Work Text:
It had been six months since David died.
Everything after finding David’s corpse had been a blur. There were few things that stuck to his mind: he could recall excusing Sunny from school for a week after watching her cry harder than he could bear. He could recall the haze his mind was in after reading hundreds of documents trying to arrange what he could for David. He could recall the pure disbelief to everyone he called after breaking the news with shaky breaths.
The whole time, Hal kept himself stone-faced; not because he had to, but he found it was difficult to cry.
The wake right before the funeral was when clarity of the memories flashed back. There David was in the middle of a small funeral home room, all embalmed in a dark mahogany coffin he’d chosen himself ages ago behind Hal’s back. He wore an old black suit. As Hal forced himself to take in the sight of how he lay atop a white pillow, eyes closed, face relaxed, hands over his chest, he couldn’t help but think that this was the most at peace he’d ever seen the man.
There hadn’t been many in David’s life that could visit anymore. Colonel Campbell couldn’t drop by, with age catching up to his body; he’d sent a grand flower display in his place. Drebin—busy with business—made the effort to call Hal and tell him sorry, and that David was a good man. Meryl and Johnny came; the former would stand in silence for an eternity in front of David's coffin, the latter would sit and smile a solemn smile as Sunny went on telling stories about the short while they lived a somewhat normal familial life. Rosemary and Raiden—though they’d moved out to New Zealand by then—flew out to utter their condolences, but had to leave not long after because they couldn’t bring John along (the specifics didn’t matter). It was Mei Ling who ended up sitting with Hal. She reminisced with him about the wild times they’d had together, and she laughed through tears about how time went by too fast.
The funeral proper was—in a sense—nothing special either. David had asked for nothing grandiose, don’t do anything flashy, just let him be buried in the small cemetery a quick drive from their house; and so, Hal did as the man asked.
There they were: a small group surrounding a small plot in the cemetery. There were some neighbors David and Hal had met when they moved to Alaska. Those close to them were few: Mei Ling, Meryl, and Johnny. There they stood in all black, Hal standing in front, hand gripping Sunny’s as he stared at the coffin get lowered into the ground. The sound of constant sniffles filled his ears. He could feel Sunny reach into his pocket to grab his handkerchief. He trembled, and trembled, and trembled–
It was only then that he let himself burst into tears. He fell to his knees atop dead grass, and wailed out his pain like an inconsolable child. He never shied from his sadness, but it was the first time it brought on a throbbing headache and made his muscles feel like they’d fall apart. Feverish. The soft cotton of his shirt seared his skin. He hid his face in his hands, wetting his palms and stinging them with hot tears but he didn’t try to muffle his near screams. Someone to his left murmured reassurances, someone to his right rubbed his back in an attempt at comfort—he couldn’t tell who either were.
All his mind let him remember was how Meryl had to drive him and Sunny home, and how his throat had gone hoarse that it was difficult to swallow anything, and how the harshest of exhaustion overcame him when he awoke the next day.
Sunny had come into their–his room that morning, insistent that she wanted to go to school despite what had just occurred. He went on helping her get ready for the day. When she left home for the day, he fell face first into a pillow and continued the sobbing fit he began yesterday.
Hal spent many days in that cycle. Kept up a facade for Sunny, then wallowed in misery after. He hadn’t been caught. It would be a shame if he would be; he would always tell Sunny that it was okay to be honest about her feelings—and she was, thank goodness—but he didn’t want to burden such a sweet child with his misery. Besides, it lessened a bit more as Hal tried to bring himself back to normalcy.
Did a lot of freelance programming work. Went out to meet with the neighbors for a drink. Started watching more anime again. Got into some jogging club. Failed to get into pottery. Successfully got into crocheting. Started a new Gunpla collection after his old one had to be abandoned during his time with Philanthropy. Called up Mei Ling and Meryl and the like to talk about whatever life brought about. Brought Sunny out to do all sorts of things in town on the weekends.
But it had all been done with a pit in his stomach.
Six months later, Sunny hadn’t necessarily moved on, but she’d clearly lightened up. Her new friends at school helped her get through it all, she told him. He smiled and ruffled her hair and told her she was lucky.
Six months later, it was only then Hal realized how he had been grieving for too long.
At least he thought so.
The realization hit when he remembered telling himself at some point that he’d clean up David’s things. Keep them stored in that empty basement of theirs. Not because he wanted to, but because David had said something during one late night drunken conversation: Look, when I croak, either throw away all my shit or keep it out of sight… Hal was taken aback, but David went on speaking, with a conviction that made Hal sure it wasn’t just the alcohol: No, look! I’m serious! ‘Cause I don’t wanna be haunting you, Otacon.
Then Hal scolded him for using the term ‘croaked’. It’s too, um, unsavory, he murmured as David tried to give him kisses on the cheek as an apology.
Well, it was about time he fulfilled another one of David’s wishes. All on some random Sunday.
Sunny had gone off to summer camp; she was determined to go, because it was one of those things she knew about but had never done. He hesitated, but she was adamant on going. So off she went, gone for a week now and wouldn’t be back for another two. Off doing programming, and swimming, and whatever else the pamphlet promised she’d be doing. With the exception of some recent road work that began, it was the most quiet their quaint home had ever been.
It was a small places, two floors—all rustic, inside and out, David’s dream home that Hal and Sunny had picked out themselves. Only two spaces hadn’t been all cabin-esque and warm: Sunny’s bedroom, all lavender, as per her request; and David and his’s bedroom, with deep blue walls and barely a touch of decor—the former being because of Hal’s own insistence, and the latter because they just never got around to it.
The only decoration that graced their room were two photo frames on the nightstand: one held a picture of the three of them, with Sunny when she’d first gotten used to the Nomad; the other was a picture of them mere days after they reconnected all that time ago.
Young and dumb, David would always quip when he saw it.
So there Hal stood in the middle of their bedroom. He was still disheveled after waking up: in one of his old Astroboy t-shirts and his own sweatpants. The curtains were open, but it was a particularly cloudy day. Anything that entered the window turned the room more grey. Beside him was a large cardboard box. Not one of the ones David used during espionage, but one of the many he hoarded in their garage. Didn’t know why they kept so many, but David had been insistent.
Atop their dresser was a small CD player, now blasting one of the few CDs that David owned: The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds album. That was the last band Hal expected David to like, yet now he had Wouldn’t It Be Nice’s sentimentality filling the room. He had other albums by artists like The Carpenters and Dionne Warwick. Maybe he’d listen to them later.
He looked between the closet and the dresser, not sure where he should start. Ultimately, he chose the closet. He’d be keeping most of David’s shirts in the dresser for himself, anyway.
Their built-in closet wasn’t the largest, meaning their nicer clothes were compact. To open it was one thing. To stare at David’s clothes for one last time hanging up there was another. Just feeling over the fabric made him wince. As he touched one polo shirt, it brought to mind the time David wore it to a parent-teacher conference. Hal clung to David, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on his shoes. He smashed his face into his lower back, telling him to stay a while longer with him in bed. Snuggle for a while. And he did. To the point Sunny had to drag David out of that bed himself.
Hal took a deep breath when he realized tears had pricked at his eyes.
It wasn’t long before he had David’s button-ups and slacks all folded atop the black of their bedsheets. Perfect, neat stacks.
Formal clothes already set aside, there was that one thing that took up too much space: a black luggage bag that had gone through hell. He’d nagged David about the damn thing before, how it took up precious storage space for another shoe rack (they didn’t need one). David himself said he didn’t want to travel much further than Alaska. Yet David stuffed it in there, and now Hal could finally pull it out without getting grumbled at. He dragged it out, eyes going wide when he noticed it had heft to it.
He picked it up and tossed it onto the bed. No locks. He unzipped the bag and flung it open.
He couldn’t say he was surprised at its contents. More so amused.
There was all of David’s gear, haphazardly stuffed in. Most of the space had been taken up by sneaking suits, including every iteration that Hal had ever made, even the ones that had been torn or slashed open. There was a tranquilizer gun with a suppressor that had seen better days. No bullets when Hal checked. More empty tranquilizing weapons shoved in between. Midway through digging, he found a pack of cigarettes that had been crushed underneath the weight of prior items. The box only had half of its cigarettes left—must have been the last box David had ever touched.
Of course, Hal couldn’t deny how just the sight of every item brought him back to more complicated times. But it wasn’t just the bigger incidents like Shadow Moses or the Tanker Incident. It was everything in between, the moments they hesitated to call downtime: Hal measuring David like a seamstress for each new sneaking suit, them huddled together and hiding in the back of every vehicle under the sun as travel, those hours of strategizing that verged on becoming arguments in those dingy spaces they had to temporarily call home. A bittersweet smile spread across his lips; he wouldn’t exactly say he’d return to those times, but it was nice having to go through all that turmoil with David by his side.
He kept digging. Through the sneaking suits. Through the weapons.
What he found underneath made him blink.
Underneath was a piece of paper folded up. Shoved haphazardly underneath, with its corners folded inward. It was thin paper, with some of the dark ink peeking through the sheet. Yet he didn’t try to read it yet. Instead, he picked it up with furrowed eyebrows and a shaking hand. Nothing was written on its exterior. It was blank. Perhaps it was some list, something wholly unimportant, yet…
Hal glance shifted to the pile of sneaking suits and weapons he had lying on the bed. He should’ve started folding them up now, so he wouldn’t have anything to worry about in the evening.
But maybe that could wait.
He found himself on their back porch, a small space that overlooked a smaller garden that everyone worked together to keep up. Most of what had been grown were herbs—basil, parsley, sage. A small corner with flowers–well, supposed to be flowers. The only thing that had survived so far in their attempts were white lilies that adorned one corner, something David had worked hard to keep alive and now Hal was pushing on with its upkeep…
Hal sat on the steps of the porch. In one hand was the paper that he played with in his grasp. In the other was a cigarette between his fingers—strawberry flavored—that he mindlessly took a drag of before tapping the ashes into a nearby ashtray. It was a recently developed vice. Never did it around Sunny, always did it outside. Even he didn’t know why he’d taken it up, yet there he was, letting the artificially sweet smoke enter his lungs.
He stared down at the paper. He gulped as the thought of what he could read made his head throb. Maybe his imagination was overactive, but for all he knew, the paper could’ve been utterly full of admissions of pure turmoil. An awful truth never before admitted. Oh god, it wanted to make Hal throw up.
He should just get it over with.
Hal put his cigarette down to unfold the paper in a rush. Other than fold lines that struck through some words and wrinkles that showed from the weight of other belongings, it was utterly clean. There was David’s handwriting with its clean lines, everything carefully written.
07/13/2015
To Hal:
A few days before he died.
The first few lines made him hold his breath.
Hal, I know I’m going to give you this. Or maybe you’re going to find this thing at some point. Knowing me, it’s going to be the latter.
Hal gulped. He went back to smoking, his puffs more desperate than anything—some miserable attempt to not sink into the floorboards as he slightly began to shake. As he read over each word, it was like David was next to him, whispering every word in his ear.
I know I never shut up about how much I appreciate you. Part of me thinks you’re sick of it. But I feel like I could never put into words what I feel for you. Trying to put it into action is hard, too. I mean, I can kiss you all I want, or lie down on top of you, or call you beautiful until you’re telling me to shut up. But I don’t think it’s enough. Nothing is enough for someone as good as you. So now, I’m writing this down, and I don’t know when you’ll see it, and I don’t know where I’m going to put it yet. But I sure hope I don’t sound like an idiot here.
Living in this body’s been hard not just on me, but on you too. I know bringing me to check-ups is a pain in the ass, and you always have to remind me to drink the million meds I need just so my body won’t hurt. So I really want to thank you for taking care of me. I’m surprised you haven’t shipped me out to an old folk’s home. Actually, I’m surprised you aren’t sick of me in general.
I love you, Hal. I mean that’s obvious. But I truly, deeply do. I’ve had a lot of people come in and out of my life, and you’re the one that’s stuck to me the longest. I know why you put up with me before because we had our work, the Philanthropy stuff. But now you don’t need to stay and yet here you are, being the person I wake up to every morning and spending the rest of my days with me, and it’s more than I could ever ask for. It makes everything we’ve done feel more worth it than it already is.
I guess I could say that I feel at peace here, being in Alaska with Sunny and you. You know my family history is a mess downright disaster. The earlier days with Sunny weren’t perfect for any of us, I know that. But I’m glad we’re giving her this… joy that we weren’t allowed. I can tell she’s happier now that she’s off that plane. I can tell you’re happier now, too. I’m glad we all are.
There’s this weird hunch in me that’s been telling me I’ll be gone soon. You tell me my hunches are always right, but even knowing that, I’m not really scared for myself. I think I’ve done all I can in this life. I guess I’ve just been worrying more about you and Sunny than myself. You two can take care of yourselves, but I know things won’t be the same. I know the loss you’ve been through. I’m sorry for all your pain. I’m sorry for any that may come from my death.
So if you see this and I’m gone: thank you. For making the rest of my time bearable. For making me feel loved. I wouldn't spend my time in Alaska any other way.
Forever and always yours,
David
Hal gripped the paper tight, crumpling it in his grasp.
The tears that slipped past his eyes dripped onto the page and smeared the ink.