[ CLOSED ] I'M NUCLEAR ; I'M WILD.

[alterplex]

Who: Ahab and Ishmael, aka Big Boss and Big Boss, or Big Boss and Vic Boss, or just a cryptid and a cryptid.
When: let's just say now
Where: In Bumfuck Nowhere, Chioni
What: Two snakes decide to have a heart-to-heart in the hinterlands, or alternately: Who Will Break Their Mutual Silence First. Ahab and Ishmael bond over survival skills and try to figure out how the hell they're going to work together in the future, stay tuned.
Warnings: Rated M for Man these two sameface dudes are a disaster, also possible M for Manpain
(but probably R for possible violence, possible mentions of war crimes and just weird shit in general, language if either of them manage to say a word.)




[ The temperature is a comfortable 13°C tonight, arid and breezy. It's the kind of night that reads more purple than black, undulating from the horizon up into a vast expanse of undecipherable constellations; no Polaris to point a steady trajectory, no Deneb or Altair or Vega to triangulate a position. There's an anonymity about it that feels close to home, a merciless live-or-die-trying dispassion that whips at Venom's face in the form of biting wind. It brings him right back to Afghanistan, sleeping with his chin tucked and his head against the ruins of Aabe Shifap, or maybe right back to crumbling awnings in Zaire, breathing in time to the sound of raucous insects vying for his attention.

(Or maybe right back to Costa Rica, corralled in the Medbay Office with the window open, letting in fresh air while he nods in time to Oye Como Va blaring from the Command Platform.)

Venom is sans DD this time around (Ocelot yiff your heart out). Armed only with his knife, his gun, and his knowledge, he weaves his way over to where a familiar face has set up their makeshift 'camp'.

He offers his spoils of war: a few alien fish, gutted.

(If Big Boss is so inclined, Venom can also show him a photo of a frankly terrifying unidentifiable mammalian creature that Venom found while he was fishing, but maybe that's for another day.) ]

Comments

[camouflage]

[star-gazing has never been an activity that big boss cared to do. there was too much in front of him, the looming horizon always clawing for his attention, for there ever to be a reason to look up. if he stared heavenward, it was for a reason (weather, enemy forces, a way to navigate home), and if he was ever on his back, it was to close his eyes and sleep. but now, looking towards a foreign night sky with no familiar celestial bodies, he wonders.

if you could go up there, why would you ever want to come back down? why did She ever come back to a fractured landscape when she always had access to her Ideal from above it all?

that's not why he's here. well, it is why he's Here, but not why he's here, in a forest slowly becoming familiar, with a man who might as well be familiar and a stranger all at once.

ahab. the medic. venom. his friend.

back home, when they had finally put their two puzzle pieces of outer heaven together, their reunion had been awkward to say the least. john had always struggled with the very idea of ahab; actually seeing him on the day to day had been a different fight entirely. while john knew that v suffered the most out of the both of them from staring into a mirror for too long, he had never been able to properly bridge that mental gap himself. all he saw was the man he had taken the picture with; the one who had thrown himself into the literal fire. the first soldier who had been witness to the budding legacy john would build for himself as a mercenary.

to face his own wretched shadow that had swallowed the life of another person he cared about every day in outer heaven, it had been like his own little slice of hell.

john doesn't want thisavrou to be like outer heaven. purposefully avoiding ahab, making as little contact as possible to spare them both. he doesn't want to tip-toe around a man he considered a friend because he hadn't been able to look himself in the eye for close to 20 years. it has to be different here. not only for survival, but for john's own sanity.

sometimes, exposure is the only way to break a phobia.

there's a sizeable fire already going by the time ahab trudges back into camp. though the temperature isn't as nippy as out in the middle of the iraqi desert, where big boss and his small unit would often settle down for the night, better safe than sorry. besides, there was no other feeling than building a fire with your own two hands.

he takes the fish with a nod of the head, a slight uptick on his lips. job well done. now it's just the messy matter of actually preparing them for eating.]

[alterplex]

[ It's funny— seeing Ishamel always feels like waking up. He's felt this before in medbay, stranded on an unfinished stretch of platform, turning over a blank cassette that sounded like Paz every time he expected to find white noise. It's that limbo between consciousness and wishful thinking, that sinking melancholy of knowing that you won't remember the dream you just had when you open your eyes.

Gears grind when he walks into Ishmael's peripheral, redesignating all the pieces and memories of himself that he'd known to be his as objective information. He pitches his mind's eye right back to Dhekelia, where his story really began; it's easier that way, when he thinks of the man in front of him as the man who pulled him out of the storm instead of the alternative.

Venom's hands are already half-bloody from where he'd rifled through his catch, cleaned them with the precision of a surgeon and the attentiveness of, yes, a field medic. His knees scuff against dirt in the process of making himself semi-comfortable next to his brother-in-arms, and his single eye flicks up with an intensity that Ishmael might recognize as vaguely clinical: searching, looking for all the tics and irregularities that might indicate that something is amiss. Fatigue? Stress? Tension?

(in light of recent revelations, Venom's priority is to make sure that the people important to him won't falter.)

It's a challenge for him, to be sure. If there's one thing that Big Boss doesn't do, it's to let other people worry on his behalf. ]

[camouflage]

[there's some tics you can't kick as soldier. john had become wholly aware of this during his aborted life as civilian. doing everything naturally faster (as if there were some internal clock ticking away inside of you), being unable to sleep in the absence of sound, being aware of everything around you, completing even the most minute of actions with the mindset of it having a greater purpose. these were only a few that he had come to deal with in his daily life.

the point was, there were some ingrained habits that soldiers could never get rid of and venom no doubt had more from his past life as a doctor. in fact, john knew he was watching one in motion right at that moment: the way ahab looked at him like he was trying to see through the cover the title of big boss afforded him. not that anyone had ever seen through that. maybe at one point john could be seen beyond the painted-on camouflage that was his lofty title, but now? big boss might as well have been the forests of tselinoyarsk, thick and winding, with john at the center in a field of bethlehems.

the natural lines on his face from age, wear and tear, speak of nothing more than a life of mercenary work. too many days out in the sun, barely visible scars of a knife would here and a bullet that strayed too close there. if he's ever been troubled by anything other than gunfire and eager opportunists looking to make a name for themselves, it certainly doesn't show on the outside.

john doesn't look back with a glare of annoyance or a warning to back off with squinted eyes. instead, he simply raises a brow, as if he's totally oblivious to what ahab could possible be looking at him for, and tends to the fish. they're spitted and roasting over the fire before the situation can became A Big Deal.

despite everything else, at least the fish smell delicious. it's the small things you have to find happiness in.]

[alterplex]

[ It's amazing: at the end of the day, unlike so many of the people who surround him, Ishmael needs so little from Venom. Which is ironic, all things considered, but strip back the machinations and the fucked-up circumstances that brought all of them here in the first place, and Venom's left with—

—with? He doesn't know, because Ishmael looks at him and the only expectation he can read from his so-called creator is for Venom to have a pulse and a steady hand. No jockeying for approval, no preconceived standards for compliance; and maybe a few months ago it would've been enough for Venom to be bitter, to taste the acrid beginnings of nausea at his Boss's complete inscrutability, but perspective has lent itself to understanding.

(It's not that 'Big Boss' doesn't feel— it's just that he's sunk so far into his emotions that he'd drowned in them decades ago. Like a deaf man who doesn't understand the concept of silence, because he doesn't comprehend the idea of anything else.)

Watching Ishmael is like looking into a mirror, but there are incongruities. For example, there's a bit of dust and dirt tangled in his counterpart's cropped-short hair. It stands out more starkly than Venom would have expected against a greying head, and his instinct works before his restraint does. Again, like grooming himself at the bathroom in the morning.

While Ishmael tends to the fish and starts eating, Venom reaches and sifts his palm through mussed hair, dislodging the more egregious clumps to flick them aside.

(here, we see two bears in their natural habitat: one eats while the other cleans.) ]

[camouflage]

[the fact that john semi-startles upon the brief contact says more about him than it does ahab's lack of restraint. his counterpart is a frankenstein of instinctual movements, after all, whereas john is all learned, destructive habits.

personal space is generally a foreign concept to the old soldier. being in close proximity to other bodies, with harmful intent or not, is not something that registers as uncomfortable for him. of course, the moment someone breaches his bubble with good intent, his body locks up as if waiting for a blow. the number of times someone had done a genuinely nice thing for him, even something as small as brushing dirt from his hair, could be counted on one hand. everything else always had some kind of tie to it, the biggest of which being the automatic respect his title afforded him. a cult-like kind of respect that he absolutely despised.

the point was, john was less likely to defend himself against a physical blow and more likely to protect himself against affection. years of leaving himself open for basic human kindness and being rebuked had trained him that any gesture bestowed upon him would, ultimately, be fake. something that could be recalled and taken advantage of down the road.

but ahab, a man that stood to gain nothing else from big boss without ultimately destroying one or both of them, had no ulterior motives. in that aspect, he was the same as john; simple and unfaltering in his intentions. john thinks he was always like that, a support sometimes steadier than his own XO.

still, john does pull away, if only because he can't stand the thought of his other half looking out for him. not for lack of want, but simply because he will never feel worthy of it again. shouldn't it be vice versa anyway? the older big boss hands the other one a fish.

take care of yourself.]

[alterplex]

[ Ishmael startles, and Venom can't help but be reminded of Quiet. By virtue of the fact that neither of them have uttered a word, maybe; the reaction Venom gets from his counterpart is so similar to the trepidation that Quiet wore so eloquently in her body language that he's inclined to look fond, if only for a moment.

Quiet'd looked at Venom in the same way, just a few weeks into running joint missions with him in Afghanistan. Wounded and wary, like a predator with her fangs sunk into Venom's forearm, trying to kill him while letting him pry the beartrap out of her bones. Like she had something to lose from his empathy, like her past transgressions should've earned her Venom's contempt.

Like her, Ishmael never needed to be worthy of his patience. Ishmael just needed to Be.

But Venom backs off, if only because he needs both hands to start tearing into this space fish (which, surprisingly, isn't so bad). He thinks that he can 'recall' something like this from 'his' past, the fleeting 'memory' of building a fire in Tselinoyarsk and sharing it with a blond-haired spy.

It just feels like words on paper, though.

So he doesn't bring it up, and wipes small bones from his beard before eyeing the rest of their catch. There's an odd number of fish left to eat, and he quirks another small, fond look before graciously offering the majority to his companion.

(fight him in the arena for ostensible big brother status, ishmael) ]

[camouflage]

[there's a Look immediately in john's eye upon ahab motioning for him to eat the outlying fish. it probably comes off as a little defensive, venom once again easily performing a benign action for john as if that was just a Thing one should do. he hates thinking in terms like subordinate and superior, not when he had spent most of his life in the dirt next to men and women who called him boss, not when the man next to him is his equal in almost every way, but that should be his job. giving away the last fish, looking out for people, taking the explosion bullet. he is, and will never be, more important than the next person who can stand by him and fight for what they want.

but john doesn't argue. he is the picture of resignation, accepting ahab's sacrifice, no matter how tiny, with appreciation. that's the whole point of this trip, isn't it? to learn to give and receive on equal ground, to be able to look at each other and trust what they see without question. he puts away the next fish in equally companionable silence, looking up at the stars. is this what she meant all along?

thinking on it, he hadn't ever really known any other way of life. caring for his comrades, it had always been instinct. if john had kept himself from committing, in her eyes, the greatest sin, could he have saved himself from grief? would his life had turned out any different if the boss' death hadn't affected him so deeply? would he be so much better off if he had killed kaz with that grenade? killed ahab in his sleep?

could he have spared them the grief of knowing a man like him?

maybe they were all better for knowing each other. maybe john was better to have a shadow that could look out for him. who could ever really know? when he glances at ahab again, there's another Look painted on his features. but this one, maybe, is less of an animal backed into a corner and more of a creature who could reveal his back comfortably.]

[alterplex]

[ At the end of the day, this is what it boils down to: two men in the middle of nowhere, trusting each other to have each other's backs if the dispassionate landscape decides to throw trials their way.

(and maybe this was the crux of it all, the chase for this feeling, the unspoken fulfillment you feel when you know that everyone is out for your blood except for the one person also sitting next to you in this hell. maybe the need for conflict is an excuse for camaraderie. a convenient backdrop for people who've never understood civilian life.

or maybe, just maybe, they're all just lonely.

that too.)

Venom sees the space Ishmael's made for him to occupy in that Look, the acquiescence Ishmael's given in the vague softening of his features. So Venom reciprocates, posture relaxed and his folded knees just an inch away from his original's, tossing the remainders of his fish into the fire to let it burn a little brighter.

If, at any point, his future self believed that his death would put an end to the legacy of 'Big Boss'— that his death could liberate Ishmael from the weight of that given name— he could see why death might've been appealing.

He won't say that, though. Ishmael's hands are already covered in blood; best to let him rinse them every once in a while.

Instead, Venom fishes in his fatigues for his TAB (yeah, he cheated), and motions for Ishmael to come a little closer. ]

[camouflage]

[the shift in dynamic is immediate. it's like gasping that first breath of air after being underwater for too long. like being helped up after struggling to crawl away from harm. whatever ominous cloud that had been hanging over john their entire woodland adventure is, for the most part, gone. ishmael's change in demeanor is blatantly obvious in the way he takes an even breath, how his shoulders seem to unfold just a hair, in the relaxation of his facial features. there's a hopefulness within him that, somewhere from within the jaws of the beast that Big Boss has become, they can both be salvaged.

their situation isn't perfect, but it's better than what john had. it's all he wants. to not be atlus. to have support. to be able to support in return. even if he has to return to that solitary, lonely life, dodging his own cracked self-image and its paralyzing stare, just experiencing it is enough for him.

it has to be enough.

there's no hesitation as john closes the gap between the both of them, physical and metaphorical. even if venom does get a pretty vicious side-eye for a second for having his TAB. what have you got for him, ahab?]

[alterplex]

[ Venom is tired; he's tired of the anger, the bitterness, the cyclical nature of the grief that surrounds them. It's his preternatural calm and acceptance that's bound him to the understanding that loss is non-negotiable, that his life (and Ishmael's) will always be dictated by the things and people they have to lose along the way, but some part of him will always be terrified of the things he'll have to weather. Not because he's incapable of enduring, but because he knows he can.

(what does that make him, exactly?)

This probably won't last. Not this moment, nor the prevailing sense of peace that comes with uncomplicated clarity. They'll come back from the woods to the daily grind, and people will expect them to hold on and prevail the way they always do.

And that's why Venom chooses to immortalize this. His memory is faulty at best, clouded and disorganized when recall should be immediate and natural; he needs photographs to render the moments that are precious to him in technicolor, otherwise they start to lose credence. This is how he wants to remember Ishmael— not as some conceptual sun that people can't look directly into, but as the man who looks vaguely miffed that his brother-in-arms brought technology to a camping session.

(His fake Angel of Peace said it best: "There's more to remember than hatred and rage." But then again, that was just 'Medic' talking to himself, wasn't it?)

Venom leans into the outline of Ishmael's shoulder, bumping their bodies with his TAB held up to get both of their faces in frame. The lighting isn't ideal and Ishmael looks more dour than eager, but the language of their posture says everything that Venom needs to know. That they're comfortable.

Click. ]