Work Text:
He likes the chopper rides. Lasting for hours they are the longest parts of his missions but also the most enjoyable, he finds; sometimes he’ll open the hatch (much to Pequod’s chagrin, but his warnings always fall upon deaf ears), and sit down on the cold steel ground with only the ocean and the sky stretching endlessly above and below him, from horizon to horizon.
He thinks of nothing, then, and even the drumming sound of the rotor blades fade into obscurity. He feels and smells the sea, the wind lashing at his face, though it doesn’t hurt, and sometimes he wonders if it would hurt if he let himself fall, if he would even notice when his body met the hard surface of the water. If he would notice it filling his lungs and suffocating him; sinking to the bottom, slowly, gently, the invisible weight on his shoulders pulling him down.
Freedom is when you stop wondering, he thinks. It’s the closest he’ll come to heaven, so he climbs back into the chopper when his pilot tells him that there’s a storm ahead.
*
Kaz is there to greet him when he sets foot on Mother Base, the artificial soil they call home. Another mission, probably; give him five minutes to prepare another loadout and he’ll be right on his way. He doesn’t ask why he’s carrying a bouquet of white (or are they red?) flowers with him, probably another casualty in the quarantine facility. He doesn’t want to hear about that right now, have his head free for just a few more minutes before the fog comes back.
“Boss,” says Kaz, voice heavy.
“Another…” Snake replies habitually, trailing off. He gestures vaguely towards the flowers, tries to count them, keep his mind busy. 16. 18. 20. How many petals would that make?
“No, it’s – fortunately not. You remember what today’s date is…?”
He remains silent, blinking once, gaze lifting itself up to Kaz’s face.
“… September 2nd,” Kaz reminds him, with a frown that’s partially hidden by the lenses of his aviators. It’s a date that has been etched into his memory; the last day of Operation Snake Eater.
Her death day.
“Right.”
“You always put up a vase of these on that day, in your room. I figured you wanted to resume that ritual.”
“I see,” he says, lifelessly. He stares at those flowers and all he can recall is a hospital room smelling like burnt skin, and then he feels a strange urge to pluck at those petals and light them on fire, but he doesn’t move; only shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Kaz doesn’t say anything, for a moment or two. Then he seems to realize something.
“I know you said that she betrayed you,” Kaz says, holding out the bouquet to him. “And that you want to look ahead. But I also know she’s still important to you, Snake. She was your comrade… no, more than that. Take some time off.”
His mechanical fist uncurls to take the flowers – twenty, it’s been twenty years although it doesn’t feel like it – and then he watches Kaz walk towards the command center with a slight limp, unable to hide his disability completely.
He leaves him here in the fog, where it’s difficult to see or find the right way. He wishes he was back on the chopper. He wishes he could see the clouds, the waves, the birds.
*
Less than ten minutes later, he finds himself on the lower deck of the R&D platform, unfeeling fingers still clutching the bouquet, standing in front of a mechanical tombstone, a hollow husk, repeating the same lines over and over again like a broken record.
“Jack? Jack, is that you… no, it can’t be. There is nothing left inside me now. Nothing at all. No hatred, not even regret. And yet sometimes at night, I can still feel the pain creeping up inside me, slithering through my body, like a snake.”
He wishes he could feel something. Anything at all.
She had her identity - her life - taken away. But she wanted you, of all people, to know the truth…
Loyal to the mission. Loyal to her purpose. Loyal to the cage that had suffocated her and contained her will, and that’s the memory he will honor, because it’s all he has left.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and places the Star of Bethlehems carefully down to rest against the base of the pod, unharmed. Then he turns around to board the chopper; the fleeting peace preceding bloodstained hands the only time off he allows himself.