Chapter Text
Brush rustled as Snake rose halfway from where he’d been squatting to lower a newly-unconscious Russian soldier to the dirt. Butterflies fluttered around his head, undisturbed by the violence.
“Huh.” Snake extended a finger and one of the insects promptly lighted on it, grateful for the place to rest. Snake examined it with a critical eye. Too small to eat, he thought; the nutrition it would provide was negligible. The butterfly’s wings were an iridescent blue, decorated with black patterns. They opened and closed rhythmically as Snake crouched motionless, unafraid or perhaps unaware of the true size of the creature it was resting on. As he watched it, a raindrop splashed onto his hand and the butterfly took off, fluttering away. Snake’s eyes followed its path up into the sky, saw the intimidating storm front that had rolled in, and decided it was probably time for him to do the same.
It took only a few minutes for the downpour to really begin, and for Snake to become utterly soaked - and miserable. His face paint was quickly washed away, streaking down his face, but visibility was low enough that it made little difference. As the water plastered his hair to his head, Snake made a mental note to Major Zero to add a rain shell to the kit for future missions. The mud sucked at his boots as he made his way through the jungle, thankfully encountering few soldiers – most likely skiving off guard duty to avoid the nasty weather. It had been about an hour of trudging through the underbrush in the heavy rain when he entered a clearing, and something made him draw to a halt; a niggling feeling of danger caused his fingers to close around the grip of his tranq gun.
“Well, well. Look who it is.” A familiar smug voice echoed around the valley, making him go tense.
“-Huh?” Snake’s head whipped around, and then up. Suspense morphed into resentment upon his recognition of that kid, the 'major', smirking down at him from atop a short cliff. When their eyes met, Ocelot leapt down gracefully from his perch, landing a few yards away from Snake with a clink of spurs.
“Fancy meeting you here,” the blond purred, straightening up and stalking a few steps forward, fixing Snake with a burning stare. The intensity of his expression was belied by his languid, practiced movements. Snake gritted his teeth, well aware that this preening alley cat wouldn't make any exceptions for inclement weather, or the urgency of Snake's mission. Reluctantly, the thoroughly drenched FOX soldier readied himelf for yet another drawn-out and inconclusive contest, assuming a combat stance, to Ocelot’s evident jubilation. “This is perfect,” Ocelot crowed, halting his approach and spreading his arms toward the empty forest for emphasis. “There’s no one around to interrupt us, this time. You’re all mine, Snake.” As he hissed the last word, a startled bird took flight from a nearby tree. Without looking, Ocelot aimed his pistol overhead and shot it out of the sky; the small, dark shape plummeted to earth with a muted thud. The sound of the shot resonated through the small valley, and a low groan seemed to follow in response. Snake’s gaze was drawn briefly upwards, warily eyeing where the rock formation Ocelot had stood on hung over the clearing, rainwater running down a few cracks in its bulk. Ocelot, unheeding, leveled both revolvers at Snake, who immediately raised his M22.
Two, three seconds elapsed in a silent standoff as the two considered each other; the young Russian was brimming with violent energy, while Snake regarded him with a mixture of wariness and irritation. “Ocelot,” he spoke at last through a squint, a warning on his tongue. The rain continued to beat down on the land incessantly, loosening rocks and turning hard pressed dirt to mud. Before Snake could continue, Ocelot sliced his hand sideways through the air in front of him, interrupting.
“Enough talking! Let’s settle this,” he ordered, stalking back and forth. His pale eyes glittered like diamonds at Snake beneath the red beret.
“Major-” Snake growled sharply, cut off as Ocelot began firing, and he had to roll for cover. Each shot seemed to boom unnaturally loud in the clearing, and Snake’s eyes darted upwards again at the rocks. Automatically, he counted out the shots - on ten, there was a horrible grinding sound, and then a part of the cliff was sliding free, chunks of boulder plummeting at terminal velocity towards where Ocelot stood. The Russian looked up too late, staring like a deer in the headlights at the debris about to crush him. Snake acted on pure instinct: diving forward and tackling Ocelot out of the way, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. There was an audible crack as the blond’s head smacked against a stone, going limp under Snake’s body. Snake winced, but refused to move until he was sure the rockslide was over.
When the rocks had settled, he rolled off of Ocelot’s unconscious form. Operating on autopilot, he immediately leaned forward to check his pulse, finding him alive. Carefully, Snake removed the precious beret, feeling the back of Ocelot’s head with expert fingers. No blood, that was a good sign, but there was a sizable lump. Ocelot was breathing deeply and evenly: he’d probably be out for a while longer. Snake stood, letting out a sigh when he perceived the state of his gear. Along with sustaining a few bruises, he was absolutely covered in thick jungle mud. It was no real impediment, but he would still make an attempt to wash it off if he had the opportunity, before it dried entirely. Determinedly shaking off this unplanned interruption in his mission, Snake prepared to move on- and hesitated. He looked down at the young blond at his feet, unconscious and defenceless, and was struck with a sudden pang. Shit. If he left Ocelot like this, it was highly likely he would be discovered and eaten by the local fauna, long before any of his countrymen happened upon him. Something about that that sat wrong with Snake, much to his annoyance. It took only a few moments to consider his limited options, and the American grimaced when he came to a decision. With another deep sigh, he knelt back down and hoisted the Russian into his arms, slinging his dead weight over one shoulder. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing this, but Snake had learned to trust his instincts; so far, they hadn't led him wrong.
Sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable chair, Snake nursed one of his last cigars. His pensive gaze was fixed on the bed, where a certain blond Russian nuisance lay prone, dead to the world. They were holed up in a ramshackle wooden building that the GRU soldiers used to take naps between shifts. After Snake had discovered the small, camouflaged shack and deposited Ocelot on the bed, he had intended to leave. Then, it had occurred to him that it might be worthwhile to try and interrogate the younger operative while he waited for the downpour to subside. He didn’t know if it would do any good – Ocelot had probably been trained not to give anything up just like he had been, and he wasn’t planning to hurt the kid. The thought of torture unsettled his stomach more than the milk snake he’d eaten an hour ago. As he mulled over the situation, there was a quick breath from the bed, followed by a low groan. Under Snake's watchful gaze, Ocelot was waking slowly, his face knotted in a grimace. First, his eyes opened by a slit, heavily disoriented. Those eyes went comically wide when they landed on Snake. The kid hissed in shock, scrambling backwards on the mattress, hands patting his hips where his holsters would usually be. He froze when he realized his belts had been removed and he was unarmed, sharp gaze darting from the American to the door.
“Calm down,” Snake told him, not moving from his chair.
“Wha- Where am I? What did you do to me?” Ocelot rattled off the questions like commands, glaring viciously at Snake. Rumpled, without his beret and panicking, he made a pretty funny sight. Snake made a conscious effort not to smile as he took another puff on his cigar.
“I said, relax. Your shooting triggered a rockslide. I pushed you out of the way and you hit your head.”
The young major scowled and winced at the same time, a hand going to his head to gently inspect his injury. When his fingers brushed the lump, he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought back a spike of pain. A flush rose to Ocelot’s pale cheeks when he opened his eyes to find Snake still watching him, gritting his teeth at the indignity of showing weakness. Snake looked away, flicking ashes off his cigar, to give the Russian a moment of privacy. When he returned his attention, he found ice blue eyes narrowed at him in disbelief, their owner seemingly flummoxed. Ocelot’s expression looked somewhat like how Snake imagined his own did whenever Para-Medic tried to explain the plot of one of her ‘sci-fi’ movies to him. Ocelot’s jaw worked uselessly for a few moments as he stared at Snake, until finally he managed, “Why?”
“…‘Why’, what?”
“You’ve spared my life for the third time now,” Ocelot said stiffly, a scowl furrowing his eyebrows. His pale gaze was as piercing as always. “I don’t get it. You want to see me humiliated, is that it?”
There was silence in the small cabin. Snake regarded the younger man for a long, tense moment, strangely irritated. “There’s no honor in dying, major.”
The blond snarled in response, instantly spitting mad again. “Answer me!” Snake noticed his fingers flexing at his sides, probably itching to be occupied with spinning a gun. “What is it? Am I not a worthy enough opponent for you, Snake?” Ocelot had probably meant to sneer the words, but they came out as more of a whine, an angry flush burning on his cheeks. Snake stared at him silently. In truth, he didn’t really know his own reasons for saving Ocelot’s life. He’d just done it.
But the kid looked genuinely distressed, and Snake considered his point. It was true that Snake had killed other soldiers his age without a second thought, and he’d had no real reason to stop EVA from shooting Ocelot back in Rasvet, or for using tranq darts rather than bullets. To Ocelot, Snake realized slowly, it would have felt like a slap in the face every time he had refused to finish the job, an acknowledgement that he wasn’t good enough to be treated seriously. This close up, it was especially obvious that Ocelot was young, incredibly young to have reached the rank of major. There would be some soldiers beneath him who didn’t like that. He’d probably had to fight for every scrap of respect, and from that his obnoxious ego had emerged.
Snake had been much the same when he was younger – desperate for approval from his mentor, and willing to do anything to earn it, including shaping himself in her image. Luckily, the Boss had been diligent about making sure he didn’t get too big a head, generously offering him an ass kicking any time he started to think too much of his own abilities.
Ocelot’s voice interrupted his thoughts, the younger man’s expression settling into a resigned scowl as he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer. “Where are my guns?”
Snake gave him a don’t be so stupid look. “Somewhere else.”
“If you’ve even scratched them…” the blond shook a finger at him threateningly, and Snake almost laughed, coughing instead to cover it. Unarmed, with a probable concussion, Ocelot was a little bit like a chihuahua growling at a pit-bull. The young major sighed, irritated. He hadn’t yet learned a sense of patience, Snake thought. “Well? What are you going to do with me?”
Snake nodded at the door. "I'm going to wait until the storm passes, and then I'm going to leave. What you do after that," Snake lifted one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. "I don't care."
Ocelot’s mouth fell open for a second, a satisfying loss of composure. A long beat passed in the cabin before he shook his head in bitter disbelief. “I will kill you, you understand.”
Regarding him evenly, Snake hummed. “You can try.”
Ocelot stared at him and snarled, slamming his fist onto the wall beside the bed. “Gah! How can you be so- so aloof!?” All thoughts of trying to escape or attacking his captor had vanished as he argued with the infuriating American.
It was a rhetorical question, but Snake hesitated, considering his answer. “I don’t know who I can trust on this mission,” he spoke eventually, meeting Ocelot’s eyes. “But I do know I can’t trust you. It’s… something. At least I get to know where I stand.”
Ocelot hmphed at that, turning his head away. His scarf had come loose while he was unconscious, revealing a strange pattern of angry red lines marking his skin like veins. Snake tilted his head at them – he’d never seen scars of their kind before. “Where’d you get those?”
Ocelot’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Volgin,” he spat the name with the utmost distaste, bringing a gloved hand to his throat. “Every time I fail to kill you, he makes sure I regret it.”
“…Oh.” Snake said. He felt a strong pulse of disgust towards the GRU colonel – he disliked anyone who relied on violence to ensure the loyalty of his subordinates. “I’m sorry.”
Ocelot’s face twisted, incredulous. “‘Sorry’? You’re sorry?”
Snake thought it over for a second before nodding once. “Yeah.”
The blond seemed to sag a little bit on the mattress, bringing one hand up to carefully massage his scalp. “You, Americans,” he said wonderingly, shaking his head. “Are very, very odd.”
Snake barked out a harsh laugh at that, and the kid actually smiled, a small, genuine quirk of lips. Ocelot looked better like this, Snake decided. Like a real twenty-something, instead of a weird, cruel pantomime of military authority.
Ocelot stretched casually out on the bed like a jungle cat, reclining lazily with his fingers laced together behind his head. Outfitted in immaculate black and scarlet, he looked like some dangerous, exotic animal, his ice-blue eyes and pale skin completing the picture. He glanced sideways at Snake, narrow gaze raking the American up and down. “So, have any more advice for me? You saw, I took your note about the revolvers,” Ocelot told him conversationally. “I’ll want those back, later, by the way,” he added with a pointed look. Snake shook his head internally at the kid’s nerve, but Ocelot continued. “What about that judo stuff?” Ocelot feigned a few quick jabs, shadow-boxing in a parody of Snake’s CQC techniques. “How about showing me a few moves? Since we’re both apparently stuck here for a while.”
Snake squinted at him, an almost-smile playing on his lips. “Why would I do that? To give you a better shot at killing me next time?”
The younger man flashed white teeth in a grin. “What, afraid of a challenge?”
“Heh. I think I’ll pass.”
Ocelot shrugged and settled back against the mattress, half of his mouth curled in a smirk. “Ah, well. Couldn’t hurt to try.”
“How old are you, anyway, kid?” Snake asked, eyes flicking to Ocelot’s pale, unmarred face. His cheeks were completely smooth, with high cheekbones that were just a little more pronounced than was healthy. Snake wondered whether it was because food supply was scarce in Tselinoyarsk, or if Ocelot just couldn’t stomach the taste of the rations.
“Twenty-four,” the blond lifted his chin and puffed out his chest a bit. The brass buttons and stars on his coat were dull in the gloomy cabin, the red of his scarf standing out sharply against pale skin.
Snake grinned. “So, twenty-one, then.”
Ocelot’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he scowled back. “Why do you say that?”
“When kids lie about their age, they always add three years. Plus,” he gestured at Ocelot’s face. “You can’t be a day over twenty-two.”
A scoff, and Ocelot looked away, letting Snake know he’d hit the money. “Whatever.”
“Twenty-one is pretty young to have your own unit,” Snake pressed on. Ocelot ignored the implied question with a twitch of his lips.
“Impressed?”
Snake tilted his head ambivalently. “How’d you manage it?”
Ocelot shrugged, oozing pride. “Maybe I’m just that good,” he ducked the question easily, aiming a finger gun at Snake and pretending to fire.
“Not good enough to beat me, though.” Snake pointed out bluntly, watching him closely.
Ocelot’s expression didn’t change as he raised a hand and tapped a gloved finger against the side of his nose, not rising to the bait. “We’ll see.”
Snake raised his cigar back to his mouth, and the conversation ebbed naturally, both men drifting into silent thought. Ocelot tried to ignore the faint throbbing in his head, casting his mind to other things for a distraction. Naturally, it wandered back to six months ago.
The first time Snake had beaten him at Rasvet, it had ignited something inside of Ocelot. The way the American had neutralized him and his entire team with barely an effort, and then had the gall to offer him advice… Ocelot had been burning with frenetic energy for days after, prowling around base, incessantly spinning his new revolvers. His men had begun to steer well clear of him, after a few of them had fallen captive audience to increasingly intimidating shows of gunplay. He’d never felt so alive. The second time, Ocelot had stalked back home, humiliated, tire treads stamped onto his face. Volgin had gotten a laugh out of that. That night, Ocelot had paced around his quarters for hours, cursing that spy bitch and the American who had gotten the better of him again so easily. He’d been unable to stop thinking about Snake, rage building as he pictured the intense blue eyes, rugged beard, the muscles that bulged through his fatigues…
Ten minutes later had seen the blond with his face buried in a pillow, muffling his gasps and moans as he stroked himself frantically to the thought of Snake disparaging his expensive engraved revolvers in that masculine growl. Thankfully, the privileges of being an officer came with their own room – he would never have gotten away with that in the barracks. After he’d finished, cleaning off and rolling over onto his back with a satisfied groan, Ocelot had begun considering his next move. It was no use trying to make contact now – Snake would never believe that Ocelot was on his side, not while that woman was sinking her claws into him. So, he’d have to keep up the façade, keep challenging him to duels to keep tabs on his progress. Maybe slip him some aid, covertly, making Snake believe it was an accident. He couldn’t risk Snake revealing his true colours to the other spy, whoever she was.
Although his mission parameters had vastly shifted, Ocelot’s resolve to meet the FOX soldier again had only strengthened. He’d been briefed on the man by his handlers, of course, but nowhere had anyone mentioned how fascinating Snake was, how magnetic. It was a shame he had to be kept in the dark, but Ocelot couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the thrill of the rivalry that had sparked up between them, even if it was for show. Even though the triple-agent hadn’t really been aiming to kill Snake in either of their encounters, each clash left him doubtful whether he could if he actually tried. Snake had just the right mixture of skill, arrogance, and naivete to make Ocelot’s blood run hot, and he would take every opportunity to sharpen his claws on the whetting stone that The Boss’ protégé provided.
When he’d next confronted Snake, in the woods, the mere sight of the American had gotten him hot under the collar. His heart had been pounding as he’d waited impatiently for Snake to arrive, the other Ocelots stealing glances at their twitchy commander. The encounter that followed had been nothing short of electrifying, even more so when Ocelot yanked the first tranquilizer dart out of his arm in shock. Snake wasn’t even trying to kill him, and wasn’t that interesting. For the next ten minutes, there was barely a need to hold back; almost all of Ocelot’s focus was devoted to staying in the fight. Eventually, The Pain had arrived to break it up, right on schedule – the sedative was beginning to make him clumsy on his feet. Ocelot was almost disappointed to see the duel go unresolved, even though a true resolution would have been problematic for him either way.
This, however; this little expedition hadn’t been in the schedule. He’d begun to feel claustrophobic cooped up in Groznyj Grad, pacing the halls like a big cat in a too-small cage. He had slipped out of the base easily, unnoticed. Ocelots were not captive animals, after all. In the end, Snake hadn’t been too hard to track down – Ocelot had followed the trail of unconscious GRU soldiers until he’d spotted a camouflaged shape moving through the underbrush, and set up a one-man ambush in his path. He hadn’t planned on starting a rockslide and getting knocked out, though, and certainly not that Snake would carry him to safety and watch over him while he slept.
Ocelot may be working for the Philosophers, but he wasn’t some mindless tool. Surreptitiously, he stared at Snake as he smoked, feeling the now-familiar heat of a serpent curling in his gut. No, Ocelot’s mind and body were his own, and he wanted – needed to know what it was about this stupid American that he was so drawn to. And this, this was the perfect opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. So he swung his legs off the bed and stood, gritting his teeth against the wave of dizziness that gripped him. Snake went tense in his chair as Ocelot took a few steps forward, eyes intent. “What are you doing,” Snake rasped, low and dangerous, his expression heavy with warning. Ocelot paused for a second and smirked.
“Relax,” he purred, parroting Snake’s own words as he came to stand in front of him. The FOX soldier lifted his chin to meet Ocelot’s eyes, arrogant blue gaze colliding with older, wary one. He braced both gloved hands on the arms of the old chair, invading Snake’s space. Snake watched, but didn’t make any attempt to stop him, his muscles visibly tight with coiled power. Exhilarating tension thrummed through Ocelot’s body as the smell of rich smoke, rainwater, dirt, and sweat washed over him. This was it, what he’d unconsciously been waiting for.