Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“We need to lay down some ground rules.” Otacon looked up from where he had been wringing out a washcloth in a dirty sink, then dried his hands off on his jeans, one at a time while nodding in acknowledgement of the statement.

“One; you need to leave soon.”

“Right.” Holding a hand under the cloth for any sparse drops of water, Otacon carefully approached Snake, who now held up two fingers.

“Two; you need to lay low. Stay off the computer, don’t go back to your home, don’t talk to anyone. I can find you safety and food for some time while things blow over.”

“Understood.”

“Three; you n--” he paused, scrunching up his eyebrows and flared his nostrils in a very aggressive fashion. “Three; y--” cut off once more, Snake replaced the ending of his sentence with a loud sneeze, making Otacon jump from where he had been standing nearby. 

After Otacon had taken a moment to let both him and Snake recollect themselves, he sat back on his ankles and made eye contact with the weary-eyed other. With a nod, Otacon brushed back Snake's bangs, then hesitated. 

"Can I take your headband off?"

"No." Without a moment's pause, Snake answered him with a sharp decline. Exhaling through his nose, Otacon laid the damp cloth across the band, his bangs matted with sweat against the fabric. Unsure if that would actually help cool his temper, the man pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his jacket, wiping the sweat that beaded on Snake's cheeks, scruff with facial hair, then wiped the snot from his nose, to which Snake grunted but didn't pull away. He found it a little hard to believe that the super-soldier who had killed more men in the past 72 hours than Otacon had probably ever conversed with was so brittle on the beat up sofa in the safehouse that was arranged prior to the incident at Shadow Moses. Snake always seemed to have a backup plan.

Folding the cloth over, Otacon wiped behind Snake's neck, who's eyes jolted open and grabbed Otacon's wrist with such force he winced. Okay, maybe he wasn't as vulnerable as he had thought. 

“Did you fall asleep already?” He joked nervously, trying to free his wrist. Snake held on for a second too long until he processed what was happening and released it.

“No,” he mumbled; “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well you’re sweating more than a popsicle in July. Sit up a little, if you can.”

“M’fine.” 

“You’re not. Did you think your nanomachines wouldn’t give you a cold? You’re still human, after all. At least, I think you are.” Dabbing more sweat away, Otacon put the back of his hand against Snake’s hot cheek. “You’re burning up.”

“Really?” Snake asked sarcastically, followed by sniffles. “It’s too damn cold in here.”

“I haven’t had the time to check things out, considering you almost passed out as soon as you kicked the door open. You’re heavy, you know? I had such a hard time taking off that stupid suit. You shouldn't go commando under something like that; it doesn't seem like the wisest idea. There's nothing wrong with a pair of tidy-whities, you know."

"No wonder I'm so cold," Snake grumbled, pulling the blanket up to his chin, slinking down to keep his feet covered.

"Well, suit yourself." Patting his knees once before standing up, Otacon called over his shoulder that he was going to look around the cabin.

Thankfully there were some necessities, albeit the bare minimum. They probably won't be here that long, so the two of them could make do with what was provided.

In the bathroom were stiff towels of mismatched sizes and colors; a couple bottles of over the counter painkillers that didn't seem to have expiration dates; a boxed bar of soap that was chewed by mice; and the water that only ran cold but not quite icy. The bedroom had a single bed, mattress exposed with a stack of blankets in the closet that moths had been dining on; candles that Otacon was sure Snake had a lighter for; oddly enough, a few sweaters and pants that looked about Snake’s size in one of the dresser drawers. This might’ve been somewhere he’s hidden out before.

Continuing to rummage around, Otacon found more evidence that Snake had occupied this space previously, like empty cigarette cartons with the butts tucked inside and beer bottle caps, all poorly pushed into the corner of the room. Out of sight, out of mind. The torn off corner of what appeared to be a large bag of dog food, kibbles not to be found. 

Wandering in the kitchen he found a kerosene lamp that could last them three nights at best. Another one was beside it with a broken handle, scuffed and dented in different places but hopefully still usable. A gas stove proven futile when nothing lit as Otacon turned the dials. It was surprising enough they had electricity and running water, so he couldn’t be bothered too much by not having a working stove. The two of them could manage with what the cupboard had to offer, which was cans of soup and beans. Otacon sighed and turned on his heel to go back into the small living space, where Snake no longer was lying.

Before he could open his mouth to call out, the back door slammed in the background, Otacon following suit and yelling into the wind.

“Snake!” Whether Snake heard him or not was beyond Otacon as Snake continued walking through the woods, barefoot and buck-naked aside from the blanket he wrapped himself in as he trudged onwards. “Snake! What are you doing?!” 

Once again, no response, but Snake had stopped some distance away, standing rigid and shifting the blanket slightly. Otacon watched him in silence before realizing and closing the door, walking back into the house to try the stove again.

“There is a bathroom here, you know.”

“Easier that way.”

“Pissing in the snow? Naked?”

“Yeah.” Sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs, Snake coddled himself up once more, watching Otacon fuss about. “Does it matter?”

“It does! You’re sick! You shouldn’t have gone out like that!” Sneezing, Snake wiped his nose and stood up, dropping his blanket and sauntering off. 

“Are you always this ungrateful?” Otacon mumbled, pushing up his glasses and flicked the lighter again, trying to light the lantern as the sky darkened. The footsteps that had been fading ceased, then rapidly turned and stalked out Otacon in the kitchen. Grabbing him by the collar, Snake yanked him forward, the lighter clattering to the floor. His breathing was heavy, throat hoarse and groggier than usual. 

“You don’t need to baby me. I can take care of myself. Always have.”

“Is that why you’re being so stubborn?” Despite the close proximity and aggression, Otacon pushed his glasses up and kept his cool. “Because you’re not used to people caring?” 

Releasing his grip, Otacon stumbled a little to regain his balance while Snake glared at him. He looked ridiculous, naked aside from the headband he refused to remove. His body was flushed and sweaty, looking like he was going to pass out or be sick. When Snake inevitably did wobble, Otacon caught him and put him back in the chair, Snake’s head lolling and falling against the table. Truly bothersome.

Snake awoke to the smell of food, the light of a lantern on the table illuminating Otacon’s outline as he stirred something idly in a pot on the stove.

“Are you awake?” Otacon asked, turning the stove off and switching the pot to a different burner. “I figured out the stove. Well, at least one of the burners. There’s a few dishes here, a can opener, some silverware. No actual plates or bowls or cups, I mean, but a couple pots and one frying pan.” Setting the pot on the table, Otacon stirred it one final time before passing it over to Snake. Chicken noodle soup, broth still steaming. Snake looked between the food and Otacon’s shadowy figure, then discarded the spoon with a clatter and drank from the pot itself.

“Jeez!” He huffed, leaving the kitchen and brought a pillow from the bedroom. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. I made the bed for you and if you need to pee, use the bathroom.”

“You don’t need to do all that.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Snake noticed he had been changed into a pair of baggy sweatpants and a sweater. Two, actually. 

“I, uh…” voice trailing off, Otacon readjusted his makeshift bed timidly, “I took care of my father for some time. It’s no big deal, I don’t mind.” Clearing his throat, he continued, even though his throat began to close and dry up. “If anything, I’d prefer taking care of you. Because I wasn’t there when my dad needed it the most due to, er… Circumstances.” Snake setting the pot down clumsily cut Otacon from his ramble, jumping up and seeing Snake had merely finished eating and was just loud, not having passed out again.

“Okay,” was all he said, standing up and shuffling his way to the bedroom, the springs creaking loudly as he falls onto it and grunts loudly. “Good night.”

“Do you want me to close the door?”

“No,” Snake said after a pause, rolling onto his back and managing what Otacon assumed was a smile. Disappearing momentarily and returning with the better lantern, Otacon put it on the dresser and pointed to the closet. 

“If you get cold.” The other light went to the coffee table, giving Otacon enough light to situate himself. It wasn’t until he was drifting to sleep that he remembered this was the blanket Snake had been wearing and its warmth was comforting on the cold couch, hearing Snake cough and wheeze from the bedroom, followed by snoring.

Chapter Text

Otacon woke up to sunlight beaming across his face and a thunking noise. Fumbling for his glasses, he saw the tall figure of Snake, back to him as he bent forward.

“What’cha doin’?” He asked groggily, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. 

“Lighting the fireplace. Did you not notice we had one?” Snake asked, standing himself upright and turning around. His cheeks were flushed and his hands were irritated, Otacon throwing back the blanket and jumping to his feet.

“Please,” he said, exhaling through his teeth, “please tell me you weren’t out chopping wood.” Snake only answered with a cough, covering his mouth with his elbow where Otacon could see his clothes were dirty. “God damn it Snake.”

“I needed to busy myself,” was his excuse, but Otacon could also smell cigarettes on his clothes, shutting his eyes and scuffling away.

“It’s too early to be pissed off. Do we have coffee?”

“There’s instant coffee in the pantry. You can boil water in a pot.”

Snake showered in the small bathroom, seemingly indifferent to the cold water as Otacon tried to warm himself up with bitter coffee. He practically spit it out when Snake walked into the kitchen to fix himself a cup with just a towel draped around his shoulders.

“Could you start wearing clothes?”

“If you’re already seen me naked, then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re still sick and we’re still in Alaska, last time I checked. If this were Maui then it might be a little different but you shouldn’t be dressed like that. Or not dressed.”

“After coffee.” Groaning, Otacon averted his eyes and continued rummaging through the minute selection of books that were stacked on the mantle. One of the beat up paperbacks caught his eye, pulling it out and flipping through the pages. Carrying it with him, he seated himself back on the couch, curling his legs under himself as he licked his forefinger and turned to the first page.

“What’s that?” Snake asked, sitting next to him, dressed in a pair of boxers and a sweater.

“That’s better, but still not the best.” Clearing his throat, Otacon held the book up and showed the cover to Snake, who managed a vague type of a smile.

“Surprised that’s here.”

“Have you stayed here before?”

“More or less at some point. Don’t remember that time too well but tried to keep this up in case of anything. I always had an intuition that retirement wouldn’t be forever.”

“I see.”

“Is it any good?”

“Retirement? I wouldn’t know, unfortunately. Although after everything I don’t think I would mind taking time off.”

“Not that - I meant the book.”

“Oh. Uh, I'm not sure, I’m only a few pages in. I liked the movie, so I thought I’d give this a try for the time being.”

“Could you read it to me?” The question caught Otacon a little off guard, lowering the book and looking over at Snake, who had a sincere look in his eyes. 

“I... Suppose I could. Do you want me to start over?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Setting down his not quite empty cup of black coffee, Snake curled onto his side and pulled the blanket over himself, resting his head on the cushion and watching Otacon with half-lidded, restless eyes. Despite the early morning sun, the living room danced with the glow of the fireplace, Snake’s body heat - or fever - warmed Otacon, readjusting himself to be a little more comfortable.

“Well, okay.” Clearing his throat, Otacon mustered the clearest speaking voice he could offer and spoke softly.

“'Now it was light enough to leave. Moon-Watcher picked up the shriveled corpse and dragged it after him as he bent under the low overhang of the cave. Once outside, he threw the body over his shoulder and stood upright-- the only animal in all this world able to do so.'”

“I need to go to the store,” Otacon said, lacing up Snake’s boots, as his sneakers wouldn’t last the hike.

“Like that?” Snake asked, to which Otacon stopped and looked over.

“What do you mean by that?” He questioned, almost insulted. “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you. I’m doing this for your sake, you know.”

“Not about that. I’m sure people are looking out for us.”

“Oh.” Biting his bottom lip thoughtfully, Otacon slowly went back to his shoes. “I don’t have anything else.”

“You could use that camouflage gear.”

“And just sneak into the store? How will I pay? Just appear with a floating cart full of things and whip out my invisible wallet? Or are you proposing I steal?” When Snake shrugged half-heartedly at the idea, Otacon scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I am not doing that. I’ll only grab a few things and get out of there. Doubt anyone in the store will have seen the news. Doubt Shadow Moses got much coverage in general, honestly, if any. Seeing as we’re the only survivors, they’ll probably just sweep it all under the rug and pretend it never happened.”

“More of a reason to be cautious.”

“For what? Two men on the run from something that didn’t happen? I’ll be fine, David.”

“Don’t call me that.” Snake snapped. Exhaling out of his nose, Otacon finished double-knotting the boots and didn’t bother arguing with that. 

“If I’m not back in an hour then… Uh. Call one of your dogs.”

“I don’t have my dogs.”

“Well I don’t want you out of bed so I guess you’ll just have to wait until I’m back.” With that, Otacon opened the door and was immediately floored by a cold gust of wind and slammed the door back shut. Turning his head to look at Snake, his glasses were fogged up but he could feel the smirk from across the room. Clearing his throat, Otacon opened the door and stepped into the fluttering snow that sprinkled his hair, closing it behind him and disappearing into the white.

Snake yawned, arms stretched above his head and popped his back, coughing up a fit until he hacked up mucus and spit it into his mug. He really wasn't fond of lying around this shitty cabin all day long, but he'd rather oblige somewhat unwillingly than deal with Otacon's insistent nagging. It was like having an angel on his shoulder that never shut up. However, now that Otacon was gone, he had some peace to himself. Cracking the back door open, Snake lit up a cigarette and felt the cold air hit his skin. Crisp, fresh - he felt like everything was being frozen and would eventually melt off of him. The cold was never something he paid much mind to, sick or not. He would have to pay a visit to his dogs at some point, though he was sure they could manage by themselves for a while.

He wasn't quite sure how long Otacon was going to be staying, and wasn't fond of the idea of him staying longer than necessary, for the sake of safety and sanity. While the constant nagging sure was a pain in the ass, Otacon seemed to run on his own schedule, despite the time he spent doting to Snake. The late nights he stayed up reading because he did obey Snake's rule of not using his laptop, though it would be sunrise and Otacon wouldn't have moved an inch. When Snake was feeling restless Otacon would read aloud to him, which helped lull him to sleep and sometimes when he awoke Otacon would still be going. It had been a long time since Snake had been here - with someone else, no less - but he had no distinct memory of keeping a copy of Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey in the cabin. However, he could remember that there were still the vodka bottles stashed inside the television he had dismantled and used as a safe, along with some cash and a couple handguns. 

Itching with a sudden craving at the thought, Snake carried his cigarette in with him and went to the bedroom, where he started to pry his fingers under the television set where he had set a safety lock, the screen falling heavily against his chest when he separated the pieces. Inside the machine he found one of the guns and the cash were gone, as well as the vodka bottles being cleaned out.

"Son of a bitch," Snake cursed, kicking the dresser it sat on top of. Otacon had already snooped through it and probably took the missing items with him to the store while also depriving him of any liquor. Grumbling, Snake decided not to put the TV together, since it was no longer a secret. There were more bottles in the far corner of the attic, which he doubted Otacon had looked through, but the fact he had opened the television without Snake noticing meant he was no stranger to sneaking around and not leaving a trace or dismantling items. 

Nevertheless, Snake was on a mission, pulling himself on the closet shelf and popping the attic door open. Crawling inside, he was hit with a cloud of dust, coughing and spitting on the wood. Mice darted to the corners of the attic, cautious as Snake set out for the cardboard boxes he hid belongings in. The box, chewed thoroughly along the edges, held an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel's, Snake hastily unscrewing the cap and inhaling with a sigh. Holding the bottle up in cheers, he tipped his head back and let the burn bring back memories.

On his way back down, he considered leaving the bottle to save for another time, then thought about Otacon's repercussions of him drinking after he had purposefully poured all of the vodka out. Not only that, also stole his money and a handgun. Snake carried the bottle with him and sat back on the couch, lighting up another cigarette and opening the book to where Otacon dog-eared the page.

It was about an hour later when Snake awoke to a familiar but recently foreign sound. Something he felt like he hadn’t heard in years but a noise that used to ring in his ears when it was turned off and out of use.

“Hello?” He asked hesitantly, groggily. 

“Snake, it’s Otacon. I forgot we still had Codec. Thankfully you hadn’t turned yours off.”

“Thankfully. What’s wrong?”

Otacon shuffled a little bit on the line, then the call cut out. Ten seconds or less it rang again.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I, uh… I got lost. It’s cold.”

“Like I said earlier, I don’t have my dogs with me. Sounds like you’re shit out of luck, doctor.”

“Oh, shut up. I would appreciate some help. I give you permission to get out but bundle up first.”

“But Otacon,” Snake pinched his nostrils closed and coughed, “I’m tho thick. I shou'dn’t lea—“

“Cut the shit, I’m freezing my balls off out here!” Otacon snapped, then purposefully hung up. With a chortle, Snake got to his feet and dressed, realizing Otacon took his boots and settled for the beat up sneakers that were too small on him. The thought of Otacon stomping around in boots that didn’t fit like a child was humorous, Snake wrapping a scarf around his neck and opening the door.

The footsteps that initially trailed down the slope of the mountain were dusted over, and by the time the two of them headed back up Snake’s were hardly visible. 

"I'm glad to hear your sarcasm is immune to your cold," Otacon grumbled, regarding their earlier conversation as he shut the door behind him. It was too windy to try and speak on the way back up, so they hiked in silence against the chill. “I’m going to shower,” he said with a shiver, hastily discarding his wet garments as he had apparently toppled over in the snow at least once. To save his dignity, Snake didn’t ask, but the ripped paper bags emphasized the incident in question.

Snake unpacked the groceries, noting a couple mouse traps; bread and extra chunky peanut butter; an assortment of cold medicines; a 6-pack carton of eggs; a half-gallon of milk; bagged selection of apples and oranges; and a couple of DVDs, amongst some other technological looking things. Some personal items Otacon had bought himself were set aside, Snake sitting himself in one of the chairs and propping his chin in his palm.

“Quite a trip, huh?” Snake asked as soon as Otacon’s bare foot stepped out from the bathroom. With a towel around his waist, Snake could see his ribs stick out and the defining jut of his hips. Had he always looked like that? So sickly? Maybe it was good he bought so much.

"I had initially intended to buy more,” Otacon said, walking to the kitchen table and grabbing his pre-packaged underwear and pausing, “but everything started becoming too heavy to carry back. Hopefully I can go back soon. You need to eat more.”

Snake held his tongue to say the same thing about the other, and opted to merely grunt his answer. As Otacon disappeared behind the closing bedroom door, Snake tore the plastic bag and began peeling himself an orange, eating slowly.

“There’s not a lot here, though I suppose that’s not surprising. If anything, it’s a miracle I got all I did.”

With another grunt, Snake's absent reaction caught Otacon’s attention. “Oh, do you like oranges? I was hoping you would. Vitamin C is always good to ha— Pfft!” the brief lecture was cut short with a snort, Otacon covering his mouth to hide anymore embarrassing noises. Snake plucked the orange peel he had revealed behind his lips in a successful attempt to make Otacon laugh, and turned it over between his fingers, looking fondly at it.

“Haven’t done that since we were kids,” he mumbled to no one specifically. Or maybe to the other person he was speaking on behalf of. His nostalgic smile quickly turned bitter, dropping the peel to the table and pushing himself up. “Are you done with the bathroom? I’m going to shower.”

“Sure, go ahead. When you get out I have some medicine for you.”

“I think I’m pretty much over it.”

“So you say, but if memory serves me correct I' m the doctor here.”

“Not a physician.”

“I can recognize a cold if I saw one,” he huffed, but added quietly, “probably.”

Snake turned and playfully cupped his hand around his ear, trying to catch what Otacon had mumbled but continued on his way to the bathroom when he got no reaction in response. 

“The water might still be warm. I know you told me you don’t mind cold showers, but the steam could help drain your nasal passag—“ Interrupted by the door closing, Otacon grabbed himself an orange and sat down on the couch to eat.

"Snake?" Otacon asked, hearing Snake rummage about in the kitchen. "Come here for a sec." Motioning with his hand, Snake followed and shuffled over, plopping down on the couch with such force Otacon bounced a little. Patting his lap, Otacon instructed Snake to rest his head. Giving him a blank stare in response, Otacon sighed and practically pushed Snake down, grabbing him by the jaw and pointing his face upwards. "Open your mouth." Pinching the hinge of his upper and lower jaw, Snake opened his mouth just slim enough for Otacon to somewhat forcefully put a thermometer beneath his tongue. "Hold still until it beeps."

An unbearable 30 seconds passed before the beep, Otacon plucking it from Snake's mouth and humming thoughtfully at the number. "Your fever's gone down a little. I have some medicine for you, but all I could find were, uh, kid's medicine. It's cherry flavored."

"That's fine. I can't taste most things, anyway." This made Otacon quirk an eyebrow, but poured a heaping amount of the red liquid into the plastic lid, then handed it to Snake, who downed it like a shot and immediately gagged.

"I thought you couldn't taste anything?"

"Not anything," he corrected. "Definitely felt that."

"Well, too bad. You need another dose. I'm assuming you're more than," turning the bottle over, Otacon read the label carefully, "6-48 months old. But that can be debatable." 

"Speaking of which," Snake began, "don't you think you're a little too old to be snooping through people's belongings?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Terrible liar, Snake took note of. 

"Nothing." Taking another swig, Otacon pursued the implications.

"Were you looking for something? Don't tell me you were looking for booze."

"Of course not." Suspicious, Otacon leaned forward, taking a strong inhale of Snake's breath, prying his lips open with his fingers.

"That cherry stuff might be strong, but I can still smell cigarettes. And... something else."

Snake coughed in Otacon's face, who immediately reacted with a shriek, then smacked Snake's chest, who let out a hearty laugh. 

“If you get me sick, I’ll…” Otacon hesitated, trying to think of a threat that he knew he couldn’t carry out, let alone one against a super soldier like Snake, “I’ll leave you in the snow like Jack Nicholson.”

“...What?” Snake asked, rolling his head back against Otacon’s thighs to catch his eyes.

“You know, in The Shining. He gets stuck in the snow at the end and freezes to death while Shelley Duvall escapes. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen The Shining.”

“I’m not a big movie buff,” rolling onto his side, Snake picks up the novel they’d been sharing. “But I am familiar enough with this. It’s good.”

“I’m glad my narration skills impress you.”

“I read a little while you were gone.”

“You what?!” Otacon gasped, more sincere that Snake took him for. “How far did you get? I’ll have to catch up!”

“Hn... I don’t remember where I left. I kept your spot.”

"Very helpful." Otacon plucked the book and flipped through the pages, trying to distinguish how far Snake had read. He was surprisingly careful with books, no crease between pages he would've held open with his fingers.

"I could probably figure out if I read it," Snake half-offered, taking the book back and turning to the page Otacon initially left off. "Do you want me to read?"

"Oh, uh, sure. If you want to switch out, let me know."

Snake cleared his throat but also coughed up a lung, Otacon offering him a glass of water he had been drinking from. 

"Okay, let's see. I think you stopped around here." Cleared his throat with more grace, Snake held the book while he remained lying with his head in Otacon's lap. 

"'In seconds, they shot through veils of crimson and pink and gold and blue into the piercing white of day. Though the windows were heavily tinted to reduce the glare, the brobing beams of sunlight that now slowly swept across the cabin left Floyd half-blinded for several minutes. He was in space, yet there was no question of being able to see stars.'" 

Chapter Text

“I was thinking about something,” Otacon suddenly spoke up, Snake turning his attention to the bathroom Otacon emerged from.

“And?”

“Do you have these little shelters anywhere else?”

“Hm.” Looking off thoughtfully, the dots in Snake’s head began to connect one by one. “A few here and there. Some in other countries I probably can’t return to.”

“What about here in the States?”

“I’d say roughly one per time zone.”

“That’s oddly specific and also terribly vague.”

“That’s the best answer I can offer.”

“And you just conveniently happened to have one in Alaska? How far are we from your home?” Otacon sat next to Snake on the couch, forcing the other to sit more upright in order to make room. 

“We didn’t really have enough time to get to Idaho or anything as quickly as here.”

“Fair.”

“And I like the solitude of Alaska.”

“But you don’t think taking refuge in roughly the same area as your home would rise suspicion?”

“How so? Do you think they’ll be kicking down the door of every isolated cabin? Like you said, no one will be on the search for wanted men from a non-existent tragedy. Master, Liquid, FOXHOUND and the likes are no more. I no longer have contact with anyone who ‘assisted’ me,” he emphasized his sarcasm with air quotes, “but I’m sure if they tried hard enough they could find me. They did last time.”

“And that still doesn’t bother you? You turn off the fireplace after dusk to not give away our location. If anything, a cabin in Alaska at night without chimney smoke should raise a red flag.”

“Unless you want me to chop more wood,” Snake suggested, cocking an eyebrow when Otacon sighed defeatedly. “If you’re cold at night I could find a heater.”

“Do you follow those same practices at your own home?”

“The dogs keep me warm. Especially Nola.” 

“I see. Is she a favorite?”

“I couldn’t pick a favorite but she thinks she’s the favorite. Used to pick fights with the others for my room and they eventually let her have it,” Snake chuckled at the memory, then coughed into his fist. “The others don’t dare try to come in, no matter how much I beg. Doesn’t seem to bother them much anymore.”

“I wonder if she sees you as someone to protect,” Otacon cooed, biting the nail on his pinky finger. 

“Are you trying to steal her spot?” Snake teased, nudging Otacon’s thigh with his foot. Gradually he started to wear more clothing as his fever lowered, but wasn’t anywhere close to his top shape. Otacon spent less time doting to him, which made him more restless, not seeming to have an immediate task to fill. It had still only been less than a week since the incident, Otacon unsure of what the next step would be.

“You had also mentioned the other day about ground rules,” he began, peering over at Snake. “What were those about?”

“Hn.” Pulling his leg back, Otacon grabbed him by the shin and returned it, Snake obliging and stretching both of his legs across Otacon’s lap, his warmth keeping the latter satisfied. “Do you remember them?”

“It was about laying low and getting out of here once everything cleared up. We might be approaching that time.” Snake laughed somewhat bitterly, brushing back his bangs.

“Even if there was no coverage, that doesn’t mean we’re safe. You might have to move out of your apartment and still stay off the computer.” At the statement Otacon puffed his cheeks out defiantly, but sighed because he knew Snake was right.

“Okay, that’s understandable.”

“Before that, however, I’m going to need your help with something.”

“Oh?” Pushing his glasses up, Otacon waited curiously for Snake to continue, while he mulled over his words.

“We need to go back to Shadow Moses.”

“For what reason?” 

“Steal Liquid’s body.” It was blunt but true, Otacon taking a moment to process it.

“We have to what?!” 

“I know,” he held up his hands to stop Otacon from working himself up, “but I think it’d be beneficial in the long-run.”

“Keeping your twin brother’s dead body? Where would we put it? That’s just… God, that’s just morbid.” Snake grimaced a little at the phrase twin brother, which Otacon noted but didn’t mention. 

“It’s just an instinct I have. We need to get it before someone else does.”

“Someone else?” He asked incredulously. “There were no survivors of that.”

“Doesn’t mean people don’t know about it. Especially since this was partially due to who gets Big Boss’ body, I think it’s important that no one gets their hands on his son, either.”

“Big Boss’ son, huh...” Also seeming uncomfortable with that, Otacon realized he should stop talking about Snake’s fucked up family tree. “Sorry.”

Neither accepting or denying Otacon’s apology, Snake continued. “Whenever we get the chance we need to get him. I could leave him at my home.”

“That’s twice as morbid than just having the body itself, Snake.”

“I need to check on my dogs, also. Fifty dogs should only be left alone for so long.”

“I… see. Your health seems to be getting better.”

“Also...” Otacon said after a break in their conversation, the two of them idly listening to the crackle of the fireplace, “I had a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do we still need to go by nicknames? Otacon isn’t that big of a deal, I suppose, but Solid Snake seems less personal. At least, in my opinion. You can call me Hal, if you want.”

“Do not call me David. Or Dave.” Snake glared at Otacon, pulling his legs from his lap and standing up.

“Can I ask why?” Otacon inquired quietly as Snake walked away. 

“David isn’t… My name. I chose the name Snake. David was given to me so I wasn’t just a war machine. David is…” Swallowing audibly, the turned the sink on and poured himself a glass of water. “David is human.” With that, he downed the drink, set it down hard enough to just about shatter, and shut himself in his room, punctuating with the turn of the lock. 

“Okay,” under his breath, Otacon made a mental note, “don’t bring up any personal info. Got it.” 

The Hal Emmerich of the past, say, 7 years would’ve let this rack his core and result in a series of anxiety-induced shut downs, but the Hal Emmerich of the past 7 days was too tired to do anything else, so he turned to his second-best coping skill: escapism via fiction. Without a laptop to look up anime - he doubted there was even wifi here - he opened 2001 and let the words engulf him.

Otacon awoke to two things. One was the smell of perfume he recognized as his mother’s, but he registered that was a dream in relation to falling asleep with the novel against his chest and instead was smelling some type of air freshener. The second thing was the sound of Snake retching loudly, muffled by the bathroom door.

“Aw, shit,” setting the book aside and throwing off the covers he had pulled up over himself, he staggered a little - as he was still waking himself up - and rapped his knuckles twice on the door. Groaning loudly, the sound was echoed as Snake was probably resting his head in the toilet bowl, coughing and gagging pursuing. Kicking the door, Snake tried to push Otacon away, but he could see through the shadows beneath the frame he was not moving.

“Go away,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Stomach having been turned inside out and emptied left him miserable, not wanting to deal with Otacon’s motherly attention. This wasn’t something he hadn’t experienced before, especially during his time in the army, thriving off whatever food he was offered, resorting to barely-cooked animals they hunted down. The memory of ripping his teeth through bloody flesh of a fox and getting scolded by Master for throwing it up made him nauseous from both the memory of the taste and memory of people who were no more. Wiping the tears that formed on his eyelashes, Snake grasped at the toilet and flushed, trying to distract himself with the dirty water swishing and disappearing.

Another series of knocks hit the door, Snake clamoring to his feet and steadying himself on the sink counter. His forehead hit the door, croaking out an aggravated, “What do you want?”

“Do you need anything?” Pondering making a sarcastic comment back, Snake’s stomach growled angrily and tightened. 

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Pulling his head back a few inches, he let it hit the door again, hoping that would relay the message of his overall mood. Otacon seemingly took it as a sign, his shadowed footsteps disappearing to Snake’s bedroom. “Fuck,” he hissed, realizing he had left the whisky bottle on the floor, as well as stains from his sickness. His quick, half-clouded thinking was to spray something that smelled sweeter than what he was producing, but in his haste forgot to clean up after himself. Otacon’s shadow returned, crouching to set a few things by the door, then walked away for a long period of time. 

The front door opened and closed, followed by silence as Otacon had presumably walked out of the house. Taking this moment of solitude to himself, Snake cracked open the door and saw Otacon had brought a change of clothes, a towel, some stomach medicine and a note; ‘call if you need anything’ was all it read. Opening the door a little more, Snake could peer into the bedroom and saw the sheets were stripped and some candles were lit, filling the room with a flickering orange. The bottle was not to be seen. 

Well, that was a lie. Opening the door further, the wood made contact with glass, Snake grasping for the empty bottle with a note taped to it. This one said ‘fuck you’ and some resemblance of a frowning face. Snake chuckled, leaving that in the hall and pulling the pile of clothes and medicine with him as he shut the door again. 

Snake was unsure how long he had been standing in the shower with his forehead pressed below the head, feeling the water cascade down his spine when Otacon cracked open the door.

“Snake?” He asked. “Are you all right? You never called and you’ve been here for quite a while.” The silhouette didn’t move, Otacon hesitantly approaching. “Snake?” He asked again, fingers teasing the curtain as he pulled it back just slightly.

Hot steam fogged up Otacon’s glasses, trying to make out Snake standing still. “C-Could you answer me so I know you didn’t pass out?”

“Wouldn’t I be on the floor if I passed out?” 

“That is true. Just checking. How are you feeling?” Snake craned his neck to see Otacon trying to look blindly at him, then put his attention back to the tiles he had been staring at.

“M’fine. Do you need the shower?”

“I mean, I suppose I do, but I wanted to check on y--”

“Hop in.” His words seemed more like an order than a suggestion, regardless of how bold it was to say. 

“I’m sorry?”

“The water’s hot. If I turn it off it’ll chill again. Saves time and energy, also.” 

“I-I wouldn’t want to intrude--”

“If you don’t strip I’m pulling you in as is.” He grasped Otacon’s wrist, who yelped and pulled it out.

“O… Okay,” he mumbled, stepping aside and undressing, trying to think about this logically. “I haven’t shared a shower since middle school, and that never went well.”

“It’s just for practicality,” Snake gruffed out, stepping aside to let Otacon stand under the water. It took him a while to climb in, very stiff to be in such close quarters in their situation, but immediately grateful for the hot water.

“God, this feels good. I walked back to the store and it’s so cold out there.” Slumping his head against the same spot Snake had - albeit lower - Otacon sighed as he let his nerves settle with the water that poured down his back.

The sound of a bottle opening made Otacon look over his shoulder, seeing Snake pour shampoo directly into his hair and pass the bottle over. “You’ve been in here for that long and haven’t even cleaned yourself?” 

“No.”

“Do you pay the bills here? Because that will surely reflect on the water bill.”

“You take long showers, too.”

“That’s because it gives me time to think. You didn’t answer my question, either.” Regardless, Otacon poured the shampoo into his hand and began to work it into his mop of hair. 

“It gets taken care of,” was his vague answer, and Otacon remembered his mental note to not press any questions that would piss Snake off. Dropping the subject, Otacon raked his fingers across his scalp, rinsing it out and drowning any noise as the water ran past his ears. He could use a bath to just lie in and forget about the world for some time.

Turning himself around and trying to reach for the soap, he stopped short as he saw Snake rubbing the raw bar against his abs, hair still lathered in shampoo but not seeming to be bothered by the bangs in his eyes. Quickly turning back around, Otacon stuck his head under the water once more, scrubbed his hair and pulled the curtain back.

“You can rinse off,” he said, realizing there was only one towel and he had to trudge back to Snake’s bedroom to grab another. Snake said something from behind the curtain, but the water drowned out his words, Otacon closing the door behind him and trying not to get as much water on the floor as he could manage.

“We should shower together more,” Snake said, ruffing his hair with a towel. He was only donning boxers and a tank top, headband tied back on. The only time Otacon had seen him without it was in the shower, but either his glasses were fogged and his vision was otherwise blurry, or Snake’s wet bangs were in the way. Upon realizing that, his curiosity piqued, but kept quiet about it.

“Er. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why would it not?” Setting the towel down on the table, Snake sat himself backwards on the kitchen chair, facing Otacon as he flipped through a newspaper he bought. 

“I don’t know; it’s just… Foreign to me. Must not be to you, I suppose. Practicality and circumstances and all.”

“I suppose bathing in an African river with your platoon changes the mindset of someone’s sense of privacy,” Snake said very bluntly, twirling up a paper towel and digging it into his ear. 

“I suppose so. I also don’t want to catch your bug.”

“Oh, right. Uh, sorry about that.”

“Do you want me to scold you about drinking?” He asked, closing the paper. “Because I think it’s futile and time-consuming for something that is, frankly, out of control.” Snake had a couple of comments he wanted to add but ultimately Otacon was right.

“That’s not why I was sick,” he began, “it was… Stress related.”

“Isn’t that why you drank in the first place?” Shit.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Regardless, you don’t seem to be getting any better. Have you eaten anything today? Those apples might go bad soon, but I bought some bananas.” 

“How did you know to look inside the TV?” Snake asked suddenly, catching Otacon off guard.

“Well,” he blinked once, then somewhat shyly looked away. “It just seemed like something you would do. I saw that it wasn’t plugged in, which I figured was just to save money, but it was lighter than a TV of that size should be and carried a different weight. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. Aside from pissed off, I was pretty impressed.” Clapping his hand to Otacon’s shoulder, Snake got up and checked out the back door. “The laundry should be done.”

“Bring it in, then.” It was hard doing laundry when there were no machines, they had to rely on tap water and dish soap and it was below freezing outside, but the two of them seemed to make it work. Snake brought in his sheets and pressed his face against the fabric, inhaling.

“Doesn’t smell like puke anymore.”

“Well, that’s good, because that was so gross to scrub out. You’re welcome, by the way.” Pointing his pen to Snake, he then directed it over his shoulder to the fireplace, where they hung their laundry to warm up and finish drying. 

As Snake shuffled over, Otacon heard him lying down on the couch, yawning and coughing. 

“‘Even from twenty million miles away, Jupiter was already the most conspicuous object in the sky ahead. The planet was now a pale, salmon-hued husk, about half the size as the moon as seen from Earth, with the dark, parallel bands of its cloud belts clearly visible.’” Otacon’s ears perked up like a dog’s, turning in his chair to only see Snake’s feet from beyond the couch. 

“Are you reading without me?” He questioned, standing up and stalking towards the other. Snake had his expression hidden behind the book, but Otacon knew he was smirking.

“Would you care to join?” Huffing, Otacon stood in front of Snake and motioned with his hands for him to sit up. Curling upwards, Otacon sat and Snake placed his head in his lap, situating himself to be more comfortable as he continued reading.

"‘Shuttling back and forth in the equatorial plane were the brilliant stars of Io, Europa, Ganymede an--’”

“Ganymede,” Otacon interrupted.

“What?”

“It’s pronounced Ganymede.” Snake rolled his eyes and reread the sentence, accentuating what Otacon had so rudely interjected with, the latter nodding when it was pronounced correctly.

“‘Shuttling back and forth in the equatorial plane were the brilliant stars of Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto - worlds that elsewhere would have counted as planets in their own right, but which here were merely satellites of a giant monster.’”

Some time through their reading Snake asked if he could smoke, to which Otacon hesitating in answering. He was still sick and Otacon didn’t really want smoke immediately in his face, but agreed and let the other light and take a few puffs. Watching Snake take a smoke break, Otacon absentmindedly combed his hands through Snake’s hair, still slightly damp. 

“Are you naturally blonde?” He asked suddenly, pushing apart the hair at his part. 

“I am.”

“I can see your roots.” Snake grunted and turned his head away. Otacon decided not to press further, as there was probably a reason a man in his 30s were to dye his hair.

“Liquid and I may be fraternal, but we definitely looked alike. In my briefing prior the mission I was shown a photo of him and I almost couldn’t tell the difference.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Except he didn’t seem to have as many bags under his eyes as I do.” Otacon hummed in response, curious to see if Snake would say any more. “So, before I left for Shadow Moses, I cut my hair and dyed it. You saw Liquid at some point, right? Imagine that, but a more disheveled alcoholic. Liquid looked like he had some substance abuse in his past, though,” and Snake didn’t elaborate beyond that. “Believe it or not, I wore a shirt in Alaska.”

“Not as of late.” This made Snake chuckle, turning to face Otacon with a blank expression in his eyes. Like he wanted to make light of talking about his brother - the same man he had met and killed within a matter of hours after presumably not speaking to each other for a long time. Almost seemed like Snake didn’t know who Liquid was and was slowly coming to terms with that fact. Although, Otacon thought, if someone he hardly had any memories of showed up trying to kill him after claiming to be his sibling and then being killed by him, Otacon would probably harbor some conflicting emotions. 

“Killing my brother ten years after our father was…”

“Fucked up,” Otacon finished for him, Snake returning with a dry laugh. Drawing his legs upwards, Snake seemed to curl in on himself, something Otacon hadn’t seen before. While Snake had been ill recently, Otacon wouldn’t necessarily say he was vulnerable. Even drenched in sweat and on the verge of passing out he could probably pin Otacon to the floor and paralyze him within a matter of seconds. It was strange to see him now open up a little about his emotions and then immediately (psychically) see him close himself off. Rolling onto his side, Snake all but rolled into a ball with Otacon at the center. He really had no sense of personal boundaries, but Otacon found himself not caring as much as he should. In a moment like this he saw a lot of himself in the sickly Snake, even if that’s how he spent the past decade. The small glimpse he saw into Snake’s past was not unlike his own, aside from it being a much bigger extreme. Deciding to let that thought be dismissed, Otacon resumed carding his fingers through Snake’s hair, the tufts of brown flipping upwards as they dried. 

A small but hefty grunt sounded from Snake, followed by snoring as Otacon realized he had fallen asleep in his lap. Sighing, he also realized he was now trapped, lest he risk waking the other up and being victim to a surprise attack chokehold. Carefully dropping their book to the floor, Otacon watched Snake’s chest rise and fall as he slept, voice still gruff as he snored. Trying to relax as much as he could, Otacon rest his head against the back of the couch, finding it more comfortable that he remembered.

Unaware of how long they had been asleep, Otacon was started awake by the sound of the coffee table being turned over, Snake shouting and kicking things around. That registration of all that was immediately by Otacon noticing the sheets Snake had left out to dry where now in flames, Snake thrashing them like he was trying to get something from a stubborn dog’s mouth.

“Shit!” Otacon jumped up and ran for the door, throwing it open and watching Snake cautiously but quickly carry it over and toss it into the snow with his heartbeat in his ears. Didn’t quite distinguish the flame, but Snake assured him it wouldn’t get any worse than that. It’d consume the fabric and then die out.

“Oh. But still, now you’re out of sheets.”

“There are extra blankets.”

“Well, not really. Between the two of us we’re using all of them and from what I recall that mattress was pretty dingey.”

“At least it’s a bed. There really aren’t any other blankets?”

“I’m using them. I could buy more linens next time I go to the store,” he offered, to which Snake shook his head.

“No worries. We’ll just have to share.” Otacon stood in the foyer, dumbstruck.

“Huh?”

“You’ll sleep with me.”

“Why? I’m fine with the couch.”

“I’m taking your blankets so either you sleep with me or you’ll be out there by yourself.”

“That’s bullshit. You can’t just sleep on a mattress?”

“You can’t just sleep on a couch?” Otacon pouted out his bottom lip but essentially sighed in defeat. He did find it easier to sleep when Snake was with him.

“Practicality,” he grumbled, grabbing the blankets he made up his bed with and helped Snake make what was now going to be their bed. 

“Living together, showering together, now sleeping together…” Otacon said under his breath, trying to lay the blankets out correctly to keep everything covered. The room still vaguely smelled like vomit and booze, but dismissed it and continued the task at hand.

“It’s the way of a wanted man. You should be grateful you’ll be sleeping on a bed. Numerous times I’ve found rest in a muddy ditch as the rains gave us a slight comfort, but even then I could only rest twenty minutes at a time.”

“Yeah yeah.”

Dusk was already upon them when they managed to set up the bed, Snake guessing it was around midnight.

“We should sleep.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” As Otacon shimmied under the sheets, Snake was already beginning to kick off his boxers, Otacon blurting out a rush of “stop stop stop stop stop”.

“What?”

“I don’t want to sleep next to you naked! At least keep your boxers on!” Snake seemed defiant, as that was probably his preferred way of sleeping, but grumbled something and tugged them back on, pulling back the covers and sliding in.

“Aren’t… Uh… Aren’t you going to take the headband off?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, then, goodnight, Snake.”

“Goodnight, Hal.” He said, rolling over and facing his back to the other, who furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

“Okay,” Otacon said, sitting up. “You can’t just end the night on that.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Didn’t we decide we weren’t going to use real names?”

“I don’t want you calling me David,” he said coldly, “but you never said I couldn’t call you Hal.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Otacon is a name you chose as much as I picked Snake, but I just prefer mine. Would you like me to call you something else? Doctor? Mr. Emmerich?”

“Cut it out,” Otacon said with a serious teeter in his voice.

“Okay, okay. Goodnight, pants-pisser.” 

Otacon grabbed the thin pillow behind his head and smacked Snake’s shoulder with it, huffing out a vague obscenity out of frustration, which Snake only returned with a laugh. Otacon couldn’t think of a retort that wouldn’t accidentally trigger something from Snake that would get him kicked out, so he resulted to the best insult he knew; “okay, momma’s boy.” 

Immediately clasping his hands over his mouth, Otacon shut his eyes and mumbled a silent prayer that he wouldn’t get decked in the face. Snake had never mentioned anything of his mother and that could be as sensitive as a topic as Otacon found it but it was the most juvenile thing he could think of and--

“Momma’s boy?!” Snake boomed out a laugh, shaking as he tried to control himself. “Are you twelve?!” This made Otacon flush with embarrassment, going to hit at Snake again when he flipped around and grabbed his wrist with enough force to stop him but gentle enough to not scare him. “Oh my God,” he laughed, burying his face in his pillow like it was the funniest thing he’s heard in decades.

“Shut up!” Otacon’s voice cracked, which made Snake howl with laughter. Glad the light was dim and Snake was facing away, Otacon felt his entire body burn and he shoved Snake to get him to stop, although the man rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a thud, his laughter immediately cutting out. “Oh, shit.” Peering over the side of the bed, he met Snake’s wide eyes, biting his bottom lip to silence himself. Before he could start up laughing again, Otacon turned himself around and grabbed as many of the upper layer blankets as he could, hoarding the comforters to himself as Snake pounded his fist on the floor.

“It wasn’t that funny!” The younger of the two cried, wishing he would stop but also thankful Snake seemed to be having fun. Aside from their predicament of being on the run, aside from having to share such personal space, aside from not knowing what will happen as time progresses, aside from the embarrassment he felt after making a fool of himself and aside from the unlikelihood that this relationship would carry after Snake gets better and has no need for Otacon at arm's length, he found this moment unbelievably charming. Snake’s laughter began to calm down, turning into wheezes and coughs, getting himself upright and lying haphazardly on top of Otacon, who yelped in surprise.

“What are you doing?” 

“Lying down. You took all the blankets.”

“You could’ve just asked.”

“Would you have given them over?”

“...No.”

“So then I won’t move until so.”

Otacon tried his hardest to wait it out, and as stubborn as Snake must be he has to get cold at some point. 

It was when Snake started coughing on Otacon’s neck that he finally gave in, wiping invisible germs and unfortunately visible saliva off his skin.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you.” The conversation ended at that, the two of them settling into bed with their backs facing each other but having to touch due to the size of the bed. 

Restless, Otacon stared at the ceiling and tried to clear his mind enough to sleep. Remembering Snake’s booming laughter kept him awake, both embarrassed by the context but also… Fond at the thought of it. He didn’t know Snake could laugh, let alone that loud. Otacon sure had seen a lot of different sides of Snake, most he didn’t know existed. Despite his genetic makeup, he seemed to be another person at his core, albeit devoid of personality. 

The flush of his cheeks as he laughed, the wetness that clung to his lashes as he tried to silence himself, the striking color of his eyes as he stared up at Otacon from the floor, the way he seemed to have no qualms about how accidentally close the two of them had become… Otacon could describe these feelings of Snake as endearing. Sure, the man was larger than him in a lot of different senses of the word, but he was cute in the way he let his guard down. In a mission, laughing aloud like that would definitely get him shot, but in this makeshift home he had backed up he was exposed and Otacon loved getting to see that side of someone.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled to himself, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Love? Now that was juvenile. Falling in love with someone who wasn’t repulsed by him was not a mature thing to do. That was a schoolgirl getting a crush on the boy who sat next to her. That was every one of Otacon’s failed relationships. That was--

Snake groaned loudly, flopping over and throwing an arm over Otacon’s chest, pushing the air out of him involuntarily. 

Otacon forcibly booted those thoughts out and shut his eyes.

Chapter Text

REM sleep was not something Otacon was graced with often. Perhaps after passing out from exhaustion of all nighters and accidentally sleeping upwards of 14 hours, but that was always followed by stiff joints, as it was usually on a battered couch and under the heat of a laptop. However, he found waking up with his body tangled around a man he’d known for a few days and had been nursing back to health was more comforting than he’d previously assume. Otacon couldn’t remember the last time he was this refreshed, time irrelevant as Snake was also still asleep.

Bliss was soon followed by embarrassment as the REM cycle gave him a very firm erection. Morning wood was also not something he was accustomed to, and Snake’s firm but careless arm draped over his stomach was not making things better.

Untangling himself from the other man and a messy pile of blankets, Otacon rolled himself out of bed and tripped on the sweater he had discarded. When did he take that off? The lamp had also been put out, a full glass of water sitting by Otacon’s neatly folded glasses on the bedside table. Snake stirred a little and Otacon beelined it to the bathroom, locking the door and facing his flushed reflection in the mirror.

“Shit.” Now should be a good time to take his leave, right? Snake seemed to be getting better; enough to take care of himself from this point on. Once he had recovered he wouldn’t need Otacon hovering over him 24/7, which was probably unbearable already. He could make it into town, find a phone and make a few calls. They wouldn’t be pleasant, but he knew of a couple people who he could guilt into housing him for some time. It’d be hard to explain the situation of “I accidentally built a nuke-wielding robot for a group of freaks-turned-terrorists who held me hostage in Alaska and a former member killed all of them - including one I liked in a weird, fucked up way - and I’ve been staying with him until I kinda sorta fell in love and had to leave”. Maybe just cut it down to “I had to quit my job and need a place to stay” would suffice, but getting from Alaska to Maine would surely be difficult. 

A knock on the door took him out of his momentary anxiety spur. “Hey,” Snake said with a little hesitance in his voice, “you okay?”

“Yeah?” Otacon replied, equally quizzical. “Are you?”

“I need to piss, but otherwise I’m good.” Oh, right. He had holed himself up in the bathroom. 

Opening the door, he was greeted by tired eyes, a messy mop of hair and a likewise case of morning wood which his eyes immediately focused on, then jumped his gaze to his chest, then his face, who stared back at him, then pushed his way out the door frame and back to the bedroom. Snake seemed to pay his jittery eyes no mind, keeping the door open a crack while he did his business. His head popped through a moment later, searching for Otacon as he sat on the foot of the bed, fidgeting with the sweater from the floor. The sound of running water filled the otherwise silent hallway.

“Did you want to shower?” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” Nodding, Snake strutted into the bedroom and snatched the towel hanging off the doorknob, already having ditched the boxers and lazily wrapped it around his waist before disappearing into the bathroom, door still ajar.

Otacon dressed himself quickly and went to make coffee, trying not to focus on the sluggish way Snake was moving as he was trying to wake up for the day.

The coffee was hot and startled him out of this dream-like daze he was in, partially because it spilled onto his chest and made him yelp and in doing so he almost shattered the mug, saving it but ungracefully spilling coffee on the floor, sending his heart racing with a spur of panic. His stained sweater became a makeshift rag, realizing too late it was one of the many clothes Snake had let him borrow. He’d wash this as soon as he found something clean and warm.

Rummaging through Snake’s drawers, he found a sweater that fit him better than the others, returning to the kitchen to make another cup and do some laundry. Snake’s shower finished, he went to the bedroom to dress, but all of a sudden hounded out Otacon in the kitchen, rereading the paper. His dark eyes made a quick scan before grabbing the paper and tossing it aside, ignoring Otacon’s complaint, and yanking the sweater up from the hem.

“Hey!” He yelled, but didn’t fight back as Snake pulled it off, turning it back out and gave Otacon a look he couldn’t place before stalking back to the bedroom, this time closing the door. Lips were frowned in a thin, tight way; his eyebrows were furrowed and knitted together in the center; but Snake's eyes carried remorse and a hint of gloss, like he was tearing up and was trying to mask it with some sort of half-assed anger. As much as Otacon wanted to press why that just happened, he realized that surely his welcome was beginning to wear thin. Maybe Snake didn’t want him wearing his clothes anymore and was telling him to leave. He would start packing up his things if some of them weren’t still in the bedroom. 

Snake finally came back out, nothing but silence and the faintest blotchy redness around his eyes, a popped blood vessel in the left. He sat across from Otacon at the kitchen table for no more than 45 seconds before getting back up and pouring a glass of water, drinking slowly to fill the beginning of an uncomfortable silence.

“I, uh,” Otacon began, then realized he should just keep his mouth shut but the silence was too unnerving. “I’m sorry.” Snake grunted. “I should be leaving soon. Thank you for your hospitality. You should be fine on your own from this point on.”

“Are you okay?” Snake asked, not quite acknowledging what was said. Otacon let it slip for now.

“Yes. Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t sick…” his voice trailed off as he turned to face Otacon, although he didn’t seem to know how to fill in the blank. “You were thrashing in your sleep and were hot to the touch. I hope you didn’t mind me taking your sweater off.”

“Oh,” he said, a little sheepish. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s been a long time since I shared a bed with someone, so I guess I didn’t know I did that. I feel fine otherwise.”

“Okay,” there was relief in his voice, his shoulders dropping a little as he eased up. “And you don’t have to leave. I’m… Sorry if I made you feel unwelcome in any way.”

“It’s not so much that as I don’t want to burden you. I’m sorry if I was nagging or controlling. You should be able to take care of yourself, as long as you’re taking your medicine and not drinking yourself sick.” With a silent nod, Snake drank another glass of water before momentarily disappearing out of view, coming back with the pair of snow boots and hopping up on the counter, pulling his knee up to lace them up.

"Now, wait a second," Otacon exhaled with a little playfulness in his voice, "I know I said you were getting better, but you shouldn't take my words as a medical diagnosis. Your body still isn't fully recovered."

"It's just a quick errand. You're welcome to accompany me." Pondering with his lips pursed, Otacon watched Snake pull the shoelaces tight, hop down from the counter and pull on a coat that reached beyond his knees. 

"You've had that here the entire time and let me walk to the store without it?" He gawked, to which Snake laughed.

"You would've drowned in it," he said, fastening the buttons to his collar and putting his hands in his pockets, waiting for Otacon to dress equally as layered, not offering him a fur-trimmed coat but rather a pair of snow bibs and a coat, zipping it up for him.

"I feel like a toddler," Otacon grumbled, kicking out his bulky leg in a dramatic fashion, knocking himself a little off balance, to which Snake grabbed his elbow and held him firmly. 

"But you're warm. You'll thank me later."

“Where are we going?” Otacon asked for the unpteenth time, not finding Snake’s vague answers reassuring as the seemingly never ending silent walk continued. 

“We’re almost there.” 

“Almost where?” Snake showed no sign of answering, merely pulling his scarf up and trudging onwards. 

A distant howling caught their attention, Snake picking up with pace with a smile tugging his lips. As they approached the shed that came closer into view, the howling got louder, followed by excited barking when Snake busted the frozen lock and was immediately floored by a countless number of strikingly beautiful huskies. Flat on his back, a flock of them lapped at his face, some tugged on his clothing and some ran in excited circles around him but one dog in particular sat right on his chest, nose nudging at his chin to pet as he obliged with murmurs barely audible above the fuss the dogs were making. 

“Hello beautiful,” he cooed, tongue lapping his beard and a little into his mouth as he laughed heartily, ruffing her fur. “C’mon, baby, I need to get up.” She showed so signs of letting up, Snake holding her by the middle and flipped her over, wrestling her as other dogs found the opportunity to jump onto Snake’s now exposed back, pinning him further into the snow as he continued playing with his dogs. Letting the one go, he grabbed another and rolled over, taking turns play fighting as it riled the dogs up more, some of them biting playfully at him as he laughed it off, hair dusted with snow and red from the chill. 

A few circled Otacon, who offered his hand for them to smell, though they seemingly lost interest as Snake started tackling two at a time, eventually just lying somewhat face down with his arms slung across one dog each, his hands petting the noses of others who nudged for scratches. He eventually got himself up, patting off snow and put his fingers in his mouth, letting out a high whistle as he sprinted to the shed, dogs chasing after him, as well as Otacon, several paces behind. When he caught up he could see Snake dumping food into a trough, dogs hungrily dining on kibbles. After they were all occupied, Snake finally directed his attention to Otacon, a smile on his face as he gestured with wide arms towards his pack, beaming with pride. Nodding, Otacon shivered, picked up by Snake.

“Let’s go inside,” he called from across the room, jabbing his thumb beyond the shed walls to something out of view. “It has a furnace.”

As they passed the doors, one dog came running towards Snake, nudging the back of his knees until he let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“Okay, baby, you can come inside. Be nice to my guest.” Squatting, he picked up this dog and held her to his chest, her tail wagging against the snow, Otacon opening the door for the duo to pass the threshold. 

“Otacon, this is Nola. Nola, this is Otacon.” She licked excitedly against Snake’s face and neck, exposed after removing the damp scarf. “Go on, say hi. He’s a good guy.”  Otacon’s heart fluttered a little embarrassingly, but sat on his ankles and invited her for a taste, to which she sniffed. Nola stuck her cold nose under Otacon’s coat, pressing against his torso and trying to stick her head as far up as she could, Otacon panicking slightly as her tongue lapped the underside of his chin against his chest.

“She smells me on you,” Snake laughed, squatting and patting his thighs as Nola carelessly ran towards her owner, dragging Otacon with. Thankfully, Snake was there to help from his slamming his face against the floor or against Snake himself, but that was resolved by Snake flipping him in his back, pinning his hands together above his head and gruffly telling him to stay still while he wrestled the wiggling dog from Otacon’s clothing. He remained still, trying to focus his panicked breathing so he wasn’t outright panting into Snake’s face. 

“You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?” Otacon shook his head.

“It’s a little late to ask that, don’t you think?” He asked, still on his back as Nola was freed, watching as she then ran into what he assumed Snake’s bedroom, circling the bed before lying down, watching the two in the foyer. 

“Right.” With a hand extended, he pulled Otacon up, then without warning scooped him up into his arms, carrying him to the kitchen as Otacon protested, surprised. “Your nose is bleeding.” Touching his nose, his fingertips were crimson red, seeing it had also spread down his chin and was dangerously close to staining another one of Snake’s sweaters.

"Oh, shit," Snake was one step ahead of him, setting him down on the table and grabbing a fistful of paper towels, stuffing them in Otacon's hand before taking one and gingerly cleaning the other up. Sitting still, Otacon let his eyes close and focused on the warmth of Snake's hand holding his head still, dampening the paper with his saliva before touching up Otacon's chin, scruff from not being able to shave for a couple weeks now. It didn't get very far beyond stubble, anyways.

"I haven't had a nosebleed in years," Otacon mumbled, trying to remember proper etiquette. He wanted to spit it out, but Snake's breath was mingled with his and he would probably die of embarrassment of doing something stupid now. The creases on Snake's forehead were much more prominent up close, though they lightened a little when he spoke.

"Not fun. Don't swallow or you'll get sick." Making a quiet mm-hmm sound in his throat, Otacon closed his eyes again as Snake pinched his nose a little harder than he would've liked, which was evident by his facial expression because the grip was let up. Taking Otacon's hands in his own, Snake replaced the fingers, wiped up any last drops before leaving Otacon by himself, then called over his shoulder he was starting the furnace, then called something to Nola in a language Otacon couldn't quite pinpoint. 

Snake's warm hand on the back of his head startled Otacon, too focused on not swallowing blood and gagging. His grey eyes opened to see Snake smiling comfortingly, mouthing something that Otacon couldn't hear before his eyes shut again, feeling a fist grab his hair and the bunched up paper towels leave his nostrils.

"Ah!" Otacon woke up with a jolt, sitting up and gasping. Before he could look around and try to get a grasp at his unfamiliar surroundings, Snake had a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down, where apparently he had been resting against his shoulder. Nola, on the other side of Snake, looked up curiously with a cocked head before settling back with her head on her master's thigh, watching the television as the tape rewound silently. 

"Settle down first. You'll give yourself another nosebleed." Breathing slowly, Otacon touched his nose to make sure it hadn't already started. Keeping a hand on Otacon's chest, the younger tried to ground himself to lying on the sofa, pressed against Snake, being touched by him, the sound of a noisy furnace and the vague smell of something cooking. His nose was blocked up, but he was sure it was better than what he'd been eating as of late. "You're dehydrated. You need to increase your fluid intake. I could mainly tell by your urine, but I had a suspicion something was wrong before now." Furrowing his eyebrows, Otacon looked down to see he was wearing a completely new outfit, then groaned and covered his face in his hands. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, Snake's firm chest moving as he spoke.

"Don't worry about it. I owe you, anyways." Feeling his cheeks burn, Otacon wanted to dig himself into a hole. He didn't mind taking care of Snake but passing out, pissing himself and having Snake clean and change him and dismissed as a 'I owe you' was beyond embarrassing and frustrating. 

"God, that's so embarrassing. I'm so sorry." 

"Are you hungry? If your nose is still stuffed up you might not be able to taste it, but my cooking isn't great, anyways. Hell, I probably can't taste it either. The dogs might like it if we don't."

"I'm positive it's better than the same canned soup and peanut butter sandwiches."

"Don't knock peanut butter." With a chuckle, Otacon slowly sat up, giving Snake room to stand and check on the food. Not bothering to change position, Otacon lay back down in the empty spot, Nola sniffling his hair and burying her nose against his temple. The VHS clicked once it completely rewound, then started playing. 

In the black screen, his reflection stared blankly back at him, though after a couple minutes had passed of silence - aside from Snake moving about in the kitchen - the shot of the sun eclipsing over the moon cracked a grin on Otacon's face. 

"I happened to find it laying around," Snake said as he handed Otacon a glass of water, setting down a beer on the coffee table with a coaster underneath. Otacon pretended not to notice the cardboard box of VHS tapes with stacks of them loitered beside it, as he had probably been searching through a collection of tapes to find this specific one. The next time Snake had returned, he brought two plates of boxed spaghetti, a little overcooked as they seemed plump and soft, forks tucked between his broad fingers. On his second trip he brought two bowls of alfredo and marinara sauce with spoons for Otacon to pick between, then turned on a floor lamp and flicked the main lights off now that the short-term sun had set. 

"Sorry it's not from scratch, most of my food had expired."

"It's no problem!" Otacon said, eager to eat as he ladeled himself alfredo and twirled his fork in a hearty mouthful of pasta, sighing contently.

"Now, c'mon, it's not that good," he said with a sniffle and a sip of beer. 

"Better than I could do," the other confessed, Snake raising an eyebrow with a smirk. 

"Oh, yeah? You'll have to cook for me sometime so I can judge." Stopping mid-chew, Otacon swallowed hard, then took another mouthful and opted not to respond. 

The sound of clinking forks and very minimal chitchat in a warm house almost made Otacon nostalgic for something he couldn't place. Like he was meant to be here, watching a movie with the legendary mercenary Solid Snake and one of his 50 dogs that seemed to snuggle up against him as much as Otacon wanted to, or had been prior to waking up. It was embarrassing to remember that, but Snake seemed to have been the one to put him there - had pulled him back into it, as a matter of fact. 

"Damn," Snake finally broke the comforting silence, setting his plate down and sinking into the cushions. "This shit is so perfect." Resting a hand on his stomach, he let his eyes shut and listen to the man-apes screech on screen. Not quite the ideal background noise, but it gave Otacon a moment to study Snake. Still a little pale with a hoarse voice and a red nose, it was good to see he could be up to cook and serve. 

Setting down his own plate, Otacon finished his water and sat in silence, putting his attention back to the film as they sat in another comfortable silence, no small quips as they did with reading.

"This song always scared me," the monolith loomed over the screen, the man-apes' cries silenced by the intimidating music, Snake huffing out what sounded like a brief laugh.

"I could see that," he said. "Never really paid it much mind. Now that you say it, though, it is creepy."

"I used to have nightmares I would wake up and see the monolith looming over me. Silent, still, scary."

"You won't have any nightmares sleeping with me," his expression didn't change, even thought Otacon was completely caught off guard. "So long as you don't turn into a giant baby if the monolith shows up." Snorting, Otacon laughed, previous fit of self-consciousness forgotten as his laughter inched him a little closer to Snake. 

Tired eyes glanced over, seeing Otacon's glass was empty, Snake then gathering all their dishes and taking them to the kitchen as Otacon debated asking if he needed help. With two beers and another glass of water, Snake sat closer to Otacon than they were when he left, draping on arm over the back of the sofa. 

Really, when Otacon thought about it, they had already been close enough to lie with each other on the couch at the other cabin, to see each other naked, share a shower and a bed. Was laying against Snake's shoulder again too far? It felt like it, because heat was not an issue, and since Otacon began to realize his developing feelings every little touch felt more intimate, but it was all in his head. Intimacy in itself was one of the few things they had yet to experience with each other, and Otacon quickly shooed that thought away before he made this anymore awkward. 

"Hold on." Otacon excused himself, standing up and realizing he didn't know the floorplan of Snake's house.

"Bathroom is the first right when you turn the corner, bedroom catty-corner." With an acknowledging nod, Otacon could see something scribbled out on the VHS box, but ducked into the bathroom and then the bedroom, grabbing a spare blanket from the closet - Snake seemed to be a man of habit - and when he returned to the living space, hesitated a little before edging his way to the floor lamp and clicking it off. When Snake didn't protest, he slowly made his way back over, sitting and draping the blanket over himself, waiting for some response from Snake. When there wasn't an outright denial or acceptance, Otacon quietly closed the space and threw the blanket across Snake, who tugged it more comfortably and pulled Otacon closer with it. 

With Otacon's head against Snake's chest, Snake's arm around Otacon's shoulders and Nola retreating to the bedroom, they watched the movie in silence. Silence, comfort, warmth and a radiating safe energy. Otacon fell asleep far before the introduction of Hal and Dave, Snake himself not even get to the second reveal of the monolith, though he made sure to turn down the volume to not wake Otacon up in a panic. Shifting more to lie down, Snake pulled Otacon on top of him, holding him securely as he watched his curly hair fall across his forehead as his head rose with every breath Snake took. Pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head, Snake closed his eyes and felt his heartbeat slow as he fell into slumber. 

Chapter Text

When Otacon awoke, he was by himself in what he worked out to be Snake’s bed. The room was somewhat barren, but had enough decorations to not resemble a cell, like the other cabin. Otacon supposed if that was a safe house, his actual home would have more authenticity of who Snake was. Snake, apparently, was a shotgun case, framed photography of Alaskan scenery and dogs sleds, a few books and what looked like knick knacks on the dresser. No television, phone or computer, but a small desk with a stationary set. 

Getting up, he made his way out of the bedroom. The smell of bacon invited him like a starving dog, leaning against the doorframe and taking in the sight in front of him.

Snake, shirtless with his hair pulled back with a faded red bandana, donning pajama pants and slippers. Nola sat at his side, patiently waiting for scraps. Perfectly timed, Snake had loaded two plates and turned to Otacon with a lazy morning smile, a plate in each hand.

A few things occurred in succession. Otacon took the plate and promptly let it fall from his fingers when Snake opened his mouth to speak, then the man made a dive to save the plate before Nola could reach it. Turning red with embarrassment, Otacon froze in place, slapping his hands over his face in an instant terror. Snake managed to save most of the meal, his dog snatching a strip of bacon before prancing off to enjoy her treat. After righting himself, Snake was unable to meet Otacon’s eyes, setting the plate down and latching both hands on the edge of the sink, immersed in the disposal drain.

“I-I… I’m sorry,” Otacon stuttered, then took a step back. From his peripheral view he could see the tips of Snake’s ears turning red, not acknowledging the events that had just unfolded. Silently excusing himself, the younger retreated to the bathroom as he remembered it, cleaning his face and taking several calming breaths. After he found himself a little more stable, he exited and returned to the kitchen, where Snake ate his breakfast solemnly at the table. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly, stabbing his fork into scrambled eggs. Snake had given Otacon what was originally his plate, taking the half spilled mess for himself. The knot in his stomach told Otacon to return it, but Snake seemed very adamant in eating what he had. Getting up to pour a cup of coffee, Snake made two, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a dash of milk for Otacon and a shot of whiskey for himself. As much as Otacon wanted to say something, he dismissed it and nodded in gratitude for the drink.

With a hoarse cough, Snake put his dishes in the sink and went to the bedroom to change, then promptly took Nola out with him, presumably to feed. Positive he was alone, Otacon put his head in his hands and muffled a scream into the heels of his palms. The loose smile, soft eyes and sleep, sultry morning voice of Snake greeting him with “morning, babe” and then immediately faltering at the mistake. Otacon could only drop his plate and shut down as he tried to process what that meant. 

There must’ve been a point when Snake was living with someone else. That explains the hospitality, the lack of boundaries, the little almost flirty touches, the openness in sharing, and yet some things were off limits. That one sweater, for example, and the box with a name scribbled out. How Otacon never pieced together that he was just a replacement was beyond him, but the revelation was nauseating. Snake also seemed very surprised at his slip up, almost too embarrassed to even acknowledge it. 

And yet… Otacon’s heart fluttered slightly at the memory. It was something he could definitely get used to waking up to every morning, but he was not going to daydream about an impossible fantasy.

Finishing his plate and washing their dishes, Otacon paced around while he tried to piece something together. This should be addressed. On their hike up here, Otacon could see the distant dot of a town nearby. It would be a pain to get out there, but they still had that snowmobile at the other cabin, but he was unsure if there would be enough gas to make it.

Snake returned silently, the soft sound of his socks padding on the floor was Otacon's only indicator. 

“Sorry about… earlier,” he said, squaring up his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest, almost defensively. “I can’t really explain that. My bad.”

Otacon nodded, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the sofa. Where they fell asleep wrapped around each other. It was so obvious to see he was never anything special; there was no way anyone would find genuine interest in him. He would always just be a body, a husk of a person with someone else’s face painted on, nothing more.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings?” Snake offered, pushing himself off the wall of the hallway but not making any notion to move. 

“No,” Otacon mumbled meekly, looking down at his lap. Slowly and silently, Snake walked to the other side of the sofa, standing behind Otacon, then stilled. When Otacon finally dared to look up, Snake’s eyebrows were furrowed together in thought, otherwise showing no emotion. Their eyes locked, and Snake opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and walked off, back to where he set down his coat and boots. Otacon’s eyes followed, Snake redressing to go out and tucking a handgun into one of the inside pockets. 

“I’m taking the dogs for a run - may be gone for a few hours,” he explained, walking back across the room and slowly to a stop where he had previous hesitated. “There’s a gun in the drawer beside you, if you need it. You should be safe here.” Never having lost sight of Snake, Otacon listened to every word spoken, brown eyes widening when Snake leaned in closer to tell him, “call if you need anything.” His heart all but leapt out of his chest when Snake closed the gap and pressed a tender, almost uncharacteristically soft kiss to Otacon’s dry lips, eyes staring into each other’s, then straightened himself upright and waited for a reaction.

Otacon, scrambling for a cohesive thought, stood to his feet and stared at Snake, mouth agape and speechless. When Snake found no obscenities or threats aimed towards him, he found it appropriate to then leave, the sound of the door closing breaking the heavy silence. Slumping down to his seat, Otacon stared at the ceiling above, mind blank but full of conflicting thoughts. 

He was very thankful Snake would be out for a few hours.

Chapter Text

Snake starts speaking before he so much as steps foot into the house, wind blowing in snow as his heavy boots stomped on the worn mat. 

“I went back to the other cabin and checked on some things.” Otacon had been awake the entire time, almost glad Snake initiated conversation first. “Made a couple calls. I could get you to Seattle by tomorrow.”

Otacon looked at Snake and blinked. “Huh?”

“We’d— You’d have to leave soon, and I could probably help you get from there to where you’d need. You have family or someone to stay with, right?”

“What?”

“I’d still suggest laying low, maybe hop between motels. I’ll give you cash.” Snake sniffled and cleared his throat. “Canada’s not a bad place, but I don’t know if you have a valid passport on hand.”

“Wait, Snake, what are you talking about?” Sitting up straighter, Otacon inhaled and thumbed a dry knuckle on his left hand. “Are you— Are you kicking me out?”

“No,” Snake answered, but didn’t sound reassuring. “You said you wanted to leave.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Otacon thought carefully about his words. He didn’t actually want to, but he couldn’t find the words to say so. While he pondered, Snake started taking off his winter weather attire, setting a few things on the kitchen table. The beat up novel lay among them, the gears in Otacon’s racing mind trying to piece something together.

“I’ll stay until you’re fully healed.” A set of keys clanged noisily on the countertop. 

“I thought you said I was.”

“... Or, uh, until we finish the novel.” That made one of Snake’s eyebrows quirk curiously, then glance over at the book in question. 

“The novel, huh?” He repeats, picking it up and brushing his still-gloved thumb across the cover. “We’re not too far in it.” There’s a small smile on Snake’s lips, and Otacon is almost positive he has a hopeful expression on his own face. 

“Well, doctor,” Snake says, a little too playful for the tense atmosphere, “if you think that’s the appropriate prescription.”

“I do,” Otacon retorts, pushing his glasses up with his index finger. His gaze lasts a beat too long, a fond smile on Snake’s lips before he tosses the book over, finishing his undressing and stalking off down the hall, turning on the shower water before bringing the heater to life. He doesn’t ask Otacon if he needed a shower - not that he’d be able to - and disappears in the bathroom. 

Climbing up to his feet, Otacon mindlessly goes to the kitchen and tries to find something to make for a meal. Whatever explanation or excuse he had wanted to talk to Snake about was forgotten, focused instead on peeling potatoes with a knife. His hands trembled slightly with nerves, but he couldn't help himself from smiling. A little extension to his stay could set his anxieties aside for a small time. Snake also seemed in a better mood after going out - Otacon could see after he had taken the last of his upper layers off he was drenched in sweat, but had a pleasant amount of energy in his system.

The handle of the shower squeaks when it shuts off, Otacon trying to figure out what else Snake would want to eat. Walking into the kitchen wearing a pullover, sweatpants and socks, Snake rests his temple against the fridge and watches Otacon for a moment before asking, "do you need help?"

"No," Otacon says, stubbornly, then somewhat sheepishly steps back from the cutting board. "I haven't cooked for anyone in a long time."

"I'll finish," taking the knife from its stationary resting spot, Snake shoos Otacon away with his free hand. Wandering back over to the couch, Otacon picks up their book and thumbs his way to their bookmarked page. 

"'Space pods were not the most elegant means of transport devised by man, but they were absolutely essential for construction and maintenance work in vacuum. They were usually christened with feminine names, perhaps in recognition of the fact that their personalities were sometimes slightly unpredictable.'" Snake snorts, rummaging through a few things before the burner clicks a few times, then a blue flame bursts to life beneath a pot of water. Sitting himself down at the kitchen table with a blanket wrapped around his body, Otacon clears his throat twice before continuing.

The potatoes Otacon had started preparing with no real intention on how to properly cook then took Snake some time, Otacon apologizing constantly but Snake assured him he enjoyed the reading. By the time dinner was ready and served, Snake assumed the reader's role and continued while Otacon ate. As much as the latter knew the more they read, the sooner he would have to depart, but they were too fascinated to think about the implications.

"'Bowman finished his breakfast in silence, while Poole toyed with the empty coffee container. They were both thinking furiously, but there was nothing more to say.'" Snake folded the corner of the page and set the book aside, though Otacon could see that was not the end of the chapter. He let it slide, knowing that soon, the supercomputer HAL would kill Frank Poole and the other scientists, only to be killed by David Bowman. It was good they stopped there.

Not feeling the need to fill the silence, Snake let out a satisfied hum, lacing his fingers across his stomach and closed his eyes. Otacon gazed out the window at the snow that piled against the distant trees. In the gentleness of the house and the dark of the evening, Otacon could hear an owl coo in the distance.

Their short silence is preceded by an unknown amount of time passing, Otacon alone with his thoughts but close enough to Snake he could sense his steady breathing. 

“Snake…” his sentence drops off, the latter murmuring in response. “Do you want me to leave?”

“We need to finish the book, remember?” His voice is slightly garbled, having almost been asleep.

“Are you sure?” Snake shifts slightly, their knees already touching and the back of Snake’s hand brushes against Otacon’s. 

“Yes.” Otacon lets out a breath he’d been holding and sinks into the sofa, letting his hand lie against Snake’s.

“Also,” the older man mumbled, eyelashes fanned across his scruffy cheekbones, “you can call me David.”

“Are you sure?” Otacon asked again, Snake’s chest bouncing slightly, like he let out a small laugh. 

“Yes,” he repeated, and Otacon lets own his eyes fall shut.

“Okay, then.” A new found silence falls over them, one of understanding, listening to each other breathe with the heater humming lowly in the background, radiating warmth from their closeness.

“Dave?” Otacon whispered, opening one eye to look over.

“Yes, Hal?” His eyes are still closed, but there’s a smile on his lips. Sitting up to get his back off the couch, Otacon watches in silence for a moment, then swallowed audibly.

“Can I, uhm. Can I kiss you?” Hal whispers, and there’s that silent laugh and a bigger smile. David’s eyes open slightly and he turns his head, looking at the other through his thick lashes.

“Yes.” And so he does. 

Chapter Text

It was bad. God, it was so bad.

Overcome with nerves, Hal had closed his eyes when he leaned in, bumping his nose against David's and missing his lips entirely, almost falling into the other's lap. Inhaling a nervous breath so large that made him look like a fish, Hal sat back on his seat and turned his head completely to the side, the hair on the nape of his neck curly and long, his ears burning red. David let out a laugh, rumbling deep in his chest and shifted in his seat. 

He waited patiently as Hal collected himself, who slowly turned back around, eyes focused on his hands in his lap. 

"Would you like to try again?" David offered, voice cool but smile warm. Hal made the mistake of looking up and his cheeks burned with embarrassment and admiration. He didn't deserve that smile, that voice, those eyes or those lips. Stumbling up to his feet, Hal took in another deep breath and balled his fists at his sides, flexing his knuckles and indenting his short nails into his palms. Puffing out his cheeks like a child about to throw a tantrum, he remained rigid until David finally took his eyes off the other man.

"It can wait," he reclines back against the couch, then fishes in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, David plays with a lighter for a moment.

"Well, now I'm not going to want to kiss you if you'll taste like cigarettes," Hal mumbles, crossing his arms in a very non-intimidating way. When David looks up, Hal looks away again, eyes looking at the cushion he previously occupied. 

"Then I guess you'll have to stop me," Dave teases, bringing the flame closer to him. At his ribcage, Hal's fingers twitch, but he doesn't move and watches out of his peripheral as David takes a drag and exhales smoke through his nose.

A silence falls over them - something unspoken, but neither of them can find the words.

"I'm sorry," Hal begins, perching on the opposite arm of the sofa. "Maybe that was, uh, too soon."

"Did you not want to?" Warm eyes, soft voice. Firm muscles, rough hands. Breakfast and kisses. Scars and stitches. Hal shakes all of that out of his head, then quickly nods and fumbles with his words.

"I do, and you seem like you do as well, but- I mean, we've only known each other about a week and that's been a whole mess- We barely really know each other, honestly, and I don't know if this is the right idea--"

"Then we won't," David settles, and that conclusion makes Hal's heart drop. It must be evident in his face, because David cocks an eyebrow, taking another drag. Snubbing out his cigarette, he puts it back in the carton and turns sideways.

"Otacon," he begins, voice stern, "this should be a mutual thing."

"Right," Hal nods, pushing his glasses up.

"Then, do you?" It's a vague statement, intentionally ambiguous, and Hal furrows his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip. Before he can answer, David is already standing up, taking their dishes to the sink. "Your hesitance answers it." Sighing, Hal leaves it at that, ultimately deciding Dave was right. 

"It's not that I don't want to," the younger quietly admits, brushing a piece of hair off of his forehead. "It's just... A lot, I guess." From the other side of the open room, David nods, wiping the dishes dry. 

"Then we'll leave it at that." Stacking the plates back in the cupboard, David turns off the lights and takes his time returning to the couch. He doesn't sit, just stands, hip leaning against the back of the sofa.

"I never meant to make you uncomfortable." Hal opens his mouth to input he's not, but David continues. "I could've read the atmosphere wrong. I'm not good at reading people, and I guess I misjudged." Shrugging one of his shoulders, he pushed himself off and stood upright. "I'm gonna check on the dogs. You decide if you want to sleep together tonight or not." With that, Hal let him leave, too busy lost in his thoughts to process a response.

When David returns, Hal has already showered and in his - their bed. He's not asleep, they both know that, but Dave is quiet in changing and turning off the lights in the house. He double checks the doors, gives Nola a few reassuring belly rubs, brushes his teeth and flicks on the bedside lamp. Rolling over, Hal lays with his back to David, who sits silently for a few moments. 

After a brief coughing fit, David unceremoniously spits phlegm into a tissue, balling it and tossing it off to the side of the room. Taking a rather large gulp of water, David licks his thumb and forefinger and opens their novel. 

"'They could only wait for the next report from Mission Control - and wonder if Hal would bring up the subject himself. Whatever happened, the atmosphere aboard the ship had subtly altered. There was a sense of strain in the air - a feeling that, for the first time, something might be going wrong. Discovery was no longer a happy ship.'" 

Hal, laying next to Dave, poorly attempting to be asleep, laughed bitterly against the pillow. He had left his glasses on, in such a haste to try and avoid David's presence, but the irony of the paragraph hit him hard. Sensing something was wrong, David closed the book, not bothering to mark their page and hovered his hand over Hal's shoulder. Hesitating, he slowly let it rest, letting his thumb rub a small circle against the t-shirt he had lent the other. 

"Ironic, isn't it?" Hal said aloud, not shying away from Dave's touch, who continued the mindless motion, then made a brief noise of acknowledgement. The silence isn't as hostile, but isn't as comfortable as it was earlier. Such a shift in atmosphere from a poorly misjudged kiss. Perhaps it was both of their faults - rushing something that maybe wasn't natural, but only due to circumstance. That seemed to be a reoccurring issue; that's why they were sharing a home, a bed, meals and showers, wasn't it? Perhaps it wasn't fate that put them together, but fear that shoved them without much thought to their characters. 

Another thought passes through David's mind, which he says before he can think about it.

"You're too good for me," he admits, Hal's muscles tightening beneath his touch. Rolling back over and making a mess of their comforter, Hal looks up at Dave, before then sitting up and staring with wide eyes. His glasses had left crooked indents on his thin face, mouth slightly ajar and bottom lip trembling so slightly.

"I-- What?" Inhaling, David lets his eyes close before speaking again.

"Maybe you should leave," his voice is almost a whisper. "It's not good for you here. You could do better somewhere else - with someone else." When he opens his eyes again, there are tears in Hal's grey eyes, eyebrows curved in confusion but the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, albeit a nervous and dumbfounded one.

"What?" Asking again, but much softer, Hal brushes back a tuft of hair with his knobby knuckles. "I'm too good for you?" He asks, incredulously. "Do you hear yourself? Y-You're so... You're so amazing, David," stuttering breathlessly, Hal wipes away his tears before they fall down his cheeks, shaking his head. "I've pissed myself twice in the time I've known you, I'm a nobody who accidentally built a nuke-wielding robot, you had to rescue me and you had this badass fight and you're so cool, Snake, and you think I'm too good?" A tear slips and David wipes it away before Hal can.

"You didn't need to come with me, you didn't need to care for me, you don't need to stay and yet you did." David's eyes turn at the corners when he smiles. It looks almost sad, but there's a certain warmth to it. "You watched me kill my twin brother, Hal, and yet you're still in bed with me. I don't deserve kindness like this."

"Are you turning soft, David?" He teases and David laughs, warm and inviting, Hal's eyes darting to his parted lips and swallows audibly. David's sharp blue eyes follow the gaze, and with a tongue moistening his own lips, he slowly moves his hand to cup Hal's cheek. Their eyes meet, locked and unwavering. 

"Hal," he breathes, closing his eyes but not moving in, giving Hal the chance to take the opportunity, if he wants to.

And he does. He wants it, Dave wants it, and he takes it.

It wasn't as bad as their first attempt, though it's not perfect. Nothing about them was really perfect, so to speak, but they made it work. 

Hal pulls back first, a little out of breath and with an airy laugh. His eyes show a look of bewilderment, in a 'I can't believe this is happening' way, but all he mumbles is "my lips are chapped," to which Dave laughs and inches a little closer, putting his free hand on the bed besides Hal's hip. Both of his hands remained awkwardly in his lap, moving one to the back of Snake's neck and the other to his shoulder, sliding down the muscle to feel his rough skin.

Pushing up Hal's glasses to the top of his head, David leads the second time, gently pushing the smaller man against the headboard. Trying not to overwhelm him, David didn't realize how hungry he was until he truly got a taste. He was trying so hard to restrain himself, and when Hal's hand tried to find purchase on his muscles and accidentally dug his nails into his skin, he let out an appreciative groan and involuntarily grinds his hips on Hal's thigh, who gasps and whispers Dave's name against his lip. 

I'm in too deep is all David can think, debating between stopping now and continuing, Hal not seeming to care about his advancements. His cheeks are still a little damp, David pulling himself off his lips to kiss the salty tears away. At the loss of contact, both of Hal's hands grab a little desperately to David's shoulders, his shoulder blades, his broad chest, his short hair - anything he can grab. 

A loud howl from Nola on the outside of the bedroom door makes them both freeze. Hal almost starts to laugh at the silliness of it, but David rolls off and lands quietly on the balls of his feet, grabbing under the bed for a gun with a silencer attached. With his breath caught in his throat, Hal watches David crouch-walk his way over, then press his back flat against the wall and listen. Noticing his erection, Hal politely looks away, and instead focuses at the bottom of the door, looking for any shadows. 

The howling stops, but there is instead a frantic pawing at the door and a whine, then a bark. Letting out a defeated sigh, David tucks the gun into his boxers, gives Hal a somewhat apologetic look and mouths 'sorry' before opening the door, Nola coming in with a running start and jumping on the bed, making Hal shriek. Doing a quick sweep of the house and checking the locks again, David returns, slides the gun back under the bed and stands with his hands on his hips, watching his dog lay across Hal's lap. He's still got a blush across his features, hair disheveled and bottom lip pouted so slightly, most likely self-consciously. 

"Someone's jealous," David quips, giving Nola a shove as he settles into bed, letting her lay right between the two of them, head in the valley of their pillows. With a huff of breath out of his nose, David looks over at Hal, who now has a sheepish grin on his face.

"Guess we have a third-wheel, huh?" He jokes, then shimmies down into bed and scratches behind the dog's ears. She's way too big to be sharing a bed with the two of them, but they don't seem to mind. 

Clicking off the bedside lamp, David leans over and presses a quick kiss to Hal's nose before pulling the blanket over himself. Inching his fingers away from Nola, Hal reaches over until he touches Dave's forearm, who then interlocks their fingers without a sound. Hal, however, lets out a laugh, like someone who is helplessly enamored, and David smiles to himself, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of Nola's tail batting their ankles.

Chapter Text

Nola, as friendly as she was, had no grace. A puppy at heart, she pressed all of her weight from her back legs to Hal’s sleeping stomach when she heard David rustle a bag of kibbles from the kitchen, hauling it out to feed an excited pack of hungry dogs. Groaning, Hal cracked open an eye to see no sunlight through the blinds, pulling the comforter over his head and shifting over to the warmth that was David’s half of the bed. Typically up before dawn for one reason or another, he was usually very quiet and avoided waking Hal, but his dogs were not nearly as thoughtful. 

After breakfast, a good run in the snow and a wipe down from a warm towel, Nola returned in her rightful spot on David’s bed, to the inside of Hal’s sleeping form, followed shortly by the man himself to his other side. Though he was still awake, he tried his best to remain still and held Hal close to him, the large husky whining lowly for as much attention as Hal was receiving. Laughing quietly under his breath, Hal peered over his shoulder to see David’s deep set eyes closed, but not relaxed. After cautiously kissing the tip of his nose Hal could see him smile, eyes pinching in the corners with genuine pleasure. With a sated hum, David snuck his hands around Hal’s abdomen, then promptly stuck them under his shirt, cold enough to make Hal yelp and try to free himself, before quickly realizing he was sandwiched between two stubborn and larger beings. 

“You’re warm,” the elder mumbled against the nape of Hal’s neck, rubbing wide, vague shapes against the flesh beneath his fingertips. “So, so warm.”

“You’re cold and smell like dog food,” Hal attempted to shoot back, but the idle action of David warming himself up was too relaxing for him to tell the other to stop. 

“Could fall back asleep like this.”

“Then let’s.” As Hal rolls over, the other falls onto his back and pulls Hal to his chest, draping one of Hal’s knees across his pelvis and lazily sticks his hand beneath the other’s shirt, resting on his hip. In a half-assed attempt at payback, Hal presses his own hands against David’s bare stomach; promptly noticing his hands are still significantly warmer. David lets out a small but appreciative hum at the notion, lips pulling slightly into a smile. Mentally, Hal rolls his eyes but inches himself almost completely flush against David’s side, trying to find a comfortable position when lying against the hard muscle. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No. Are you?”

“I had something to eat already.”

“What, kibbles?” When the elder does not respond, Hal fake groans in disbelief. He does, however, in a successful attempt to sense something, shifts his position and deliberately drags his knee across the slight bulge in David’s lounge pants, then makes a brief, throaty noise of ‘figured as much’ before returning to it’s previous stretch. David, having either not noticed or did not acknowledge it, continued the warming of his hands until the movements slowed and talked about how pretty his eyes were. The sun still had yet to rise before the three of them fell back asleep, Nola having the head start.

Sitting in a kitchen chair with his knees drawn to his chest and cradling a cup of coffee, Hal watches David prepare a late breakfast. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you’re thinking about something.” Pointing the spatula accusingly at the other, Hal furrows his eyebrows in thought. 

“Was wondering if you’d call me something.” Pausing for a moment, David then turns back to the scrambled eggs he’d been scraping around, cheeks pink. 

“Do you want me to?”

“No, I’ve never really been a fan of that kind of thing - feels a little too corny.” Nodding in agreement, David makes up two plates and hands one over to Hal.

“Here you go… dear,” he concludes after a moment’s hesitance, Hal trying to frown but he laughs instead, correcting his posture. 

“That looked like it hurt,” after saying his thanks, Hal bites into a piece of toast, crisp and warm with the right amount of melted butter. 

“Did a little. I guess I wasn’t thinking the first time it happened and putting too much thought into it made it unnatural.”

“Exactly, that’s why I’m not too keen on it. You sure do spoil your dogs with the sweet talk, though.” 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been away from them for that long of a time, they deserve a little extra love.” Peeking up behind his eyelashes, David considers adding so do you, but he could tell Hal was not ready to receive that kind of positive attention yet and goes back to his breakfast. 

“This is good. Is this deer?” Showcasing a piece of bacon, David nods and sips at his coffee. 

“Hunted it myself, kept it frozen. Got up early to prepare it. Glad to hear you like it.”

“Never been a real fan of hunting. Never taught it, never really had an interest.”

“Would you like to learn?” Tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling, Hal shakes his head.

“Nah, can’t imagine I’d have many opportunities to do so, anyways. Doubt there’d ever be anyone to pass the skill down to, either. Plus, the idea of having to skin an animal I’d killed to eat it seems kind of morbid, don’t you think? I’d rather have the pleasure of eating someone else’s game than go through the process myself.”

“I hope you can look forward to my cooking, then.” Sharing a brief moment of something not spoken, they make eye contact and Hal smiles, small but knowing. It doesn’t last long but they savor it, finishing up their meal before going for seconds. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Noticing that Hal had taken more venison the second time, David’s heart fills with momentary pride.

“It looks like we’re getting more snow. The dogs can handle it without any problem but I’m not quite sure how that generator is going to last trying to keep the house warm enough for two people.”

“Oh,” Hal says, slowing down his eating. “Am I using too much heat?”

“It’s not an issue, but I typically don’t keep it this warm. We might have to cut it down for a while, until the bulk of the snow wears thin.”

“Guess we’ll have to huddle up, then,” looking down into his mug, Hal hides his sheepish expression. 

“Maybe so,” David concludes with a smirk, offering a piece of meat for Nola to take, which she takes happily. “But we can’t sleep all day.” 

“Is there much else to do?” 

“I might go hunting. You’re allowed to come along, if you’d like.”

“Is that safe for you to do?”

“Taking you? Unless you’re going to slow me down, I don’t see an issue.”

“No… being out for an extended period of time like that.”

“If anyone were looking for me, they would’ve found me by now,” he states bluntly. “They found me last time in this home but there’s no reason they would need me again so soon. Colonel and I seemed to have come to an understanding that what happened had to happen, we harbor no ill feelings towards each other and he seemed to have no qualms about letting us go. If you’re really worried, you can come with, or at least I can properly show you how to arm yourself.” David doesn’t bother mentioning that if someone were to break into his house in search of him, Hal probably would not be able to take them down by himself, but they wouldn’t have much interest in him. If the men Colonel sent could pull him out of his own bed and drag him to that damp little cell then they could absolutely put Hal into the ground. He refuses to let those ideas continue any further and puts his attention back to the present, not a hypothetical. “This area is undisturbed, it shouldn’t be too hard to find game. I’ll take a couple dogs with me.”

“Okay,” seeming a little more comforted with that, Hal sets his silverware down and closes his eyes. “I’ve never had anything hunted, but I trust your skills. Maybe you could teach me how to cook more than hunting.”

“That sounds good.” Collecting their plates, Hal hops up and starts running some hot water, filling half of the sink and hissing when he submerges his hands, not aware of how hot the water had become.

"Need help?"

"I got it. Do you have any guns or do you do everything OSP?" 

“Haven’t gotten the chance to check inventory yet. I’ve got a suspicion my supplies may be low.”

“As in someone broke in while you were gone?”

“Not exactly.” Tucking a cigarette between his lips, David turns the lighter over in his hand. “It was probably Colonel. Noticed some of my guns were missing and a couple dogs, too.”

Looking down to the water, Hal quietly mouths “oh” and nods once. 

“But, like I said, what had to be done is done. I’ve fixed the busted locks, checked on the pack, and now I have you, so don’t worry about anything.” Ruffling Hal’s hair, David sticks his foot into the backdoor, enough room to have a quick smoke without letting in too much chill. Hal goes back to the dishes, the water having cooled down some, but he can see David has a far-away look in his eyes, expressing his age more than the younger had seen before. 

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry for your loss.” He smiles, small and almost unnoticeable, but almost fake for the sake of not giving Hal a reason to worry, and they leave it at that. 

“I was hoping to shower, but I’ll wait ‘til when I come back.” Pinching the end of a half-finished cigarette, Dave leaves it on the windowsill and waves off any lingering smoke. “Save some water for me, will ya?” Patting Hal on his shoulder twice, he disappears into the bedroom and quickly returns, dressed in faded bibs, an overcoat and a scarf wrapped firmly around his head. 

“Camouflage,” he answers quickly, tugging on a pair of gloves. “I’ll call if there’s any trouble, but don’t wait up. If I catch something good, then I’ll make something fancy.” 

Wiping off the sudsy water onto his jumper, Hal lunges a step forward and grabs Dave by the arm, who stops and turns. Momentarily at a loss for words, Hal blinks and releases the hold.

Inhaling and straightening his posture, Hal’s eyes behind smudged glasses stare into David’s tired, weary eyes, sandwiched between bushy eyebrows and the weighted bags beneath. 

“Be careful.” 

“Will do.” Pulling up the hem of his scarf, Hal quickly kisses his chapped lips, then tugs it back down and produces a goofy smile; David offers a small one in return, as evident by his eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Catch us something good.” 

“Yes, dear,” there’s enough of a mixture of sincerity, sarcasm and charm that Hal can’t tell if he’s teasing or being genuine, but the sound of stomping boots heading towards the door and the excited yapping of Nola chasing after David draw Hal to conclude it was just a taunt, waving goodbye once more before going back to the dishes.

Having done some cleaning, Hal discovered a deshedder brush and set to work; a dog smaller than Nola wiggled pleasantly in his lap, enjoying being groomed and pampered while he murmured quietly to it. The other dogs enjoyed being outside more than in, whether they were playing with each other or sleeping in heaps. Dave had taken a few with him, Nola included, and a couple others whined to be let inside once the self-proclaimed queen of the household pup had gone out. He had yet to learn any other name besides Nola’s, but this dog seemed to enjoy Hal reading from the novel, so he quickly nicknamed him Bowman.

“‘Presently there was an even better sign. The great bowl of the antenna, which for hours had been staring uselessly at Saturn, began to move again. It twisted round toward the rear of the ship, looking back over the propellant tanks and the thousands of square feet of the radiating fins. It lifted its face like a sunflower seeking the Sun.

Inside Discovery, David Bowman carefully centered the cross-wires that aligned the antenna on the gibbous Earth. Without automatic control, he would have to keep readjusting the beam - but it should hold steady for many minutes at a time. There were no dissenting impulses now, throwing it off target. 

He began to speak to Earth. It would be over an hour before his words got there, and Mission Control learned what had happened. It would be two hours before any reply could reach him.

And it would be difficult to imagine what answer Earth could possibly send, except a tactfully sympathetic, ‘Good-bye.”

Marking the corner and closing the paperback, Hal looks over to Bowman, licking happily at his hand once it was freed from holding his spot on the page.

“He sure is taking a while, eh Bowman?” Scratching behind his ear, the dog lets out a peaceful snort.

“Bowman? Like David Bowman?” Comes a voice behind them, followed by the zipper of Dave shucking his coat off. Bowman clammors up to sniff, sneezing and yapping; Hal brushes off as much dog hair as he can before greeting the other. 

“I didn’t know his name,” he admits, then takes the coat and scarf to go hang up. 

“It’s Spirit.”

“Does he have a brother named Opportunity?”

“Had.” 

“Ah, sorry. That’s kind of… Abrupt.”

“Was out of my control. Bowman’s a nice name, though.” 

“Do you need help with anything?” Pulling out a chair, David sits and kicks his bibs down to his boots, damp with sweat and exhales. 

“A drink would be nice. And a shower, but I still have to go out.” Grabbing a dishcloth, Hal dabs the sweat from Dave’s forehead and the back of his neck. 

“I can go to the store and buy beer?” He offers, putting the backs of his fingers against David’s skin to confirm he doesn’t still have a fever. “Or anything else you want.”

“Anything you think would go nice with dinner, and by the time you return I’ll have it ready to cook.” Lazily intertwining their fingers, David’s touch is rough; skin dry and cracking. “We should stock up for a storm and give the dogs anything that spoils.” 

“I can do that. I’ll try to hurry up so you can shower.” Moving to where he had placed David’s coat, the latter calls out to stop him.

“Don’t take those. They smell like blood.” A brief, disgusted look crosses Hal’s face before he can help it, then goes to look for cleaner wear to take out. “Sorry,” he concludes in a quiet apology.

Stopping at the door, Hal puts up a hood and secures a different scarf around his face, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and not blood when David speaks up again.

“Do you want to take a dog with you in case you get lost?” Looking over, Spirit is laying in the spot he and Hal previously occupied, consuming that warmth. “He knows your scent, take ‘im. One less distraction for me. Take a leash if you intend to take him into the store with you. People around here don’t care about things like that, especially if there’s a storm incoming.” 

“Even if I’m an unfamiliar face who is most likely on some watchlist for creating the apparatus that would’ve sparked nuclear warfare by a group of terrorists?”

“You’ll just be some guy walking in the snow that smells like dog. They’ve seen worse. I’ve been worse.” 

“Maybe I should take that camouflage gear,” Hal jokes, picking up a leash from where it hung next to the door, Spirit immediately perking up. Beckoning him over, the dog sniffs the leash and licks Hal’s glasses while he fastens it around a collar. 

“We won’t be gone long. Pick a movie we could watch.”

“Roger that.” Stepping into the chill and accidentally slamming the door behind him, Hal set out with a grocery list in mind and a warm evening when he returned.

Chapter Text

Hunting knife fit firmly into an old glove, leather cracked from age and blood, Dave peeled the skin from the deer he’d shot, cigarette burning with his focus directed elsewhere. Her body carried a faint warmth, hide still clean, eyelashes down after he had closed her big, beautiful eyes. On the smaller side, her meat would need to be used sparingly if it were to be shared amongst him, Hal and the dogs. If need be, he could get some fowl to spoil the dogs. 

Turning her over on his handmade desk in the shed, he continued cutting his way around her body, setting aside the skin to treat at a later time. David wasn’t the best with a needle but he could find some use for her hide. Digging the tip of his blade against the taunt muscle of her leg, the sounds of his dogs scratching at the door to be let in kept him focused. The smell of blood nor the action of carving his way through flesh was unfamiliar to him, but Hal’s comment of how this process is morbid weighs on the back of Dave’s mind. Raising her leg, the ash from his cigarette falls against her, David brushing it away and spits his cigarette out against the cold cement. Breaking the tendons as he makes his way around, the deer’s back leg comes off with ease, setting it aside to cut the other leg, then begins cutting the meat off her bones to wrap and store.

By the time Hal had trudged back up to the cabin, David had finished what was left of his pack of cigarettes and was thumbing through the novel, discarded on the sofa.

“Need help?” Dave asks, getting up and taking a couple bags from Hal. 

“You’re right, there’s definitely something big coming. They were fairly low on stock, but I think I got some good stuff.” Dropping everything down onto the kitchen table, Hal turns to David and scrunches up his nose.

“I was smoking while working, sorry.”

“What brand do you smoke?”

“Moslems.”

“Okay, good.” Rummaging through one of the bags, Hal procures a box of cigarettes and hands them to Dave. With a smirk and a chuckle, David cocks an eyebrow.

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve seen ‘em around enough, but I wasn’t sure.” 

“Thanks, Hal.” Pulling Hal in for a hug, Dave kisses the top of his head and goes back to unloading groceries.

“What were you planning for dinner?” 

“Stew. Did you get any vegetables?”

“Oh, yeah, I did.”

“Great. Would you mind cutting some up?”

“Not at all.” Working their way around each other, Hal dices vegetables while David trims the fat from the venison before tossing it in a pan, feeding a few fatty pieces to Nola and Spirit, who had quickly taken a liking to Hal. 

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Hal asks, watching curiously as Dave begins making broth.

“Here and there. Helped my parents often; bussed at a restaurant for a little while and saw the professionals do all that fancy shit; the service showed me how to hunt and the rest I learned myself. I can’t do anything special but I make good meals every now and then. Been trying to make stuff you’ll like.”

“It’s been years since I’ve had someone cook personally for me, otherwise it’s basic corner store meals or stuff you’d find in any cafeteria. You’re a good cook, Dave. I appreciate it. Sorry I’m not good at doing so myself.”

“I told you I could teach you, and the offer still stands.”

“I’ll think about it.” Plucking a carrot round from the cutting board, Hal stands from where he had been leaning against the counter and goes back to the head of bags on the table.

“By the way - I picked something else up for you while I was at the store.” Setting the wooden spoon down on the counter, Dave peers into the last remaining bag, pulling out a box and stares at it for a moment.

“Root touch up for grey hairs?” He reads, to which Hal nods, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. “Is this your way of telling me I’m greying? I’m that old?”

“No, your blonde roots are showing and I thought you might want to touch them up a bit. I mean, I know you’re not really aiming for any publicity, but it caught my eye.” Shrugging his shoulders, Hal holds his hand out, motioning for Dave to pass the box over.

“So you’re telling me I should redo my hair.”

“I can return it.”

“I don’t see an issue with it,” passing the box over, David tugs his shirt over his head and pulls out a chair from the kitchen table, sitting himself down. 

“Now?” Hal asks, surprised at the action.

“Why not? Not like there’s much else to do. This’ll be fun.”

“What about dinner?”

“It won’t be ready for a while, everything needs to simmer. If you’re really hungry, I can whip up something.”

“No, I’m fine. You just didn’t seem very open to the idea a minute ago.” With a carefree shrug, David rests his ankle over his opposing leg’s knee, then looks at Hal, expectantly.

“Sounds like something fun to do while we wait, and might as well before a shower, right?”

“Right.” Clearing his throat, Hal perches himself on the edge of the table, unboxing the contents and reading the instruction sheet. “You haven’t showered today yet, right?”

“Correct.”

“This looks fairly simple.” Sliding on the plastic gloves provided, Hal shakes a bottle of cream and dye, squeezing some onto his fingers to test how well it’s mixed. “Ready?”

Letting out a small laugh, David nods, the mixture a cold glob on his scalp making him shudder briefly. 

“Cold,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing as he closes his eyes.

“Sorry.” Out of the corner of his eye Hal can see David’s nipples harden at the sensation, then resumes massaging his scalp.

Repeating the process of pouring dye onto his hands, playing with it to warm it, then carding through Dave’s short hair falls into a relaxing rhythm, the elder allowing his posture to relax comfortably.

“Hal?” Breaking the momentary silence, David opens his eyes and stares ahead at the blank kitchen wall.

“Hm?”

“How are you feeling?” Rubbing at Dave’s scalp, Hal hums in thought, making sure to evenly distribute the dye.

“Fine, and you?”

“Good,” he answers after a pause.

“That didn’t sound sure. What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“David.”

“You know…” he begins; “as blunt as I may seem, some subjects are awkward, regardless of who you’re with or how old you are.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, David sighs. “Do you need to use the bathroom or something?”

“Your erection is poking my shoulder.” 

After processing his words, Hal takes a step back and confirms. 

“Oh my God— I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice—”

“I figured you didn’t but I thought you would’ve liked to know.”

“That’s so fucking embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s a relatively intimate moment.” Clearing his throat, David half-turns in his seat. “How much longer is the dye s’posed to settle?”

“Uh,” fumbling more than necessary to find the instruction sheet, Hal scans it over quickly. “Ten more minutes, then rinse it out. You don’t need any special shampoo.”

“Got it. Care to join?”

“In the shower?”

“Don’t tell me you’re too embarrassed to shower with me now,” Dave jokes, Hal crossing his arms defensively. 

“I am not,” he insists, stubbornly forgetting the embarrassment of the situation, though his cheeks still linger red.

“Good, because it’ll be lonely without you.”

“You, uh, need to lather your hair with warm water then let it sit for two minutes before fully rinsing it out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Patting Hal’s arm as he stands, David silently excuses himself to the bathroom, and Hal immediately checks again to see he'd gone flaccid, promptly letting out a sigh of relief. Scolding himself for not noticing something so obvious, he collects their trash to discard and attempts to scrub the dye that had seeped through the gloves and under his fingernails. The thought of relieving himself before sharing a shower briefly crosses his mind, before he realizes that might take an inconvenient amount of time for a timed shower. Plus, they’d done plenty of other intimate types of acts that makes his untimely boner seem ridiculous, though that makes him feel slightly more shameful for getting easily excited. 

“Otacon?” Comes a voice down the hallway. “How much time is left?” 

“About four more minutes.” Closing the bathroom door again, Hal finishes his loitering in the kitchen and grabs a change of clothes, finding Nola very comfortably asleep on the bed, undisturbed. Knocking on the door, Dave opens it and Hal awkwardly shuffles in and starts running the water.

“Lather, two minutes, rinse.”

“Right.” Setting his glasses down on the counter, Hal pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans, David already stripped down and testing the temperature of the water before stepping in and pulling the curtain half-shut. Reminding himself that it was a natural reaction and to not let it get to him, Hal slides down his briefs and pulls the curtain fully closed behind him.

“You’ve dyed your own hair before, right?” Hal asks, watching Dave scrub at his scalp, forming dark brown suds. “Didn’t you have to do these steps?”

“Wasn’t really following directions, just kind of winged it in a rush.” Stopping himself from rolling his eyes, Hal notes that’s a fairly logical reason and switches spots with David under the water - as per their routine - to dampen his hair and switch back.

Sticking his head under the stream, David scrubs at his scalp and stares at his feet.

“Hal? I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot,” lathering up his hair, Hal listens for the silence that follows, the water clearing as the excessive dye that hasn’t settled washes out.

“Can I touch you?”

“Like… that kind of touch?”

“Yeah. If you’ll let me. Thought I should ask, first.”

“Any reason why?” Hal asks, quietly. 

“Thought I’d help you out.” Brushing aside his bangs, Hal observes the muscles of Dave’s back tense.

“Water makes things a little more… rough.”

“Mm.”

“But that’s not a no.” Standing up to his full height, Dave almost hesitates before turning around, watching Hal’s partially unfocused eyes as he closes the small distance they had been keeping, placing one hand at the nape of his neck and the other on his shoulder, kissing him gently. Pulling back, they simultaneously lick their dry lips, smiling at each other before returning to the kiss, exploring with their hands more.

One of Dave’s hands slides from his shoulder and down his side, resting on his hip, then curiously turns into the dip of Hal’s lower back, cupping the curve of his ass.

“Ah—” gasping into David’s mouth, Hal nibbles on the bottom lip slotted between his own.

The hardened tip pressing against Hal’s stomach makes him inhale sharply, pulling back to look at David. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Just, uh… Why don’t we take this somewhere a little more comfortable? After we finish.” Nodding, they wordlessly rotate, pointedly not glancing any lower than each other’s shoulders. Dave finishes washing off first, grabbing a towel and heading for the bedroom, Hal following shortly after, making sure to wash any scent of sweat or dog that may still linger.

Despite bringing a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, Hal returns to the bedroom in just a pair of boxers - David’s, checkered plaid - with his clothes on his arm. 

“It’s cold,” he mumbles, desperate to get under the blankets Dave was hiding under. 

“I’ll warm you up.” Pulling Hal under, the younger quickly notices Dave is naked and excited to be naked. Without thinking about it, Hal laughs, fanning one hand across the broad chest. 

“Someone’s eager.”

“‘Course. Have you seen yourself?”

“Ack, don’t say that, that’s embarrassing.”

“Sorry. I’ve just never seen you with this kind of intention,” pressing kisses along the stubble that permanently resides on Hal’s jawline, he continues to say “no matter how many times I’ve dreamt about it.”

“You’re so sappy,” Hal says, letting himself be pampered. “Have you been holding back? Is this the true Solid Snake?”

“It is if you want me to be.” With a snort, Hal pulls him on to the bed, laying on their sides, facing each other.

“Where’s Nola?”

“Put her outside. Won’t interrupt.”

“How’s the stew?”

“Simmering. Turned the heat down, but it looks good so far.”

“Mm.”

“Any other questions?”

“How far do you want to go?” Hal asks, voice soft, cautious.

“However far you want to.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for sex.”

“Okay,” Dave smiles, rubbing his thumb across Hal’s cheekbone. “So we won’t. Anything else?”

“I’m not sure. It’s been a while.”

“Same,” he admits. “We’ll play it by ear.”

Rolling Hal onto his back, David straddles his hips, kissing him with some semblance of restraint; it’s when a quiet, needy moan escapes Hal’s lips does Dave break that tentativeness and kisses desperately, Hal reciprocating after matching the pace.

“Hal?” David asks breathlessly, mouth hot on the slender neck beneath him. Shifting his weight to one side, he tucks his thumb beneath the boxers, the only piece of clothing on either of their bodies. 

“Yeah,” comes the mumbled response, nails leaving bright red trails along David’s back. “God,” he hisses, arching his back, skin slick with sweat where the two of them were connected, a howling chorus serenading outside the cabin walls.

“Have you been reading from the book?”

“Huh?” Pulled back from watching his reflection in a cup of coffee, Hal looks up to see David with the paperback in hand. “Oh, yeah. I was reading to Spirit, remember?”

“You read quite a bit,” he notes, flipping between the most recent dog-ear and the one prior to that. 

“Ah, yeah. It was the HAL destruction and I didn’t really want to read that… Seemed kind of cruel, you know?” Shrugging, Hal sips and grimaces at how sweet he’d accidentally made his drink. 

“Did I miss anything worth retelling?” 

“You’ve read it before, haven’t you?”

“Doesn’t mean I remember it word-for-word.”

“I don’t expect you to, but I will say I was surprised it was different from the movie. Which kinda sucks because that scene is so iconic. It’s been what, 40-something years since the movie?”

“37.”

“Mm. Did you ever go see it in theaters?”

“Just how old do you think I am?” David laughs, taking Hal’s mug and sipping. 

“It’s a G-rated film, you could’ve seen it as a kid.”

“I doubt a kid would really get it. And it came out before I was born, mind you.”

“You sure act like an old man sometimes,” Hal mutters under his breath, pouring himself a new cup of coffee.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Kissing the nape of Hal’s neck, David takes his pack of cigarettes and throws a coat over his pajamas, trudging outside to check on the dogs. Picking up the book, Hal notes there’s a new bookmark, beyond what Hal had read to. Glancing up and looking out the frosty window, he can make out Dave playfully wrestling with a few dogs, much like when they first arrived at the cabin. God, how long had it been? Rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand, Hal takes his new cup of coffee and slumps onto the sofa. It’s simultaneously felt like days and years since he’d been staying with David. 

“David?” Stomping his boots off, he grunts in response. “Do you believe in aliens?”

“What?” Shaking off any snowflakes in his hair, Dave peeks over the back of the sofa where Hal lay flat, glasses folded on his chest. 

“Do you believe in aliens?”

“I suppose. Why, d’you see one while I was out?”

“No, I was reading a little more. Got to the part about the aliens.”

“Everyone seems to think they’re little grey men.”

“Do you think otherwise?” Propping himself up on his elbow, Hal puts his glasses back on and blinks a couple times. 

“I say they’re translucent and you can see all their innards.”

“With bright green blood?” After watching Dave nod enthusiastically, Hal exhales through his nose and lays back down. 

“I need to go down into town and I want you to stay here.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just need to pick up some things. Looks like the blizzard is off schedule and everyone got worried early. Need to take care of something before it actually hits.”

“Okay. I’ll do some laundry, then.” 

“I’d appreciate that, Hal.” With a small, distant smile, David puts a pair of jeans over his lounge pants, then bibs and an overcoat, zipped up to a scarf covering what the coat won’t. “The wind’s bad, so pile up on blankets. I’ll be back soon.” 

“Okay. Be safe, David.” Responding with a nod, Dave slams the door behind him on his way out, Hal watched his form disappear through the windows before getting himself up to collect their laundry.

Chapter Text

David was gone much longer than Hal had expected. Sitting around for some time got boring, Hal sorting through the movies David had and organized them alphabetically, popping one in as background noise. On more than one occasion did the lights flicker, but never enough to cut the power. Constantly keeping an eye on the weather and anticipating a Codec call at any moment, nothing eventful occurred, Hal watching the steady snowfall pile up outside and listening to the clock tick. Night fell early as it always did, the gleam of white snow in the moonlight creating an aesthetic looking scenery that he had no one to share with. The thought of David having spent years alone in this cabin with nothing but his dogs, deprived of human interaction by his own accord and drinking to mask the loneliness twisted at Hal’s gut. 

Standing up and making his way to the kitchen, he squatted on his ankles in the pantry, squinting until he caught a glimpse of glass, reaching and studying it once in his possession. He didn’t know much about drinking, let alone hard liquor, but a bottle of Jack Daniels - apparently a brand Dave enjoyed - left a curious twinge in his throat. The top came off with relative ease, probably having been opened recently, though he never detected the smell on the other’s breath. Perhaps it was always masked under cigarettes. Not bothering to find a shot glass, Hal poured a dash into a coffee mug and sipped, swallowing the burn and closing his eyes. 

From across the kitchen he could see their novel on the table, a strange aspect of their relation that tied them together, whatever that relationship was. It was a lot of things, having taken a quick turn but not something he nor something David regretted. For a moment, Hal wondered if Dave felt remorseful for anything, then poured himself another shot. There’s no way David would run from Hal, though there was always sadness in his eyes, accompanied with a distant look, like the soldier was never fully present in the moment regardless of how grounded he seemed. Downed his cup, poured another. 

Picking up the book and flipping the pages, the distance between their bookmark and the end of the novel was no more than 30 pages. Bowman was almost at Saturn, at the end of his mission and the end of Hal’s story with David. The two of them had promised that once the book was finished Hal would leave, for each other’s safety and sanity. They had already extended their time together but intentionally postponing it any further wouldn’t be rational. Feelings were never meant to be involved; Hal was taking care of David to thank him for saving him, despite who Hal was or what he had done, and he was thankful to be able to help after recovering from almost triggering a nuclear war. That would always be in his past, as it had been in his bloodline for decades. The Emmerich curse, as he had called it when he first met Snake, despite how embarrassing  his state was at the time. Snake never judged him, David cared for him but the end was drawing near and they’d have to go back to some facade of normalcy. 

Another shot.

Rinsing the mug as best as he could and filling it with water, Hal slid down against the cupboard and sipped, closing his eyes and listening to the wind howl. The lights flickered again, the bulb over the living space then burnt out, making Hal jump in surprise. It had been at least eight hours since David had left, anxiety edging around his thoughts with the possibilities he was the reason Dave had disappeared. The immediate realization he had to pee interrupted his thoughts, clamoring up and ambling towards the bathroom, stumbling his way through his business and back to the kitchen, debating another shot but opts to finish his water and sit down for the time being, thoughts from earlier having evaporated and instead on a mission to sleep.

Unsure of how long he had been asleep, the dogs howled and woke him, standing to see what the fuss was about when he heard an extra heavy crunch in the snow, turning around to see the front door open, wind following with a loud whistle then cut off when David kicked the door shut. Greeting Hal in the form of a small nod, he then dropped a duffel bag onto the floor, Hal curious as to why it sounded so heavy.

“Sorry that took a while,” he apologizes, uncurling his scarf and dropping it behind him. “I made some connections and had to make sure everything was approved.”

“What do you mean?” Hal asked as he helped Dave out of his coat, tossing it just as ungracefully to the side.

“Ever been in a helicopter before?”

“Yeah, I had to take one to get to Shadow Moses.”

“Good. Tomorrow we’re taking one to Sleetmute.” Squatting down and unzipping the bag, he shows Hal it’s full of new clothes and a plane ticket - one-way. “You’re boarding a flight into Washington. I didn’t know where you were going from there, but I can set you up. Where’s a safe place you can stay?”

“I, uh, have some family in Europe.” David nods, tucking everything back into the bag and stands. “I’m sure I could stay with some old colleagues from MIT but the closest relatives are in England.” Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he mumbles an apology, David waving it away dismissively.

“Don’t worry. The further you are, the better. I’ll be going with you to the airport but I can’t go any further than that. I can pull a few more strings but it’s hard trying to avoid major airports. I doubt anyone will recognize your name but you can never be sure.”

“If I can get out to the east coast I can manage from there. It’ll be an abrupt family reunion but I can work it out.”

“Sounds good.”

“Can I ask why so sudden?” Hal asks, dropping his voice.

“Well,” pulling off his gloves and tucking them into his back pocket, David sits down and sighs, “the storm is coming soon and I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of weather. The sooner we can get you out of here before being stuck the better. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe elsewhere, especially with family and not on your own.”

“You’ll be on your own out here, and I feel like it’d be shitty to leave you like that.”

“I’m used to it.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

“Hal,” David sighs, taking Hal’s thin hands in his, “don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Your safety is more important.”

“I know,” Hal says quietly, “but I still worry.”

“We knew this was coming soon.” Rubbing Hal’s hands with his to warm them, he watches them intently in order to avoid Hal’s sad gaze. “It’s a little sudden, but it had to be this way.”

“I know,” he repeats, almost a whisper. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Pressing gentle kisses to Hal’s hands, David peers up.

“Have you been drinking?” 

“Does that really matter right now?” Snorting, Dave stands and tugs at Hal’s hand, pulling him in his direction.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. I need to be warmed up.” Wordlessly following, he helps David strip everything off, letting him leave to wash up while Hal shimmies down to his boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the blankets and facing towards where Dave lays, the latter quickly taking his spot and pulling Hal against his chest, muttering something into his hair Hal doesn’t catch, but feels the rumble of his chest when he speaks, voice smooth and rich, falling asleep easily.

At least, he typically would. Hal stared off into the darkness, and the way David was breathing gave away that he was still awake.

"Hey," Hal whispers, feeling Dave grunt in acknowledgement. "Can't sleep, either?"

"No." 

"You know... We still technically haven't finished the book." Letting out a low laugh, David shuffled a bit under the covers, turning onto his side.

"No, we haven't. Do you want to?" With an affirming nod, Dave flicks on the bedside light and stands, making his way out to the kitchen and returning with their book tucked under his arm, hands occupied with two glasses of water.

"Where did you leave off?" Dave asks, flipping through the pages. 

"The Star Gate." Taking the book from David's hands, Hal clears his throat and finds the passage he had stopped at. "'Somehow, he was not in the least surprised, not was he alarmed. On the contrary, he felt a sense of calm expectation, such as he had once known when the space medics had tested him with hallucinogenic drugs. The world around him was strange and wonderful, but there was nothing to fear. He had traveled these millions of miles in search of a mystery; and now, it seemed, the mystery was coming to him.'"

"'Then he waited, marshaling his thoughts and brooding over his still untested powers. For though he was master of the world, he was not quite sure what to do next. 

'But he would think of something.'" As David read the last words of the novel, he looked over to Hal, who had fallen asleep at some point towards the end of the story. The sun was beginning to peek through the blinds, Dave carefully sliding out of bed to make coffee and check on the dogs, following his usual schedule. When he came back inside, the coffee pot was missing about half of its contents, the shower water running; David decided not to join in fear he would never want to leave and instead gets dressed, checking through the contents of Hal's bag to make sure he would have enough to get through the long days he would have to spend traveling via last minute tickets through small airports.

The entire time he had been staying with David, Hal had mainly been wearing his clothes, and Dave doesn’t say anything when Hal stands with the duffel bag, donning one of his sweaters and a pair of jeans too big, fastened with a faded belt, waiting to leave. Fitting one of his nicer coats around Hal, he pulls a hat over his curly hair and smiles. 

“It’ll be warmer once you get out of Alaska. I’ve never been to England, so I don’t know what the weather is like this time of year. Keep everything.”

“Got it. Make sure you’re staying warm, too.” 

“I’ll try. Are you ready?” Nodding firmly, David ushers Hal out the door, locking it behind him and triple checking before inserting the keys into the snowmobile that they once shared what seemed like ages ago. Instinctively wrapping his arms around David’s waist, Hal pressed his cheek to the back of his coat to cut back wind resistance and closed his eyes, breathing in his scent.

They had skirted around the town at the base of the mountain and to a plateau of sorts, flat enough a helicopter could land and depart, boarding after greeting their pilot. Though he had flown multiple times before, it was not something Hal particularly enjoyed, David holding and squeezing his hand in a gentle, comforting notion, telling him something he doesn’t make out over the whir that echoed around them. 

Landing a safe distance away so as to not get alerted by the airport’s radar, they make the trek and stand outside the doors, Hal a little reluctant to enter. 

“You don’t want to miss your flight, do you?” David asks, though they both know Hal wouldn’t necessarily mind. “Go inside, you’ll be warmer in there.”

“Come with?” Hal requests, looking into David’s tired eyes, nodding and holding the door open, immediately met with a gush of warm air.

“There’s only one gate here, but it’s around the bend. I can’t go with you any further than this. You should get going.” Hal knew that standing around would seem pathetic, so he nodded in a not-so-reassuring way.

“Thank you for everything.” Glasses having fogged up by the change in temperature, David is glad he can’t see the expression the blue eyes may be making. “This time with you meant a lot.”

“Of course.” Wanting desperately to touch Hal in anyway, David instead stuck his free hand in his coat pockets, the other tight around the strap of the luggage. “It was the least I could do.”

“I guess this is where we say goodbye, huh?”

“I guess so.” A small, sad smile crosses both of their faces, mismatched in the way two puzzle pieces that look similar but don’t quite fit correctly.

“Goodbye, David.”

“Goodbye, Hal.” Handing over the bag he had been carrying, their fingers briefly touched, then Hal shifted the weight of his belongings and turned around without anything else he was ready to say.

“David,” Hal blurts suddenly. “I never really got to see you without your headband.” Pausing for a moment, David then barks out a laugh, Hal blushing with embarrassment.

“Were those going to be your last words?”

“May I see?” He asks, turning and crossing the small distance he had separated between the two of them. With a nod, David slid it over his head, Hal then brushing up the hair that covered his forehead and observed silently. After apparently having had his look, David promptly slips it back on and nods, knowingly. Pulling Hal close in a hug, they embrace for a moment too long, and when they step away Hal looks at Dave’s lips with curiosity, but neither of them show any sign of making a nice for a kiss, Hal then saying one last goodbye before turning on his heel, hoisting the bag up on his shoulder and starts towards the metal detector, a bored looking employee running his belongings down the conveyor belt. Hal never turns back around, no matter how long David waited, and when the scientist disappeared out of view he lingered longer than necessary before leaving himself, sharing a cigarette with his helicopter pilot before heading back home, silent the entire ride, staring idly out the frosted windows.

"Dave?" Hal's voice cuts through on Codec, David quick to answer the call as soon as he heard it ring. "We're boarding now. I don't know if this works like a cellphone, but I'll call you once we land, okay?"

"Please do." The call cuts immediately after, Dave wishing he had shaved beforehand and made himself a little more presentable for the last time he and Hal would see each other, but dismisses it and steps into the shower, feeling like it was much larger than he remembered when it was just him.

Warming up the stew he had made, David waited patiently to hear from Hal again, though nothing came through for almost a worrisome amount of time.

“David?” 

“I’m here.”

“Oh, good. I don’t know what the maximum distance for the Codec to still work is. I’m sorry I forgot to call; I’ve landed and the next flight is about to board. I took a quick nap during the layover but it hurt my neck,” he laughs bitterly, rubbing at his sore muscles.

“This flight will take you to Yakima, where someone will meet you and take care of you from there. After that, your next flight isn’t until tomorrow, and in the meantime I want you to call who you need to and we’ll do what needs to be done to get you back home.”

“Okay.” There’s a beat of silence, Dave almost wondering if the Codec officially died out. “I don’t know when I can talk to you again.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet soon again.” There’s an emptiness to his voice that doesn’t fit such a Hollywood romcom line that Hal can’t help but know that’s not true. He ignores it. 

“I’ll see you then," Hal lies, throat tight. "Goodbye, David.”

“Bye, Hal,” and the call ends, David finishing off the bottle of whisky in one fluid gulp.

Within the first couple months of moving to England, Hal had his paperwork updated and picked up a room in a flat with a stranger, starting up a part time job to pay rent. His family helped and didn’t ask many questions, but Hal tried to distance himself as soon as possible. He never heard anything back from David, and every time he attempted to search for Solid Snake, FOXHOUND or anything otherwise related to the Shadow Moses Incident his laptop would crash; although, one day he received an encrypted email from an alias he later pieced together was Nastasha Romanenko, having traced his signal from his searches. They spoke briefly about the time between that night in February - albeit Hal was withholding more intimate details - and where they stood now. After exchanging details about the incident and patching the missing pieces Nastasha was lacking, she agreed to meet with Hal in person to go over her manuscript. 

At a hotel in Virginia they met, sharing a room with an awkward promise of upholding strictly professional boundaries, though her chain smoking habit as she worked began forming a pit in Hal’s stomach. Despite his attempt at staying collected, he knew disappointment was evident in his expression when Nastasha told him she had not heard from Snake since that day, though she added that Roy Campbell remained a close contact and Mei Ling an avid converser; Dr. Hunter did not seem part of the equation, understandably so. The name caused a scowl to stain Nastasha’s face that Hal didn’t pursue. 

“Have you not tried contacting Snake?” Nastasha asked, snubbing out another cigarette, piling up on her ashtray. 

“No. I never learned his address or even what town he was living in. It felt like he had built a cabin in the mountains and the closest town had no defining features I bothered remembering. I took a plane out of Sleetmute but I couldn’t tell you how close that was.”

“Campbell would know, wouldn’t he?” Blinking, Hal looks up, a lit cigarette between his fingers, a habit he’d picked up when he was stressed or lonely, typically both. “I’m assuming that was the location he was in during the time of the incident.”

“There’s no guarantee he stayed there after I left.”

“If you saw it from an aerial map, would you recognize it?” Taking a long drag, Hal blows smoke away from them and ponders.

“Maybe, but I think if he wanted to keep in contact he would. It’d feel wrong seeking him out without his consent.”

“Have you ever considered he’s been looking for you? You never left him an address and you had moved anyway, correct?” Lighting another cigarette, Nastasha watches Hal’s reaction closely. “Snake is one call away, Dr. Emmerich.”

“No,” Hal concludes after a long pause, finishing off a smoke and pushing his glasses up with an air of finality. “I can’t. Not right now.”

Nodding, Nastasha closes her notebook and uncrosses her legs. 

“I’m going to meet a client.” And with that she stands, collects her minute belongings and heads out the door, Hal immediately lights another smoke and makes a mental note to buy more.

“Dr. Emmerich,” Nastasha calls, waving him down. Sitting across from her at a booth in a small cafe, she hands him a menu, drinking from her latte, the sweet smell of cinnamon inviting. After the waitress comes to take his order, Nastasha places a piece of paper folded in half on the table and slides it to the middle.

“On this paper is Snake’s current location.” Hal swallows. “It is not his exact address, but we have confirmed he is in this area. What you do with this information is no one’s business but yourself. You can tear it up, if you’d like.” Sitting back, the woman takes another sip. “Forgive me for even offering it to you, after you had declined. I just wanted to let you know it’s available, if you wish.”

Hal stares at the paper for a long time, Nastasha’s handwriting small and neat enough he can’t make it out. He can feel her eyes on him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Looking up, he slides the paper towards him, folds it in half twice and tucks it into his coat pocket, pointedly not looking at it. An odd sense of peace crosses Nastasha’s otherwise stoic face, pulling out her clutch and placing money on the table. 

“Unless you have any other business with me, I intend on returning home tomorrow. I have an appointment with a publisher back in California.”

“Good luck - I look forward to seeing your book published.”

“If only it were that easy,” she exhales, finishes her drink and stands. “Are you able to make it back to England?”

“Yeah. I wanted to do a little sightseeing on my way back. My family used to vacation near here. I’ll let you know when I get home.”

“I’ll do the same.” Pulling out a pen and taking a napkin, she writes the phone number to her office and departs with an almost motherly pat to the back of Hal’s hand. Though he knew they would still be sharing the same hotel room for another night and he would attempt to keep in regular contact with her, when she walked away he felt an intense rush of vulnerability; the same kind he had felt after David left him at the airport. Abrupt loneliness, abandonment. After double-checking he had the piece of paper he leaves before the waitress can return with his order, wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk to clear his head.

A couple more months pass before Hal opens up the piece of paper, having kept it tucked in his wallet for safe keeping. All that’s written on it is small cursive that says Solid Snake and six digits - a zip code. Hal laughs; after having spent months avoiding knowing David’s address it turned out to be so inexplicably vague, but that was just about what he expected.

Setting out enough money to cover the rest of his rent for remainder of their lease, Hal leaves an envelope outside his flatmate’s door, including a small note about his departure, packing up his belongings and booking a ticket back to the States.

The chirp of his Codec startled David awake, scaring his dogs into a howling chorus in the process. By the time he gets them to settle down the ringing has stopped, though Dave missed what the frequency was. Stretching out his back from having fallen asleep on the couch, he pops the cap to another beer and takes a swig, glancing at the clock. 3:42am. 

A second series of rings, David answering with a ‘hello?’, voice groggy with sleep. Only a few people knew his number, none of them having contacted him in months. How long had it been? In his ear comes a voice, the soldier not fully comprehending what was being said before words turned into sentences with a specific voice, accompanied by a familiar yet almost forgotten clarity of enunciating when reading aloud.

“‘The time has come,’ said Dr. Dimitri Moisevitch to his old friend Heywood Floyd, ‘to talk of many things. Of shoes and spaceships and sealing wax, but mostly of monoliths and malfunctioning computers. ’”

Having cautiously made his way to the front door, David opens it to see Dr. Hal Emmerich standing on his front steps, bags dropped into the snow with a crisp, new novel in his gloved fingers. Before he can read anymore Dave pulls him into a hug, cold and wet from the snow but coupled with the warmth he felt in his blood and from Hal’s skin, hair cut and new glasses framing his face, filled out from eating and an overall brighter appearance, like a piece of sunlight shining through the misty clouds of David’s cabin, filled with the smell of cigarettes and liquor. Hal doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, stumbling his way into the home, dragging his bag in behind him - the same one Dave bought months ago. Perhaps it was the alcohol in his system or the way he was still partially asleep, but after shutting the door closed behind them he sinks to the floor, taking Hal with him and they hold each other, silently, an odd wave of emotion overcoming the both of them at their reunion. 

“I’ve missed you,” Hal murmurs, David nodding in agreement, not trusting the stability of his voice. Nola, having been watching patiently, comes over to curiously sniff at Hal, then licks his face at the familiarity of his scent. Shooing her away, Hal cups David’s face in his hands, beard and hair overgrown, natural color showing from neglect of keeping up with the dye and smashes their lips together, smile wide on his chapped lips after having walked around in search of a cabin. Thank God he found David easily as he did, the only cabin without a fireplace going and the barking of huskies he’d missed.

“Welcome back,” David whispers against Hal’s warm mouth, then presses their foreheads together and brushes the back of his fingers against Hal’s cheeks. “I was hoping you’d return.”

“There are other books we need to read, you know,” Hal quips, David laughing and pulling him in for more kisses, not wanting to let go a second time.