Room 307

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

It was just starting to mist rain as the cosmonaut reached the side door of the East Wing.

The front door was far too obvious. Volgin lingered there, near the offices, never doing anything more productive than brooding and scowling at the houseplants.

The Fury cursed at the weather as he stepped into the deserted hallway; nature was a spiteful bitch, an entire hour of his day was wasted polishing his helmet, ruined by water spots and streaks.

It was almost enough to ruin his entire day, and even the good mood he found himself in after pointless banter earlier with the Fear.

Raining, again. Miserable.

Maybe the Sorrow finally realized Voyevoda had come home…

In an unexpected gesture of good nature that surprised even himself, The Fury allowed a guard to pass on the other side of the narrow stairway with only a glare. There were more important things to worry about than harassing common soldiers… like the fact that Voyevoda had finally come home, or the troubling lack of orders she left them with.

Voices echoed through the deserted building, and the cosmonaut stopped for a moment, content to listen. Dull murmurs, distorted by the cavernous hallway. Granin and Volgin. Nothing of importance.

Shaking his head, he continued on to the makeshift laboratory he claimed as his own.

Granin. What a fucking lunatic. It was impossible to respect a man who searched for hope in the bottoms of vodka bottles.

In spite of his mood, the Fury smirked as he turned on the light and surveyed the scene -- the damaged hovercraft near the window, parts and tools strewn around haphazardly, papers and books heaping in piles on the floor.

Organization had never been his forte, but the cluttered laboratory was a welcome and familiar sight. No one would bother him here, except for Krasnogorje soldiers coming in for repairs, and those like-minded men were never a bother.

It was the red scarf coiled in a crumpled heap on the heavy metal desk near the far corner of that made him smile as he removed his helmet and slipped the heavy jet pack from his shoulders, easing it to the floor.

The lunatic wasn’t quite sure what to think of its owner, but as he set to work repairing the damaged craft, he almost hoped the Ocelot Senior Lieutenant would be along soon to collect his scarf.

It seemed out of place amidst the scattered papers and blueprints. The scarf was far too cheerful. Too flammable.

The kid was interesting to talk to, at least. He didn’t cower away like the rest of them, and didn’t give in to his temper, even when provoked.

And hell, the cosmonaut mused, pulling scorched wires free of the hover craft’s interior, even Raikov would have made better diversion than agonizing over the possible details of The Joy’s secret mission.

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[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot shook his head as he pulled out his guns and closed the door behind him.

Isaev was a handsome idiot, but he had steady-eyed charm and a disarming outlook. Despite his vengeful nature toward mankind, the Fury seemed to have a soft spot for artless sincerity, so maybe Isaev wouldn't wind up visting Dr. Khostov.

Ocelot snorted. That would be just fucking perfect. Imanov comes out, Isaev goes in.

No, he thought, flipping his Makarov idly. Isaev had a charmed life. Fucking diplomat's kid, through no fault of his own. He hid it well enough, but he was a non-military pedigree. That being the case, Ocelot wondered why he'd struck up such a fast and tight friendship with...

He looked around, suddenly, eyes narrowing, gun checked midmotion in a spin.

"Irinarhov," he barked. "Show yourself.""

He didn't stop to question whether he was right, or feel self-conscious about snapping orders to a seemingly empty room.

Ocelot had seen men like Kassian Irinarhov. Once they formed a bond to a comrade, you couldn't break it with an anvil. And he'd seen the intent and veiled way he watched Isaev. Like a wolf on point.

He had no doubt that the Captain was shadowing the Lieutenant, whether he knew it or not.

As he waited for the stealthy bastard to disembark his hiding place, he scowled down at his Makarov.

Much as he hated to even consider it, that neanderthal commando might be right...Snake clearly knew his guns.

He might not have been much to look at as an officer, but he was a great soldier.

It made Ocelot feel slightly better about the hairy-faced American as the choice for their blind canary.

After all, Groznyj Grad was the mineshaft to end all mineshafts.

Ocelot frowned and clicked the trigger, dry firing once, twice.

Da, he thought. He definitely needed to hunt up Raikov and cajole him into making a special req under his C-class clearance.

He needed a revolver or two. Maybe more.

The thought of Raikov made him a little unsettled, though they'd sworn everything would be normal after the fact.

It would have to be. They worked in too close of a capacity to ever be antagonistic or uncomfortable.

Of course, in lieu of Raikov he could always ask Krauss...

Ocelot laughed out loud.

He doubted Krauss would be feeling generous after the cosmonaut talked to him.

I should warn him, he thought. Not about everything, but so that he doesn't get killed.

He liked Krauss. He had a certain genuine slickness, a real pure form in his snakeoil peddling way.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian frowned in surprise.

He'd thought he had concealed himself well. Ocelot hadn't even been looking in his direction before he'd called out. He found himself hesitating, but only for a moment, before he reluctantly stood up.

Ocelot looked preoccupied again, Kassian noticed. Frowns and smirks alternatively flowed across that expressive face as the major seemed to ponder, though it didn't seem urgent.

Perhaps the crash in the room had been just an accident.

He glanced back at the now-shut door, frowning, the lines on his forehead creasing. He didn't like it, this being cut off from line of sight into the room, even though he had no doubt that Isaev could take care of himself.

In fact, he knew it.

"I'm here, Major," he called from the skybridge, voice low but pitched to carry. Kassian kept his Mosin-Nagant in his hands, but did not keep it pointed. Instead he held it in a seemingly casual grip with one hand above the other. It was a combat grip, designed to let him bring the weapon to bear quickly, should it become necessary.

He did not bother to explain why he had his weapon while not on patrol. If Ocelot knew enough to know he was here - and Kassian still couldn't figure out how he'd noticed - Ocelot must also know what Kassian was doing here, and Kassian did not have to clarify the details.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Despite the deliberately pitched tone, Ocelot was startled.

He'd been expecting Irinarhov to be...elsewhere. His guns halted abruptly in their path, but slowly resumed spinning once he'd recovered, eyebrows resettling to lie in their customary arch.

He turned and saw the sniper, looking jaded and ready as ever.

Sullen, too, no doubt at being pulled away from a mark. Ocelot could relate, but he wasn't here to suck Irinarhov's cock and gratify his needs.

"Captain," he said. "Initiative is next to god. God doesn't exist in Rossiyja. Therefore there is nothing greater. Do you understand?"

He pointed his gun at Irinarhov with idle directness, not aiming, but more as a puncuation to his words.

The Captain's face showed no response, so Ocelot pulled back the gun, and offered a curt nod.

"It's been noted," he said. "I've made a mark in your favor, Irinarhov."

He smirked.

"Isaev's too."

Ocelot narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"I'm going to give you a choice, instead of an order, Captain. You can accompany me, or you can stay here and wait for Isaev. Your call."

He walked a short distance, spurs chinking in the empty hall.

"I need to see some people, and you're technically my closest ranking officer. I'm clearly without Isaev and Imanov, who I would usually tap for this kind of thing."

He paused.

"However...it's a good thing to stand by a comrade, Captain, once you've got his back. He'll be expecting you, of course. Even if the event is...uneventful. Solidarity is a good aspect to build...but if I'm right, you and Isaev have been working on that already, haven't you?"

He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

"It's entirely up to you."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

It was a test, Kassian knew instantly.

Major Ocelot didn't really need him. From what he'd observed, Ocelot was content to single-mindedly pursue his own goals.

His own ego was his constant companion.

Of course, Ocelot Squad had its purpose, but it was more like...punctuation. In spite of the fact that Ocelot not only put his squad in the same uniform he wore, and he also insisted that they look like him, Kassian didn't think Ocelot usually felt like he needed backup.

No, he thought, this was Ocelot's way of finding out where Kassian stood. This was about squad dynamics.

In a squad this close-knit, any newcomer was bound to cause a ripple, but Kassian had made more of a slash. His very first day, he'd gotten both Imanov and Charushkin pissed off at him, which was something of an accomplishment, and not a good one. The close bond Kassian had formed with Isaev, the squad's second, could be another potential imbalance.

Ocelot seemed like a man who was attuned to balance. To the arc of a gun thrown in the air. Catching it took not only a good eye, but also a steady hand. He was probably willing to tolerate disruption, for a time, if it would eventually lead to the greater good.

But not if it made him drop the gun.

Kassian did not hesitate in his reply.

He would only tell the truth, and had no qualms about informing Ocelot of where his priorities stood.

He would not deny his relationship with Lieutenant Isaev, or apologize for it.

"I'll stay, Major. Isaev is expecting me. If you can wait, we'll both accompany you afterward, but if not, perhaps you should find Gurlukovich. He was...concerned...about you earlier, and he probably would appreciate the experience."

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot nodded, indifferently.

"When Isaev gets out, take the squad down into the lowlands around the mangrove swamp. Junior Lieutenant Borishnakov is AWOL, and willfully evading his duty as an ocelot. Apparently he's been hiding in the wilderness."

A sneer crossed his lips.

"Apparently you fuckwits traumatized him enough to make him go native."

The Major scowled.

"He's high maintenance. I should have studied his profile better. That's what I get for following blind recommendations from Volgin's personal pincushion."

Raikov usually picked well, but he must have been divining with his prick on this one.

"Since you're ranking officer, Irinarhov, I suppose you'll be in command." Ocelot paused, cocking his head.

"Although Imanov might take exception to you taking his place."

He offered a vague salute and a half-smile, and sauntered off, spinning his guns, in search of Raikov and his requisition forms.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian watched Ocelot leave.

"Yes, Major," he muttered, belatedly.

After a moment, he crouched down, checked his rifle, then resumed his position covering the doorway. Waiting, for Isaev's return.

His mind was nowhere near as still as his body.

Kassian could recognize a warning when he heard it.

The whole thing had not been so much a test, Kassian thought, as a way to confirm what Ocelot already suspected. He supposed the rest of the squad would have duly noted that Isaev had not slept in his bunk previous night, after the hazing concluded.

It had not concerned him earlier, but...

Imanov.

They were here for Imanov's scarf.

Imanov, who was very close with Isaev.

Imanov, who might take exception to Kassian taking his place. In the squad. And...

...Isaev's bed.

He'd gotten the feeling, earlier, that it was more than friendship, but since Isaev hadn't seemed concerned, then neither was he.

But perhaps he'd been too quick to discount Imanov.

Or too quick to trust Isaev.

Or...

Or maybe Ocelot was just sticking his nose in places it didn't belong.

Or maybe it had been another test.

Kassian didn't know. He turned it over in his mind for a few minutes, examining it from each side. Ultimately, though, he decided he didn't have enough information.

He would just have to ask Isaev about it, and go from there. It was the best course of action.

Kassian nodded to himself. He did not rush to conclusions.

And in the meantime, whatever it was that Imanov thought, whatever he would do, would not change the way Kassian felt about Isaev.

He drew in a deep breath, and let it out, then his lips curved.

It was a rare expression on the sniper's face, and there was no one there to see it. But good things happened to him so rarely that he wasn't going to let this one go. Not easily.