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: Again, this one's K+ for shounen-ai and darkish themes.

Pairing: Snake/Ocelot (mostly)

A/N: DDG: Yes, I am hurting Ocelot's prowess as a warrior but it's for his own good. I think that from the little scene in the chopper in MGS3 we see that Ocelot is very different when in Volgin's presence than in the way he interacts with Snake. Of course, one must defer to one's commanding officer and because this fic is very Ocelot-oriented I'll try to show this "other" side more often. Hopefully his interaction with his subordinates will show he's still an arrogant git, heh. But for the most part, Snake makes him feel inferior so it's only natural that he'll appear somewhat weak in their conversations. Ocelot has another chapter of humiliation now, a little more torture (though I'm not sure "torture" is the word I'd use.)

In other news, this uploading system doesn't like my decorative touches used to signify flashbacks. It's driven me insane for long enough, so you'll have to make do without I'm afraid.

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Chapter IV
Mending

"Honour is just something

bred from a child's naievety."

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He's a soldier, and he's standing in front of a not-clean-enough mirror gazing at himself. The strained face that stares back doesn't seem like his own. Black smudges beneath his eyes are a tell tale sign of sleeplessness; drawn cheeks coupled with prominent cheekbones say this boy is underfed. Close cropped hair is making a gallant attempt at looking dishellved. He runs a shaky hand through it, enjoying the silky texture before shifting so as the cracked part of the mirror is covering his reflection. The dizzying pattern of cracks distorts the reflection, and for some reason he grins at that: the broken image of a broken boy. He finds himself picking up one of multiple shards from where it has fallen to the ground, considering its pointed beauty…

Laying there on the military's idea of a comfortable sleeping place, Jack wondered what the hell he was doing. Or rather, letting Ocelot do to him. He certainly didn't want to hurt the kid, not that his wounds would permit it at the moment anyway, but then he hadn't asked to be healed either. As he tried to ignore the piercing pain each time another stitch was added to close the tiny tunnel through his leg, Jack reasoned that they were both just doing what they had to: Ocelot had his orders and Jack was feeble as a kitten.

Thinking of "Ocelot", he quickly ammeded the thought. The past few days had taught him kittens (for a boy like the major was certainly no cat) could be surprisingly deceptive when they wanted to. Though the blonde had a serious case of Swollen Head Syndrome when it came to a select few topics such as his prowess as an exceptional marksman -- Jack still couldn't quite decipher what was so horrible about the words "pretty good", but evidently something was -- the boy did a good job at hiding his true feelings. Jack knew this from observing his reactions: something as minsicule as a narrowing of eyes here, or the tightening of the jawline there. If Ocelot had something to hide, Jack held no doubt that he would succeed in concealing it.

That was, except if the kid was trying to keep it from him. Years of experience with military ops had taught Snake to be watchful, had made him an expert on people's behaviour and how to counteract it. Ocelot was skilled at keeping a lid on his feelings when he wanted to apart from one critical thing: his eyes. They reflected everything, served as portals to his innermost thoughts. Eyes, they said, were windows to the soul, and so far Ocelot wasn't disproving this sentiment. Of course, Snake knew only a keen observer like himself would be able to detect those subtle hints.

Seeing those eyes close up for the first time made Jack certain that the boy wasn't all he appeared to be. He'd seen the way he acted around Volgin, outwardly calm to a casual passerby but really tense, thin hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention like eager recruits. Jack could tell the feelings weren't just disapproval of the colonel's methods, a disapproval stemming from the naivety of youth. No, it lay deeper than that. Ocelot didn't disapprove of Volgin; he despised him.

To his credit, the blue eyed boy wasn't as easy to pin down as any normal soldier. This odd occurrence of being unable to place someone's allegiances coupled with Ocelot's hatred of the GRU officer led Snake to the only conclusion he could draw: Ocelot was double-crossing Volgin. This wasn't so bad in itself. Maybe Snake could use him somehow as he'd been using EVA… Jack frowned at the thought. Yes, him utilising EVA's abilities was to the benefit of the mission but Jack wasn't that kind of person. That was Snake.

What was bad was that Ocelot kept changing tact so abruptly Jack wasn't certain whether he should view him as ally or hostile. Maybe he was a blend of both.

Maybe he was neither. But then he wouldn't be sewing up Jack's leg now, would he?

That's when Jack sensed the fingers ghosting over his own flesh. The other must've paused in his ministrations to discard his customary gloves. At that instant his fingertips were neither touching Jack nor not, caught between that awkward moment when one considers crossing the boundaries into physical contact. Jack knew. He was getting that tingling sensation when one anticipates a touch but is uncertain as to when it will happen, the one that makes goosebumps appear on normally smooth skin, the one that sends hearts racing. Then he felt the hands press lightly against his wound, making it whole again, whilst the other began stitching it closed and he couldn't help but smile to himself. At least the kid wasn't too proud to ignore good advice when it was offered. Those hands, they were untainted by combat unlike Jack's own, which were rough and callussed after years of holding a gun.

Jack was glad he was facing the wall.

'Turn around,' Ocelot commanded once he was done, a slight waver in his usually composed voice.

Taking care so as not to pull at the new sutures, Jack rolled over onto his back. He suddenly felt very bare, not to mention cold. Despite all the mugginess of the Russian jungle during daylight it was damn near freezing at night. And for the first time he realised that this situation gave a whole new meaning to the name Naked Snake. Come to think of it, just what did "Naked Snake" not imply?

Coughing, Jack sputtered, 'I can do the rest.'

Ocelot gave him a pointed look that said, "Stop being so self-righteous and let me help." What he said, voice wrought with irony, was, 'Or you'll die trying?'

'Fine, but make it quick,' the other growled, unwilling to let the boy's hands linger on him any longer then necessary, partially because it felt nice to be touched by someone who wasn't trying to kill him (at least, at the moment). Wordlessly, he watched as Ocelot baptised a swab with more disinfectant -- the Russian's nose, he noted, wrinkled each time -- and braced himself for the sting he knew was coming. As the blonde methodically replaced the cap on the bottle, Jack caught a glimpse of thin white lines crisscrossing the other's wrists in a twisted pattern.

Jack must've been holding his breath because Ocelot looked up from his work. Too slow in averting his gaze, Jack instead raised his eye to meet the youth's twin blue ones. They were grey now, as if expecting ascolding,not at all challenging like Jack had expected.

Jack had him effectively trapped. Pull away and he'd appear weak and easily cowed; remain open and he'd risk Jack's scruntiny. Not much of a choice, really.

A pause.

'How old are you?' Jack asked finally.

'…Twenty,' the reply was cautious but honest.

So, older then Jack had expected, but still a kid. He didn't know what had made Ocelot do it, wasn't sure if he wanted to know, was damn sure that Ocelot didn't want him to know anyway. But now he felt with utmost certainty that he had discovered why the blonde had an eternal aura of distrust around him, or at least the manifestation of the reason behind it. Jack had always thought cutting was for the emotionally unstable, not too-proud Spetsnaz commanders. He had unwittingly unravelled another layer of the kid; Jack also conceded that perhaps Ocelot wasn't as self-assured as he appeared. He said none of this. He merely nodded for the inexperienced soldier to continue.

Ocelot scowled but when he dabbed at another deep cut on Jack's arm it was still gentle.

Only then did it register that he was relieved none of Ocelot's scars were fresh.

Rather than analyse that thought, Jack indicated Groznyj Grad with his free hand. 'Don't know why you're wasting your youth here,' he said instead, unwilling to let the silence grow. Silence was his idea of a nightmare: it signified a mission, embodied the feeling of being utterly isolated with no one to call for backup, for help.

Jack wasn't much of a talker. Ten years with The Boss, who said less than little about herself, had seen him adopt some of her characteristic reticence even though he did most of the talking in their relationship. Her voice had soothed him in the midst of battle, gently encouraged him, always guided him towards the right course of action. Because of this, silences between them had been comfortable ones filled with mutual understanding -- Jack was willing to accept her inclination to remain stoic. When she had disappeared four years ago, he had begun resenting moments of quiet where any noise could be an approaching enemy… moments that reminded him of her.

So he kept speaking and the words came naturally. Ocelot's presence somehow invited Jack to talk. The whole situation was oddly familiar.

Adding more thread to the needle -- it was easier for him this time and Jack laughed inwardly at a youth's ability to learn new things so quickly -- Ocelot began sewing the slash on Jack's arm closed. 'We Russians pride ourselves on our devotion to the Motherland,' Ocelot told him sharply, evidently as eager to delve away from the previous topic of conversation as Jack was.

'Is that so?'

'You know it!'

'Funny, considering all the in-fighting going on around here. Even your own unit doesn't support you.'

Ocelot tossed a hand carelessly but his mouth became a thin line, his knife of a silver tongue safely locked behind it in case it lashed out. Carefully controlled word came next, 'Vadim has always fantasised about being in command again. It's unfortunate that some of the others agree with him.' Too young, too reckless, too easily provoked… What did they know of the real him? 'But they'll be begging for me by the week's end. I'd be more worried about your own country if I were you.'

Jack shrugged, 'At least we don't fire nukes at each other. But I suppose Volgin's crazy enough for that.'

'…How did you know it was Volgin?' Ocelot said, eyes narrowing.

'I didn't. But I do now,' he couldn't help but bait the kid. It didn't irk him as much as it should have to learn that he'd been doing that a lot lately.

Ocelot let out a "hmph" of frustration. 'Just what did they teach you in FOX anyway? How to weasel information out of unsuspecting people?' He'd moved on to Jack's other arm now. Thankfully, this one -- his gun arm -- wasn't as badly injured as the other… that was, apart from the broken fingers.

'Isn't that what you do best?' Jack countered.

'I don't--' "…want you to know I…" '--specialise in anything of the sort. Special Ops is our equivalent of your CIA. Don't they tell you anything?'

Maybe he didn't realise how contradictory those statements were. Jack chose to ignore it; Snake filed it away for future reference.

'Nothing at all… That's what I tried to tell you but you shot me instead.'

'…'

'Besides, acquiring information from others isn't something someone can tell you how to do. A wise woman once told me that the only thing you can be taught is technique. All the other things: the spirit, the body, the mindset of a soldier, are something you have to learn on your own. In the end you can either be a soldier or just another man with a gun.' Jack flinched as the needle went in again.

Ocelot looked up at him, 'Which are you?' Jack was certain he hadn't meant to say that: the blonde hastily returned to his work.

Jack didn't know himself. He knew what Operation Snake Eater entailed, that he had orders to kill The Boss, a woman who had not just been a mentor but a mother, because she had changed her loyalties. A soldier wasn't meant to have fluctuating loyalties.

What Jack didn't understand was that The Boss had let him live, and more than once. He didn't doubt she'd be able to disarm him and disassemble whatever weapon he was carrying with both her hands tied; she'd proven her superior skill many times in the past, especially when he'd been starting out and had that cocky streak that was ingrained in all young guns. It was, Snake knew, necessary to quash that notion of invincibility before it led to a fatal slip up.

No one had taught Ocelot that. Jack had decided to take on the project himself. It had become something of a game for both of them, the younger attempting to kill the older and in a clean fight no less. Sure, the kid was a show off but Jack had to admire his sense of honour and the courage he displayed. A courage bordering on idiotic, the way he tried to take on Jack. The American smirked to himself. Ah, the ignorance of youth.

Not like him and The Boss. They both knew what had to be done. Jack supposed there was no point in trying to puzzle out his mentor's motives. The real question, the one Ocelot had indirectly posed, was would he be able to kill her?

'…I'm not sure yet. A soldier has to carry out his duties regardless of who they came from or whether he agrees or not. He can't view people as comrades or enemies; he's only allowed to look towards the goal, and to accomplish it, no matter what the consequences. Personal feelings are a soldier's downfall.'

'…How can you do that?' For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be mortal enemies. He at least made a show of nonchalance though: Ocelot kept his attention carefully trained on what he was doing.

'By staying loyal to your country, and carrying your leader's honour out into the field.'

'That's not honour!'

Jack glanced at him, surprised, wordlessly beckoning he prove him wrong.

'Honour and loyalty are two completely different things. Honour comes from within, from the heart. It's about holding true to your own personal values, keeping alive what means the most to you rather than doing what you're told out of blind loyalty. Are you telling me I can't be a soldier and keep my honour?' His voice, which had been steadily climbing, ended suddenly.

'Your kind of honour is just something bred from a child's naievety.'

A clenching of teeth, 'So you'd fight, even if you didn't believe in the cause?'

A small smile, 'It's a soldier's life. It's what I was trained for.'

'Guess I was wrong about you.' Ocelot looked disappointed.

Jack still remembered the outraged look on the Russian's face when he sent a beehive crashing down on the kid, the angry inhabitants attacking Ocelot in an attempt to defend their home, forcing him to let down his guard to fend them off. Fight fair, he'd said in that demanding voice of his, a wounded look on his face. He'd had an open shot, but Jack had eased his finger off the trigger. He didn't try any sneaky tricks after that.

Well, except shooting the kid's cap off for experimental purposes. Ocelot was, Jack decided, quite the perfectionist. He glanced at the carefully constructed groupings his equipment had been sorted into previously and shook his head.

'What now?' Ocelot asked, voice laced with impatience. Realising he'd been smiling again, the FOX agent quickly wiped the expression off his face.

'Just thinking.'

'That's no answer.'

'It's the truth. What more could you want?'

It looked like an effort for Ocelot to keep his voice neutral. 'You to be less slipery, for starters. What were you thinking about?' the request was awkward, as if it was difficult to formulate the right -- polite -- words. A previously hazy picture was now coming into focus; it was clear the blonde usually got what he wanted. Amusing in a way, that even though the American was practically naked, spread out on a hospital bed as if awaiting the not-too-gentle removal of numerous vital organs, he still had the upper hand in their conversations.

'You, if you must know.' Why wouldn't his mouth stop moving?

Ocelot hesitated slightly before saying, 'Well, don't!' as he pointed an accusing finger at the other. His eyes widened when he saw he wasn't wearing any gloves and he fluidly pulled them back on.

Jack sighed at the ceiling, 'Kinda hard when you're sitting right in front of me.'

'Not like I have a choice,' Ocelot grumbled, then it seemed to dawn on him that he was acting childish and his head flicked up again, eyes daring Jack to comment -- Jack felt more than saw the well-practiced glower and he turned his head to clash with two orbs the most startling shade of blue, slightly skewered from the tangerine of a fast-approaching dawn. The patient stared back evenly at his doctor. Letting the kid believe he could push him around could be suicidal.

Jack blinked, but it was Ocelot who looked away first, both unused to people opposing them.

'In any case, I'm done here,' Ocelot tied off the last stitch, giving it one final tug with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Jack bit back a cry. 'It won't hold through another session with Volgin but if you're lucky he'll forget about you until the week's up. Can't make any promises though.'

Relieved, Jack tried to sit up -- he'd endured the submissive position he'd been forced into for long enough -- and succeeded in knocking his pants and Ocelot's coat off the end of the bed. Ocelot didn't hesitate before righting them, smoothing out the material as he did so.

'What about this?' the brunette asked, pointing to his ruined eye. It still felt strange having a restricted field of vision. Jack definitely didn't like the impairment and could only be grateful he still had one left.

No warning issued, Ocelot brushed back Jack's chocolate hair, which had fallen loose without the bandanna and observed his ruined eye. Just as quickly, the hand dropped. 'I… can't fix that,' he admitted. 'And your fingers, you'll have to have them strapped.' Absently running a hand over the freshly closed wounds on his torso (the blonde had done a good job), Jack frowned at the tone.

Ocelot must have thought the grimace was meant for him. 'I'm a warrior, not a medic,' he said mildly by means of explanation. 'And don't think for a moment that's gonna change.' Abruptly, he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his uniform where it had made contact with the floor.

'…Wouldn't dream of it.'

The quiet noise of Ocelot's teeth grinding together reached Jack's ears. Slivers of sunlight filtering in through the window turned his Aryan features a strange rose-tinge, making it as if Jack was looking at him through a piece of cellophane. Jack glanced a soldier pass by, followed by the sounds of muffled conversation. Changing the guard. He made a mental note of it as he tested his leg to make sure the sutures held. Bullets from Single Action Armys had a nasty habit of lodging in your leg; Jack supposed he should be grateful his had torn right through.

'Tomorrow morning…' Ocelot paused, his eyes sliding to the window. 'This morning, I'll send for a medic.' He made to pick up his jacket, then seemed to recall that he wasn't permitted to wear it any longer and left it sitting where it was.

Jack glanced at his belongings, 'And my stuff?' He couldn't help but remind the clueless kid.

In answer, Ocelot gave him his typical two-handed "go ahead" gesture and turning on his heel, left the room in a wonderful display of brazen youth swagger.

Finally left to his own devices, Jack let himself fall back against the mattress that felt as if it had gone through a trash compactor and squeezed his eye closed. The blissful ignorance of sleep was the most inviting course of action right now.

…Just how was he going to last the week?