MGS: Hold On (2/2)
Aug. 3rd, 2010 05:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what_we_dreamTitle: Hold On (1/2)
Fandom: MGS
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Snake/Otacon
Summary: Two weeks after refusing to take out an assassin's ring, Dave comes home to find the apartment empty. Written for Amythyst Wolf in the MGS Slash Secret Santa contest.
Snake sat alone in the same room in which he and Otacon had met Meryl three days before, in the same chair facing the wall, door to his stronger right side. He had changed his clothes, from the casual jeans and jacket to a sneaking suit, currently bereft of supplies. However, instead of an empty table, the overhead lamp now beat down upon a full load of weaponry. From boot-knives to M4s, an entire mobile arsenal was laid out before him.
Directly in front of him, he had pushed a set of flash-bangs into a heap to make room for the ratty knitted cap and glasses, glasses laid crookedly atop the cap. He sat, unmoving, staring at the hat and glasses, concentration fierce, body tense as a snake about to strike.
At one point a pair of cadets threw the door open and stumbled in, chatting loudly, only to be met with Snake’s slow, deadly stare as he turned his head to watch them. They dropped instantly into silence, eyes widening at the sight of the soldier in front of them.
“I, uh, sorry,” one of them stuttered, pulling the other back out of the doorway by the arm. Snake stared them out of the room, waiting until they slammed the door and fled, to turn back to the table. Slowly, he raised his arms to rest his elbows on the table, leant his forehead against his interlaced fingers. Even cast in shadow, his eyes gleamed bright with intensity. With his face locked tight as it was, there was no way of telling what he was feeling. It might have been fury, or hatred, or bloodlust. Or, perhaps, sorrow.
When the door opened for the second time, he didn’t look up.
“Snake.” Meryl stood in the doorway, a folder in her hands. “We’ve found them. They’re in a warehouse down on the docks.”
Only then did Snake raise his head and turn to look at her. She flinched slightly at his gaze, but stepped in.
“Show me,” was all he said, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair as he stood.
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In the basement cell, Otacon woke slowly, lay for some time on the cold cement floor staring at the bench mounted to the opposite wall. Eventually, he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around, eyes more focused. He turned and examined the door, running his hands carefully over its metal surface, wrenching tightly at the door knob. It rattled quietly, but did not open. "Meryl," whispered Otacon, voice harsh. After a last ineffective twist at the doorknob, he slid back down to face the room and began digging through his pockets. He produced his keys, his wallet, two pen lids, a worn-down pencil, a paper-clip, a dollar and seventeen cents in change, two grocery receipts, three small plastic-wrapped restaurant peppermints and several snippets of rubber-insulated wire. He constructed a dismal pile, pushing through it with a finger, and from it separated out his keys, the paper-clip and the wires. These he stared at blankly for several minutes before dropping his head into his hands with a frustrated sigh, digging his fingers into his hair. He had combed through his thick crop of hair three times before he looked up, eyes focusing on the bench on the other side of the room.
Face lightening, he pulled himself to his feet with the help of the door and staggered across the room, managing to make it the entire way without falling. He dropped to his knees next to the bunk and began running his hands over it, quick fingers prying into any gap, testing the strength of the chains which attached it to the wall. After examining the entire structure he stood again, placed a knee on the second plank in the bench and wrapped his hands tight around the first plank, began pulling.
He strained against the wood for almost two full minutes, exerting all his strength at first, then switching to alternating between pushing and pulling, and finally to throwing all his weight against the bench, which even when he took his weight off of it didn't budge. With a frustrated yell, he grabbed the chains and yanked on them, pulling until his shoulder blades stood out on his back like fins. The chains didn't give, but eventually his hands, slick with sweat, did, and he fell backwards with a yelp.
Snarling, Otacon rounded on the door again, and began to pummel on it, shouting. "Meryl! Meryl, let me out, dammit! Meryl! This is murder! Damn you, Meryl! Let me out!" He continued beating on the door for almost five minutes, shouts gradually lessening, strikes gradually weakening, until he finally slumped against the door and slid to kneel in front of it again, forehead resting on the cool metal. "Snake..." His shoulders began to shake, breathing harshening with tears. "Goddammit. Why am I always so useless?"
He pounded his fist on the door again, sound dulled by the pressure from his forehead. "Snake could be dying right now, while I'm sitting here!" He passed a hand over his eyes. straightened his back. With another shout, he banged again, harder than before. "I won't let you use me to kill him!" He scrambled through his pile of belongings, picked up a pen lid, and began to try to wedge it under the head of the bottom hinge pin. "I won't let you die, Snake,” he growled. “Wait for me."
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“It is him.” Raiden stared as Mei Ling played the clip she had streamed from a British surveillance satellite passing over Boston. They watched again in silence as the two shots hit Otacon in the chest and he fell back into the slush, expression one of pain and surprise, chest stained red. After a minute, a dark blue van sped up and two men in black fatigues and masks jumped out, grabbed the engineer, and carried him into the van.
“Can you track the van?”
“No, the satellite passes out of the area a minute after this.” Mei Ling paused the image, played it back. “But, I can track him backwards. Watch.”
They watched as Otacon walked backwards several blocks, the image becoming less and less clear as the satellite backed along its orbit, drawing further and further away from Boston. Just as the image cut out, she zoomed it in. It showed Otacon halfway in a cafe door.
“He had a coffee first,” said Raiden bluntly.
Mei Ling glared at him. “Not him. This. Look.” She zoomed the image in and tapped one carefully manicured nail on the computer screen. Seated in a window seat, looking after Otacon, was a blurry figure with short, flipped-out red hair.
“Is that Meryl?”
“I can’t be sure but... I think so. And, look at this” She bit her lip, and pulled the bar forwards until the second when Otacon fell backwards. “I don’t know, but it seems to me... is there really enough blood there?” she played the clip at half speed, and Raiden leant closely over her shoulder peering at the screen. It was difficult to make out much of the engineer as the crowd moved in except for the white of his coat and the blue of his pants. Then the men drove up and grabbed him.
“There, pause it,” said Raiden suddenly in her ear. Mei Ling clicked a button and the clip froze, Otacon suspended between the two men halfway into the back of the van. “Zoom it in,” he crossed his arms and waited.
Another click, and the image doubled in size. It was grainy, but still recognizable. Although there were two bright spots of red on Otacon’s coat, there was no vast flow of blood.
“You’re right. It looks like they got him in the stomach and dead in the chest. His whole coat should be stained,” he said it matter-of-factly. Mei Ling worried her lip, but narrowed her eyes.
“Perhaps a tranquilizer gun?” Mei Ling focused the image further upon Hal’s face. His head was resting against one of the men’s elbows, face rolled to the side. “He’s clearly unconscious.”
“A tranq wouldn’t cause any blood." Raiden's expression became suddenly guarded. "Can you focus in on the shooters?”
“The car, yes. But the angle of the satellite means you can’t see inside.” She replayed the video again, this time focusing on the other side of the street. As she predicted, apart from the driver who was wearing a mask, the occupants of the car weren’t visible from that angle. The closest that was possible was a directly overhead view looking down at the roof of the car.
“Look,” Raiden pointed to the back street-side window.
“What?” Mei Ling leaned forward, peering.
“There’s no gun visible.”
“Yes...” She turned to Jack. “Is that important? Raiden?”
Raiden was turning to leave, eyes narrow with anger. "I'm going to see Meryl."
"What's going on? Do you know who did this?" Mei Ling turned after him, eyes worried, fingers clenched.
"I'm going to clear it up."
"Should I come?"
"No. There's going to be trouble."
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Snake sat in the borrowed ’99 Toyota Camry, waiting for the light to change. Up ahead, the water of the harbour seemed grey in the dim afternoon light. He glanced to his right. In the empty passenger seat a map was sprawled, area dedicated to the Harbour districts unfolded, a route drawn in red marker with a circle at the end. He was only a couple of streets away now.
Snake reached down, brushed his fingers over the SOCOM in his thigh-holster, then brought his hand up to rest in vaguely his pocket. There they knocked against something long and plastic. A pair of glasses. He pulled his hand out as if burned.
Up ahead, the light changed. Snake hit the gas.
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Meryl was on her feet an instant after her office door slammed open, Desert Eagle already half-way out of her top desk drawer. Raiden walked in without waiting for an invitation. He was wearing civilian clothes, a long dark woollen coat and slacks, and was empty-handed, but his eyes were unmistakably dangerous.
"How did you get in here?" Meryl asked, putting the Eagle down but not closing the drawer. Raiden walked up to her desk, every move hinting at restrained strength, expression one of barely contained fury.
"Were you involved?" he growled, shoulders raising slightly in his anger. Meryl's eyes widened, and she almost took a step back before she regained control, expression tightening.
"What the hell are you talking about?" She challenged, leaning forward to face him.
"With the shooting. Were you involved?"
"We brought him here afterwards. It was already too late, Hal was-"
"Don't screw around with me. I know he wasn't actually shot. I know your people were following him. And I know that you met with him minutes before the whole thing happened. So tell me: were you involved?" He slammed his hands down on her desk, pens and paperweights shaking, while he stared at her, green eyes blazing.
"Yes," she spat. "It was a set-up, okay? You caught us. Good for you. Now you can get out of here."
"Otacon's not dead."
"No," said Meryl, eyes narrowing.
"Why fake his death?" He glanced down at her desk, caught sight of the open file sitting on the top of her pile of paperwork. The pages were headed Black Rain. "Black Rain? Is it related?"
Meryl gave an irritated sigh. "Look, we faked his death so Snake would have a reason for retribution, okay? Black Rain needed to be taken out of the picture, everyone knows that. Snake's got a reason, no one gets hurt, and everyone ends up happy except for those bastards, who get what they had coming."
"Who are you justifying Snake's actions to? You know he wouldn't be caught." Raiden straightened slowly, eyes narrowing further, shoulders tense. "Meryl, Snake knows Otacon is alive, right?" He caught the split second of indecision in her face, and snarled, "Right?"
Meryl shifted angrily. "He will when he finishes, in an hour. He can live without the damn engineer for half a day."
Raiden stared at her for a minute, eyes darkening, before he spoke. "What have you done?" He didn't raise his voice, but the emotion his tone carried made it seem as though he had shouted loud enough to rattle the windows. Meryl did take a step back this time, instinctively raising her arms in front of herself. "Call him, right the hell now, and tell him, Meryl."
Meryl set her back, anger restored. "Why should I? In an hour he'll be done, and he can find out then."
"If you sent him to kill Black Rain, in an hour he'll probably be dead."
"They couldn't kill Snake," she said, expression slightly uncertain for the full time.
"They could if he let them."
"What the hell are you talking about? Snake would never commit suicide over this. I doubt he would kill himself for anyone, never mind the engineer," she spat.
Raiden gritted his teeth. “Otacon is the only thing, the only person left in this world that Snake cares for in any meaningful way. Otacon is everything to him. He loves him, if that even begins to describe it,” he said, voice cold with fury. “The minute you tricked him into thinking Otacon was dead, he lost his partner, his best friend, his anchor. You tell me, what else does he have left to live for? His work? His health? You?"
"Even if I believed that he was in love with the engineer- which is ridiculous- Snake's never had a problem with starting over again after losing a 'love.'" She raised a hand to rest on her own chest.
"Have you ever watched them, Meryl? Obviously you have, but have you ever seen?! Are you telling me that whatever you two had for those few weeks, was equivalent to what they have? They've been living and working together for five years! How often did Snake ever smile at you, like he does at Otacon?"
"You mean the 'I can't believe how much of an idiot you are' smile?" she shot back.
"I mean" returned Raiden furiously, "the 'you're an idiot and I love you' smile!"
"And how often have you seen Otacon returning it?"
"Otacon's being an emotional idiot and the fact that Snake hasn't clued him in doesn't change Snake's feelings. And while we're standing here arguing over their love life, Snake is out there waiting to die. Call him," growled Raiden.
"Why don't you?"
"Because, as you fucking well know, he turned off his phone. But you wouldn't send him out into the field without any means of communication. So call him." Somehow, even empty-handed, Raiden still managed to convey the sense that he had a sword at Meryl's throat. She glared at him, but after a moment reached slowly into her drawer and pulled out a headset. Still frowning at Raiden, she pressed a button on it and raised it to her ear. After a moment, a faint voice muttered something.
"Doug? This is Jane. You should... that is, I think... return to base," she muttered defiantly. "No, it's important. It's... it's about Paul. Yes. Alright." She clicked the button again and slipped the headset back into her drawer. "Happy now? I'll be lucky if he just kills me, and doesn't destroy New Foxhound."
"Meryl, why do all this? I know you and Snake-"
"It has nothing to do with that," she said immediately. "It's Black Rain. They're targeting us. They've attacked three of my men so far, killed one."
"So you decided to trick Snake into killing them for you."
"It was my last option," she retorted defensively. "I would have done it myself, if I could have. I would have paid him, done anything to convince him. But this was the only way."
"I see," said Raiden coldly.
"No, you don't," she replied instantly, with scorn. "Stand by and watch while one of your men dies, knowing more of them will die, knowing you can't do anything to save them yourself, and see what choice you make when your only option refuses because of morals. We're soldiers, Raiden. We do whatever it takes."
"Somehow, I doubt that's how Snake will see it."
Without waiting for Meryl's answer, he turned and left.
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Snake walked into the New Foxhound headquarters, eyes blazing. Meryl was waiting for him in the entrance way, just as she had been before. "What?" he growled, tense with anger.
Meryl met his eyes for an instant, and then looked away. "Snake, I..." she sighed and continued in a tired voice without looking at him.
"I faked the shooting. Otacon's in the basement. Alive." She motioned behind her towards the stairwell, expression defeated.
Snake snarled and closed the distance between them in one step. "What?" he repeated, this time making no attempt to control his fury. Meryl stepped back and found herself driven to the wall. "The hell kind of joke is this?" He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders, trapping her in place. Her eyes flitted right and left, instinctively searching for an exit, before she twisted her expression into one resembling confidence, met Snake's stare head-on.
"It isn't a joke," she said, and watched as Snake's expression flickered through uncertainty, suspicion and, for an instant, hope. Meryl's eyes widened with surprise. "It's true," she muttered to herself. Snake's eyes focused in on her, quick as a striking snake.
"What?" he growled.
"Nothing," she replied. "Something Raiden said."
"Raiden?"
"Yeah. Seems like you've managed to make some friends after all."
"Meryl-"
"Look, just go pick up your sidekick and get out of here, okay?" She struck Snake's forearm harshly with her own without taking her eyes from his, driving her weight sideways. After a moment, Snake gave and lifted his arm, and she sidestepped out into the open.
"If you're not lying," he said as he stalked past her towards the stairwell, "you'd better not be here when I get back."
"And if I am?" she shot back malignantly.
He didn't bother to turn; kept walking, voice gruff and dangerous. "Then running’s not going to help."
The stairwell was cool and smelled of damp; he took the stairs four at a time, swinging himself around the corners with careless ease. The bottom door was unlocked and he slipped through it, scanning the empty corridor it let out onto even as he began striding down towards the last cell. The level was entirely silent save for the quiet hum of the overhead florescent lights.
The last cell's door was closed, as it had been before, simple bolt turned above the handle. He pulled it back with a quick snap and without a pause turned the handle and flung the door open, ignoring its unstable wobble.
The room was empty. He stared for a second, an expressionless mask dropping into place across his face, and walked straight in. The cot was unoccupied, although traces of dried blood had been splattered here and there over its dark surface.
"Whoever you are," said a firm voice behind him, "let me out, or I swear to God I'll slit my throat."
Snake turned in place, eyes widening. Behind the door stood Otacon, bloody hands digging the end of a hinge-pin into the soft skin of his throat, looking defiant. His skin was pale under his dark hair, light eyes peering from under dark brows, trying to focus without the aid of glasses. His torn shirt revealed an equally pale and, more importantly, whole chest.
Dave exhaled sharply and blinked, mask dropping away suddenly to reveal amazed relief. Without a word he walked sharply across the room, Otacon taking a step backwards. Before the man could act, Dave had grabbed the pin out of his hands, thrown it away to the side, and pulled him into a tight, breathless embrace. Otacon stiffened sharply, then relaxed. "S-Snake?" he stuttered, as the breath was nearly crushed out of him, and then fisted his hands in Dave's leather jacket as his face took on a look of relief almost as profound as his partner's.
After a minute, Dave loosened his grip from bone-crushing to simple contact, held Hal gently in the protective circle of his arms, face pressed into the engineer's hair.
"Snake," began Hal after a minute, voice soft as he spoke into his partner's ear, "I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't," said Dave sharply, and Hal flinched slightly in his grip. "Don't," continued Dave in a more moderated voice, but still gruffly, "apologize for anything. Because if you do, I really will kill Meryl."
Hal exhaled sharply at this, stiffened, paused. After a second, though, he continued in a lighter tone, "I was going to say, I'm sorry for not putting a marker in the door, but I was in a rush and you know how I am in the morning, and..." he trailed off as Snake gave a snort of laugher which blew sharply through Hal's dark hair.
Smiling now, more with his eyes than his lips, Dave withdrew his arms to rest his hands lightly on Hal's shoulders instead, stepped away. Hal released his grip awkwardly, rested his hands on the edges of Dave's shoulders for a second before he caught sight of them and dropped them away. Dave followed his glance, and before Hal could evade him, grabbed a wrist and pulled it up to inspect.
Hal's hands were reddened, torn and bloody, the pads of his fingers the worst damaged. Dave glanced from them to the pin Hal had threatened himself with upon the other man's entrance, and then at the door hinges. Both the top and bottom hinges had already been removed, middle one an eighth of an inch out of its place. "You were levering out the pins? With what?" He glanced back at Hal, surprised. The engineer grinned sheepishly.
"Some pen lids at first, but they were pretty useless, and cracked faster than Windows ME, so I switched to a paper clip. It was kind of vicious."
"I can see that," said Dave, a hint of anger in his tone, and pulled a packet of alcoholic swabs out of a pocket of his sneaking suit, half-hidden under his jacket. Hal accepted the packet without looking at it, eyes focused instead on the suit. After a second, he looked up slowly to meet Dave's eyes, an accepting sorrow written in his own.
"So you really were going to go after them," he said quietly, frozen, holding the packet of swabs as if to tear it.
"Yes," said Dave simply. He took the packet from Hal and opened it himself, handed one of the damp wipes to his partner. Hal took it absently and began cleaning his hands, wincing at the stinging alcohol.
"You didn't have to, you know. If I ever, I mean, if anyone..." Hal rubbed at his wounds viciously. "I guess it's pointless to tell you this."
"Yeah," said Dave, "pretty much." He dropped his hand from Hal's shoulder to tug at his coat lapel, pulling both Hal's shirt and coat aside and revealing the dark bruise over his heart. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached forward and splayed his hand flat against Hal's chest. Hal looked down at it in surprise, shadow of a wince passing over his face, before looking back up at his partner. Snake's expression was one of intense concentration, tinged with pain.
"Snake..."
"Let's go home," said Snake suddenly, coming to a decision, voice low and rough. "You need to get cleaned up, anyway."
"The water heater's broken," replied Hal, although it was with a smile. Dave removed his hand, slowly, and grinned back.
"I think I can deal with that."
He stepped back and shrugged out of his coat, handed it out to Hal who stared at it blankly. "Yours needs cleaning," he said. Hal looked down at his coat and started slightly, then pulled it off, dropping it on the ground, and bending to scoop up his small pile of belongings. He slipped these into his pants pockets, fumbling with his wallet for a minute, and then accepted Dave's coat, pulling it closed to cover his stained and torn shirt. Having finished adjusting his clothes, he glanced at his partner, now openly wearing his sneaking suit.
"You look like a terrorist," Hal said, indicating the gun holstered at the other man's thigh. Dave shrugged, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced up at the ceiling.
"I don't mind," he said darkly. He took in Hal's disturbed expression, though, and lightened his own. "Give me your hat."
"What? I don't have it."
"It's in my pocket." He indicated the jacket. Confused, Hal slipped his hands into the jacket, pulled out both his hat and glasses. He slipped his glasses on, blinking rapidly, and then handed Dave his hat as requested.
"Why were you walking around with those anyway? Meryl said you took my glasses..." he trailed off, glanced at Dave. His partner took the hat and pulled it down over his hair and further, until it covered most of his forehead.
"Let's go," he said, stepping around the wobbling door.
"But-"
"We can talk at home," he said gruffly, leading the way into the corridor. Hal gave a last glance back at the cell, hunched his shoulders, and followed his partner.
The Foxhound building’s main floor was surprisingly quiet, Meryl conspicuously absent. Dave led the way out of a side exit and to a nearby parking lot where he paused next to their used Honda Civic, leaned patiently against the side. Hal stared at the car.
"You drove here?" He looked from the car to his partner in shock.
"I wasn't too worried about maintaining cover," said Dave with a shrug, and then, "You've got the keys."
Shaking himself, Hal dug through Dave's pockets once more, pulled out the car keys and tossed them to the soldier, began walking around to the passenger side without waiting to see Dave catch them.
The drive back was conducted mostly in silence, Dave keeping his eyes resolutely on the road, Hal rubbing vaguely at his cut fingers. They parked in the tenants' lot near their building and walked back through alleyways, Dave sticking to the shadows.
They paused in the empty apartment lobby, Hal going to press the elevator button. "I should take the stairs," said Dave, indicating his clothes.
"Okay," replied Hal, standing next to the elevator doors. Dave paused for a minute as if to say something, eyes lingering on his partner, thought the better of it, and slipped into the stairwell with one last glance back at Hal as the door closed behind him. A minute later the elevator arrived with a bright ping, and Hal stepped in.
Ironically, no one else arrived to share the elevator, but when Hal arrived at their floor he found Dave waiting for him against the wall, out of the line of sight of anyone in the elevator. Hal blinked with surprise, but said nothing as the soldier walked together with him to their door, where they stood for a minute before Hal remembered about the keys, Dave watching him in amusement.
Flushing, Hal dug his own keys out of his pants pocket and made to unlock the door. Dave stopped him before he could, took the keys out of his hand. Hal made to protest, and Dave indicated the unmarked door frame. Hal blanched and stepped back. "Someone's been here," he whispered, glancing at Dave.
"Not necessarily. I didn't put in a marker when I left," he said, although he pulled his gun out all the same. Hal stared at him in surprise.
"You didn't put a marker in?"
"No," replied Dave gruffly, ignoring Hal's expression. "Stay here," he added, and pushed Hal gently against the wall with his free arm. He then unlocked the door and slipped inside.
A minute later Dave’s gruff voice spoke out from behind the door, “It’s clear.”
Hal stepped inside, closing and locking the door absently behind him while he toed off his sneakers. He didn’t get any further into the apartment, because Dave pinned him to the door, hands resting gently on his shoulders, forearms pressed against his chest.
Hal made an unconscious noise of surprise in his throat, but said nothing. He raised his eyes to meet Dave’s, which were full of intensity.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” began the soldier. “I always figured I’d go first, and then it wouldn’t matter. It should have- I didn’t- I never thought…” he shook his head, bent his face closer to Hal’s. “It never occurred to me that you could die before me. Not really. I could take precautions against it, could plan it out, but I never believed it. Stupid, rookie mistake. But now… when I thought I had lost you-” his voice dropped too low, and he cleared his throat gruffly, paused. Hal was watching him closely.
Slowly, Dave leant in closer and wrapped his arms around Hal, pulled him close so that there was no space between them, one hand over Hal’s shoulder blades, the other on his waist. He rested his head against Hal’s, the engineer’s cool cheek leeching heat from his, and sighed, breath ghosting through the dark hair. Hal’s eyes were wide and shocked.
“I don’t want to lose you. It’s damn selfish of me, but I can’t seem to let you go,” Dave whispered.
Hal started slightly, socked feet slipping on the wood floor, eyes slightly over-dilated. Dave steadied him easily up against the door, then backed off. “Maybe you should sit down for a while.”
“Yeah,” said Hal, vaguely, and stumbled over towards the couch, which he dropped onto straight-backed, ending up sitting leaning over, hands between his knees. Dave stood for a second at the other end of the couch, then sat down as well, perching on the armrest.
“If you need to think about it for a while, that’s fine,” said Snake gruffly, glancing around the apartment, and then back at his partner. “Whatever you think is fine, Hal; you know that, right?”
Hal raised his eyes to watch Dave. His eyes were looking at some point far beyond Dave, though. He began to speak slowly, as if figuring it out as he went along. “Once, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love,” he said quietly. “I knew what love wasn’t. And I thought… I thought I knew what it was.” He focused in on Dave. “This afternoon, when I realised you were going to die because of me, I… I’ve never felt like that before. I don’t know what that feeling is. But I would have torn into the door with my nails, and the bones underneath them, and my teeth, if I had thought it would have gotten me out of there to save you.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what I feel anymore, Dave. But I think… this must be love, because I don’t think I could feel any more strongly without my heart breaking.” He smiled self consciously and stood, looked down to finger the torn material of his blood-stained shirt, and so didn’t notice Dave standing. “But first I-”
He was cut off before he could finish by Dave pulling him sharply into his arms again, expression one of fierce emotion. The soldier pressed a calloused hand against Hal’s face, tilted it up to face him. “Uh,” said Hal softly as a prelude to something else. He didn’t get the chance to finish his thought, because Dave pressed his mouth against the engineer’s, left arm slipping around to support his neck from behind, hand burying itself in his unruly hair. Hal gasped slightly and then relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms tentatively around the soldier’s broader frame. Dave took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into the engineer’s mouth, shifting his grip to support the other man’s weight, pressing their bodies closer together.
The kiss ended only when they both had to come up for air, Hal panting slightly, Dave watching him with low-lidded, predatory eyes.
“That was, um, ha…” Hal trailed off, twisted slightly in Dave’s loosening grip. “I should really get cleaned up, before, uh…I mean, I’m going to get blood flecks all over you…” Hal flushed, glanced down at his stained clothes. The blood had long ago dried, the majority of it on his shirt and pants, although some was still spread over the pale skin beneath. Dave followed his glance, eyes tracking the stains down to the engineer’s stomach to the top of his pants, and continued lower with a feral grin.
“I could give you a hand with that,” he said, grin widening as the engineer flushed more deeply.
“Really?” said Hal, managing a touch of sarcasm despite his red face, trembling hands.
Dave gave a soft bark of laugher, shaking both himself and Hal, still held close. “Yeah,” said Dave, voice soft, and leaned his forehead against Hal’s, looked into the other man’s eyes. “If you’re sure,” he added seriously, eyes intense. “Because like I said, once I’ve got hold of you, I don’t think I’ll be able to let go.”
Hal met his gaze firmly, light eyes steady. “Good,” he said, “because I’ve never been good at doing things half way.”
There was a moment of thick silence, and then Snake nodded once, smiling slightly, and released Hal. He slipped around behind the engineer towards the kitchen, where he filled a large pan with water and switched on a stove element to set it on. While it heated, he unlaced his boots and pulled them off, disappearing into his room to tuck them away. He was gone for several minutes, leaving Hal to pull off the borrowed jacket and hang it up, empty his own pockets out onto the sideboard, act as though everything were normal.
Dave returned when the water had begun to steam, barefoot and wearing a loose t-shirt and sweat pants. He dipped a finger into the water, pulling it out again instantly, and turned off the element. He then carried the pan over to the sink and poured in some cool water. Finally, he dug out a cork mat and headed towards the bathroom. He glanced at Hal as he walked by, face sly. Hal smiled uncertainly, but stood and followed his partner into the bathroom, flipped down the toilet lid and slumped down on it while Dave arranged the pan on top of the mat on the sink counter and fetched a ratty face cloth from a dark corner of the linen closet.
“You’re going to want to take your shirt off, at least,” said Dave, dropping the cloth into the hot water, moving it around until it soaked completely and then pulling it out and wringing the water out. Hal stood awkwardly, pulled the torn t-shirt over his head, nearly knocking his hand against Dave in the confined space of the bathroom. He dropped the shirt onto the floor of the shower stall and stood considering. After a minute, he unzipped his stained jeans and pulled them off as well, dumping them alongside the shirt, blushing lightly. In just his boxers, he stepped over to stand next to Dave by the mirror, one arm wrapped uncertainly over his stomach, skin beginning to goose bump in the cool air.
Dave smiled, gently this time, and pulled the other man over to stand in front of him facing the counter. He placed one hand on Hal’s right shoulder from behind, and with the other began to wash the slighter man’s collar bone, rubbing softly with the wash cloth. He moved it with slow even strokes, pausing every now and then to warm the cloth again in the water, wring it out over the sink, Hal standing tensely in front of him.
Hal flinched sharply when the cloth came to the still darkening bruise over his heart. Dave paused, cloth hovering a hairsbreadth from the engineer’s chest. Hal swallowed, relaxed. “It’s fine. Just a little sore.” He rubbed vaguely at the bruise, hand brushing against Dave’s. Dave leant in closer and began his work again, carefully washing what remained of the paint away. Slowly, he took his other hand off Hal’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around the other man’s waist, hand resting on top of Hal’s. Hal’s heartbeat was beginning to rise, goose bumps disappearing as his skin began to warm up, the heat from Dave’s arms and chest helping.
Dave glanced up into the mirror, caught Hal watching him furtively in the split second before the engineer could glance away, and smirked. He rested his chin on Hal’s shoulder, close to his neck, so that his breath ghosted over the man’s ear, blowing his hair about softly. Hal shivered slightly, hand twitching under Dave’s.
Carefully avoiding looking in the mirror, Dave dipped the cloth in the hot water again, wrung it out, and brought it back to Hal’s breastbone. He washed away the dried blood there for a moment, then pulled the cloth left, teasing it over the sensitive skin of his nipple. Hal drew in a sharp breath, jerked back against Dave, hand grasping at Dave’s. Grinning toothily, Dave leant around to lick at the engineer’s ear, rubbing harder with the cloth when that produced a moan.
After several long seconds, he dragged the cloth further down, careful this time of the second bruise below Hal’s ribs, wetted the cloth again and squeezed the water out quickly with one hand, bringing it back immediately to trace over the soft skin of the engineer’s stomach, sucking at Hal’s earlobe as he did so. Hal, breath coming in quicker gasps now, moaned again low in his throat, grasping the sink counter with his free hand as he pressed himself further back into Dave’s warm grip. Heart beginning to race as well, Dave loosened his arm around Hal’s waist to allow lower access with the cloth, wrapped it about the engineer’s ribs instead, hand splayed out flat to cover more skin. He glanced up into the mirror, watched Hal pant from the corner of his hungry eyes as he traced the engineer’s ear with his tongue.
The cloth, not properly wrung out, was dripping trails of warm water down Hal’s stomach, little streams disappearing under the line of his boxers, which hung slightly away from his pale skin. Hal twitched, let go of the counter and made to bring his arm up to rub at the water. Dave knocked it away, tilting his body forward as he did so, hips pressing against Hal. He buried his face in the engineer’s neck, arm about the engineer’s ribs tightening briefly as he moaned, hips twitching. Hal shivered, fought to keep from reacting, already panting hard.
After a second Dave gathered himself, returning the cloth to Hal’s skin. He pulled it across the top of Hal’s boxers, teasing his fingers under the waistband, following the other man’s hip bones. Hal dug his shoulder blades into Dave’s chest, eyes closed, head thrown back against Dave’s shoulder. Dave leant in again to suck at the side of his throat, stroking gently with the cloth as Hal panted to the rhythm he set, watched the engineer’s shuddering reflection in the mirror. More water was slowly trickling down into Hal’s boxers, the engineer slowly tensing back against Dave, gripped Dave’s stationary hand with his own. A particularly low stroke caused the engineer to arch back against him. Dave moaned again, arm slipping low to anchor around Hal’s waist, hips grinding against the engineer. Hal shifted against him and Dave groaned, pulled him closer. “Hal…” his voice was muffled, lips pressed against the pale skin of the engineer’s throat.
Hal was truly gasping for breath now, body shivering against Dave, right arm clutched tight around Dave’s, the other returned to holding on to the sink counter, so tight his knuckles were turning white. Dave brought his hand, cloth and all, down low across Hal’s stomach and slipped it just under the waistband of his boxers. He passed it over the sensitive skin there twice, teasingly.
“Unn… Dave,” Hal’s voice was thick with need, pleading. Dave slipped his hand lower still, wrapped it around Hal’s cock, hard with desire. Hal made a high whining noise in his throat, bucked back against Dave, back arching as the soldier pulled his cloth-covered hand back and forth. Hal shuddered with each stroke, breath catching in his throat. Dave continued to watch the engineer in the mirror, slid his free hand up from Hal’s stomach to rest over his smooth chest, Hal’s hand moving with it. He rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb over the engineer’s right nipple, Hal’s hand clasping tightly over his as he gasped, Dave watching the wave of arousal pass over the engineer with darkening eyes, own body tensing as Hal shifted against him.
Dave continued until Hal began to stiffen against him, hips canting against Dave’s hand in earnest, hardly managing more than inarticulate cries. “God, Dave… nnh… ha… there… ha…”
Hard, gasping for breath as well, Dave slipped his hand out from Hal’s boxers, pulled the slighter man around to face him and dropped the cloth on the ground. He ran his hands down Hal’s sides, anchored them against his hips, thumbs caught over the sharp bones there, fingers splaying back over Hal’s ass, tilting his hips sharply upwards. Hal’s arms snaked around to pull him closer, face tilted upwards as he panted for breath, ground his hips against the other man’s with a desperate noise. Dave pressed his own face forward and captured Hal’s mouth with his, pinned him up against the bathroom wall, ground their thrusting hips together harshly with a gasping moan.
They came nearly simultaneously, Hal tensing, fingers digging into Dave’s back as he spasmed, crying out into Dave’s mouth, to be followed an instant later by Dave, grinding against Hal slowly, deliberately, shoulders shaking.
They stood afterwards, panting, for a minute, Dave holding most of their combined weight up, before the soldier leaned back and sat down, pulling Hal down with him to sit together propped up against the sink counter on the bathroom floor, limbs intertwined, Hal’s head resting on Dave’s shoulder, Dave’s leaning gently against it.
After a while Hal stirred, looked up at Dave who was watching him with those heavy-lidded eyes again, although now they were filled with something closer to contentment than desire. Or possibly even love.
“I think,” said Hal, voice almost completely steady, “that I’m going to have to get cleaned off again.”
Dave grinned. “I can help with that.”
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Dave stood in the dark bedroom doorway, leaning against the doorframe, cup of coffee held loosely in one hand, watching Hal sleep with soft eyes. The engineer had made a nest for himself out of Dave’s duvet, dark head resting at an awkward angle on the pillow.
To his right, on the kitchen counter, the phone began to ring. Dave walked across the room quickly, passing Hal’s empty room in less than a second, and picked the phone up halfway through its second ring.
“Hello?” he said, softly.
“Doug,” said Raiden’s voice from the other end of the line. “I wanted to make sure Paul was okay.”
Dave leaned back against the wall, set the mug down on the counter next to the morning’s newspaper. On the front cover were three blurry photographs. “Yeah. He’s fine.” He paused. “I saw the paper this morning,” he said, in a darker voice.
On the other end, Raiden said nothing.
“Why’d you do it? You had no reason,” Dave said gruffly.
“People who cause so much desperation are too dangerous to keep around,” said Raiden after a minute. “Besides, I owe you one.”
“And Jane?”
“I think she knows better than to try something like this again. She must know Mary and I are keeping an eye on her. As are you,” added Raiden after an instant. “But her problems are solved, for now at least.”
“Hn,” said Dave. He pushed away from the wall and padded silently across the dark apartment to stand in the doorway of his room once more.
“Doug?”
“Yeah?”
“About Paul… maybe you should… you might want to… uh…”
Dave smirked in the darkness. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes on his sleeping partner. “I’m going to keep hold of him this time.”
END
Fandom: MGS
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Snake/Otacon
Summary: Two weeks after refusing to take out an assassin's ring, Dave comes home to find the apartment empty. Written for Amythyst Wolf in the MGS Slash Secret Santa contest.
Snake sat alone in the same room in which he and Otacon had met Meryl three days before, in the same chair facing the wall, door to his stronger right side. He had changed his clothes, from the casual jeans and jacket to a sneaking suit, currently bereft of supplies. However, instead of an empty table, the overhead lamp now beat down upon a full load of weaponry. From boot-knives to M4s, an entire mobile arsenal was laid out before him.
Directly in front of him, he had pushed a set of flash-bangs into a heap to make room for the ratty knitted cap and glasses, glasses laid crookedly atop the cap. He sat, unmoving, staring at the hat and glasses, concentration fierce, body tense as a snake about to strike.
At one point a pair of cadets threw the door open and stumbled in, chatting loudly, only to be met with Snake’s slow, deadly stare as he turned his head to watch them. They dropped instantly into silence, eyes widening at the sight of the soldier in front of them.
“I, uh, sorry,” one of them stuttered, pulling the other back out of the doorway by the arm. Snake stared them out of the room, waiting until they slammed the door and fled, to turn back to the table. Slowly, he raised his arms to rest his elbows on the table, leant his forehead against his interlaced fingers. Even cast in shadow, his eyes gleamed bright with intensity. With his face locked tight as it was, there was no way of telling what he was feeling. It might have been fury, or hatred, or bloodlust. Or, perhaps, sorrow.
When the door opened for the second time, he didn’t look up.
“Snake.” Meryl stood in the doorway, a folder in her hands. “We’ve found them. They’re in a warehouse down on the docks.”
Only then did Snake raise his head and turn to look at her. She flinched slightly at his gaze, but stepped in.
“Show me,” was all he said, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair as he stood.
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In the basement cell, Otacon woke slowly, lay for some time on the cold cement floor staring at the bench mounted to the opposite wall. Eventually, he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around, eyes more focused. He turned and examined the door, running his hands carefully over its metal surface, wrenching tightly at the door knob. It rattled quietly, but did not open. "Meryl," whispered Otacon, voice harsh. After a last ineffective twist at the doorknob, he slid back down to face the room and began digging through his pockets. He produced his keys, his wallet, two pen lids, a worn-down pencil, a paper-clip, a dollar and seventeen cents in change, two grocery receipts, three small plastic-wrapped restaurant peppermints and several snippets of rubber-insulated wire. He constructed a dismal pile, pushing through it with a finger, and from it separated out his keys, the paper-clip and the wires. These he stared at blankly for several minutes before dropping his head into his hands with a frustrated sigh, digging his fingers into his hair. He had combed through his thick crop of hair three times before he looked up, eyes focusing on the bench on the other side of the room.
Face lightening, he pulled himself to his feet with the help of the door and staggered across the room, managing to make it the entire way without falling. He dropped to his knees next to the bunk and began running his hands over it, quick fingers prying into any gap, testing the strength of the chains which attached it to the wall. After examining the entire structure he stood again, placed a knee on the second plank in the bench and wrapped his hands tight around the first plank, began pulling.
He strained against the wood for almost two full minutes, exerting all his strength at first, then switching to alternating between pushing and pulling, and finally to throwing all his weight against the bench, which even when he took his weight off of it didn't budge. With a frustrated yell, he grabbed the chains and yanked on them, pulling until his shoulder blades stood out on his back like fins. The chains didn't give, but eventually his hands, slick with sweat, did, and he fell backwards with a yelp.
Snarling, Otacon rounded on the door again, and began to pummel on it, shouting. "Meryl! Meryl, let me out, dammit! Meryl! This is murder! Damn you, Meryl! Let me out!" He continued beating on the door for almost five minutes, shouts gradually lessening, strikes gradually weakening, until he finally slumped against the door and slid to kneel in front of it again, forehead resting on the cool metal. "Snake..." His shoulders began to shake, breathing harshening with tears. "Goddammit. Why am I always so useless?"
He pounded his fist on the door again, sound dulled by the pressure from his forehead. "Snake could be dying right now, while I'm sitting here!" He passed a hand over his eyes. straightened his back. With another shout, he banged again, harder than before. "I won't let you use me to kill him!" He scrambled through his pile of belongings, picked up a pen lid, and began to try to wedge it under the head of the bottom hinge pin. "I won't let you die, Snake,” he growled. “Wait for me."
----------------------------------------------------------------
“It is him.” Raiden stared as Mei Ling played the clip she had streamed from a British surveillance satellite passing over Boston. They watched again in silence as the two shots hit Otacon in the chest and he fell back into the slush, expression one of pain and surprise, chest stained red. After a minute, a dark blue van sped up and two men in black fatigues and masks jumped out, grabbed the engineer, and carried him into the van.
“Can you track the van?”
“No, the satellite passes out of the area a minute after this.” Mei Ling paused the image, played it back. “But, I can track him backwards. Watch.”
They watched as Otacon walked backwards several blocks, the image becoming less and less clear as the satellite backed along its orbit, drawing further and further away from Boston. Just as the image cut out, she zoomed it in. It showed Otacon halfway in a cafe door.
“He had a coffee first,” said Raiden bluntly.
Mei Ling glared at him. “Not him. This. Look.” She zoomed the image in and tapped one carefully manicured nail on the computer screen. Seated in a window seat, looking after Otacon, was a blurry figure with short, flipped-out red hair.
“Is that Meryl?”
“I can’t be sure but... I think so. And, look at this” She bit her lip, and pulled the bar forwards until the second when Otacon fell backwards. “I don’t know, but it seems to me... is there really enough blood there?” she played the clip at half speed, and Raiden leant closely over her shoulder peering at the screen. It was difficult to make out much of the engineer as the crowd moved in except for the white of his coat and the blue of his pants. Then the men drove up and grabbed him.
“There, pause it,” said Raiden suddenly in her ear. Mei Ling clicked a button and the clip froze, Otacon suspended between the two men halfway into the back of the van. “Zoom it in,” he crossed his arms and waited.
Another click, and the image doubled in size. It was grainy, but still recognizable. Although there were two bright spots of red on Otacon’s coat, there was no vast flow of blood.
“You’re right. It looks like they got him in the stomach and dead in the chest. His whole coat should be stained,” he said it matter-of-factly. Mei Ling worried her lip, but narrowed her eyes.
“Perhaps a tranquilizer gun?” Mei Ling focused the image further upon Hal’s face. His head was resting against one of the men’s elbows, face rolled to the side. “He’s clearly unconscious.”
“A tranq wouldn’t cause any blood." Raiden's expression became suddenly guarded. "Can you focus in on the shooters?”
“The car, yes. But the angle of the satellite means you can’t see inside.” She replayed the video again, this time focusing on the other side of the street. As she predicted, apart from the driver who was wearing a mask, the occupants of the car weren’t visible from that angle. The closest that was possible was a directly overhead view looking down at the roof of the car.
“Look,” Raiden pointed to the back street-side window.
“What?” Mei Ling leaned forward, peering.
“There’s no gun visible.”
“Yes...” She turned to Jack. “Is that important? Raiden?”
Raiden was turning to leave, eyes narrow with anger. "I'm going to see Meryl."
"What's going on? Do you know who did this?" Mei Ling turned after him, eyes worried, fingers clenched.
"I'm going to clear it up."
"Should I come?"
"No. There's going to be trouble."
------------------------------------------------------------
Snake sat in the borrowed ’99 Toyota Camry, waiting for the light to change. Up ahead, the water of the harbour seemed grey in the dim afternoon light. He glanced to his right. In the empty passenger seat a map was sprawled, area dedicated to the Harbour districts unfolded, a route drawn in red marker with a circle at the end. He was only a couple of streets away now.
Snake reached down, brushed his fingers over the SOCOM in his thigh-holster, then brought his hand up to rest in vaguely his pocket. There they knocked against something long and plastic. A pair of glasses. He pulled his hand out as if burned.
Up ahead, the light changed. Snake hit the gas.
----------------------------------------------------------
Meryl was on her feet an instant after her office door slammed open, Desert Eagle already half-way out of her top desk drawer. Raiden walked in without waiting for an invitation. He was wearing civilian clothes, a long dark woollen coat and slacks, and was empty-handed, but his eyes were unmistakably dangerous.
"How did you get in here?" Meryl asked, putting the Eagle down but not closing the drawer. Raiden walked up to her desk, every move hinting at restrained strength, expression one of barely contained fury.
"Were you involved?" he growled, shoulders raising slightly in his anger. Meryl's eyes widened, and she almost took a step back before she regained control, expression tightening.
"What the hell are you talking about?" She challenged, leaning forward to face him.
"With the shooting. Were you involved?"
"We brought him here afterwards. It was already too late, Hal was-"
"Don't screw around with me. I know he wasn't actually shot. I know your people were following him. And I know that you met with him minutes before the whole thing happened. So tell me: were you involved?" He slammed his hands down on her desk, pens and paperweights shaking, while he stared at her, green eyes blazing.
"Yes," she spat. "It was a set-up, okay? You caught us. Good for you. Now you can get out of here."
"Otacon's not dead."
"No," said Meryl, eyes narrowing.
"Why fake his death?" He glanced down at her desk, caught sight of the open file sitting on the top of her pile of paperwork. The pages were headed Black Rain. "Black Rain? Is it related?"
Meryl gave an irritated sigh. "Look, we faked his death so Snake would have a reason for retribution, okay? Black Rain needed to be taken out of the picture, everyone knows that. Snake's got a reason, no one gets hurt, and everyone ends up happy except for those bastards, who get what they had coming."
"Who are you justifying Snake's actions to? You know he wouldn't be caught." Raiden straightened slowly, eyes narrowing further, shoulders tense. "Meryl, Snake knows Otacon is alive, right?" He caught the split second of indecision in her face, and snarled, "Right?"
Meryl shifted angrily. "He will when he finishes, in an hour. He can live without the damn engineer for half a day."
Raiden stared at her for a minute, eyes darkening, before he spoke. "What have you done?" He didn't raise his voice, but the emotion his tone carried made it seem as though he had shouted loud enough to rattle the windows. Meryl did take a step back this time, instinctively raising her arms in front of herself. "Call him, right the hell now, and tell him, Meryl."
Meryl set her back, anger restored. "Why should I? In an hour he'll be done, and he can find out then."
"If you sent him to kill Black Rain, in an hour he'll probably be dead."
"They couldn't kill Snake," she said, expression slightly uncertain for the full time.
"They could if he let them."
"What the hell are you talking about? Snake would never commit suicide over this. I doubt he would kill himself for anyone, never mind the engineer," she spat.
Raiden gritted his teeth. “Otacon is the only thing, the only person left in this world that Snake cares for in any meaningful way. Otacon is everything to him. He loves him, if that even begins to describe it,” he said, voice cold with fury. “The minute you tricked him into thinking Otacon was dead, he lost his partner, his best friend, his anchor. You tell me, what else does he have left to live for? His work? His health? You?"
"Even if I believed that he was in love with the engineer- which is ridiculous- Snake's never had a problem with starting over again after losing a 'love.'" She raised a hand to rest on her own chest.
"Have you ever watched them, Meryl? Obviously you have, but have you ever seen?! Are you telling me that whatever you two had for those few weeks, was equivalent to what they have? They've been living and working together for five years! How often did Snake ever smile at you, like he does at Otacon?"
"You mean the 'I can't believe how much of an idiot you are' smile?" she shot back.
"I mean" returned Raiden furiously, "the 'you're an idiot and I love you' smile!"
"And how often have you seen Otacon returning it?"
"Otacon's being an emotional idiot and the fact that Snake hasn't clued him in doesn't change Snake's feelings. And while we're standing here arguing over their love life, Snake is out there waiting to die. Call him," growled Raiden.
"Why don't you?"
"Because, as you fucking well know, he turned off his phone. But you wouldn't send him out into the field without any means of communication. So call him." Somehow, even empty-handed, Raiden still managed to convey the sense that he had a sword at Meryl's throat. She glared at him, but after a moment reached slowly into her drawer and pulled out a headset. Still frowning at Raiden, she pressed a button on it and raised it to her ear. After a moment, a faint voice muttered something.
"Doug? This is Jane. You should... that is, I think... return to base," she muttered defiantly. "No, it's important. It's... it's about Paul. Yes. Alright." She clicked the button again and slipped the headset back into her drawer. "Happy now? I'll be lucky if he just kills me, and doesn't destroy New Foxhound."
"Meryl, why do all this? I know you and Snake-"
"It has nothing to do with that," she said immediately. "It's Black Rain. They're targeting us. They've attacked three of my men so far, killed one."
"So you decided to trick Snake into killing them for you."
"It was my last option," she retorted defensively. "I would have done it myself, if I could have. I would have paid him, done anything to convince him. But this was the only way."
"I see," said Raiden coldly.
"No, you don't," she replied instantly, with scorn. "Stand by and watch while one of your men dies, knowing more of them will die, knowing you can't do anything to save them yourself, and see what choice you make when your only option refuses because of morals. We're soldiers, Raiden. We do whatever it takes."
"Somehow, I doubt that's how Snake will see it."
Without waiting for Meryl's answer, he turned and left.
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Snake walked into the New Foxhound headquarters, eyes blazing. Meryl was waiting for him in the entrance way, just as she had been before. "What?" he growled, tense with anger.
Meryl met his eyes for an instant, and then looked away. "Snake, I..." she sighed and continued in a tired voice without looking at him.
"I faked the shooting. Otacon's in the basement. Alive." She motioned behind her towards the stairwell, expression defeated.
Snake snarled and closed the distance between them in one step. "What?" he repeated, this time making no attempt to control his fury. Meryl stepped back and found herself driven to the wall. "The hell kind of joke is this?" He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders, trapping her in place. Her eyes flitted right and left, instinctively searching for an exit, before she twisted her expression into one resembling confidence, met Snake's stare head-on.
"It isn't a joke," she said, and watched as Snake's expression flickered through uncertainty, suspicion and, for an instant, hope. Meryl's eyes widened with surprise. "It's true," she muttered to herself. Snake's eyes focused in on her, quick as a striking snake.
"What?" he growled.
"Nothing," she replied. "Something Raiden said."
"Raiden?"
"Yeah. Seems like you've managed to make some friends after all."
"Meryl-"
"Look, just go pick up your sidekick and get out of here, okay?" She struck Snake's forearm harshly with her own without taking her eyes from his, driving her weight sideways. After a moment, Snake gave and lifted his arm, and she sidestepped out into the open.
"If you're not lying," he said as he stalked past her towards the stairwell, "you'd better not be here when I get back."
"And if I am?" she shot back malignantly.
He didn't bother to turn; kept walking, voice gruff and dangerous. "Then running’s not going to help."
The stairwell was cool and smelled of damp; he took the stairs four at a time, swinging himself around the corners with careless ease. The bottom door was unlocked and he slipped through it, scanning the empty corridor it let out onto even as he began striding down towards the last cell. The level was entirely silent save for the quiet hum of the overhead florescent lights.
The last cell's door was closed, as it had been before, simple bolt turned above the handle. He pulled it back with a quick snap and without a pause turned the handle and flung the door open, ignoring its unstable wobble.
The room was empty. He stared for a second, an expressionless mask dropping into place across his face, and walked straight in. The cot was unoccupied, although traces of dried blood had been splattered here and there over its dark surface.
"Whoever you are," said a firm voice behind him, "let me out, or I swear to God I'll slit my throat."
Snake turned in place, eyes widening. Behind the door stood Otacon, bloody hands digging the end of a hinge-pin into the soft skin of his throat, looking defiant. His skin was pale under his dark hair, light eyes peering from under dark brows, trying to focus without the aid of glasses. His torn shirt revealed an equally pale and, more importantly, whole chest.
Dave exhaled sharply and blinked, mask dropping away suddenly to reveal amazed relief. Without a word he walked sharply across the room, Otacon taking a step backwards. Before the man could act, Dave had grabbed the pin out of his hands, thrown it away to the side, and pulled him into a tight, breathless embrace. Otacon stiffened sharply, then relaxed. "S-Snake?" he stuttered, as the breath was nearly crushed out of him, and then fisted his hands in Dave's leather jacket as his face took on a look of relief almost as profound as his partner's.
After a minute, Dave loosened his grip from bone-crushing to simple contact, held Hal gently in the protective circle of his arms, face pressed into the engineer's hair.
"Snake," began Hal after a minute, voice soft as he spoke into his partner's ear, "I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't," said Dave sharply, and Hal flinched slightly in his grip. "Don't," continued Dave in a more moderated voice, but still gruffly, "apologize for anything. Because if you do, I really will kill Meryl."
Hal exhaled sharply at this, stiffened, paused. After a second, though, he continued in a lighter tone, "I was going to say, I'm sorry for not putting a marker in the door, but I was in a rush and you know how I am in the morning, and..." he trailed off as Snake gave a snort of laugher which blew sharply through Hal's dark hair.
Smiling now, more with his eyes than his lips, Dave withdrew his arms to rest his hands lightly on Hal's shoulders instead, stepped away. Hal released his grip awkwardly, rested his hands on the edges of Dave's shoulders for a second before he caught sight of them and dropped them away. Dave followed his glance, and before Hal could evade him, grabbed a wrist and pulled it up to inspect.
Hal's hands were reddened, torn and bloody, the pads of his fingers the worst damaged. Dave glanced from them to the pin Hal had threatened himself with upon the other man's entrance, and then at the door hinges. Both the top and bottom hinges had already been removed, middle one an eighth of an inch out of its place. "You were levering out the pins? With what?" He glanced back at Hal, surprised. The engineer grinned sheepishly.
"Some pen lids at first, but they were pretty useless, and cracked faster than Windows ME, so I switched to a paper clip. It was kind of vicious."
"I can see that," said Dave, a hint of anger in his tone, and pulled a packet of alcoholic swabs out of a pocket of his sneaking suit, half-hidden under his jacket. Hal accepted the packet without looking at it, eyes focused instead on the suit. After a second, he looked up slowly to meet Dave's eyes, an accepting sorrow written in his own.
"So you really were going to go after them," he said quietly, frozen, holding the packet of swabs as if to tear it.
"Yes," said Dave simply. He took the packet from Hal and opened it himself, handed one of the damp wipes to his partner. Hal took it absently and began cleaning his hands, wincing at the stinging alcohol.
"You didn't have to, you know. If I ever, I mean, if anyone..." Hal rubbed at his wounds viciously. "I guess it's pointless to tell you this."
"Yeah," said Dave, "pretty much." He dropped his hand from Hal's shoulder to tug at his coat lapel, pulling both Hal's shirt and coat aside and revealing the dark bruise over his heart. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached forward and splayed his hand flat against Hal's chest. Hal looked down at it in surprise, shadow of a wince passing over his face, before looking back up at his partner. Snake's expression was one of intense concentration, tinged with pain.
"Snake..."
"Let's go home," said Snake suddenly, coming to a decision, voice low and rough. "You need to get cleaned up, anyway."
"The water heater's broken," replied Hal, although it was with a smile. Dave removed his hand, slowly, and grinned back.
"I think I can deal with that."
He stepped back and shrugged out of his coat, handed it out to Hal who stared at it blankly. "Yours needs cleaning," he said. Hal looked down at his coat and started slightly, then pulled it off, dropping it on the ground, and bending to scoop up his small pile of belongings. He slipped these into his pants pockets, fumbling with his wallet for a minute, and then accepted Dave's coat, pulling it closed to cover his stained and torn shirt. Having finished adjusting his clothes, he glanced at his partner, now openly wearing his sneaking suit.
"You look like a terrorist," Hal said, indicating the gun holstered at the other man's thigh. Dave shrugged, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced up at the ceiling.
"I don't mind," he said darkly. He took in Hal's disturbed expression, though, and lightened his own. "Give me your hat."
"What? I don't have it."
"It's in my pocket." He indicated the jacket. Confused, Hal slipped his hands into the jacket, pulled out both his hat and glasses. He slipped his glasses on, blinking rapidly, and then handed Dave his hat as requested.
"Why were you walking around with those anyway? Meryl said you took my glasses..." he trailed off, glanced at Dave. His partner took the hat and pulled it down over his hair and further, until it covered most of his forehead.
"Let's go," he said, stepping around the wobbling door.
"But-"
"We can talk at home," he said gruffly, leading the way into the corridor. Hal gave a last glance back at the cell, hunched his shoulders, and followed his partner.
The Foxhound building’s main floor was surprisingly quiet, Meryl conspicuously absent. Dave led the way out of a side exit and to a nearby parking lot where he paused next to their used Honda Civic, leaned patiently against the side. Hal stared at the car.
"You drove here?" He looked from the car to his partner in shock.
"I wasn't too worried about maintaining cover," said Dave with a shrug, and then, "You've got the keys."
Shaking himself, Hal dug through Dave's pockets once more, pulled out the car keys and tossed them to the soldier, began walking around to the passenger side without waiting to see Dave catch them.
The drive back was conducted mostly in silence, Dave keeping his eyes resolutely on the road, Hal rubbing vaguely at his cut fingers. They parked in the tenants' lot near their building and walked back through alleyways, Dave sticking to the shadows.
They paused in the empty apartment lobby, Hal going to press the elevator button. "I should take the stairs," said Dave, indicating his clothes.
"Okay," replied Hal, standing next to the elevator doors. Dave paused for a minute as if to say something, eyes lingering on his partner, thought the better of it, and slipped into the stairwell with one last glance back at Hal as the door closed behind him. A minute later the elevator arrived with a bright ping, and Hal stepped in.
Ironically, no one else arrived to share the elevator, but when Hal arrived at their floor he found Dave waiting for him against the wall, out of the line of sight of anyone in the elevator. Hal blinked with surprise, but said nothing as the soldier walked together with him to their door, where they stood for a minute before Hal remembered about the keys, Dave watching him in amusement.
Flushing, Hal dug his own keys out of his pants pocket and made to unlock the door. Dave stopped him before he could, took the keys out of his hand. Hal made to protest, and Dave indicated the unmarked door frame. Hal blanched and stepped back. "Someone's been here," he whispered, glancing at Dave.
"Not necessarily. I didn't put in a marker when I left," he said, although he pulled his gun out all the same. Hal stared at him in surprise.
"You didn't put a marker in?"
"No," replied Dave gruffly, ignoring Hal's expression. "Stay here," he added, and pushed Hal gently against the wall with his free arm. He then unlocked the door and slipped inside.
A minute later Dave’s gruff voice spoke out from behind the door, “It’s clear.”
Hal stepped inside, closing and locking the door absently behind him while he toed off his sneakers. He didn’t get any further into the apartment, because Dave pinned him to the door, hands resting gently on his shoulders, forearms pressed against his chest.
Hal made an unconscious noise of surprise in his throat, but said nothing. He raised his eyes to meet Dave’s, which were full of intensity.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” began the soldier. “I always figured I’d go first, and then it wouldn’t matter. It should have- I didn’t- I never thought…” he shook his head, bent his face closer to Hal’s. “It never occurred to me that you could die before me. Not really. I could take precautions against it, could plan it out, but I never believed it. Stupid, rookie mistake. But now… when I thought I had lost you-” his voice dropped too low, and he cleared his throat gruffly, paused. Hal was watching him closely.
Slowly, Dave leant in closer and wrapped his arms around Hal, pulled him close so that there was no space between them, one hand over Hal’s shoulder blades, the other on his waist. He rested his head against Hal’s, the engineer’s cool cheek leeching heat from his, and sighed, breath ghosting through the dark hair. Hal’s eyes were wide and shocked.
“I don’t want to lose you. It’s damn selfish of me, but I can’t seem to let you go,” Dave whispered.
Hal started slightly, socked feet slipping on the wood floor, eyes slightly over-dilated. Dave steadied him easily up against the door, then backed off. “Maybe you should sit down for a while.”
“Yeah,” said Hal, vaguely, and stumbled over towards the couch, which he dropped onto straight-backed, ending up sitting leaning over, hands between his knees. Dave stood for a second at the other end of the couch, then sat down as well, perching on the armrest.
“If you need to think about it for a while, that’s fine,” said Snake gruffly, glancing around the apartment, and then back at his partner. “Whatever you think is fine, Hal; you know that, right?”
Hal raised his eyes to watch Dave. His eyes were looking at some point far beyond Dave, though. He began to speak slowly, as if figuring it out as he went along. “Once, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love,” he said quietly. “I knew what love wasn’t. And I thought… I thought I knew what it was.” He focused in on Dave. “This afternoon, when I realised you were going to die because of me, I… I’ve never felt like that before. I don’t know what that feeling is. But I would have torn into the door with my nails, and the bones underneath them, and my teeth, if I had thought it would have gotten me out of there to save you.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what I feel anymore, Dave. But I think… this must be love, because I don’t think I could feel any more strongly without my heart breaking.” He smiled self consciously and stood, looked down to finger the torn material of his blood-stained shirt, and so didn’t notice Dave standing. “But first I-”
He was cut off before he could finish by Dave pulling him sharply into his arms again, expression one of fierce emotion. The soldier pressed a calloused hand against Hal’s face, tilted it up to face him. “Uh,” said Hal softly as a prelude to something else. He didn’t get the chance to finish his thought, because Dave pressed his mouth against the engineer’s, left arm slipping around to support his neck from behind, hand burying itself in his unruly hair. Hal gasped slightly and then relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms tentatively around the soldier’s broader frame. Dave took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into the engineer’s mouth, shifting his grip to support the other man’s weight, pressing their bodies closer together.
The kiss ended only when they both had to come up for air, Hal panting slightly, Dave watching him with low-lidded, predatory eyes.
“That was, um, ha…” Hal trailed off, twisted slightly in Dave’s loosening grip. “I should really get cleaned up, before, uh…I mean, I’m going to get blood flecks all over you…” Hal flushed, glanced down at his stained clothes. The blood had long ago dried, the majority of it on his shirt and pants, although some was still spread over the pale skin beneath. Dave followed his glance, eyes tracking the stains down to the engineer’s stomach to the top of his pants, and continued lower with a feral grin.
“I could give you a hand with that,” he said, grin widening as the engineer flushed more deeply.
“Really?” said Hal, managing a touch of sarcasm despite his red face, trembling hands.
Dave gave a soft bark of laugher, shaking both himself and Hal, still held close. “Yeah,” said Dave, voice soft, and leaned his forehead against Hal’s, looked into the other man’s eyes. “If you’re sure,” he added seriously, eyes intense. “Because like I said, once I’ve got hold of you, I don’t think I’ll be able to let go.”
Hal met his gaze firmly, light eyes steady. “Good,” he said, “because I’ve never been good at doing things half way.”
There was a moment of thick silence, and then Snake nodded once, smiling slightly, and released Hal. He slipped around behind the engineer towards the kitchen, where he filled a large pan with water and switched on a stove element to set it on. While it heated, he unlaced his boots and pulled them off, disappearing into his room to tuck them away. He was gone for several minutes, leaving Hal to pull off the borrowed jacket and hang it up, empty his own pockets out onto the sideboard, act as though everything were normal.
Dave returned when the water had begun to steam, barefoot and wearing a loose t-shirt and sweat pants. He dipped a finger into the water, pulling it out again instantly, and turned off the element. He then carried the pan over to the sink and poured in some cool water. Finally, he dug out a cork mat and headed towards the bathroom. He glanced at Hal as he walked by, face sly. Hal smiled uncertainly, but stood and followed his partner into the bathroom, flipped down the toilet lid and slumped down on it while Dave arranged the pan on top of the mat on the sink counter and fetched a ratty face cloth from a dark corner of the linen closet.
“You’re going to want to take your shirt off, at least,” said Dave, dropping the cloth into the hot water, moving it around until it soaked completely and then pulling it out and wringing the water out. Hal stood awkwardly, pulled the torn t-shirt over his head, nearly knocking his hand against Dave in the confined space of the bathroom. He dropped the shirt onto the floor of the shower stall and stood considering. After a minute, he unzipped his stained jeans and pulled them off as well, dumping them alongside the shirt, blushing lightly. In just his boxers, he stepped over to stand next to Dave by the mirror, one arm wrapped uncertainly over his stomach, skin beginning to goose bump in the cool air.
Dave smiled, gently this time, and pulled the other man over to stand in front of him facing the counter. He placed one hand on Hal’s right shoulder from behind, and with the other began to wash the slighter man’s collar bone, rubbing softly with the wash cloth. He moved it with slow even strokes, pausing every now and then to warm the cloth again in the water, wring it out over the sink, Hal standing tensely in front of him.
Hal flinched sharply when the cloth came to the still darkening bruise over his heart. Dave paused, cloth hovering a hairsbreadth from the engineer’s chest. Hal swallowed, relaxed. “It’s fine. Just a little sore.” He rubbed vaguely at the bruise, hand brushing against Dave’s. Dave leant in closer and began his work again, carefully washing what remained of the paint away. Slowly, he took his other hand off Hal’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around the other man’s waist, hand resting on top of Hal’s. Hal’s heartbeat was beginning to rise, goose bumps disappearing as his skin began to warm up, the heat from Dave’s arms and chest helping.
Dave glanced up into the mirror, caught Hal watching him furtively in the split second before the engineer could glance away, and smirked. He rested his chin on Hal’s shoulder, close to his neck, so that his breath ghosted over the man’s ear, blowing his hair about softly. Hal shivered slightly, hand twitching under Dave’s.
Carefully avoiding looking in the mirror, Dave dipped the cloth in the hot water again, wrung it out, and brought it back to Hal’s breastbone. He washed away the dried blood there for a moment, then pulled the cloth left, teasing it over the sensitive skin of his nipple. Hal drew in a sharp breath, jerked back against Dave, hand grasping at Dave’s. Grinning toothily, Dave leant around to lick at the engineer’s ear, rubbing harder with the cloth when that produced a moan.
After several long seconds, he dragged the cloth further down, careful this time of the second bruise below Hal’s ribs, wetted the cloth again and squeezed the water out quickly with one hand, bringing it back immediately to trace over the soft skin of the engineer’s stomach, sucking at Hal’s earlobe as he did so. Hal, breath coming in quicker gasps now, moaned again low in his throat, grasping the sink counter with his free hand as he pressed himself further back into Dave’s warm grip. Heart beginning to race as well, Dave loosened his arm around Hal’s waist to allow lower access with the cloth, wrapped it about the engineer’s ribs instead, hand splayed out flat to cover more skin. He glanced up into the mirror, watched Hal pant from the corner of his hungry eyes as he traced the engineer’s ear with his tongue.
The cloth, not properly wrung out, was dripping trails of warm water down Hal’s stomach, little streams disappearing under the line of his boxers, which hung slightly away from his pale skin. Hal twitched, let go of the counter and made to bring his arm up to rub at the water. Dave knocked it away, tilting his body forward as he did so, hips pressing against Hal. He buried his face in the engineer’s neck, arm about the engineer’s ribs tightening briefly as he moaned, hips twitching. Hal shivered, fought to keep from reacting, already panting hard.
After a second Dave gathered himself, returning the cloth to Hal’s skin. He pulled it across the top of Hal’s boxers, teasing his fingers under the waistband, following the other man’s hip bones. Hal dug his shoulder blades into Dave’s chest, eyes closed, head thrown back against Dave’s shoulder. Dave leant in again to suck at the side of his throat, stroking gently with the cloth as Hal panted to the rhythm he set, watched the engineer’s shuddering reflection in the mirror. More water was slowly trickling down into Hal’s boxers, the engineer slowly tensing back against Dave, gripped Dave’s stationary hand with his own. A particularly low stroke caused the engineer to arch back against him. Dave moaned again, arm slipping low to anchor around Hal’s waist, hips grinding against the engineer. Hal shifted against him and Dave groaned, pulled him closer. “Hal…” his voice was muffled, lips pressed against the pale skin of the engineer’s throat.
Hal was truly gasping for breath now, body shivering against Dave, right arm clutched tight around Dave’s, the other returned to holding on to the sink counter, so tight his knuckles were turning white. Dave brought his hand, cloth and all, down low across Hal’s stomach and slipped it just under the waistband of his boxers. He passed it over the sensitive skin there twice, teasingly.
“Unn… Dave,” Hal’s voice was thick with need, pleading. Dave slipped his hand lower still, wrapped it around Hal’s cock, hard with desire. Hal made a high whining noise in his throat, bucked back against Dave, back arching as the soldier pulled his cloth-covered hand back and forth. Hal shuddered with each stroke, breath catching in his throat. Dave continued to watch the engineer in the mirror, slid his free hand up from Hal’s stomach to rest over his smooth chest, Hal’s hand moving with it. He rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb over the engineer’s right nipple, Hal’s hand clasping tightly over his as he gasped, Dave watching the wave of arousal pass over the engineer with darkening eyes, own body tensing as Hal shifted against him.
Dave continued until Hal began to stiffen against him, hips canting against Dave’s hand in earnest, hardly managing more than inarticulate cries. “God, Dave… nnh… ha… there… ha…”
Hard, gasping for breath as well, Dave slipped his hand out from Hal’s boxers, pulled the slighter man around to face him and dropped the cloth on the ground. He ran his hands down Hal’s sides, anchored them against his hips, thumbs caught over the sharp bones there, fingers splaying back over Hal’s ass, tilting his hips sharply upwards. Hal’s arms snaked around to pull him closer, face tilted upwards as he panted for breath, ground his hips against the other man’s with a desperate noise. Dave pressed his own face forward and captured Hal’s mouth with his, pinned him up against the bathroom wall, ground their thrusting hips together harshly with a gasping moan.
They came nearly simultaneously, Hal tensing, fingers digging into Dave’s back as he spasmed, crying out into Dave’s mouth, to be followed an instant later by Dave, grinding against Hal slowly, deliberately, shoulders shaking.
They stood afterwards, panting, for a minute, Dave holding most of their combined weight up, before the soldier leaned back and sat down, pulling Hal down with him to sit together propped up against the sink counter on the bathroom floor, limbs intertwined, Hal’s head resting on Dave’s shoulder, Dave’s leaning gently against it.
After a while Hal stirred, looked up at Dave who was watching him with those heavy-lidded eyes again, although now they were filled with something closer to contentment than desire. Or possibly even love.
“I think,” said Hal, voice almost completely steady, “that I’m going to have to get cleaned off again.”
Dave grinned. “I can help with that.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Dave stood in the dark bedroom doorway, leaning against the doorframe, cup of coffee held loosely in one hand, watching Hal sleep with soft eyes. The engineer had made a nest for himself out of Dave’s duvet, dark head resting at an awkward angle on the pillow.
To his right, on the kitchen counter, the phone began to ring. Dave walked across the room quickly, passing Hal’s empty room in less than a second, and picked the phone up halfway through its second ring.
“Hello?” he said, softly.
“Doug,” said Raiden’s voice from the other end of the line. “I wanted to make sure Paul was okay.”
Dave leaned back against the wall, set the mug down on the counter next to the morning’s newspaper. On the front cover were three blurry photographs. “Yeah. He’s fine.” He paused. “I saw the paper this morning,” he said, in a darker voice.
On the other end, Raiden said nothing.
“Why’d you do it? You had no reason,” Dave said gruffly.
“People who cause so much desperation are too dangerous to keep around,” said Raiden after a minute. “Besides, I owe you one.”
“And Jane?”
“I think she knows better than to try something like this again. She must know Mary and I are keeping an eye on her. As are you,” added Raiden after an instant. “But her problems are solved, for now at least.”
“Hn,” said Dave. He pushed away from the wall and padded silently across the dark apartment to stand in the doorway of his room once more.
“Doug?”
“Yeah?”
“About Paul… maybe you should… you might want to… uh…”
Dave smirked in the darkness. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, eyes on his sleeping partner. “I’m going to keep hold of him this time.”
END
