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Amateurs and brutes are the eternal bane of Adam’s existence. Pacing back and forth through the younger soldiers and asking himself why he bothers with these charades. He could go back to America, see if the CIA wants any assistance. He could crawl on hands and knees to Zero and beg the old man to put him somewhere else, anywhere else.
But no.
He knows where he’s meant to be right now, even if the one Private is about to be kicked so far from the window he’ll sink to his grave before he comes crawling back.
Hands in many pots, ears tuned to several threads of gossip.
Yadda. Yadda. Yadda.
Near-dead POW’s in bloody tatters beneath his feet, blood splattering the toe of his boot when another fist dislocates jaw. Idiots.
“Sir” A phone held in gloved hand. One of own Unit, Irate Jaguar, and a temporary mercy. “Call for you.”
He takes it, grateful to be away from watching this fumbling display, barking orders for the second Lieutenant to take over, squirreling himself into the blessed recess of his office.
“Yes?” He greets in Russian. A mechanical voice rattles off a radio frequency and disconnects. The coding stiffens Adam’s spine, and he fumbles his radio, plugs the headset in so he won’t be interrupted, and promptly slides to the floor in disbelief and shock.
It’s a terrible connection, made all the worse by how much is being currently torn asunder and assaulted by guns and missiles. This frequency connected to only one place on earth, a place currently taking one-way-trips to the bottom of the sea.
He’s hyperventilating before he understands he’s doing so, Jaguar re-entering the office, alarmed, sliding to his own knees to grip at him. “Sir-Ocelot-hey!”
Ocelot wheezes, sharp pains racketing through his chest. Jaguar moves the headset from him, takes it to his own ear and Ocelot watches through bleary eyes as the colour drains from his face.
“I have to go” Ocelot says, Jaguar getting to his feet. He wobbles, but his man is steadfast in grip. “I’ll get your car, and Panther.”
Ocelot never recalls leaving, nor the following drive. He’s hardly able to care.
~~
“You’ve been crying.”
He’s on excruciatingly thin ice but tests the give regardless. “Of course. For him you’re always frightfully transparent.”
Silence. No matter.
“He survived. I’ll have more information later. You’re free to call when you’ve collected yourself.” Hanging up on the sharp intake of breath and secure in knowledge he’s hooked on the need to know more. Much like his drugs. Ones Zero not only encouraged but helped procure. He makes the calls to Cyprus in the interim.
EVA has plenty of work to do. Zero can ignore the prickles of his fading mind for this, fight until he knows Jack is safe. Deal with the loose ends of Miller and-
Ah, no. In time, Ocelot can handle that one. Yes. He’ll have the perfect set of hands and skills to leash that truly abominable temper. Imagining the myriad of ways he might do so brings a twitch to his lips.
~~
EVA’s call comes swift. Her voice abrupt and solid. “We’ve left Miller in Columbia. Transfer of valuables in progress.”
The plural does not escape Zero’s hearing. “Affirmative. Change in status updates need clarity.”
“There was another. A man. Partially stable. Uniforms in bad condition but he’s got a medic insignia.”
“Stable?”
“Semi.”
Interesting. If Jack had the man in that chopper, then there’s little question how valuable and talented a soldier he was. Is.
“Keep them together” Zero can feel his brain knitting as she speaks. Would it work a fourth time? No..but perhaps something different. “Do not allow them to be separated. Top priority. Reconnect when you rendezvous.”
~~
Ocelot’s second call comes almost immediately thereafter, and Zero’s discussing his new plan before it’s even fully formed. He hears both admiration and mistrust. But Zero knows Ocelot, knows how he thinks. And is aware of the spiking interest below. Unification in cruelty can appear a little gauche, but it is so useful he’s of no mind to care.
Yes, Ocelot will be agreeable to this.
Not only for his lack of true choice, but when he sees for himself just what he’ll be able to do.
Really, all he’s done is laid out some openings. Ocelot will do the rest of his own accord.
~~
“Adam?”
He shakes himself, unsure of how long he’s been standing there, John lifeless beneath the plastic mask and beeping machine. They’ve cleaned him; best as they could. Cut his hair where blood had been too matted, washed what remained. Wiped down his face, cut away the suit and left it in pieces in a plastic bag, which Adam clutches to his own chest like a lifeline, breathing harshly through his nose.
EVA has strong, sure hands. Tight arm about his waist, her face buried in his shoulder, wetting the black sweater, smearing mascara into it’s knitting.
The sob on his name when she tries to draw him into the present. Beside John, and empty space where the medic had been, wheeled away for another operation at present.
“Not comatose.” One of the Cipher doctors explained, “Medically sedated, we will induce a coma after his second surgery. It’s been difficult to remove all the shrapnel.”
Handed an X-Ray, Ocelot studied the man’s chest impassively. That he lived at all was nothing short of a miracle, littered with debris the way he was.
“Mentally?” Ocelot asked, as he handed the scans back over.
“Impossible to say. We’re unable to do an MRI” He’d gestured, pulling back one of the gauze wrappings, Adam hissing sharply through his teeth. Jagged, black shrapnel protruding aggressively from the skull, just over the right eye.
“Adam!”
EVA’s shaking him now, forcing him back to the present once more. He blinks, forces himself to look at John anew.
Immortality was a falsehood. Neither he nor John nor EVA ever pretended otherwise. Aware that any second, any moment, could meet their end.
But it’s so easy to become complacent with John. So often he seemed gargantuan, a mythical figure of old that challenged and defied every chance to bring him beneath the earth. Drag him to the Hell waiting so eagerly for him. For all of them.
John doesn’t know where he came from. All memories before her seemingly permanently blockaded in some fall out. Like the nuclear tests eradicated them.
So he’d tell Ocelot, anyway. In the rare times he could get him to talk about himself at all. In this they’re alike. Ocelot’s early memories are all patchworks of lessons and obligations. It’s amidst this they work, survive.
Something claws painfully at Adam’s chest. Tears into his lungs and seeps through the veins below. Soaks into his very core and forces him double over, EVA’s small, firm hands palming at his spine, holding him still.
Nausea. Unbridled, unencumbered. His knees rattle against the bed frame, EVA slowly sinking down to the cold linoleum floor in their bizarre, tangled embrace. Neither willing to emit any sound when they cry softly into the thin sheets and pretend anything makes sense.
Overcome, he reaches out, tangles fingers in the IV-line dangling alongside the bed, twists the plastic threateningly and growls low. “Not yet, John. You hear that?” Voice muddled, salt-thick through tears, sticky tongued and watery eyed. “That beeping means you’re still here. Still alive, and when you open your eye, I’m punching it shut until you apologize.”
“Adam.” EVA slots manicured nails around his gripping fingers, gently breaks the tubing free. They’re an attractive, glossy red, shimmery. One’s chipped, the other streaked. Traces of motor oil that Adam can still smell lingering on her skin. A scent that for her, never fades. Like the gasoline that clings stubbornly to her hair. A talisman of truth. The most true self she can ever hope to be.
Vulnerable, he ebbs closer alongside the bed from the floor. Drags himself across it by his knees, arches until his lips are right to John’s sleeping ear. Scent of alcohol an assault he swallows down, “Here, nobody can touch you. You’re in my bloodied hands now. So, sleep, John. Sleep if you must. I’ll be right here.” Lips twisting, revealing teeth that scrape at jaw.
EVA won’t tell. She’ll pretend she didn’t hear, even if her own eyes glisten in Adam’s peripheral, and he knows otherwise.
He hisses, low, “As long as it takes.” And his teeth mock a kiss.
Even if all he receives is slow, methodical beeping in return.
~~
He never stays in hotels, or motels. The risk far to great. Never uses the same driver twice. Never a paper trail. No names. No identities.
All places bought via proxies and agents. Cyprus is no different. But.
“There is not a door in this world that could keep you at bay.”
No matter how unidentified.
The smell of whisky fills the air, there’s slight white streaks across the cut glass coffee table that shimmers in a dull smudge beneath the low light.
His back is turned. Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. Black pants meld into the mauve shag carpet. The only sound is the rising of the crystal tumbler to hidden lips, a little thrum of heartbeat from the contraband jolt.
In no rush, Zero removes his overcoat, green emerald gloves. Leaves his gray three piece on and unties his shoes. Slides into dark grey heavy soled slippers and crosses the room. Stops short of Ocelot’s back to reach for the low slouched black hat. This, he grips, tugs free to force ash blonde strands to spill, purses his lips to how badly its thinning.
And so soon, too. Keeping that up and he’d look less like her in short time. Ocelot turns, slowly in his seated position. Fixes him with red rimmed eyes slowly overtaken by pupils, and raises his scarf covered neck in defiant challenge.
Ah. There it is. That icy glower that should be dead and buried, but thrives in the most perfect meme no science could hope duplicate.
Not for lack of trying.
“My 1898?” Zero scoffs, “I’d not yet broken its seal.”
“You don’t keep me around for my good behaviour, David.”
He’s still angry. It’ll be useful.
Zero wipes at the tacky residue below his nose with a broad thumb, huffs. “Course not. There are very few in this world now who understand me perfectly. Perhaps now you are the only one.”
“That wasn’t you. Killing him is of no use for you. Even if you want him punished.”
Zero steps back, “No” He reaches for the gold box, fishes more powder free. Drags it into another line against the already existing smudge, grips Ocelot’s hair again and forces his head down until he’s close enough to inhale.
Drugs weren’t one of Zero’s personal indulgences, but when he’d seen how useful they were for Ocelot, it was little choice on his conscious to encourage it.
He was successful sober, truly miraculous high.
The thin frame shudders beneath his grip, trembles when he lets him up once more. A quick tongue flicks whiskey lips and sighs.
“I saw your little pet. You really think it’ll work?”
“You think you’re in any position to fail me? To fail him?”
Drug-hazy eyes darken, all their colour currently obscured, “Don’t”.
Don’t do this to me. Not right now. Don’t use that kind of leverage. It’s.
“Please don’t resort to begging. You know how little I care for pathetic displays.” Stepping back to give Ocelot some space, and clean his own hands, pour his own shot while Ocelot collects himself. He stokes the fire while Ocelot paces the room, runs his fingers down his sweater and lets the initial rush subside to a workable functionality.
“Are you beginning to doubt me?”
“Are you giving me reason to?” Sipping from the tumbler, rolling the thick, heady liquid over his tongue. From here, Zero can indulge in watching him think and pace. It’s one major difference to his mother that they’d never been able to right. She was as steady as any structure in a storm, Ocelot is unable to keep still, a feather to the wind. Movement with thought, malleable in motion.
A pity, but some differences truly cannot be assisted. There are no personal affectations in this room-none of the many foxholes he keeps in the world have them. Nary but a select few, but he keeps certain things all the same. Hidden in tight chests and small boxes. Buried beneath clothes and ties.
“There is potential” Ocelot finally says, tongue against lips, oxygen against teeth. “Hypnosis would be a start. Provide mission intel, powerful suggestive material.”
“I have EVA collecting the Medic’s personal data as we speak. What of it can be salvaged at any rate. If he’s traceable at all, it will be found. He had a passport and two photos on him. A good start. This information will then be delivered to you, to do with as you see fit. I will be needing to keep a distant touch in this, unfortunately.”
“How long do you assume?”
Zero hums, considering his own imminent mental demise clinically, “They are uncertain, but I believe the inevitable decline will begin within the next handful of years. Certainly, before the decade concludes.”
Ocelot crosses the room, bends to pick up the gold box against the coffee table, pockets it without asking and meets Zero’s eyes. “Then I have quite a bit of freedom.”
“Of course, this is all to be in your capable hands, after all. I would not ask this of anyone else.”
“Or dare it.”
He sips, inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Indeed. Adam.” Tapping two fingers against the glass. Ocelot steps forward again, hisses when Zero’s free hand seizes his wrist, forces him close until they’re nose to nose. Ocelot bent awkwardly but holding steady.
“I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded of the consequences, hmm? You have a new toy to play with, and a world waiting. There is so much more to me than my brain”
“Playground threats? Even now?”
“Don’t be coy. Anderson is more than capable these days, and his loyalty is absolute. Remember this should you think to get cheeky.” A pause, "Cheekier". He amends.
The fingers flex, Ocelot’s inhale close enough to caress both of their faces, “Give me a little credit. After all, I’ve a present waiting. Why give that up?”
Zero’s face twists cruelly, a side so few see. “There’s a good boy. Go on then. They’re waiting.” Free’s his wrist to watch him straighten abruptly, nod once and spin on that sharp spurred heel.
~~