Because sometimes it's two in the morning and you decide that what you can't draw, you can write.

The BLU Sniper could barely feel his hands anymore, they'd been bound tightly behind him with wire for too long. In contrast, the pain from his two broken ribs flared up with every breath and his headache was so acute he felt as though his skull was going to split itself open. The Sniper suspected that he wouldn't even be able to stand up without fainting. Not that that mattered anymore.

As though from a thousand miles away, the heard the sound of a cylinder being carefully reloaded. He recognised that exact sound.

The Ambassador.

The RED Spy walked into view, making hardly a sound as he moved, despite the warped old floorboards beneath his feet. He avoided the areas where the thick layers of dust had been disturbed by spots of blood.

The Sniper blinked up at him through a haze of pain.

'Can't it be outside?' he asked quietly. It seemed important to him now for some reason. This wasn't where it was meant to happen. He should be outdoors.

The Spy looked down at the Australian kneeling on the floor at his feet.

'Can you walk?'

There was no expression on his masked face as he asked. No discernible emotion in his voice.

The Sniper considered the question for a moment.

'No.'

His head and shoulders slumped forward in defeat, as though this admission had used up the last of his strength.

The Spy didn't reply. Usually by this point he'd be gloating and the Sniper would be cursing and struggling. But not this time.

There was another small sound. The hammer of the Ambassador being pulled back. It clicked smoothly into place.

Then came those three words; the ones the Sniper had been waiting to hear.

'Head or heart?'

Such a simple little question.

Such a final little answer.

The Spy tightened his hold on the dark rosewood grip of his revolver as he waited. The injured man in front of him didn't move. Didn't look up. Didn't answer him.

'Head or heart?' the Spy repeated, more forcefully this time.

Still no answer.

Then the Sniper dragged himself straight and squared his shoulder, despite the protest from his broken ribs. He couldn't stand, but he could still look the other man in the eye.

The silver barrel of the Ambassador glinted in the dim light. He ignored the gun trained on him; looked past to the masked man behind it. His gaze flickered between the Spy's grey-blue eyes, searching.

Whether or not he found what he was looking for, he gave his answer without looking away.

'Heart.'

There was the ghost of a bitter little smile on his lips.

The Spy nodded. It was tight, jerky movement.

Of course. Of course it'd be the heart. He'd always known that.

He looked away first. He'd always been the weaker of the two of them.

A single shot rang out.

The body slumped to the floor.

Of course it'd be the heart.