"You play chess?" The Spy managed to mask his surprise within the second.

And, of course, it went unnoticed by the Heavy. "Da. I asked Medic time and time again, but he no longer plays with me. He says I'm too good."

"I hope you'll forgive me when I say that I find that hard to believe." The sincerity in the Spy's voice was lacking.

Yet the Heavy persisted, "Leetle Frenchman is afraid of losing?"

Much to both of their surprise, the Spy took the bait.

Best two out of three quickly evolved into best seven out of ten. For every round the Spy won, the Heavy seemed to pull through for the next. At one point, the Spy began to wonder if he was being toyed with.

"Way I see it, this will end in a stalemate, Spy-"

"Checkmate."

The Heavy placed his hand on the table - gentle enough so as to not disturb the pieces, but firm enough that he wouldn't slip to the ground - and leaned in for a closer look. His eyes squinted. From what the Spy could gather, it was an expression of poignant thought.

"No. It is stalemate."

"Vraiment? Don't be absurd."

The Spy balked when the Heavy rose from his seat and stomped towards him. As much as he wanted to, he refused to blink.

He was glad that he didn't because the warmest embrace soon followed.

"It is stalemate because neither can move."