A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It was one of those grim overcast days on the Seychelles, where the clouds turned grey and reflected on the water, creating an optical illusion where the horizon disappeared and one couldn't tell where the sea began and where the air ended. These were the days that he hated the most; the men were at their most lethargic during days like this, and tempers tended to flare up when people were bored, sitting on what amounted to glorified oil rigs divorced from society. By his last count, four of the last inter-staff fights had happened on days like today. It had better not happen today.

He heard footsteps behind him, and the sound of something clicking, like it was being spun. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and ignored the playful smirk on his companion's face.

"The way you're looking, Miller, it looks like you've got that stick of yours wedged up there tighter than normal." Ocelot said, absently twirling one of his revolvers through his fingers. Master Miller had never been a fan of the practice; even if Ocelot was as adept with those guns as most were adept with their own fingers, it was beyond reckless to play with guns. Not that the man ever listened. Sometimes, Miller thought he was being deliberately childish.

"I'll pretend not to hear that." Miller grumbled, as he continued to stare pensively across the Seychelles. "Days like today bother me, Ocelot. Too quiet, too lethargic…someone is going to blow up. And we're gonna have to pick up the pieces."

"You do realize there are such things as self-fulfilling prophecies, right?" Ocelot asked. "You keep going around looking for phantoms, and before you know it, you're creating the very thing you're trying to avoid."

"It would be easier if there were less things affecting the mens' morale." Miller said. Now it was Ocelot's turn to resist rolling his eyes.

"You're not still bent outta shape about Quiet, are you?"

"That thing has everyone on edge." Miller hissed. "I still think it was the most foolish decision of Boss' life to bring her back, instead of just putting a bullet in her forehead."

"More foolish than deciding to start taking her out on missions?" Ocelot asked, trying not to smile. Miller turned to face him, a frown etched deeply on his face.

"Don't be cute, Ocelot. She's never officially renounced her ties to Cipher-"

"Her not talkin' might have something to do with that…"

"-Which just puts the Boss' life at risk!" Miller growled. "She's waiting for the right moment, and then she'll kill him and our chance at revenge is gone."

"Take a walk with me." Ocelot said. Miller just glared at him. "Or hop, if you prefer me to be technically accurate. Either way, come with me."

Grumbling something to himself, Master Miller leaned against his cane and began to hobble after Ocelot, whose spurred boots clinked with each step.

After a few moments, they'd descended from the second deck of the Command Platform, and were walking out to the helipad. As they got closer, they became aware of music playing. A crate was resting next to the helicopter, with a tape player cranked to maximum volume. Ocelot chuckled.

"I see he's moved to Phil Collins now." The mercenary said. Miller just shook his head. Ocelot sighed, and then turned towards the helicopter. "Pequod! Yo, Pequod!"

Pequod, understandably, wasn't his name. It wasn't even his code name, the defining identity that he carried much like everyone else on the base. "Pequod" was simply a name designated to the Diamond Dogs' helicopter fleet, and any pilot that was charged with carrying the Boss was given that callsign to distinguish them from the pack. There were other names throughout the fleet, of course: "Starbuck," "Stubb" and even "Queequeg" (though Miller hated that name). But there was really only one man that had earned the title of "Pequod."

The man in question popped his head out from the opened door of his helicopter's cargo hold, which the Boss used as an Airborne Command Center.

"You rang?" He asked, a crooked grin on his face.

"Pequod" was a memorable character, even among some of the more prominent figures throughout Mother Base. He was impossibly young for his position (Ocelot estimated mid-twenties, though had never asked for confirmation), and equally as talented as he was young. While there was an expected degree of uniform and decorum for every pilot, Pequod seemed to be the one to whom either the rules did not really apply or the one who simply didn't give a rat's ass. He frequently could be seen getting into his helicopter wearing little more than his combat pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a green army vest. Instead of the helmet that other pilots wore, Pequod wore very oversized headphones, which served just as well as noise-cancellers (though some suspected he chose them because they were easier to jack his Walkman into). In the beginning, Miller had lost count of how many times he'd lectured the young man on proper dress protocol.

But as the man's incredible knack for getting in and out of hot zones added up, Miller's complaints faded away. Now he was just resigned to the young man's eccentricity and cavalier attitude. After all, despite his many quirks and violations of protocol, one thing was apparent: Pequod was dedicated to getting people in and out of sticky situations without a scratch on them.

"Turn that music off for a moment son, I got a few questions." Ocelot said. Pequod looked put-off.

"Aw, really? Right before the drum solo?"

Ocelot tried not to smile.

"You can rewind the thing, can't you?"

"Yeah, but it's not the same…" Pequod muttered. He sat in the cargo hold, his feet dangling over the edge, facing the two lieutenants of the Boss. He pressed a button on a little remote device, and the tape player shut off. Ocelot raised an eyebrow.

"Where'd you get a remote-controled tape player?" He asked. Pequod shrugged.

"Had the eggheads in R&D cook one up for me."

"That's a waste of GMP and staff time, and you know it, soldier!" Miller growled. Pequod shrugged.

"Sir, those guys spend their off time coming up with increasingly byzantine ways to break the laws of science. It took 'em like two minutes to make this thing." Pequod said. "I don't think I wasted anything, just redirected some potentially dangerous Frankenstein experiment from happening. So you're welcome for saving Mother Base, sir. I'll accept my trophy and medal sometime next week."

Ocelot resisted the urge to laugh outright. Miller looked like he was steaming.

"Just answer the questions." He managed to grunt. Ocelot nodded, and turned to Pequod.

"We were wonderin'…how's Quiet been?"

"Quiet." Pequod said.

Despite himself, even Miller had to smile at that one. Ocelot rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, yes, I deserved that one. But in all seriousness, how's she been on missions?"

"Full disclosure?" Pequod asked. Ocelot nodded. "I wish everyone was like her."

"Come again?" Ocelot asked. Pequod shrugged, and scratched the stubble he'd clearly neglected to shave for a few weeks.

"Follows orders to a T, sir. Anything the Boss says, she does. And she's damn respectful of Baby." He tapped the inside of the cargo hold, expressing a little love for his bird. "Pretty curious about it, I think. Sometimes, when she thinks I'm not looking, she'll lean forward and try to look at all the bells and whistles I have up here in the cockpit. But then she sees the mirrors I keep up by my head so I can see behind me, and then tries to hide the fact that she was curious. But I always see it." Pequod chuckled. "It's kinda funny, actually. She's fascinated by Baby."

"How's her interactions with the Boss?" Ocelot asked. Pequod rubbed his chin in thought.

"At first? Pretty cold. Gave him a hell of a glare once; think she might've thought he was staring at her." He said. "But things have thawed. She seems receptive to him, though neither of them talk much. I gotta fill the silence every now and then."

"Has she ever made a move against him?" Miller asked. Pequod shook his head.

"Not once. She makes a point of keeping her sniper rifle racked up as far away from her as possible. Like she's trying doubly hard to prove that she's not a threat. I think she's alright, sir. Though I know you disagree." He looked pointedly at Master Miller. Ocelot intervened.

"That's all, Pequod. You just proved my point." He then looked confused. "You know, you came in about an hour ago with the Boss. Know where he is?" Pequod pointed to the Medical Platform.

"Out over there, I think. Don't know what he's doing, but I give the man his space."

"Most do." Ocelot remarked. "And Quiet?"

"I'd imagine back in her cell." Pequod said. "That reminds me, actually. I gotta drop this off to her." He reached into his pocket, and procured a tape cassette. "She burned through my last tape pretty damn quick. This keeps up and I'll have to start making requests for deliveries."

"Are you seriously giving that thing your music? Your own personal property?" Master Miller hissed, looking absolutely flabbergasted.

"Self-fulfilling prophecy…" Ocelot muttered to himself, though neither of the other two men seemed to have heard him. Pequod stood his ground.

"Why not? She treats them well, and always drops them off whenever she's done with them. Without a scratch on them."

"You are being far too polite to that creature, son!"

"You're not my father, Master Miller." Pequod said, his eyes narrowing. He was a lot taller and bigger than Miller, and for a moment Ocelot debated whether or not to step in. "And it takes maybe a few seconds to spare some human decency."

"And what good is that decency when she slits the Boss' throat?"

"You've seen what she's capable of. If she wanted to ice the Boss, she'd have got him already. Maybe you need to stop chasing phantoms everywhere." At that line, Ocelot winced. Pequod always did love to run his mouth.

"Are you calling me unstable, soldier?" Master Miller hissed, staring up into Pequod's eyes. The young pilot glared, and leaned in so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

"I'm sure as hell not calling you for dinner."

"That's enough."

Ocelot wasn't sure how long he'd been listening, but he was relieved as Snake made his entrance. The mercenary had clearly taken a shower, judging by the way his hair wasn't completely dry, and the fact that the piece of shrapnel in his head looked somewhat shiny. The leader of the Diamond Dogs stared bullets at both Master Miller and Pequod.

"We've been over this before, Master. I'm getting tired of repeating myself: If Quiet proves a problem, I will be the one to kill her. So far she hasn't, therefore I haven't seen fit to do so." He said. He turned to Pequod. "I allow you a lot of leeway because of your abilities, Pequod, but never forget the chain of command. Don't be unbecoming." He shook his head. "Both of you are being childish." He cleared his throat. "Any updates, Kaz?" He asked. Master Miller blinked, and then nodded.

"A few. A lot more cals for wetwork in the past couple of days. Here, let me show you…"

The two of them walked off somewhere else on the platform, leaving behind a sulking pilot and a rather amused (and somewhat relieved) gunslinger. The latter turned towards Pequod and chuckled.

"You know, kid, one of these days you're going to shoot your mouth off one too many times. And you know me: I don't do bits and pieces." He chuckled. "I break people to bits and pieces, but that's a different thing, I suppose." Pequod shuddered.

"The less I know about how you get people talking, the easier I sleep at night, sir." The young man said. He turned around to face the head of the Intel team. Ocelot gave a pleasantly innocent smile, which did not help Pequod's current feeling.

"Relax, kid. I promise you that you are the last person I'd want or feel the need to 'talk' to." But then he got serious. "Of course, if you need to talk, I'm around. I can do that, too. Diamond Dogs stick together, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Pequod said. He sighed, and rubbed his brow. "Man, I'm tired. Think I could take the rest of the day off, sir?" Ocelot chuckled.

"Don't see why not. I took a peek at the schedule that Miller's giving Snake: you don't have to supervise flight simulation for any new recruits until…Wednesday." Ocelot smirked. "Gotta do it at some point, though. Gotta whip enough people into shape so that it seems like there's only one of you flying Boss around."

"With all due respect, sir: there's only one of me."

Ocelot's lip curled upwards into a grin, pleased to see that the young man's sulk had been replaced by his usual bravado.

"Oh, no doubt. That's why Boss keeps asking you to be his flyboy. But as it stands, the current set-up gives you 48 hours of down time. And I highly doubt that Boss will want you rolling out until then."

"Aren't we chasing Cipher, sir?"

"Son, I know a thing or two about Cipher and organizations like it. And I'll tell you: they move like glaciers. They tend to get their shit taken care of, but the larger an organization, the more bloated and methodical its pace is." He looked tired. "That, of course, just means we've got a lot of work to do. Cipher's pretty big."

"We'll get 'em, sir." Pequod said.

"That's the spirit." Ocelot said. He started walking away, but then turned back and waved Pequod to follow. "Let's hit the mess hall. I could use whatever it is that Moth cooked up today."

"If Jackal's reaction was any indication, sir, I think we're gonna need some seltzer."

"Pequod, I might love each and every one of you Dogs but I have to be completely honest with you: Jackal has a pushover for a stomach."

"Don't worry sir, I won't tell him your opinion that literally everyone else on the base shares."

"…Really? Shit, guess I'm not as good at intel as I thought."

"…Yes you are, sir."

"Yes, I am."

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.