Title: Cause to Fight

Author: Aqua Phoenix1

Disclaimer: Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater and all its characters and story do not belong to me. That honour goes to Hideo Kojima and Konami.

Rating: This chapter is T for violence but the rating will skyrocket in later chapters.

Pairing: Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

A/N: flashes warning lights This story contains SLASH (i.e. male/male relationships), scenes of violence/torture and some messed up issues which I'll specify in coming chapters (Don't wanna spoil surprises for anyone). If any of this offends you, leave now or continue reading at your own risk. If I get flamed for these things I'll personally print out your message and eat it. If I get flamed for anything else, I'll use them to toast my marshmallows.

Though I'm sure if you've played Metal Gear games then you won't be too put off by this.

Now that I've got that out of the way… waves to those bold enough to read on I'm glad to have you on board. This is my first Metal Gear fanfiction as well as my first attempt at a relatively dark story, hopefully with lots of angst. And before anyone asks, I'm not sure if this will go beyond shounen-ai (boy love) to yaoi (which involves sex scenes). I've tried to keep everyone in-character (but considering the pairing I chose, there's likely to be some degree of OOC-ness).

Please read and review. I live for constructive criticism and ego-boosting praise!

And if anyone's wondering, I wrote this because I just finished MGS3 and I've turned into a blithering Ocelot fangirl.

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Chapter I
Wakeup Call

"You're afraid. Good."
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Between the liquor, the bed and the noise in my head

Between your mind and my crime and me in the grime

Between the gun, the lead and the lies that I said

Through your sweat breath comes the dawn of my death

Touch me -- Hate me

Give yourself to me and break me

Cut these eyes and I will see

Kiss these lying lips for me

Stroke this skin and I will kneel

Brutalize me, I will heal

Between the bullet and my lip and the lies you let slip

Between the dirt of this soul and your heart that's a hole

Between the place where you hit and this face where you spit

Through this sweet breath comes the dawn of my death

KMFDM--"Brute"

He woke up.

When one pictures the irksome images that one faces when awakening -- such as the prospect of being stuffed into an office building's cubicle for the better part of the day or attending that dinner party for Mrs Wilkinson that requires one to spend obscene amounts of money on too-tight pants and a demeaning frilly shirt -- the notion of simply falling back onto that sweetly comforting pillow seems like the only logical thing to do. Regardless of gruelling CIA training and time spent with the elite Green Berets, Jack (codenamed Naked Snake for this one) was no exception.

Problem was, said pillow was nowhere in question.

In its place the soldier found the roughness of a bed which could be more accurately described as a table with springs, undoubtedly the source of the dull ache in his neck. Gingerly, Jack manoeuvred into a sitting position, his feet dangling over the side easily reaching the unforgiving chill of a concrete floor, and surveyed his surroundings as he was prone to do. The rank odour of stale urine and excrement along with that of his own dried blood made Jack grateful that his habitual smoking had deadened his sense of smell.

If this whole ordeal was part of a movie, this would be the part where the protagonist looks around his tiny holding cell and dumbly mutters, 'Where am I?' before making a jailbreak. However, the hero of this particular tale knew he was all too real, not some superhuman caped crusader or a man with the ability to toast marshmallows with beams from his eyeballs if it took his fancy. The stabbing pain in his body -- he didn't know which part of him exactly; it was just there -- reminded Jack of his status as real and alive, though given his current situation he wasn't sure this was good news.

That was another thing about movies: the unlucky guy who is knocked unconscious by sleeping gas/drugs in his coffee/the villain who was supposedly dead bashing him over the head with whatever makes a nice sound as it shatters can never recollect just what happened to land him in his predicament. Jack rarely watched films. Normalising these things didn't sit well with him and besides, the portrayals were always completely off. Just like in this case: the hero never remembered; Jack did. How anyone could banish such memories from their mind was beyond him.

Cold and wet, he hangs limply by his wrists. His feet are only just capable of reaching the floor but the strength to stand has long since left him. He should be grateful the rope isn't thinner because it's chafing, gnawing away at his skin -- there will be angry red mini trenches dug there by the time it's over. If the bucket of life-giving water that was thrown over him moments ago was just meant to make him wet, it was unnecessary: his own sweat already took care of that.

Volgin's questions don't make sense anymore. Snake almost wishes he would pass out to escape the colonel's voice and the pain. Every time electricity passes through him his heart beats so vigorously he fears it'll break free of its prison behind his ribcage and explode from his chest. Every time he endures his torturer's mocking laughter, his mentor's apathetic façade. Every time he is forced to hear EVA's pleading shrieks mingled with his own agony-induced ones. Burning flesh seems commonplace now; Snake can't imagine smelling any different.

Of the five occupants of this chamber, only Ocelot's presence is bearable: Volgin's questions coupled with EVA's and his own choked screams only serve to remind him he is still alive, whereas The Boss' indifference means he is not only in this naked and alone, but abandoned too. While the boy looks pleased, his eyes say otherwise. Every so often, they dart towards either the Cobras' leader or the GRU colonel as if expecting one to say, 'That's enough for now.' Snake is able to make these observations because although he had been staring resolutely at the inside of a bag for God knows how long -- too long -- the veil has just been roughly removed and he is now face-to-face with the point of The Boss' survival knife.

'You made him a soldier, and now you will unmake him,' the words carried a note of satisfied glee. Not for the first time Snake felt like throwing up but doing so meant risking poking his eye out himself considering how close she was holding the damn thing. And she'd proclaimed he was nervous on the Virtuous Mission!

'Do it! Ruin him, just as he did the Cobras!'

Just because Snake was at the point of exhaustion didn't mean he couldn't register what was taking place: the one person he admired most in the world, someone he thought he could trust with more than his life, was about to gouge out his eyes. Mere millimetres from the softness of his eyeball, the blade glinted threateningly as it approached and though The Boss had faith in his ability to tough it out, to withstand the torture, Snake was rapidly dissolving into panic. Any living creature when backed into a corner will be unable to resist its base instincts taking over, the single purpose of survival that governs all animals. And what are humans but sophisticated animals?

He willed his eyelids to stay open. He tried to avoid the object by dropping his gaze and instead focused on the next thing that came into his line of vision: the spurs on the heels of Ocelot's boots. So the kid wasn't that used to it after all. Knowing wasn't as much of a victory as Snake thought it should be.

And then just as his mentor moved her wrist that fraction backwards to gain momentum for the jab, EVA broke. Surprisingly, her strangled 'No!' was enough to halt the procedure.

'What is it, Tanya?' it was skepticism that tinged Volgin's voice, not concern.

Her reply came in a barely audible whisper. 'He's suffered enough…'

Selfish as it was, Snake couldn't help but feel relieved. The undercover agent had possibly revealed herself, exposing herself to the treatment a traitor receives… She would be given just as much agony as he had been dealt, if not more. But right then, all Snake could do was continue his raspy breathing, in an out, and stare at those shiny stars. They were dancing now.

'Well, well…' the cat circled his prey, waiting for the best moment to strike. Halting, Ocelot spared Snake an indescribable look, then whirled on the woman, 'Why are you protecting him?' Arrogant as he was, the fact that she was old enough to be the Spetsnaz operative's mother didn't deter him. Stepping into EVA's personal space, Ocelot inhaled her scent; Snake watched her recoil from Ocelot's presence, silently urging her to hold her ground. The boy may be green as a cucumber when it came to actual combat but he was definitely no fool and besides that, there was a perpetual air of suspicion about him suggesting he was liable to pounce on anyone, guilty or not.

'That smell…' Ocelot continued, tapping his head as if he knew the answer somewhere up there but couldn't quite get a hold on it, like a snake stealthily slithering out of reach. Whatever it was, it obviously was unimportant because he went on to declare, 'Tatyana! You're the spy!' regardless, causing Volgin to emit a grunt of disbelief and Snake to suppress a groan. If EVA was ratted out he had no chance of survival… Not if they continued what they'd been doing to him for the past half hour. If only he had one, just one, fake death pill (or a real one, he conceded grimly) he could be out of this and… What was he thinking!

'…want to test her. I'll let this be the judge,' Ocelot had procured three Colt Single Action Army revolvers and was now loading a single bullet into one. That solitary bullet looked like paradise in Snake's mind but if he knew anything of the Russian, Ocelot wasn't that forgiving.

'Do as you like,' Volgin dismissed his lover's life with a shrug that looks almost comical on the Hulk-sized man.

If anything, Ocelot was spurred on by his audience's evident approval as he began juggling the firearms in that infuriating way of his. Snake tried to follow the dizzying pattern and keep watch on the one containing the ammo, which proved to be a difficult task when one's head felt like Vesuvius before it erupted. A small smile found its way onto Ocelot's features as he quick-stepped to keep up with his own flying weapons, thoroughly ignoring EVA's small gasps each time he pulled the trigger only to be greeted with an empty click. As the loaded gun landed in the boy's gloved hand, it was too late that Snake realised he was playing the hero again by mustering whatever energy hadn't been zapped from him by the colonel: he flung himself at his ally's assailant, the bulk of him knocking the cat off balance. Trying to stay on his feet, Ocelot's fingers tightened around the trigger and the gun discharged in Snake's face.

Anyone would think the pain would be excruciating but considering what had already happened to him, this particular occurrence was no more hurtful. He instantly closed his eye as another scream was torn from his throat, then he just hung there, spent. He was dimly aware of Volgin's chuckling, EVA's soft sobs. The blood pouring from his face seemed pleasantly cool compared to the rest of him. And then came another bang, and the crying ceased.

'Well, that was refreshing,' came the colonel's deep rumble. A pause as he seemingly considered the situation, then, 'Boss, take care of this.' Volgin was met with an ice-cold stare for his efforts, one that told him she wasn't the person to be asking (How many times had Snake seen that same expression?) but the aforementioned Boss vacated the room nonetheless. Only the briskness of her footsteps betrayed her annoyance at being dismissed so easily. Snake's loud panting now seemed to be magnified as the door swooshed shut.

Some footsteps and then a strong gloved hand grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look into its owner's eyes.

Ocelot sniffed. 'You're afraid. Good.' That same smile crawled onto his lips and his eyes seemed to glitter like those of the animal of his namesake.

'That's enough for now,' Volgin interrupted. 'We're… leaving.'

That almost indiscernible pause made those sky blue eyes become storm grey. For a second. Then before Snake knew what was happening (though in his present state it would undoubtedly take him a number of seconds to comprehend anything taking place around him) Ocelot was grasping him in a mockery of a hug, driving something into the prisoner's back with such a force that it pierces flesh and all. Snake just had the strength to reward the boy's hard work with a grunt that was more irritation than pain -- he was beyond that -- before allowing himself to pass into sweet oblivion.

Jack brought his hand to his face and when his fingers came away bloody he finally realised: The Boss might not have removed his eye but he'd managed to do it all on his own. Jack regarded his stained hands for a moment but he reasoned he still had one good eye and that was more then sufficient for the task at hand. The FOX operative now used this single eye to properly examine his quarters.

The three by two cell consisted of a wall of iron bars and three concrete walls which, when he tapped on one, sounded much too deep to even blow a hole through with the small amount of TNT he'd acquired. Of course, he'd been liberated of the explosives along with the rest of his equipment and in addition some of his clothing: he was bare from the waist up, his torso riddled with burns and bruises that were already turning yellowy-brown. His arms were sore after being suspended from them for so long -- rotating them was painful but the alternative of stiff joints was less desirable -- and his wrists still throbbed. He suspected he looked like an undead creature from one of Para-Medic's movies. Listening carefully revealed small squeaks echoing in the confined building, letting him know that he wasn't the only inhabitant of the tiny chamber.

While Jack had seen his share of tight places, a prison block wasn't one of them; no amount of training could have prepared him for the desperation he felt at being trapped as efficiently as he'd caught and eaten a mouse in a mousetrap. Or a snake. He dimly noted a chamber pot where it sat neglected in a corner and wondered how long it would be before EVA contacted him.

Oh, right. She was dead.

He knew he should feel sad at the loss, or at least angry at those responsible. But when The Boss went turncoat whatever semblance of sympathy that remained in him had completely died. Not to mention that EVA's death was on his head: because of her feelings for Jack she'd tried to protect him. Why, he didn't quite understand -- he'd certainly avoided reciprocating EVA's advances, afraid that doing so would jeopardise not just the mission but both their lives; they knew the Russians wouldn't hesitate to use them against one another. Evidently, Jack hadn't tried hard enough. She'd still wound up dead. That happened to most people around him, he admitted bitterly, either they died or got themselves injured. Remorse that he was to blame and fury at himself for being unable to stop it were the only two emotions that seemed to regularly plague Jack.

He never loved her. Love just wasn't possible for a soldier. Girlfriends disliked the way he would stop whilst halfway across a pedestrian crossing if a helicopter flew by, or how it was impossible for him to be entirely comfortable in a room full of people. Soldiers are like that. Jack, or at least Naked Snake, had given up on love a long time ago. After his mentor's betrayal he'd given up on friendship as well.

Somewhere, in the privateness of his mind, he'd construct a little shrine to store everything he remembered about EVA the spy, as well as the woman she was. It mightn't be much but if it was the only tribute he could pay then he felt obligated to do so. He realised she'd never told him her real name... Jack shivered, then focused on the guard that had just passed on patrol, silently counting the paces until he returned.

It wasn't until he heard two sets of footfalls that he realised he hadn't stopped counting even though the guard had made numerous rounds. Furious for letting something like that happen, when Jack met the owner of the second footsteps' eyes it was with defiance that he did so.

Ocelot, looking even more pristine than usual, stood gazing calmly at the captive.

'Sleep well?' the gunman questioned derisively, pacing the length of the cell like a cat on the prowl. Jack didn't bother to acknowledge the boy's words, instead opting to continue his inspection of the floor. After all, Ocelot was obsessed with him as it was so there was no need to lead him on. Jack almost chuckled at that.

'Like your new home? Sorry about the vermin problem but we figured a pet snake would clean it up.'

"Yeah, I'll clean up the vermin alright," Jack thought vehemently, but he kept his face blank.

'It's a wonder you survived the colonel's torture,' the voice was strangely clipped. Ocelot paused ("To compose himself? What's with this kid?") before continuing in his usual calculated drawl, 'You should feel honoured; you taught me something. It's not really that bad. It's the ultimate form of expression.'

Jack had never been one of those people with a cause, not like those animal activists or protesters against nuclear war who relentlessly campaigned despite the fact that it was pitifully evident they wouldn't change anything. Sure, he had his mission orders but the field operative wasn't privy to the motives behind them, nor did he have any choice if he wanted to come out of the situation alive and with all his body parts intact. Missions were just something that had to be done, not a cause. He'd been able to reason this apathy out once: he chalked it down for his lack of passion about any of said causes. And besides that, he didn't want to jump on any bandwagons and wind up looking like a brainless robot spewing whatever it'd been programmed to say.

Right then though, Jack decided he was completely against the use of child soldiers. For one, they were kids. For two, they didn't even know what the hell they were getting themselves into. He could tell them.

'…You honestly believe that?'

Ocelot was thoroughly startled out of his pacing at that; maybe the Russian thought they must've cut out his tongue while he'd been looking the other way. Jack's gaze, a composed one this time, moved past the iron bars to meet the boy's and for that moment he wasn't the prisoner. Ocelot made a sound of distaste and shook his head, amused. 'Volgin said you'd be awake by now,' the implication was clear.

'…' He doubted he even gave half a damn.

'Tell me: why are you here? How much does FOX know? Volgin was stupid enough to give out more information than he received but I'm not Volgin,' the tone he used was uninterested. Leaning against the wall where he toyed with the fingers of his gloves, Ocelot looked decidedly bored. Surely he wasn't expecting any answers? Jack wasn't that dumb and besides, he knew as much about his superiors' motives as the chamber pot. He settled on saying as much.

'And what do you know about the GRU's plans?' Jack asked before ploughing over what may have been the beginnings of a protest. 'Exactly. The grunts are always kept in the dark. I'm sure you and Volgin don't get together and have nice little chats over coffee and teacakes.' Jack bit off that last sentence sharply, hoping to shut the kid up. Most people left him alone when he used his "I-know-a-hundred-different-ways-to-kill-you-with-a-balloon" voice.

Ocelot stiffened at that. Eyes flashing, he hissed, 'I know enough. Volgin doesn't own me.' His mouth snapped shut after the last word was expelled.

From the corner of his eye, Jack observed the boy's chest slowly rise then fall in an inaudible sigh. He was fiddling with his gloves again as if they were too tight for his hands. An unpredicted reaction, that. Maybe Jack would have to take more care around the young Russian; he seemed arrogant enough to shoot him if Jack delivered the right insult. 'You heard The Boss. I won't break.'

Seemingly in control of himself again, Ocelot stalked as close as the iron bars would allow him. A sudden grin lit his face, turning his eyes electric blue. 'We'll see about that,' he accompanied the declaration by withdrawing an SAS from its usual place at his hip to idly twirl it around his finger. It stopped with the barrel facing the prisoner. 'Don't even think about crossing me or you'll lose more than an eye.'

Lose? It was probably still splattered across his face.

'That was an accident. Like I said, you don't have what it takes to kill me, kid.'

A bang, and the bullet ripped through Jack's lower leg making him jolt awkwardly half off the cot as he curled around the wound, staring wildly at the hole in his leg. Biting down on his tongue didn't stop a muffled groan from escaping him and the metallic tang of fresh blood filled his mouth, overpowering the subtle fragrance of gunpowder residue in the air. Breathing in the smell of the freshly fired revolver, Ocelot tilted his head sideways to catch Jack's eye. 'No more of this "kid". A man like me should be given the respect he deserves,' his voice was taut with barely reigned in anger.

Caught somewhere between trying to make the blinding pain end while retaining whatever dignity he had left, Jack settled on an attempt to bandage his newest acquisition; removing his -- The Boss' -- bandanna, he tied it firmly around his calf. There was an exit wound, he noticed with morbid satisfaction, which meant no poking around with his survival knife and thank God the kid hadn't shot out his kneecap. So much for treading lightly. Jack mentally chastised himself for his foolishness.

He added "because they shoot me" to the reasons as to why he was against the use of child soldiers.

'From now on you address me as Major. Understood?'

Jack grunted in what was neither affirmation nor denial, but it seemed good enough for Ocelot.

'Well, we don't want to keep the colonel waiting, do we?' there was a decisive note in the words.

Ocelot gestured to the guard, who hurriedly moved to unlock the cell door and Jack obediently rose though getting off the bed was a sufficient challenge. Cooperation seemed the best course of action for now; it would do him no good to get himself even more beat up. At the soldier's shouted 'Move it!' Jack hobbled towards the door. As he reached it the Russian clapped a hand on his shoulder and breathed a low, 'Don't disappoint me,' before stalking off down the passageway.

Jack watched him leave, wondering if he should've let EVA shoot him.