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Hal gets sick.
A lot.
Hal carries around pocket-sized hand sanitizer, he washes his hands before and after every meal, he always insists on getting name-brand soaps to decrease the likelihood of him becoming ill.
It doesn't help.
But this time, this time, Snake is sick.
He can hardly believe it- tough, meaty, super-soldier Solid Snake has the fucking flu.
Well, it's not like they could've gotten the vaccine, that'd be way too damn risky. Besides, Dave wouldn't have gotten it even if it were safe to get it.
He wants to tease Dave about it, to gloat in the fact that this time, the germs had found a different target to beeline to.
He's grinning to himself stupidly as he walks the distance to the bedroom, the cramped house not making that much of a feat at all. The place they're staying in is out of town, in the middle of the woods. Hal can't even remember the name of the nearest town.
But two grown men have to eat some time, so Dave made the hour-long journey to the nearest grocery store. Granted, it was tiny and shitty and the majority of the store was just beer, owned by a greasy man with stubby fingers and a terrible haircut.
Luckily, they've been doing pretty well, even though Hal fucking hates Chef Boyardee, he'll eat it anyway if he has to.
It was sort of funny, the look Snake gave him when he grimaced at the overly salted ravioli.
He doesn't remember exactly what he said, just that he ended it with,
"Better than rations."
Hal didn't disagree.
It was so oddly domestic, that conversation. Not just that, the way that they've been able to hole up here for a few weeks so far and that they were squashed together at a tiny dining table, knees knocking into each other occasionally and elbows nearly slipping off of the plastic-y checkered table covering.
It's strange, how Hal feels more at home in a dingy literal cabin-in-the-woods that they'd absolutely gotten legally, even if there are moth-eaten blankets and cobwebs filling the gutters.
But when Snake returns from his morning run through the wilderness with sweat beading at the temples of his forehead and wood for the fireplace tucked under his arm, well, "welcome home" is often on the tip of his tongue.
Hal's taken out of his reverie when he reaches the half-open door and he doesn't hear the tell-tale flip of pages turning or the background noise of the staticky TV.
Just Snake, with his hand over his head, shirtless and sweaty. Hal is immediately in the room, sitting on the bed when David opens one eye.
"I'm fine, Hal. Just sick," He says, voice rougher than usual, congestion thick in his voice.
"That's a first," Hal smiles softly, the need to brag about being the healthy one diminishing at the sound of his sick voice. Hal places a hand on his forehead.
"Geez, you're burning up!" His voice laden with surprise, because Snake has always been unusually warm but right now he's positively molten with the fever but they have no thermometer to judge it with so they'll just have to stick it out.
"Guess I'm gonna have to be the one to take care of you, huh?" Hal says, smoothing David's sweaty hair back and glancing at his glassy eyes and his reddened nose. He's cute like this, he realizes, and maybe cute is a weird word to use for Snake but damn, all vulnerable like this, long lashes brushing his cheek with every slow blink.
"Fuck no," Dave starts, before a hacking cough interrupts him and all Hal can do is grimace, seeing someone so hard-assed slowed down by a virus is... depressing, honestly.
Hal rolls his eyes fondly before leaving to retrieve the cold medicine he keeps around for himself.
"You can swallow pills, right?"
He's met with a glare, and maybe in the right circumstance it would be intimidating, but right now he has to bite back a laugh at how he looks like a damned downtrodden puppy.
"Okay, here it says the recommended dose is two-"
"Four."
"What?" Hal says, and he's confused. Who the hell could stomach four of these without being knocked the fuck out-
Oh, yeah. He remembers who he's talking to.
"I need four. Two of those aren't gonna do shit for me," He sounds downright pathetic, sniffling like that. He'd never imagined that he'd have to take care of the Solid Snake, yet here he is, helping prop up his pillow so he can swallow the pills, watching as he goes boneless on the bed when the cup is put down. Sure, if something did happen, Hal knows his adrenaline would take over and he could still whoop some serious ass, but right know he needs to rest and they're in a safe place where he can.
"Now get some sleep, alright? You need rest," Otacon says, and he definitely sounds mothering with the way Snake scoffs and looks at him and while Hal has never been a source of authority in his life, he sees the way his words shift in Dave's eyes and he's the type to question authority but Hal, Hal is someone he'll listen to.
A soft smile hints at Hal's lips as he exits the room.
-----
Later, he comes back to offer David some food. He's damn lucky they still have a can of soup stuffed in the back of their cabinet, and it's cliché but it works.
"Hey, Dave, wake up," He says, setting the bowl down gently so the force of it doesn't knock the unsteady table over and send the soup crashing to the floor.
"Hal," He mumbles drowsily, and the hoarse voice tells him he's a little out of his head right now.
The cold medicine did have some effect on him after all, then.
"I, uh, I made you some soup," Hal stumbles over his words because usually, Snake does the cooking and this is a rare event. If he were in a fully conscious mind, he'd look a little dubious at Hal's cooking and ask him if he's sure he made that because he swore once that Hal could burn water.
But in the moment, David looks peacefully grateful, a rare smile of gratitude floating on his lips and Hal's heart clenches painfully in his chest because this is a side of Dave he'd never let anyone else see. He trusts Hal, in every way possible and if that doesn't make him feel like the luckiest man in the world, nothing could.
It's a two-way street because the both of them entrusting their lives in their partner's hands is vital to both Philanthropy and to staying alive. What started as two people joined together out of simplicity and convenience turned into two people who shared a bed and shared mornings over eggs and evenings over a beer and a rerun of an anime Hal suggested and David mumbled an agreement.
They flowed together seamlessly, the effortless cohabitation of the moon and the tide. A constant ebb and flow.
Symbiosis at its finest, Hal muses as Dave gulps down the soup despite it being steaming hot. Dave can survive winter without heat in Alaska by himself, so it's no surprise the temperature doesn't phase him.
He's fighting sleep, his blinks becoming slower and longer in nature. Hal watched him for a few moments, letting himself take in the late afternoon sun bathing his shirtless form. He looks ethereal, Hal thinks, so pure.
Hal turns to leave, only managing to place one foot on the floor before a clammy hand wraps around his wrist, Hal whipping his head around comically in surprise.
"Mm, stay in here," Dave says, and Hal bites his lip to keep a stupidly fond smile from overtaking his face, this man is so goddamn cute and there's no way anyone would think he's killed at least a hundred people before, with how serene his face is.
How is Hal supposed to say no?
He's not, he supposes, as he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed as Snake hums, satisfied.
"Hal, I appreciate you a lot," He says, his voice hushed like this is some kind of important secret.
Hal smiles, soaking in the rare words.
"You too. I mean, I appreciate you, too."
David's lips tilt to the side slightly, eyes opening for a second, his stare penetrating Otacon right to his very core like he knows exactly what he's thinking even if he's cold-medicine delirious and half-asleep.
"There's no one else I'd rather have as my partner than you. You- keep me safe and shit when I'm sick. That's real nice of you, Hal," He pauses for a second, tilting his head sideways like he's searching for the right words.
"You're my best friend," He says, quietly, but the words make Hal's throat close. It's sincere and maybe it's not a lot, but from David that many words about his feelings at a time are remarkable. His eyes burn with unshed tears because this man, this man means the whole damn world to him and he hopes David knows that.
"You're my best friend, too, Dave. Always."
His hand reaches for Hal's as his breaths become deeper and the steady rise and fall of his shoulders catches Hal's eyes, and his life isn't beautiful and the world sucks but right now-
Right now is beautiful and the world is anything but sucky. The world continues to turn with every continuous heartbeat in his chest and he's suddenly overwhelmed with love for this man, for this scarred and battle-worn man with a penchant for cardboard boxes and cigarettes and a talent for draining the life out of someone with one fluid movement.
Dave's not perfect, he's a heretic and a cynic and a foul-mouthed asshole with a nicotine heart.
But perfection lies in the way his fingers gently curl around Hal's, mouth slack and drool dampening his pillow.
And Hal's heart aches a little at how he can't tell Dave how much he wants to be with him for a long time, even if it means being terrorists to the rest of the world and risking his life every day.
This is nowhere close to being bad, Hal thinks, as a much larger hand rests safely in his, holding tight onto him.
No, this is good.