of their interactions was Enzo sneaking up on him and planting a knife between his shoulders, or the enemy bushman putting a bullet in his skull. For all he knew, the RED Sniper could be a sadistic creep like his teammates, eager to capture the escaped Spy.

After a few minutes, the brush parted and a Sniper arrived at the campsite. Enzo smiled, relieved, when he saw a blue shirt and a Maori arm tattoo. Hemi carried an ordinary shotgun.

“Bugger,” he commented, using his free hand to adjust his hat. He checked his weapon to make sure safety was on, then set it on the ground. He took a seat next to the fire, before slipping a lighter from his pocket.

He was in the process of switching on the firestarter when Enzo emerged from the bushes. He caught the Aussie off-guard, and the man was reaching for his gun before realizing who it was.

“Bonjour,” the Spy presented himself. “Were you missing me?”

“Guh!” Hemi shielded his eyes. “Put some clothes on, mate!”

Enzo crossed his arms. “I escape a hellish situation and this is the greeting I get from my paramour? For shame.”

“I was huntin' for deer, not naked Spies. Where the bloody hell have you been? Were you kidnapped?”

“Oui, and I've suffered terribly. Could the team not be bothered to search for their Spy?”

“We looked all over the bloody map for you!”

“They were hiding me in a barn, a mile that way.” He pointed. “A remote place for their dastardly deeds. The RED team wanted a taste of my milk. I will tell you anything else you want to know, but first, we need to take our leave. It won't be long before they track me here.”

“Right.” Hemi double-checked to make sure the campfire was out, then packed up the tripod. He zipped the shotgun into a bag and stashed it under the driver's seat. He also found an extra jacket and pair of pants for Enzo. The Spy slipped on the clothes, although they were a little large for him. He lounged in the back while Hemi drove.

“I'm wearing your clothes,” he purred. “That's rather romantic, isn't it?”

Hemi kept driving. The camper rattled as it rolled over the uneven ground.

“That despicable RED Medic gave me a growth hormone. Now my bosom is even larger than before. What shall I do?”

Hemi didn't say anything, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“And I'm producing more milk than ever. What am I going to do with all of it?”

The Sniper fell apart from Enzo's teasing in record time. Days without the opportunity to indulge his oral fixation, or to get his fill of creamy milk, did a number on him. He pulled over. Then he climbed out of the driver's seat and into the back where Enzo waited. The Spy had draped himself regally on the closest thing it had to a couch – the booth for the dining table.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked, smirking.

Hemi nodded. His fingers twitched, eager to rip that jacket off of Enzo. The Spy let him, and in no time at all, Hemi had his lips locked around a nipple. He sighed pleasurably at the sensation of a velvety mouth lapping at his chest, instead of an unfeeling machine. If Hemi bit down, he did it only gently, just to tease an excited gasp from his partner. Most of all, the sensation of the built-up milk leaving him was ecstatic. He tilted his head back and let loose with a stream of needy vocalizations.

“You're delicious, spook,” Hemi growled as he came up for air.

“Mm. I hope you haven't drank to satisfaction quite yet.” Enzo patted the back of his head. “The other one is still so full.”

“Bugger me,” Hemi mumbled before latching on to the other nipple.

Enzo laughed. “Is that a promise?”

It was. Soon, Hemi's penis was prodding at Enzo's back door. This time, he had lubricant on hand, so the entry was easier. Each thrust sent streams of milk shooting from the Spy's nipples. The white gold trickled down Hemi's chin. Enzo grunted and moaned, not having release like this in quite a while. The bushman knew how to hit his good spots, making his toes curl and his hips buck. Hemi came first, leaving a wet and sticky mess. Then Enzo finished with an operatic moan.

“Been waiting for that for a while, spook.” Hemi slapped the Spy's ass.

With those pent-up feelings taken care of, the two mercs cleaned themselves off. Enzo excused himself to step outside the camper and light up. He rolled his cigarette between his fingers and watched the trees sway in the wind.

“What'cha thinking about, spook?” asked Hemi as he joined him outside.

Enzo tapped some ash off his stogie. “I must say, bushman. I had my doubts, but you are an excellent beau.”

The smile dropped off of Hemi's face. “Eh?”

“Beau means 'lover', silly.”

“I know what it means. But hold on, mate. We never made that kinda argreement.”

“Quoi? But we've had relations so many times, then surely...”

“Sorry spook, but I just don't think of you that way. I mean, it's fun doing the dirty, but...us, a couple? I don't see it. We're too different. You hate camping, I hate dressing up for things. It would never work out.”

Enzo scoffed. “What are we, then? Teammates with benefits? Am I your milkmaid?”

Hemi walked away, returning to the van.

“Where do you think you're going, bushman? You can't walk away from this!”

That was a bad habit of Hemi's, choosing to just leave an uncomfortable conversation. He turned on the ignition.

“I'm going back to the base. Are you coming with, or would you rather walk home?”

Swearing under his breath, Enzo climbed into the passenger's seat. He slammed the car door behind him. During the ride back to the base, he didn't make eye contact with Hemi, instead staring out the window. After a while, the van pulled into the gravel pits surrounding the BLU base.

As soon as the vehicle shuddered to a stop, several of their teammates approached Hemi, possibly to ask him a question. Then they spotted Enzo with him and went crazy.

“You're back!” George captured him in a big bear hug. “We've been looking all over for you, Lietenant! Were you captured by those bastard REDs? Did they torture you? Remember what I taught you. Only give them your name, rank, and serial number!”

“Look at the dirt we got on the REDs.” Vinny shoved a Polaroid in the Spy's face. It depicted Hamish and Danny sharing a kiss after a round, arms lovingly intertwined. “Demo and Scouty, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. I bet they're fucking on the regular, too. You think we can use that against 'em?”

Enzo looked past him, slapping the photograph back in his hand. Hemi walked away from the group, his hands in his pockets.

Teammates with benefits.

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed. A tense cloud seemed to settle over the BLU team. For most of them, it was because of a long string of losses. For Enzo, the reason was more personal. Hemi stayed distant. All he got out of the bushman was a passing glance with a mildly annoyed look. The "benefits" part of "teammates with benefits" had evaporated. It left the Spy all pent up down below. He found himself on his back in bed, one hand pumping his shaft and the other squeezing a breast, while imagining the Sniper on top of him. Hardly the same as the real thing.

And since Hemi was no longer partaking of his milk, it left him denied up top too. All those hormones the RED Medic dumped into him continued to rage through his body. His breasts were still swollen with milk, nipples painfully erect. Without someone to take care of that for him, Enzo was forced to haul himself back to Rolf for help.

He had to tell the whole song and dance to the Medic. Rolf said to tell him "everything" because it was "medically important"; Enzo did a little dissembling anyway. He left out the part where he witnessed the RED Scout and Demoman having sex. He also omitted the part where the enemy Heavy saved him. Instead, his account of events went something like:

“How did you escape?” Rolf had a notebook open in his lap. One of his many snowy doves pecked curiously at the page.

“I always keep a knife hidden on me. I cut my bonds and then their sorry throats,” Enzo explained.

Rolf bought the story. Good. When Enzo confronted the doctor about his suspicions, it would be on his own terms. Not in his current vulnerable state.

Then Rolf just had to ask, "Now where is your compression garment? Kerry and I had it made specifically so you could milk yourself. I understand you were not keen on the idea, but you must have some way to--"

"I lost it," Enzo interrupted him. "When those Neanderthals kidnapped me."

"Ah, I see." Rolf chewed the end of the pencil. "Ugh, that was a delicate piece of equipment, lost! We will have to make a new one for you. It will take several days to build the apparatus again. In the meantime, I suppose you'll just have to milk yourself by hand."

"Merde." Enzo made a face. "Well, if that's what we have to do."

He had a flashback to that first morning when he woke up to a pillowy soft chest, leaning over the sink and milking himself. Those days were not past him, it seemed. But he was too proud a man to beg Hemi to come back to him.

The PA crackled. "Mission begins in one hour."

Rolf's eyebrows wrinkled in worry. "Would you want someone to accompany you on the mission today? For safety?"

"Non! That would not work at all." He imagined one of his teammates following him around in RED territory, immediately drawing fire for such suspicious behavior. "I would lose my advantage of surprise."

"That's true. Hm...Be careful out there. We don't want to lose you again."

Enzo chortled. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. Worry more about what I'll do to those RED bastards once I get my hands on them."

"Good to hear it." Rolf got out a packet of seed and started feeding his birds.

"I should be on my way, then." The exam bed creaked as he shuffled to its edge.

"Wait."

A slight pause.

"There's just one more thing." Rolf side-eyed him. "How long were planning on lying to me?"

Enzo had started to rise from the exam table, but now he sat back down. "Beg your pardon?"

Rolf turned to face him, his hands behind his back. His eyebrows were furrowed. "You're a good Spy, but not a warrior. I know you didn't kill both of them by yourself with just a knife. Not alone. What really happened?"

Enzo shrugged casually, but inside, his mind was racing. "Hemi helped me. He shot the bastards from afar, allowed me to escape the barn. Then, we took the campervan back to base."

"Kuhscheiße. Stop lying."

The Spy scowled. He was dancing a waltz on the razor's edge. Well, it seemed that the time to confront Rolf was right about now. Enzo cleared his throat.

"Doctor, we all have our secrets. But what's done in the dark has a pesky habit of being dragged into the light. It seems we've reached an impasse. You are hiding something, and so am I, so let me strike a deal with you."

"Hiding something?" Rolf said with an indignant scoff. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me finish. Here are the terms of the deal: you shall get the truth from me if I get it from you. And then neither secret shall leave these walls. How does that sound?"

"Das ist lächerlich. I'm not hiding anything."

Enzo smirked. "Really? Because, monsieur Rolf, I know about your little crossfaction affair."

Okay, so that was a bluff. He didn't know for certain that it was the case. But when Rolf's eyes widened and he bit his lip in discomfort, then Enzo knew his guess was correct.

“That's right. You're sleeping with the enemy,” Enzo went on. “Is there something wrong with our own Heavy, that you need to fuck the one on the RED team instead? Should I tell Pascha that you're not good enough for him?"

He was being snide, but truth be told, the idea did trip a trigger in Enzo. He wondered what it was like. Sneaking into the RED base in the thin morning hours. Finding secret places, first in the base, and then on each other's bodies. The thrill of killing by day and kissing by night. The threat hanging over their heads of what might happen if they were found out.

The Spy's gloating was interrupted by Rolf punching him in the nose. He recoiled, holding his nose as a bit of blood leaked out.

"How uncouth!" He wiped his nose.

"Do you want me to admit it?" Rolf growled. "Fine! I'm sleeping with the RED Heavy. His name is Alexi, he's a good listener, intellectual and strong, a family man, and that's why I am attracted to him. I'm in love with him! I'm not sorry for it. There. Are you happy now? Do you want to blackmail me?"

"Not at this time. We'll see."

Rolf punched him again. Enzo rubbed his jaw. The Medic was stronger than he looked.

"Whose team are you even on, you Arshloch?" He bit his bottom lip. "Maybe Alexi should have just left you behind in that damn barn."

"So that's how you know..." His tone was contemplative this time, instead of snide.

"This is why Hemi left you," Rolf went on. "You self-serving Schweinhund."

It hurt, but it was true and Enzo knew it. He was on the fast track to losing Rolf as an ally.

"My apologies. It seems I've overstepped."

"Ja. I think you should leave."

"If you can trust me at my word, you should know. I will not tell anyone about your secret. We have upheld the terms of our deal, after all. You told your secret and I told mine."

"Hm," was all the Medic said.

Enzo took his leave of the infirmary and went to prepare himself for the mission. The time ticked down as he arranged his clothes, polished his knives, loaded his revolver, and pondered routes to and from RED territory. Today, the BLU team was charged with capturing control points again.

"Mission begins in sixty seconds," announced the Administrator. "Prepare to capture all control points."

Stuck in the locker room, the team waited around as the time ticked towards zero. George had some of them in a football huddle, debriefing them on his battle plan. The Soldier instructed Enzo to scout ahead and look for the points with the fewest men guarding them.

"Try to sneak in a capture or two that way," he said.

"Mission begins in ten seconds."

In no time at all, an alarm rang and the doors opened. The BLU team rushed into action. George and Macre rocket jumped off, hollering their war cries. Juarez and Kerry scampered off to grab, then protect, the closest control points. The Engineer's sentries and the Pyro's flamethrower would keep enemies at bay. As for Enzo, he took George's suggestion and went for his disguise kit.

"Hmm, let's see," he mumbled as he flipped through photos of the enemy team. He couldn't disguise as Alexi. His light, swift footsteps would be suspicious. Plus, it would be awkward to disguise as his Medic's boyfriend. Not the Sniper, either. The REDs would smell a rat right away if they saw their sharpshooter prowling around the main battlefield, instead of camping out in a nest.

He decided on Danny. His kit activated, shrouding him in the RED Scout's baggy hoodie, face mask, and baseball hat. The illusion provided him with a scattergun, which he toted as he ran off into RED territory.

The Administrator called out capture after capture of points, but not the way Enzo wanted.

"RED takes the point!"

"RED has captured the point!"

"The enemy has captured our control point!"

Things had started to get dicey. Enzo could feel the noose tightening. Any minute now, the REDs would start to wonder why their "Scout" wasn't shooting at the BLUs struggling to cap their points. Why their "Scout" seemed to be studying their placement and pondering something. Why their "Scout" ran a little too slowly or why he held his scattergun as though it were a revolver.

"Ach, bunny, isn't it great?" a strong voice behind him called. Enzo felt a chill shoot up his back. Oh, merde. Merde, merde, merde, merde!

"We are beating their arses," Hamish went on. "Ah don't think there's much left for this match. Ha!"

"Ha-ha, yeah," Enzo chuckled nervously, turning around. "Really showing them chucklenuts what for."

"I could use a second wind, baby." The Demoman drew closer. "Kiss me."

"Uh, maybe later." The 'Scout' took a step back.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Luv, are you all right? You're breathing so heavy."

All that running a Scout does and all that smoking a Spy does, well, that doesn't make for a good combination. The Demoman reached out to hold "Danny's" hand. Enzo reflexively pulled away. The merest touch from the enemy could wipe out his disguise.

"I'm...I'm..." The Spy scrambled for an excuse to not get touched. Unfortunately for him, the RED Scout and Demoman were quite tactile. They shared victorious kisses and consoling hugs with regularity.

"You're not Danny." It was a statement, not a question. The Demoman seized his arm, and of course, the Spy's disguise fizzled away.

"Bloody SPY!"

He didn't get any time to react. Like lightning, a white flash crossed Enzo's vision. All of a sudden, a blade rested against his neck. Not a Spy's knife or a Sniper's kukiri, but a steel broadsword. When he tried to back up, he hit a wall of muscle. He found himself captured in a half nelson. He could feel the glare of that single eye burning into him.

Enzo frowned and reached for his own weapon. He barely had his knife out before Hamish used his free hand to knock it away.

"You really think that wee letter opener is gonna do anything?" His other arm wrapped around Enzo, pinioning him. The Spy wheezed as it crushed against his chest. His breasts, aggravated by the pressure, started to leak. The Demoman's skill set included bomb making, trap setting, sword slashing, and now wrestling moves to capture an enemy, apparently.

"If you want to kill me, then do it already!" Enzo squirmed. "I have no patience for games of cat and mouse."

"Ach, I'll cut your fool head off soon enough, dinnae you worry." Hamish dragged him over to a wall and pushed him up against it. "But first, answer this. What were you doing in the shed? Don't you know not to come a-knockin', you pervert?"

"I did not exactly have a choice to be there," Enzo choked out. "You ought to take that one up with those freaks you call an Engineer and a Medic."

"You should have looked away. Had a little decency." Hamish pressed him harder into the wall. "Ah thought you Spies were supposed to be proper."

"You drunken wretch!" Enzo coughed. "I don't even know what you see in him! He's just a forgettable, subnormal pest!"

Ah, bad.

He overstepped, and he paid the price for it. With an angry shout, Hamish kicked Enzo in the back of the knees while yanking back his sword arm, sending the Spy sprawling to the ground. In a second, he pinned Enzo to the dirt with his sword. The blade lanced through his liver, and his BLU suit was quickly turning red. The stinging agony had him just about paralyzed. His vision was whiting out. With a shaking hand, he reached up and touched the steel impaling him. Cold and unforgiving, avenging a wrongdoing.

"Go back ta' whatever hell-hole you crawled out of!" were the Demoman's parting words.

It was like springing awake from a nightmare. Enzo catapulted into a sitting position, panting with his eyes wide. His chest heaved. He glanced around frenetically, finding himself in the respawn room. The Spy's hand trailed down to his stomach. He half-expected Hamish's sword to still be embedded in there.

A loud explosion went off in the distance, and a handful of his teammates appeared in the room with him. Hemi threw his hat on the floor with an exclamation of "Piss!" Kerry griped and moaned about the enemy Spy sappin' his sentry.

Things did not improve from there. Shortly afterward, the Administrator announced BLU's defeat.

"You failed! Again," she sneered through the PA. "Why must you disappoint me like this?"

The surviving members of BLU hurried to rejoin their friends in the respawn room. Except for their Soldier. George had gone AWOL. The others, however, were too busy wallowing in their pity to really notice. They conmiserated about how this was yet another loss in a long string. Kerry got out his guitar and strummed, hoping to cheer the others up.

"I don't get it," Vinny spoke up, pulling off his headphones. "What do we keep screwin' up, to make us lose all the time?"

"We need some kinda ace up our sleeve," Hemi added.

As soon as he said that, the door blasted open. In came George, grinning wide. The Soldier strode to the middle of the room and stood arms akimbo.

"I have good news, Privates!" he announced.

"But we lost the match." Vinny scratched behind his ear. "Dat's bad news."

"Yes, but this might help change things. Remember what I said about the Communists, that you need to know the enemy to fight the enemy? Sun Tzu said that, I think. But anyway. If we take one of the RED maggots, we can make them tell us their battle plans!"

The others shared looks, wondering if it was a good idea.

"I think it's fair. They took our Spy, so let's take one of their guys! Yeah?"

"Yeah!" most of the BLU team cheered. Enzo shrugged. Why not.

"I suppose we can do that. But how will we go about the task?" he asked. "It will have to be a delicate operation. Perhaps waiting by night for one of them to venture too far from RED territory--"

"Oh, don't worry about that part." George beamed. "I took care of it already."

"Pardon?"

"I said I took care of it already." He was so pleased with himself that he bounced on his heels. "I grabbed their maggot and locked 'em in the extra room."

The Spy's mouth hung open. "Um...Very well, then. Good job, monsieur Soldier."

"Now!" George announced, slamming his hands on the desk, "Who wants to do the interrogation? We need someone who's good at getting people to tell things they don't wanna tell."

There was a beat, and then many hands were pointing at Enzo. Fair enough. He wasn't opposed to the idea. Plus, if the cards had been played right, this just might present an opportunity for revenge.

"Capital," he said. "Show me where you're keeping the bastard."

Chapter Text

In his time, Enzo had been subject to many interrogations and conducted several as well. He knew how to clam up and resist whatever the enemy threw at him. In turn, he learned how to reverse-engineer those tactics and apply them when the roles were reversed. It had come as little surprise when his teammates called on him to extract the critical information from their RED hostage.

He freshened up for the occasion, dabbing on an expensive musk and tucking a Cuban cigar into his breast pocket. Speaking of breasts, he made sure to empty his before proceeding to his task. He did not need the distraction. When he was properly primped, he went to meet with George.

"I put the maggot in that extra room," the Soldier told him. "It had a table with one of those bar things on it."

"Excellent," the Spy purred. "This will be an exciting day for all of us, I guarantee. Once we know the RED team's machinations, we can finally gain an upper hand. Was it easy to catch that scoundrel?"

George shrugged. "Once I snuck up on him, I bagged him pretty easy."

"Very good."

"Don't you want to know which merc it is?" Soldier called after Enzo as the Spy started walking away.

"Eh. Surprise me." He didn't look back to shrug. Personally, he liked the suspense. "Now, my interrogation tactics work best without help. I do not need a good cop/bad cop routine. Stay outside the room until I say."

"But you'll come and get me when you're done?" asked the Soldier. "Or if things go bad and you need some muscle?"

"I appreciate that, mon ami, but I will have the situation under control."

Enzo made his way down the hall, smirking. His steps were crisp and bouncy. Which one could it be behind the door marked “QUIET”? Maybe it was Gunther. He'd snidely ask the mad doctor if he had bra shopping tips. Then maybe he'd pull the S.O.B's teeth out one by one with a big rusty pair of pliers. Or it would be Hetch, and he'd ask if the Engineer wanted a glass of milk. Yeah, he could have it. He could have all the fucking milk he wanted as Enzo waterboarded him with it. He couldn't wait to hear them begging him for mercy. Pleading with him to release them from the torture. Then he'd smile and keep at it, since they did the same when the shoe was on the other foot. He hummed happily as he opened the interrogation room door, stepped in, and—

Saw Danny, seated at the table. The Scout's skinny wrists were handcuffed to a metal bar attached to it. He sat, hunched, and glared straight ahead. His right leg bounced. When he caught sight of Enzo, his face wrinkled up in a grimace. The Spy's mouth went dry.

“Ah shit, not you. Get outta here, you creep!" He looked ready to pounce away, but he was going nowhere. "Get your Medic or something."

“I, ah, I was expecting someone else.” Enzo fidgeted with his tie. “But may I remind you that you aren't in a place to be making demands. You are, after all, our prisoner.”

“I'd rather deal with him than you.” He paused. “Eh, whatever, it don't matter. I won't tell you anything. You can do what you want, it's not gonna work on me.”

Enzo took a seat across from him. “I assure you, boy, that I can find something that works on you. I know over a hundred and forty methods of extracting information from the unwilling. One way or another, we will get the intel that we need.”

“Bite me.”

Unlike Vinny, who was a perpetual motor-mouth, this Scout was a tougher nut to crack. Anger made him go dangerously quiet. Enzo started with threats, describing how he'd put Danny to the pain if he didn't talk. Nothing. The boy knew empty words when he heard them. He showed off a saline solution in a needle that he claimed was “truth serum,” but Danny just laughed at his obvious BS. The way of the silver tongue was not working, at all. Meanwhile, Enzo's other problem flared up. His chest ached and he realized he needed his pump. He should pick up the pace of this interrogation. If this went on too long, he might start leaking, and then he could wave au revoir to being the dominant party in the room. Danny was already a strong contender for the one coming out on top here.

George stopped by with some food in a paper bag. Enzo took it and glanced at the clock; it was noon already! Damn, he thought, the Scout had held out for four hours. But he might have gotten a foothold now. He spread out the lunch, making sure Danny could see everything. Vinny was a bottomless pit, and Enzo suspected that the RED Scout was the same. The Spy had a plate of golden-brown baked chicken and a slice of fresh apple pie. The Scout had nothing, of course.

“Dear me, it's lunchtime already,” Enzo tutted. “You don't mind if I eat, do you?”

Danny remained silent.

The Spy made sure to make a big show of eating his lunch. He cut the chicken up into little bites and nibbled them slowly, careful not to get any grease on his fluffy swede gloves. Periodically, he'd wipe his mouth with his silk handkerchief. He'd make little “mm” and “mhm” noises as he sectioned up the apple pie and ate it one piece at a time.

“Our Engineer must have made the chicken,” Enzo commented. “He's ever so talented as a cook. As for the pie, clearly it was George's baking. He is a master when it comes to pastries. Do you have a favorite pastry, Danny dear?”

“Go screw yourself,” the Scout shot back. “I'm not even hungry.”

“Yes, you are. I know your type.” He dabbed delicately at his mouth with the kerchief again. “It isn't healthy to skip meals, boy. Answer my questions, and a fresh hot plate of chicken is all yours. I'll even go to the cafeteria to fetch it for you.”

“No.”

So far Enzo had been able to maintain cool detachedness, but the Scout's obsintence had begun to take its toll.

"I'm losing my patience, Monsieur Scout. I recommend you cooperate with me soon, or else things will have to get unpleasant."

"Pfft. You're all talk and no show." Danny rolled his shoulders. "All you've done for the past couple 'a hours is flap your jaw. I ain't telling you shit, all right?"

"All talk and no show, eh? Hmm." Spy tapped his foot. "Well then."

Since psychological warfare wasn't working with him, the Spy decided to use the language Scouts are sure to understand – violence. He rose from his chair and viciously backhanded Danny. Then he screwed back his arm for a punch.

“I'll just have to beat the information out of you, won't I?” he growled as his fist made contact with the boy's face, sending him recoiling and almost falling out of his chair.

Danny's nose was bleeding. “Wait, I—“

“Spill your guts or I'll spill them for you, literally!” He armed his butterfly knife and pointed it at the boy's middle. “The Medic isn't the only one who knows how to cut people open!”

This made the Scout's eyes go wide. His breath came in gasps as the point of Enzo's knife touched his stomach, threatening to tear his hoodie open, and then the sensitive skin underneath.

“No! Wait, stop! Please!” His chest heaved; tears pricked at his eyes. “I'm—I'm! I'm p—“

“You're what, boy?”

Tears spilled down his face. “I'm pregnant!”

Enzo froze. He blinked rapidly, not sure if he heard correctly. “Pardon?”

“I'll tell you what you want, man, just leave my kid alone,” he said through hiccuping sobs. “I dunno, is there some way you can hurt me without hurting them?”

“I understand that, just how are you...” His head was exploding. He stepped back. His knife now stuck out feebly at nothing.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” The snide statement came out way more warbly and weak than he probably intended. “Y-you saw it happening, after all.”

The Spy lowered his knife. The time frame added up. It had been about four weeks between the shed incident and now. Four weeks since the RED Demoman came in Danny without protection. Enough time for the Scout to become curious and get himself tested. Enough time for the results to come back positive.

Danny had his head down; sobs shook his shoulders. Enzo folded his knife up and put it back in his pocket. His hand strayed, and he found it resting on the boy's upper back.

“Don't touch me!” The Scout pulled away, then yelped as the metal from his handcuffs bit into his raw skin. “I hate you!”

Enzo retracted his hand.

“So...” he ventured, “the other father is the RED Demoman?”

“Uh, yeah, no shit Sherlock. You saw his dick in my vag.” His attitude was back. “Can we get back to interrogatin' me about the team, and not about my personal life?”

“Does he know?”

“Screw off, I just said it's none of your business. Do you wanna hear about RED's battle plans or not?”

This was it. He needed to say something. There was no undoing what had been done, but he could at least try to settle his conscience. The next words came out with great difficulty, as Enzo rarely said them. “I'm...sorry, Scout."

Danny made a snuffling sound.

"I know you're upset about what happened in the shed.”

“Ya think?”

“I'm not proud of myself. I shouldn't have ogled you two like that. I feel like a morceau d'merde.” As he spoke, Enzo realized how crazy this was. He was a suave, cold-blooded BLU Spy, and here he was, apologizing to the enemy! The enemy that was supposed to be begging him for mercy!

“Right. You shouldn't have. That was supposed to be just between Hamish and me.” Danny breathed out heavily. “You shouldn't have treated us like a porno.”

Enzo made a decision.

The Spy swallowed hard. “Scout, I never make offers like this. Especially not to a RED. But is there a way I can make things up for you?”

Danny rattled his handcuffs.

“Fair enough.” He leaned over and unlocked the restraints. Danny rose to his feet, kneading his wrists and glancing between them and the Spy. Enzo took a step back, in case the Scout planned on punching him or something. But he shrugged and looked away.

“I'm still mad at you, just so you know. Don't think that this fixes nothin'.”

Enzo rapped on the door. It opened a crack. George poked his head in.

“You got the intel out of the little bastard?”

“Oui. Now, take him back to his base.” Enzo took hold of Danny's wrist and turned him over to the Soldier. “No harm will come to him until he arrives, is that understood? He complied with me.”

Danny cringed as George laid a hand on his back. Not on the lower back, because that would be inappropriate, but between his shoulder blades.

“All right, maggot. Let's go.” The Soldier led him away. “Chin up, look straight ahead, keep your hands where I can see 'em. You're still our prisoner, until you return to...”

His voice fell away as the two left. Enzo got out his knife and flicked it open and shut idly, his thoughts racing. They quickly turned angry. Stupid, stupid! As soon as he left the room, his teammates would want to know what intel Enzo had acquired. He had some, sure, but not the kind the BLUs were looking for.

"I'm pathetique," he mumbled. "We would have gotten the information we wanted if I hadn't shown that Scout any pity. I let him get the best of me!"

He'd have to make up some bullshit about the RED team's battle plans. Blah blah blah, something about choke points and fakeout retreats. He crafted an excuse to accompany it when the BLU's counter-strategy inevitably fell apart: that dratted Scout must have told his teammates to change tactics. Yes, that's what happened. Indeed. This whole situation has been a waste of our time, and so in the future, let's never kidnap the RED Scout again.

"Oui, that ought to work." Enzo lit a cigarette. As he thought more, his nose wrinkled up. In about eight more months, the RED team would have an extra member. What a bizarre thought. The idea of a merc with a Scout's speed and a Demoman's mad bombing gave him a nervous chill. Unless this was all BS, that the Scout was lying about being pregnant to get out of an interrogation. But Enzo had been in the room where it happened.

"In any case," he told himself, "it's not my problem. They won't like parenthood once it's their reality, hah! ...They won't. They're...completely unprepared."

He decided to go back to his room before he started to care too much. But such thoughts don't leave easily. He almost welcomed running into Rolf on his way. The Medic looked worried about something.

"I hear George kidnapped the RED Scout?" he asked.

"For interrogation. I got him to talk. We now know RED's battle plans for the time being. I was just on my way to share the knowledge with George. He'll want to start on counter-tactics right away."

Rolf laughed softly. "Certainly. That's our Soldier."

"Well, off I go." Enzo coughed. "Once he has a strategy, he's sure to wake everyone up early for the battle. Best to get some rest before then."

"Ja, I agree." The Medic passed him. When he had disappeared down the hall, Enzo took notice of something on the floor, which hadn't been there before. He bent down to investigate.

A folded piece of paper had fallen from the doctor's pocket. Enzo snapped it up. But instead of returning it to his colleague, he ducked into a safe spot to investigate it. He unfolded the paper and studied the handwriting. Of course, being a Spy, he was an expert at tracing handwriting and checking for forgery. This one was lettered in a blocky scrawl, as if the writer was shaky with Latin script.

As if the writer was more used to Cyrillic.

As if the writer was from the USSR, knew something sensitive enough that it had to be eyes-only, and met in secret with the BLU Medic, which is how a note from him ended up in Rolf's pocket!

Alexi had wrote, "Your Soldier grabs wrong man. Our Sniper has secret. Purple woman favors RED because of him. Gives us gift of stronger weapons."

Enzo's fist clenched, crushing the paper. He stuffed its corpse into his jacket. Storming back to his quarters, his mind roiled. He knew exactly what the Heavy was talking about, and it burned him. Of course the conspiracy went higher than he originally thought. Why the hell not at this point? So many secrets swam around this base that it had a goddamn Spy caught up in the web of lies.

After milking himself, Enzo lay on his back in bed. He stared up at the ceiling. The only sound came from a rattling heater and a ticking clock. He had told Rolf of his plans to get some rest, but sleep evaded him. Too many thoughts rolling around in his mind. Unable to sleep, he lit a cigarette, even though smoking in bed is a really bad idea. As he sent wisps of smoke into the air, he considered his next course of action. The Spy had grown weary of captures and interrogations, but how else was he going to get the truth out of these obstinate secret-keepers? He would have to set his sights on the RED Sniper.

The hunter would become the hunted.

Chapter Text

Only a few BLUs knew about Enzo's plan. George had given it an enthusiastic thumbs-up, eager to get the drop on their enemies. Rolf seemed a bit more leery. Sneaking into the RED base to gather intel and perhaps catch the Sniper? Enzo had rolled his eyes at the Medic's complaints about it being risky and ethically dubious. Then he'd given him a polite reminder:

"Rich words coming from someone who goes there regularly and fucks the enemy."

That shut him up good.

So under the cover of night, the BLU Spy departed on his mission. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the noise of chirping crickets. The looming, but ramshackle, shape of the RED base came into view. Enzo lit a cigarette and weighed his options.

Disguise was out of the question. The RED mercs were all tucked away in bed, present and accounted for. He'd have to cloak instead. While finishing his cigarette, Enzo surveyed the RED base for a suitable entrance. The doors would be locked at this time, of course. An air vent poked out of the building on the south side, but it was on the second storey and covered by a grate. His remaining option was--ugh--the garbage disposal chute. It stuck out of the mess hall, about ten feet off the ground, and emptied into a large dumpster.

At least Enzo was in his nightwear, so he wouldn't ruin one of his precious silk suits. He figured he could sacrifice a tank top and flannels. His first attempt to scale the dumpster resulted in his gripping, then slipping, on a wayward banana peel. He fell off and banged his knees on an egg crate. A few French cusses spun off into the night. Trying again, he got a better grip and managed to climb the garbage container.

The steel tube above the dumpster was at Enzo's eye level. A nasty sour smell emanated from it. He sighed, pulled the front of his shirt over his nose, and climbed inside. The square walls of the chute were unexpectedly narrow, and Enzo found himself wiggling his shoulders to push forward. It didn't help that he had a large bosom to get in the way. When he had pulled his whole body into the tube, he took notice of something.

"Quoi?"

It was hard to make out in the darkness, but he saw it: black and yellow stripes painted on the inside of the tube. The metal walls rattled as he moved. Enzo put two and two together, yelped in alarm, and started shimmying backwards. Non, non, non, non. With the sort of luck he'd had lately, a sleepy RED could push a big red button after throwing out the packaging from their midnight snack. Getting crushed to death in the enemy's trash compactor was NOT how he wanted to end up in the respawn room.

But, as he slid back out, landing on the dumpster with a quiet thud, he realized he wasn't back to square one. Scowling and smelling like sour milk, Enzo glanced around for a plan B. That was when he spotted the window about another ten feet up. It was open to let in the cool night air in. Enzo rubbed his hands. Tres bien.

The Spy tested a foothold on the chute before he fully committed to the climb. It creaked, but still supported his weight. Good thing he was skinny. He hoisted himself atop the chute and used the wall for balance as he stood up. The new challenge was keeping traction on the slick metal while he grabbed for his next piece of leverage. His hands found purchase on a support beam, while he slotted his feet into gaps in the wooden panels. Luckily, the roughshod timber offered a better grip than clean siding.

Enzo's tongue poked out from the effort and focus while he ascended. Knowing better than to look down, he kept his eyes trained on the open window. Little by little, he pulled himself closer.

The Spy got a grip on the windowsill. Bracing his feet on a protruding piece of siding, he hoisted himself up and through the window. His foot snagged on the sill, and he tumbled inside. His hands flew up to catch himself. He slid forward and landed belly-down inside the room.

To his relief, whoever had left the window open had since vacated the room. Good. The last thing he needed was to alert RED to his presence and ruin the mission before it even began. Standing up, he brushed himself off and got a look at this surroundings.

The room was full of filing cabinets and racks for holding tape reels. Enzo's fingers waggled and he smirked. Maybe he wouldn't even have to sneak around the base -- he could just grab some intel and leave in minutes. Like a ghost. He went to work rummaging through the tape reels, inspecting the labels on them.

"Wait a minute," he murmured as he did so. The reels were brand new, clean as a whistle, undisturbed, unmarked. Every one he checked was blank. The filing cabinets opened without a fight, having been left unlocked, and he soon found out why. Most of them were either empty or storing blank sheets of specialty paper that important documents would be printed on. This was just a storage space, Enzo thought with dismay. He left the room in a huff and traveled down the corridor in search of something would be of actual use.

His journey didn't reward him much. He passed several supply rooms and one dormitory, home to RED's Pyro and Spy. What an ironic duo to cohabitate, Enzo thought. On the firebug's side of the room was a workbench where a new flamethrower was in the process of construction, and the Pyro themselves lay supine with one arm and leg hanging off the bed. The Spy's side had just a framed collection of silver spoons to personalize it. Other than that, it looked identical to any regular dormitory space, with a single bed and a metal foot locker.

Enzo took a photo of the RED Pyro's flamethrower in progress, so he could pass the information along to Kerry. He gulped in panic when the enemy arsonist made a loud snort and stirred, thinking that he'd woken them somehow, but then they turned over and continued to sleep. He decided to leave quickly.

As he progressed through the system of hallways within the base, he found more dormitories. The RED team, short on space, roomed two mercs together in each one. The Spy with the Pyro, like he'd seen earlier. The Medic with the Engineer. Ugh, Gunther and Hetch shared a room. Enzo was sure they set that one up so they could come up with evil schemes together.

Ostensibly, the Heavy was rooming with the Soldier, but the latter's side of the dorm was deserted tonight. How strange. Enzo didn't pay too much attention to that, though, because something way more attention-grabbing was going on. That being Alexi on top of a naked Rolf in his bed. He thrust rhymically, gently, into his partner, while talking dirty in Russian. Rolf had a hand over his mouth to keep from moaning. Enzo fled before he became a voyeur by mistake again. Apparently this was the real reason Rolf didn't want him around the RED base tonight.

He couldn't find the RED Sniper or his room, but also got an account for the Scout and Demoman. He really should have seen that one coming. Instead of a chaste setup of single beds on either side of the room, they had an intimate double bed in the middle. Oh, and their light was still on. Enzo hastily cloaked before they figured that a sneak, not a wayward draft, had pushed their door open.

Danny lay snug under the blanket, reading a book about alien encounters. Enzo almost didn't recognize him without his hat and face mask. Hamish, wearing a loose T-shirt and flannel bottoms, settled in next to him. He pressed a kiss to Danny's temple and patted his belly before throwing the blanket over both of them. Danny chuckled at the affection, put his book away, and switched off the light.

Enzo couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He pushed it down and away. He still had a mission to do.

He came upon an open spot where a teleporter was still quietly whirring. Some kind of recon room, perhaps? It offered Enzo no clues, only an obstacle.

Either the RED Soldier was on guard duty or had a habit of working until he passed out. Either way, it didn't matter. He reclined in his chair, fast asleep and still dressed in his fatigues. His head tipped back, his slipping helmet only sort of muffling his hearty snores. His arms were crossed and his feet rested on the desk.

Enzo thought he hadn't been too loud. Except that he had, in fact, been too loud. As it turns out, he underestimated how much of a light sleeper the enemy Soldier was.

The man immediately snapped awake, rolling up into a sitting position. His helmet fell off and he looked around with wide eyes.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Identify yourself -- name, rank, and serial number."

Enzo frantically went for his cloaking device. It failed to activate. His teeth gritted in alarm. Yet, curiously, the Soldier didn't immediately whip out a gun and blast him to kingdom come. Instead, he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Julien? Is that you, Lieutenant?"

Apparently, the poor lighting made it difficult to ascertain the color of the Spy's suit. He'd been mistaken for the enemy without even trying. Enzo cleared his throat.

"Uh, oui. Sorry, monsieur, I was just..." He thought up a quick lie. "Getting a midnight morsel."

"Bring some back for me," the Soldier requested, before yawning indulgently. "Something...salty..."

He dozed off again. Enzo sighed in relief and continued on his way.

Leaving the recon room (if that's what it was), Enzo's hunt took him to an outdoor target practice area. Nine straw effigies stood around the space, pocked with bullet holes and scarred with knife slashes. Each was made in the image of a BLU merc. Enzo couldn't help but look for his own likeness. He found it, with two sacks of sawdust stitched to its chest area. They had upgraded his training dummy to reflect his...assets. The Spy rolled his eyes at it.

A camper van was parked at the edge of the arena. At first Enzo thought it might have been Hemi's, parked over at the RED base for God knows what reason. For all he knew, and for all the other secretive bullshit that was going around this place, his team's Sniper could also be engaged in a crossfaction affair. But no, Hemi's camper was olive green; this one was an ugly burnt orange color. It had stupid bumper stickers that said things like "I BRAKE FOR WALLABIES" and "BACK UP BUTTERCUP". Hemi would never.

Oh, and there was some movement inside. Enzo tried to cloak again, and his device failed him a second time. He hid behind the Heavy effigy and watched with bated breath as the silhouette of the RED Sniper reared up.

The enemy marksman exited his vehicle, swinging his keys on one hand and holding a manila folder in the other. It had "Destroy Immediately" scribbled on it in red ink. Now this was what the Spy come here for.

He twirled his knife and waited for the Sniper to move into position. Once he had passed the Heavy dummy, seemingly oblivious to the presence of an enemy Spy, Enzo moved. He jumped him, but instead of a backstab, he coiled an arm around his neck and pressed the knife to the neck.

"Hand over the folder," he stated, "and perhaps I will not kill you."

"Wanker!" the RED Sniper retorted. He writhed trying to rid himself of the snobbish, smoke-scented pest that had glommed on to him. A fist connected with Enzo's jaw from below, making him see stars for a moment. He slashed blindly with his knife, cutting the bushman's cheek and not his neck like he'd hoped. An elbow jabbed into Enzo's stomach, making him cough. His grip slipped and he fell on his back in the dust. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid a kukiri as it stabbed downward. He retaliated by kicking up at the RED Sniper. He himself winced as his foot made contact with the man's crotch. The enemy bushman went down, groaning and clutching his groin.

"Ha!" Enzo snapped up the dropped folder. "I'll be taking this, thank you."

"No!" the Sniper protested. Still kneeling, he lunged at Enzo and missed. The Spy took off with the folder, headed for the BLU base. It was like a one-on-one version of capture of the flag. This time, he managed to cloak successfully. Puffing, he ran along and tried not to panic as he heard an engine turning over and tires squealing. As long as his disguise wasn't compromised, he could make it back to the base safely. The campervan roared right past him, then started turning back and forth aimlessly. The enemy had lost track of him.

The BLU base grew taller as Enzo drew closer, getting his hopes up. Yes!

Then his disguise fizzled out. Time's up. No!

A gunshot banged behind Enzo, and some buckshot sprayed the ground nearby. Then another shot that pinged off a rock. He dared a look behind, seeing the furious RED Sniper with one hand on the wheel and another pointing a shotgun out the window.

Enzo fairly threw himself over the fence. In his panic, he suddenly gained the prowess of an Olympian vaulter. He jumped aside with no time to spare as the campervan crashed through the fence, trailing wood posts and barbwire behind it. It spun a 180 turn, screeching and spraying grit. The driver door banged open and out leapt the enemy, taking aim with his gun again.

The Spy thought he was going to be French toast, but then the clamor of his teammates filled the air. They all rushed out, guns at the ready. Clearly, the commotion woke them up.

"What the freakin' hell is going on here?" Vinny demanded. "We're supposed ta be on ceasefire!"

"Would someone mind tellin' me why in the Sam Hill the RED Sniper is here?" Kerry, looking extremely sleep deprived, grouched. He saw the carnage from the campervan's smash entry and groaned. Guess whose job it was to fix structural damage to the base.

At the sight of the other BLU mercs, the RED Sniper dropped his weapons and raised his hands. He wasn't a fool and knew when to fold 'em.

"Gentlemen." Enzo raised the folder. "I believe this fellow has some explaining to do, regarding this."

The PA system crackled to life. Everyone turned to glance at the speakers.

Sounding very, very tired, the Administrator declared, "Truce effective immediately. All mercs, drop your weapons and proceed to the neutral ground at the Bridge. A mandatory meeting has been called."

Chapter Text

When they'd first joined the team, most of the mercs didn't understand the difference between a ceasefire and a truce. They learned quickly. Ceasefires happened at the end of each workday, when everyone was to go home and rest up. Supposedly, no off-hours shooting or sneaking around was to occur, but that was a mild suggestion, really. If anything, management subtly encouraged such monkey business. Spice up their viewing experience a little.

A truce, on the other hand, had no such allowances. All the mercs disarmed themselves and went where they were directed. No-one dared to protest. Breaking a truce was done on pain of getting fired...or worse.

"Just do it, and you won't have to find out what we mean by that," the Administrator had told them.

Think quick , Enzo told himself. He turned away slightly while everyone had their attention focused on getting to the Bridge. In a few quick motions, he removed the papers from the manila folder and stashed them in the folds of his suit. He carried the empty folder as though it still held its documents.

As the crowd gathered, he stole a peek at the first page. A table showing some kind of item list and a series of large numbers next to each entry. Enzo didn't recognize the company name printed unassumingly at the top: Newgrounds Munitions. Feeling watched, he slipped the paper back into hiding before he could read the whole thing.

The PA system continued to blare the announcement, repeating itself about once every three minutes. A crowd of mercs stood at the Bridge, a strip of land and spiked barriers dividing RED and BLU territory. Enzo stood on the BLU side, accompanied by Vinny and Kerry. The rest of his team followed shortly, except for a certain someone. The RED Sniper trudged back to his side with his hat pulled down, avoiding eye contact.

Everyone, confused and sleep-deprived, was in a terrible mood. On the RED side, Danny had put his mask back on crookedly and swayed as though he was about to pass out into Hamish's arms. The Spy puffed furiously on a fancy Cuban cigar. The RED Pyro sat in the silt and drew pictures with their finger.

The mood took an even bigger nosedive as the doors to the RED base banged open and out came three figures. Gunther and Hetch dragged along a limp, almost naked man. Oh good Lord, it was Rolf, looking terrified. He had a bed sheet haphazardly draped around himself. Those oafs hadn't even given him a chance to get dressed before dragging him out like a busted prostitute. They threw him in the dirt in front of the BLUs. Gunther had a murderous look in his eyes, while Hetch just wore a subtle smirk.

"Do you know what this means?" the RED Medic demanded to the closest BLU, which unfortunately was Enzo. The Spy couldn't find any words.

Thunderous footsteps heralded the arrival of Alexi. The distraught Heavy threw himself in the midst of his teammates.

"Stop! Do not hurt Doktor!" he shouted.

"Be quiet," Gunther snapped back. "You disgust us, Alexi."

Things were no more peaceful on the BLU side, either. The mercs shouted in surprise as Rolf was tossed at their feet. Their Medic propped himself up, panting. The naked man's hair was a mess, his glasses were missing, and he smelled like sex. Everyone could know what he had done. Or rather, who he had done. The BLUs glanced back and forth between Rolf and Alexi, their faces showing a mosaic of shock, scandal, disgust, and betrayal.

George was the first one to speak. "If this is what I think it is--"

The unfinished threat hung in the dusty air. Rolf cowered in the dirt. He opened and shut his mouth, clean out of anything he could say to explain himself. With some help from Kerry, he stumbled back to his feet.

Gunther, on the other hand, had plenty to say. "This is a new low, even for you BLUs. Your Medic can't keep his hands off our Heavy, and it's affecting his performance on the battlefield. I wouldn't be surprised if this is some foolish scheme on your part. Send your Medic over here to have an affair with Alexi, building a trust-bond with him, and probably stealing our information while he's at it. Whose idea was this?"

"Ist meine Idee," Rolf mumbled. Gunther, who was within reaching distance, slapped him. The BLU Medic recoiled with wide eyes, not expecting that.

"Hey!" Vinny cut in. "Asshole!"

Wanting to retaliate, but out of reach of Gunther, the BLU Scout elected to slap Hetch instead. The RED Engineer, predictably, got pissed and threw a punch at him. While they scuffled, they bumped into the RED Pyro and interrupted their dirt drawing. This provoked them into going for their flamethrower, and a fight looked inevitable, until--

"That will be enough," said a stern woman's voice, crisp and low like a cello strum.

The scene flash-froze. The fighting mercs let go of each other and scurried back to their respective sides of the Bridge.

Everyone recognized the voice. The face and body it was attached to, on the other hand, was a rare sight for most of them. The Administrator, or Announcer, strode into their midst with her head held high. Her assistant trotted close behind. An electric tension hung in the air. Only the direst of emergencies could summon her from her cloisters to the frontlines.

While everyone was distracted by the Administrator's appearance, Enzo decided to steal another look at the papers. Given his class, he met with her face-to-face with more frequency than his peers. He did enjoy a selfish feeling of superiority for it. Why, he even got to learn her real name: Gladys. Not that he was allowed to use it, she told him, or else she'd make his death slow and painful. Enzo slipped the papers out of his suit and unfolded them.

Some kind of invoice for an arms purchase, he surmised. And not a little bill, either. Each item in the list had at least five figures accompanying it. At first he thought it might be the RED Sniper buying hunting equipment. But what kind of hunter's swag cost over $640,000?

"I have half a mind to fire all of you," Gladys ranted to the mercs while Enzo didn't listen. "I can tolerate unprofessionalism. I can tolerate boneheaded tactical mistakes. Those make this job entertaining. But this time, you've crossed a line. You couldn't even follow the one simple rule about a truce, that being no combat, and if it's true that a RED and a BLU were in a sexual relationship, then--"

Enzo stole another look at the papers while her tirade continued. Two names were listed under the buyer, with notes that one was the buyer, and the other was the party for whom the buyer had made the purchase. For the latter, the name "Austyn Henderson". For the former..."Gladys Henderson".

His eyes widened and he shoved the documents back into hiding. In his haste, he stuffed them into his cleavage. His gaze flitted between the RED Sniper and the Administrator as he recalled Alexi's note to Rolf. It was all coming together now.

There were two possibilities for them sharing a last name. Enzo ruled out siblings, at least by blood. The Administrator had silky black hair and almond-shaped eyes that suggested Southeast Asian heritage. Hmong, perhaps. Austyn, on the other hand, showed no signs of being anything except a white Australian. Maybe a little bit of native, like how Hemi was part Maori. Of course, they could be adoptive siblings.

Then there was the other possibility. Enzo had never seen a ring on either person's finger, but that didn't mean much. Some people didn't wear their wedding bands. Enzo wouldn't know -- he'd taken many lovers over the years, but never a spouse.

Either way, did it matter? Their relationship meant that the game was rigged. The RED team's considerable armament came on Gladys's dime. No wonder BLU seemed set up to fail.

"...you would all be dead in the first week if it weren't for the respawn system. That's a fact. Now, this all started because one of you nincompoops tried to make off with administrative documents. Austyn, who has the folder?"

The RED Sniper pointed at Enzo. "That piker. He attacked me and stole it."

The Administrator approached Enzo and snatched the empty folder out of his hands, without a word spoken. With a sharp turn on her heel and a few brisk steps, she was once more in the midst of the crowd. She held the folder high.

"This is what I was talking about. Administrative documents are not the same as the Intelligence that you capture as part of a mission, and that was explained during training. Only an absolute idiot would mistake the two."

She also flicked the folder open, revealing that it was empty.

"Additionally, only an absolute idiot would think I'd fall for that trick. Enzo, hand over the documents now."

The Spy sighed and removed the bundle of papers from the confines of his suit jacket. Gladys plucked them away with a dainty three fingers. She looked very displeased to see them emerge from his cleavage area. So she continued to hold them as though they were a dead frog.

"You understand the gravity of what you've done," she told him. "After this meeting, you will be taken into custody while we decide what to do with you."

He swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am."

Glancing slightly past her, he noticed Austyn's smug smile. Something about the way the RED Sniper smirked at him sent his mind snapping. He was done. So fucking done with the secrets, conspiracies, and underhanded business going on around this base.

Glaring over at Austyn but addressing Gladys, he said, "Ma'am, if I may say something first?"

She exhaled heavily, but permitted him to speak.

"Austyn Henderson," Enzo said as he strode towards the RED Sniper. "I have a question for you."

The bushman's eyebrows furrowed and he glanced left to right. "How do you know my full name?"

"What is her relationship to you?" he questioned, indicating the Administrator.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Australian growled.

"Lying is unbecoming. You two share a last name."

"You're so full of it."

"Austyn Henderson, Gladys Henderson," Enzo sneered. "So, let me ask again. What is her relation to you?"

A tense pause lingered between them. Then, Austyn exhaled a snarling sort of sigh and reached into his jacket. He removed a small, glinting object on a leather cord. A wedding ring.

"There," he spat. "Gladys and I are married. I'm her husband, and she's my wife. Are you happy now?"

Several mercs, both RED and BLU, audibly gasped. And then whatever Gladys had to say got drowned out in the ensuing angry chatter.

"What the hell?" George bellowed. "How is that allowed?"

"Hey, that isn't fair," Danny protested.

Juarez chimed in with an opinion, but of course, no-one could understand her/him/they/it/yes.

"This is a blatant breach of ethics," Hemi complained.

"That's right!" Enzo shouted over the crowd. "The Administrator and the RED Sniper are a wedded couple, and she has been paying for RED's weapons. That is why they have the superior firepower, not through any of their own merit! The game is rigged!"

Once again, the company fell into a screaming match. Angry fingers got pointed at everyone, insults were thrown, and Austyn looked ready to strangle Enzo with his bare hands. In the middle of the chaos, the Administrator got out a handgun. She fired it straight up, killing a passing bird and startling everyone.

"I said, that's enough." She lowered the weapon. "Now, two things we must address. Spy."

The RED Spy looked quizzical and stepped forward.

"Not you." She looked over at Enzo and made a come-hither gesture.

Enzo obeyed like a beaten dog. As far as he could tell, the Administrator showed no signs of emotional distress at having her secrets spilled into the open. Which worried him as much as any angry outburst she could have.

"You read the files, then shared them. Those were administrative documents, not to be disseminated by the mercenaries. Do you understand what the consequences for leaking this information are?"

"Yes, ma'am." He actually didn't, not specifically anyway, but they had to be terrible. He could be looking at a slow and painful death, without respawn this time. Or he'd go through a cycle of execution, respawn, and execution again, for as long as management saw fit.

"We will meet privately in my office once this is done," she said, "to discuss your contract. Do not be late."

He swallowed thickly and nodded. "I will be there, ma'am."

"Now, for the other order of business." She snapped her fingers. "RED Heavy and BLU Medic, step forward."

They both approached, heads down. Rolf had the bedsheet wrapped tightly around himself. For as embarrassing as the night had been for him, Enzo was glad that he wasn't the one standing almost naked in front of his employer.

"So. You two were in a sexual relationship?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed. "How did this happen?"

Rolf pulled together enough courage to tell her. "We...were attracted to each other. We fell in love. It felt right."

She put her hands together in a steeple gesture. "It felt right, he says. Well, it is expressly stated in your contract, which all of you signed, that there are to be no friendly or romantic relations between teams. It creates a conflict of interest. Between members on the same team, I do not care. If anything, it creates incentive. But you've betrayed everyone with what you've done, Rolf and Alexi."

They kept their heads down and said nothing.

"You both violated the terms of your employment," she went on. "And for that, there must be consequences. We will not be renewing your contracts. You have until the end of the season to set your business in order, and then you must leave the premises permanently. If you return, we will have no choice but to treat you as a threat to security.

The bad news had everyone murmuring sadly. Some of the mercs looked downright heartbroken. Rolf and Alexi weren't just coworkers to them. They were friends.

Not that Gladys cared. "Am I understood?"

"Да."

"Ja, Dame."

"Good. The scorn your teammates are sure to show you is a punishment sufficient unto itself. Now, everyone. Go back to your bases, and be ready for another battle tomorrow."

The mercs dispersed. Everyone except Enzo. When he turned to leave, Gladys cleared her throat loudly.

"Enzo?" she said, one eyebrow raised. "Where do you think you're going?"

"May at least get dressed first?" He was a sorry sight in his dirty underclothes.

"No." She snapped her fingers at him. "You will come with me to my office immediately, or you can also have your contract terminated."

He hung his head and followed her, walking like a condemned on the way to execution. Who knows. Maybe that was his future.

Chapter Text

On a few occasions, Enzo's line of work sent him to the Administrator's office. Unlike a Soldier or a Scout, who only needed to run around the fields with a gun, espionage granted him that special privilege. That was how he got to learn that she had an actual name, and could stop calling her "Miss Announcer" like his idiot teammates did.

As he settled into a chair opposite her at the desk, though, Enzo knew they wouldn't be sharing cigarettes or discussing which cheese to pair with merlot. His butt depressed the plush leather seat. Overhead, many television screens kept watch. Gladys had turned them off as soon as they entered. Upon her desk, there wasn't a pen or paper clip out of place. The one sight of sentimentality she had was a single succulent. A thick silence covered the room as she got out a watering can the size of a shot glass. She tipped it and watched the silver stream of water tumble into her plant's pot. Enzo knew she was dragging this out just to make him squirm. But he didn't dare be the first one to speak.

At last, Gladys put away the tiny can and spoke. "It's been a difficult night. Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

"Madmoiselle, I--"

"Hush, Enzo. I'm going to do most of the talking." Her bad-bitch nails drummed the desk. "When I ask you a question, I want a clear and honest answer. Believe me, I will know if you try to lie to me. You don't want that to happen."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let's start at the beginning--"

"When you hired me?"

She cut into him with a steely glare. "Don't try to be cute with me, Enzo."

"Er, not trying that, ma'am." He cleared his throat. "Proceed."

"This is your question: how did we get here? We know the what, that you stole administrative documents from my husband and told both teams about my deal. What events led us up to that point?"

The Spy paused to reconnect the dots. He got the folder while on his investigative mission, that was prompted by a note left by Alexi, whose secret relationship with Rolf he learned about when the Heavy saved him from the clutches of the enemy, who had targeted him because of his...condition. That he got from handling Mad Milk.

He told the Administrator as much. Not like there was anything to hide at this point. She nodded impassively and took a few notes on a legal pad.

"I did know about your situation," she said when he was finished. "The changes to your body are quite apparent."

Enzo glanced down at his rack. He still had a supple D cup, producing dairy every day. He self-consciously draped an arm over his bust. Which was aching, by the way. A milking was due. Great.

'So the reason this happened to you is that you drank Mad Milk?"

"I would not drink that sewage if I was about to perish from thirst!" He gasped, deeply offended. "I handled it. Even the ambient radiation from it was enough to alter my body. To say nothing of the havoc it must be wreaking on Vinny!"

"This isn't about him." A pen rolled off the desk; Gladys had it swept up and put back in place with a loud smack. "This is about your business. The foolishness has gone on long enough, and it's no longer entertaining."

"Entertaining?"

"I told you not to interrupt me. If we continue your employment here, and may I remind you that each outburst of yours jeopardizes it further, this medical situation of yours has to be resolved. In other words, find a way to stop lactating."

That had him taken aback somewhat. He hadn't expected her to say something so brusque. But he did agree that she had a point. Needing to milk himself constantly was slowing him down and threatening his image as a suave and deadly assassain. It did give him a lot of sexual satisfaction, though.

"The management doesn't feel like watching you stop every hour to milk yourself. It lost its appeal quickly."

"Watching me?"

"Not in private quarters, Enzo. On the field," she clarified, as if that made it much better. The Spy made eye contact with her and found abject exhaustion there. No-one had gotten much sleep that night, but Gladys looked as though her last rest was sometime in the previous month. Or the stress had stolen all her energy.

"I suppose I can ask Rolf to--"

"Make it fast. You know his days here are numbered."

"And mine as well, I presume?"

She didn't answer. Enzo thought about what she'd just said.

"Madamoiselle, you make our war sound like a television drama." His gaze flickered to the TV screens overhead. "Although to be fair, that is how you view it each day."

"You're so close to getting it," she droned.

"Beg pardon?"

"The owner, the management -- they don't care who wins. All they want is a good show. This isn't a war, Enzo. It's a goddamn soap opera. We even have the forbidden love and secret pregnancy storylines."

"Wait, you know about--"

"Of course I know about Rolf and Alexi." She rolled her eyes. "Considering that I fired them over it, just now. Did you go blind recently?"

"Non, I meant what is going on with the RED Scout."

"That." Gladys took a big drag and let the smoke seep out of her mouth corners. "Yes, I know all about that too. I know that Danny is pregnant. And, evidently, you do as well?"

"Yes, ma'am." He swallowed. "How did you find out? The cameras--"

She looked disgusted. "I do not have cameras in the mercs' bedrooms. I still have some decency. Danny told me."

"He did?"

"You aren't the only one who visits me. Several weeks ago, the RED Scout came to my office, and he asked for parental leave. I declined, because I won't cover for his irresonsibility. If he wants to fool around with his Demoman and get himself pregnant, he needs to deal with the consequences."

"Right, ma'am. But what happens if he gets injured on the field? How will that work with the Medigun or with respawn?"

"Enzo, why do you care? He isn't on your team. How did you come to know in the first place?"

He looked down and kneaded his hands.

"Mr. Spy. You must tell me." Her long fingernails clacked on the desk.

"When I was captured by the RED Medic and Engineer and held hostage in a barn," he explained. "One night, Hamish and Danny came to the barn to have privacy. They didn't know I was there, and I...saw them having sex."

"You watched them?" Her nose wrinkled.

"Not intentionally."

She sighed a big, heavy sigh. A cloud of smoke encompassed her head, and she waved it away.

"Danny confirmed it later on, when he was captured for information on the RED team's plans," Enzo explained. "During the interrogation, he let slip that--"

"I know." Her tone was sour. "The cameras, Spy."

"Right."

She pointed a pen at him. "What the Scout does with this development is none of your concern. Set your own medical issues in order first."

"I will, ma'am," he replied, although he wondered why he needed to do that if she was about to fire and/or kill him.

"Now, to our principal matter of business." She set a short stack of papers on the desk. "Let's discuss your contract."

Enzo gulped. A pink slip and worse were in his immediate future, he was sure of it. Gladys thumbed through the documents while the Spy marinated in his anxiety.

"By stealing sensitive documents and leaking the information, you've violated a critical part of your contract. I should have your employment terminated for it, effective immediately. And then, since you know too much..."

"I understand, Madamoiselle." Begging for his job and/or life was unbecoming. He had to face the music like a man.

"...But." She held up a finger. "But that's not what I plan to do. So far, you've been an asset to the company. It would be a shame to let you go. Therefore, let me propose a deal."

A deal? All right, she had him interested. He kept calm, as getting too excited would break his veneer of professionalism. Maybe even make her change her mind.

"I would be happy to hear it."

"Very good. If you can successfully follow this special assignment, I will maintain your contract. If you fail, you know what the consequences are. Do you accept?"

"Oui." In any other circumstance he would have wanted to hear what the assignment was first, but right now all he cared about was saving his skin.

"There is a corporate mole prowling around the area, looking to collect our business secrets and sabotage our operations. With her wandering free, our company and your job is in jeopardy. I also have evidence to suggest she may be an assassain as well, sent to eliminate the CEO. You and Hemi will go out, locate her, and terminate her. Bring back proof that she is dead, and I will reward you."

She slid a folder across the desk. Enzo picked it up.

"It will be done."

"Tomorrow, after the battle, come to my office again. Bring Hemi with you. This mission will take you off the battlegrounds and, thus, out of range of respawn. So tread carefully."

Enzo nodded. He glanced down at the photograph paper clipped to the front of the folder. It was a bust shot of a woman with dark olive skin and smoky makeup. Italian heritage, most likely. She was rather beautiful, but her expression was serious, her brow furrowed. A face like that would be hard to forget.

"I know what you're thinking," Gladys said when Enzo looked back up at her. "But don't be fooled by a pretty face. I know her type. She will say anything to convince you that she is not a danger to us. It will be mind against mind, and I need you to come out on top. Understood?"

"Completely." He tucked the photo into his breast pocket. "By this time tomorrow, she will already be cold and dead."

Chapter Text

Getting his foot in the door with Hemi proved to be awkward. He waited until the next morning to tell him about the Administrator's plans, fearing that the bushman would go off on him if he approached at this ungodly hour. With their history, he'd probably think that Enzo was beating on his door at 3 am in an emotional breakdown, begging him to take him back.

That did end up being Hemi's first impression when Enzo was tap-tap-tapping on his door at sunrise. Eyes drooping and 5-o-clock shadow clinging to his jawline, the Sniper poked his head out of his room and demanded to know what the bloody hell Enzo wanted.

"I thought we were done, spook," he'd said.

"This isn't about that," the Spy was quick to tell him. "It's from the Announcer."

"Uh?" He rubbed his eyes. "What, am I in trouble now? I didn't do anything!"

"Come with me to the kitchen. I'll explain everything. Shall I make the coffee?"

"Alroight. Let me get dressed first." Hemi turned away from the door, exposing his naked ass to Enzo. Good thing the Spy hadn't bothered to look down. He didn't want to be seeing his ex's penis first thing in the morning. Inside the room, Enzo could hear drawers opening and cloth rustling. Then the loud smack of a body part colliding with furniture, followed by Hemi hissing and cursing. A moment later, he emerged from his room, dressed in his usual Sniper getup. He smelled a bit sweaty.

"So what's this all about?" he asked as they went to the kitchen. The place was deserted. The only merc who actually liked to get up at 5 am was George, who had already left on his morning run. That gave the two about 45 minutes of privacy before he returned to make his world-infamous omelets.

"She's given us a mission," Enzo explained, setting two mugs of coffee on the table. "We need to locate this target and eliminate her."

He passed the photo, face down, across the table. Hemi picked it up and studied the woman's face.

"Rather pretty sheila, she is," he commented. "Did the Announcer say why she wants this chick dead?"

"A corporate spy, and a potential assassain."

"Oh, so like the both of us combined." Hemi sipped from his coffee. "No problem. The less competition the better, I always say."

He chuckled at his own lame joke.

"You don't always say that. You don't say that at all."

"Wonder why she didn't send one of the RED goons after her. Thought she preferred them." Hemi sent the photo skidding back towards Enzo. "Gawd, I can't believe she's actually married to that piker on the RED team."

"We cannot let our emotional baggage from last night cloud our judgement. The job will pay us well. Especially since we're going out of respawn range for it."

"Where out of respawn?"

"I don't know yet. I only know it's off base."

Hemi frowned. "Mate, it wasn't real big of you to make that decision for me. What if I didn't want to go out of respawn range to take out some sheila I don't even know?"

"Then, um, I'd go by myself," Enzo replied, a hand on his chest. "I'd convince her to let me do it solo. But enough of the ifs and buts--is this what you want?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not. Could use a break from fightin' REDs, now that I know the game is rigged. And that Rolf is leaving."

"I agree; no-one wants to fight a losing battle." Enzo thought for a moment. "If we do this one especially well, maybe we can work in a deal with her. Let us keep Rolf on the team in exchange for something. What do you think?"

"I suppose it's worth a try." Hemi finished the last of his coffee. "Now let's stop flappin' our yaps and go get the brief."

====

Hemi, not used to being around the Administrator in person, radiated discomfort as the two men made their way to her office. Enzo decided he ought to lead the way. They found Gladys at her desk, watering her plant. It was as though she hadn't even moved since last night.

"We are ready to go on the mission, madamoiselle," the Spy told her.

"Good." She placed a manila envelope on the desktop and opened it. "I've compiled a case file for you. Destroy it once you no longer need it. And Enzo...if you leak this one, I will ensure you befall a fate worse than death."

She made the threat so casually.

"With your Spy abilities, track this woman down." Gladys tapped the photo. "You're looking for a Bella Jocasta Laureabreve. Egyptian-Italian, thirty-one years old. She is about one point seven meters tall, and weighs about sixty-seven kilos."

"Any tattoos, piercings, or birthmarks?" the Spy inquired.

"None that we know of. But bear in mind that she may have done something to conceal her appearance. She is a spy, after all."

"A pale imitator," Enzo boasted.

"She was last seen in the nearest city, Little Cloud. I recommend you search the area, but keep a low profile. I know her type. The very second she catches even a whiff that you might be after her, she will take off. If she does, you must pursue at all costs."

"Like the wolf after the deer."

"Eliminate her, and bring proof of her death to me. Only then will you receive your award."

"Proof of death? Like what?" Hemi lifted his hat to scratch his scalp. "Do you mean you want us to bring the corpse over here?"

She shrugged. "If that's what it takes."

"Ew." Hemi didn't like handling blood and yuck. Part of why he was a Sniper -- didn't need to be up close and personal with his opponent most of the time. Enzo sighed.

"Bushman, please. I will collect the proof. All you need to do is take the shot."

"Works for me."

"You best be on your way." Gladys gathered the loose papers back into the envelope and spun it to face the two mercs.

"Yes, ma'am."

"One more thing." She cleared her throat. "Remember what I said last night, Enzo. Don't wait for her to try her silver tongue on you. Your directive is to kill on sight."

====

By "nearest city", Gladys meant that Little Cloud was sixty-five miles away from BLU's base. Hemi wanted to go in the camper van, so in the van they went. The vehicle was built for endurance, not speed, so it chugged along at 55 mph maximum. Half an hour into the journey, Enzo felt his chest aching.

"Mon Dieu, not this again," he complained. He had hoped it would take a little longer than this before he started leaking. The van hit a rock on the road and jolted, making his breasts jiggle comically. Then he felt wet spots growing on his shirt.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to see Hemi quickly looking back at the road. He squinted. Sure enough, a few moments later, the bushman was stealing glances at his leaky tits again. He chewed his lip as he pondered his next move.

"So full," he said with a dramatic sigh. "Ever since that fils-de-pute of a Medic on the RED team drugged me, I've been lactating more and more. I leak constantly."

Hemi grunted and his legs twitched. Enzo smirked.

"It's too bad you want nothing to do with me anymore."

"Piss off, ya mongrel," the bushman replied, not meaning it in the slighest.

"Won't someone relieve me before we go on this important, sensitive mission? I can't possibly track down our target with this heaving bosom."

"Oh, fuck you." Hemi pulled over. The van now rested on the side of a country road in the middle of nowhere. They had no chance of someone coming a-knockin'.

"That's more like it. Good boy," Enzo purred as the bushman unbuckled his seatbelt and made his moves on him. He let the Sniper drag him to the back, where he lounged indulgently on the couch.

"Hm, not like that. I wanna try something new."

"Very well." Enzo licked his upper lip. "It sounds like my kind of surprise."

Hemi turned his partner over so he was on his stomach, then starting removing his clothes. A suit jacket hit the floor, followed soon by a silk tie, a dress shirt, and a belt. Trousers slipped down to his ankles.

"All right. I like where this is going." Even if it meant his boobs were squashed under him. His package, still encased in underwear, rubbed against the couch in a way that was quickly getting him hot and bothered.

"Since when do you wear panties?" Hemi questioned at the sight of Enzo's lacy black briefs.

"You wanted to try something new, I wanted to try something new."

Hemi's voice was deliciously gravelly. "You were wearing those on purpose, spook. Hopin' to get some action from me? Oh, you want that so badly, don't you, slut?"

"Are you going to punish me? For being such a whore?"

"Maybe I should. Rip those pretty panties off and give you just what you want."

"Please, please do."

Enzo reached back to pull off the panties. They slid down his legs, the expensive silk lace gliding as easily as a whisper. Behind him, he could hear Hemi fumbling with his belt. Then the squish of lube being applied.

"I'm waaaaaiting." He tilted his pelvis up to make his ass stick out. Then a satisfied "Ah!" as Hemi's package started to rut against him. A pair of calloused hands grabbed his breasts to knead them. Each squeeze sent fresh trickles of milk running down his chest, staining the couch. He huffed and panted. The weight of the bushman, which admittedly wasn't a lot of weight, settled on top of him. The Sniper had mounted him like he intended on breeding him.

"Put it in," he demanded. Hemi obeyed, sliding his member into Enzo's entrance. As it rubbed over his prostate, he let out an indulgent moan. Dirty talk fell from his lips -- pleas to fuck him hard, make him beg, milk him dry. Hemi was happy to oblige.

"Forgot how good this feels," he gasped in the middle of a thrust that sent a pleased shudder through Enzo's form. As the couch grew wetter and wetter from bodily fluids, the two mercs panted and moaned as they reached the peak. Enzo came first, nearly shrieking. Hemi wasn't far behind. They both collapsed atop the ruined cushions, with Hemi still inside of Enzo.

"Oh, damn," the bushman muttered when he got his breath back. "I've been missing out."

"Can I assume, then, that we are back together?"

"If that's what you want." Hemi squeezed one of Enzo's tits. "It's nice to have these in my hands again."

Post-nut clarity had kicked in, and now the Spy lightly smacked Hemi's hip as a signal. Please get off of me. He wanted to peel himself off the disgusting couch and clean himself up. No way was he strolling into Little Cloud while covered in milk and semen. Hemi seemed unbothered as he pulled his pants back on.

"Mate, there's no washroom in the van," he warned Enzo.

"Merde."

So that was how Enzo ended up in a sketchy bar bathroom, washing himself off with scratchy paper towels in the big stall. This was their last stop before they entered Little Cloud, thereby going into enemy territory. He needed a plan. While considering his options, he eavesdropped on the conversation by the urinals.

"--hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. Asked if I could buy her a drink, but she said no." A tall, thickly built man spoke to a shorter guy using the urinal next to him. "She said it wasn't nothin' personal, but I dunno."

Enzo almost tuned them out. Just two random men, discussing how to get into a woman's pants. Really, par the course for a trashy bar washroom. But then, the big guy said something that caught his interest.

"Gawd, you should have heard her talk. Just her accent got me actin' up."

"Really?" the other one responded. "You know where from?"

"Somewhere out east, I think. One of them desert countries."

Enzo perked up. According to Gladys, this Bella was half-Egyptian. He kept listening.

"Anyway, she says to me that she's gonna stay in town for a few more days. Maybe I can try again with her later."

Enzo finished cleaning himself off and crossed to the sinks, still putting on an inconspicuous air. He pretended to not pay attention while he washed his hands. Hopefully, these two would float another nugget of information his way.

No such luck. The men concluded their bathroom break, then left without washing their hands. Ew. Exiting the washroom, the Spy found Hemi and pulled him into a corner.

"Watch it, mate." The Sniper looked a little displeased at the manhandling.

"I just did some eavesdropping. She's in town. This might be a quick mission after all."

They worked out that Hemi should drive while Enzo kept a lookout. Little Cloud was, well, little. Not much to do there except shop for antiques and get drunk. Hemi commented on the unusually numerous antique shops.

"How much old junk could be in one town, anyway?" he remarked.

"What's one more piece?" Enzo wasn't one for self-deprecating humor, but somehow this felt like the right opportunity. And it was, because that crack got a good laugh out of Hemi.

"Ah mate, don't sell yourself short!" He parked the van on the side of the street.

"Why did we stop? I didn't see her."

"I need to stretch my legs."

"Oh, all right. I suppose I should as well."

They got out of the vehicle, but stayed close to it. Hemi did some stretches while Enzo leaned against a building and lit a cigarette. A few minutes passed. Across the street, the doors on a storefront opened and out came a small group of patrons. They were carrying bags of outdated clothes, as this was yet another one of Little Cloud's flea markets. Enzo watched with mild interest.

And then he saw her.

The tawny complexion, the silky black hair, the round jawline. He slipped the photo out of his breast pocket and compared it to the woman walking away. By God, it was her. She had on dirty coveralls and not the glamorous red dress from the picture, but the face was the same. Enzo nudged Hemi.

"What?"

He subtly gestured at Bella. Hemi glanced between her and the Spy, and then it clicked.

"We can't let her get away," he hissed. "Come on, in the van."

Hemi drove the van around the corner, trying to follow Bella without it looking obvious. Easier said than done. The bulky van stuck out like a sore thumb among the coupes and sedans. Bella carried something in a canvas bag as she strode down the sidewalk. At first, she didn't seem to pay any mind to the camper van driving a little too slowly next to her. But when it remained behind her even as she passed several blocks, her body language changed. Her pace noticeably quickened, and she held her bag closer.

Some spy she must be, Enzo thought to himself, if she made her emotions that obvious. They pursued Bella downtown and into the parking lot of a cheap motel. Here, she began truly running instead of merely fast-walking. She made a beeline for a black sedan and pulled open the driver's door.

"Ah," Hemi commented. "I see what you're doing, sheila."

The car door slammed shut, and the engine turned over. The sedan backed up haphazardly, then spun a 90-degree turn. It sped out of the parking lot. Hemi gripped the steering wheel and smirked.

"Good. I was worried this mission might be boring."

Chapter Text

Enzo clutched the seat as Hemi ripped out of the parking lot, nearly taking the corner on two wheels. Bella's black sedan rode ahead.

"Isn't she thoughtful," the bushman commented. "Giving us the thrill of the hunt."

But the jovial attitude was not to last. Catching Bella turned out to be harder than they expected. The road lay before them long and straight, with rocky ditches and large trees on either side. Hemi's camper could handle forested terrain, but trying to sideline and catch Bella from surprise was not likely to succeed. With their luck, they'd probably end up diving into the ditch and wrecking the van, while their target slipped away.

The gap between the van and the sedan grew wider in far too short a time. Hemi grumbled curses and struggled to change the car's gear. Enzo glanced at the spedometer, which read 60 mph.

"Can't this rust bucket go any faster?" he complained.

"Don't call my van a rust bucket!" the Sniper snapped as he wrestled with the gear shift lever. "Fuck! We're losing her!"

Something small but swift darted onto the road. Enzo cried for Hemi to look out. The bushman swerved to just miss hitting the animal. It scampered back into the bush, completely unperturbed by almost getting pasted by a 6-ton screaming monster.

"Damn deer!" he growled. "I swear, it's like they want to end up as venison hash on my front grill."

"We need to slow her down somehow." Enzo tried to think of an idea. "Maybe we can shoot out her tires?"

"With what?" Hemi threw him a perturbed look. "That revolver of yours isn't going to do shit, Enzo."

"Then give me your rifle." The weapon was tacked up on the panel behind the driver's seat.

"Absolutely not. No-one touches her but me."

Enzo fought the urge to just yank it off the wall himself. "Give me the gun, bushman! This is our only chance."

"Rrrgh...Fuck! Fine!" Hemi shifted in his seat so he could hold the wheel with one hand and reach for the gun with the other. The van wavered in and out of its lane, swaying the whole while. He got ahold of the rifle by the forestock and pulled it free.

Passing it to Enzo, he said, "If you break her, I'll hang you off the gutters by your pretty little panties."

"That is an...oddly sexual threat," the Spy commented as he took hold of the weapon. Being used to knives and handguns, it was surprisingly heavy in his hands. He unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled down his window. If he could lean out and get a sight on the wheels of Bella's car, then he could take the shot, no problem. Or at least, that's what he told himself. Fumbling to get a good grip on the gun, he awkwardly angled it out the window.

"Do NOT drop her!" Hemi warned.

"Relax! I know what I'm doing," said Enzo, who did not in fact know what he was doing. He squinted as he peered through the scope. The crosshair wobbled with the van, keeping him from getting a sight on Bella's car at all, let alone the wheels. God, Hemi made sniping look so easy.

"She's getting away. Shoot already!" the bushman shouted.

"I cannot aim this thing. You should have done this, and I could drive--"

"Take the damn shot!"

Enzo yelled as he squeezed the trigger. The gun roared and jumped in his arms, with the butt of the rifle punching into his shoulder. He wheezed, then looked around recklessly to see if his shot found its mark.

The sedan continued to roll.

"You missed," Hemi complained.

"I know!" Enzo jangled the action, trying to eject the spent shell. "Give me another shell."

"Shoulda done it myself," the Sniper growled, fishing in a small red box on the driver's side door. He eventualy produced a bullet, but not before his distracted driving made the van come way too close to drifting off the road. The gap between them and Bella continued to widen, making the situation even more difficult for Enzo.

Hemi passed the bullet to Enzo, who reloaded the rifle. He took aim again, pointing the crosshairs at the rear right wheel. Bracing for the recoil, he pulled back on the trigger. The rifle barked and jumped in his arms again, making the Spy wince.

"Did that--Jesus Christ, I think you got her that time."

"What?" Enzo crawled back into the van, banging the gun's barrel on the window frame. This earned him a death glare from Hemi, but what happened a second later distracted him from the manhandling of his precious rifle.

Bella's car veered off the road. It wavered from side to side, then tipped over the edge and crashed into the ditch. It rolled at least three times before coming to a rest on its side, leaned against a thick tree stump. It left a trail of plastic and metal bits in its wake.

Hemi slammed on the brakes. He snatched his rifle out of Enzo's hands, disengaged his seat belt, and leapt out of the vehicle. The Spy followed close behind him, revolver out and primed.

"Did that do it?" Hemi asked. "I mean, is she dead?"

"Je n'ai pas d'idée."

They hurried over to the site of the crash. As they approached, a skinny arm covered in blood reached out of the shattered driver's side window. A pained moan came from its owner. And then another. And then a loud cry of pain.

"Oh, shit."

As it turned out, Bella was making those sounds as she tried to climb out of her wrecked vehicle. The woman was bruised and bloody all over, and one of her arms was resting at an unnatural angle. She yelped if she tried to move it.

Bella's eyes cut into them, stark white against her dark blood and the dying sunlight. Wheezing and groaning, she managed to mouth "please no" as the men approached her with their guns.

Hemi faltered, letting his rifle drop slightly. "Should we...?"

Recalling the Administrator's words, Enzo kept his gun pointed at her head. "Yes. It's time to finish the job."

Bella's expression was distraught, and she choked out, "Why are you doing this? Who are..."

"Nice try, madamoiselle, but I won't fall for your pathos. Some spy you are."

"What?" Her voice was strangled.

"Mate, I'm not so sure we--"

Whatever Hemi had to say, got interrupted. Wanting to act before his conscience made him doubt the situation any more, Enzo took the shot. The crack of a gunshot echoed around them, and Bella jolted before slumping down with her arm dangling out the window. Blood oozed from a hole in her head. Not so pretty now.

Hemi made a disgusted sound and stepped back. At least with his rifle, his victim's blown-open skulls were too far away to make out all the details.

"In her state, that was a coup-de-grace," Enzo told him. "We've done our mission. Let's collect the evidence."

"You shot her, you can clean up the body," Hemi said, his lip curling in disgust. "I'll go put a tarp down in the van."

The Sniper wandered back to his vehicle, mumbling "motherfuckers" under his breath. Enzo shrugged, pocketed his gun, and walked over to the grisly scene. As he pried open the car doors, he anticipated finding some juicy evidence in the sedan. Specifically, he wanted to know what was in Bella's bag. He removed the canvas tote and knelt to examine its contents.

"Let's see here." He removed a bag of pencils, a camera, a small hammer, a set of what looked like makeup brushes, a compass, a magnifying glass, and a field guide about rocks. The camera and magnifying glass made sense for a spy, but the rest felt like red herrings.

"Curious," he commented. "Why would she carry this useless junk?"

He moved on to looking for any other secrets the car might hold. He only found a first-aid kit, a change of clothes, a wool blanket, and some sort of portable lamp. Useless.

"If this is what our rivals are sending after us, I don't know what Gladys is afraid of," Enzo sneered as he slung Bella's body over his shoulder. He was getting blood on his fancy silk suit, but whatever. He carried the corpse over to the van just in time for Hemi to emerge.

"Were you looking for clues, spook?"

"Oui. But I did not find anything of interest. The closest thing I could find to a weapon was a hammer. Perhaps she intended to nail us to death."

"Um..."

"You can laugh. That was meant to be a joke."

"I'm not in the mood for laughing, Enzo. Just put the body in the van. I want to go home."

Chapter Text

The van pulled into base first thing the next morning, as the sun began to crest over the horizon. The camper's wheels crunched on gravel. Sleep-deprived, Hemi steered poorly and almost clipped the fence on their way in. They pulled into the garage, with the vehicle having barely stopped before Hemi leaped out.

"Now what are we gonna do with the body?" he asked Enzo. "The other guys don't know that she sent us on this mission. What are they gonna say if they see us with some dead sheila?"

He had a point. Although they killed for a living as mercenaries, their targets were never civilians. It was strictly forbidden. There had to be a damn good reason that the Administrator had sent out a hit on Bella.

"First thing is to not talk so loudly," Enzo told him. Their voices echoed in the spacious, concrete-coated room.

"Okay," Hemi responded more quietly. "The Admin said to bring proof that this broad is dead. Should we...I dunno. Take the head to the office, maybe?"

Enzo weighed that option. Although Bella was slim and short, any human's corpse is a challenge to lug around. A human's head only weighs about ten pounds, on the other hand, and they could conceal it much more easily. He glanced over at Hemi.

"I know what you're thinking, and no. I ain't doing that," he growled. "It's gross enough when I'm field dressing deer."

The Spy sighed. "So you want me to do it?"

"Not with that letter opener you call a knife."

What was with people insulting his butterfly knife like that? "All right, then give me yours."

Hemi drew the weapon and handed it to him. "Don't dull it up."

Enzo tested the kukri's grip. The handle was well-worn. One edge was razor-sharp, with only a small nick disturbing the wicked curve of the blade. The other ran straight across and was serrated. The latter would probably work better for sawing through vertebrae.

"Hm, what a gross thought," the Spy mumbled as he climbed into the back of the campervan. They'd wrapped up the body and left it on the floor atop a tarp. It resembled a mummy, if the Egyptians had buried their dead in black plastic garbage bags. Enzo peeled back the plastic encasing the head and shoulder area, trying to stay disconnected.

The gunshot wound had stopped oozing blood, but the sticky red mess remained. Shards of bone fell from the pierced skull. It made the Spy glad that he wore gloves. He lowered the kukri to Bella's slim neck, adorned with a small pewter locket. He snapped the necklace off and stored it in his pocket.

Enzo had just begun to draw the blade through flesh when a woman cleared her throat behind him. For a split second, he feared that Bella's ghost was here to haunt him. Instead, the specter lurking behind him was none other than the Administrator. Her assistant had not accompanied her.

"Gladys!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I thought you hated the garage."

"I asked for proof of the target's death," she replied, "and what you have is sufficient. I figured I ought to step in before things get too messy. Well done, Enzo. I will add a bonus to your and Hemi's paychecks."

"Ah, thank you, madame." He put the weapon away and replaced the tarp. "I was not looking forward to carrying a head through the base. That seems like it would be more to Macre's liking."

He recalled a time when the Demoman had picked up the enemy Spy's head and used it to recite the "Alas, poor Yorick!" scene from Hamlet.

"I will handle things from here. As for you, wait until I give you further instruction."

"Do you have another assignment for me, ma'am?"

"Affirmative. This one was hardly the only potential assassain threatening our company. But I can't send you out to the field quite yet. Take some time to rest."

"I will. Thank you."

She turned on her heels and strutted away. Hemi approached as Enzo exited the camper. He handed the bushman his knife.

"Gladys said that she will take care of things," the Spy explained to him. "So, I presume we should leave this as it is."

"But that's my camper!" Hemi protested. "I don't want some dead lady rotting in there. She's gonna stink the whole thing up!"

"I understand that, but we should probably not go against her directions. That would be unwise."

Hemi groaned. "Easy for you to say, spook. I sleep in there. You wouldn't like a corpse molding in your room, now would you? Gettin' that death-stink in your precious silk sheets."

Enzo could sense where this conversation was going, so he leaned into it. "Oh dear, what a conundrum. I'd offer for you to stay in my room for the time being, but as you know, I only have one bed in there..."

"Bloody hell." Hemi's right leg folded over his left in a vain attempt to hide an erection.

"And she also said that it will be a bit before we're to go on our next mission. In the meantime, we should rest." He tiptoed his fingers up Hemi's arm. "Why don't we do that? I know exactly how to unwind after such a tense mission..."

====

Enzo lay awake, smoking while Hemi caught up on lost sleep beside him. The hit from the nicotine distracted him from his stinging nipples. His bushman had gotten a little too mouthy while nursing from him this time. Now as they lay in the aftermath of their sex, the doubts from earlier resurfaced. They had settled in Enzo's mind from the millisecond he pulled the trigger on Bella. He thought about the evidence he'd collected from her car. Consulting his library of spy knowledge, he tried to piece together a narrative for how she'd use things like makeup brushes and geology books to spy on the company or assassinate the boss. His best efforts didn't do much -- the mental images of her stabbing eyeballs with pencils or using a magnifying glass to start a fire were just silly.

Another question bothered him: if there were apparently multiple dangerous persons threatening the company, why was Gladys seemingly in no hurry to get rid of them? Enzo had expected her to hand him a dossier on the next target as soon as she'd received confirmation that Bella was dead. With as notoriously cagey as the Adminstrator was, Enzo stood no chance of getting an answer if he asked.

To put his mind at ease, he decided that she planned the hit on Bella as an intimidation factor, and now anyone else trying to threaten Mann Co. would hold off. Sure, we'll go with that. He leaned over and picked up his suit jacket off the floor. He slipped his hand into the pockets in search of his cigarette case, but his fingers brushed against Bella's locket instead. He plucked it out and set it in his palm. The pendant popped open with ease. Inside was the portrait of an older man with snowy hair and stern Germanic features.

"Hm." Enzo snapped the locket shut again. Either a husband or father for the woman they'd just killed, he assumed. Years of spy training taught him not to feel pity for the family of those he killed. It was nothing personal. He did the job, he fended off any loved ones looking for revenge, and then he went on his way. He intended to do the same for this case, and for any coming after it.

So he thought.

Chapter Text

The mercs were summoned to battle the next day. Hitherto, the routine skirmishes had Enzo almost bored. He had become complacent, with a few prepared strategies to employ that wouldn't take too much effort on his part. He threw in just enough variety to keep RED guessing. Although lately, that hadn't seemed to do anything, as they kept winning anyway, and now he knew why. Gladys's underhanded favors to the enemy got his blood boiling whenever he thought about it, so he tried to keep it out of his mind.

He wondered if anything would change with today's battle. Could it be that RED, with BLU now cognizant of their secret, would be embarrassed enough to throw the match? Enzo hoped so. His team could use a bone tossed their way.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself, surprised to be showing that much sympathy to his idiot teammates.

The battle itself began in late morning with the usual loud buzzer. Enzo cloaked and slipped out from the spawn area, taking one of his several preferred paths to enemy territory. He had a few routes laid out by now, and he mixed up which ones he used and how often. It kept his movements from being too predictable to the other team, even when he was phoning it in. On the front lines, Macre lobbed bombs at RED in an attempt to carve a hole in their line of attack. Pascha, backed up by Rolf, faced them head-on. Enzo welcomed the loud drone of bullets spraying from the Ukrainian giant's minigun. It drowned out his idle thoughts. Like a racehorse's blinders, they kept his mind off of everything. And he was glad of it, because there was too much. The Announcer secretly funding RED, her sending him and Hemi out to kill a random woman, her intention to send him on another hit job sometime soon. His tumultuous relationship with Hemi. Danny's pregnancy. Rolf and Alexei getting fired. Everything seemed to have happened all at once.

Exhaling and gathering his presence of mind, Enzo uncloaked as his timer ran out. He had ducked into a secluded part of RED's base, a space between two buildings and a grain silo. He heard the telltale beep of a sentry nearby. Now he knew what to do. The spy held his butterfly knife in his teeth as he wedged his patent leather shoes into the fence chainlinks, then started to climb. Hemi had taught him a few tips on roof strafing in the past couple weeks. He pressed one foot to the tin roof experimentally, and when it didn't give or creak loudly, he decided to commit to the action. Slowly to keep his movements quiet, he tiptoed across the roof.

He wasn't stealthy enough. A bang echoed through the dusty air and a bullet sliced through the air, barely missing his head. Damn, the enemy Sniper had noticed him. Thinking quickly, Enzo dropped to his hands and knees and let himself slide down the roofing until he came to rest behind a smokestack. It hid him from Austyn's sightline, he hoped. He lay there in a wait a few moments, praying that his move to take shelter had worked.

Austyn's rifle barked again, but this time, no bullets came his way. It looked like his trick had worked, and the sniper had mistook him sliding down for a death throe. Remaining on his hands and knees, Enzo crawled across the remainder of the roof to get to the sentry nest. He didn't want to commit to a full snake creep, lest his bosom get squashed.

Peering over the gutter, he had a good view of the RED engineer and his precious machine. Hetch was calibrating something on the gadget, fine-tuning it with a small wrench. The sight of him set a flash of rage surging through Enzo. It seemed that he hadn't fully gotten over the incident of the hard-hatted terror kidnapping him and locking him in a milking machine.

“You deserve far worse than this, fils de pute,” Enzo whispered as he slipped a sapper from his jacket and dropped the device onto the sentry. The gadget magnetically attached and started to suck power from the sentry.

Hetch had turned back with a fresh handful of bolts when he noticed the sapper. “Dagnabbit, dammit!”

Right in the nick of time, before the sapper damaged his machine beyond salvage, he swatted it off with a strike from his wrench. It flew off into the sands. Enzo inwardly sighed in disappointment. Well, no matter, he'd just double back and ruin Hetch's day in short order--

He saw stars and his brain rattled in his head as Hetch's wrench painfully connected with his temple. Stunned, Enzo fell off the rooftop and landed on his back.

“Mon Dieu!”

“I thought I taught you your damn lesson!” Hetch fumed, stomping down on the spy's chest. Enzo wheezed in pain. For emphasis, the engineer ground his boot even harder into his sensitive breasts, making him tear up.

“Stop that, I beg you.”

“Not a chance.” Hetch kicked him in the side of the head. “I've had enough of you. I thought using you as a milk bitch for a week would make you realize not to cross me.”

Enzo rolled out of the way of Hetch's leg, stumbling back to his feet and clutching his head. “Ah, but I escaped, did I not?”

He pulled out his revolver so he could dispose of his foe. Hetch jumped out of the way of his shot and then lunged at him, swinging a punch. His fist bashed against Enzo's jaw, making his teeth rattle. The spy retaliated by coming at him with a punch of his own, only for Hetch to pull a dirty move. The engineer grabbed Enzo's tits and torqued them, making him howl in pain. He wrestled to get his gun pointed at Hetch's forehead, and he fired. His enemy's head snapped back and he let go of Enzo before falling over in a spray of blood. The spy exhaled sharply and wiped his brow. He scowled and kicked Hetch's corpse once more for good measure. He cupped his breasts, massaging the irritated flesh.

The sentry beeped and swiveled its head towards Enzo. The spy hurriedly flung another sapper on it before diving for cover. He winced as his chest bumped against the rocky ground, hurting soft flesh that had already been abused. Milk soaked his dress shirt and started to seep into his jacket, just to make an uncomfortable situation worse.

The bang from the exploding sentry rang in his ears, but he paid it no mind. He looked down at his leaking chest with a tired and annoyed gaze. To quote one of his nemesis's smug quips, this was going to keep happening and happening.

He glanced across the field, in time to cringe as he saw Rolf getting taken out by the enemy sniper. His window for doing something about his dairy issue was rapidly closing. Every day brought them one step closer to Rolf (and Alexi) being forced to leave. With the doctor gone, where would Enzo be? Rolf's replacement could be less understanding and more incompetent. And one way or another, he'd have to explain his story all over again.

“But what would I have him do?” Enzo wondered aloud, sitting on the rooftop for a moment to gather his thoughts. He watched the flow of battle fold in on itself, as BLU backtracked to their base and RED pursued. He saw a blip of red darting around behind the main line of RED's offense. It was Danny – the Scout scampered about as he looked for an opening. As usual, the boy's team had tasked him with retrieving BLU's intel. Enzo considered stopping him before he could make a push into BLU's base, but decided that was a task better suited to Hemi. He scanned the field in search of his team's Sniper.

A rocket exploded not all that far from where Enzo stood, making him lose his balance. He swung his head about to see the BLU Soldier firing at Danny with his rocket launcher. George's attempt to rout the little rat away from the base instead herded him inside, and Enzo suppressed an annoyed groan. Well, at least he could hope the BLU Engineer could catch him.

A sudden headshot, not from Hemi but from the enemy Sniper, caught him off-guard and sent him to respawn. He could already hear Austyn's smug remark in his head.

Standin' around like a bloody idiot.

Merde. Not long after respawning, he heard the Announcer declare that the enemy team had BLU's intelligence. Double merde. Enzo poked his head outside to check that the coast was clear, then cloaked and started for the intel room. He could try to help remove the enemy Scout from the premises...somehow.

Or at least, he would have tried, if the RED Pyro hadn't popped out of nowhere and ambushed him. The beast tried to turn him into French toast, and he threw himself into the pond to extinguish himself. Pulling himself onto the gravel, he coughed and looked around for a first aid kit.

“The enemy has dropped our intelligence.”

“The enemy has captured our intelligence.”

“The enemy has dropped our intelligence.”

“The enemy has captured our intelligence.”

Quoi? The rapid back-and-forth had Enzo almost distracted enough to forget how much his burned skin hurt. Almost, but not entirely. With the Announcer still flip-flopping between intelligence stolen and intelligence returned, he glanced around and caught sight of a blip of pale blue. He raised his hand and called to Rolf.

“Help! Some medical assistance, please.”

Rolf turned his head in the other direction, like he hadn't heard Enzo at all. The man's eyebrows knit together in worry, his lips slightly parted. He ran off in the direction he'd glanced, answering a summon that Enzo did not hear or see. The spy sighed in frustration and hauled himself from the pond, moaning “Ouch” with each step. A short, painful walk later, he came upon a health kit hidden under some pallets and treated himself. He didn't have to compete with anyone for it, RED or BLU.

Which...was odd.

As was that this part of the battlefield was suddenly deserted.

====

BLU took home the victory at the last moment. That was how Enzo heard it over the PA. It was the first victory for his team in a hot minute, and yet, it did not give him the satisfaction he thought he pined after. In the locker room, a distracted aura hung over everyone's psyches, and Rolf, Kerry, Hemi, and George were conspicuously missing. Juarez wandered around the space, looking lost without their Engineer friend.

The Spy approached the Demoman. “Macre. Do you know where Rolf and Kerry went? Or Hemi and George, for that matter?”

Macre snubbed out his strange-smelling cigar quickly and answered, “Last I saw, they were headed to Rolf's office. Ah don't know fer sure what's going on. Something ta do with the match.”

“Is that it? There seems to be more to it than a post-combat patch-up.”

The bearded Scotsman shrugged. “I don't know anything much more than you do, lad. Ask Hemi. Ain't you his lover?”

Enzo sighed. “It is complicated. All right?”

He swapped his dirty, burnt clothes out for a fresh suit. Changing also required him to attempt to fit his large breasts into a new bra, too. Having sacrificed dignity for comfort some time ago, he'd swiped a bra from Juarez's underwear drawer to suit his needs. The Pyro had an assortment of bras in various sizes, which didn't make sense, but Enzo didn't feel like digging into it. Nor did he want to know why Juarez had a collection of jockstraps. He just wanted something to cover his tits at this point.

Within minutes, his breasts had leaked into the padding, leaving dark spots. As usual. It was about time to milk himself. The Announcer had been right: watching him stop to empty his boobs was getting old. More and more, they were becoming an annoyance. He wondered if he wanted to get rid of them.

A flash of inspiration crackled through his brain as three thoughts came together: Enzo's issue, Rolf, and Danny. The RED Scout was transgender. He'd had a surgery to remove his breast tissue. Enzo wondered if BLU's doctor could perform a similar procedure on him.

His steps quickened, bringing him to the infirmary. As he passed through the BLU base's hallways at a brisk pace, his teammates ghosted past him. First George, expression severe. Then Hemi, with a grimace. At last Kerry, pale and wide-eyed.

Strange, he thought. Not exactly the faces of victorious men...

Enzo reached the infirmary, and there he froze in his tracks. Rolf rushed to the doors, carrying a patient in his arms. But the one he held was not BLU. He carried Danny, with the RED Scout crying in distress and clinging to him like a lifeline.

Chapter Text

Enzo paced outside the infirmirary, weighing his options. He forced himself not to peek through the mesh windows. He'd already wronged Danny once before by watching his private business. But his curiosity was death by a thousand cuts. Through the steel doors, he could hear Rolf and Danny talking to each other, but could not make out their words. He found his hands bracing against those doors and his ear pressing to the cold metal.

Still he could not discern anything. With a huff, he pushed away from the doors and paced in front of them. His oxfords squeaked quietly on the tiles. A grumble from his stomach proved a welcome distraction, and an excuse to leave as well. Though he wanted nothing more than to burst through those doors, it would seem his request to Rolf had to wait. And the prospect of making the RED Scout even angrier at him gave him pause from trying to eavesdrop anymore. Absently adjusting his tie, Enzo began to walk to the mess hall.

The BLU base had a larger campus than its RED counterpart, and with that came a larger pantry for the cafeteria. A pair of sour-faced elderly women cooked the meals, but they were known to abandon post when they felt their work had gone unappreciated for too long. Fortunately, today was not such a day, and Enzo was able to obtain a serving of chicken primavera. He sat at his favorite table, the small one with the single chair, and placed the plate in front of him. With a similar genteel delicacy, he removed his gloves and tucked a linen napkin into his collar. He removed a small object resembling a pen-knife from an inner pocket and clicked it open, but instead of a blade, out came a silver fork. In accordance with his image as a proper gentleman, Enzo refused to stoop to using the same cutlery as his teammates.

Hemi entered the cafeteria as Enzo began to tuck into his meal, prompting a quiet sigh of disappointment from the Spy. Why did his lover (with an asterisk) always have to show up at inopportune times like this, making everything more complicated? Enzo pretended to not notice the only other person in the room as he slipped dainty bites of chicken into his mouth. Hemi stood sentry at the coffee maker, brewing himself a fresh pot. Enzo dared a glance back at him and noticed that he had filled two mugs.

“Enzo.” Hemi set the mugs down somewhat heavily in front of them. “We need to talk.”

“Beg pardon?” Enzo asked, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

“Today's battle,” the bushman elaborated.

“Yes. An unexpected victory, is it not?”

“It's some shonky business. What happened there at the end?” Hemi picked up the mug and lightly banged it on the table to punctuate his question.

“Not a clue,” Enzo lied. “It would seem the RED Scout had a case of butter fingers at the worst moment. He dropped the briefcase, we retrieved it, and the battle concluded in our favor.”

Hemi ripped open a packet of creamer and dumped it into his coffee, something Enzo had never seen him do. The sniper always took it black. Enzo's eyebrows crinkled in concern.

“I'm tired of being lied to, spook. Administrator does it, RED does it, don't you be doing it now too.”

The spy grimaced.

“I saw Rolf carrying the RED Scout into the medbay. Our medbay.” So he did know, and he was testing Enzo...that bastard. “Why would he do that?”

He held his lips tight together.

“I don't understand you, Enzo. You let me put my cock in you, but you won't answer a simple question?”

“I do not know why he would do that,” Enzo insisted, his expression hardening. “Perhaps it is because Rolf is a soft-hearted fool who took pity on the Scout. I made that mistake before.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Damn it.” Enzo leaned forward in his seat, resting his head in his hands. “Back when we'd captured Danny for information after a battle. Do you recall that? I was the one tasked with interrogating him. And I got nothing out of him, because he knew how to twist my sympathies.”

“How'd he do that?”

“He's pregnant, Hemi.”

The sniper choked on his coffee and spewed it out, narrowly missing Enzo. “Fucking what?”

“Yes. For about five months now.”

“How is he--”

“His relationship with his team's Demoman. And his being a transsexual.”

“But how do you--”

“He confessed it to me during the interrogation. A means to escape my more intense methods of questioning.”

Now that the initial shock had worn off of Hemi, the bushman's tone changed. “Wh—Enzo, for God's sake! You were hassling a pregnant person?”

“I did not know!”

“And you're mad at yourself because you stopped?”

“I--” Enzo glanced down at his still-untouched coffee. The bubbles drifted away from him, bumping against the rim on the other side.

“He wasn't making excuses to get out of the interrogation. He was protecting his baby! Don't you know that stress can hurt a baby?”

Ouch. Well, when he put it that way, it made Enzo feel like a shithead all over again. The spy, it seemed, just couldn't not fuck up when it came to that boy.

Hemi swigged from his coffee with an aura of self-righteous anger, until his eyes widened. The mug slipped from his hands and hit the table. It wobbled, but at least it didn't spill.

“Oh, my God,” the sniper gasped.

“Quoi?”

Hemi stammered as he made a connection between what Enzo had just told him, and what he'd seen earlier at the infirmirary.

“Oh, my God,” he repeated. “I know why the RED Scout's in there. Oh, God, that poor kid.”

Enzo's eyes darted around. “Pardon?”

“It's making too much bloody sense,” he muttered, standing up. The abrupt movement sent his chair clattering backwards. He speed-walked toward the doors.

“Where are you going, bushman?” Enzo demanded. He got up as well, abandoning his food. Catching up to Hemi, he grabbed the man's arm.

He slipped his arm free. “Enzo! Don't you get it?”

“I will not if you refuse to explain.”

“Think about it. The bugger goes into the intel room, then you hear the case getting passed back and forth, then suddenly the field's abandoned and BLU wins out of nowhere. Then to cap it off, I see Rolf carrying the RED Scout into our own medbay, and George and Kerry looking like they've seen a ghost.”

The Spy waited for him to conclude.

Hemi gripped his shoulders. “He miscarried, Enzo.”

It took a second for the gravity of the situation to sink in for him. His ears picked up the words, but his mind didn't parse them out right away. It was like a bug whizzing past his ear – perceived but not processed. Then, when it did strike, Enzo felt a sharp drop in his stomach, the hairs on his arms prickling.

“Are you sure?”

“I've seen it with animals, back in New Zealand. Gettin' clocked in the stomach or something like that. It ain't a pretty sight.”

“Oui. I can imagine.” Enzo screwed his eyelids shut. “But what can we do about it? A tragic accident, yes, but not any business that concerns me.”

It was a desperate last attempt to excise him from the situation. Enzo didn't want to do anything about it – he didn't want to care. Just like how he didn't want to care about the dead woman wrapped up in a garbage bag that the Announcer had demanded, for reasons unknown. He looked up to see Hemi frowning.

“Don't try to guilt-trip me,” the spy said, raising a scolding finger. “He is not on our team. This is not our responsibility.”

Hemi pushed down on Enzo's hand, lowering it. “You said he was five months along. You knew that. So what I wanna know is why the fucking hell a pregnant person was fighting as a merc.”

A chill sent the hairs on Enzo's back standing up as he flashed back to his meeting with the Announcer, following the disastrous midnight raid on RED's base. He'd been angsting about his job at the time, but the crucial tidbit of information she'd let slip had remained in his mind. His silence spoke volumes.

“Let me guess. You know the answer to that one, too.” Hemi crossed his arms. “Why are you trying to keep secrets from me? I don't get it. It's hurting me.”

The stoic sniper's tone was softer. His shield had been lowered.

“What are you gaining from not telling me?” he added.

While their coffees continued to grow cold, Enzo felt a heat rising inside him. A fiery cloud around his brain. Damn that bushman! That arrogant need to know everything and his pathetic act to wheedle it out of him, suckling it from him like the milk from his breasts. Damn him!

“You don't need to know!” Enzo exploded on him. “And I don't even care! The brat got pregnant, and now he lost it. Why should I let his problems be mine, and why do you want them to be yours? Don't we have enough of our own?”

He had taken a step forward in his outburst, standing just a half-foot from Hemi. The sniper shoved him back a step. His shield had come back up.

“Because I care about people who aren't me, Enzo! It's called being a normal, decent person! You should try it sometime, you selfish cunt.”

“WHAT?”

“All you care about is keeping this stupid fucking job.” Hemi kicked a chair. “You wanna spend your whole life killing the same people over and over again for nothing! Why's that, huh? You already know the game's rigged and it's all a lie, so what's even the point?”

Enzo opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Is this all you have or something?”

A sharp breath caught in his throat. His bushman slashed angrily, but was coming too close to home for Enzo's liking. He stammered out an excuse.

“We know too much and would be terminated.”

“Bullshit. There's another reason.”

He couldn't get the words out. They formed in his brain and wormed their way down its stem, but remained on his tongue with no means of escape. And Hemi continued his barrage.

“This is easier, isn't it? Run around this goddamn shit heap every week shooting at people and getting shot, and doing whatever shady shit the Announcer tells us to do. And you dragged me into that, and now we've got this dead broad in our basement, and we don't even know why we killed her. Didn't you say you didn't want someone else's problems to be yours? Where was that when you made your problems mine?”

“Hemi, I—“

“I've been sitting with a bad feeling in my gut ever since it happened. You didn't bother to ask me about that, did you? Right, because then my problems would be yours, and we can't have that. I bet you've hardly even thought about if you should have done it. You're just thinking about the next hit she's gonna give you. Because you're too much of a fucking coward to do the right thing. I've always hated that about you.”

The spy's throat tightened and a prickling sensation filled his nose. He screwed his eyes shut again and willed it to not happen. He'd never cry again. Not like a scared little boy. He was not that little boy anymore, God damn it.

“...No parental leave,” Enzo quietly choked out.

Hemi halted his tirade. “Huh?”

“The Announcer wouldn't give him leave,” he clarified. “She told me after the truce. There, now you know.”

The bushman sucked a sharp, wet breath through his teeth. “Bitch.”

“Can you please stop shouting at me now?” The usual haughty edge to his voice was absent. God damn it, he sounded like an upset child, just after he'd promised himself that he wouldn't.

Hemi took in and exhaled a slow breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, mate.”

A tense few moments passed between them. Hemi's fists clenched and unclenched. Enzo felt something tickling the back of his throat.

Enzo nodded in the direction of the dormitory. “My smoking room. Let us go.”

Chapter Text

It used to be a closet. He had mahogany slats nailed over the plaster and arranged two armchairs and a wine rack. Enzo brushed the layer of nicotine-scented dust from one of the chairs, sending up a cloud that made Hemi nearly cough his lungs out. The sniper seated himself on the chair quickly, if only to stop bumping his head on the ceiling. Neither man mentioned the blood stains they'd seen on the dormitory floor, leading either in or out of Kerry's room. They had, it seemed, an unspoken agreement to handle one crisis at a time.

With shaking hands, Enzo moved the needle on his turntable to the record. A classical aria played softly. He lowered himself into the other, more worn chair, with its cigarette burns and sunken foam. He slipped a cigarette from his pocket with one hand and fumbled for his lighter with the other.

Hemi flicked his own lighter open and held out the sputtering little flame to Enzo.

“Merci.” He held the cig between his fingers and took a shuddering drag from it.

An awkward pause hung between them, the soothing music doing little to dispel the tension. Hemi tapped his chewed fingernails against the arm of his chair. The tiny stacco noises sent the hairs on Enzo's neck standing up the wrong way, so he decided to break the silence.

“Hemi, mon ami, I wish to apologize. I now understand why it hurts you to be kept in the dark.”

Hemi shrugged; it was unclear if that meant he had accepted it or not. “I just don't like feelin' like you don't trust me. Or that I'm not important enough to you to share stuff like that.”

“Truth be told, Danny's situation was none of my business from the beginning, and in a way, perhaps you could not fault me for wanting to spare you from the knowledge,” Enzo said. He was never good at apologies. It always ended up a little two-faced. He hated that about himself.

He paused, and then added, “Wait a tick. You want to feel important to me?”

The sniper nodded. “I figure if we're going to be fuck-mates, we should at least be more than strangers.”

Enzo steepled his fingers. “Yes, I see the logic in that. You'll have to pardon me, beau. I'm a secretive man by nature.”

Hemi cracked a tiny grin. “Beau? Is that what you just called me?”

“Erm...”

“You've got more feelings for me than you wanna admit, you crusty French bastard.” He chuckled.

“Fils de pute. You caught me.” Enzo shook his head good-naturedly.

“So you do trust me after all?” Hemi ventured.

“Oui. You have to have a certain amount of confidence in someone to let them suckle your breast.” He palpated his soft, milk-fattened chest for emphasis. The tip of Hemi's tongue poked out as he glanced that way.

“Good to hear, snake.” The bushman sighed, releasing the tension through his breath. “So, I've been wondering now. Is what I said really true?”

Enzo slipped his cigarette from his mouth. “About what?”

“Is this job really all you have? No family, no nothin'? Just this drag?”

Nerve plucked. Enzo took a moment to gather his thoughts. He shut his eyes and let his memories drift: long Sunday afternoons, rows upon rows of vines, terms like “phylloxera” and “downy mildew” perennially on his father's lips. Baskets overflowing with the perfect ruddy globes of grapes, to be crushed mercilessly in the press and bleed out for human enjoyment. To sustain life, there must be death – that is the law of nature. Behind every elegant glass bottle was hard work in the sun. Such as it has been, so it will be.

“Huh. I never took you for a farm boy, spook.” Hemi tweaked his fingers. “Didn't want to be part of the family business, eh?”

“Non. I was born to skillfully assassinate my rival and slip into the shadows, a man with no name. Not to sweat and slave at a winepress and share my family's name on each bottle.”

The sniper chuckled slightly at the spy's arrogance. “I guess I can't argue with that...can't see you in overalls pullin' grapes from a vine. You might get mud on that precious suit.”

Enzo sniffed. “Can we please be serious?”

“Alroight, alright. Go on. So what happened?”

“I inherited the vineyard, then closed it down once I was the last scion of my family.”

Actually, it had been more dramatic than that. Enzo had let the past burn – literally. It had been a dry, hot evening in late August, the last gasp of summertime. He looked over the farm he'd let tumble apart, with its sea of withering vines and its rusted-out winepress. With a smirk, he struck a match to light his cigarette, then tossed it into the midst of the kindling heap that his family's heritage had become.

Firefighters reached a smoldering heap of ash. All that they could recover were some sooty bottles, the labels all scorched off.

Enzo continued: “Burned my records, changed my name, and tangoed into the criminal world. My spy career started ignobly as an assassin for hire. And...well, I suppose my work has not changed.”

“It really hasn't.”

Enzo's finger traced on the armrest. “If I don't have this job, I have nothing at all. I could lose everything and end up back on a farm once more. And let me tell you, beau; once you've tasted organic tobacoo, France's finest vintages, the smell of cordite in the air after slaying your foe, and the kisses of beautiful men and women, the farm life is poison.”

Hemi blinked. To him, the high life was breaking out the good beer on Friday night after a particularly annoying week on the battlefield, ideally with a freshly shot deer roasting on the campfire. The spy knew that full well about his coworker with benefits. But he had also come to realize that the sniper had an edge of empathy that he himself lacked. Hemi quietly processed what he'd been told, his fingers tapping together. Finally, he spoke.

“I see now. You want to be the man with no name, but not a nobody.”

“Yes, you get it.” Enzo snubbed out his dying cigarette. “And now I stand to lose even that.”

“Right, I understand. But I'm feeling real bad about this whole thing.”

“What, yelling at me?”

Hemi looked side to side and shrugged slightly. “Well, yes, but also the whole business with what the Announcer's doing. You can't be okay with it, even if it's all you think we can do.”

Enzo leaned back in the chair. “I'm not.”

Hemi scooted his chair a little closer. “Alright. So, let's get back to brass tacks here. You said the Announcer had forced Danny to keep merc'ing despite being up the duff?”

“That's correct.”

“That's fucked up. Did you tell her that?”

“Well, no.” Enzo braced for another explosion of righteous anger from Hemi, but not so. The sniper seemed to have calmed down enough to take things more rationally.

“It's really clear now, Enzo. That bitch is not on our side.”

“I concur, but what will we do?”

He slumped back in the chair, his arms dangling off the sides. “I don't know.”

Enzo shifted in his seat, and in doing so, his pelvic bone pressed against a hard lump in his back pocket. He dug out the item and held it in his hand: the pewter locket he'd taken from Bella. He'd almost forgotten about it. With a flick of his thumb, he popped open the pendant to reveal the photo inside.

“What's that?” Hemi asked.

“Eh? Oh, this. It was on the woman we...the woman who died.” He passed it to Hemi. “I just remembered that I had it.”

The bushman studied the photo inside. “Who's this bloke? Her father?”

“Judging by his age compared to hers, most likely.”

“We'd better hope he's already dead, then. For our sake.” Hemi snapped the locket shut.

“Why's that?”

“Because hell has nothing on a man whose daughter has been hurt.” He looked up at Enzo, brows knit.

“You can't still be feeling guilty about that.”

“And you aren't?”

Enzo thought about denying it, but he saw the storm clouds gathering on the horizon and decided on the truth. “In truth, I am. That's the problem.”

The sniper sighed deeply as he tightened his hand around the locket. “We need to do something, Enzo.”

“I know. But I'm not sure what.” He reclined in his chair. “We have to play our cards carefully. The Announcer has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“We should move off base to plan.”

“...Yes. We should.” He willed himself to give a genuine compliment. “Good thinking.”

A little smile bloomed on Hemi's lips. “We can go right now. Rolf called a truce so he can treat Danny. Come on.”

He stood up, bonked his head on the ceiling, and then stepped more carefully out of the smoking room. Enzo turned off the record player and followed him. They passed down the hallway, with Hemi glancing ruefully at the blood patch outside Kerry's room.

“We will, um, get to that later,” Enzo said.

“Right.”

They didn't even make it all the way down the stairs before the PA went off. “BLU Spy and BLU Hemi, report to the Announcer's office immediately.”

They looked at each other with wide eyes and gritted teeth.

“Bugger.”

===

Hemi wanted to make a run for it as soon as they got the message, thinking that the Announcer had overheard their private conversation.

“She'll kill us!” he'd fretted.

Enzo talked him out of fleeing and possibly arousing even more suspicion. Possibly a chase, too.

“Wait, mon ami. We don't know that's the case.”

So they made the green mile march to their boss's office, with Hemi looking grey in the face. Inside, Gladys was watering her plant and had a manila envelope under her elbow.

“Ma'am?” Enzo asked, peering through the doorway.

“Take a seat, operatives,” she said.

They obeyed. Hemi gripped the seat to hide how his hands were shaking.

“Since you were successful in the previous endeavor, I've decided to give you another assignment.” She passed the folder to them. “This information should be sufficient enough for your next target. I would like proof of his death as soon as possible.”

“Madamoiselle, are you sure we should do this while the teams are on truce?” Enzo asked.

“Yes, Enzo.” Her tone was dry and cold. “It's unrelated to RED. Now go do it. This is the future of the company at stake.”

He sighed and stashed it within his suit jacket. “Very well. It will be done.”

“Don't disappoint me.”