Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started as just another day at the office.

The Boss needed mission support until an ungodly hour of the night, so Kaz had brought a stack of purchase proposals that needed his approval, while Ocelot cleaned his guns, double-checked translations, and rocked his creaky chair back every few minutes just so that Kaz couldn't pretend he was another piece of office furniture. Daring him to open his mouth to say something about it. Which would mean acknowledging him.

"Good job, Boss. Mission complete. All that's left is to exfiltrate the hot zone," Kaz's praise was less enthusiastic than usual, and he stifled a yawn. "There should be an enemy vehicle two hundred meters to the north of your position. Take that to the LZ."

"Now, wait a minute, Boss," Ocelot crooned, and Kaz's molars ground together. "Are you sure you should take a vehicle? You'll be harder to spot on foot."

"It's hours to the LZ on foot. You're undetected. Look, there's a jeep right there."

"You'll be more maneuverable on the motorcycle."

Kaz's eye twitched beneath his aviators. "You know what, just fucking walk."

"I think it's past Miller's bedtime," Ocelot chuckled smoothly. "You come home safe now, Boss."

Kaz didn't always fantasize about sacking Ocelot with his cane. But when he did, it was satisfying.

And so he packed up, told the minimal staff still present to pack it in for the night. "I'll stay on comms with him," Ocelot told him with a casual wave, and any jealousy Kaz might have felt had evaporated long ago when he'd discovered what they shared during those late night post-mission sessions. In a fit of pique he'd had one recorded and listened to it, hours of it, only to discover that Ocelot had spent the night describing animals. Plants. Vehicles. Weapons. PMCs. Half of which he was sure Venom had already heard before, but when he asked about it the next day, the man had just mumbled 'he sounds nice' and shuffled off.

Sure. Whatever. He'd leave them to their creepy phone sex. He had work to do. He needed to take a leak, anyway.

The first and only sign he noticed was that the air was a little thicker when he stood up to make his way back to his room. Kaz shrugged it off - he'd been sitting for hours, of course he'd be a little dizzy when he stood up - and was halfway to the door when the floor suddenly rushed up to greet him.

Things happened very quickly after that.

He heard a few coughs and a few more thuds as the handful of Diamond Dogs near them hit the floor; by then his throat had constricted so tight he clutched it - as if that would get more air inside - the room spinning and flickering before his eyes. Then there were bangs. Searing white lights that burned his unprotected eyes and rang in his ears. Smoke, thick and choking.

Then he was up. Up and being dragged. A red-gloved hand under his arm pulling him backwards, out of the room. Surprised faces behind visors in body armour he didn't recognize. Filled on the inside with blood as a revolver went off right next to his head, deafeningly. He almost shouted at Ocelot to knock it the fuck off before it finally clicked in his oxygen-starved brain that: a) they were being attacked, and b) he couldn't breathe.

BANG. Flash. Smoke. Black-gloved arm? BANG. Jolted; boots tripped over a body on the floor. BANGBANGBANG. Sparks. Darkness. Ricochets.

The last thing Kaz remembered before he blacked out for good was the plaintive click of an empty revolver and Ocelot's arm tightening around him. Cornered.

He woke with what had to be the worst hangover he'd experienced in a decade. Had to be. In his dreams Snake was chiding him to slow down with his words while egging him on with his eyes, and his men were shouting DRINK DRINK DRINK while the women looked on in awe of his prowess; invincible, undaunted, on a stunning night in the Caribbean. That is why his head was pounding. That is why he felt like puking up every burger he'd eaten in the past three days.

When his slitted eyes revealed a storage room below deck, he smelled stale blood, and he felt his arm handcuffed to a steel shelf he shouted, "FUCK," so loudly he made himself wince.

There were no windows. The lights were off. A single line of orange light filtered under the door, but that all suited Kaz just fine. He knew where he was. He could make out every box and could remember buying, shipping, and signing off on receipts for half of them. Mostly canned food.

The only other occupant of the room was Ocelot; hope surged when he saw that the other man wasn't bound to anything, then crashed on the shore when his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Ah, shit.

The other man was so bruised, bloody, and pale that he could be mistaken for a corpse. The only reason Kaz was sure he wasn't was that he could make out his chest rising and falling, faintly. One eye was swollen shut and the cheekbone below it had the deep purple-black of a break. His scarf and his gloves were gone and his clothing was ripped, torn, cut, pierced with bullet holes, and so stained crimson it was barely discernible from the rest of him. There was hair ripped out of his head and blood and bits of skin under his torn fingernails. One ankle had a gaping exit wound; one forearm was twisted in a way so sickeningly wrong that Kaz didn't need to see the jagged bone sticking out grotesquely from under his skin to know it was broken.

So, they weren't going anywhere, in other words.

Another PMC attack. This time on the command platform. Fuck. Where were the holes in their defenses this time? Who else survived? Was the whole base affected, or were the rest on lockdown, as per protocol? What needed to be repaired? How much was it all going to cost?

Aside from the headache and a growing need to piss, Kaz was fine. No, no - no need to trouble yourself, just a harmless cripple, chain him up to something and you're good. He was going to relish watching the Boss kill every one of these bastards when he came back.

It took the better part of an hour for somebody to come see them. Kaz drew back instinctively at the sound of footsteps; it was surreal. He could see, he wasn't sick, or starving, or dehydrated, or that tired, his limbs weren't burning and he didn't know these captors by the sounds of their feet and the way they smelled.

One was heavyset, one was dark-skinned. The former wore no body armor and the latter wore his arm in a sling, and kicked Ocelot's unresponsive body viciously in the stomach on the way in. Neither were Russian; that, too, was novel.

The injured one marched over menacingly and tilted Kaz's chin up with his boot. "Simple offer for you, diamond mutt: you give us your boss's location, right now, you survive. You make us bleed it out of you, you wish you hadn't."

Mutt? Really? When "bitch" was so obvious, on point, and just rolled off the tongue? Kaz definitely would've gone with diamond bitch. Pyotr'd liked to kick him in the face to say hello, too, only he was never so PG-13 about it. Kaz knew every Russian word for whore, slut, and cock-sucker.

"I have no idea where he is," Kaz answered somewhat honestly, incredulous at the sight of these amateurs. "Depends entirely on whether he listened to his wife or his girlfriend."

Yeah, he knew that kick was coming. It was practically performative. It still knocked the air out of his lungs and made him gag, but Mutt could have put more effort into, you know? "...hah... hahah... I'm serious... I don't..."

The bigger guy kicked much harder. Right in the soft tissue of his gut, well below his ribs. When Kaz heaved, he did it again, before he could catch his breath; a little lower still, and a thin trickle of liquid dripped out of his cock before he regained enough control of his muscles to clamp down on his bladder. Kaz gasped; puked up thin string of bile. The bigger guy looked almost apologetic. "Maybe he doesn't know..." Ah. Either an idiot, or the good cop in this elementary school production.

Mutt grabbed Kaz's hair and wrenched his head back. "We know you're his second-in-command, bitch." See? There you go, Mutt. You got there. "Coordinates, or this gets ugly."

He slammed his head against the wall and Kaz counted the blows before he'd just fall unconscious. Probably a lot more than it would take for Good Cop to do it. He was dazed and bit his tongue once or twice but was still mostly aware of his surroundings by the time they got tired of the game and left. His gut burned and his skull throbbed and he was pretty sure he'd pissed himself again, but Kaz considered it a win. He had every piece of himself he'd started with. And he'd told them nothing.

"You know..." he slurred, unaccustomed to having an audience for his successes. "The fucked up thing is, I think I'm starting to see your point. You need to get a read on people." He'd definitely known men in his life who'd cave to a punch and a threat; others, like Kaz himself, who'd have to be pulled apart by a thousand crabs at low tide before they really started to fret. "Customize the experience."

Ocelot's good eye cracked open, the whites gone dark pink for all the broken blood vessels. Of course. Of course he was actually awake. Why wouldn't he be awake? That was probably a fake bone sticking out of his arm, too. "You know, a smart man wouldn't talk so much when his captors might be listening," he muttered, so low only Kaz could hear him.

In Spanish.

"What the fuck..." Kaz shook his head in disbelief. It was rusty and European, but it was definitely Spanish. "You're fucking Russian. Or Texan. Or--"

"Miller, look at me."

"I am looking at you, you crazy--"

"Tell me what room we're in."

He sighed through his nose. "Am I the only person who can be assed to look at blueprints? Does anyone else ever audit supplies? We're in room B301, deck three, north wing of the command platform. Mess stock and utensils."

His breathing slowed. He glanced down at his trembling limbs and eased them into stillness. He carried on in Spanish, the only language other than English that they both shared. "Okay, okay. Very clever. How do you know none of them speak it?"

"I tested a couple of phrases while the six of them dragged me down here," the calm certainty in his tone made Kaz want to punch him in right in his broken face.

"They didn't seize the command platform with six people."

"No, they had about thirty."

"Then how do you know none of them speak Spanish," he hissed, running out of patience.

"Because there are six of them left."

Kaz just stared at him.

"I only carry two reloads when I'm at the office."

"Oh my god, you're not even joking." Well, fine. At least Ocelot got something other than his rocks off out of spinning his guns all day. "I'm sure the other platforms can take out six of these idiots."

"No. They can, but they won't. These six have their backs to the wall, they've got us, and they've got lethal chemical weapons. Our men'll have to organize an NBC team; even then, you and I won't survive a direct assault. They won't risk that," Ocelot delivered it matter of factly, like he can see the future. Like he had to be right, just like he was about everything else.

"So, we wait for the Boss to get back."

"Exactly."

"Fine." Kaz has played this game before. Only this was easy mode: Snake would be back in hours, rather than weeks, the Soviets made these clowns look like saints, and they'd need them alive as hostages for safe passage out of here. And to think - when he woken up and saw him beaten to hell and back he'd almost felt sorry for that dime store cowboy. That was never going to happen.

Kaz was wrong about all of these things.

Chapter Text

As much as Kaz relished the idea of sitting around in a puddle of his own piss in a storage room with his least favourite annoyance for company, it was time to get down to business.

"So what's your plan?" he asked expectantly. Ocelot wasn't tied down or chained to anything; as injured as he was, he'd bet a month's worth of GMP the man wasn't anywhere near as poorly off as he pretended to be. "These doors don't lock from the inside." Mess supplies weren't going to walk off on their own.

"I won't get far without a weapon. Just waiting until one of them gets close enough to me." Ah. Mutt and Good Cop hadn't been armed. Kaz had to admit it would be nice to have this all wrapped up before Snake got back.

Which left just one question: "Why did they put us together?"

Divide and conquer tactics were the norm, so far as he knew. He hadn't seen another soul who might have been on his side during his time with the Soviets; Ocelot always carried out his interrogations separately. And it wasn't as if they didn't have other rooms on the command platform.

"They think we'll break faster watching each other get hurt, would be my guess. We are comrades, after all," Ocelot observed, mirth infusing his drawl in a way that made Kaz's own lips quirk upwards, for once. "Brothers-in-arms."

If only they knew. "I'm going to love every minute of this," Kaz promised.

"You usually do."

Three of them came in, the next time. Mutt, Good Cop, and a shorter but more muscular man with his head shaved flat to his scalp. He had tribal tattoos on his bare arms and up his thick neck, like some B-movie hitman. Hitman was all business, though; Ocelot was as still as ever, he stopped next to him, cocked his head consideringly, and stomped on the exposed bone of his forearm.

Kaz had heard Ocelot grunt in pain a few times when he was practicing CQC with the other Diamond Dogs. Heard him swear and hiss when he'd stubbed his toe or spilled hot coffee - they'd known each other for years, by now. But he'd never heard Ocelot yell before. It wasn't quite a scream, but it was close.

"Morning!" Hitman said enthusiastically, stepped back, and pulled out one of Ocelot's own revolvers.

Kaz rolled his eyes. Theatrics were never going to work on Ocelot. He wasn't going to break if they threatened to kill him with his own gun, and Kaz wasn't going break watching Snake's pet sadist get a taste of his own--

BANG.

The sound of a high caliber weapon being fired in a confined space was deafening; Kaz jumped reflexively. Even Mutt and Good Cop looked startled. Ocelot's good eye was wide with pain, surprise, and disbelief, staring down at the brand new hole in the meat of his thigh. He pushed himself up, opened his mouth to say something--

BANG.

Kaz saw the crushed pellet spark along the floor after it ripped through the other man's shoulder, before the force of the impact slammed him down on top of it. "Hey, Mike..." Good Cop began hesitantly, "Shouldn't we--"

BANG.

Distracted just enough that the next shot grazed Ocelot's temple, a thin line of blood oozing out in its wake. Hitman looked back over his shoulder. "We only need one of them. You can't tell me you were going to let this fucker live? ...If you want in on the action, you'd better hurry."

That was all the invitation Mutt needed; he kicked Ocelot savagely in the face. Good Cop looked between the two of them as if seeking approval before following suit, in the throat, and hard enough to flip him over onto his side. Kaz winced inwardly; the larger man hit like a cinder block attached to a pipe attached to a cannon. He'd be lucky if his throat wasn't crushed. What Mutt lacked in size, though, he made up for in spirit: he brought his boot down on the broken side of Ocelot's face over, and over, and over, and some of his skull started to give--

Kaz swallowed. A cold prickling sensation ran up the back of his neck. He was about to see Ocelot die.

"Hey!" He shouted, before he could stop himself. "Hey, morons! You kill him you, you never find the Boss!"

Good Cop and Mutt froze. Hitman turned around slowly.

"I'm just support. He's operations. Unless you want to know how we file our taxes as a non-territorial private entity, there's shit all I can give you." Kaz's voice didn't even sound like it was shaking, much.

They didn't kill him. Hitman stared him down for a few seconds, then nodded to the others. They left the room. He saw Ocelot's good eye blink, then roll back into his head. Unconscious for real this time. Probably. Kaz could hear voices with the occasional shouted word, but his heart was hammering in his throat too loudly to make any sense of them. Good Cop came back in and Kaz steeled himself for the gunshot, but the man ignored him. Gave Ocelot the world's worst patch up job; it staunched the blood flow, nothing else.

Kaz released the breath he'd been holding a few minutes later.

"Ocelot...?" he whispered. No response.

When it was apparent that neither of them were going to die in the next few seconds, he allowed himself to relax. Nothing else do to. Count boxes? And - well, fuck it - empty the rest of his bladder. This wasn't a 'please, sir, can somebody walk me to the bathroom?' kind of situation. He must have dozed off at some point, because when Kaz's eyes rolled back around to check up on his fellow captive, Ocelot was staring back at him.

"Shit!" Kaz hissed quietly, recoiling.

"What in the hell did you say all that for...?" Ocelot was barely audible; he followed up the question by spitting out bits of broken teeth.

"What did I...? I just saved your fucking life," Kaz spat back, incredulous.

Ocelot shook his head. "You made this so much worse for yourself."

"What was I supposed to do - let you die?"

"I had things under control."

"Oh yeah, it sure looked that way."

"Look. Next time, just don't--"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't."

Ocelot rolled his eye again and motioned with his hand for him to be quiet. Kaz snarled; then he heard the voices, too. Hitman, and a woman with a deeper, steadier, professional-sounding tone.

"It checks out," she was saying, "not only is he the head of their operational forces - after Big Boss, of course - he also runs their Intelligence Division. He'll be a goldmine of information if you can break him."

"I'll see what I can do," Hitman assured her.

"Good. Use Alpha and Foxtrot as you see fit. I've tasked India with the files here, and Oscar with finding us a way out when our little project is complete." So, she was their boss. Girl Boss? No, she sounded middle-aged. Lady Boss? ...No. Bosses got their own hands dirty. Managers, though, they just stood around and told everybody else what to do.

"What do we do with the other one?"

"Commander Miller? India discovered something about him you might find interesting: he and Big Boss have a special relationship. An intimate one," The Manager added, in case Hitman missed the point. "He's going to be a very valuable hostage."

"I can work with that."

That seemed to be all they had to say; the sound of Hitman's footsteps followed, walking away. Kaz turned back to Ocelot and smiled flatly. "See? I'll be fine."

Ocelot just shook his head again, grave. "You did not want them to know that."

It was Kaz who got to see Ocelot scream first, though.

Hitman came back a while later, carrying a pair of pliers. Good Cop was with him, armed this time, and took a position as far away from both of them as possible, next to the door. He needn't have bothered with the precaution; Ocelot could barely sit up, let alone make a run for it.

"I'm sorry - Ocelot, was it? Christ, you Diamond Dogs and your animal code names," he grabbed a fistful of Ocelot's hair and dragged him toward the wall, hurling him the last foot or two. "I feel like I'm working in a zoo."

Ocelot looked him up and down with what seemed to Kaz like honest-to-god professional curiosity before nodding, "Yes, Mike, it's Ocelot."

How he'd managed to hear that and retain it while on the verge of being curb stomped to death, Kaz would never know, but observing the beginnings of an interrogation pissing contest was as fascinating as watching ten-car pileup on the freeway.

"Right. I think we got off on the wrong foot," Hitman smirked; when Kaz had woken up this morning, he had not anticipated torture puns would be part of his day. The man took a seat on the floor in front of Ocelot. "We didn't give you the chance to play nice. My mistake - you know how it goes, bad intel."

He grabbed Ocelot's broken arm, pulled it into his lap, and braced it between his knees. "So let me make it up to you. This is your one and only shot of surviving this in one piece. You going to take it?"

What was he going to do? Break it again? Kaz had broken limbs as a child; it hurt like a son of a bitch, but those gunshots would have hurt worse. Hell, being kicked in the face by Good Cop would have hurt worse. This was playground shit.

"Respectfully, no. Creative use of limited equipment, though. I will give you that." Ocelot inclined his head.

Hitman squeezed the exposed bone with the pliers and started pulling.

Ocelot tensed; then he writhed involuntarily, heels of his boots clawing at the floor. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across his face, and he made noises in the back of his throat that caused Kaz's heart to skip beats and his vision to tunnel. When the jagged bone finally ripped through skin and muscle he threw his head back and screamed; Kaz's sight went black and his right arm burned.

"Stop stop stop," that wasn't Ocelot's voice, it was his.

Hitman didn't stop. He paused, when Ocelot fainted. Then slapped him awake, and started all over again.

At some point Good Cop staggered out of the room. Kaz could hear him puking in the hallway. Kaz couldn't say how long it took, but it ended when Ocelot lost consciousness and couldn't be brought back with a few hits. His forearm was a twisted nightmare of ruined flesh, pink and frayed like raw meat, like the pulsing oily stump he'd been left with--

Kaz started awake. He didn't know how long he'd been out. The line of light under the door was brighter; Ocelot's arm had been bandaged haphazardly. He still sat upright against the wall, and spared it worried glances before he realized Kaz was watching.

"You'll survive," Kaz offered. "If he comes back. You'll survive." Not entirely sure who he was reassuring.

"Miller," Ocelot smiled wryly. Gently. "He's been back three times."

Kaz shook his head, disbelieving. But his clothes were dry and he stank like old sweat. He shook himself. "Are you going to be...?"

"I'll be fine. The Boss'll be back soon," Ocelot's voice was soothing; Kaz couldn't unsee the morose looks he'd given his arm, though, nor the way it rested lifelessly on his leg. "Anyhow, I figure we've bought ourselves some time. He's figured out that isn't going to work on me - back to the drawing board."

Kaz snorted quietly. "Don't lie to me."

"About what? ...Oh. Unlike you, Miller, I have no problems with prosthetics. Hell, it'll just make me closer to the Boss."

Kaz was sorry he tried. "Sure," he shrugged. Fell silent for a while, but in that silence his mind wandered to the places he saw in his dreams. Dustier, brighter. The scents of gasoline generators and cheap vodka. The gorge rose in his throat; just for once he wished Ocelot would just look away. "Why aren't they doing anything to me? Am I really that pathetic?"

"Hm," Ocelot pondered the question, apparently giving it serious consideration for all it was intended as a distraction. "There are more ways to get to somebody than just cutting them up and breaking their bones. Deprivation. Helplessness."

"Good idea. Make the cripple feel helpless," Kaz scoffed, "that'll get to him."

"I never said they were bright," Ocelot's mouth twitched, amused. "But you know... sometimes stupid men can be more dangerous than smart ones."

Kaz was about to ask him to expound on that when he heard two sets of footsteps in the hallway. One heavy, one light. "Speak of the devil," he muttered.

"He's just talking shit," Mutt was saying, "there's no way Big Boss is a cock-sucker."

"I don't know... military guys, man," Good Cop countered, diplomatically.

"No way. I heard he plowed so many holes in the Caribbean he could have made another Panama Canal," Mutt retorted, vehemently, "why would you pack fudge when you've got all that spicy latina pussy? The MSF had chicks, too."

"Sure. But you ever heard of him having a girlfriend? Never got married, either."

"Oh, that only means he's got a pair."

"Guess there's only one way to find out."

Ocelot's eye flicked to him, pityingly.

"No," Kaz hissed and yanked viciously at the cuffs. "No no no."

But, he was helpless.

Chapter Text

"Don't say anything," Ocelot whispered intently, "the less you react, the quicker they'll get tired of it. Think about something else."

Was he serious, right now? Was that walking moral event horizon trying to give him advice about this? "Yeah, I'll just lay back and think of Japan. Fuck you, you--"

The door hissed open and Kaz squinted against the sudden brightness. Mutt had his head tilted curiously; Kaz realized that he'd said the last part loudly, and in English. "This guy giving you trouble, Mr. Miller?" He nodded toward Ocelot but he didn't even look at him. Both his and Good Cop's eyes were fixed intently on Kaz; he wondered what they saw in a filthy, unshaven, 37-year-old man in a business suit.

Fear, his mind supplied for him.

"Do you really fuck Big Boss?" Good ol' Good Cop got straight to the point. He sounded more than faintly impressed, and Kaz deluded himself for a few blissful heartbeats into thinking that this wasn't going to go the way everyone in the room knew it was.

Ocelot caught his eye and shook his head, mouthing 'say no'.

But Kaz was the one chained up, back to the wall. Kaz was the one who could hear Good Cop's moist, eager breathing, and see the way Mutt's zipper was already stretched, right next to his face. He grit his teeth and clenched his fist and when Ocelot hissed 'no' insistently he exclaimed, "Hell yes I do. Who wouldn't? He's got a 12-inch dick and he fucks like a god."

"Told ya," Good Cop crowed, like he'd just won a friendly bet about his favourite sports team.

"Bullshit," Mutt reached down and pulled Kaz's chin toward him, as if he could see the gay if only he got a better look. "Really?"

"Why, you interested? Let us out and I'll see what I can do about threesome," the more Kaz talked, the less he could feel his stomach churn; icy and sour.

"I don't know," Mutt unzipped his already sizeable erection, pressed so close to Kaz's cheek that it was impossible to get out of his field of view. "How about giving me a preview?"

Ocelot would probably tell him to do it. Do whatever they asked. Go limp; hope for the best. But fuck him - fuck him. Kaz knew for a fact that there was only one way this ended, and nothing other than his own death or an act of god was going to stop it now. He'd been down this road enough times to know.

"No thanks," Kaz frowned, deliberately skeptical. Disappointed. "After the Boss, I wouldn't even feel it, you know?"

Mutt curled his fist in Kaz's hair and yanked, leaning close in a way that he probably imagined was intimidating. Kaz spat right onto his mouth, growling, "Go ahead, let me bite your dick off!"

He lunged forward to do just that, heedless of the thick strands of hair he lost in the process; might've succeeded, too, if Good Cop hadn't caught him by the shoulders and held him back as easily as a child. Mutt winced and stepped backwards, then did his best to look like he hadn't just been terrified. "Heh. I guess Big Boss likes it rough, huh? Have it your way - I bet even his sloppy seconds are pretty good."

Kaz kicked him viciously in the shins with his remaining leg. Sank his teeth into Good Cop's forearm and took a chunk of flesh with him before he tore it free, thrashing so violently neither of them could get any closer to him, because they would have to kill him before they touched him, he was not going down without a fight, not again--

He was right about it taking fewer hits to knock him out cold if Good Cop was the one to do it. It took one, to be precise. He saw the fist coming and ducked it, but not the second one. He couldn't recall it connecting; the next minute or two was a reel of disjointed images. Good Cop pushing him up against the shelf so that the could lay him flat on his back. Unbuckling his belt and Mutt observing, amused and admiring, 'natural blond'.

Kaz's consciousness was pitiless enough to return just as the blunt tip of Mutt's cock breached his ring of muscle. It burned at first, but only a little. The rest slid in with sickening ease; Kaz's stomach lurched. At the hot breath on his face. At the low sigh of pleasure. At just how easy this was for him, now. How agonizing it had been before. So bad he'd needed stitches, and it had taken ages to heal, and Venom had gently coaxed him on top, reassuring him without words that he didn't need to do this now, that it was okay if they didn't - that Kaz was some delicate, broken patient that he could heal with enough tender care.

"Are you inside me?" Kaz scoffed, strained and incredulous, his lips twisted back in a snarl. "I can't tell. You're just so fucking tiny compared to the Boss."

Mutt thrust his hips fast and hard, pulling Kaz's hair the whole time; moaning, dripping droplets of sweat onto Kaz's chest and face, pounding him for all he was worth. "Feel it now?"

Kaz laughed. His rim was barely stretched and the man violating him was so horny that his own precum made his movements nice and slick. He'd had worse. He'd had so much worse. The raw, reflexive clenching of his muscles in response to being filled and fucked hadn't even started to burn before he felt Mutt stiffen, blowing his load inside his ass in stuttering spurts. Rookie move. That'd only made him wetter for the next guy.

He was still laughing when Good Cop knelt between his knees, having patiently waited his turn. Mutt had just wanted a taste of the legendary soldier's piece of ass; Good Cop made it clear that he wanted him. Actually touched him. Pulled his shirt up to gaze at the trail of fine yellow hairs that ran up his abs. Why? They were a shadow of what they used to be; pale and soft. The body Snake and countless others used to admire was long gone, chopped to pieces then slowly smothered with inactivity.

Good Cop was surprisingly unendowed for being such a huge guy. And that was at its most generous; fully hard and throbbing under his gut. It made fucking him almost impossible from this position - Kaz grunted unpleasantly with the sudden weight pressed down on top of him, his thighs spread too wide. He barely got the tip in before abandoning the effort. He eased Kaz up onto his knees and turned him around to face the shelf. He lifted his belly and gave Kaz's hip a squeeze before he rocked forward.

Stretched and ready, Kaz hardly felt it go in, but the angle of entry meant the other man's pulsing cock pressed into his prostate with every thrust. Done this before? Or dumb luck? Didn't matter. His body didn't know the difference. There was a time he'd struggled to get off on this; between years of Snake and years more of missing him so badly he'd found casual replacements, he was well-trained. It wasn't Snake and it felt nothing like Snake and it was so revolting he was shivering, ready to vomit, before he was through, but Kaz's cock was also half-hard by the time Good Cop painted his insides with hot fluid. Stayed buried there, until he got soft.

Kaz lashed out as soon as he recovered. Hit nothing. Good Cop was already tucking himself back into his pants and Mutt looked simultaneously bored and disgusted. "Nah," he pronounced, "still rather have chicks."

They left.

Ocelot had been so quiet Kaz'd almost forgotten he was in the room. His head was turned away, and he stayed that way while Kaz endeavoured pathetically to shimmy his pants back up. No helping the belt. Maybe Ocelot could do it for him, but he'd rather be fucking naked than ask for his assistance.

"Why?" Ocelot asked, oozing condescension with every word. "Why can't you ever do the smart thing, Miller? Listen to me, next time."

"Because that's what you'd do, huh? Lay there nicely and take it? I'd love to see that," Kaz spat right back at him.

"It's for your--"

"But wait, I won't, will I?" He was laughing again, unbidden. It wasn't funny, but he couldn't stop it. "They didn't even look at you. Hey, at least they wanted to fuck me. Kind of a recurring theme with us, isn't it?

"Look--"

"What happened to you? You're only what - two, three years older than me? But you hit the wall at the speed of sound. Who would want to fuck you now?"

"Miller."

"Nobody," Kaz growled. Wiped saliva off his lips and chin onto his shoulder.

Ocelot fell silent. Waited. At length, shrugged. "You can thank you mother for that, Miller. People of East Asian descent do lose pigmentation more slowly than purebred Europeans, on average. They also have more collagen."

Was he complimenting him? Did he really look that pitiful right now? Or was this another one of his Interesting Facts, delivered with the worst possible timing. A wave of nausea accompanied the idea that Ocelot might be feeling sympathy, before the other man continued, "Of course, that's also why you have such a small dick."

Ocelot grinned with one side of his mouth; Kaz chuckled through clenched teeth and raised his middle finger. "So what explains yours?"

He should have known. There wasn't a sympathetic bone in Ocelot's body, broken or otherwise. At least Kaz could take solace in the fact that he was stuck with him, not some other poor sap who might have an emotional, human reaction to the situation they were in. In fact, it sparked a grim, fleeting curiosity: "Do you ever do this?"

"Hm? Not with the Diamond Dogs, no," Ocelot demurred, "that's not a conversation I want to have with Snake. But with the Red Army? Sure. If it'll do the job. I use whatever's most effective. Like anything else that's largely psychological, it has a profound effect on some people and almost none on others. Most fall somewhere in between."

"Men or women?" Kaz couldn't picture the latter; Quiet's infuriatingly perfect body might as well have been wallpaper for all the notice Ocelot took of it.

"Doesn't matter to me. It's not about sex-" Ocelot cut his protest off with a gesture "-at least, not for professionals. The second you make it about sex, you make it something you want, which puts power in the hands of your subject. I indulge my own vices off the clock. But no, in case there was any doubt, these aren't professionals. In fact, I'd give it an hour before the big guy comes back for round two."

Ocelot was off by about fourty minutes, by Kaz's count. He was drifting off again by the time Good Cop appeared in the doorway. Glanced over his shoulder twice; hesitant, sheepish. Kaz felt numb. The stains on his underwear from the semen his muscles had worked to expel were long dry. His stomach still roiled, but throwing up on himself hadn't stopped the Russians. Fuck it.

He caught Ocelot sizing up Good Cop. Calculating the odds that they could take him. But he had no weapons to seize, they had no idea who or what was in the hallway, and neither of them could move faster than a crawl. He evidently came to the same conclusion Kaz did and turned his head away politely before Good Cop stripped him, pulled him into his lap, and bounced him on his small dick for a few minutes before spilling all over his thighs.

He helped Kaz get back into his clothes, this time.

"He'll be back," Ocelot warned him. Kaz spat in his direction. It was all he could do.

Ocelot left him to his own thoughts between the handful of assaults. Not even looking at him. This was a thrilling change of pace for Kaz, at first, before it started to piss him off as much as the staring had. "Are you awake?" Kaz hissed, to break the silence.

"Yes. We have to sleep in shifts. If an opportunity to escape presents itself, we wouldn't want to miss it." Ocelot stifled a yawn. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Tell me the truth."

"Fine," which sounded so petulant even to Kaz that he rolled his eyes and added,"...Hungry, I guess. Thirsty."

"Food's pretty low priority. You can go weeks without it. You will need to drink, though."

"Great. I'll get right on drinking the canned food and plastic forks."

"He'd give you water. Act like you enjoyed it the next time and I guarantee you he would."

Kaz wished he had his cane; he'd definitely sack him for that. But it was delivered so matter-of-factly that it was hard to construe as mockery. His throat was parched, and if they were left down here much longer, it would be a matter of survival. "Easier said than done," he scoffed, "he's not exactly my type."

"So think about something you do like. You do fantasize, don't you? Think about Snake," Ocelot suggested, then immediately corrected after catching Kaz's expression at the idea: "Or, hell, tits. Bikinis. Beach volleyball. Whatever straight men think about."

Kaz almost explained to him how difficult it would be to imagine a fit girl in a bikini while being fucked in the ass by a man on the wrong side of three hundred pounds, but got the distinct and sincere impression that the other man would have no frame of reference for it. Still... sure, why not. Imagine Snake. The man who'd left Kaz feeling like he'd been hit by a category five hurricane the first time; drilled him so hard he'd had the most incredible orgasm of his life and left the foreplay for afterwards.

The man who could kiss him for hours, cool steel touch more delicate than his flesh had ever been, so careful it hurt.

Kaz came to the memory of a singular blue eye in silver starlight, a thumb stroking circles on the back of his hand.

He coughed and panted in alternating wheezes; he didn't even have to ask Good Cop for water - the man pulled out his canteen of his own volition and offered it. He drank it down greedily, heedless of the approval in Ocelot's expression. "Thanks," he passed it back, drained. "Hey, uh, do you mind...?" He nodded at the cuffs. "I can't feel my arm anymore."

Good Cop looked torn. Kaz was no danger; it was getting in trouble that he was clearly concerned about. He decided on unlocking it, then locking it back up to a lower part of the shelf near the floor. A little looser, too.

Good. This was progress. Given a few days Kaz could probably rip all the skin off his wrist, break his bones, and struggle out of this. If they stopped coming in to check on them.

Which he absolutely would, if it came to that.

"Now you're getting it," Ocelot told him.

And all it had cost was his dignity. "What about you? You've lost blood - you need it more than I do."

"They won't give it to me," he frowned thinly, displeasure obvious, "I'm the one they're trying to break. Besides, it's only been about twenty six hours. It takes days to die from dehydration."

Far less than that if you're not healthy, Kaz thought, but didn't patronize him with the obvious. "Twenty six... how do you figure that?" He'd been unconscious about as much as Kaz had.

"Been keeping track of the time since we got here, of course. Only takes a little discipline, Miller."

"Bullshit," Kaz stated flatly. It was bullshit. Right?

"Hah, no," Ocelot shook his head and cracked a knowing smile like a boy revealing the secret behind his magic trick. "I've been checking Foxtrot's watch every time he comes in here."

"Foxtrot?" Oh, right. The Manager'd named them all after the NATO alphabet. Unimaginative bitch. Kaz didn't bother asking him how he figured out which one was Alpha and which one was Foxtrot; he it was sure it was something similarly simple that Kaz had failed to pick up on because he wasn't a Soviet flesh robot with a cowboy fetish. "I call him Good Cop. The other one's Mutt. Because he couldn't come up with 'bitch' on the first try."

"Hm? I thought you never had formal SERE training during your time in the US," Ocelot inclined his head, intrigued.

"I haven't. Why?"

"It's one of their basic tactics. Dehumanize your captors and hold them in contempt. Crack morbid jokes. Standard NATO protocol these days - they found that POWs in Japanese prison camps during WWII survived longer if they used those techniques," he stared up at the ceiling fondly, as if recalling something nostalgic. "The CIA guys we capture are so by the book sometimes that I can tell what they're going to insult about me before they do it. ...But no one's ever told you to do that?"

"No," Kaz answered honestly. It hadn't been hard to find things to hold in contempt about the men who sawed his limbs off and gang raped him without the courtesy of a shower.

"Then you're just a natural, I guess," Ocelot sounded mildly impressed beneath another yawn. "Miller... can I sleep?"

It felt strange to be asked; was he admitting weakness, or just being pragmatic? They would both need as much strength as they could cobble together to get out of his alive. "Yeah. Sure."

The other man laid down on the floor. Twisted, stretched, and winced for a time, trying to find a comfortable position amidst all his injuries. Settled on curling up with his head on his good arm. It was dark, and his features relaxed; he could almost have been the man Kaz met a decade ago. The stranger who introduced himself as an old friend. Short-haired, blond, and smelling faintly of flowers. Before the years had worn him down hard, while Kaz had stayed more or less the same until just before it mattered.

Ocelot muttered in his sleep. Stretched out until he finally put pressure on the wrong limb and woke with an unpleasant yelp. Kaz had seen it coming, but there was nothing he could do for the man. Instead, he asked: "Who's 'John'?"

Ocelot hesitated for a half-second too long before responding, "The first man I ever gave a blowjob," glibly.

"No, really. Who was he?" Kaz was as intrigued by the crack in Ocelot's perfect poker face as he was in the identity of anyone Ocelot'd call out to for help.

"That's the truth." He struggled back up to sit and didn't quite make it. The skin under his eyes was turning grey, and the veins surrounding several of his wounds had blackened. They curled up his arm like Hitman's tattoos.

"You can just stay down, you know."

"Won't stay awake."

"I can keep you awake, if you want," Kaz wasn't sure how, but he'd sing if he had to. The Soviets had cleaned his stumps - even given him antibiotics. No other way to field amputate someone and have him survive more than a week. Of course, they probably didn't have them to give. None of this had been part of their game plan. If Ocelot's fever spiked he could be dead in hours, whether they wanted him to be or not. "Let's play a game."

"Truth or dare?" Ocelot sounded amused by the proposition. Good.

"I don't think you're up for dares. Two truths and a lie."

"Oh yeah? You'll have to add 'turn the damn thing into a teenager's slumber party' to the NATO Resist protocol."

"See if I don't," Kaz shrugged. It was keeping Ocelot's spirits up - why wouldn't it? He loved to lie. "You go first."

"Hm. All right. One: my first job was working for the CIA. Two: the first woman I got to second base with was a perfect ten. Three: I once had a hundred billion dollars in my possession."

Knowing Ocelot, of course, they could all be lies. But that would spoil the game, and besides, he absolutely believed a younger Ocelot could have scored with a hot girl. They doted on cute gay boys. The CIA thing sounded like bravado, and would be treason for a communist, but Ocelot wasn't exactly the most scrupulous character Kaz had ever known. That left, "You never had a hundred billion dollars. That's bullshit."

Ocelot's good eye lit up delightedly. "No, that's true."

"Then where is it? What did you do with a hundred billion dollars? That would buy a thousand years of hookers and blow."

"I gave it away for the betterment of mankind."

"This game doesn't work if you keep lying."

"Miller, I haven't lied to you since I got here."

"So..."

"They're all true."

"That's not how you play the game."

"Try thinking outside the box, for once." Of course. Why not?

"I can't play this with you."

But he did. For hours. Until the other man stopped responding, and Kaz could hear him breathing, softly, through his mouth. He coaxed Good Cop into keeping it down the next time he came in, and when Ocelot finally woke up again he looked sharper. Clearer-headed.

"Are they even coming back for us?" Kaz asked him. Maybe they'd grown tired of the game and were focusing on their escape route. Maybe they'd already gotten what they needed. Maybe the rest would be a matter of holding out through the world's shittiest sleepover until Snake returned.

"Didn't they ever do this to you?" Ocelot sounded surprised. "Leave you alone for a day or two without any contact, no food and water, letting you piss yourself and start to wonder if anyone's ever coming back, or if this is how you'll die?"

Yes, they had.

"This is just another phase. It's more effective on certain types of people than pain is."

They had, but that time he hadn't had Ocelot's radio voice for company, explaining it all to him like a doctor going through the steps of a medical procedure his trusted surgeon was about to perform. "What comes next?"

"Depends on what he thinks I--"

They both fell silent immediately at the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps in the stairwell leading down to their level. Kaz's could already tell them apart by the way they walked: it was Hitman, and someone he didn't recognize.

"--didn't even flinch. That's what I can't stand about the Diamond Dogs, you know?" Hitman was saying, "They're all sycophants. High on following the Legendary Big Boss like they're some mercenary cult. Well, I'm happy to help them drink the Kool Aid."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but please keep it professional." What was this, an impromptu HR session? Was The Manager giving him a dressing down for too much bad touch? "I leave it up to your discretion as to which one you feel we need."

"You got it," Hitman stopped outside the door, his boots cutting the light beneath it into separate beams. "You gonna watch?"

"Maybe next time," the cowardly bitch answered and retreated quickly.

"Suit yourself. Some girls like it," Hitman responded and stepped inside. Turned the lights on, which made Kaz cringe and turn away. A few feet closer to Ocelot's broken arm and the man stopped feigning unconsciousness in a hurry. "So, you two don't really get along, huh?" He tilted Ocelot's chin up with his boot; a smear of sweat greased the polish. "Sick of working for a couple of faggots?"

Kaz snorted. If only he knew. "Lucky for you, I've come up with a little team-building exercise. You see," he palmed Ocelot's revolver thoughtfully, "as much as I'd love to play with you for a few weeks, time is of the essence right now. You're tough, you're willing to be maimed-" Was that a nod of respect toward Kaz, too? "-and you're ready to die for the cause. So, what won't you do?"

He was going to ask Ocelot to kill him. Or vice versa. Kaz was as certain of it as he'd ever been about anything, and he steeled himself to--

"You're going to fuck him," Hitman informed Kaz, leveling the revolver between his eyes. "You heard the lady - if you won't talk, we only need one of you. And he's got the intel. You fuck him, or you die. Sounds fun, right?"

Hitman leaned over him and unlocked his wrist, the muzzle of the revolver pressed tight to his temple; Ocelot was glaring balefully at him, shaking his head. Enough so that Hitman caught the expression before he could change it, and smirked. "Last chance to preserve your anal virginity."

Sure, this probably would be the worst nightmare of some of the male Diamond Dogs who looked a little queasy whenever he and the Boss kissed. Kaz could hardly believe Hitman had misread the situation so badly. Kaz'd had Ocelot pegged five minutes after meeting him; but Hitman's finger was curled so tightly around the trigger Kaz could tell that he would love to put him in the ground. Projecting?

Didn't matter. Kaz wasn't going to die this way. Not here, not now. Ocelot could deal with the indignity of being topped by a cripple.

"Miller. Don't," Ocelot warned him has he moved to crawl forward. His fist was clenched like he intended to gouge Kaz's eyes out if he came any closer.

"Scared?" Hitman asked. "I don't blame you. He's a little wildcat. Killed November with his teeth." He padded behind Ocelot and snatched up his good arm. Snapped the cuffs around it and locked it to a grate in the floor. "There you go. Bet he'll be some ride."

"Don't," Ocelot hissed vehemently, his good eye narrowed to a slit. Steadied himself to kick him. "I will kill you."

Hitman laughed loudly. "No he won't." Fired a shot so close to Kaz's head that it nicked his jaw; a centimeter to the left and it would have ripped his face right open. Which was precisely the shot he adjusted to make and squeezed--

Kaz caught Ocelot's badly injured leg easily and rolled him onto his stomach, surprised to feel the other man trembling ever so slightly. He had no strength left; his skin burned to the touch. Just shut up and take this. I'm not going to die for your pride. He shook him as if to emphasize the thought. It wasn't like he was going to hurt him.

They'd fooled around a few times, in those nine years, out of loneliness and desperation. Just hands and mouths; neither willing to relinquish control to the other completely. Ocelot's body felt exactly the same as it had a decade ago and Kaz hated him for it.

Because the truth was that Ocelot was attractive. He knew it, too. Wore his shirt wide open to expose the face that his chest and stomach were still hard, tanned, and flat. So was the rest of him, as Kaz revealed when he unhooked the man's belt in spite of a few futile struggles. He had fantasized about this - well, not this - but Ocelot coming to him willingly, offering himself up to ease the ache they both felt; Kaz would fill it, and then, at least, he'd always have that to tide him over whenever Ocelot teased, irked, and infuriated him during their public lives.

"Take your own advice," Kaz said quietly, next to his ear. Probed him open with a few fingers; he was tight, resisting. Not exactly clean, either, but Kaz didn't really give a shit - it's not like either of them had had time to prepare. He wiped the digits off on the other man's pants when it was clear Ocelot wasn't going to relax for him. "Stop fighting me."

"Don't. Do. This." Ocelot growled, scarcely above a whisper, while Kaz eased his cock into his unwilling hole.

It felt good. It felt shamefully good. Ocelot's muscles were wound up like a constrictor; the sight of the other man on his hands and knees beneath him sent a surge of blood to his shaft, hardening him enough to fight through it. To move, slowly. Then in short, rapid thrusts. He'd get this over with quickly for him. For both of them.

Ocelot made soft noises of displeasure. Forced Kaz to hold his hip so he couldn't struggle away. He wasn't enjoying this at all.

Well, good.

I use whatever's most effective.

The hypocrite.

"Seems like this isn't going to do the trick either." Hitman was still watching with interest, his arms folded, leaning against the wall. "I'm all out of ideas, and if he won't talk, he's as worthless to me as you are. Guess I'll have to come up with a new way of deciding who lives. "

He pushed himself off the wall with his shoulders and moved to stand above them, boots inches from Ocelot's head, which jerked in time with Kaz's thrusts. "Hey, I've got it," he announced gleefully, and aimed down at Ocelot instead. "You make him come, he dies. You don't, you die."

Kaz froze. "I guess it's you, then," Hitman said and cocked the weapon and turned it on him--

His hips began to move of their own accord. He tilted Ocelot's up for a better angle, instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut. I'm just buying us more time. He rocked with him, instead of thrusting, and Ocelot's breathing grew ragged. He started to moan. Kaz was familiar with the noises he made when he liked something, and he turned that knowledge on him, traitorously. He was just giving himself a fighting chance. I'm not going to die like this.

He felt the muscles in Ocelot's stomach tense up; felt his cock get hard and wet when it bounced against his fingers. If he let go and reached for it Ocelot would only struggle away.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry--

Ocelot came with a pained gasp and Kaz stopped instantly; eyes wide with horror.

"Go on," Hitman motioned with the revolver. "I'm not going to make you fuck a corpse. I can wait a couple seconds."

Kaz was the one trembling now; he was too close to the edge for his dick to soften, and Ocelot wasn't looking at him anymore, he just had his head bowed, waiting - he couldn't do this. He couldn't.

"Or don't. I think that means you lose, actually." Hitman placed the readied weapon between his eyes. "I was kind of rooting for him, anyway."

No. Not like this. Men like Ocelot, Skull Face, Zero deserved a death like this, not him. Kaz grit his teeth and braced himself and thought of nothing murdering, strangling all three of them, cutting their throats and watching them die, slowly.

He came with a cry that sounded more like anger than lust, growling, his hand tight around Ocelot's neck. Then backed away so quickly the last spurt of fluid splashed the other man's ass cheek. What have I--

"Hoo! Christ!" Hitman exclaimed. "That was intense! My dick is diamonds right now." He shoved the revolver back into his belt, knelt to unlock an unmoving Ocelot, and dragged Kaz back over to his original position to replace the cuffs. "I think I'm going to go get laid, boys. You two have fun."

Kaz sat, still with confusion, blinking in his direction long after the door slid closed. Ocelot's shoulders shook as he tugged his pants back up, and he collapsed against the wall, facing him. "Why--"

"He was never going to kill us," Ocelot snarled, face flushed with fever and fury. "He wasn't going to kill me the first time, either, he just wanted to see if it would make us talk. And it did."

"You heard them," Kaz shook his head defensively, in disbelief.

"Yes! Right outside our door, where we could hear them. Tell me: why do you think they did that? Is that something you can come up with on your own, or should we donate your brain to science to figure out which sexually transmitted disease killed all your brain cells in the womb?" Ocelot's scowl was deep enough to show teeth. "But thank you, for that. That's another fond memory you and I will have to take with us to the grave."

"What does it even matter to you?" Kaz scoffed derisively, his own temper rising to match, "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that degrading for you? Were you scared?"

"Go ahead. Talk," Ocelot shrugged, eye back up at the ceiling. "It's all you're good for. You are a dumb animal, Miller - self-preservation and revenge are all you comprehend. You're all bark and no bite; a yappy little decorative dog surrounded by wolves."

"Still better than a cat," Kaz muttered spitefully.

"Cats keep the rats out. You can't even do that much. You know, when I first saw you, I was embarrassed for the Boss. What a cute little accessory you made. A status symbol: he could have something so pretty and so useless and still run his operation. And - shut up, Miller - I know you have a decent head for business. But so do a thousand other economics school graduates, ambitious ones who'd stay in their offices like they're supposed to and not get underfoot. But you were just so damned adorable that he had to have you, weren't you? His own purse poodle who'd suck his dick, too."

"I built us back up from nothing." Kaz's fist clenched; shook. "I did that without his help, while you were playing nurse."

"While I was babysitting you for a goddamned decade, you mean. I'm tired of carrying you and I'm sure your men are, too. Of indulging your need to play soldier with the rest of us instead of sitting behind your desk where you belong. Nobody asked you to run out and try to distract XOF. You failed, anyway. I had to get the Boss out of that hospital myself. It accomplished nothing, and you know what - I'm sure some of the men you took with you would be alive today if they hadn't spent that meaningless operation protecting you, too."

"Fuck you. Fuck you." Rage seized hold of him so hard the rest of the room disappeared. If their positions were still reversed Kaz would have gladly throttled him; watched with satisfaction as the light died in his eyes.

"You already have. Happy now? You're pathetic, Miller. The only truly dangerous men you've ever faced while you were playing war were Skull Face and the Boss, and you lost to both of them."

"Hah!" Kaz spat. "Don't act like that makes you any better than me. You follow Snake because he beat you, too, the first time you fought him. You never even stood a chance."

Ocelot smiled. No, he grinned. A gleam lit up his good eye, and the humorless expression he wore now was utterly unfamiliar to Kaz. He'd seen him grin at his own jokes before; when he got the better of Kaz, when he came up with a particularly inventive method breaking someone and thought nobody was looking. This was new."Is that what you heard?"

It was bottomless. Feral. "That's a common interpretation," said the stranger who sat across from Kaz now, "but since we're getting so close, let me tell you the what really happened. I kept the Boss from being played by another vapid, pretty blonde in way over her head. And when I was finished she went away for a lot longer than ten days. Try me, Miller. If I need to, I will do the same to you."

"I'm sure you were a very dangerous man back in the 60s. But the world has changed, you haven't changed with it, and now you're nothing more than a decaying Cold War relic full of fascinating but useless information about the past," Kaz snapped on the end of his chain, from behind the safety of the fence that was Mother Base, at the creature who would have already ripped out his jugular in the wild. "But I'm glad you're so wrapped up in your own nostalgia. For the Boss's sake. Otherwise, you might realize that whatever you and he had was over twenty years ago."

The grin vanished, replaced by familiar contempt. "Keep yapping. I started this a hundred times worse off than you, but you're still going to break before I do."

No. Kaz was never going to break. Not for the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

It was harder to endure without company.

Ocelot hadn't spoken to him in hours, since he'd promised that Kaz would be the first one to break. No chance of that, he'd thought: Ocelot was the one with badly broken limbs and infected gunshot wounds. The other man's face was flushed, his skin so damp that his hair already hung in greasy, matted strands. On top of that he was so dehydrated that he hadn't taken a piss in going on thirty hours.

But Kaz was thirsty, too. His stomach growled ravenously; there were cans of food in here, and some of them might have been the pull-tab variety, but if they revealed that to their captors they'd take them away. Which would be the difference between life and death if they found themselves abandoned down here for days or - fucking forbid - weeks longer. He was cuffed and he doubted Ocelot could walk under his own power. Ocelot was unchained and could switch positions to get comfortable; Kaz was stuck in one, from which he couldn't lay down.

Kaz was the one listening like a hawk for the round of footsteps, and the slow, rolling gait that now made his skin crawl with the inevitability of his own helpless humiliation.

At length he found a posture that wasn't raw or bruised from overuse, not exactly comfortable but not so uncomfortable that he couldn't bleed off some of the exhaustion. But every time sleep drew near, Ocelot would shift, or cough, or make some low noise of pain that snapped him out of it. Always tantalizingly on the edge of blissful unconsciousness. For hours.

He was so close he was dreaming when a flurry of hacking coughs wrenched him back to wakefulness. "Fucking stop it!" He snarled so vehemently he spat droplets of saliva in Ocelot's direction.

Ocelot turned to face him for the first time in what felt like days but couldn't have been more than a single night. Head cocked, as if to say 'really?'. Instead, he sighed, "I'll do my best."

The long-suffering counsellor and his soothing advice in the face of the irrationally angry XO, as ever. Kaz would have punched him if he could have. He'd shown his true colours. Kaz might as well have been the bloody scum on the heel of his boots for all the value he had in Ocelot's estimation.

But in what way was he wrong?

There it was: the bitter, now-familiar taste of self-loathing. Ugly, pitiful, and fast becoming one of Kaz's closest friends. Really: be honest. In what way was Ocelot wrong? This was his dream, his life's work, with Big Boss. He'd built the Diamond Dogs from the ground up. Built the MSF to greater heights than Snake had ever managed. But who was to say some 'economics school graduate' as the hateful Russian'd put it couldn't have done as well, or better? What made him special, a cut above the rest, aside from the fact that he shared Snake's bed? Hadn't Kaz done even better since he'd been grounded, taken off the battlefield - and didn't that mean that Ocelot was right? How much pain could he have spared himself if he'd just stayed safely tucked away behind braver, stronger, more capable men? What had he accomplished with his presence in this room, aside from making matters worse for himself and Ocelot?

What would it really matter if he died here? Snake had Quiet for fire support; he had Ocelot for intelligence, who would replace him easily enough, both behind his desk and in Snake's bedroom - that latter gladly, no doubt.

The colour gradually faded from the room. Kaz didn't raise his head at the sound of footsteps. When they retreated he made no move get back up or to readjust his clothing.

"Told you," Ocelot sounded overwhelmingly unimpressed.

That was all Kaz needed to pick himself off the floor and snort, "Finally getting to sleep and you fuck it up again. Thanks."

"We have to sleep in shifts. I thought I explained that," Ocelot shook his head patronizingly, and the deep suspicion that he had been making those noises on purpose after all made Kaz want to throttle him all over again.

"Then go to sleep." Ocelot was mildly less annoying when he slept, after all.

"...Can't..." Ocelot admitted after a pause. Wrapped his arms around himself. Kaz blinked; Ocelot was shivering. His clothing was soaked with sweat and blood. "Too cold."

"Aw, do you need a blanket?" Anyone else in the world he'd offer his coat to; Good Cop had stripped it off him for ease of access, and it would be simple enough to kick it across the floor. It was already stained and ripped, and Kaz full intended to burn every article of clothing he was currently wearing - so who cared?

Kaz cared. If Ocelot thought he was so tough, so much tougher than him, he could spend the night at room temperature near the tropics without a jacket.

He let Ocelot shiver himself to exhaustion. "Well, if you're staying up..." Closed his eyes to the satisfying sound of Ocelot coughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Kaz finally slept deeply enough that footsteps hadn't woken him. A stranger knelt over Ocelot, injecting him with a clear fluid; he was asleep, Kaz observed with bleak elation. How dangerous are you now, asshole? She'd turned on the lights; it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Dark-skinned, though not as dark as Mutt. Sri Lankan, if he had to guess. Close to Kaz's own age.

The Manager caught his eye and strode over in front of him when she was done, arms folded in a way that was more ex-military than ex-soccer mom.

Kaz looked at her and saw himself.

A thousand things on her mind at once: a timeline, a budget, a mission, a plan and all of its contingencies. All of her equipment and all of her men and how they all interacted. Her tenuous control over each another plate to keep spinning lest the whole operation crash down around her, smashing to pieces.

"Not exactly what I expected," Kaz allowed himself to admit with a few blinks of surprise. Pushed the pedal a few times to see if the rusty gears of his old habits would turn.

"I thought the Diamond Dogs had female members." Chilly, distant, but not repulsed. Far from it.

"No. I mean, yes," a carefully crafted stutter, "I knew you were a woman. But you weren't what I..."

He didn't say it, of course. That would be too crass; too obvious. His eyes will do the talking. The way they flick to the pleasing parts of her body. Her face. "Nevermind," one step forward. Retreat. Leave it hanging, tantalizingly, in the air. Make her pursue it. "Let's get down to business. What is it you want from us?"

"I thought my men made that clear," she frowned suspiciously. But it was so bright in the room to Kaz that the widening of her pupils at his signs of attraction may as well have been signal flares.

"Our Boss's location? There were mission maps all over the comms' room. I'm sure you know it as well as we do." If he ignored the stink of bodily fluids and the sting of the cuffs he could imagine that she was just another supplier. That this was just another business deal. No nonsense, hard bargain, materials they desperately needed. Time to bring his A-game.

"We know the mission area, but not where he ended up. Not where he exfiltrated from, nor where he was going."

"I can give you those co-ordinates," Kaz offered, and her lips parted in mild surprise. "But they'll be days old at this point. Worthless. He's long gone."

Whatever her game was, she was too good to give it away. She spread one hand. "If that's so, it costs you nothing to give them to me, doesn't it?"

"Everything has a price. What do I get in return?"

"In return for 'worthless' information?" Her lips quirked upwards in amusement; Kaz allowed himself to mirror the expression at her retort, before visibly quashing it. "What do you want?"

"A blanket. For him." He jerked his head in Ocelot's direction. They won't give it to me; I'm the one they're trying to break. Time to put those words to the test.

"Done," she inclined her head expectantly. "Well?"

He gave them to her.

"Hm," she tapped her chin thoughtfully. Then the bitch picked up his fucking coat, and draped it around Ocelot's shoulders. "Seems fair."

His wry, grudging chuckle was half-honest this time, and she responded in kind as she turned and walked away, a telling sway to her hips. It really was like riding a bike, after all.

"Not a bad idea, you know. To relieve the stress. If you've got the time." Ocelot remarked as her footsteps faded away, and this time Kaz didn't jump. He'd known the other man wasn't really asleep as soon as he hadn't stirred at the sounds of their conversation. He took satisfaction in the fact that Ocelot seemed slightly disappointed. When Kaz failed to ask him to elaborate, he continued, "You can tell whether or not a woman has been sexually satisfied by--"

"--The way she walks," Kaz interrupted. "Believe it or not, I already knew that. I'm more surprised you did."

"I am a student of human physiology, Miller. Don't know what it avails us to know that our lead captor is rubbing one out during her operations but that's how I read it, too."

"She's not," Kaz grinned darkly: at. Fucking. Last. There was something he figured out that the slimy Soviet prick couldn't put together first. "She's fucking Hitman."

"Really? Seems unprofessional, given her demeanor."

"Trust me," Kaz assured him. "This was my bread and butter for years. Listen to the way they talk to one another. They way they stand - face-to-face, rather than side-by-side." Only Hitman's boots had cut the light, even though they'd been inches apart.

Snake spoke that way, to him.

"Well I'll be," Ocelot whistled low. "I'd heard you got around in the MSF, but I didn't know you were the goddamn pussy whisperer."

"Oh yes I was," Kaz admitted gleefully. At least there was one miserable, vain, mindless thing he'd honed to such perfection over the years that Ocelot couldn't hold a candle to it.

"I bow to your expertise," Ocelot inclined his head. Then bunched the jacket up a little tighter. "They are going to double-check those co-ordinates, you know."

"I know. They're real." Real, but meaningless. Snake changed his mind about these things on the fly; as the he encountered unexpected resistance, as he got bored of walking, as a shiny new outpost in the distance caught his eye. He could be halfway to Africa by now: the one thing that was for certain was that he was no longer there. Intelligence would have relayed their situation to him and protocol would call for him to move as far away with as little trace as possible, in case he and Ocelot did talk.

"Hm." Ocelot looked him over consideringly. Watched his face. "Are you sure you never had any SERE training, in the US?"

"I told you the first time: no."

"When capture and interrogation become a matter of survival, give up small pieces of low-worth intelligence to the enemy," he recited. "This will string them along, help convince them to keep you alive; should you survive, the intelligence you bring back with you will be worth much more."

"Common sense," Kaz grunted. The clear look of re-appraisal on the other man's face made him uncomfortable. "Was that truth serum she gave you? Or antibiotics?"

Ocelot generously allowed him to change the subject. "As much as I hope it was the latter, I suspect the former."

"That won't work on you, will it." That wasn't even a question to Kaz at this point.

"No. But it will make me pretty high, which could be entertaining," Ocelot smiled.

Kaz ignored it. "All this, for information they could find in our briefing room? That they can't use?" Whoever they were, this would mean war with the Diamond Dogs, whether he and Ocelot survived or not. The legend of Big Boss may have faded, but their rising star among the PMCs had not. "Something doesn't add up."

He expected Ocelot to snort and explain their game to him as if he were a particularly slow child. Instead, he said simply, "I know. I'm working on it," sounding as troubled as Kaz was himself.

How, exactly, he was working on it while the drugs gradually turned his mind into a shoddy sieve Ocelot did not elaborate. His good eye went wide and glassy while Kaz watched; his chin tilted up toward the ceiling, tracking imaginary tracers, nodding at nothing. No chemicals could force a man to say or admit to something specific, of course. From what he'd picked up about them - from Ocelot and other morally challenged mercenaries he'd known - they lowered one's inhibitions. Wreaked havoc on their self-control. Decreased their pain tolerance.

The idea of seeing the perennially smug bastard without self-control intrigued Kaz enough to ask: "So, what did you really do with all the money?"

"Hm?" Ocelot's head dipped and swam, afloat on a sea of acetates.

"The hundred billion dollars. Who has it?"

"La-li-lu-le-lo," was what Kaz was pretty sure he'd said.

It was the whitest mispronunciation of them that Kaz'd ever heard, but the sounds still coaxed the memory of cicadas and gleaming wooden floorboards from the back of his mind. The steamy heat of a schoolroom in late July. A placard with all of the hiragana and katakana characters lined up in tidy rows, read in columns. A-i-u-e-o, ka-ki-ku-ke-ko...

"What." Kaz shook his head, squinting. Was Ocelot making fun of him?

But the rest was garbled nonsense, too. Not even cryptic: complete, utter gibberish. No matter what he asked. Trust Ocelot to have a bulletproof yet ulcer-inducingly irritating defense against questioning.

"Who's 'John'?" he tried again, finally.

More incoherent garbage. Broken math.

Kaz sighed. "No, it doesn't. It equals four."

"Hm?"

It was the closest thing to an intelligible response Kaz'd pulled from him, so he continued, looking him in the eyes. "Two plus two equals four."

Ocelot's mouth fell slack and he stared through Kaz's skull like a dead man. Kaz tried more words, tried snapping his fingers, but the other man hardly blinked. For nearly an hour. Then he inhaled sharply, sat up ramrod straight, and wheeled on Kaz with the white of his eye showing and shaking fists. "Miller! What did you do?"

"Nothing," Kaz blinked, confused. "Balanced your equation for you."

Watched him curl up tightly and repeat the same words over and over again like a mantra, still unfocused and increasingly frustrated, until Hitman and Mutt's boots rattled the steel grates outside.

"So, things are going to be a little different, this time," Hitman announced. Drew a combat knife and tossed it up in the air with one hand, flipping it so that he caught the handle. "But I'm a big believer in fair play, so I'll give you a little taste of the new rules first, and you can decide if you want to keep the game going."

He nodded to Mutt, who kicked Ocelot in the stomach. It should have winded him, at the most, Kaz knew from experience. But the other man doubled over, clutching it, eyes watering with pain. Hitman nodded again, and Mutt's boot landed lower, this time. Between his legs. Kaz winced inwardly; Ocelot cried out, went rigid, and toppled over. Tears on his cheeks.

"Feels a lot different now, huh?" Hitman knelt beside him. Stroked the hair out of his face with a finger. "Look, I'm sure you could resist for the rest of your natural life, under normal conditions. But the miracles of science don't fuck around. So let's save everyone the show and have your brand new boyfriend here still respect you in the morning. What do you say?"

Kaz had no idea what Ocelot said to that. It was in Russian.

Hitman did, though; he responded in kind, in a low, threatening tone that turned the blood in Kaz's veins to ice and filled his insides with acid. Whatever it was, it hadn't pleased him: he picked up Ocelot's hand, took one of his fingers, and began to pierce the nail bed with the tip of his knife.

He didn't shit himself, like Snake had cautioned. He did start sobbing. His voice broke; still Russian but stumbling over the words, unhinged. Hitman set Ocelot's head in his lap in a black parody of affection and started in on the second one. Forced him to watch as his dominant hand was mutilated.

Kaz flinched every time Hitman spoke. Drew his knees up to his chest and turned away. He was going to be next; white hot agony seared through his phantom limbs in anticipation. Mutt looked grimly satisfied. Hitman looked like a man enjoying a challenging yet rewarding day at the office. Kaz opened his mouth to scream as the sawblades bit into his shoulder and his last stringy nerves snapped off his body but Ocelot's drowned him out.

Words. He didn't understand any of them, only the voices; Hitman's coaxing, sickeningly gentle. Ocelot's pleading, desperate. They got through all of Ocelot's digits before the other man finally said something Kaz understood.

"Kill me."

"Maybe later," Hitman gave his hand one last fond squeeze, then dumped his head onto the floor. Sheathed the knife and caught Mutt's offered hand as he rose to his feet. "It's a start. Give me a little more and I'll kill you."

Kaz stayed safely tucked up against the shelf until they were long gone. Ocelot's sobs gradually died down to hiccups, then shuddering breaths, though he made no move to change his position, either. "How are you doing, Miller?" He asked tiredly, at last.

"Fine," Kaz lied again, "How are you doing?"

"I've been better," Ocelot admitted.

"What did you tell them?"

"Enough to survive."

"You talked?" Kaz reeled backward. Did this mean he won? Just what the hell had he told them? If it was about Snake, Kaz was going to murder him himself.

"Sure. Bullshit, mostly." Ocelot rolled over and wiped his face. "Laced with just enough truth to get him to take the bait."

"How do you know he won't--"

"Miller. This is my bread and butter, as you put it. Trust me. I won't break. I'll die long before that happens," Ocelot voice was as grave as it was spent. "I will kill myself long before that happens."

"Then why did you ask him to..." Kaz trailed off. Didn't even need to see the smile in the darkness. Of course: theater. Everything was a performance, with Ocelot. Had the drugs even affected him? Had he faked all of that gibberish, just in case their captors were listening? Kaz had played right into his hand, just like he always did.

Which made him wonder what else had been an act. "Did that actually bother you?" Kaz whispered.

"Getting my fingernails sliced off? Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Not that."

"Why?" Ocelot chuckled. "Trying to soothe your conscience?"

"Forget I asked."

"I don't hold it against you, Miller. Might have been stupid, but you were only trying to save your skin. It's what anyone would do. ...But no, it only made things worse for us. Showed him that you could be manipulated, that you wouldn't listen to me, that I was reaching the point that I could do fuck all to change the circumstances. Made him skip right to the next step along the line rather than do the honors himself."

"And that's it? I messed up your game plan? Well, I'm sorry," Kaz offered insincerely, "Let me in on it next time, and I won't."

"And I didn't want to fuck you, Miller," Ocelot snapped with a flash of genuine anger. "I wasn't exactly in the mood. Not to mention the wonders it'll do for our professional relationship."

"Our... professional relationship." Kaz almost laughed. As if that could possibly get any worse.

"You know, that thing that's kept this entire operation running for nine years."

"Fine, fine. If--"

"When."

"When we get out of here, I'll let you fuck me. How does that sound?"

"Like it's not even close to the same thing and you know it."

"You can chain me up. Use your toys. Anything goes. No safeword."

He mulled it over to the point that Kaz felt insulted before responding, "All right. It's a date."

Kaz frowned. "Then we'll be even."

"Oh, don't you worry about that."

Ocelot left him to his own thoughts just long enough to regret the offer before asking, "Miller? Did you ever go someplace inside your own head?" When Kaz shook his head, he continued. "I find it helps people last a little longer. A pleasant memory that's still vivid for you. A favourite place you'd like to return someday."

Kaz was about to ask him why, but Ocelot cut him off with a fit of wracking coughs that left him gasping for air. He wiped his face on the sleeve of Kaz's coat but not before he caught the pure misery there; the drugs and the fever and the thirst and the pain that he bit through with every smile.

Everything was a performance, with Ocelot.

"Go to sleep," Kaz whispered. "I'll keep watch." Watched him lose consciousness seconds later.

Where the hell are you Snake? Ocelot might deserve this for making the man fashionably late the first time, but Kaz didn't.

Their next visitor was The Manager again, come to evaluate her employees' handiwork. She pursed her lips at the sight of Ocelot's red-streaked face and mangled fingers; by her posture, he already knew that whatever Hitman had gleaned from him it had left her unsatisfied.

"He won't talk," Kaz assured her. "He's been trained not to. All you're going to gain from pursuing this course of action is a corpse."

"It costs me nothing if he dies," she shrugged.

"It costs you plenty. It costs you time: they won't believe you've kept us alive forever. Hand him over to my men and they'll know I'm still here," Kaz kept his tone cautiously neutral, the threat implicit. She frowned; not enough payoff, for her. Kaz would have to sweeten the deal. "Besides, I don't know where you stand, financially, but I'm sure you know that we're doing well. It costs you money, if nothing else. He's worth a million GMP to us in specialized labour alone."

Well, more like ten million, but you always kicked these things off with a lowball offer.

"They'll pay?" Suspicious; still not quite sold.

"They'll pay. I'll put it through myself." His eyes flicked to Ocelot's prone body. Don't say I never did anything for you.

Ocelot would know where each and every one of them was. Where they weren't. All possible infiltration routes. All of the weapons they carried, their patrols, their blood types and fucking birthdays. He and the combat staff would be back here in an hour and all of these fools would either be feeding fish or locked up in Room 101 - Kaz was as sure of it as the sunrise. And he would gladly pay a million GMP for front row seats.

"I'll take it into consideration," she clipped, turning on her heel.

"Besides, I'm the one you'd rather spend time with, right?" Just the right amount of wry humour. A hint of self-deprecation. Hope. The standing offer implied, feather-light.

This time, Ocelot didn't raise his head to tell him what a good, manipulative boy he'd been. Didn't stir at all, even when Mutt came back to stomp on his hand, vindictively. Kaz truly was alone, this time.

Alone he could call out softly for the man he should have drowned with ten years ago, knowing full well he wouldn't come. What a death that would have been: captains going down with their ship, sinking as the flames grew higher, one last blaze of glory before they were swallowed up by the night. An honourable stand against impossible odds - two cogs in the machine who would rather break than turn with the rest.

Glorious defeats were so popular in his homeland. Winning was so often much less glamorous. Bloodstained, dirty, painstaking, fought by inches and at great cost.

Something at which Russians in particular excelled.

"Ocelot...?" he said quietly, in a moment of weakness.

Nothing.

Long hours of silence, interrupted only by fitful coughs and reluctantly raised voices. Hitman did not want to trade Ocelot away under any circumstances; they only needed one, in his opinion, and the other should die. Ocelot was valuable to them for his information, Miller was valuable to the Diamond Dogs for his connections - kill him, weaken them. Kaz took bleak satisfaction from that appraisal. Mutt, on the other hand, was not going to leave until Ocelot was dead. Break him, kill him, trade Miller. Good Cop tentatively agreed - though he would, of course, go along with her decision. Two others he did not recognize were equally split. If she were the Boss, she would have listened to Hitman without question.

But she wasn't, and when she appeared like clockwork to reaffirm her decision Kaz was numb again. Bathed in cold sweat, throat so dry he could barely swallow, so tired his ears buzzed and his eyes wouldn't focus. She gripped the back of his head and he did not resist. The sound of her zipper; he kissed the mound in front of him. The sweet but powerful scents of sweat, tension, arousal, and faintly, the bitterness of another man's fluids.

It wasn't that she was attracted to him. That helped, but what she sought was release. To know that something was under her control. That she was as fierce and ruthless as the men standing beside her.

It was a feeling Kaz knew well.

Her nails bit into his scalp. She shaved, but was as bad at keeping it up as Kaz was; her stubble scratched his face and tongue. It had been years since he'd done this - but you never really forget, do you? You wobble, at first, then you get your bearings and the rest of the ride is smooth. He lapped between her folds first to wipe away the grime and tang of days gone without showering; moved up to suck sweetly on her clit.

When her thighs began to tremble she made a painful fist in his hair, forcing him forward, grinding herself into his face like she was trying to fuck it. He couldn't breathe, but he kept his mouth open, working. The spasms of her inner walls dripped threads of Hitman's come into it, which he was forced to swallow. Moisture ran in rivulets down from his eye sockets as she finished. She released and left him without a word.

Kaz reached for his coat and dragged it over with his foot. Used it to wipe his face.

If you make it about sex, you make it something you want. You put power in the hands of your subject.

His mouth was still set in the same flat hard line when Hitman returned. Alone, and he moved toward Ocelot. Kaz braced himself for more screams; hoped fervently as much for his own sake as Ocelot's that he stayed unconscious.

Dread worked his stomach into knots when Hitman stepped over him and made his way to Kaz instead. Drew his knife, kicked him upright, and shouted at him in Russian which bled into static and sirens and the whine of a helicopter spinning out of control and he shook so violently that his teeth clacked together.

What was that Ocelot had said about going to another place? Someplace else? He was somewhere else, now, only he had a bag over his head and dust under his toes and he was pleading no no no no, stop--

Hitman fell silent until he returned to the storage room. Scraped the edge of his knife along Kaz's empty shoulder socket. Kissed the tear that shook loose onto his cheek. "I would play my cards closer to my chest, if I were you. You don't have much left to lose."

His expression mirrored Ocelot's so closely they could have been brothers. A grin that tread right through his tentatively stacked ploys, scattering them all to the floor. A warning that he could do so at any time if he so chose and that there was nothing Kaz could do about it.

He buried his face in his knees so he didn't have to see it. Hitman laughed. Left.

"Ocelot...?" he tried again, plaintive.

"I'm here," Ocelot rasped from the floor, before rolling over to hack up bloody mucus. He wiped his face, leaving a long crimson smear over his lips. "What do you need?"

Water. Food. Clean clothing. An escape plan. A weapon. Hope. Snake. A bullet through the skull. "Talk to me."

"About what?" The other man's brow's knit together, trying to make sense of the request.

"About anything. Tell me stories about your childhood. Just... talk." Anything to keep him from slipping away again.

"What do you want to know?" His eyes were half-closed already.

"Anything. Where did you grow up?"

"Hm." Ocelot paused a while. Long enough that Kaz thought he might not answer. "Depends who you ask, I suppose."

"I'm asking you. I asked you to tell me where you grew up, not feed me more bullshit." Though Kaz had to admit he'd set himself up for it.

"Actually, you asked me to tell you stories about my childhood. That story depends on the teller." Was that humor? Had he smiled again, or had Kaz imagined it?

"Fine. I'm asking you now: where did you grow up?"

Another pause, and then, despondently: "I don't know," Ocelot confessed. "I don't remember."

The truth from Ocelot, Kaz would learn in the coming years, always tasted like ash. Just lie to me, he almost asked, but the man had stopped responding to him.

He was alone again and he couldn't sleep, uncertain of what he accomplished through his wakefulness. Even Good Cop stopped coming around; they were abandoned. Voices were too distant to make out. The buzz of a dying fluorescent light in the hallway grated along the lower limits of his hearing like a shovel on the sidewalk and he made a mental note to have it replaced. Then he laughed, no longer recognizing his own voice. Someone else would have to replace it. He was going to die here.

But would anyone else even notice? What if he wrote it on the ground, in blood? The last will and testament of Commander Kazuhira Miller: 'Replace the burnt out light bulb in the north hallway of the third sub-floor of the main Command Platform. It's annoying.' Perfect.

BANG. SCREECH.

Kaz was still chuckling to himself when he heard the gunshot. It went off at the same time that the steel beams under his feet wrenched sharply sideways, rattled, and swayed. The former did not bother him at all but he sat bolt upright in panic at the latter. Prayed the collapsing structure or the fall would kill him before he could drown.

The hallway outside went black. The platform rocked but did not fall. The faint hum of the backup generators explained to him what had happened: his men had cut the power. The gunshot... panic? An assault team? A sniper? Snake could have told him exactly what caliber that was and exactly how far away. Ocelot could too most likely, but he remained motionless.

Bet you never thought you'd die in your sleep, huh? Kaz thought to himself when their captors' running footsteps sounded outside the door and not those of the assault team he'd hoped.

But they didn't kill him. Hitman unlocked him and Good Cop half-carried, half-dragged him out into the darkness and up the stairs far too quickly for him to stumble along with them. Up three flights, then further, but not before he caught a glance out the window and saw that one of them had made the mistake of crossing between buildings. Not one he recognized from a distance: face down, skull split wide open under kevlar oozing grey-purple sludge onto the deck.

One down, five to go. At this rate the Diamond Dogs' marksmen would have them all picked off by Christmas.

Hitman stomped up to the signals room ahead of them, nonchalant: "Just let me push him out the fucking window. They'll get the message. One of ours, one of theirs."

Good Cop's grip on him tightened.

"No," said The Manager calmly, and Kaz wondered if he'd have more composure in the control room himself if he and Ocelot were fucking. No. That was insane. "You know what their next move will be, if we do that."

Kaz found himself deposited in front of the microphone. Full circle.

"You will tell him that you and Ocelot are alive and well, and that any further action from them will see both of you dead. They are to let us extract via our own helicopter, at which point we will give one of you to them. The other will accompany us to ensure our safety until we reach an undisclosed location. Then he will be handed over for the amount specified."

He looked up. Saw the beads of sweat on their faces; all except Hitman's, who merely shrugged. Saw Ocelot's scarf draped from the sharp corner of the corkboard where it had caught in the fighting. He nodded. Depressed the switch.

"This is..." Kaz trailed off, startled by how weak he sounded and how thick his tongue was. Good Cop gave him water, which he swallowed and tried again. "...This is Commander Miller. Ocelot and I are alive. They plan to extract via their own helicopter--"

Hitman reached for the microphone, a second too late.

"--And if they don't hand us both back alive at that point kill them all."

The last was a gleeful snarl, and he flashed Hitman what he convinced himself was some semblance of the look he'd given him hours - minutes? days? - ago. Burn in hell, all of you. You kill us, we win. You let us live, we win. The one they kept was never going to survive this, if either of them were. Kaz's death grip would be like iron shackles, right to the bottom of the sea.

After they dragged him back to the cell this time they beat him into unconsciousness.

Time lost all meaning after that.

It leapt and shifted and blurred and slowed to a crawl. He saw and heard things he knew couldn't be real. He saw the walls bulge and blur under a mass of teeming insects, which would never happen. Not on his Mother Base. Every corner was cleaned and disinfected - he made sure of it. They were trapped here, and it didn't need to be more of a breeding ground for disease than it already was.

He heard himself singing: with our backs facing each other, we move apart. But it was high and sweet and on-key. That wasn't his voice. He could never carry a tune; certainly not like that. It couldn't be Ocelot, either. His voice was far too deep. He wouldn't know that song. Why would Ocelot be singing, anyway? Why would Kaz? I love you; I hope these thoughts reach you.. Accompanied by seabirds. That didn't happen.

Ocelot was always self-assured. Smiled easily, wistfully; teased him and drove him to distraction and never once let him down. Saw everything. Could put down men twice his size yet spend hours playing with a puppy. Kaz most definitely did not see him stripped down and passed between Mutt and Hitman, lifeless as a doll. He did not hear him whimper when Mutt dug his thumb into a seeping bullet hole to make him tighten up; he did not see his throat swell with Hitman's cock, on his back because he could no longer hold himself up on his hands and knees.

He did not count the seconds it took him to cough in the aftermath.

"If you tilt your head back, it's easier to breathe," Kaz did not say.

Ocelot did not nod gratefully and wipe his mouth.

He did, however, drag himself over to Kaz's side and try to lift himself up to speak into his ear. He couldn't do it, so Kaz laid down beside him as best as he could manage. "Beginning to think I might not get out of this." His smile was mechanical - just a movement of the muscles in his face.

"You will," Kaz replied, though he no longer believed it himself.

"If I don't, tell John everything that happened here," Ocelot was so quiet Kaz could hardly hear him, even though his lips were close enough to brush his earlobe. He cupped a ruined hand around his mouth, too, like a child whispering a secret.

"I still have no idea who the fuck that is."

"You'll know him when you see him. When he hears about this he'll come. Tell him every detail you can remember. And tell him... 'Hitman' speaks Spanish."

Kaz blinked rapidly, trying to parse that. Had Ocelot not realized that at first? Had he tricked him? Or had Ocelot known it and pretended he didn't, to slip him misleading information? Plots within plots. Schemes within schemes. Lies within lies. A Russian nesting doll of cloak and dagger fuckery, and it made Kaz angry and exhausted all at once. The last thing he wanted to do was describe all this to Ocelot's spy boyfriend, but this wasn't the kind of thing someone refused. "Fine. I'll tell him."

But first he'd punch him, right in the face. For not coming until it was too late.

They fell asleep together.

Kaz woke up to Hitman's forearm across his throat, strangling him. His first instinct was to gasp for air; his throat made a hideous, wheezing noise. He wrenched on the cuff until his wrist bled but someone had tightened it; he tried to buck him off but Hitman would have been heavier and stronger than him even if he wasn't tied down and half-starved. His sole remaining heel pounded the floor involuntarily as grey spots ate away at his field of view, turning black.

"Sorry," Hitman murmured emotionlessly and touched his cheek, "but you were never going to make it out of this."

That was it, then. Kaz would die, Ocelot would live. I didn't break, though. Tell him I didn't.

No.

He wouldn't care. He'd be heartbroken and Kaz would feel his pain like it was his own.

No.

Kaz didn't want to die. Death was giving up, and he wasn't going to give up. If he wrenched his head to the side he could breathe just a little, he could feel it, his sight came back into focus as his windpipe was gradually, inevitably being crushed. I want to live I want to fight I want to see his face again--

He was staring up into Hitman's pitiless eyes when Ocelot jammed his bloody fingers into them.

The weight fell off him very suddenly and Kaz flopped around like a landed fish until he could breathe again.

Hitman thrown Ocelot down and backed off immediately, but his sclera was stained dark with the marks Ocelot had left - if he still had his fingernails, Kaz had no doubt the man would be blind right now. He drew his knife cautiously, consideringly, while Ocelot watched from the floor, all pretenses of fear and helplessness long gone; the two of them calling to mind predators, circling.

Maybe, under different circumstances, Ocelot was the deadlier one. But not on the verge of death and hopelessly lamed.

And he knew it. He squeezed Kaz's knee and told him, "Go somewhere else," before he said something to Hitman in a language Kaz didn't speak and the other man descended on him with the weapon. Ocelot almost blocked it, but wasn't strong enough to hold him off with one arm.

He saw Hitman bury it in Ocelot's torso.

Go somewhere else. Kaz wished he could. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut.

He heard Hitman tear it free and stab him again. Ocelot's cry of pain made him open his eyes.

These wounds weren't meant to kill.

Go somewhere else.

This could take hours.

They were talking in Russian and it felt like insect legs on the back of his scalp, under his skin; the few words he knew: traitor, fire, Cyprus.

No.

Go somewhere else.

NO.

Hitman was XOF. The rest of them? Maybe. Probably not. How had Ocelot figured it out?

Kaz saw him shove the blade in up to the hilt in Ocelot's stomach and start twisting it and he wanted very. Badly. To go somewhere else but there was no plan in Ocelot's expression, his eyes were dead and hopeless - he'd gone somewhere else and they weren't allowed to go to sleep at the same time.

No.

Think.

Ocelot wasn't a fucking wizard. Checking someone else's watch and speaking in a different language weren't magic. He was observant, well-educated, and calm under pressure. That was all. Kaz could do that. Think. What was the plan here?

There was no plan. Not for hostages. The gas was lethal; they couldn't have known that Ocelot would be resistant to it.

No.

That was the plan. Hitman's plan. He did know. The plan was to take Ocelot and only Ocelot alive, and he'd been all but ignoring Kaz the whole time because--

You are worthless--

No, because Kaz hadn't been part of it. He'd put them together not to break them both but because they would talk. And he would understand it. And he would hear things like Dhekelia and he would know that Ocelot knew whatever it was he wanted him to know and Kaz didn't. That was why he wasn't going to let them take Kaz and give Ocelot up, or take Kaz and kill Ocelot. The rest weren't in on it.

Ocelot was holding his own guts in. Waiting to die.

I will kill myself long before that happens.

Ocelot had told him that he knew, threatened to expose him, thought that would make Hitman kill him and lose the game.

No.

Ocelot was about to break and Hitman could smell it and Kaz could, too - what's why he was somewhere else it helps you last a little longer - he would keep him alive but just barely and Ocelot would tell him whatever it was he was willing to die for.

And Kaz was just going to sit there and watch it happen like the useless cripple he was. Like a dumb, decorative pet poodle.

No.

He would fucking BARK.

Loud. Louder. Past the razorblades in his crushed throat, shouting, "Holy shit I sure hope they're not giving you performance pay for this because it's been three days--" A guess. No. Ocelot was still alive without water. It has been three days or less. "--and you still have sweet. Fuck. All!"

That didn't phase him. Oh, but Kaz wasn't finished.

"Did the parasites infect your brain or were you dropped on your head in the abortion clinic? How have you not figured out that I'm the one who knows where he is? Did you not think we knew you were listening?"

It was a shot in the dark, but it landed. Hitman looked up; paused along the line he was carving across Ocelot's pelvic bones. He was too smart not to figure out what Kaz was doing if he thought about it - he had to make him not think. "I get that you were busy, but could you at least finish the job? I mean, I'm clean, but everyone else who gives your girlfriend the orgasms your microdick can't probably won't be.

"And tell her to shave, Jesus. Or not. I don't want to be staring up at her moles while she's squirting on my face."

Kaz had to hand it to him: most men he'd known would have cut his throat at microdick. Hitman waited all the way until he heard proof that Kaz wasn't just talking shit before he dumped Ocelot and rounded on Kaz, instead. He rammed the knife right into his mouth, between his teeth. Kaz could feel it pierce his soft palate and the spike of agony as it worked its way through into his sinuses was unreal but the worst part was by far the taste. The taste of the contents of Ocelot's intestines, half-digested food and bile and feces.

Kaz threw up and began to drown in his own vomit.

He'd won. He'd held out longer than Ocelot by whole minutes. But now he was going to break and beg for--

No.

The white static in his terror-soaked mind wasn't neurons misfiring in fear, it was flower petals. He watched tens of thousands of them flutter to the ground while his mother held his small hand, exclaiming with delight. It was shooting stars on a beach in Costa Rica; warm night, warm body, the smell of sea salt and sweat.

It was swirling snow, blown in behind Ocelot when he banged the door open, steaming mug of coffee in hand. Kaz snarled - at the disruption, at the waste of heat and money - but the coffee was hot and heavenly and just what he needed.

It was blackness and the complete loss of feeling. Bliss.

They should have died like that. What a death that would have been. They gave up nothing in the face of horrors that would keep them both awake for hours in the control room for years to come, promising each other not to fall asleep until the other was ready. Yet, nothing. Impressive. Worthy of their talents.

But losing is easy. It is fleeting and beautiful. Winning is arduous, ugly, heartless, bloody and long.

Something at which Russians and Americans in particular excel.

When Kaz awoke breathing and swallowing were both so painful his eyes watered. There was a hand with fingers laced through his own, fingernails missing. Ocelot still lay beside him and even looked up when he came to, the grey of his eye sockets now hollow and black. Using Kaz's coat to keep his organs on the inside. "What...?"

"Your boyfriend and girlfriend pulled him off you," Ocelot's voice rattled but somehow Kaz could still hear humour in it. "Then they had a little spat. Wasn't pretty. I think someone got stabbed. Someone else, I mean."

"Why are you awake?" Kaz asked incredulously; he couldn't still be keeping to the plan. They were both dead now. It was all a matter of waiting. Their captors couldn't possibly believe that the Diamond Dogs would let them go after this, whether they handed Kaz and Ocelot over or not.

"Because if I fall asleep I won't wake up again," he pronounced with the same certainty he had about everything. "I don't want to die either, Miller."

Ocelot's hand shook; Kaz realized that he'd never touched his bare hand before, and it was somehow more intimate than fucking him, but when he tried to let go Ocelot squeezed. Kaz squeezed back.

Time had become merciless. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes, hours. Ocelot started to fade and Kaz's voice couldn't call him back, until he said: "John's coming."

"He is...?" Ocelot slurred, and the fragile hope he heard tore pieces out of Kaz's conscience.

"He's almost here." Kaz strung him along, eked more seconds out of Ocelot's waning consciousness.

But before long, "I'm sorry, John, I can't..." he apologized, near tears, and broke into Russian.

Kaz knew those words.

He knew who John was.

The room greyed and tasted like ash. No, cinder. Sparks he could set alight because

FUCK HIM.

HE'S NOT HERE. HE'S NOT COMING.

"You're no use to him dead," Kaz said instead, and kicked one of the boxes down off the shelf. Dragged it over with his foot and smashed it open. Pushed one of the pull-tab cans of fruit over to Ocelot. There would be water in there. Energy, maybe. Maybe he shouldn't drink right now, Kaz was no doctor, but he didn't need to be one to tell that it no longer really mattered what would be best for Ocelot in the long term. "You'll have to open it yourself." He set Ocelot's hand down on it. "Come on. Fight."

Kaz's mind and his vision were black with rage. He did hear Ocelot open it. Must have been painful, without fingernails. But he was willing to suffer through it

FOR YOU.

JUST LIKE I WAS.

They were brothers-in-arms, after all.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Ocelot was annoying him again, but that was good because that meant there was still life left in him, and it mean Kaz wouldn't die alone, choking on hate.

Hitman returned. He was kitted up, at last: body armour and all of his weapons. He briefly, visibly, considered shooting both of them, but drew his knife instead. "Might need the bullets," he chuckled, but what he really wanted was to hear them scream and cry again.

"Hey Miller," Ocelot said so quietly only Kaz could hear him, "Do you know why even the biggest dogs are afraid of cats?"

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes, yes! "Cats have claws," Kaz responded triumphantly, caught and held Hitman between his legs with all of his remaining strength while Ocelot slashed the artery in his neck open with the sharpened can lid.

Hitman lashed out; cut Kaz's shin and thighs up badly but he was long past caring about anything that wasn't fatal. Kaz watched him gurgle and the light die in his eyes with delight while Ocelot dug around for the key with the one bloody hand that still functioned. Unlocked Kaz's wrist right before Mutt looked in to see what was happening; Ocelot went for the revolver but he couldn't hold it up.

Kaz could. He shot him in the chest. Ocelot's fingers guided his palm up a fraction of an inch and Kaz shot him in the head. Bone, brain, and blood showered the wall and he toppled.

They waited, huddled together, weapon raised, for someone else to come. But no one did.

Why would they? Two execution-style shots were exactly what they were expecting to hear.

Maybe, Kaz could drag himself down the hall to a connection with another platform, and escape. Maybe, he could hide where they couldn't find him until the Diamond Dogs broke the doors down.

Ocelot would be dead before either of those things happened. He would be dead before they made it up the stairs.

Good thing they weren't taking the stairs.

There was no discussion, no argument; Kaz simply hauled the other man to his feet and used him like a crutch. Ocelot had one good leg, too, and they limped forward together. You didn't pack boxes full of heavy shit like cans floors down just to haul them up the stairs again. There was a supply lift twenty feet away from here that would take them right up to the signals room and when his captors hadn't used it to take Kaz up there he'd known they either didn't know about it, or didn't know that it would run on emergency power.

He remembered the layout. He remembered where they'd set up. They would hear them coming, so every shot had to count. There would be no reloading.

They'd taken his keycard; Kaz typed in the override and Ocelot replaced the two rounds they'd fired. They stepped onto the lift together. Ocelot brought Kaz's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

All three of them were sitting there, preparing for the fight they thought they'd have to make it out of here alive.

Ocelot aimed. Kaz fired.

BANG. A bullet punched right through The Manager's throat, ripping it open.

BANG. A bullet pierced a stranger's eye; oozing, hollow, black, grey.

BANG. Good Cop almost raised his own weapon before they shot his lower jaw off.

They weren't all kill shots. Not instantly. Ocelot followed him wordlessly as Kaz lurched over to where Good Cop lay, writhing and clutching what was left of his face. Where Kaz would have, if Ocelot hadn't pulled him out, and he'd died like the rest in the initial attack. But he had.

LOOK WHAT IT COST YOU, Kaz screamed internally as he pulled the trigger. Three times.

But he had.

Because for all his stoic, sociopathic bullshit Ocelot had been trying to protect him the whole time.

And UNLIKE YOU

Kaz is not a monster, and will not let him die alone.

Kaz shuddered. Dropped the empty, useless firearm and staggered over to the desk he and Ocelot shared. Used it to pull himself the rest of the way when Ocelot's legs gave out. Set Ocelot in his chair, where he belonged. Returned his scarf to him.

"Kaz," Ocelot sighed, and Kaz caught his head before it smacked into the desktop.

Depressed the button for the PA. "This is Commander Miller. All targets down. Need S-rank trauma team to the signals room ASAP - Ocelot has multiple stab wounds. There are no other survivors. Out."

"Assault team copies all."

"Medical team copies. One casualty in critical condition. Trauma team will be dispatched by helicopter." A pause. "But what about you, Commander?"

"I'm fine," Kaz replied.

Chapter Text

I have been curled up into a ball over the past few days vibrating with happiness because holy shit this art is so damn good. Art! Of my fic! This fandom is amazing, especially these shiny diamonds.

First there's incredible millionfish (@ millionfish. ) with Kaz 'n Ocelot mirrored in monochrome, giving the Diamond Dogs security detail nightmares when they watch these feeds because pain turns men into demons.

(Also if you haven't yet read yellowcake STOP, DROP, and assume the fetal position for the tactical nuke of feels coming your way.)

And the tremendously talented MasterMillers perfectly portrays one last kiss before they rise out of Hell to take back their home.

In fact just go, hurry, peruse their art in general. It takes me twenty thousand words to describe what they can in one image so hook these directly into your veins for best effect.

There's also this fantastically creative take on the effect this has on Kaz's psyche by SquidJuice, in one of the darkest and most gruesome takes on PTSD that I've seen around: