Chapter Text
It was always gloomy in Fort Reech—the Emmerichs learned that the hard way upon moving in, trading their Nomad, that old warship, for a small townhouse. The warship had seen better days, and the constant flight was taking its physical toll on their bodies. But even then, Fort Reech was less a proper town, and rather an attempt to create one, with a dwindling population and sparse homes in its constant chill. It was a space sandwiched by nature, mountains not far from its outskirts. Their home was on the edge of the town by a highway; despite that, their lives were never disrupted by the constant blare of vehicles. No one ever drove by.
Perhaps there had been a time it was nice and cozy, judging from an old brochure Sunny found in a gas station. David and Hal noted the wooden buildings among the concrete ones, structures that seemed homelier, the type that drew in people from nearby cities as a vacation spot. But now neighbors kept disappearing, one after another, off to bigger cities. It was the rare town that still had its mom and pop stores, though those began to pull back too.
Everything was beginning to disconnect.
“Why can’t we see Mei Ling anymore? Meryl? Johnny?” Sunny asked David the last time they would board the Nomad. She stared up at David with furrowed eyebrows, oblivious to how Hal winced at the question as he typed away on his computer. They both knew she wasn’t a fool, well-aware of their wanted status. But they knew the concept of breaking away was still beyond her reach.
David took a deep breath. He didn’t know what else to say: “It’s for the best.”
“I don’t think it’s for the best,” Sunny said with a huff.
But it was that disconnection that they needed. They still hadn’t been pardoned—no matter how hard they tried to prove the accusations were bogus. Trying to go through the motions with law and order meant nothing if the government was so insistent on keeping a red dot between their eyes. The label ‘terrorist’ was an eternal scourge to their names. So they changed identities. So they stopped speaking to everyone they knew—they had to, really. So they were here in the only town in the universe that would allow them rest. They still flinched at the sound of sirens.
Moving in wasn’t hard. Being on the Nomad meant there were few trivial belongings to fret about.
It was Hal that had the most, with all of his equipment and machines. He had a few old items of Emma’s. A stack of his letters from Strangelove, his mother.
Sunny had a few toys. Her own PC. A few photographs of Olga from a time she wasn’t conscious yet.
David didn’t bring anything.
Though the modernity of all they owned stuck out within their space: one that seemed straight out of the seventies, all sequoia and warm tones. But there wasn’t a touch of decoration. The layout was simple: a living room right by the entrance, a kitchen across it, a dining room, a bathroom in the corner. The second floor had its own bathroom, and four rooms that transformed into two bedrooms and two offices. Sunny had one of the smaller rooms, and she savored every inch of it. David and Hal agreed on one thing: this place was too big for them. Or perhaps that past decade of never having a true home had finally caught up to them—neither cared to admit that.
Once they’d settled in, old photographs on the walls of family (Emma, Master Miller, Olga, the works) serving as their only decoration, the three agreed it would become more of a home later on. They fulfilled their roles: Sunny attended a nearby public school. She was ahead of the class, almost to a comical degree. Hal did odd hacking jobs for income. He never thought he’d be their breadwinner, but his skillset made it so that he could make a year’s expenses in a month. David was made to rest—he wanted to work, but Hal and Sunny insisted he focused on leisure activities. All he could do was try new hobbies, the only consistent part of his life being sitting on their small porch’s stairs during the afternoon.
When they weren’t doing whatever tasks life entailed on them, they were a normal family. They drove a beat-up, silver car. They bought groceries at a small, local store. They went out to the movies. They went out to eat. Sometimes Hal and David would go out hiking or play whatever the sport of the month was for David, much to Hal’s dismay. Sunny had her friends. Hal and David had a few themselves. Their friends were all well-adjusted humans. The three of them had a collective admission that they would never let come to light: We don’t belong here.
It had been a little over a year since then. None of them had adapted to their new roles the way they wished to. Sunny, restless, was well ahead of her peers. With hesitation, Hal had taken up an old colleague’s offer to have her working at Solis Space & Aeronautics in Colorado. David was opposed at first, transforming a small conversation into a full-blown argument. But then he relented when he noticed Sunny’s wide-eyed excitement at the offer. She’d only been gone a month. And though they worried, Hal’s colleague had noted that Sunny seemed brighter in every way where she worked. They promised to visit her as soon as they could; it wasn’t their schedule that interfered, but rather hers.
Now it was just Hal and Snake and their routines. In the morning, work for Hal, hobbies for David. In the afternoon, errands and a quick break on the porch. In the evening, wind-down and who knew else. The honeymoon period of their lives had long been over, but that hadn’t meant they were merely going through the motions. In the evenings, they sought out one another. They still snuggled up against one another in their sleep. They still made love when the rest of the day hadn’t drained them.
If he hadn’t cared, Hal wouldn’t have stayed with David, whose body hadn’t stopped its relentless change. In the past year, he had aged with an additional five, maybe more as Hal was the only one capable of any type of analysis. But Hal made a promise and David acquiesced to all that promise entailed.
And though David persisted, he still wondered why this life had been the one he’d been destined to lead. Why had his consciousness been inserted into a science experiment, one that would bring all to a close much too early? He swore he’d resigned himself to the concept of death. But to know so many still cared, had cared for him seemed to fuel his body that he swore should’ve given up long ago. Hal and Sunny were there, of course. But then he’d hear how Meryl and Johnny still tried to send messages that Hal would relay but delete with no response. Raiden—no, Jack and Rose tried to contact them through the Codec at points, each time having to be ignored. There was the odd postcard from Drebin that had to be burnt. David knew he still had time left. Even if his body said otherwise.
It was the worst truth of all: David didn't have the body he used to have. His seeming addiction to sports dissipated once Sunny had left, as there was muscle loss that Hal couldn’t comprehend with his rudimentary analysis. But David didn’t need to be hooked up to machines to notice how he couldn’t carry as many of the groceries, how he ached with the most minute of activities. Exercise hadn’t helped; no, it merely seemed to hinder him further, worsening the rust on his hinges. Though always wrapped up in layers, the cold wasn’t kind to his joints. He always dropped his keys. He often missed a step on the stairs.
Yet he persisted, even with his own body’s reservations. At least he stopped coughing now that smoking wasn’t all he did in his free time. Despite that, he was surprised he’d even made it this far now. The lessened movement didn’t take away his focus on healthy eating (he’d become head chef of the house six months into their settling in). He stopped smoking cigarettes, opting for flavored toothpicks that Hal had been pushing on him for forever. He slept nine hours a night now. He still went on walks. He enjoyed how his habits made Hal grin, and how pleased Sunny sounded when he updated her on every little thing he’d do for his health’s sake.
But how long would it last?
David didn’t know. But he’d accepted the end would come at some point. Sometimes he snuck a cigarette at a nearby gas station when he knew Hal was too busy to check up on him. There were times he wondered what would have happened if he had blown his brains out with Big Boss watching.
Hal still couldn’t believe that David could even die.
This was a legend in the flesh, one that had shaken Hal to his core upon their first meeting. Yet there he was, withering away day after day. He adored David more than he could show in his words, actions. Yet there was his heart dropping to his stomach as he saw every little change. Each movement slowed by a second. Each pause between words grew longer. His priority was always being right there for David, assisting him when he could. And it didn’t take an expert on body language to notice that all of it was weighing down on David despite the perseverance.
So Hal couldn’t help himself. He always tried to rush through his work so he could keep an eye on David, even if it was from the corner of his eye in the living room. He would monitor all he ate. He considered installing cameras, though even that was a touch too far. But maybe it wouldn’t be for long. Hal didn’t know at this point, always finding himself going still with each fumble and crash he’d hear from other rooms.
At the very least, Hal made more than enough money to let them live more than comfortable lives. He only ever bought David the best of anything anymore—luxury winterwear and those all-organic groceries. They always had the heat blasting. There was never a second thought when it came to the small things they’d want—Hal getting back into Gunpla, David indulging in a collection of Blu-rays.
Though frankly, Hal felt like he was one of those pet owners trying to give their dog the best days of their short lives. It was bleak, and ridiculous, but it was the unfortunate truth of it all. Sometimes he considered trying to indulge in some sort of nicotine for his nerves, despite his reservations from his father’s own smoking habits. Sometimes he wondered if it would be best to pack up and leave, go find another abandoned town to call home.
But who was he kidding? Abandoned David now was like abandoning himself. The mere thought of it was akin to aiming a pistol right at David’s head. Not that Solid Snake himself was helpless in his too-soon twilight years, but with the trajectory he was going on? Maybe that could come true sooner rather than later. And Hal didn’t want to let those ruin what time David had left in the slightest.
The Emmerichs continued on as a regular family. Their neighbors never questioned them. There were rare the now rare times Sunny could drop by for a day or two, and all they had for her was unending pride as she made her way up. Their worries washed away when they realized she could outdo every other adult she’d be working with. But then she’d be off. Then it would be just the two of them.
Now it was three in the afternoon on a Saturday. David and Hal had time for themselves: a breakfast out in those local, old Americana type diners an hour out of town. A walk in a nearby park. They’d just arrived back, now sitting out on their porch while still bundled up in their coats, sweaters. Another long gone neighbor offered old furniture they placed out front: two rocking chairs they sat in. It was like this every afternoon, staring off into the street, the foliage, the apartment complex across with a handful of people rushing in and out. Hal would be sipping on whatever drink they had on hand (today a sugar-free soda), and David chewed on one of his flavored toothpicks. This one was mint. Sometimes they were silent, basking in each other’s presence. Sometimes they talked.
Today there was chatter.
It began as little musings of their neighbors. So-and-so came out less than usual, this one getting a new car—in a sense, both of them were gossips. But sometimes, this merely served as the warm-up for everything to come tumbling down. From discussion of their neighbors to the town they lived in until they were looking far back in the past.
“What do you think would have happened? If you weren’t assigned to the Shadow Moses job?” Hal asked as he played with the now empty can in his hand, its metal crinkling with his squeezes.
“I can’t imagine a universe where I wasn’t assigned to that thing,” David said with a scoff, pulling his toothpick away the way he would a cigarette, twiddling with it between his fingers. “You know–”
“I know, I know… but think about it. There’s a reality where we never met, and I’d still be working on Metal Gear, and you’d be back in your old cabin.” He shrugged as the possibilities rushed into his mind. “It’s just a thought exercise, that’s all.”
“You asked me this before. When we started Philanthropy.”
“Did I?” Hal smiled to himself.
“Mmhmm. See, my memory’s still all here,” David said, though Hal frowned at the self-jab. With a wince, David looked back out at the street. “Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s… do you remember how you answered the question?”
“I do, and you hated it.” David paused. “You’d hate it now.”
Hal shrugged. “Hit me with it anyway.”
David clicked his tongue, glancing back towards Hal who was bracing himself for the honesty to come. And it was smart that he did, as David didn’t hesitate to be frank as could be: “If none of this happened, I would’ve drunk myself to death. Simple as that.” There was the upset building up on Hal’s face, already clear from the light tremble of his lips. Their first meeting post-Shadow Moses had been in his cabin, littered with cans of beers to endless emptied bottles of gin, rum, whiskey. So David rushed to ask: “But enough about me. What would you be doing?”
Hal tried to brush aside the ache that now settled on his heart, but it was difficult now with that mental image of a then-drunken David trying to sober up upon his presence. Worse-for-wear was an understatement—even David now looked better than he had back then. Despite this, he still rattled his mind for his options, grinning as each one was worse than the last. He amused himself enough to confess: “God, I think I would’ve been stupid, you know? I’d just keep making those Metal Gears.”
“With that whole mech fixation of yours?”
“I can’t imagine anything else. Maybe I’d get those little pangs of regret but it’d still be all… cool technology to me.”
They laughed. Hal shook his head and David gave him a small pat on the back.
“At least you got your shit together,” David said.
“Well, we did.” Hal turned towards David, brushing back his hair with his fingers. “And we’ve done pretty well, right? All things considered, of course. And with your help.”
“Well, don’t give me all the credit,” David said. “I don’t think I could have made it without you either.”
“Talk about codependent,” Hal blurted out, and the both of them burst out laughing.
It was always silly quips that made it feel like they weren’t at the end of the line. It would always bring them back to those days around 2005, trying to get themselves together as Philanthropy still found its footing as an NGO. There was a surrealness to their situations, knowing all eyes were on them, knowing they had bounties on their heads. And when scurrying around like rats, trying to find their next hiding place was still so overwhelming, what else could they do but laugh? With stories, with jokes, with mockeries of their past, present, future—they tried to find some joy somewhere. It was no use laying there helpless.
There were times that staying in Fort Reech felt like they had given up, even if they knew there was nothing else for them to fret over. Yet in that afternoon, they cracked one joke after another.
Though frivolities would end. Mostly because Hal’s urge to relay upcoming news was ever-present.
“Apparently it’s going to get colder again in a few days,” Hal said with a huff. “As if it isn’t cold already.”
“That’s what living in Alaska’s like, unfortunately. I mean, you know the cold. Didn’t you use to live with your relatives in London?”
“That was very brief when I was a kid, mind you.”
“Point still stands.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I think it does–”
“Oh, you’re impossible,” Hal said with a huff, giving David a playful punch on the arm. “I don’t want this to turn into another dumb argument, Dave.”
“Why not? Aren’t you so fond of the ones we have already?” David asked, grinning wide as could be.
Hal rolled his eyes before standing up from his chair, rolling his shoulders down as he stretched his neck. “Come on, let’s get back in.”
“Hm? Why now?”
“You said you wanted to watch a movie, didn’t you? We’ll finish it right before dinner. That old action–”
“Yeah, alright.”
Hal watched in silence as David stood from his seat, tense when he noticed that slow push upward being worse than usual, like that in itself was a workout. He was tight-lipped once David stood all the way up, doing small stretches of his own. Though David wasn’t a fool, knowing that the display was miserable, trying to hide that he was breathless already.
Wordless, they walked back into the house. They watched the old Western while snuggled up on the couch. They ate a simple pasta dish with a side salad for dinner. They nade love.
David stared at the ceiling, silent as he thought Hal had passed out not long after they cleaned up.
But there Hal’s hand found his in the dark, some semblance was awake.
David squeezed back.
Neither didn’t let go.