They trudged into the apartment together, Hal first, Snake following after and closing
the door behind them. He turned the bolt home with a soft metallic whisper. Hal
shuffled in over the thick woolly carpet and put his laptop cases down next to
the couch, fell back onto it with a sigh. He was disappointed, and disgusted
with himself for being disappointed. They had worked up to this mission for
weeks, only to find that the plant under investigation was completely innocent
of manufacturing Metal Gears. Which was great. Really, really great. But, at
the same time, completely unsatisfying. He had been wrong, had risked lives for
nothing. Risking Snake’s life, and the lives of anyone the soldier came into
contact with, for a worthy cause was almost unconscionable. What did that mean
when it was an unworthy cause?
“Otacon,” said Snake gruffly, and the engineer flinched at the name, at the
associations it held for him right now. But it wasn’t as though he was any less
guilty, ever called the soldier by his name. He looked up.
Snake was standing in front of him, still wearing his sneaking suit, holsters
and belts full of deadly weaponry slung across his form. The soldier was
frowning, eyes dark under the shadow of his bandanna. He must have turned
sharply; one tail of the bandanna was draped over his shoulder, thin torn
fabric hanging like a flag on a calm day. He was watching the engineer
expectantly. Hal sighed and sat up, nudged his glasses higher on the bridge of
his nose.
“Right, right,” he said, stood slowly. The soldier watched him walk across the
small main room to his even smaller bedroom, and he knew Snake would be
listening to his movements. He toed off his shoes, pulled off his coat and
sweater, and lay down on his bed. He didn’t bother to pull the covers over him;
the room was hot and the mattress smelled of must and something sharper which
he couldn’t identify but instinctively disliked.
It had been stupid, to promise the soldier he would sleep after the mission. He
might as well have promised to turn lead into gold, or to fly out the window.
But it had been Snake’s condition for continuing on missions. They had sat down
and had a short, awkward talk, Snake trying not to step on his feelings and
himself trying not to appear even more incapable than he had already. It had
ended with Snake telling him to shape up or ship out, although not in precisely
so many words. The soldier’s irritation with him had not been surprising; the
man faced down soldiers at gunpoint without flinching while stress alone turned
the engineer into a wreck. But Hal had been surprised at the apparent concern
for his health. And so, like an idiot, he had agreed.
Consequently, he was lying here on his bed, staring at the wall. He had even
taken his glasses off to show willing. It didn’t matter.
It had, admittedly, been a while since Hal had last tried to sleep after a
major event. Since he earned his second doctorate, in fact. He had stayed up
all night after the defence, lying in bed staring at the pox-marked ceiling
until sunlight began to stream in through the thin blinds, at which point he
had given up and gone to program some back-door viruses.
It was, if anything, worse now. Hal had been heavily involved, intellectually,
with his doctorate, but he had known it was damn good. Now… he was sending
someone out to conduct morally suspect missions, which might very well result
in death. He had one death on his conscience, and the weight had almost crushed
him. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another. And, while he worried about
ethics, Snake went out and risked his life. What kind of partnership was that?
He had finally, after all these years, stood up and said no, refused to sit by
and be used. And to do so, he sent out another man, an acquaintance, a… a
friend into danger. It was despicable. Well, he had known that about himself
for a long time. All roads led to roaming, which didn’t make a lot of sense,
but he supposed in his case if you tracked them backwards they all led to the
same point. There was no escaping that. The asphalt had been laid, was already
worn. He was plenty familiar with his flaws. He was trying to make himself into
a new man. But all he had to work with was the cracked material of the old.
These were the thoughts running round and round his head while he lay there,
staring at the fist-sized hole in the drywall opposite his head. After a while,
he closed his eyes. It made no difference to his thoughts. Or to the thick
slimy rats’ nest of emotions lying low in his gut; stress, guilt, shame,
disgust, fear. They coiled around each other, heavy and slippery, slithering
over his innards and against his skin, turning him cold and clammy. He shivered
and turned onto his other side, eyes pressed tightly closed.
----------------------------------------
It would be getting light soon, Hal knew. He hoped. He prayed. Once the sun
came up, he could get up, pretend to have slept, find something to distract him
from his own thoughts gnawing away at his mind like fish at pond scum. He
fisted his hands in the blankets and waited.
Dawn came, sunlight spreading over the earth at what seemed to Hal an
impossibly slow pace. He wiped at his eyes, and was surprised to find his
fingers came away wet. He got up, padded into the other room, and retrieved his
primary laptop.
Snake woke, or at least got up, almost an hour later. Hal was by then deeply
immersed in revising his data, trying to find how he had been so misled, to
correct his mistakes. But he looked up when the soldier loomed up through his
doorway.
In civilian life, Snake usually wore loose long-sleeved shirts and faded jeans.
This had shocked Hal, who had somehow imagined he went around in fatigues, or
maybe even flak jackets, which in retrospect was hilarious. He was wearing
jeans and a navy shirt which was ragged at the hems, bleached threads flaring
out like sea foam. If Hal had seen the man putting out the garbage a year ago,
he wouldn’t have thought twice about him. But the soldier’s eyes were sharp,
registering and recording every detail of his surroundings.
“Sleep well?” he asked, in the tone of someone dealing with a formality they
weren’t interested in.
Hal smiled as innocently as possible, nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good,” said Snake. Having completed his mission, he turned and left. Hal
sighed, and turned back to his computer.
----------------------------------------
Hal made dinner, feeling it was unfair to make Snake do it so soon after a
mission. He wasn’t up for much, though, which meant pasta and sauce out of a
jar. As long as it was plentiful, Snake wouldn’t complain. He almost burnt the
sauce, and forgot to put butter in the pasta. Snake didn’t complain.
The conversation was awkward. Hal was trying to be normal, but when he didn’t
keep his thoughts to highly technical ones, they tended to stray to the nature
of his work, and he couldn’t reconcile that with himself now. Snake was trying
to be open, and kept hitting stone walls. It ended the only could have, with a
conversation about Philanthropy.
“It’s just… not fair,” the engineer said at last, struggling with words.
“What part? Us against the world? The unequal proliferation of Metal Gears? Our
lack of salary? Life’s unfair, Otacon.”
“But you go out there and risk your life, and I sit around and drink coffee.”
He didn’t, actually, was too concerned about his laptop, but the principle was
sound.
Snake shrugged. “That’s my job. If I wasn’t doing it for Philanthropy, it’d be
for someone else. Probably someone with fewer scruples.”
“Or you could be in retirement, up in Alaska. Away from… all of this. This
fighting. This killing.” He finished quietly. Snake looked up slowly, eyes
sharp and narrow.
“Having second thoughts? Want to back out?” His tone was harsh. “Already giving
up on your new self?”
Hal straightened, cut deep by the soldier’s tone. “No! No…” He paused. “No,” he
said again, voice low and strained. “I think what I- what we’re doing is
necessary.”
“But you don’t want to get your hands dirty doing it.” Snake stood, chair
skimming back over the carpet with an ugly scratching noise. He was at his door
by the time Hal answered.
“I don’t want you to get killed doing it.”
If the soldier heard, he gave no sign. The door slammed behind him.
----------------------------------------
Hal’s laptop held his attention, as it always had. He began to code in three
windows at once, knowing he was too tired, that whatever he produced would be
useless, but it was the only way to keep his full attention. There was no sound
from Snake’s room. That was okay; he was used to being alone. He continued
typing. His stomach began to tighten again.
At 11:52 there was a rustle and a thump from the adjoining bedroom. A second
later the light in the main room turned on. Hal looked up as his door opened.
Snake’s face was difficult to read. His thick hair was falling in his eyes,
eyes themselves bright and staring. “Did you mean it?” he asked, without
preamble, voice harsh.
“Mean what?” Hal dug hurriedly through his memories of the conversation, tried
to unearth the answer to the question.
“You’re still committed. To Philanthropy.”
“I- yes. Of course.”
Snake strode in, face dark, movements smooth and dangerous. Hal doubted he
could have appeared more predatory if he tried. Maybe he was trying.
“Look, doc, if you’re not sure about this now’s the time to back out, because
like you said, I’m out there risking my life. I’ve done it plenty of times in
the past, but this is the first time I made that choice on my own, and I’m
damned if I’ll do it for a pet project.”
“I don’t want you to die because of me.”
“So don’t screw up.”
“That’s not what I mean-”
“I told you: this is my choice. To live like I see fit, for as long as I have.
That was your advice. Or are you going to take it back?”
Hal sighed, and pulled a hand through his hair. “No. You’re right. We both
chose to live. If you- if you’re sure…” He looked up at Snake. “I’m going to
see Philanthropy through to the end.”
Snake stepped forward and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt like an
award. “Good,” he said, eyes shining. “You do your job, I’ll do mine.
Philanthropy couldn’t work without you, Otacon. You’re just as important as I
am.”
Hal nodded, feeling slightly light-headed, cold in his stomach evaporating
away. He typed vaguely at the keys of his laptop, at a loss with what to do
with his hands. Snake tilted his head slightly.
“You didn’t actually sleep last night, did you?” It was hardly a question.
“No.”
“You know-”
“I just can’t.” Hal cut him off before he could suggest whatever it was he was
going to, voice cold. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think
about it. That was how he dealt with it. He was used to it. He had a system.
Snake sighed. “Turn off your computer.”
“What?”
“Turn it off.”
Hal was already exiting out of his programs as the soldier repeated himself,
instructing the laptop to shut down. He had tried Snake’s patience enough for
one day. He handed the closed computer to the soldier once it powered down,
watched with careful eyes as the man put it down on the top of his cheap
dresser.
“Move over.”
The bed was a twin, as was Snake’s in the other room. It was wide enough for
two people, although uncomfortable. The fact that the other person was Snake
set his heart pounding; the man could kill without a thought in the time it
took his heart to beat once. The soldier hooked an arm around his chest and
pulled Hal’s back over to rest next to his chest. He kept his elbow close by
his side, ready to jerk back into Snake’s stomach for all the good it would do
him. But the soldier lay still, breathing slowly, arm light on Hal’s side.
A memory settled over his mind with a gentle warmth; lying on a larger
mattress, Snake’s chest against his back. A gruff voice. Slow, strong
heartbeats. He could feel them now, steady as a drum beat, slower than his own
skipping heart. He tried to slow his own breathing, match the pace Snake was
setting. The soldier was warm as sunlight against his back, and somehow
comforting. Safe.
Hal closed his eyes.
Chapter 1 Back
to MGS fanfic Chapter 3
The mission had been a success, but they had been spotted exiting and decided
to leave town quickly, in case any rumours got out. Which meant motels. Which
meant high risk and poor security. It made Snake cringe, but it was that or
sleep in the car, which was safer if you weren’t caught but screwed you seven
ways from Sunday if you were.
Motels under these circumstances also meant keeping watches. Which meant
sleeping at different times. Which was something Otacon, irritatingly,
continued to have trouble with directly after missions. Snake had a solution to
this problem, but he didn’t like it.
Only two missions meant an extremely limited sample base, and an extremely
limited number of attempts at breaking the doctor’s damn inconvenient habit and
smoothing over its cause. Whatever the cause was. Snake was sure the man knew,
could see the knowledge lurking in his eyes, on the tip of his tongue, tensing
his muscles involuntarily when they spoke of it. Snake frankly didn’t care what
it was, and in any case knew he’d do more harm than good by levering it out of
the man if he didn’t want to talk about it. But he’d run out of time for
pandering to the college-induced insomnia, probably the result of a severe
tongue lashing over some pet project or the other.
Snake took first watch, sitting on the bed closer to the door, back to the
room. Listened to Otacon lying under the covers, tossing and turning at first
before lying still. The engineer’s breathing was slightly uneven, though, and
too quick to indicate sleep. Snake glanced over his shoulder at him. The man
was lying with his back to the door, blankets pulled up to his shoulder, so
that all Snake could see was the mess of his hair spread out on the white
pillow. The engineer lay still for the entire four hours, until Snake stood and
walked over to him. He opened his eyes without a word and sat up, shoulders drooping
slightly. In the poor light, Snake couldn’t see his face, only the flash of
light off his eyes.
“My turn?” asked the engineer, voice rough.
“Yeah. Wake me up at eight.”
“Right.”
And that was it. Snake lay down in the vacated bed, listened to the engineer
pad into the bathroom, and closed his eyes. Sleep came almost immediately,
although it was light and broken, mist over water.
The day was spent driving in silence, Snake’s dislike of the situation making
him irritable, Otacon tired and snappish. They stopped in another motel at ten;
same routine. Snake opted to sleep first, pulling off his boots and lying down
under the thin covers. Sleep, of a sort, again came quickly. He woke at the
engineer’s movement, eyes opening as the man came to stand in front of him.
“Snake?”
“I’m up. Go to sleep.”
“Right.” The man was beginning to lisp, exhaustion settling in heavily. He had
made it almost another day the first time, though. He might last out until the
afternoon, to fall asleep at the wheel, or the next night, to fall asleep while
on duty. Snake suppressed a snarl and walked over to the bathroom.
----------------------------------------
Hal rolled over, rumpled sheets uncomfortably warm under him from Snake’s nap,
jeans gathering sharp and inflexible at the knees. He hissed and made to turn
over, paused. Out in the bathroom, water was running. He dropped back onto the
pillow, twisting thoughts chased away by the irrational fear of Snake finding
him awake. The tap turned off, and there was silence for a moment, broken by a
shuffling on the carpet. He closed his eyes.
“Otacon?” Snake whispered, voice pitched so low that it was like two sheets of
sandpaper rubbed together.
Heart beginning to speed in his chest, the engineer paused. Snake almost
certainly knew he was awake, and wouldn’t be impressed. But there wasn’t much
point to faking. He opened his eyes.
There was no light on in the room, but he could still make out Snake’s dark
figure standing near the bed opposite from his hip, a shadow in a room of
shadows. He sat up, blankets rustling. Snake sighed, quietly. “Thought you
might be sleeping,” said the soldier quietly. There was no rebuke there, only a
sliver of disappointment. Hal shrugged.
“Brought you some water,” the soldier continued, walking in and stretching out
a dark arm. Hal reached out, knocked into Snake’s wrist before finding the cool
glass and taking it.
“Thanks.” He didn’t like water much, and wasn’t thirsty. But Snake was being
surprisingly kind, kinder than he had expected, and the low opinion he had
given the soldier stung. He put the glass to his lips and drank deeply. The
water was cool but not cold. It tasted of the pipes, metallic, and of something
else, slightly sour. But as he drank he seemed to get thirstier, and finished
almost the entire glass. Snake, to his surprise, took it back from him.
“You should keep trying to sleep,” suggested the soldier. Hal smiled wryly.
“Not much point. You should sleep some more instead,” he answered. He’d take a
trip to the bathroom, then maybe do some coding, or some hacking, or some… His
thoughts slipped away before he had entirely finished them, like silk through
his fingers. Hal turned to drop his feet to the floor, stood up and took a step
forward. The world tilted sickeningly, and his feet slipped out from under him.
Nearby, something thudded. Someone caught his arm, lowered him to the floor, a
warm presence at his side. The world was spinning, he could hear it in his
ears, wind rushing by like a motorcycle… He tried to speak, but he couldn’t
find his mouth, his tongue. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg, couldn’t refuse. This
was wrong, wrong, wrong.
A warm hand was on his arm, another twisted around his back to rest on his
side, and he bucked hard. His heart was pounding, fear coursing through his
veins like glacial rivers, and he fought and squirmed against the hands pulling
at him, against the warm skin on his. Memories mixed together with the present,
fingernails trailing down his back, hot breath in his ear, a strong hand on his
arm, a gruff voice beside him. Panting for breath he broke free, tumbled away
and hit something flat and cool. He slumped to the ground, unable to find his
balance, arms skidding away from under him. Someone was muttering, sobbing,
keening like a child, a simple, simple refrain. “No, no, no, nononono, no… no…”
The wind dyed down, and sound bled away.
----------------------------------------
Hal woke to find himself lying curled in a tight ball, arms wrapped around his
stomach, the corners of his eyes sticky with dried tears. The room,
specifically unfamiliar but generally known to him as a motel room, was bright
with morning sun. He shifted, and then winced, found his back painful and
cramped and his throat aching. The pit of his stomach was a knot of twisting
worry, ready to clench tighter at any second into fear. Hal forced his muscles
to relax and felt himself sink slightly more readily into a firm mattress. He
opened his eyes.
Snake was standing by the door, leaning against the wall with his back to the
bed. He remained still as Hal sat up, rubbing at his eyes and trying to
remember why he was worried. Afraid – of what?
“Snake?” His voice was surprisingly gruff, as if he’d been shouting, or
drinking, or … crying. The last thought triggered memories, pulled them out of
the fog and into the light. He cringed away from them, hissed sharply between
his teeth as they washed over him, familiar and dirty. It took a few seconds
before he was able to clamp down on all his old emotions, on the fear and the
guilt and the pain, to stem the tide. And then all it took was one look at the
soldier’s face, watching him with the look of a man waiting to take a punch, to
string it all together. Hal pulled back, felt his horrified shock paint itself
across his face and saw Snake’s eyes darken like a litmus strip in reaction.
His mouth opened ahead of his thoughts, and then shut again as real fear
solidified with the realisation that however wronged he might be Snake held all
the power in the room. That any protest he made might be met with violence, any
attempt to leave with forced restraint. His mind drove these points home hard
as railway spikes, and Hal could feel all the growth, all the trust he had put
together since Shadow Moses crack and shatter into dust as he realised the
freedom he thought he had gained was nothing but a self-made illusion. He drew
his legs up and tensed, spitting rage having warred with fear and lost.
“Otacon,” said Snake quietly, not moving from his pose against the wall, arms
slack by his side. He paused, obviously debating his next words. “I… I’m
sorry.”
“Okay,” said Hal quietly, shoulders untensing. It had been a long time, but old
habits were easily regained, easily pulled on again like dirty boots. His
resignation to acquiesce to dominance left him full of self-loathing, but that
was nothing new either.
Snake looked nonplussed. “What do you mean, okay? It’s damn well not okay.”
“It’s whatever you say it is.”
Snake’s eyes flashed, and he made to take a step forward, then thought the
better of it. Deliberately staying away, he relaxed slightly. “It was a
mistake, Otacon – Hal. A mistake and a trespass.”
“Yes,” replied the engineer cautiously.
“Dammit, you’re the one who was hurt; you don’t have to agree with me!”
“Don’t I?” Hal reached up to adjust crooked glasses, hand not quite steady.
“I’m completely in your power. You demonstrated that clearly enough.”
Snake’s face whitened, although whether in distress or fury the engineer
couldn’t tell. His eyes were bright in his face, though, as he hissed, “No.
Never that. I will never be that to you, or anyone.”
“You already are. Just by existing, by being here. You’re stronger, faster,
smarter at predicting and handling people. You will always overpower me.” He
had tried to fight it. Tried, after Shadow Moses, for the first time in his
life. Tried, and failed.
“Can isn’t the same as will, Hal.”
The engineer shrugged stiffly. “That’s true as long as it’s convenient for you.
As soon as it’s not…” his eyes narrowed, words unspoken. As soon as it’s
not, you get this.
“No. This was a mistake, a misunderstanding. It was unforgivable stupidity and
selfishness on my part. I figured it couldn’t be anything serious, just …”
“An inconvenience,” cut in Hal, pointedly. And was surprised to see the point
he scored as Snake looked away, eyes focused hard on the wall. “It shouldn’t
have mattered. Whatever my reasons, you knew what I thought about drugs.
The fact that you went against them, knowing that, because you thought your
opinion mattered more than mine-”
“I,” the soldier broke in sharply, and then trailed off. “No. You’re right.
Justifications don’t matter. Can’t matter.” He let out his breath all at once
and turned back to the engineer. Slowly, carefully, he took one single step
forward. “How do we fix this?” He blinked, sharp eyes surprisingly humble. “How
can I fix this?”
“I told you. You will always be stronger than me.”
“Then I’ll promise not to use that strength. I’ll never force you into
anything. And I’ll sure as hell never threaten you.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not? It’s as easy as we make it. I thought you trusted people. I was
amazed at how easily you trusted people.”
“Yeah, amazed at how much of an idiot I was. I’ve been burned so many times.”
He looked away, angry with himself, with his inability to resolve so many into
too many. With his inability to protect himself from the same mistakes.
“Maybe.” Snake’s bland tone wasn’t much of a comfort. “But I’ve been burned
plenty of times too, and I never trusted anyone. It doesn’t even out. Trust is
a gift, and it’s something to be proud of.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what it’s done. What’s happened because of
it. Trusting you, trusting anyone, I’d be lucky if I were the
only one who got hurt.”
“But you did, before. You did, until now.”
“Yeah, and see how that ended!” Hal unfolded, angry again and now convinced
that, for the moment at least, the soldier wasn’t going to hurt him. His head
throbbed once as he stood, but it cleared almost instantly.
Snake was quiet for a long minute. Finally, he stepped away from the door,
along the side of the bed. “If you want to, you can go. Or stay until it’s
safer, and then leave. But… I don’t want this to break Philanthropy. I don’t
want us to stop because of this. I don’t want this to end.”
Hal looked past the soldier, out the window, and was surprised to see that snow
was falling.
“You can’t guarantee…” he said softly, trailing off.
“What do you want, Hal? My word on paper? A signed agreement? It wouldn’t mean
anything more than me telling you right now: I promise. You have to decide for
yourself whether you can tr– believe me.” Snake crossed his arms over his
chest, finally beginning to look tired of this conversation.
One more time, Hal thought, apropos of little. He watched the snow
falling for several seconds, flakes sticking to the cold exterior of their
truck in the motel parking lot. Finally, his eyes tracked back to the soldier.
Measuring what he’d seen there against what he knew. Snake was a good man; a
better person, at least, than her. He wanted to believe that, wanted to believe
it so much it hurt, because he’d come to genuinely like the soldier. Wanted to
stay here. But he wanted to become the man he could be if he tried, not the one
he was, and he couldn’t do that under a domineering presence. Couldn’t do
anything but revert to what he was, a shell full of self-hatred and loathing.
Either staying would be the best thing he could do, or the worst. And it was
his almost fatally unreliable trust that would decide it.
“All right,” he said, nodding just slightly. “I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” said the soldier, with quiet sincerity.
They packed up and were gone within minutes. They reached their safe house the
next day. Hal stayed awake a further two until he passed out, actively dreading
the dreams that would come with sleep more than he had for years.