I've entertained myself today by coming up with this little Oneshot for my good pal MessengerOfDreams, who's slightly sick of the generalisations made about Snake's character (pervert, womaniser, etc, etc). So I decided that for a birthday fic, this idea might be appropriate. I can't write romance, but I hope this is a half-decent attempt. Once again, happy birthday MoD!
Ever lived as through war?
War corrupts. War twists your perception. War slowly unpicks the foundations of your being, until one day you find yourself out of it all, stranded somewhere in a quiet room, looking back at yourself in the mirror and thinking:
Monster.
My existence here is not is sync with the lives of the others. I ignore the excited chatter in the hallways, and position myself at the periphery of the social gatherings. It's not difficult to go unnoticed when your expression is naturally solid-set and your eyes are devoid of the compelling livelihood that draws people's attention by instinct. I've come to accept that even if I wanted to be like the others here, I couldn't, so there's no point trying.
I've heard many a rumour about my hanging on the sidelines being the result of my apparently perverted nature, and that whenever I'm out of sight it's because I'm probably jerking off to my own sick fantasies starring the female inhabitants of the mansion.
Not that it gets to me. The odd distasteful glare is no attack on my feelings. I've grown too distant to take offense at those things. The only sensitive nerve I have left is vulnerable to guilt and guilt alone. I can't forget the blood I've spilled. It's all that haunts me, but it's enough to segregate me from everyone else here.
Monsters, after all, don't belong.
That's why I sit here at the edge of the buzzing room, furthest from the conversation that winds itself into one infuriating ribbon of incomprehensible noise, with a single cigarette, my favourite painkiller. There's some kind of Christmas celebration going on, and even though half the fighters attending have never heard of the concept of Jesus' birth, they play blindly along. Heck, maybe I would if anyone was willing to exchange a sentence with me.
"Madness, isn't it?"
I tilt my head skeptically. Now that was one weird coincidence. I proceed to glance up, having lost interest in my thoughts a while ago anyway. It's Samus, standing with her arms folded just a couple of feet in front of the door. She's not looking at me, but rather with a pair of very unimpressed eyes towards the gathering at the room's centre. I follow her gaze, sort of amused for some reason, and study the party-goers as well.
"Madness," I find myself agreeing as everyone gasps their adoration over Mario and Peach sharing an embrace.
"Those idiots," she expands curtly. "They don't even know why they're here."
I give a gruff chuckle. "Now that is bordering on harsh."
She flicks a look back at me, which I don't have time to gauge before she returns her attention to the front. Eventually she mumbles, "What makes you say that?"
"Well…" I fold my arms behind my head, pretending not to be a little thrown by her attitude. "They're happy. Is that a bad thing?"
"You didn't seem like the type to care."
"You'd be amazed," I say with emphasis, "how little you probably know about me."
Without looking back she says, "I apologise for offending you."
I almost laugh at that. "And what are you, some kind of talking computer?"
"You'd be amazed how wrong you are."
I nod, although she isn't even looking at me to see it. "I'm not the only one people make assumptions about here- point taken. Now, saying this is the least perverted way possible, you want to take a seat here?"
She seems to consider this, then with an air of reluctance, turns on her heel and heads back towards me. She lowers herself into the chair next to mine and I feel a buzz. Adrenaline maybe? I sure as hell am not nervous. Nobody makes me nervous. I force myself to look at her.
"So, why are you here?" she says as though she doesn't particularly care.
"No idea," I reply, surprised to realise that I genuinely don't have a clue. "Probably thought I might try to interact, and then chickened out."
"Doesn't sound like you."
"Nobody wants me here. Besides, I don't see you out there."
"True," she sighs. "I don't like big groups."
"More of a lone wolf, then?"
Her mouth twists into what is very almost a smile. "I'm just not…in to people."
"Ah, I've had too much of 'em, that's my problem," I sigh, taking a long drag of the cigarette, losing my memories in the taste. "Don't trust them, that's what I've learnt. Everyone betrays you once."
"Anyone I've known, I've either regretted knowing or lost them."
By default, I deem the statement to be an over exaggeration. But she's fallen into silence, and as I look at her, and see that her brow is creased sadly and her eyes have taken on a filmed, empty look. "Everyone?" I say, as gently as my grating voice will allow. She just nods, which somehow prompts me to take another nervous drag. "I'm sorry."
"I tell most people that it doesn't bother me but…" she draws an apprehensive breath, "…sometimes, I do feel…bad…when nobody's with me."
I feel something snap inside me, and I'm overwhelmed the urge to act, to offer some kind of consolation. Here's the most self-sufficient woman I know, and she's just admitted, admitted that she needs somebody once in a while. It actually hurts, hearing the way she says it. Like it's been pressing on her for so long that she can't keep it to herself anymore.
"You get lonely? Hell," I say without thinking, "so do I."
We sit for a while, contemplating on what we've just admitted to each other.
"I mean, not that lonely," she eventually adds.
"Just slightly. Almost never," I say. "But, whenever you do feel like that, you know I'm…I'm always free." I laugh a wild, nervous laugh that's completely out of character for me. I don't know why being around her is making me act like some crazy idiot, but it is, and damn, is it uncomfortable.
Fortunately, she doesn't look too bewildered. She takes it in slowly, and ends up nodding. "I didn't think you were anything like this."
"I've can't say I haven't made false assumptions about you either. No offense, but I even thought you were a guy at first."
She smiles at this. "Part of the reason I didn't take the suit off was because I didn't want you and Falcon staring at me."
I can't help but feel a jolt of bitterness. "We've got quite the reputation, huh?"
"I realised the truth eventually."
"How perceptive of you," I mutter, lifting the cigarette back to my mouth.
"It wasn't easy. You keep to yourself most of the time."
"As do you."
"We're similar, aren't we?" she says, sounding quite amazed all of a sudden.
"We are," I murmur, exhaling a thoughtful puff of smoke. "And there was me, thinking my traits were manly." I chuckle at my own stupid joke, but then quietly, so does she. It occurs to me that I haven't had a day in my life where I've felt so tuned in to the present- so awake, so alive. Some say they feel that way when they're on the brink of death. Me? I'm just tired of being there. Sometimes you want stability and people in your life that actually give a damn about you. Maybe I feel that way because I'm getting old and more vulnerable.
Or maybe…maybe it's her.
"Look at them," Samus comments randomly, snapping me out of my daze. She throws her hand out, gesturing distastefully to the hoards of smiley-faced Smashers swarming around the middle of the room. She shakes her head. "How do they just…how can they smile like that? How can they live these perfect, easy lives, and then throw generalisations at the people who don't? Idiots. Fucking idiots."
I find myself grinning. Oh, she's so my type. "Jealous, are we?"
"Moderately," she admits with an air of defeat.
"So am I. The exciting side of warfare and espionage is only the surface. I was always reluctant to admit to myself that it was actually hell. I'd rather I could just let it go and party for the rest of my life or something," I sigh.
"What's seen can't be unseen. I'm sorry you had to face what you did…I know how those things affect people."
"Life out there changed me so much that I didn't recognise myself afterwards. It's disturbing when you look back and see the way you hurt people, and the way you savoured it…like some psychopath…" I'm speaking through my teeth now, seeing myself striking this one man over and over, recalling the surges of blind, ecstatic thrill at seeing a weaker human falling at my hand. But then I'm hurled back to the present by the sensation of her hand falling gently onto my shoulder. Staring at the floor, I realise I've dropped my cigarette.
It lies there, sighing an unattractive spiral of smoke up towards me. She shuffles forward in her seat and stamps it out. "Don't let it get to you. That's the past. Maybe it's a mess, but you can't do a thing about it now."
I nod, feeling like an idiot for breaking down in the first place. That was so incredibly unlike me that I'm wondering if my personality is changing all over again. "I'm just…guilty."
"You're not the only one," she says in a hushed voice. I glance sideways at her.
"How?"
She lifts herself out of her seat. I watch her right hand flex and then clench itself, which seems to activate something because there's a harsh white flash, and she's engulfed in this brilliant, golden metal that crawls its way across her torso and limbs in what has to be a single second. I recline in my chair and pretend not to be as impressed as I am.
She turns back to me, raising her right arm. Except it isn't an arm, it's this gleaming, metal-plated cannon. "This is my work suit," she explains without pride. "What do you think I use it for?"
"So you've…killed?"
"I've wiped out species. I've annihilated innocent creatures. And I never cared. I never looked back. Everyone worshipped me for what I'd done and I let them. I loved it. I couldn't get enough. I had the biggest reputation in the entire universe and all because of this..." she trails off, tapping her arm cannon, "…killing machine."
Her closing words carry raw remorse. She deactivates her armour and sinks back into her seat, staring emptily at the ceiling. "I swear to God, I'll never forgive myself."
On pure whim, I place my hand onto hers where it's laid on the armrest. She relaxes underneath me and continues to stare, distant and sad in the faded hum of the celebration.
"I forgive you," I say.
"I know you do," she whispers back.
We smile.
-oOo-
"Hey!" Fox called from some vague corner of the room. His voice rang clearly enough over the music and chatter to stop people in their tracks. Couples detached themselves from one another, friends cut their conversations short, the slightly larger of the mansion's inhabitants stopped eating up the buffet tables.
All attention fell on the Star Pilot, who was pointing frantically to the back of the room. As a consequence, everyone's eyes raced the path his paw was indicating to, and it took a while for everyone to realise exactly what they were looking at once their gazes arrived at the subjects in question.
Samus and Snake were hugging at the other side of the room.
"Well," breathed Mario, glancing with bewilderment at Peach, "what do you know?"
Heehee!
I now like this pairing. 'nuff said.
Well, I hope this was somewhat interesting. I'd love to hear thoughts on this, and I hope you enjoyed, MoD ;)