Paradigm Shift,
a Metal Gear Solid fanfic by *blinkblink*
They changed cars twice as
they drove through the city, Hal helping Dave out of the back seat both times
and transferring him into the new car. Dave had taken two of the newly supplied
Vicodin after the first transfer, and was looking
vaguely better by the time the second came around.
They finally pulled to a stop
in a dark alleyway, Jack parking the car with its nose against a dumpster. “I
managed to set up a bolt hole for the two of you,” he said as he watched Hal
pull Dave out, face bland. “It’s not much, but it’ll do until I can arrange to
get you two out of the city.”
“Why can’t we just leave
now?” asked Hal, tucking the Vicodin away in his
jacket pocket.
“Stein’s cracking down on
traffic out of town, with the help of some of the local ‘neighbourhood
associations.’ They’ve already built a strong net. I need to get going, they
might be tracking this car already.”
“What about you?” Hal glanced
at Dave, who was checking out the buildings on either side of the alleyway, not
apparently listening, although the engineer had no doubt that he was.
“As long as you two are safe,
so am I. I’m still his only route to you.” Jack paused, glanced at the mouth of
the alleyway as a pair of cars drove by. “I’ll have something worked out in a
few days. Until then, the apartment’s got everything you need.” He dug a key
out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to Hal, who noticed the shine of a
pistol butt as his coat moved.
“Weapons?” asked Dave,
apparently thinking along the same lines.
“I’ve left you a couple of USPs. Keep your phone on. I’ll call you when I’ve got a
time.”
“Right,” said Hal, feeling in
his pocket for the warm weight of his cell, traced his fingers over its frame.
Jack nodded at the building to their right. “In there.
“Let’s go,” said Dave
gruffly, shifting his weight to carry more of it himself.
“Right,” said Hal, watching
him out of the corner of his eye, and let the soldier lead them out of the
alley, sticking close to the shadows, and around to the apartment building’s
front entrance.
It wasn’t a slum, but it was
only one step up the evolutionary ladder. The entranceway wasn’t covered in
graffiti, and showed signs of having been cleaned recently, but for all that it
retained a vague atmosphere of a building fighting a losing battle to keep its
reputation. The elevator looked ancient, but Hal glanced at Dave, who was
leaning on him heavily again already, and pressed the up button.
The elevator arrived with a
grinding noise in place of the customary ding, doors sliding open with
difficulty. The two men stepped in gingerly, Hal pressing the 4 button and
watching with some worry as the doors ground shut again. The elevator jerked sharply
as it began to rise, and Dave lost his balance briefly, knocked into Hal, who
knocked into the wall, doing his best to catch his partner without actually
touching him. Dave righted himself almost immediately, clearing his throat in
what Hal thought might be embarrassment.
When the elevator staggered
to a stop at their floor, they were both prepared, and neither lost his
balance, both swaying in tandem with the abrupt motion. The doors forced their
way open again and the Philanthropists hurried out, Hal breathing a sigh of
relief as they stepped out of the death trap.
The halls were covered in an
ugly green carpet which had probably seen better days some twenty years before,
and now looked like the kind of lining one expected to find in the basket of an
incontinent dog. The walls, painted a lighter green, were marginally cleaner,
and looked to have received a new coat of paint some time in the last ten
years, a marked improvement on the carpet. The door in front of the elevator
read 4 B, the B hanging slightly crooked on the whitewashed wood. Hal glanced
to the right and found the next door that way read A. Dave turned left at the
same time, apparently having already gathered that information, and led the way
down the dark corridor.
4D, as expected, was two
doors down, one before the corner apartment. Hal dug the key out of his pocket
and slipped it into the lock, which he had to force roughly in both directions
before finding one which unlocked the door. The door required a further kick to
open, being slightly too large for the jamb.
If this were a normal
situation, Dave would have entered first to secure the room. But it wasn’t
normal, and Dave was hardly up to walking a couple of steps on his own.
Slipping out from under his partner’s arm, therefore, Hal hurried into the room
before Dave could snatch him back, checking right and left. There wasn’t much
to check.
The apartment was a two room
apartment, and could really only be called that because someone had stuck half
a wall into the living room which met up with the bathroom wall, leaving an
open entranceway to the bedroom. The living room was small, perhaps five yards
feet deep by four across. It was split forwards and backwards, the far end with
a small square of linoleum made up the kitchen, which was
a sink, fridge and oven. Behind the oven was a square window, in which a piece
of cardboard had been placed which fit the frame nearly exactly, letting in
just enough light to see by. The forward section was
the living area, with a ratty grey carpet populated by an ancient table with
two chairs. On the table sat a large black duffel bag.
Directly to the left was the
bathroom, containing just a toilet, sink, and shower stall, crammed into an
area which logically should have been too small to fit them. On the sink was a
heap of towels. Beyond was the bedroom, whose sole pieces of occupying
furniture were a queen-sized mattress and a box-spring lying on the floor. On
top of them someone had placed two pillows, a pile of blue sheets and a duvet
with an ugly yellow and brown cover, doubtless a cast-off of Jack’s. A large
unadorned window looked out onto the alleyway, although a second piece of
cardboard had been placed on the frame which again blocked out most of the
light.
Hal stalked back to get Dave,
and found that he had already entered and was shutting the door. Hal watched as
he slipped the bolts shut. The locks seemed to be the only new things in the
apartment apart from the bag, towels and sheets. A pair of sturdy bolts had
been attached, one screwed on above the door knob, the other on the other side
of the door above the middle rusty hinge. There was a small pile of plaster on
the ground underneath each bolt, suggesting they had been installed very
recently. Door locked, Dave leant back against the wall, eyes closed. “What are
the supplies like?” he asked, voice neutral.
“There’re towels and bed
clothes. In this bag, uh,” Hal walked over to the duffel, unzipped it. Inside
was a heap of clothing, a separate brown bag containing medical supplies, a few
cheap novels and a pack of cards. He pulled the medical bag, the books and
cards out and set them on the table, leaving the clothes inside and hoping that
Jack had actually bought them rather than supplying the Philanthropists,
neither of whom were as slight as he, with his cast offs.
He then wandered into the
kitchen and opened the fridge, which wheezed to life as soon as he touched it.
Inside were several cans of beer, a carton of orange juice and one of apple, a
gallon of milk, a bag of carrots and one of apples, several packs of coldcuts, a pack of bacon and a dozen eggs. The freezer
contained an armful of frozen dinners, as well as one lone ice tray. Hal opened
the one set of cupboards and found the bottom shelf contained a frying pan, a
small pot and a large one, four cheap plates, cups, and sets of implements, and
two bowls. The top shelf had been lined with dry goods; Shredded Wheat cereal,
porridge, sugar, salt and a box of tea bags. “An odd variety,” concluded Hal.
Tucked away behind the Shredded
Wheat was a suspicious metal box, which he pulled forward delicately and set on
the counter. He glanced over his shoulder at Dave, who was limping across the
room. He caught Hal’s shoulder and tugged him away, ran careful hands over the
box and under the lip of its lid, then lifted it gently and tilted it slightly.
Several things inside rattled. Dave set it down and flipped up the hasp.
Inside, Hal could see over his arm, was the pair of USPs Jack had spoken of, along with four extra clips.
There was also a wicked-looking serrated knife. Dave picked up both guns in
turn, checking their chambers and their clips, as well as their safety. He
pulled one out of the box along with two clips, handed them to Hal.
“Put them in the bedroom,” he
said, putting the box down on the counter and then leaning back against it. Hal
nodded and walked into the other room, weapon held carefully in his long
fingers. Dave had trained him with weapons, and he was more familiar with USPs than with many other guns, but they still made him
nervous. He put them gently down next to the bed on the side next to the
bathroom, then set himself to making the bed. The
sheet Jack had provided turned out not to have elastic corners, leaving Hal to
flounder with making hospital corners, a skill he had never really learned. In
the end, he tucked the extra material awkwardly between the mattress and the
box spring as best he could, making sure the sheet at
least looked straight. He then spread the duvet and arranged the pillows,
frowning vaguely at the horrible colour scheme.
“Huh,” said Dave, in the
doorway behind him. Hal spun around, heart racing, sighed at the sight of his
partner leaning against the wall. Dave walked in unevenly and Hal rose to help
him, but he waved him off, walked over to the bed and sat down slowly on the
window side.
“Are you okay?” asked Hal, eyes
tracing the tense lines of Dave’s shoulders.
“Fine,” said Dave, pulling
the duvet out from under him and lying down in one stiff motion, shaking the
flip flops off his feet. They landed on the floor with a rubbery thud. He
looked over at Hal, standing awkwardly at the corner of the bed. “Where’s the
USP?”
Hal started, glanced at the
gun lying by the other side of the bed. He picked it and the clips up, brought
them over to Dave. Dave took the gun only, checked the safety again, and put it
down on the ground, butt leaning up against the box spring. Hal did the same
with the clips. “You look tired,” said Dave, voice gruff. Hal smiled slightly.
“Not as tired as you. Besides
it’s only…” he checked his watch, and then again a second time to be sure.
“God, it’s almost two.” He hadn’t realised they had spent so long driving
around, had been too tense to notice the time passing.
Dave snorted quietly, but his
eyes were amused, soft in the dim light of the bedroom. “Lie down for a while.
Do you some good to sleep in an actual bed. Too damn
jittery.”
“I’m fine. Besides, if I go
to sleep now, I’ll be up all night with nothing to do.”
“Got something to do now?”
Hal paused. While it was true
that time seemed easier to fill in the day, with no internet, no computer, no
television, he would have little to do. God only knew what Jack had seen fit to
provide in reading material. “No,” he said softly.
“So sleep.” Dave closed his
eyes, not bothering to pull the duvet over himself. Hal watched him for a
minute, watched his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat, his chest rise
softly with his breath. Dave cracked open an eye, and
Hal started. “You’re not sleeping,” he said gruffly.
“Ah. Right.”
Hal walked over to the other side of the bed, pulled off his own shoes and
jacket, and slipped in under the covers. Dave shifted slightly and sighed,
breathing slowing further after a minute. Hal lay in the bed, own breathing
slowing as he relaxed, and watched Dave in the poor light filtering in around
the cardboard in the window and from the other room. Only Dave’s sharp profile
was visible, a shaft of light cutting across the bridge of his nose to shine on
his high cheekbone. He slept in the same still silence as he lived, moving only
to breathe. Hal considered reaching out to touch him, run his thin fingers
through Dave’s thick hair, brush over his cheeks, strong lips, pull him close,
arms wrapped around the soldier, hands… but that was pointless, and stupid. He
never would, and Dave would probably break his arm if he tried. And… he wanted
Dave, but even more, he found, he wanted Dave to want him, for him to return those touches, smile slyly at him and mean it. Without that, it was pointless.
When you screw up, you don’t do it half
way, do you Hal? You couldn’t just lust after your partner. Oh, no. You had to
fall in love with him. Trust you to find the best possible way to break your
heart.
Hal closed his eyes in pain,
rolling onto his side to curl up slightly, hands fisted. He lay there for
several minutes, body tense, eyes tightly closed. Then, realising it wouldn’t
get him anywhere, he forced himself to loosen up,
opened his eyes and regarded Dave. Even if the soldier wouldn’t love him back,
wouldn’t want him back, he could at least do his best to protect him. Maybe
this time it would be enough. With a grim smile, he reached out and flipped the
duvet over onto Dave, who startled and blinked his eyes open, glanced at Hal
disapprovingly, before closing them again. Hal sighed and rolled onto his back
and waited for sleep to come.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Hal woke slowly, body
over-heated and heavy, head throbbing. He found himself lying in a tight cocoon
of blankets, sweating slightly, heat leeching away his strength. He kicked out
feebly, foot slipping out from the confining duvet and letting in some cool
air. He shifted further, stretched his arms out to free himself from the
covers. He was still tired, head aching vaguely from the heat, hands weak from
the deep sleep.
Lying next to him, watching
him with an expression which Hal found difficult to read, was Dave, good arm raised to lie over his head. Hal pulled himself up into a
sitting position abruptly, foot slipping out of the bed to hit the ground with
a thud. He winced. Dave smiled slightly.
“Finally
awake?”
“You were the one who told me
to go to sleep,” Hal said somewhat sulkily, rubbing at his eyes.
“I didn’t mean for the entire
afternoon,” said Dave. He glanced down over the far side of the bed. “Where’s
your jacket?”
“Huh?” Hal glanced down, then
reached down and picked up his sandy-coloured jacket, picked it up onto the
bed. Dave reached across and into one of the pockets, deftly snagging the bottle
of Vicodin. Hal watched as he popped the lid open and
scooped two of the white pills into his mouth, swallowing without apparent
effort. “I guess you should keep those,” he said, dropping his jacket onto the
floor again. Dave shrugged.
“What about some dinner?”
“What?” Hal glanced down at
his watch, which read 7:14. “God, how did I sleep this long?” He pulled himself
out of the bed, stumbling slightly.
“Told you,” said Dave smugly.
Hal rolled his eyes, but turned back to face him.
“There’s not a lot for
dinner, for you. I didn’t see any soup, or anything…
There’s porridge and Shredded Wheat, I guess…” He glanced through the open
doorway into the kitchen.
“There was plenty of frozen
crap, wasn’t there?”
Hal glanced back at Dave, who
had levered himself up to sit in the bed, back resting against the stained
wall.
“Yeah, but I don’t think you
should be eating that yet. You’re recovering. What were you eating in the
hospital, anyway?”
Dave made a derogatory noise.
“Mostly mush. You need meat to recover.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said
Hal vaguely, trying to quash that idea before it formed fully. “Porridge is
probably okay. There might even be different flavours.” He wandered into the
kitchen, grabbed the box and returned with it. “Yeah, look, Maple Sugar,
Cinnamon, Peaches and Cream…” he trailed off and looked at Dave, who was
suspiciously silent. The soldier was giving him a dirty look.
“Could you possibly mother
hen any more?”
“It’s good for you! Look,
vitamins!” he turned the side of the box with the nutritional values section to
face Dave, who rolled his eyes.
“God, Hal. Just make some
lasagne or something. With meat,” he added with a glint in his eye.
“What’ll happen when you puke
it up and rip out all your stitches?” Hal asked maliciously, only vaguely
concerned. This was how it should be. This was what he was used to. Maybe they
could go on like before.
“Then I’ll let you say ‘I
told you so,’” said Dave.
“Oh, good. I’ll look forward to it.” Hal turned and left,
dropped the porridge back into the cupboard and rummaged through the freezer.
He pulled out two frozen pasta dinners, one spaghetti
and meat balls, the other lasagne, stripped them out of their cardboard boxes
with practiced movements, and slipped them into the oven, turning it on to 350º.
Waiting for the dinners to
heat up, Hal wandered over to the old table and inspected the books left by
Jack. There was a Grisham thriller, a lurid-looking mystery novel, and some
kind of more general fiction novel which Hal hadn’t heard of but which claimed
to be one of the most ground-breaking novels of his time. He opened the pack of
cards instead and began to shuffle them, long dextrous fingers used to years of
working with complex mechanisms breaking the cards in easily, twisting them
from their hard shapes to a more supple form which could be shuffled more
readily.
He was sitting in the further
chair from the bedroom playing solitaire when Dave appeared from the bedroom,
looking scruffy as usual, and gave him a questioning glance.
“The oven has the heating
power of a pair of 100 watt bulbs. Dinner’ll be a few
minutes.” Hal put a red seven on a black eight.
“Right…” said Dave, coming
over to join him at the table. Hal looked up, resting his drawing-hand on the
table. Dave made a “continue” gesture, pulling out the other chair with a
slight jerk and sitting in it stiffly. Hal went back to laying out cards.
He finished his round with a
loss, quite possibly because Dave’s strong gaze was fixed on him the entire
time. While his partner didn’t interrupt to offer advice, his gaze was almost
as distracting. Pulling the cards together into a heap and beginning to shuffle
them, Hal glanced up. “Want to play something?”
“Like what? Two man poker?”
Dave grinned slightly.
“Even if we wanted to, there’s
nothing to bet. Jack didn’t even leave you any cigarettes. Not that I’m
complaining.”
“There’s always strip poker,”
said Dave lightly, expression sly, joking. Hal, to his credit, didn’t even
fumble the shuffle.
“That would be over pretty
damn quick, since I happen to know you’ve only got three items of clothing on,
and even though you always win at poker, I’ve only got five.” He, at least, was
lucky enough to have socks.
Before Dave could reply, the
oven made an ominous groaning noise, and they both looked over at it, Hal
standing up and putting the cards down on the table to go check.
The cause of the oven’s
complain wasn’t apparent, but the dinners at least were done. Hal pulled them
out in short, quick snatches, cursing the lack of a dishcloth for possibly the
first time in his life. He left them to cool on top of the oven, switched it
off, and opened the fridge. “Want do you want to drink?
And don’t say beer, because you’re not getting it.”
“Water’s fine,” said Dave
with a hint of rebuke.
“Sure you don’t want
something with some nutritional value?” Hal poured himself a glass of orange
juice, which would almost certainly taste horrible with whichever pasta dish he
ended up with.
“Water’s good for you.
Besides, what’s up with you and your sudden nutritional obsession? It’s a bit
hypocritical coming from a man who lives off microwave dinners, chocolate and
caffeine.”
“Shit,” said Hal suddenly,
almost spilling Dave’s cup of water.
“What?” asked Dave, voice tense.
“Jack didn’t leave us any
coffee. That bastard.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
The next two days passed
slowly, and were not overly eventful. Dave, doped up on Vicodin,
spent a good deal of his time sleeping. Injuries healing well, and mostly on
his front, he was able to change the bandages himself, for which Hal was both
grateful and disappointed. Hal read all three novels, interspersed with long
breaks, because while his close-range vision was good enough for reading, doing
so without glasses for too long gave him headaches. They spent the evenings
after dinner refining their signals, Dave sitting up in bed propped up against
a pillow, Hal slouching in one of the living room chairs, feet resting on the
mattress. Several possibilities for Raiden were considered, finally settling on
fist which opened straight up into a flat hand, palm to the signer, and swept
sharply to the left in a ninety degree angle.
Although he slept
considerably less than Dave, who did little else during the two days, Hal still
rested more than he had since he had caught pneumonia in high school, going to
sleep early and waking up late. He spent a large amount of time lying in the
bed next to Dave, half asleep, mind skittering over all sorts of thoughts, from
how they were going to get the hell out of
In any case, he often turned
to Dave to find the soldier already watching him with shadowed eyes. Quite
possibly, Dave was getting tired of living with him in such close quarters. He
knew himself to be jittery, and clumsy, and to chatter on about useless and
generally uninteresting topics. Maybe his new curse, which was how he was
beginning to think of it, was kicking in. Maybe Dave was coming to dislike him,
which would at this point not surprise him because that was pretty much the
only way this relationship could get more screwed up and he had come over the
past few days to accept that he was going to be cursed for the rest of his life
with being unable to maintain any kind of significant relationship for any
length of time before it went to hell.
Lying next to Dave at night,
with his partner so close but the divide between them so deep it hurt, Hal
wondered if he should just pretend innocence and roll over to lie next to him.
The whole thing was going to blow up in his face. He knew that already. So he
might as well use this last opportunity for something. Contact was better than
nothing. Infinitely better than the emptiness in his stomach, the ache when he
looked at Dave and knew he would never reciprocate Hal’s feelings. But still he
couldn’t bring himself to break that barrier. Couldn’t bear
the thought that Dave would see through him and stare at him with contempt, and
maybe even disgust in his eyes. This painful half life he had now was
better than that, at least. So he did nothing.
Hal woke up late on the third
morning after their move into 4D to the high pitched jingle of his phone ring.
He rolled out of bed, Dave sitting up beside him, and scrambled over to his
jacket, lying in a heap in the corner. He fumbled in the pocket for a minute
before coming up with the phone. He flipped it open just in time, raised it to
his ear. “Hello?” he said, breathlessly.
“This is Smithers,
reporting on the oil situation.” Jack, calling from somewhere he wasn’t being
listened to.
“Go ahead,” said Hal.
“I’ve got an exit for
Tuesday, 2am,” said Jack. “I’ll pick up where I dropped off.”
“You’ve got it worked out?”
asked Hal, glancing at Dave who had come to stand behind him.
“Still working on screening,
but its our best shot. Be ready.”
“Right,” said Hal. The line
went dead. He turned to Dave, putting the phone carefully back into his jacket
pocket. “He’s got an exit, tomorrow at 2pm. He’ll pick us up in the alley.”
Dave nodded, straightened
slightly. “Looks like we’re getting out of this hellhole after all,” he said,
glancing around.
Hal smiled slightly. “You
hadn’t complained until now.”
Dave snorted. “What time is
it now?”
Hal checked his watch. “Almost eleven. I’ll make some porridge.” He slipped away
before Dave could protest, pulled the porridge box out from the cupboard. He
heard Dave sigh behind him and enter the bathroom.
Two full days of rest had
done wonders for Dave’s recovery. He moved steadily now, face clear of pain,
eyes bright. He had stopped taking the Vicodin the
night before, and seemed fine. Hal was beginning to think that they might
actually get out of this. Although Jack’s message had been
worrying. No diversion meant their escape would have a lower chance of
success. Hopefully he would manage something before the next day.
They played cards after the
porridge, two person poker despite Hal’s protests,
then gin-rummy against Dave’s. When this was exhausted, Dave began preparing
for the next day in the only means available to him, by picking out their
clothes.
Jack had indeed purchased
clothes for them, although almost certainly from a charity organization. They
were mostly all of a size, slightly small for Dave and large for Hal, as well
as being mostly cheap slacks and cotton t-shirts. Dave picked out a pair of
black slacks, a dark shirt and loose knitted navy sweater for himself, and then
went on to dig out a pair of forest green slacks and dark blue long-sleeve
shirt for Hal made of the kind of fabric covered in little sunken squares,
which Hal always associated with dishcloths. Clothes which
would not raise attention, or catch the eye. There were also two dark
toques, and Dave tossed one at Hal. “You should wear this. Your hair is too
bright.”
Hal glared indignantly, but
with little heat. He hated the bleach blond colour as well, and would be glad
when he could dye it back to its usual darker tones.
“Any idea
how Jack plans on getting us out?”
“My bet is by train. Not too
usual, not too closely monitored, too big to be under anyone’s thumb. Airport’ll be watched, bussing
companies are too dangerous, easily bought, and he knows they’re watching him
and his cars. Once we’re out, we go to ground and work to topple him, from a
distance.”
“Jack said he had no screen
set up.”
Dave looked up at him, eyes
dark. “Well, he’d better think of one pretty soon.”
“What’re
are chances without one?”
“I wouldn’t say impossible…”
Dave shrugged, optimism not really in his nature.
“That’s really reassuring,
Dave.” Hal sighed, leaned back in his chair. Arranging for whatever escape
route he had would have been difficult enough while being trailed constantly.
Arranging a diversion… They would just have to trust Jack to pull through.
“Don’t worry about it,” said
Dave suddenly. Hal glanced over at him, surprised. “You worry too much,”
continued the soldier. “There’s nothing we can do about it, for now. So just
relax. And deal the cards.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Despite himself, Hal found
himself getting tenser and tenser as the day wore on. Dave took a nap in the
later afternoon, leaving Hal alone to fret for a good three hours, before it
was time to take his mind off that by considering whether they wanted frozen
chicken pie or frozen quiche for dinner. The meal itself wasn’t much better,
both of them eating in silence, Hal uncomfortably aware of Dave’s eyes on him,
unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what Dave might see there. After dinner he
stood to take the plastic trays to the garbage, was surprised to find Dave
echoing his movements, following Hal into the kitchen at his shoulder, brushing
several times. Hal struggled to keep a neutral face, dumped his container into
the garbage and turned almost directly into Dave, only managed to avoid running
into him by tipping his weight severely backwards instead and falling harshly
against the counter a foot away.
Dave gave him a strange
glance, and seemed about to say something, but shrugged instead and said
nothing, threw away the remains of his own dinner.
They spent this evening,
unlike the others, reading in the light of the unprotected bulb mounted in the
living room ceiling. Dave thumbed quickly through the Grisham thriller while
Hal reread the end of the mystery novel, or at least pretended to, eyes
straying to his partner every so often before he dragged them back to the page.
Although there was no heating on in the room, and outside it was a cold autumn,
Hal felt as though the room was growing increasingly stuffy. He glanced again
at Dave, shoulders hunched slightly as he read, sharp
eyes downcast. He showed no signs of feeling warm. Hal raised a hand to run
through his hair, surreptitiously pressed it against his forehead. He felt no
warmer than usual. Dropping his hand, he glanced at his watch. 8:14. Plenty of time left to kill.
Hal forced himself to sit
still for another hour, read the book aloud in his head to keep himself
involved, muscles tense, eyes beginning to ache. Finally, when he couldn’t take
it any more, he put the book down and drew out the cards, shuffled and dealt
out a game of solitaire. Dave made no comment, only glanced up and then went
back to reading. He played three games before he noticed his hands were shaking
slightly, a further two before he noticed his chest was beginning to ache
because he was taking only quick, slight breaths.
The tension, he decided,
might very well kill him. Tomorrow, they would be out of the city, out of
danger, and there would be time, and space, to relax in and sort things out.
But now, right now, he was stuck in a tiny apartment with Dave, gut tense,
mouth dry, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything because he felt like
tomorrow was the end of the world and this was his first and last chance to
find love. Feeling like he would explode if he sat at the table anymore, he
dropped the cards and strode over to the bathroom, trying to make himself take
deep breaths. He closed the door behind him, turned on the cold water, and held
his hands under it until they stopped shaking. He washed his face, wincing at
the colour of his hair in the mirror, and then stood again with his hands under
the water until he felt better, relaxed.
He stepped out of the
bathroom, flicking the light off behind him, and turned to find Dave standing
right in front of him. He stumbled back a step, only barely catching his
balance, and moved to the side so Dave could enter the bathroom. He didn’t, and
instead sidestepped to follow Hal, rested his arms gently on the wall on either
side of Hal’s head. Hal swallowed, heart beginning to race, and looked into
Dave’s sharp green eyes.
“Uh-” he began, and was cut
off before he could continue.
“If you have something to
say, Hal, now would be a good time,” said Dave gruffly, face difficult to read,
voice toneless.
“W-what? I don’t, I mean… what?” Hal stuttered, heart pounding
even faster now, audible in his ears.
“You’ve been watching me a
lot lately,” said Dave calmly. “When you think I’m not
watching. And avoiding me when I am.”
“That’s not… I mean… you’ve
been watching me too,” shot back Hal clumsily after a minute of fumbling.
Dave smiled slightly,
although it was difficult to tell whether it reached his eyes or not. “True,”
he conceded.
“And?” asked Hal, trying for
confrontational and managing only intimidated.
Dave leant forwards slightly,
and slipped his left hand down to rest on Hal’s shoulder. “You first,” growled
Dave in a low voice that made the hairs on the back of Hal’s neck stand up.
Hal opened his mouth slightly
to say something, and realised anything he could say sounded horrible. “I want
you,” or “I love you,” were trite, and “I want to screw you” was just wrong,
although technically of course... Dave was watching him, eyes tracking down
slightly, tracing his open lips with… hunger? Suddenly tired of worrying, tired
of holding back, tired of this distance, Hal wrapped his arms around Dave,
drawing the other man closer, and pressed his lips against Dave’s, eyes closed.
There was a moment’s pause,
and then Dave twisted his own arms around Hal, shoving him up against the wall,
mouth opening to claim Hal’s harshly, pressing himself against the slighter
man. Hal moaned, slightly shocked, as Dave’s strong hands ran across his back,
fingers tracing his spine, his ribs. It was really happening. For whatever
reason, Dave hadn’t pushed him away, was holding him, touching him, kissing
him… Hal arched his back against the wall to press himself even closer to his
partner, desperate to feel that warmth against himself.
Dave seemed to take the hint, wrapped his arms and legs more tightly around the
engineer, hand slipping up under the hem of Hal’s shirt to splay against his naked
skin. Hal gasped, face knocking slightly against
Dave’s. Dave drew back, ending the kiss and stilling his hands, panting
slightly.
Breathing hard, Hal shifted
in his grip, rested his head back against the wall.
“So,” said Dave gruffly, breath warm against Hal’s skin. “You were after me, then.”
“Looks like it,” said Hal,
voice catching slightly, head spinning gently. “How’d you guess?”
Dave grinned slyly. “It was
mostly your moaning for me in your sleep that set me off.”
Hal flushed brightly, squirmed
slightly. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.” Well, he had hoped not, at least. Realistically…
“It was hard to miss,” said
Dave, teeth glinting slightly as his smile widened. He leaned close to run them
over Hal’s jaw, tongue slipping out to lick at Hal’s fair skin. One hand tracing Hal’s spine, the other skimmed lower, sneaking
under the line of Hal’s loose slacks. “Hadn’t been for that damn bug, I
would have jerked you off myself,” he whispered in Hal’s ear, voice raw, hand
tightening to grab Hal’s ass. Hal gasped and moaned through his teeth,
hardening painfully fast, arched against Dave. He slipped his own hands under
Dave’s shirt, quick fingers digging into the soldier’s back. Dave nudged Hal’s
head up with the bridge of his nose, leant to run his teeth and tongue over the
sensitive skin of the engineer’s throat.
Wanting more, wanting to feel
Dave against him, under his hands, skin against skin, Hal pulled a hand around
to tug off Dave’s shirt, fingers brushing against the stiff texture of a
bandage. He paused, drawing away from Dave slightly, soldier sensing the
withdrawal and pausing himself. Hal traced one bandage, stuck just under the
right side of Dave’s ribcage, with shivering fingers.
“Are you sure you should be
doing this?” he asked, voice thick with need. He cleared his throat, tried for
a more neutral tone. “Because, I can-”
“It’s
fine,” said Dave, breath ghosting against Hal’s wet throat causing him to
shiver slightly in pleasure. “I’m up for some fun. Besides, Jack didn’t think
to leave us the provisions for anything serious. That’ll have to wait ‘til
later.” The sly, heavy-lidded look he gave Hal made the engineer shudder. Dave
took this as a signal to continue and pressed his lips against Hal’s again,
slipping his tongue into Hal’s mouth to claim it, tightening his arms around
the engineer again, hands sliding over his skin.
Hal, galvanized, made a
second attempt at pulling the soldier’s shirt off, pushing it up his chest to
his arms, at which point Dave was forced to pause his advances to pull it off
himself. He returned the favour for Hal, the engineer shivering under his
hands, tracing the strong lines of the soldier’s chest with his eyes, and then
with his hands when Dave finished. Before Dave could reassert himself, Hal had
pressed himself in closely, skin against skin, dropped his head to press his
hungry lips against Dave’s neck, lick at the salty skin there. Dave’s hands
clenched once in surprise against Hal’s back, then relaxed, returned to
stroking his skin. After some searching, Hal found a spot just under the corner
of Dave’s jaw which caused the soldier to rock when he ran his tongue over it
and shifted to sucking at it, holding Dave tight in his arms.
Dave, jerking slightly
against Hal, spread his wide hands over the engineer’s hips, tilting them
forward, and pinned him against the wall again, grinding his own hips against
Hal’s. Hal moaned against his neck, left off licking at Dave to gasp, hips
tilting on their own hungrily against the other man’s. Dave groaned and shifted
his weight, pounding Hal against the wall so hard that the engineer’s breath
was almost knocked out of him, strong fingers digging tight into Hal’s hips.
Gasping for breath, Hal slid his own arms down to wrap around Dave’s waist,
arching his back to allow for greater contact, causing Dave to slam him into
the wall again. The pain in his shoulders was minor compared to the ache in his
stomach, his burning skin, the throbbing in his groin, the thick desire for
Dave’s touch. He rested his chin on Dave’s shoulder, eyes closed, breath
catching slightly in his throat with each gasp. A particularly strong thrust
knocked Hal’s head back into the wall, causing him to cry out
inadvertently.
Dave paused, panting
raggedly, and then shifted his arms abruptly, grabbed Hal by the elbow and
stepped away, began tugging him purposefully from the wall.
“Dave?” said Hal, panting,
struggling to walk on unstable legs.
“Rather pound you into a
mattress,” the soldier said crudely, wrapping an arm around Hal’s waist,
nipping at the delicate curve of his ear as they stumbled together into the
bedroom. Hal considered stripping off his pants, but not soon enough, as he
tripped over a corner of the mattress and landed hard in the centre of the bed.
He had no time to move before Dave dropped down after him, eyes dark with lust,
the two of them rolling across the bed once before ending up in a tangle of
limbs on Dave’s side of the bed. Hal, cock hard against his pants and Dave’s
stomach beyond, twitched, tried to slip a hand in
between the two of them to get at his fly. Dave caught it in between, intertwined
their fingers and pulled Hal’s hand up to pin it against the mattress above his
head. Hal shifted his weight, which only succeeded in further arousing him,
world nearly spinning out of focus as he cried out,
ground himself against Dave’s stomach. Then the weight on him disappeared and
the storm in his head calmed slightly, leaving him hot and panting on the
mattress.
He looked up to see Dave
watching him with hungry eyes as he stripped his pants off, shucking them off
the side of the bed. Hal, panting hard, reached down to take care of his own
clothes but Dave beat him there, strong fingers slipping the button and fly of
his slacks open, pulling them together with his underwear down over his hips
and legs, Hal kicking to knock the knot of clothes away from his ankles. Dave
pulled himself on top of Hal, leaning forwards, straddling his hips, Hal abruptly
aware that his partner was just as hard as he was as he ground their hips
together. Hal slipped his hands up over Dave’s sides again, trying to find
purchase on the soldier’s wide back, tensing as Dave panted almost silently
against his ear. He wasn’t as silent himself, moaning with each thrust, breath catching in the back of his throat in a high gasp
when one of them shifted against the other.
“God, Dave,” he moaned, back
arching slightly. The soldier’s hands were firm, sliding over his shoulders,
sides, slowly pulling lower, digging into his back, waist. “More,” he panted,
tightening his arms, body beginning to tense, sight growing hazy, hips bucking
against Dave’s, seeking release. “Dave,”
he gritted out, pleading as he felt himself losing control, shaking as he
arched, tottering on the edge of ecstasy, trying desperately to send himself
over. Dave’s hands sunk lower still, calloused fingers trailing down to cup Hal’s
ass roughly. Hal tensed and keened high in his throat, the breath before the
plunge, and then came all at once without warning, gasping Dave’s name as he
shuddered against the soldier. For a minute the world blurred; when it returned
Dave was pounding against him, fingers digging into Hal’s shoulders, moaning
incoherently as he spasmed against his partner, skin
hot and wet against Hal, even wetter an instant later. After several moments of
panting, Dave lowered himself to lie face down on the bed next to Hal, left arm
draped across Hal’s chest, holding him close.
They lay there in comfortable
silence as time passed around them, Hal vaguely amazed that that he had
actually initiated a relationship, that Dave hadn’t rejected him,
that he had for most intents and purposes slept with his partner, and
that world hadn’t ended. Eventually, Dave turned over to lie on his side,
stomach against Hal. Hal rolled his head to meet his partner’s eyes. His heart
sped slightly at the sly expression he saw there. “Remember what I said
earlier?” asked Dave gruffly.
“Which pa- ah,” his own gasp
cut off his question as Dave’s hand stole across his thigh to begin stroking
his cock. Hal jerked, breath catching. “Something
about, ha, jerking off?” he said, already beginning to harden under Dave’s
fingers.
“How about it, then?” asked
Dave, grinning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
When Hal woke, he found
himself lying in Dave’s arms, resting on the good half of his chest, head pillowed partially on the soldier’s left shoulder.
He was tired, but also completely content, a feeling
he hadn’t had in longer than he could remember. And, just as he realised it,
the feeling vanished, to be replaced by a cold grip in the bottom of his
stomach. Now that he’d given in to his feelings for Dave, admitted his love for
the man at least to himself, how long would it be before everything got blown
to hell? Sniper Wolf hadn’t lasted more than two days. And, although he had
only loved E.E. as a sister, she too had been killed only a few hours after
coming back into his life. Whether or not he deserved any happiness, he had
never been able to hold on to it, never been able to protect it. How long would
it be before he lost Dave to that curse? A week? Two? Less?
Happiness turning to horrible
fear, he realised that it probably wasn’t even that long. Glancing at his watch,
he bet he could estimate the time to the hour. 10:51. Three
more hours until two. Three hours until they tried to get out
of the city. Three hours until he lost Dave, just as he had lost
everyone else he had ever cared for. His thoughts were interrupted by Dave
stirring under him, glancing up at him with wry eyes.
“What time is it?” he asked
gruffly, Hal able to feel the rumble of his voice through his chest.
“Ten fifty,” answered Hal.
“Hm,”
said Dave consideringly, raising a hand to stroke
Hal’s back vaguely. Hal’s worry, fear and love all slammed back into him at
once, so hard he thought he might have staggered if he had been standing, and
he closed his eyes, pressed his face against Dave’s warm shoulder, gut tight
with emotion. “You all right?” asked Dave quietly.
“Fine. I just realised…” his emotions fought with each
other, tearing through him, until love conquered the others, warming him with
its fierce strength. “… you’ll probably think it’s silly
and sentimental of me, but…” He raised his eyes to smile at Dave, face lit with
raw affection, “I love you,” he said simply. Dave blinked twice and then smiled
slowly. It wasn’t a smile Hal was sure he had seen before. It was possibly the
most sincere expression Hal had ever seen on his partner, and while slightly
surprised, it was also heavily tinged with sadness.
“I don’t think it’s silly,”
said Dave softly. “Although I’m not sure it ever leads to much good. And… I’m not sure it’s something I have left in me anymore.
I care about you, Hal, but…”
“That’s all right,” said Hal
gently, and meant it. When times were at their worst, he had wished he didn’t
yearn for love, or to love, and he had been through so much less than the
soldier.
Staring at Dave
sympathetically, heart aching, Hal knew he couldn’t let
Dave die. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t fail. Not this time. He had
never been any good at protecting the people he loved, had never been any good
at protecting Dave, but now the tables were turned and he had no choice. He
would make sure Dave got out of
-------------------------------------------------------------
At one thirty, they were
sitting at the table, Dave reading, himself playing solitaire, when Hal faked a
text message from Jack. He did this by flipping his phone open in his pocket
and changing the speaker volume, which produced a loud squawk. He then pulled
the phone out and flipped it open again as Dave looked up to watch, pretended
to read a message, and then closed the phone and slipped it back into his
pocket, standing. “That was Jack. He wants us to move out separately. He’s
arranged for a ride for me now, and will come for you in half an hour.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “I
don’t like this,” he said. “It’s too sudden.”
“I agree but… it’s our only
option. He must know what he’s doing,” argued Hal, trying not to overplay it.
“Hal-”
“It’ll be okay, Dave. Jack’s
gotten better at this sort of thing.” Hal glanced around the room, checking for
any belongings he needed. He pulled his coat on, checked that his wallet and
phone were in his pocket, grabbed a toque off the
table.
Dave stood and walked over to
the metal box, pulled out the USP and spare ammunition. “Here,” he said,
handing them to Hal. “You see anything wrong, you
shoot first and ask questions later. Promise me you won’t hesitate to kill
someone, if you have to.” He put a heavy hand on Hal’s shoulder, tightening it.
Hal met his eyes, nodded slowly.
“I promise,” said Hal, taking
the gun. He checked the safety and the chamber as he had been taught before
tucking it into the back waistband of his pants under his dark shirt and sandy
jacket. The extra clips he slipped in
his pants’ pockets. Still, Dave kept a hold of his shoulder. “The pick up will
be here soon,” he said, glancing at the door. Dave raised his hand roughly to
the side of Hal’s face, drew him back to face the soldier.
“Be careful,” he said, eyes fierce. “Maybe, in time… I might learn to love
you,” he said softly, staring intensely into Hal’s eyes. Hal fought not to
flinch, nodded instead. God, Dave, don’t. You were right. You’ll be better off if you don’t.
“I’ll be careful.” There was
nothing else he could say.
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
“Right. See you soon,” echoed Hal, and Dave dropped his arm.
Hal turned, forcing himself not to look back, unlocked the bolts and left. He
heard Dave locking the bolts again after him.
As soon as he was sure Dave
wasn’t going to come out after him, Hal picked up his pace, pulled his phone
out of his pocket and opened a new text message, addressing it to Jack, as he searched
out the stairwell. He wrote the message in a few seconds, hurrying down the
stairs, sent it, and then powered off the phone. As soon as he was sure it was
turned off, he grabbed the screen and the body in a hand each, and with a sharp
wrench broke the phone in half. He dropped it in a garbage can in the lobby and
pulled off his coat, wrapping it up inside out and tucking it under his arm,
jogging out into the cool autumn afternoon.
Slouching, toque pulled down
low over his bright hair, Hal hurried along the road until he came to a bus
stop, spotted a bus trundling down the street. It stopped for him and he hopped
on, pulling a mess of change out of his pocket to pay the fare. He stumbled
down the aisle as the bus started up again, took a seat next to an old Chinese
lady clutching a hefty carpetbag, who looked at him suspiciously.
With no idea where the bus
was going, he stared out the window, watching streets and cars and stops and people
pass by, head full of images of Dave, stomach tight with worry. What if it
didn’t work? What if they still caught Dave? What if…
He shook his head, forced himself to concentrate. There was no point in
worrying about things he couldn’t control. At least, that was what Dave would
have said, and he was generally right about most things.
Hal got off at the next busy stop
and walked around the corner to barely catch a bus going down the cross street.
He used his transfer and shuffled to the back, standing this time as all the
seats were taken, bumping along with the rhythm of the bus, listening to the
quiet hum of several peoples’ overly-loud mp3 players.
He got off several stops down
the line on this bus and began walking along the busier of the two streets,
keeping an eye on traffic. He hailed the first cab he saw, which passed him by,
and then the second which stopped for him, cabby giving him the same look as
the old lady on the bus. “Visa’s okay?” he asked. The man nodded and Hal slid
into the back. “The Greyhound station, please,” he said, and the cab pulled out
into traffic.
The station turned out not to
be far away, some ten minutes’ drive. The cabby said nothing to him, listening
instead to his radio which was tuned to some local news station. Hal listened,
ears perked, for any incidents which could have involved Jack or Dave, but none
came up. When they reached the station he pulled out his credit card, slipping
on his jacket and pulling off his toque as the cabby swiped the card.
The greyhound station was a
large warehouse-like building, the interior one large echoing room with
off-shoots leading to phone booths, washrooms and the exit to the loading
docks. There were several bays of cashiers, over whose head was displayed a
list of scheduled departures. Hal approached a free cashier, pulling out his Visa
again. “I’d like two tickets for the 2:40 to
The cashier typed in a string
of letters at her keyboard, read the computer. “There are still two seats, sir.
That’s unusual; it’s usually full.”
“I guess I’m lucky,” said Hal
with a false smile.
“It will be two hundred and fifty
dollars,” said the woman, taking his card and swiping it. A minute later she
handed him his ticket and his receipt. “Thank you, Mr. Wray. The bus will load
in half an hour from loading bay 3,” she said.
“Right.” He tucked the ticket into his pocket and shuffled off
to take a seat in the large waiting area, a herd of chairs standing in the
middle of the open room. He wondered where Snake was right now. Probably in some car with Jack, heading to the train station.
Hopefully he wouldn’t think to ask Jack where Hal had been taken for a while. Hopefully,
they wouldn’t be spotted. Hopefully this wasn’t all for nothing. Although that
would be according to fate’s usual screwing with him. Send him up to
He had been sitting on the
chair for less than twenty minutes before an announcement startled him out of
his reverie. “Telephone call for Mr. Wray. Mr. Wray,
please take your telephone call at payphone number five,” echoed an amplified
voice through the terminal. Hal stood slowly on shaky legs. This was it. There
was still time to leave, although there was probably someone in this room
watching him. There was still a chance, though. If he tried, he might make it
out of the building, commandeer a car… The image of Dave, smiling sadly at him,
burst into his mind to the exclusion of all other thoughts. Hal smiled grimly.
Running away wasn’t an option. Not this time. This time, he couldn’t just become
invisible and solve his problems.
Hal walked over to the end of
the room, took a right into the narrow corridor where the phones were docked in
small stalls, noting that a suspicious number of the lights were burnt out. The
stalls were numbered by a small dark piece of wood protruding from the top
corner with their number painted on in white. Payphone five was the last in the
set, sitting in the dark corner of the hallway. Well, that wasn’t surprising.
To the left of the last phone was a closed door labelled Fire Exit. There was
no point dodging for it. Whoever was waiting for him in that stall wasn’t going
to allow that. He considered reaching for his USP, decided against it. There
was no point.
He walked up to the stall in
an even pace. As expected, someone was standing in it, a man in a long
raincoat. He turned as Hal approached.
“Ah, Mr. Wray,” said Stein.
“Or should I say, Mr. Emmerich. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”
Hal, slightly surprised,
shrugged, shoulders stiff, hands fisted at his side.
“I suppose you wouldn’t care
to tell us where your partner is?”
Hal’s eyes narrowed, and he
shook his head. Stein sighed, but didn’t move.
“What now?” Hal asked, trying
to sound careless while his heart raced. God, he didn’t want to die. But, if
Dave were safe… he would have to console himself with that. Dave would be safe.
That was what really mattered.
“I’m surprised you need to
ask, Mr. Emmerich,” said Stein, eyes flickering to something behind Hal’s
shoulder. Hal turned to look, knowing he was too slow, knowing it was too late.
Pain exploded in the back of his head, even as his vision exploded into white,
fading quickly towards black. Dave, was all he could think before everything went cold and
black.
END PART ONE.