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. I do own Vadim and Aleksei though.

Rating: Chapter 2's K because of some swearing but that's about it.

Pairing: Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

A/N: I love how Ocelot comes across as so full of himself it's a wonder he can find a cap big enough for his head, but I had to ask myself what made him that arrogant. So, my imagination ran wild and I'm taking liberties, as us fanfic writers do. crosses fingers I hope my characterization's okay. He tends to blush a lot, but then I would too if I was in half the situations he's been stuck in. Tell me where I'm going wrong/right in a review and I'll be forever grateful.

A couple of notes before I go on: First, I realised there's going to be spoilers in upcoming chapters regarding Ocelot's parents. Second, Vadim and Aleksei are my own creations, so please don't steal them (at least, not without asking first). The names mean "one who creates trouble" and "helper/defender" respectively, which I hope comes across in the fic. Next, Vanya, which is how Aleksei addresses Ocelot, is actually a more familiar nickname for Ivan (which, to my knowledge, is pronounced EE-van in Russian). And finally, for some reason QuickEdit doesn't like Russian names so forgive me if you come across some problems with spacing.

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Chapter II
Pensive

"I never agreed to be his Holy One!"
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Ocelot prowled the perimeter of Groznyj Grad, the supposedly "impenetrable" fortress. He was bound to no particular route -- an odd occurrence in itself, for neatness and order had been drilled into him -- rather, he seemed to be walking for the sake of it. Although he did notice one thing; correction, one thing in particular and that was that he had been resolutely avoiding the cell block for what he imagined was the past two hours. Admitting that much wasn't hard but he didn't venture so far as to admit why.

Altering the pathway he was constructing to avoid another patch of grass (venomous everythings lived in this horrible place -- though on a plus, there weren't any rats outside) came as second nature after being stationed here as a child and then again last month. An ocelot knows each nuance of his territory and this one was no different.

But then again, maybe he was. After all, he couldn't even reason out his own thoughts.

The Russian sighed and upon deciding that wandering aimlessly in a country where you were as likely to be killed by an Indian gavial as a butterfly wasn't such a great idea, he plonked himself down on a barrel that had rolled onto its rounded edge. Removing his hat to run a hand through feathery hair allowed the warm breeze to brush through it. He absently considered growing it some more -- the beret provided little warmth at the best of times though that wouldn't be such a problem if Ocelot was unfortunate enough to stay here any longer. Thesummer wasperpetually humid, providing an immense challenge for him to remain in his impeccable uniform when all his body really wanted him to do was strip. But that would raise questions. Not to mention there were a number of good reasons he should resist, which were, in order of decreasing priority:

1. He'd look like a complete ass.

2. He'd be putting himself on display for a bunch of horny soldiers who likely hadn't been home to their wives for multiple months(and he'd seen the looks some of them had given him when they thought he was looking the other way). Ocelot wasn't interested in men, or even women for that matter, least of all these ones. Which led to…

3. He didn't want to encourage anyone who'd already made a pass at him within the past twenty-four hours (Ocelot was looking in Raikov's direction). And finally…

4. Anyone that didn't recognize him as Major Ocelot would question his sanity, though he didn't think that was too off-putting. From what he'd heard, the general consensus on the matter of his sanity was that he had none. Ocelot allowed a chuckle.

At least in the relative privacy of the jungle he was free to do as he pleased. At that recollection, Ocelot felt somewhat liberated: he left his hat sitting on the drum beside him and loosened the scarf around his neck. He went to pull off his gloves but then thought better of it; anyone could come waltzing past and see him. Not that they were likely to say anything if they liked their face the way it was, but still.

If someone happened to saunter by at that moment they would've seen an only-just man lounging in one of Tselinoyarsk's many jungles, looking the picture of content. While they couldn't have been farther from the truth, this mistake was a forgivable one considering ocelots were masters of camouflage. This one had resolved to stay as far away from certain American prisoners as possible from now on -- he always ended up hurting them and, he told himself, Colonel Volgin wouldn't be happy with him if these "accidents" continued.

But the eye thing really was an accident. At least Snake believed him about that. Ocelot still found it hard to recognize that he'd tried to speak with the man and only succeeded in putting a hole the size of a small country in the guy's leg. Okay, so it wasn't quite that large but it must've hurt regardless. Just another failure on his part, a mistake only a kid would make. The countless errors Ocelot had made in the past only made him fiercely proud of the talents he did have, and of course, all hell would break loose if someone dared insult them.

Snap of a twig. Ocelot was crouched behind the drum before he completely knew what he was doing. Twin Peacemakers found their way into his hands. Slowing his breathing, the soldier tried to determine where the offending noise had sounded from. The fear that rose inside him found itself shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. Risking a glance over the top of the barrel (now he was almost certain he'd heard rustling leaves in that direction) revealed the second stupidest thing he'd done today:

He'd left the damn hat.

The pin shaped as the Spetsnaz crest that was stuck in the cap cheekily glinted at him in the sunlight. Not for the first time in his life, Ocelot wished he'd never joined the military. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter, of course.

"Stop thinking and fight."

Silently, he shuffled to a tree to his immediate left, trusting the thick foliage in this area to provide him with enough cover. Chancing another glance proved a futile action; the clumped-together trees and shrubs looked as if they hadn't been disturbed recently and they efficiently concealed whatever it was from the youth's view. He needed a better vantage point, needed to locate the enemy before it found him. A dangerous game of cat and mouse. Ocelot wondered which he was in this instance.

A flash of red suddenly appeared from behind a thick cluster of tall, narrow trees. As if Ocelot's gaze had rooted him to the spot, the man stopped before turning to look in the major's direction. The major exhaled gratefully -- the man was a fellow Spetsnaz soldier. And in full dress uniform no less! Didn't he know those hats stood out like an honest man among thieves? What an imbecile!

Ocelot's eyes slid to his own cap where it sat happily on the drum. Flushing at his train of thought, he snatched the offending item up and returned it to his head.

'Sir!' the red-capped man called, snapping to attention when he noticed the stripes on the other's shoulders. A trio of Ocelot's own soldiers materialised behind the overdressed newcomer and saluted their major in the same manner. Ocelot gave them a curt nod.

'We weren't informed of impromptu inspections,' one of the Ocelots said half-jokingly. The voice and stance told Ocelot it was Aleksei, the closest person he had to a friend in this god forsaken place.

Ocelot directed his stare at Red Cap.

'One of the new recruits we were promised,' Aleksei answered for him. Ocelot frowned, remembering why these replacements were necessary: six of his men down, one of which died, not to mention himself. And all taken out by that American. He grasped the bullet hanging around his neck, the one which shared a chain with his other pendent.

'Uh, sir? He came in with two others by chopper an hour ago. Went to report to you but you weren't there…'

"Three! Is this some kind of joke?"

When Ocelot didn't reply, the new recruit cleared his throat anxiously before launching into all the usual stuff: name, rank, description, qualifications… Ocelot cut him off when he was still talking after five minutes. Twilight came quickly in the jungle and he doubted any one of them, himself included, wanted to be stuck out there at night. Ocelots might have been night-time hunters but in this deadly environment, this one decided against it.

Besides that, the guy was boring him.

'Just give me your file,' -- the soldier obliged -- 'and he'll assign you to the barracks,' Ocelot accompanied that with a toss of his head in Aleksei's direction. That was really no kind of order and he had the feeling that Aleksei, who wordlessly observed this exchange, knew it as well as he did. At least he'd been with Ocelot long enough to let it slide. True, it wasn't a soldier's place to challenge his commanding officer but incompetence on the officer's part wasn't tolerated well either.

Aleksei ordered the other two Ocelots to do their major's bidding and, flashing salutes, they scurried off eagerly. Once they were well out of earshot, Ocelot let himself lean against a tree. He gave the other youth that look of his: right eye squinting as he carefully assessed what the other was and how he should counter this. Though the dark haired man was thoroughly ignoring him, he wasn't making any moves to exit the vicinity either. When Ocelot looked over at elder one again he was sitting on the overturned drum, quietly cleaning his automatic; Ocelot was always lecturing him on the importance of weapons maintenance after an incident where Aleksei's gun had backfired. Thankfully, it had happened when an enemy soldier had gotten hold of it and was attempting to blast Ocelot's head off -- Aleksei had the Devil's own luck.

Overhead, the sky was darkening and the fresh smells of the jungle that only reveal themselves by nightfall were mingling together pleasantly. Ocelot inhaled deeply before re-focusing his attention on his comrade. Praying his voice would contain none of the emotions he felt, the Russian relented. Experience told him the guy could keep an act like this up for days if the mood took him

'Tell me, then,' the blonde was tired but he was still too proud to phrase it as a question.

Aleksei wasted no time, 'I'm worried, Ivan.'

Ocelot glared, 'Here I'm Ocelot. Even to you.' Just the thought of sharing a name with Raikov made him want to throw a number of sharp objects in the fairy's general direction (and hopefully hit him). Not that it mattered, really; on the battlefield, a name was meaningless. Additionally, Ocelot himself didn't even have a name -- not the kind a mother would give -- but his position as The Philosopher's right-hand man ensured he went by many. So many, he'd begun losing count. Once, when he'd returned to a village where he'd spent a small part of his childhood he'd been crossing the settlement's solitary bridge when a kind-looking fellow heading in the opposite direction hailed him as Artur. Ocelot had let the man buy him some sweets. He'd been sixteen at the time, much too old for raspberry drops, but most likely the senile man had mistaken him for his grandson. Ocelot hadn't had the heart to tell him otherwise.

He had chosen the name because it was generic, the kind that would escape notice and be difficult to recall. To Aleksei, the boy he'd known for a significant portion of his life, Ocelot would always be Ivan regardless of what the major said to disown the name. Duty demanded Ocelot correct him though.

Aleksei scratched his neck -- nervousness typically manifested itself in him that way -- and tried again. 'Major Ocelot,' the words, while not exactly awkward, sounded unpractised, 'I… we wanted to know…' he fumbled for the right words. 'How is the American?'

Said major raised an eyebrow, 'Him? Begging for death, I'd imagine.'

That was a lie. This "son of The Boss", as Volgin dubbed him, was not the kind to beg unless his superiors ordered him to, and that tenacity had earned him Ocelot's respect, maybe even his admiration. Snake was good enough to let his opponents live; hell, he was even good enough to give them tips in the middle of a fight. At least, Ocelot thought Snake was good. Either that or stupid, or perhaps just overconfident.

The man's broken body, less than a shadow of his former glory, was nothing like it had been when they had done battle. Yellowing bruises swelling up all over his body, a look of hate directed at Volgin. Even though the colonel took pleasure in toying with others, Ocelot had half-expected him to kill Snake then and there. He grimaced at the memory of the man strung up by his wrists and abruptly told it to go away. 'But you didn't wait that long to ask me how the American's faring. Out with it, comrade.'

Aleksei paused before answering, 'Vadim. He wants to pay the dog back for that scar he gave him.' Vadim had been kind enough to offer Snake his services as a human shield. The idiot.

The slender man before him offers him a salute that he obediently returns. While he'd normally have no qualms about being interrupted -- cleaning the colonel's quarters wasn't as high on his priority list as it should've been if he wanted to stay healthy -- the silver-headed individual who was doing the interrupting was, to put it bluntly, the biggest moron he'd ever had the misfortune of bumping into. 'Colonel Volgin wishes to speak with you,' the man intones, resigned. 'He's at the heliport.'

As soon as the words compute it doesn't take long to finish off what he's been doing (he'd been taking part in the incredibly invigorating experience of dusting said colonel's desk) and he hurriedly pushes past Raikov to do the man's bidding. Quick strides -- he didn't want to be late again -- see him to Volgin's self-proclaimed private heliport. The eighteen-year-old can't help but feel relieved when he sees his commander has company: not a boy, but a man with short blonde hair cut in Russian fashion. His face, a pretty one that is smooth with youth, appears somewhat unhappy with the situation though his venom isn't directed at either of the other males. It's more like he has been ordered to do something disdainful, like clean his superior officer's boots.

Coming to a halt, his heels click together as he gives a sharp salute, 'Reporting for duty, sir!' He attempts to direct the salute at both men, unsure who warrants the most of his attention, and, careful not to earn himself undue punishment, discreetly sizes the unfamiliar man up. That uniform… It had been two weeks since Volgin had requested his transfer out of Groznyj Grad. Maybe this was his escape route.

Volgin smiles, 'Lieutenant, meet Major Vadim Maslov of Spetsnaz's Ocelot Unit. He wants a word with my most promising disciple, and of course I couldn't go past you…'

Ocelot was less than pleased with the idea of siccing his best behaved dogs -- cats -- on Snake. Letting Vadim have free run of it would mean sending Snake off to the gallows, which in turn meant conceding defeat and abandoning Ocelot's hopes of a rematch. What kind of coward would he appear to be then? He would prove no better than his own tormentors. The thought was maddening.

Then again, prohibiting his ex-commander could be like tying a noose around his own neck.

'He wanted you to ask me.' It wasn't a question. Ocelot didn't put this show of cowardice past Vadim. That was the main difference between them. With no mother or father to teach by example, Ocelot had been at the mercy of The Philosophers and later, the GRU. Both parties had taught him how to fight, how to survive, but they had told him nothing of ethics or morals. Like a name, these things counted for nothing when bullets were zinging by. Ethics never stopped Kennedy's assassination.

The funny thing was, certain values were important to Ocelot even though these served no practical purpose when he was caught in a crossfire. Qualities like honour, determination, keeping alive a cause you believed in and a willingness to fight to your death to do so… these things were central in Ocelot's mind. It didn't matter exactly whose honour you carried or what cause you happened to support as long as you found something worth fighting for and carried it through to the end. Perhaps it was because Ocelot himself hadn't found these things -- and he never would as long as he wore The Philosophers' collar and leash -- that it was with such ferocious passion that he clung to them.Vadim had no honour; he only looked to further himself in the world. Snake had a cause. He'd made a hat trick of defeating Ocelot, taken out most of the Cobras and infiltrated Groznyj Grad completely on his own. And he'd refused to form even a single word throughout Volgin's ministrations. That in itself was more than Ocelot had ever managed. He supposed he did envy the man…as well as hated him for confusing him so.

'No. He's been talking about it ever since though.'

Just what Ocelot needed: dissension in the ranks. 'With who?'

'A couple of others. Vanya, you know the men are loyal to you,' he added the last quickly, using the name to try and sway the major. Ocelot could tell by his friend's tone that he was finding it hard to believe his own words.

'And all will be forgiven if I let them at Snake?'

'…'

'Aleksei?'

'…So that's the guy's name.'

Damn. He hadn't meant to say that.

Spreading his arms dramatically, he provided '"Know thy enemy"' as way of explanation. For someone who spent his days spouting nonsensical claptrap, even to Ocelot's ears it sounded lame but however uninventive, it was true to a degree: Ocelot had a score to settle with the soldier. The difference between him and his men was that he understood what it was like to have someone spit in your face (and worse) while you remained defenceless.

And that's where fighting came in. Fighting was an outlet for Ocelot's frustration at what he couldn't be; his sole talent, the only thing that was truly his, a skill that had served him well all things considered. Nobody made fun of you when you were fighting, but when you finally stopped…? If he gave his men permission to play their own sick game with Snake he'd be robbing the man of his right to defend himself, his right to do what he did best.

He wasn't at all comforted by the fact that they'd dare not let Snake die for fear of Volgin's wrath. This deterrent gave no guarantees; no man could survive non-stop torture sessions -- even a FOX operative -- and accidents did happen. The notion left his stomach feeling like a hurricane was stuck inside it.

And finally on his list of reasons for withholding his permission, he reminded himself (as he fiddled with the revolver at his waist) that he hadn't properly thanked Snake for his gift.

'Tell them that unless they want me to paint another Picasso with their faces, I suggest they leave him to me.'

Ocelot saw his friend's mouth curve into a smile beneath the standard-issue balaclava he wore. 'Sir!' he gave a half-mocking salute. Ocelot returned his characteristically laid back one.

The brunette hesitated then asked, 'Think Volgin'll stop?'

'Stop torturing him? Only when he's dead.' "Maybe not even then."

Silence then, but not the usually companionable one that was between them. This one was strained with queries and concerns that were dared not voiced.

'You didn't answer my question,' it came as a whisper so contrary to Aleksei's usual cheer that for a moment Ocelot forgot to guard his tongue.

'What?'

'It can't be easy, being so close to him,' there was no need to clarify who he was speaking of.

Fury blazing in him, Ocelot violently gestured towards Groznyj Grad. 'I never agreed to be his Holy One!' he spat, eyes that burned cold fire daring Aleksei to make further comment. A few birds pecking around in a patch of grass took flight at the sudden outburst, scattering overhead, letting out mournful cries. Ocelot grasped his gloves tight. There were some things that even close friends didn't discuss.

'I'm worried,'Aleksei repeated his earlier statement simply and the other realised the older Spetsnaz soldier had been wanting to say this all along. Not only was he a strange looking Russian, his behaviour was also unbecoming. Ocelot would've smiled at any other time.

Before he could come back with a witty remark, the radio at Aleksei's hip sounded. Ocelot had to stare him down some more before the dark haired one relented and answered the call. Sighing to himself, Ocelot noticed with a start that night had completely fallen -- it certainly did have a way of sneaking up on you. Resigned, he began making his way back to Groznyj Grad, Aleksei's voice sounding too loud in the cacophony of a jungle at night.

'…Yes, he's right here…He what?...Yes, sir… I will, sir.'

By that point, Ocelot had slowed to a stop. Aleksei strode to the major's side, worry reflected on his face.

'The American, someone got to him,' Aleksei relayed.

'CIA?' That was a stupid question, but the alternative was worse.

'No, one of ours.'

Whether obeying orders or something else, Ocelot started running.