Work Text:
In the middle of nowhere in the American countryside, was silence. It had been nothing but for five minutes now. That had been a great wave of comfort over Hal—it told him he’d grown great enough as a driver to escape three vans on their trail.
In the middle of that countryside was an abandoned sanatorium that David and Hal had used as a base of operations for the past week. Enclosed in the dark wood walls and the mottled tile floors were endless stacks of computers, gear, food. All they had to themselves was an old office without its furniture, now turned into their bedroom. They had a shared air mattress and blankets. They were surrounded by three states that supposedly had Metal Gears being assembled within them. Of course, Philanthropy was to see to their duties.
But sometimes people get caught. Sometimes the back of their car would be stained crimson, with David struggling to keep pressure through their bumpy ride back home. Hal learned in his years with David that so much blood could come from such a tiny hole. Sometimes David would end up on that half-deflated mattress, Hal with a solar-powered lantern by the man’s right arm as he tended to a bullet wound right through the bicep. Next to him was a blue duffel bag stuffed full of medical supplies—a total jumble of things, not the safest of arrangements but neither had the time to organize such things as of late.
David’s groans echoed up to the high ceilings of the room, almost ghastly in its tone. The air smelled like mildew.
“Just hang tight there, Dave,” Hal said. “Missed anything vital. You’re fine.” In his hand was a long pair of forceps, like a pair of scissors had stretched itself thin. Between its rounded tip was a small bullet still drenched in red. He winced. He had become an adequate surgeon against his will, yet that didn’t stop the gore from making his stomach drop. In turn, it fell to the floor, the metal clanging against the porcelain. “Jesus…”
“Be careful.” David grimaced as he tried to shift the rest of his body, but he was left biting down hard on his bottom lip as his wounded arm tried to follow suit. He was drenched in sweat. He wasn’t near death, yet he looked like death all the same. Pale. Awful. At least the wound in his arm wasn’t bleeding like hell anymore. “Shit–”
“I told you not to move earlier,” Hal hissed with annoyance he couldn’t hinder. But he took a deep breath and shook his head, having to hammer through his mind that he himself wasn’t the one suffering then and there. “Can you move your arm?”
“You just took a damn bullet out of it, Hal–”
“The other arm,” Hal was quick to correct as he rushed to fill a needleless syringe with saline solution. “There’s a… small towel next to you.” He glanced up to confirm the worn, blue thing wasn’t lost in the mess of it all. “Wipe yourself up. You’re sweating like crazy.”
It was while David wiped himself down that Hal rushed to push that saline solution into the wound. Though it wouldn’t burn like alcohol, he still knew that it would be an odd sensation, and it was there David squirmed on even as he wiped himself down.
“We’ll be patching this up real soon, Dave,” Hal said as he watched the saline solution run out of the wound, turning the rich ruby liquid into a thin mixture that reminded him of tomato juice. “It won’t take much longer.”
Hal usually didn’t need to reassure David this much. No, there was a time where David would keep his mouth shut and let Hal do whatever was needed. And this was a time when Hal’s medical expertise was near zero.
Though too there was apprehension with bringing it up, Hal was certain about one thing: David had been changing lately.
There was a level of objectivity that had to be maintained in their everyday conversation, Hal knew. He would let small comments slip: “You’re tired already?” or “That wound hasn’t healed it?” came up often lately. He’d noticed the sprouts of greying hairs atop David’s head, the somewhat dulling senses, the growing frailty. Pain lingered for longer. David wasn’t changing at a normal rate.
Hal knew in his heart that David felt it too. If the effects were visible, there would be undeniable internal effects; to assume otherwise would be foolish. Yet the objective part of Hal’s mind seemed to shut off at the thought of even acknowledging it. Though it wasn’t out of fear of how David felt—God knows how many disagreements they’d ended up in over those odd comments here and there. He swore that David himself had uttered a few, “I’m getting too damn old,” on those days where he’d push to overcompensate. And always after Hal hissed at him to stop pushing himself too hard, too.
No, Hal despised the mere possibility of these peculiar changes.
David’s origins were not a mystery to Hal. He knew how the man came to be born—David was a scientific peculiarity the way that Hal had been a test subject himself. And truth be told, for the longest time, he never considered the possibility of David morphing before his very eyes. He was flesh and blood the way he was; why must this order in nature change?
Yet there he was, covering the open bullet wound with gauze, knowing it wouldn’t quite heal the same way it used to. David groaned as his hand rose to touch the thick layer of thin cotton, only for Hal to slap his hand away.
“Don’t,” Hal said, his words coming out severe. He had grown so cross with David, it nearly drove him mad; he could still recall when he could barely look the man in the eye.
“Mm.” David took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he dropped his hand to the side. He tossed the towel aside, his skin dry from his wipe downs. “Thank you, Hal.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Hal said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if… well–”
“I won’t die from one bullet.”
“God knows you almost have.” Hal paused as he turned down the lantern. Now the warm light barely lit their faces; they weren’t by any openings, but it was better safe than sorry. His lips trembled, but the words he wished to utter never came through: One too many times.
Silence.
“Hm.” David reached aside for a packet of cigarettes stuffed under a blanket, one half of his body still as the other fumbled around. “That’s how it is, isn’t it?”
Hal’s first instinct was to roll his eyes as he watched David’s weak, one-handed attempts of grabbing a cigarette. It was almost pathetic, like an infant trying to reach for its pacifier as he shook the cardboard, trying to shoot the cigarette between his lips. But even then, Hal couldn’t help the thought that maybe David needed it more than he realized.
For once he turned a blind eye to the vice—a moral flub, he acknowledged that much. But his lips were sealed as he placed what he could into the duffel bag. “Rest up, Dave,” Hal said.
“You only say that after debriefings–”
“We can worry about debriefing after you take a nap, or sleep, or…” Hal huffed. “We have a day maximum here before we scram. I wish you could stay here for longer, but we’ll have to move onto other leads for now.”
“Other leads?”
Hal shook his head. David knew better; he never knew why the guy kept asking questions. But he spoke as if he were speaking to a rookie on the job: “We don’t want to get caught in the same place twice.”
David didn’t respond further as he finally got the cigarette between his lips. Hal stood up to hunch over his laptop, wanting to look over what intel they had at least managed to collect—maps and photographs and audio recordings and the works. It hit two birds with one stone: productivity, and not having to lose his mind over David.
But an hour passed. Hal hadn’t been able to work, his bright screen a mere blast of light into his eyes and nothing more. David hadn’t been snoring away in the other room like he hoped. All the blurry images and gathered documentation from their recent run-in morphed into unintelligible pixels when Hal thought he was getting somewhere. Despite his efforts, Hal was well aware it had become an exercise in futility and there came the realization it may be best to check in David. Then he yawned. In his mind, he corrected himself: it may have been best to rest with David. He closed his laptop, and the room went dim.
As Hal entered their makeshift bedroom, David’s words hit hard and fast like a freight train: “Are you done pretending?”
Hal’s cheeks warmed from the question. Though the immediate reaction should’ve been a no, out came a, “What?” Only after he’d grown frazzled could he smell the lingering scent of smoke in the room.
Though the lamp next to David had been dimmed, his face was still clear as he turned towards Hal. He seemed seconds away from falling asleep, but he still repeated himself: “I said are you done pretending?”
And Hal wanted to play the fool. He wanted this to go nowhere and let his exhaustion hit, giving him a few hours of respite. But it wasn’t any use; David knew the type of man he was, and that question hit right at the core of him. He sighed as he made his way towards the bed. “Yeah, I am,” he said as he dropped onto the free spot bed next to David. He felt the mattress below them deflate just a tad more, and he chuckled. “Oh man…”
David laughed as well as he snuggled up towards Otacon. “I feel it, Hal.”
Hal chewed on his bottom lip before nodding. “I know… that you do.” He slipped an arm underneath David, holding him closer. He’d gone past the point of caring about the numbness that came afterward. It was a reminder that David was still with him, at least.
David settled his weight atop Hal’s arm, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “But it’s not your fault, you know that.”
“I know it’s not.”
“So don’t let it kill you,” David said, his tone as gentle as it could be in the fatigue setting in. “I know it’s hard, but–”
“You shouldn’t be the one giving me reassurances like this, Dave,” Hal sighed as he pressed a kiss to his warm forehead. “You’re the one with the problem here–”
“And who’s still here with me anyway? Who’s going to spend hours and hours trying to make sure that I’ll be fine?” David was quick to respond, and that shut Hal up. “That’s what I thought.”
The response made Hal smile and sink down into the awful mattress, closing his eyes as if he’d heard the most reassuring thing in the world. With all they’d been through, there was no such thing as unneeded neuroticism with all they had to fret over. Yet it was still difficult for Hal to quell his fears at times—sometimes, he found he was still the same wreck in his teenage years.
But sometimes all it took were David’s words to remind him that he tried. He was way past the time where he’d stew in the pressure of it all. No, he was better than that.
They were better than that.
The lamp had run out of battery, leaving the pair in the inky embrace of darkness. But that didn’t matter; they’d both fallen asleep in each other’s arms long before then.
The countryside remained silent for them.