Close your eyes, I’m right beside you
Close your eyes, I’m back again
“I can’t believe you decided the best way to deal with an assassin was to fake
your death and throw your partner to him.” Mei Ling, somewhere between
incredulous and appalled.
“I can’t believe you didn’t fake Hal’s death and throw yourself to him.”
Meryl, tapping a short-nailed finger against a cup of coffee, apparently
disinterested.
“I just can’t believe you managed to wear stealth-calibrated projectors in your
glasses without blinding yourself.” Naomi, turning the broken glasses over in
her hands. The glasses it took him three weeks to build, cameras built into the
frame calibrated to register the frequency of the stealth camo, tiny projectors
mounted on the interior of the frames displaying it on the specially treated
lenses. A hell of a lot of trouble to go to, but he’d hoped it would have
application in other situations. And once he’d had the idea… not tinkering had
always been harder than tinkering.
“Well, it’s not like he’s not halfway there already,” Snake, cigarette between
his lips, his first in three days. He lets the smoke out in a long, thin
stream, dragon-like.
They’re sitting around Hal’s bed – a temporary set-up in the infirmary – Hal
with a new batch of ointment smeared under a clean bandage on his back, Snake
with a few new patches stuck on by Naomi rather than himself.
“The only things that surprise me,” says the soldier, “is how long it took you
to figure it out –”
“Like you did so much better,” cuts in Meryl.
“– and that you’re still here,” he finishes as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
It’s been a while since they all met up like this, Hal thinks, and then
realises with something like surprise that they’ve all been here for days.
Somehow it only seems real now, as if everything before was just a dream. A
horrible, artificial dream he could only escape from by closing his eyes.
He’s never, he knows, been good with dealing.
Meryl raises an accusatory eyebrow. Snake takes his cigarette in his hand,
gestures to Hal with the glowing tip. Hal’s vaguely surprised Naomi hasn’t
already confiscated it; would like to see her try. “We’d’ve been out of here
three hours ago if he’d get his ass of out bed. What’s your excuse?”
“You don’t think it might be better to stick around until we know who hired the
guy?”
“I don’t give a damn about the fact that we’re on another hit-list – or, more
probably, on one we already know about.”
“So, what, ignore it until it tries to burn you to a cinder?”
“I seem to recall being the only one who didn’t ignore it. No one else
around here listened when we told you someone was after our asses.”
“I’ll make a note to drop everything next time you send me a paranoid email.”
“Geez you two, if I didn’t already have a headache I’d sure as hell have one
after listening to you try to have a conversation.” Hal wonders sometimes
whether they were like this after Shadow Moses, whether the brief candle of
their relationship survived because they hadn’t gotten tired of the endless
bickering, or whether there had ever been a difference. Been something more. He
suspects from the anger he’s felt in Meryl for the past three days that there
was, but whatever it was it burned out long ago. Now there’s just the shadow,
the faint enjoyment they take out of sparring in short increments before they
tire of it. It’s a cage they can’t escape anymore.
“Yeah, well, if you’d’ve gotten out of bed…” grouses Snake, without much heat
charring the words.
“And if I get out now?”
“Then we can get the hell out of here. The kid’ll let us know what he turns
up.”
The door opens halfway through Snake’s comment, all of them turning to see who
it is.
“The kid can tell you now,” says Jack dryly, entering with a folder under his
arm. Snake leans back against the bed, crossing his arms and settling in. The
rest of them shift into more formal poses, changing gears from chatting to
strategizing. “It’s not everything, mind you. That’ll take time.”
And probably, thinks Hal sourly, a lot more pain.
“Turns out Mark Terrice is Mark Pater, former – he claims – Indian
Intelligence.”
Snake snorts. “When it comes to counter-intelligence, the Indian Bureau
couldn’t find their ass with both hands. You want me to believe they sunk an
assassin in here?”
“According to him, they didn’t. They sunk a mole trained in data mining and
high-security hacking with orders to report on our movements and targets but
not to take any action. He went rogue, he says.”
“Well, he’s sure as hell got minimal weapons and combat training, But as for
the rest of it.” Meryl waves a sceptical hand. “Got any proof?”
Jack gives her a flat look. “It’ll take more than a few hours to verify a
deep-burrowing mole, if we can at all. And he’s insisting that he cut all links
to the Bureau weeks ago. Not that that means anything.”
“Anything else?” Snake reaches across to the ashtray on the table beside Hal’s
bed, currently empty, and stubs the end of his cig out in it. He’s careful to
smother all the smoke before replacing it, the closest he’ll come to not
smoking when he needs the nicotine. It’s not a compromise Hal is too happy
with, but he doubts the soldier would make it for anyone else, and can only
hope his influence there counts for something.
“Assuming at least some of the story is true, we’re starting a thorough combing
through everything we can pull up on India and the rest of the peninsula, just
to be safe. If you all could look through your files…”
“Of course,” says Mei Ling. Meryl shrugs and nods. Jack’s eyes glance to him,
uncertain, and Hal nods as well, Snake turning to catch it.
“We’ll keep digging, obviously. If anything new comes up, I’ll let you know. “
“Watch your backs,” says Snake gruffly, not directing the comment to anyone
specifically as far as Hal can tell from the straight line of his spine. “If
one’s slipped in, who knows how many else have, or are looking to.”
Philanthropy, at least, is safe from moles. Probably their isolation was the
reason they were the first to spot what looked like attempts at picking them
and their allies off. But it’s easy to distrust unknown factors when you don’t
have to work with them.
Jack nods, eyes on Snake. “Watch your own. I’m damned if I’m going to host
another mutually suspecting court of inquiry.”
“Fair enough,” says Snake, and Hal can hear the smirk in his voice.
“I’ll see you around, then. I’ve got to get back. Take care.” Jack divides his
words among all of them, although if it’s Snake he looks to last and longest
it’s not surprising. Then he’s gone with a click of the door, and the meeting’s
breaking up, everyone with places to be which are – most important of all – not
here.
Hal says his goodbyes, and lets Snake usher him out under dark eyes. Can’t say
he’s sad to be going. Can’t say he feels anything other than a kind of light,
insubstantial relief to be out in the fresh, open air.
“You know,” he says as they head for the car Jack’s lending them, highly
conscious of the rustle of Snake’s jeans next to him, of the sharp scent of the
cigarette that he can’t quite bear to nag the soldier for just yet, “for a
while there… the kind of time that only really exists in your thoughts, you
know, that isn’t really real…” he kicks through a tumble of wet leaves lying on
the damp pavement.
“Sometimes you miss things that are right in front of your face, written in
neon letters a foot high,” says Snake gruffly. “But you’ve never seen anything
that’s not there. Not even when it would have made things a damn sight easier.
Don’t worry about it.” It’s an order, not a comfort.
“It’s not fun,” he says quietly, relief burning away fast as mist in bright
sunlight, “wondering if you’re cracking up. Knowing everyone else thinks so.”
There’s a long, shuffling silence. And then, “No,” agrees the soldier. There’s
no need for more words, they know each other more than well enough to read
everything that is being conveyed from that one word.
Christ, I don’t want to lose you, he thinks, cold and clammy.
Gut-twistingly afraid all of the sudden, fallen into a hole he never saw. “I
wish we’d never done this. I wish… I wish I didn’t know …” what it’ll be
like when you’re gone. He pushes the cheap pharmacy glasses up the bridge
of his nose violently, eyes narrowed and glaring harshly at the ground.
Snake steps into the lee of a leafless poplar, grabs the engineer’s arm and
yanks him along harshly enough that Hal loses his balance and nearly ends up on
the muddy lawn. Snake drops heavy hands on his shoulders, taking slight care
with the injured one but not so much that it doesn’t flare under the weight.
“There’s no point in worrying about the future; it’ll just make you miserable.
We have what we have now; focus on that.”
“Just close your eyes and pretend,” says the engineer quietly, bitterly.
Snake draws him in close, holds him tight in steady arms. “No. Open them, and
live with what you have. Treasure it for as long as you can.” He’s whispering,
thick and gruff. Leans in closer to rest his temple against Hal’s.
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It’ll have to be. We’ll make it be.” He bends to press a warm kiss against
Hal’s neck, against the heartbeat running so shallow under the surface. It’s
not passion, not tenderness. It’s strength and reassurance, and promise.
Hal sighs, wishes he felt less empty than he does. “Let’s go home.”
----------------------------------------
For the first time in four days, Hal Emmerich dreams in black and white.
Dreams of white corridors and tiled floors and unfurnished rooms, each with its
own Snake. Every single one watches him open the door with dull, empty eyes.
He wakes up with tears in his own eyes, and rolls closer to Snake’s warmth.
Sighs, and goes back to sleep.