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One of the most difficult tasks that Miller undertook in his entire, eventful life was getting used to a reasonable workload.
It wasn't like he didn't have any responsibilities anymore, living in a remote cabin somewhere in the outskirts of Alaska. Feeding the three dogs he'd taken in to ease the loneliness, watering the several plants in his garden to lessen his grocery trips, maintaining the cabin in an acceptable condition when the heavy winters come by. Working with one hand never got easier, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’d fallen face-first into the dirt too many times to be considered a fluke.
It was a simple life, filled with rumination and regret, one that slowly wore Miller down but not his resolve. No matter what, he would not go back. Would not cave, would not prove his weakness to the man who held his respect, his reverence, for so long.
And then V came along, bringing with him determination and dreams of a better life for the both of them. Bringing with him prosthetics that rivalled his own in their advancement, as a peace offering or as an apology, Miller was never sure.
“How’d you find me.” He’d asked, voice bitter and tired, void of any true curiosity. V had a sheepish smile that looked so foreign on him, that twisted the face of a man who never understood the concept of embarrassment into something it wasn’t.
“It’s not that hard to ask around, looking like this.” He points at his horn. Miller remembers finding it vaguely humorous before closing the door in his face.
It feels like ages ago, that meeting of theirs. The weeks of awkwardly bumping into each other, of Miller shutting down every attempt at conversation, of V trying to explain things. Trying to explain why he chose loyalty over love.
“I made the wrong decision,” He said, unprompted, on a casual Saturday. “I should have stayed by you. Should have realised we were wronged by the same man.”
“Misery loves company.” Miller had said, and V had chuckled, a sound that made his heart jump. He won’t ever admit the longing that festered ever since then, the ache for the past.
“I guess. But I just… wanted to tell you. That I’m sorry. You already know I cut all ties, I just. Want you to understand.” The words came out pained, like his throat was begging him to stop. Like Big Boss was forcing him to forgo meaningless apologies and vulnerability. The effects of being rebuilt had dulled since the time they were together, yet were never fully gone.
“V-”
“Ahab.”
“What?”
“Call me Ahab.”
It was then that Miller realised he wasn’t joking about living his own life. Regrettably, the door to his heart was pushed open a little more, a crack of affection seeping through the gap. Pride.
Miller gave his best attempt at a smile, but it came out looking wonky from lack of practice. The implications had not flown over his head. V - Ahab - felt relief flood him.
The next day, things were easier. Then came the months of courtship. Miller still finds it funny to reminisce about the fruitless attempts at romance, candlelit dinners consisting of frozen food, flowers with frost in their petals and a shivering mass holding them, hundreds of dollars spent on steak to win over the dogs’ hearts before their owner’s.
Unfortunately for him, Ahab never slowed down. What were once useless attempts had slowly become moments that he cherished. Regaining his humanity bit by bit, his silver tongue that was rusty finally polished and put to good use.
And that brought them to now.
This morning was no different from any other, in theory. Kaz wakes up to movement and snouts pushing into his face, seeking attention. His huskies were, unfortunately, not an exception to the rule of dramatics - howling fills his ears the moment his eyes crack open and a groan leaves him.
“Hungry bastards. Can’t a man get some sleep around here?” His hand blindly extends to the nightstand, patting the surface for his sunglasses. He only opens his eyes fully to look when he doesn’t feel the familiar metal against his skin.
Not on the nightstand. On the floor, then. He pulls himself to dangle over the edge in order to reach his hand under the bed, finally finding the item after intensive patting and disapproving groans from the man beside him from the ruckus and movement.
He puts them on, checks the time on his bedside clock. Forces out a sigh when an arm wraps around his torso, pulling him back without much effort. While he’s lost most of his muscle over the years, his partner remained as fit and bulky as the day they’d “met”, when he was saved from captivity.
“It’s eleven. We have to get up,” Kaz turns to the man beside him, who keeps his eye stubbornly shut, as if pointedly ignoring Whiskey’s insistent paws that push him back and forth, coaxing him awake.
Ahab grunts, pushing his face further into the blonde’s shoulder, wringing a tired laugh out of him. The man never liked mornings, preferring to sleep into the afternoon, and that hasn’t changed throughout the years. Kaz runs his fingers through his hair, comfortable and slow. It was long, in dire need of a haircut in Ahab’s opinion, but he was able to convince him to let it grow just a little more before he’d cut it for him properly, free of charge. He'd grumbled but he'd begrudgingly agreed, giving Kaz the space to enjoy the wild, curly locks left to their devices.
“Mm. Ten more minutes.” Ahab mumbles, lips moving against the blonde's right shoulder, sending tingles up to his brain. Kaz sighs, turns to give him a hefty pat on the back, as necessary comfort before he moves to get up. Unsurprisingly, the man tries to grip tighter, a whine - a whine, good lord - leaving him at the action, but Kaz refuses to budge, swinging his foot onto the floor and moving off the mattress, jumping the few steps necessary to reach his cane.
His prosthetics were waiting for him in the bathroom, freshly oiled and tinkered with just the night before. Ahab had picked up a few tricks from R&D to maintain it well himself, and he taught Kaz everything he knew, patient and understanding as he explained each joint and each ridge that needed to be taken care of.
“Why'd you learn?” Miller had asked him after a few hours of quiet maintenance. Ahab hummed.
“I asked them to teach me when I realised I needed to leave.” The explanation was bleak, vague in a way only achieved by the lack of words. He was a quiet man, barely talkative unless he needed to be, and right now Miller needed to rip the answers out of him rather than allow him his space to speak.
“This is a lot of learning to do in the span of a few days.” Miller had scoffed, and Ahab diverted his focus from the smooth red arm to lock eyes with the blonde. He gave a smile that was so fond it still forces his heart to speed up to dangerous levels no man his age should experience.
“You mean a few years.”
Kaz shakes his head at the memory. Loyal to the end, people. It was sweet, really, when it was directed towards him. It reminded him of another, someone he shouldn't be remembering.
With his arm and leg securely wrapped, and donning the fresh clothes that he’d folded in the bathroom the night before, Kaz sets out to the kitchen after dropping his cane off back near their bed. He uses those few seconds in the bedroom to stare discreetly at the sleeping mass under the thick blankets, and wonders if he’s really gone soft when fondness seeps into his heart at the sight, betraying all his instincts.
The routine was really simple. First, feed the dogs. Then, make coffee for him and Ahab - black for him, two spoons of sugar and a dash of cream for the latter man. Third, check the mail, not that anything other than promotions and political advertisements arrive, anyway. It was a habit he'd picked up back when he was marvelling at the thought of having his own mailbox, before realising that getting out in negative degree weather just because his curiosity couldn't stop nagging him wasn’t the greatest idea.
Three bowls lie on the ground, shaken out of their neat order by excited mouths and sniffing snouts. Delta sits near the counter where Kaz usually prepares their meals, eager to beg for an early piece, knowing the blonde can never resist the way he looks at the pieces of meat with such longing. Bravo, on the other hand, waits near his assigned bowl and licks at it, as if reminding Kaz of what he was missing. It was smart, but it reminded Kaz of an entitled kid, really.
Whiskey usually stays with the horned man until he awakens, and then she joins her brothers for breakfast when the man is up and rubbing his eyes as he steps into the kitchen, searching for his favourite mug.
Kaz fills up all three bowls, trusting the two already eating to keep the third untouched for Whiskey to have her fill. Satisfied, he goes to refuel the Keurig with his usual Colombian blend, the scent wafting through the air and bringing back the days of ‘74 without remorse, of coffee delivered to him by his only senior commander himself while he worked himself to near-death.
He should really stop drinking that damn coffee.
The blonde doesn't stop the machine as it pours into his mug, accepting the eight ounces of hot caffeine reluctantly. He readies the mug and throws away the used cup, switching it into a mix that his partner enjoyed more. But he doesn't give the command for the liquid to pour, leaving it for when the man appears - his coffee would get cold and murky otherwise, after all, in turn kickstarting a tirade of halfhearted complaints that he didn’t feel like entertaining this morning.
Sipping at his mug, he idly watches the two dogs as they devour their portions, tails wagging and paws scratching at the floor. There’s enough space for each canine to enjoy the meal, but Delta pushes his bowl closer to his brother’s with the force of his munching. Kaz sighs at the display, trying not to laugh when Bravo scolds him with a frustrated bark after minutes of their paws colliding in his excitement. He ought to remind Ahab to teach the dogs to be gentle during meals, but the show he gets each morning is too entertaining to pass up.
His coffee is three-quarters finished when the horned man finally shows up, bionic arm attached and beard dripping with water, but otherwise dry. Right - Kaz still hasn’t bought those textured towels that the man craved, and in turn Ahab rebelled by refusing to dry himself after showers, or in this case face-washing, letting the water drip onto the carpeted floors in a path.
“Morning,” Kaz says, voice mostly smoothed over from its morning roughness by the hot liquid he’d been pouring down his throat for the past fifteen minutes. “Still throwing a tantrum over those towels?”
Whiskey follows behind the tall man, directly turning to her bowl without offering Kaz so much as a grateful glance. Spoiled.
Ahab grunts out an affirmative, moving to open the cabinets and take out his mug. They didn’t have much in the category of cutlery - enough to get by, hell even enough for a visitor or two, but definitely not enough to host a dinner party of any kind. Not that they have that many people on good terms for such an event. He positions the mug under the nozzle of the machine and presses the button labelled twelve out of sheer habit, running on clear autopilot by the way his movements are sluggish, tired.
“We sh’ld buy those towels today,” He yawns after the words, offering a full view of his mouth without worry. Vulnerable where he leans against the counter in a black shirt and sweatpants, both thrown on carelessly. Kaz could swear he saw the same articles of clothing on the floor the night before, and scrunches his nose at the thought. He was just like -
“Sure, if we’ve got the time. Still gotta work on the back door that you broke.” Kaz distracts himself by washing the now-empty mug, watching Delta and Bravo as they lounge near the door of the cabin, their daily routine instilled into them just as much as their owners. Ahab groans at the reminder of his task, the sound mixing with the spitting noise of the coffee machine still working to fill up his mug to the maximum.
“Didn’t break it - it broke on its own. You know that.” The older man argues, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist, the closeness as natural to them as breathing. It reminds him of years back, of Diamond Dogs and a shared dream, of naturally being in each other's space without an invitation. Intimate in a way Kaz rarely was with anyone, even the original Legend, who preferred to keep his distance rather than lean into his space like his phantom would. Leaning in to support each other, to whisper arguments and debate fates in hushed breaths.
“Intel, or medical?”
“No, no, the Combat unit needs more staff.”
“No, I think we should let him go… He's of no more use to us now.”
“That's one of ours you're talking about, Kaz.”
Ah, the good old days of running Mother Base, the exhaustion that used to settle into his bones each night almost nostalgic. Kaz’ hands still tingle with the urge to sign papers and input statistics for the monthly evaluation of each platform and its work, work that could've been delegated but he chose to undertake it himself, despite his injuries.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Kaz snickers at the disapproving noise that leaves the older man, vibrating against his shoulder where Ahab's mouth lingered on the bare skin, not kissing but simply feeling. The coffee machine stutters to a halt, calling for its operator to take his coffee. Kaz shrugs off the horned man, sending him away to take his coffee but not before handing him a few packets of sugar from the top cabinet.
“I'm going to let the dogs out and get the mail,” Kaz informs his partner, who settles in with his coffee on the wooden table, comfortably nodding in response. Whiskey finishes her food just as he zips up his heavy winter coat, and he waits as she gives her goodbyes to Ahab in the form of pawing at his legs before trotting to the younger man, finally acknowledging his presence with an apologetic bark.
Kaz huffs, unable to resist the urge to pet her before swinging open the heavy door and stepping out into the cold, fresh air of Alaska, the atmosphere reinvigorating him with its familiarity. He briefly considers playing with the dogs outside as he closes the door behind him, Bravo and Whiskey immediately tussling in the cold grass, before deciding against it when wetness begins to seep into his boots.
“Water-resistant my ass.” He growls out as he stomps in the damp grass to their mailbox, pulling down the entrance and taking everything inside with a swift hand. He can already feel the plastic smoothness of advertisements and coupons, the latter much more useful than the former. They've got enough money to last them their whole lives - Ahab made sure of that - but there's no harm done in saving a dollar here and there.
Rushing back inside, he lets the huskies enjoy their time in the mud, knowing they were trained properly to remain within a close distance and never stray too far. They'll need a bath once they're inside. He's already planning ways to convince Ahab to do it instead of him, even if it's his turn on cleaning duty.
“Anything useful?” Ahab croaks out, hissing at the cold air that enters uninvited with Kaz. The blonde takes off his coat and hangs it, grunts before throwing the stack of envelopes and posters onto the table and sitting down in his untouched chair, the older man reaching for an advertisement almost instantly, scanning its contents. Typical.
“Not sure yet.” Kaz rifles through the envelopes instead, categorising them in his mind based on sender. He slides one that comes from the UK directly to the man in front of him, knowing it would entice him more than the bright, colourful ad for vacuums on sale. On second thought, a vacuum would be pretty useful with all the dog hairs lying around…
Unsurprisingly, the letter instantly catches Ahab's attention, bionic hand darting out to grab the sealed white item. Gentle and careful. Those hands that were made for healing, forced to be tainted red, literally and metaphorically. It still makes him angry, to this day, the fact that those hands are so rugged and calloused now, accustomed to the hard ridges of a gun rather than the syringes they were meant to deal with.
He rips open the glued paper with his teeth as the blonde continues to flip through each letter’s sender. The bank. The closest superstore. All standard letters to receive. Repetitive as always.
Kaz comes to realise that maybe repetitive isn’t such a bad thing.
The second to last letter greets him with an unfamiliar sender, from an unfamiliar location, though clearly a domestic envelope rather than the discarded international one whose contents are now in Ahab’s hands. A quick glance at the man tells him it’s good news, from the way a tiny smile graces his lips as he reads through the piece of paper in his hand. Rhythmic tapping from the older man’s bouncing leg under the table, foot hitting the ground over and over, stuttering in its pace accompanied with a chuckle every now and then.
It gives him the bravery to rip open the envelope despite his lack of knowledge towards the contents. A folded paper is placed neatly inside, smudges of ink on the outside but otherwise no remarkable blemishes or names.
Kaz unfolds the paper, and his face drops in record time. He doesn’t need to process the words that were scrawled onto the surface. He could recognize that handwriting anywhere, the loops that were too inelegant to be named an attempt at cursive, the misspellings too familiar to be forgotten.
Goddammit.
Kaz, the letter read, and his blood boils at one simple word. Twenty years. Almost twenty years, and this man still believed that he had the right to scribble his name in that way, like all those colourful notes he left behind in his humble office back in ‘74, each one carving a wound into him, each word reopening those falsely healed wounds. Still, he couldn’t stop reading, even if it dug his grave deeper.
I’ve rejoined FOXHOUND. Re-established it. The soldiers are promising here, all rookies with a taste for war. But no experience with danger. With loss.
I can’t train them all by myself, of course. Got several instructors lined up for an opening, waiting for an interview. They have glowing resumes, at least some of them. Never was a fan of paperwork, anyway. None of them have the experience like you do. The scars, the courage to pull the pin and go down with glory. None of them have the pain to forge real soldiers.
I want you in FOXHOUND, Kaz. We can train this army together. Like the old days. Under the US, sure, but no less free than we were in MSF.
I know you’re with the phantom. I know he left his place to settle with you. That’s alright. Tell him I send my regards. I offer him to come and give some of the younger men CQC lessons when I’m busy. They won’t tell the difference.
Think about it. Find me when you’re sure.
“Eli said he’s coming to visit in two weeks. Said he found a goldmine of those models I like to assemble and that it’s cheaper to fly them as baggage than just ship them.” A chuckle leaves him at the end, expecting the hilarity of the situation to land. Any other time, the two would share a laugh over the young man’s attempts at affection, however backhanded it is. Over his clear lies that apparently seemed believable enough to him. Kaz was especially fond of mocking the progression of Eli’s accent even in writing, the extra u’s and the slang that they barely understood sometimes.
Ahab frowns when the expected reaction doesn’t show, and his eyes scan over the man’s face for any way to make out what has him so focused. The blonde’s furrowed brows and a deep frown instantly alarm him, but he stays in his chair, clearly trusting the man to speak at his own pace.
“Kaz?” So gentle, so careful. Kaz sighs.
“Big Boss offered me a job.”
He puts down the paper with too much care to be considered rage, but too much recklessness to be considered glee at the news. His movements seemed sluggish. Tired. Void of the true capabilities of his passion. The material crinkles and creases under the rough treatment, but it’s still readable when Ahab reaches over to grip it, to take it away from the man’s suddenly shaky hands, prosthetic arm more human than ever in the way it trembles at the request.
Sure enough, the short paragraphs carry the authority of the legend himself, even in ink. They carry the charm that brought soldiers to join his ranks, the charm that Ahab inherited by simply gaining the title of Big Boss. The charm that he’d discarded the moment he abandoned the idea of being a lapdog for this man who would never care for his sacrifice, who did not care about the sacrifice of the man he loves.
“How did he…” Ahab starts, fingers twitching with the urge to pack up and run away, to seek a place unmonitored by Big Boss’ eyes, safe and sound. Those posters scattered around Mother Base in ‘84 still haunt him, face replaced by the legend's less scarred one. It never failed to make him shiver, and he remembers more than anything just how true it is.
“Didn't put it past him to figure out where we were.” Kaz scoffs, hands coiling into enraged fists. Anger always came first in the blonde's processing of information, a habit undeterred by his years beside the phantom.
Ahab accepted a long, long time ago that this was a part of Kaz now, that his muddy memories of MSF's flirtatious and lighthearted XO may never influence the present again.
That was okay. Even back then, even in his days as a battle medic - not that he quite remembers, no, only pieces together the memories like they were fantasy books, stitches together images of his past and descriptions of himself like a halfhearted attempt at worldbuilding.
In the rare times the older man craved a story of his past, Kaz was sure to deliver, telling him how resistant he had been to his charms, how he took care of wounds with such tenderness but rolled his eyes at grateful pick-up lines.
“‘Oh, doc, I think you need to take a look at my crotch. Awfully itchy lately…’”
“Shit, Kaz, you had horrible lines.” Ahab laughs, a calm sound void of the cocky quality that Big Boss had even while laughing.
“Well, can't blame me for shooting my shot. And then, what did you say… Ah!” And then, with his best attempt at the man's voice, “‘Did you shave the area recently? That might be the issue.’”
“And I was a damn nerd, how horrifying.”
Kaz smiles.
“You still are, really. It's not a bad thing.”
“Kaz, I…” Ahab sighs, dropping the letter and moving to ghost his fingers on Kaz’s hand, tan paint on a paler canvas. He doesn't apply pressure until the blonde relaxes his fist, places his hand palm up on the table. Accepts the reassurance, even with hesitation. It was a slow process, but a gratifying one, and the older man silently basks in pride at the gesture.
Ahab holds his hand. Thinks about what he wants to say while he listens to Kaz’ careful breathing. As if he was avoiding bursting into tears where he sits. The phantom has cursed the man who did this to him a million times, but he's never tired of directing his anger towards him. A million and one times, now.
“You know I love this cabin,” He starts, and the younger man halts his breathing for a moment, just to listen. “I know you love it, too. But… We can move. Find some other place to slip under the radar. It took him, what, a good ten years to contact you? Maybe, if we're lucky, moving buys us another ten.”
He can tell Kaz isn't convinced. So he shrugs and lets a dry chuckle leave him.
“If us old men even live that long, that is.”
A chuckle leaves Kaz, too. Ahab smiles. If he can't provide an immediate solution to his lover's dilemma, the least he could do is lighten the burden. Like Kaz has done for him countless times before, taking on stacks of paperwork assigned to be completed by the Boss and doing it himself, demanding no thanks. Like he continues to do for him, when he gathers the plates after dinner when he can tell Ahab is particularly gloomy, when he brings him his toolbox as he fixes another problem in their little cabin worn down by the elements.
When the joke clears, Kaz looks up at him, a steady gaze that would make a weaker man crumble. Even through his sunglasses, Ahab can see the way his eyes are downcast, the way they seem riddled with guilt.
“It isn't your fault he found us,” the older man rushes to silence the hypothetical, but Kaz shakes his head, a small frown on his face.
“I need to think about it.” Ahab furrows his eyebrows, and his thumb stops its absent-minded strokes on Kaz’ palm. He tries to convince himself he doesn't understand what he's hearing.
“Think about what?” He speaks, and he loathes the way his voice quivers at the end, a small little detail that he wishes would go unnoticed. Kaz’ wince tells him it hasn't.
“About the job.”
Kaz can tell the exact moment it clicked for the older man. Can tell by the way his face hardens in response, the suspicion in his eyes making his face much harder to distinguish from his doppelganger's. Big Boss looked at him with those eyes, before. With a sense of betrayal hidden underneath a mask of processing. He has to explain himself, and fast.
But what does he say? To what extent is he willing to accept the overflowing pot of emotions stirring inside of him? The anger, the confusion, the longing-
Kaz squashes that last one and focuses on what makes the man in front of him distinct. The loving gaze in his eyes that doesn't fade even when he's clearly displeased with the younger man's words. The horn that reminds them both of what they lost, what they overcame. The chapped quality of his lips, not from lack of care but from excessive contact. Kaz almost regrets not kissing him this morning, before ripping open that envelope. Wishes he could lean in and steal a kiss, smooth the man's expression with his ever-present love.
“Ahab… Look, it isn't personal. I just… I miss having a purpose.” The older man listens, no less attentive even as his frown deepens.
“I miss the atmosphere. The comradery. Hell, even in the mess of Diamond Dogs - that ever growing stack of paperwork brought me some joy. There was a use for me. A purpose, a drive. Something I had to do.” Kaz struggles to sound the words, but he wrings them out, knowing that despite the ache of vulnerability he feels now, a decade ago those words would not leave him no matter how hard he tried.
“But you have a purpose here,” Ahab says, and his voice sounds so small, so unbefitting of his face, his build, his previous title, that it hurts. “We.. We feed the dogs. We take care of the garden, work on the cabin together. It's not the glamorous life of gunfire and mortars, sure, but…”
Kaz nods. He understands that, that responsibilities exist even here. That the quiet world he'd created with his partner was something many wish for, something many would die for.
That he didn't particularly feel fulfilled. Kaz startles at that thought, and the feeling must've translated to a sour expression, because Ahab trails off, leaving his sentence unfinished. Optimism forgotten, he's left gloomy, shoulders sunken and a sigh leaving him.
“Look, I…” He starts, and Kaz focuses his attention on the sound of his voice. On the barking of their dogs outside, the beginnings of rainfall. They'd have to let them back in soon before they get sick.
“I love you, Kaz.” Ahab says, and it warms the younger man's heart. Reminds him just why he's here.
I want you in FOXHOUND, Kaz. The same voice, a little more gruff, a little more tilted, sounds in his head. A memory of a faded voice he hasn't heard in years.
“I love you too.” He says, and he means it. His heart skips a beat at the small smile that warrants him, Ahab's thumb re-establishing its rhythm on his palm.
“Whatever you do, I'll support you. I'll be there for you. If you want to stay, if you want to move, if you…” He struggles, but eventually relents. “If you want to go back to that life. I'll do it with you. I'm not throwing you to the wolves and leaving you there.”
Ahab grunts as he quiets down. Kaz gives a weak laugh.
“You were the one with a wolfdog as a pet, not him, you know.” The older man huffs out a laugh, even as his eyes look more droopy than before. Tired in a way they weren't less than ten minutes ago, a bone-deep exhaustion that couldn't be explained by an expression, much less words.
“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.” Ahab keeps his gaze level, and Kaz nods.
“I know. Thanks, Ahab,” He chooses his words carefully. “For protecting me. Staying with me. Even if it took you a few years to come back.”
Kaz can see how Ahab bites his tongue, holds back cruel words. Can see the way his bionic arm twitches with unspoken bitterness, and feels their roles swap from what they were in ‘84. Now, Ahab was the one with an unsettled score, and Kaz was the man just trying to get by.
He never came back for you, and I did. And yet there's a possibility you might choose him over me. Something along those lines.
Kaz sighs. Leans in, slowly, hesitant. Ahab responds by pulling him closer, hand on his shoulder, pressing their lips with a sense of urgency that tugs at his heartstrings. A plea in the form of a hurried kiss.
The rain has started to come down harder outside, tapping on their windows angrily. The dogs scratch at the door, and Bravo is barking at them to open it. Kaz reluctantly pulls back, and Ahab sighs as he gets up, but not before leaving a last, lingering kiss to the blonde's forehead.
“I’m with you, Kaz. We'll see how it turns out.” Together goes unspoken. Kaz can swear that he's said those exact words before, bathed in a vague sense of déjà vu.
The planned trip to the superstore is forgotten as Kaz packs up the letters, stares at the letter from Eli before folding it and placing it where they keep their cherished mail. He can hear the noises of the dogs trotting inside, can hear their complaints even as Ahab soothes them with pets and shushing and promises of a warm bath.
The cabin's back door is left unfixed. Kaz wonders if they'll ever get around to fixing it with his newfound turmoil.
They don't speak of the unwelcome letter throughout the day. Ahab kisses him with a feverish insistence whenever he gets the chance, and lets him pick the movie for that night. He even cooks dinner despite their schedule clearly stating it's Kaz’ turn in the kitchen, a meal so delicious that it almost makes the younger man dizzy, praise rolling off his tongue recklessly, recklessly watering the seed of hope inside of his lover. The hope he communicates through every act of service, the love he tries to emphasise.
Choose me, he says, without words. Choose me. I do so much for you. He has done nothing.
That wasn't true, was it?
Kaz dwells on it.
They go to sleep side by side, Ahab cuddled into his side as always, and Kaz’ sunglasses are perched uncomfortably on the edge of the nightstand. Moonlight filters through the gaps their curtains don't cover, despite their blackout quality. It illuminates the room in a soft sheen of light, enough to show the shine of Ahab's horn when it's smushed against the pillow, the man careful to sleep in a manner that wouldn't injure his lover with the sharp edge of the shrapnel. The younger man's fingers instinctively run through his hair, stroking the curly locks like he always does.
Kaz looks around. Really looks, in a way he rarely does. For once he appreciates his lack of sunglasses in order to see the details. The occupied dog beds that house quietly snoring canines. The finer pieces of Ahab's model-assembling hobby placed on their shelves. The pictures that remain on their nightstands, of Diamond Dogs and a well-cultivated garden and an overexcited wolfdog.
He thinks about Eli, about his upcoming visit, about this young man he's thought about calling his son, here and there. God knows they look similar enough for the term to stick, and Kaz knows damn well Ahab has been trying to get the stubborn lad to get closer to him. 'Do it for your old man, Eli. Go help Kaz in the kitchen.’
Something of a family.
There's something missing, though. He never realised it until he was shown what he could have. His heart speeds up at the thought, the exhilaration he feels when he imagines himself training rookies. The pride he would feel as his soldiers graduate from his likely ruthless training, the frustration he would vent out with orders. The respect he would receive.
A purpose. He would reclaim his purpose in life. Living in a cabin with nothing to do was never how he envisioned his senior years, but barking orders at recruits certainly came close to the ideal. Even if Ahab made the days lighter, sweeter, the lack of drive was inching him closer to impulsivity. Kazuhira Miller was a man of passion, of determination, not a man of relaxation or regret.
He looks to the man on his left, sleeping restlessly. His breathing is far too erratic to be comfortable, clearly finding no peace even in his unconscious state. The worry must be plaguing him, devouring him alive. Guilt tugs at him at knowing he wasn't - isn't - able to ease that worry without throwing away his shot at a legacy.
That guilt settles deeper as Kaz thinks that this state makes him look more like the legend. With restless sleep that could be broken with one sound. An ever-present frown on his lips. A scruffy beard and rough skin. Wrestling in the Costa Rican sun, grains of sand on his body - whole, and alive. Fully human.
A purpose. Big Boss gave him a purpose. Ahab gave him a life, full of love.
Kaz dwells on it.
I want you in FOXHOUND, Kaz.
I love you, Kaz.
Master Miller made up his mind.