Forgiven, Not Forgotten. (All characters welcome)

It's 18:05. Rémy was sure the invitation had said 18:00, so he had arrived at 17:50. He was never one to be late, despite how fashionable it seemed. The knot in his stomach tightened, the lateness causing him to feel even more uneasy about choosing to drop in to this dimly light, shoddily decorated room at the back of a bar in the nether regions of America. The note had come ten years after his services in the war had ended, ten years after he left the RED company without a word and ten years since he had ceased to actively be a Spy. (One does not simply cease to be a Spy, once you lose your identity you can never fully regain it.) He had managed to dodge companies and requests for help for many years, those he lived in simplicity. When he recieved this invitation, asking him to reunite with fellow colleagues and enemies, he was unnerved.

He surveyed the room silently, he had not brought a gun out of good taste, but he was never without a knife. As if the fear of a possible revenge kill set up in such an ironic way were not enough, the very idea of seeing the people he spent a huge deal of his life killing or killing with made him sick to his knotted stomach. It was just too awkward. He looked down at his wristwatch. 18:10. If someone was going to murder him, they were taking their time. He shifted from one foot to the other, trying to remember faces and names, he had not thought about these people for so long. As he began to think , the smallest details came back to him.

Faces ran through his head and he looked at the floor, pondering them. Patrick. Engineer. BLU team. Short, stocky and he liked to knit. Blaise, his long time rival. BLU Spy. Always wound up in the strangest places. If he didn't know better, he would be checking the cupboard for him now. He wondered if he kept in touch with Marshall, the two had a strange relationship.. Of course, The BLU team's Sniper came to mind, he had many fond memories of that man, he certainly did not lose touch with him, but he had a habit of drifting from place to place. Samuel was a reoccuring factor in his life. He had tried to keep in touch with both of the Scouts. He sent Joey letters when he could, telling him to pass messages to his Mother. He could hardly remember the boy's face, but he remembered his eyes. Such a fierce blue. When he thought of how young they were in that war....Jeremy would probably think he looked like an old man, he did have a few white streaks in his hair. Much like Johan, though he doubted Johan would be making an appearance. From what he had heard, he rarely left his study these days.

Anxiety reached it's peak as the handle of the door clicked. His stomach knotted tighter. Who could it be? Would they know who he was? He had arrived maskless, of course, but few knew his face. His hand hovered over his cleverly hidden knife and his breath hitched as he watched the door.

Now in his mid-forties, not much of the man had changed. He did look older and his temples weren’t without some dignified greying, however his posture was still as straight as ever and his slight quirk in his lips was still present. He looked up, his sunglasses not present due to it being so late. And smiled at Rémy, his eyes flicking from the hand hovering over where he always had kept his knife, then back to his face.

“S’been a while, mate.”

Stepping further into the room he let the door close behind him as he rested his hand on his hip. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt, he had given no thought to what shirt to wear, he had simply put it on and took the next flight to the state this bar was in.
Since his sniping days, he had taken up work in animal retrieval, and had only just come from Louisiana, helping bring an unnaturally large and aggressive alligator.

It had been almost three weeks since he had seen the former RED spy, having both had to travel. Rémy was the only one he kept in near constant contact with. Though he still wrote to Patrick and if he was in the area he would drop in on him, for the most part however he had failed to keep up with anyone else on either side. But then, Samuel was never one to be all that communicative in the first place, so he hoped no one was all that surprised.

He lets out a sigh of relief as Samuel walks in the room and lowers his hand from his knife straight away, a crooked smile creeping across his face. He closes the distance between them and looks around again, just to make sure nobody entered while he was distracted and reached forward to smooth out Samuel's shirt. Leaning up so he can actually reach, he plants a quick kiss on his cheek and leans back down to smirk, hands still splayed on his shirt.

"You are late, Samuel." He quirks an eyebrow at the shirt under his hands. "I bet you did no' even intend on wearing zis shirt...I would also no' be surprised if it were ze same shirt you wore ten years ago...zough..." He pinches at the other man's stomach. "Maybe you 'ave gained some weight.." He nuzzles at his neck lovingly and turns to look around. "Zen again...everyone is late..it is not doing my anxiety any good."

"S'as early as I could get. S'hard t'actually get a taxi from th'airport t'here"

Sam looks down at Rémy, and puts a hand on Rémy's hip as he's kissed, and tidied up.

"Might be? But from closer to the end... And I have not"

Sam frowns a little as his lover accuses him of gaining weight. Admittedly he wasn't as spritly and lean as he once was, but damn it he was still in shape. He looked at his watch and then pulled the Frenchman into a hug, stroking his back.

"S'only a few minutes, luv. And not all of them have th'right limbs anymore no doubt, and who comes on time any more?"

He always tried hard, but sometimes, he wasn't always the best at trying to divert Rémy's anxiety. He took a moment to look around the room.

"Did'ja decorate this?"

He grunts as he's pulled into the hug and thuds against Samuel's chest, noting that if anything he's gained more muscle but not voicing that thought. He leans his head on his shoulder and sighs in frustration.

"I most certainly did not decorate zhis room.." He grumbles about the colours clashing quietly. "Ze fact zat it was decorated when I arrived but zat I was ze only one 'ere was what intimidated me." He reaches up to peck the other on his cheek, not shifting from his arms. "Ohzer zan you, none of zem will 'ave seen my face before. Zough I am certain I am distinguishable enouzh wizhout it, oui?" He arches an eyebrow at the other, deciding to bury himself a little closer before someone walks in again. "Oh, but I missed you..."

It would be terribly embarrasing if somebody came in just then.

When Patrick stepped into the bar that the address he'd scribbled on a slip of paper he'd torn off the edge of one blueprint or another directed him to, his first thought was that this hardly seemed like the kind of place that fruity RED Spy would hang out. Something told him American bars really weren't his favourite place to be, swanky or not. And this certainly wasn't that, a wooden bar and a dull tile floor, wooden booths and furniture. It had a very 'hunting lodge' feel to it that he was certain the Spy would not appreciate.

He cast his glance around the place, spotting a familiar tall man that he would wager a guess was gruff and Australian as always, if a little bulkier. He chuckled internally; Sam really didn't seem like the type to gain weight... maybe he found himself a gal to fatten him up and make him happy? Maybe, but probably not. When the war had ended, he hadn't ended his... thing he had with the RED Spy.

Speaking of... he'd never seen Rem without his mask on before, but he assumed the well-dressed man with the combed back hair standing with him to be the enemy Spy. Though he supposed they weren't really enemies anymore...

He made his way across the bar and reached a hand out to place on Samuel's shoulder, hoping to extend a cheerful greeting. He paused and drew back when Sam and Rem began exchanging affectionate touches and embraces. Some gal indeed...

"C'mon, Duckie. They'll know y'from y'voice"

Sam gave Rémy a squeeze, as the other leant up to kiss his scruffy cheek. His heart skipping a beat like it always did when Rémy spoke of missing him, or loving him. He gave a low hum in his throat,

"I missed y'too, Rem. So much"

With his back to Patrick, Sam had no idea he was approaching. Not only that, his whole attention was focused on the smaller man in his arms.

His suspicions were more than confirmed as the bigger man hugged him, he felt the air almost being squeezed out of him. Sometimes Samuel forgot that his new line of work had made him a great deal more bulky. He swatted lightly at his arm and took a step back, fixing his tie with a scowl. "I don' know where you picked up zat nickname or why you sought you should use it...But I do not like it." He kept his eyes on Samuel, until he saw a figure vaguely moving in the distance and he focused his attention on that.. or he would, if he could see more of the figure from behind Samuel.

Still feeling a tad nervous about his face, he was hesitant, but curiousity won out and he put a hand on Samuel's chest and poked his head out around his arm. A small smile flickered across his lips as he recognised the man infront of him. The two had a long standing rivalry (although, Spy had made many 'close' enemies on the battlefield.) so meeting again, without the sentries or the sappers being an issue, felt strange. Still, he intending on being polite, there was no need to be as cruel as he was back then. He hoped people could forgive him (and he hoped he could stop himself from making comments.)

"Allo." Was all he could muster for a sentence, but he removed himself from Samuel's arms and extended a hand toward the other, hoping he would take it.

The grin on his face was obvious, he loved the the way that he'd be slapped at with a scowl. The nickname itself came randomly, he thought he'd give it a try and Rémy had instantly hated it. Sam being the funny dick he was, chose to keep it up. After that it just kind of stuck.

He went to reach for him to pull him back to him until he realised, the 'former' spy was looking at something, or someone. Watching the smaller man move out of his immediate line of sight then turns around, to see what he's looking at. He stared at the other man for a moment before giving a loud laugh.

"Well, look what th'cat dragged in. Pat'cha bald bastard! How've y'been!?"

Sam grins widely at his old drinking buddy. He was a definite sight for sore eyes.

Pat was going to reply to the ex-Spy with a greeting of his own, but he just managed to take his hand and shake it when Sam spoke. At the gruff, friendly greeting he grinned crookedly.

"Bald n' bastardly as always," He replied, releasing the Frenchman's hand after a shake's time. "How 'bout you boys? How're you keepin' on?"