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He knew it was bad when Miller hadn’t shown up for radio support.
He’d stopped coming to meals as well, and his goodbye to Boss when he was leaving for a long mission seemed veiled. Ocelot had sent for someone to go see if Miller was still alive in his quarters, all they got back was a slurred, “working.” And that’s all anyone had gotten for a while.
The walk to the quarters was grueling, and as he got closer and closer to Miller’s door he got the gross feeling he had been getting. The same feeling he got the last time Miller got this way and he had to confiscate his gun.
Stay with me.
Ocelot shook his head, cheeks slightly turning pink. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door.
No answer.
He jiggled the knob. Of course he locked it. he thought. Miller can never just be easy. And so, he knocked again.
Still silence.
“Miller open the door or I’ll bust it down,” he yelled.
All he got back was the sound of a stack of papers falling all over the floor. He stepped back, assessing the situation. Kicking the door open would start a fight, picking the lock could take too long. Not that Ocelot was bad at picking locks, he just didn’t know if whatever was behind the door was time sensitive. So he lifted up up his foot and kicked in between the knob and the door jamb, popping the door open.
The smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol filled the hallway. At the table was the slumped figure of Miller, holding onto a bottle for dear life. The room was a mess. Papers and bottles strewn about, prosthetics under the desk where Miller had dumped them the night prior.
“Miller?” Ocelot said, too softly for his liking. He closed the door behind him and dragged a sofa table in front of it with his boot so it wouldn’t swing open. He walked over, stepping over any important mother base paperwork. As he watched his feet he saw a smashed wristwatch on the floor. He pressed two fingers against Kaz’s neck to feel a pulse, who promptly leaned away. His skin was hot and sweaty.
“Miller, Do you know what time it is?” Ocelot asked.
Kaz grumbled, rubbing his hand on his face, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. “Fuck, I don’t know, like 4? 4 A.M.?” Kaz’s quarters had no windows besides the one in the top of his shower, which promptly had been covered with some nails and a towel.
“1. P.M.”
“Fuck”
Ocelot spotted Kaz’s gun on the table in front of him and swept it up under the guise of just inspecting it. He looked at the safety, on, as it usually was.
Just hold on a bit longer
He flicked the safety off.
“Always itching for a damn fight,” Ocelot muttered.
Kaz didn’t honor him with a real reply, just a mumble.
“You and this place are a damn mess, Kaz.”
Fuck. First names where reserved for those nights where Adam would slip through the door into Kaz’s bed while the boss was gone. No matter how many years this had been going on, they always kept it formal outside of the bedroom. Whatever.
“When’s the last time you bathed, Miller,” Ocelot barked, hopefully to distract from his little slip. Kaz was caked in sweat, his hair clung to his forehead and his white undershirt to his back. If Kaz didn’t smell like vomit he would’ve found it sexy.
“You smell like shit and you look even worse.” It was falling on deaf ears, Kaz had most definitely blocked him out by now.
He rolled his eyes and placed Kaz’s gun in his pocket before kicking some papers aside and jerked Kaz’s chair out so it faced him and the bathroom door.
“Get up or I’m gonna pull you up,” he threatened.
Kaz didn’t budge so he swept a hand behind the small of his back, placing the hand just under his ribs on his side and hoisted him up. Then he dragged him to the bathroom where he practically dropped Miller on the closed toilet. He took a deep breathe, “you fucking owe me for this. Can’t even take care of yourself.” Yeah, he thought, maybe I’ll get a blowjob from this. Or something more. That’s what I’m doing this for, just something more in return. He turned the knob of the shower to warm before turning back to Kaz. He flicked the bathroom light off and reached for his sunglasses. Despite Ocelot’s precautions, he still flinched at the light. After placing Kaz’s glasses on the bathroom sink he reached for his shirt, pulling it halfway up before Kaz ripped it back down. The stared at each other.
Miller had a hard time putting the weight back on after Afghanistan, often skipping meals and avoiding the med bay staff Ocelot has assigned to him. Often, Ocelot found himself getting angry with Miller.
Just eat.
Just listen.
They’re trying to help you.
“They are” because “I am” wouldn’t cut it.
Fine he thought before walking out of the bathroom. He slipped off his boots and placed them by the door. Next came his scarf, holster, gloves, and socks which he promptly hung over the back of Miller’s chair. He joined Miller in the bathroom again, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the floor. Miller watched as he undid his pants and slipped them off, underwear included, and kicked them to his shirt. Now that he was naked, he tried again, reaching for his shirt when he thought Miller was distracted and ripping it up and over his head. He stepped back, inspecting Miller’s body.
Burns. Cuts. The smallest ghost of ribs poking through the skin.
“Give me your leg,” Ocelot ordered. Kaz complied, although delayed.
“Boss gets pissy when you hurt yourself,” he avoided eye contact focusing on taking off Miller’s sock, although it was not a feat in any sense of the word. He could feel Miller’s eyes on him, burning holes into his skin.
Why can’t you just talk to me when you get like this
“Med bay staff keeps complaining about how hard you are to keep up with.”
I’m trying to help you
He turned to Miller’s pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Miller let him slip them off without a fight. He stood back up. Miller looked like a small, cornered animal. Makes sense after all, he’s not able to go anywhere else while Ocelot reprimands him. But he looks weak, tired, sick.
So much for that damn favor.
He hoists Miller up like he did before and pulls him into the shower, placing him on the plastic stool. There’s barely any space for Ocelot but he manages anyway.
“Get yourself wet,” he orders.
Miller obeys, grabbing the metal bar on the wall and pulling himself up and under the water. It’s a nice sight, watching the water drape over his skin. Shower sex was more of an Ocelot and Big Boss sort of thing. In fact, this quarters was supposed to be for the Boss until someone found Miller struggling to bathe himself. It didn’t matter anyway, Boss and Ocelot had become accustomed to what times the showers were completely empty on base.
Miller sat back down, and Ocelot began to work on his hair. No blood this time. Maybe Miller had learned a lesson, or maybe he had found quieter ways to hurt himself rather than smashing a bottle on his head. He tapped Miller’s shoulder to stand up and rinse his hair. Then he made quick work with the barely used conditioner. When that was over he went into washing Miller’s body. Usually this is when he would try to initiate his “favor” but he hesitated. I can wait another day. Soon enough, the shower was over and he was toweling Miller dry.
Many a day ago, Miller apparently was just as he was, well groomed. Apparently wasn’t the right word because he had seen pictures of him. Pictures of him with his clean cut hair, well shaved face, and nice body. When he saw those pictures he always laughed, Boss has a type. Speaking of shaved, Miller hadn’t shaved in days probably. Another favor for him is another favor for me. So he searched through Miller’s medicine cabinet for a razor and shaving cream.
“No wonder,” he chided.
“What,” Miller responded.
Miller’s razor was a damn straight razor.
“They make electric razors now. Have been for over 50 years,” Ocelot scolded, “You’re damn lucky I know how to use this.”
It reminded him of his younger self, stealing a straight razor from Volgin to use on himself to look good for John. Instead he showed up to their first duel with giant scabs all over his face, in which John had embarrassingly pointed out in front of everyone. But he did teach him how to use if, and that’s all that matters now.
Miller was cooperative, following all of Ocelot’s orders of where to turn his head. He handed Miller the aftershave and headed back into the room to find him some clothes. He thought about getting Miller clothes to greet the Boss but decided he should probably sleep instead. Which reminded him.
“Boss was damn near worried sick about you,” he said walking back into the bathroom and handing Miller his clothes. He almost stopped there when all Miller replied with was a meek little “sorry.” But he couldn’t, he wasn’t just angry for the Boss he was angry for himself too.
“You can’t just do shit like that.”
I thought you were dead
“At least call or take a look at the fucking clock on the wall every once in a while.”
Why can’t you just get off your high horse
“Okay!” Miller cut off angrily, pulling Ocelot from his thoughts. Thoughts that shouldn’t have been happening anyway.
“Get dressed,” was all Ocelot replied before walking out of the bathroom again to clean up some of the papers off the floor. After a little while of cleaning and strategically looking back at Miller to see if he needed help Miller was done.
“Get me my crutch,” he said, pulling back from Ocelot’s hands.
Ocelot complied, and watched from closely behind Miller as he made his way to his bed. Ocelot helped him get all tucked in and comfortable before flicking the light off and redressing.
He pushed the table back to its place and walked out into the hall.
“You owe me,” he muttered.