Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction ❯ Grenades ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"Snake? Snake! Snake, wake up! Oh my god. Oh, fuck!" He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, his heart beating louder than the pistons in the engine, louder than the drone of rubber on pavement, louder than the gunfire which was fading in the distance. Two minutes. He'd made it. But now Snake was passed out in the backseat, and there was blood everywhere. Funny how the human brain blotted out matters of less import in times of crisis. Otacon could be thinking about the fact that, by god, he'd been right about nefarious workings at site N38. He could be thinking about their hideout above Ella's and whether it was worth it to drive back and gather up their meager belongings to make it more difficult to trace their flight. He could be thinking about the apparent para-military base they'd just left, and whether the fruits of Snake's labor meant the Metal Gear was destroyed. Many things could have gone through his head in these moments, but instead it was only the thunderous screaming that Snake was here, in the back seat bleeding out, and deathly still. How far was far enough to ensure they were away from the base? How far was too far to stop and check if Snake was breathing, make sure he wasn't dead? There was no right decision, and Hal found himself driving back in a straight line to Bismarck, to their apartment, his only instinct and just about the worst decision possible. His eyes blurred behind his lenses as tears clouded his vision. Snake was unmoving and silent and all Otacon could think about was how he had felt in his arms when he pulled him out of the water after the Tanker Incident. His body had been so cold and his existence so fragile. Snake had lived, but how close to death had he been? Was he going to lose him now?

He angled the rear view mirror so he could see his prone body in the backseat, arm twisted at an angle, blood smeared across his chest and pooling on the seat. He could tell his eyelids weren't twitching, his chest wasn't moving.
His chest wasn't moving.
He had to stop, he couldn't drive all the way back to Bismarck. The last rational piece of his mind grabbed him and shook him out of his blind panic. Must stop. Must find medical help. There were scattered buildings on the roadside, signaling the approach of the outskirts of some town they'd driven through earlier in the darkness. Highway 52 loomed ahead, winding through a town just large enough to shield their conspicuity from trailing military forces. He wiped the tears from his eyes, squinting and straining to find a hospital in the piercing morning light. At least there was no one out yet - he glanced down at the speedometer and physically forced his foot to lighten on the gas pedal. As badly as he yearned to leave it stomped to the floor, it wouldn't do to get stopped by a traffic cop, arrested for the bloody body in the backseat... Better to drive just a little slower.

And then he found it. Parkside Animal Hospital. It was perfect, it was better than perfect. And the lights in the front were just coming on. He skidded into the driveway, barely missing an outlandishly large potted plant and jamming on the parking brake. He didn't bother with either the clutch or neutral, so the car shuddered and killed. He was already out of his seat, banging on the clinic door.
"Hello? Hello?! Someone please open the door!" He saw a young lady in blue scrubs peek around the desk, bewildered. He wasn't sure if he should keep screaming, would it encourage her to move quicker or call the police? She shuffled to the front door and opened it, leaving the storm door between them, locked. "I'm sorry, I really need your help, my friend and I were hunting and he was shot and he's bleeding everywhere and now he's not breathing and-" she opened the screen door to stop his stream of words. His eyes were too earnest and the edges of his lenses were fogged from crying.

"Let's get him inside." A man in a green polo shirt stuck his head into the reception office.
"Is everything all right, Tracy?"
"Open up the back, we have an emergency." He straightened perceptibly and retreated to start prepping. Hal was a stream of words.
"Thank you, thank you so much, he's right over here..." She followed him quickly, tying her hair back as they rushed to the car. She stifled a gasp when her eyes landed on Snake's body and a cold rush of panic shot through Hal's veins. A scream, a question, it could be all over in no time at all. There was a man sprawled limply in the backseat, dressed in what could have been a Halloween costume or a combat diving suit, a handgun with a silencer on the floor, his hands covered in blood, the window splattered in blood. His arm was pierced not with a single wound, but torn apart in multiple locations, flesh mixing with tendons and shredded vasculature. Questions were racing through her mind, but she simply laid her fingers on his throat, searching for a pulse. This was no hunting accident, but from the prone man's pitiful condition and the abject despair of the other's fright, she decided she didn't want to know more. There it was, a pulse thready but present, his heart keeping tenuous time. She could feel the barest of breath on her knuckles.
"He's breathing, help me lift him." Hal shuddered out a grateful sigh, his limbs filled with purpose and determination, despair fled. He was breathing, for now, and everything depending on him keeping a cool head and on the skillful hands of an angel named Tracy.

The veterinarian in the polo shirt opened the back door as they carried Snake in, and the questions started before he was laid on the examination table.
"What in God's name? This isn't an emergency! Tracy, what the hell are you doing? Why did you let them in?" She fixed him with a steely glare.
"Greg, we can discuss this later, right now I made a decision and we are helping these men!"
"No we're not." His tone held no room for debate. "I am not having any part in this." He shot daggers at Hal. "Get him the hell out of here, he does not belong in my hospital!" Anger boiled in Hal's veins. He would not be denied help for Dave, now that he was here. He was breathing, for how long? If he put him back in the car and tried to find a hospital, there was no guarantee he'd make it. Moving him from the car had undone any coagulation that his wounds had attempted on the drive from the missile site, and Hal's hands and shirt were bloody. Blood was spreading across the examination table and the woman's hands were helpless and still. Dave was simply pale and silent. He had seen him like this before and the memory was all too fresh. No, he would not fail him now.

Hal stormed out to the car and grabbed the first weapon he saw, the M9 from the backseat, rushing in before the door had a chance to close.
"I am not going to ask again. He needs your help and I am not leaving until he gets it!" The barrel was pointed firmly at Greg's shocked face. Without a word, the woman went to work, pulling out gauze, vials of liquid, forceps, all the equipment it took to piece a man back together. Polo Shirt simply stood there, shocked. Hal's eyebrows drew together, his eyes cold. "You're helping, too. If he doesn't make it, neither will you."
"Greg, for the love of God, get me a hemostat and the silver nitrate." Tracy didn't need encouragement to work, she already had Snake's upper bicep wrapped in a tourniquet and was filling a syringe. "How much does he weigh?" Hal tore his eyes from Greg, who was now flitting nervously from cupboard to cupboard, gathering equipment.
"Um, 210, 220?" She eased the needle into his intact left arm.
"Good. This should be enough."

Hal watched them work, wincing slightly when Tracy began to dig in his musculature for bullet fragments, his grip on the pistol quivering slightly. Hal collapsed onto one of the stools, watching them work, gun at his side. He wanted to help so badly, wanted to be able to do something other than sit and worry. He knew the nanomachines were working as best they could, but it would take sutures to mend his body, not merely programming. He knew it was foolish, but he just wanted a blink from Snake, a finger twitch, anything. He was so doped up now from the drugs and the shock that it would be impossible, but he found himself staring at his limp fingers, straining in order to will them to life. He would not lose him, he couldn't. All that remained without Snake was a cold encompassing void. It was the companionship, it was the challenge of Philanthropy, it was the friendship which had built over the years. Dave knew him like no other, and without him he was absolutely alone, adrift and directionless. He had no family left, no close friends, colleagues... His whole world was Dave. Tears fogged up his glasses again, his throat closed, and he gave into quiet sobs as the two veterinarians worked. What had it all been for today? He didn't even know what Snake had found. Was it worth all this? Was it worth the pain and the possibility that he would never come back? His sniffles brought the attention of Greg and stilled his hands. Hal's jaw tightened and the gun flew to shoulder level.

"Keep working." Hal's teeth ground together and Greg focused back on Snake, properly threatened. He stared down the barrel of the gun. With sickening clarity, Hal knew he had the capacity to carry out his threat. The gun made him dangerous, but the situation had only crystallized his innate potential. If they stopped working, really and truly refused to help, he would kill them both. There would be no remorse or hesitation, he would splatter their brains across the walls. At first, he was pleading for their help, and it barely crossed his mind that he might be denied. But when confronted with it, and with the sure possibility that Dave would die, threatening them was the only option. Would it be a just sentence for taking away the one brilliant thing in his life?
Yes. Dave would not die. Dave could not die. If he did, everyone would share his pain. These thoughts frightened Hal to the core, but he knew they were true.

Over the din in his head, he heard Tracy and Greg talking.
"He doesn't have enough."
"Well, we don't have any here, what do you expect?"
Tracy eyed Hal. "What blood type is he?" He knew.
"A positive. He needs a transfusion, doesn't he? I'm B negative, I..."
"I'm A positive." No hesitation. "Greg, get the pressure transfusion kit and some iodine."
"Are you crazy? You take him in, put this whole practice at risk. This madman is holding us at gunpoint, and you're offering him your blood?"
"You are absolutely no help! It doesn't matter that he has a gun, he needs our help regardless, you're just too blind to realize that. You," she glared at Hal, "the iodine is in the cabinet behind you, the kit's in the drawer to your left."
"Jesus Christ, Tracy." He threw his hands in the air. "I'll get it, I just don't fucking understand you."

Hal watched them work, watched the needles slide into each of their arms, watched Tracy's face relax as the blood left her body and pooled in a glass jar. The gun returned to his side. No, he wouldn't kill her, even if Dave didn't make it. His bloodlust could be tempered. But he would kill Greg, and revel in it. One life for another, not two.
She was doing her best to keep him alive. The jar filled quickly, aided by gravity and Tracy's quickly beating heart. He held the gauze over the needle wound as Greg removed it and began setting up the equipment which would feed her blood into Snake's veins. Hal couldn't tear his eyes away as the blood flowed, disappearing greedily into his body. The rarest bit of color returned to Dave's skin. It was barely noticeable, but it gave him hope. The tears dried on his face and the sour doctor cleaned up the equipment. Minutes ticked by, but Dave was still. Worry and fatigued hope were etched on his face.
"He'll be all right now, he just needs time to recover." Tracy's patient smile caught Hal's eye and when he looked back, he could see that Dave's chest was rising and falling. Faintly, but perceptible.
"Oh thank god." He let out a long sigh, the tension fading, taking a brief moment to shut his eyes in relief. "Thank you, thank you both so much."

Greg wheeled him out on the examining table while Tracy held the door. Both men struggled to lay him in the backseat.
"You were never here. This never happened, and I don't want to see either of you ever again. Are we clear? You may have the gun, but you can give me that much." Hal nodded in understanding, and Greg disappeared back inside.
"So you know, he probably won't come out of it for at least another 2 or 3 hours. And then he's going to be in a lot of pain." Tracy placed a small plastic bottle in Hal's hands. Give him half a tablet if he needs it, no less than 6 hours apart. These are horse tranqs, so do not overdo it. And if he starts having an allergic reaction from the transfusion, then he absolutely needs a people hospital, clear?" Hal smiled at her appreciatively.
"Yes, we're clear. Thank you so much, I don't know what I would have done without your help." Shock and shame swept over Hal's face in sudden realization. "I just got you fired, didn't I?" But Tracy only smirked.
"Kind of hard to fire your wife. He'll get over it, and he's been under a lot of stress lately.” Her smirk turned to a worried frown. “His sister disappeared a few weeks ago. She's a schoolteacher, she recently got married, it makes no sense... We're both really scared for her." The frown on Hal's face deepened.
“I am so sorry. We heard about it on the news.”
“Thanks, but that's really not your worry. I just sincerely hope you and your friend stay out of trouble." She retreated inside and then Hal was left with his thoughts, an unconscious man in the back of a blood-stained Subaru, and a desperate need to get out of town.


***


The sky was a blank palette of blue, no clouds to mar it, and the sun had risen high overhead. With both hands planted firmly on the steering wheel, the speedometer reading higher than it should, and frequent, fervent glances to the back seat, he drove. The road and the absent plain stretched before them endlessly. Dave was still silent in the back seat, the quiet sound of his breathing muffled by the noise of the engine and the air streaming past them. Without checks to the backseat, it was impossible to tell if Dave was alive or if he was frighteningly alone.

The landscape had emptied around them. The glossily paved four lane highway, speckled with gas stations and adult video stores, had merged into two quite some time ago. Outposts of humanity were replaced by the odd windmill, spinning fruitlessly, or an ancient corner fencepost, more massive than its counterparts, but eroding slowly against merciless time. The quality of the asphalt had steadily decreased. The Subaru's suspension was now being tested by potholes and ridges buckled from the thawing ground, maybe once every 15 seconds. Hal knew the road quality would steadily decline. He was daring glances to the backseat when they passed over particularly deep holes, hoping for but noticing no change on Dave's countenance.
He was still breathing, that he was sure of. Color had returned to his cheeks and if not for the dried blood, he would simply be asleep.

The two lanes drew narrower and Hal had to keep both hands on the steering wheel to ensure he stayed in his lane. There hadn't been another car for the better part of an hour, but he couldn't take chances. His stomach was clenching in annoyance, reminding him that their last meal had been over twelve hours ago. It was hardly a meal. A few slices of toast, coffee. If his ultimate destination lay over the border, which it did, it would be wise to stop for supplies first.

Canada was the only acceptable destination. Perhaps by process of elimination, their pursuers would assume they'd jumped the border, but two independent men had a much better chance of crossing than a parade of military types in armored vehicles. No, tracking them down in the states would be too easy. They had been living in Bismarck, they'd gotten medical attention that morning, not far away. People knew their faces. They would be able to recognize their car. And how far could he reasonably drive before collapsing? Before running out of fuel?

With one hand, he propped open the lid of the closest laptop, booted it up, and opened the GPS app. He hated risking any exposure, but his guilty conscience was deferred - for now - by the fact that no one was immediately pursuing them. As he always did, one eye on the road, one on the screen, Hal encrypted the GPS chatter, feeding it into chains of mix servers which modified the encryption layering at each node. If someone was after them, they could only triangulate their present location. Deciphering his intent would be impossible.

So, that's where they were - Hal allowed a satisfied little grunt past his lips. Not bad for having driven this far with no direction save the climbing sun. Fifteen miles to the border, three to a little town where he could buy supplies and then disappear. He quickly powered down the laptop and inventoried the bills in his side pocket. With all the preparation early this morning, he couldn't remember how much money he had on him, much less putting it there. Wadded down in the bottom - he had to shift his right foot against the accelerator to reach it - was a clump of old money, thoroughly washed and tumble dried. His findings went onto the seat next to him, and his hands and feet went back to their rightful places. One mile. He could see a tall gas station sign resolving itself over the brim of the hood, bright colorful letters in stark contrast to the drab sea of color which blended the land and buildings together seamlessly.

Hal noted the gas tank was still half full, so he pulled the Subaru to the far side of the building, away from the lone truck fueling, away from the windows that lined the other walls. For a moment, he hesitated with his hand on the key, fearful that turning off the engine would somehow mean it would never start again. He had been doing well up to this point, occupying himself with a thousand other mindless things, but... Panic washed over him in a great shudder and he stuffed a long, deep breath into his lungs to clear his mind. This would not be the time to break down. No, not yet. Hours from now, then he could fall apart. When they were safely over the border, when they were someplace warm with food in front of them and Dave coming around to consciousness. Dave... Another deep breath, and his fingers silenced the engine. The money he'd piled, plus some spare change the previous owner had left in the ashtray, amounted to $40.56. Not as bad as it could have been, but not what he'd hoped. It would have to make do.

Now that his head was clear, he glanced over the backseat. Blood spattered the windows in artful fashion and oozed to dry on the floor. The seat was an utter nightmare of lost fluids. If someone saw... He inventoried his options. Dave probably still had the non-metallic knife concealed on the the back of his suit. There was a Glock 32 stashed under the front passenger seat. The M9 Dave brought back from the site, the one he'd used in the clinic, was lying discarded on the floor behind him. Large bulky silencer, probably only one or two rounds left... Not the ideal choice if things went south. An image of pushing the barrel against Greg the veterinarian's nose, his face exploding as he pulled the trigger rose, unbidden... His head swam. So much had happened in the past few hours. So much could have, but blessedly didn't.

There were more weapons in the trunk, but primarily of the large caliber, assault rifle flavor. He donned his jacket, covering up his bloody shirt. The Glock went into his inner jacket pocket, but as soon as he reached for the zipper, he knew it was a mistake. Too heavy, it would make its presence apparent with the lopsided bulge it produced. He wasn't going in to rob the place... Dammit, Hal! Gritting his teeth in rebuke, he ensured the safety was on and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans, the cool metal against the small of his back.

Probably no one who was following them would come across this same store, but it was never wrong to take precautions. He inspected his face in the mirror - no blood, thank god. Attached to the driver-side visor was a pair of wrap-around sporty sunglasses. A quick inspection of the glove compartment yielded two rubber bands. His hair was just long enough to collect in a tiny knot at the back of his head. He gathered as much as would hold and tucked a few shorter locks behind the sunglasses perched atop his head. Not perfect, but he didn't look like himself, and that would suffice.

Prepared, he locked the car and strolled as nonchalant as he could manage into the gas station without the benefit of his prescription glasses. He hoped it didn't show. This was a perfect little 'everything' store, designed to cater to the locals and the weekend warriors. There were two aisles in the center, filled with everything a man could need on a camping trip - but which he'd probably forgotten to pack, and now his wife and children were outside in the RV, tried and hungry. Hal turned his hands into dinner plates and grabbed. Cans of soup, matches, a box of instant rice, instant coffee, a bag of apples, a bar of soap, a roll of toilet paper... He took what remained of a box of energy bars from the shelf, and deposited it all on the counter in front of an apparently nonplussed woman who was gazing out of the windows and half paying attention to the unfamiliar man in front of her. "Afternoon, sir." There was no fancy bar code scanner, no price stickers on the items. She must have known each item by heart and punched the amounts into the aging register with reflex precision. "Twenty-seven fifteen." Hal grimaced, nearly forgetting the most important item.
"Pack of cigarettes, too. Lucky Strikes."
"Thirty-one twenty-nine."
The cash produced, the goods bagged, he strode from the store with a brief 'thanks', passing the man who'd finished pumping gas on the way out. He wasn't aware he was holding a breath, but it exhausted from his lungs as he sunk into the drivers seat. A glance to the back told him Snake had not moved. He was breathing steadily. Small miracles. The pack of cigarettes went into the cup holders, patiently awaiting the fingers of their consumer.

Step two - get across the border. The GPS had shown him an abandoned road that ran directly west from town, paralleling the invisible border between North Dakota and Manitoba. All that lay between were fallow fields and the slight chance that a well-positioned wary eye would spot a small Subaru off-roading it to freedom. The key slid into the ignition and the car started without hesitation. The rubber bands came out and the sunglasses returned to the visor. He downed one of the energy bars as he drove. Ten miles, just to be safe. He'd put distance between themselves and the town and the lone car which had passed them a few minutes ago. It was now just a speck on the horizon. He turned the wheels onto what passed for the gravel shoulder, taking the ditch at a slow angle, easing it onto the field. It would be better to do this under cover of night, but he wasn't staying in one place and he definitely wasn't driving all day along the border until the gas tank was empty.

He tried to set a moderate pace balancing speed with caution. Last year's plowed furrows had mellowed with time and the melted snow. The suspension on the little car took each one like a champ. Snake didn't fall, but his arm listed to one side as they bounced, flailing out over the seat. Hal had to maintain precise speed, enough to keep them propelled north but not so much that the tires spun, kicking up mud, slicking the earth, getting them stuck in the mushy ground. He couldn't afford to get them stranded in his haste. It was more difficult than he had imagined and sweat beaded on his scalp, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel until his knuckles were nothing but bones and white. There was no risk of needing to change gears, and his forearms slowly grew sore from holding the same position, keeping the wheel from shaking the car into a muddy mire. Large puddles grew into small ponds and the road receded in the rear view mirror. The sun was only about 10 degrees above the horizon. The shadow of the car stretched along the ground. Maybe two hours, and it would be dark.

Motion in the mirror caught his attention as semi truck passed on the road behind. It was far away now, too far he hoped, for the driver to see them out of the corner of his eyes. There was little chance that they would be caught crossing, but Hal couldn't help worrying. In a situation like this, a little worrying was a good thing. His mind stretched ahead to the tasks that lay before him. Finding shelter. Ditching the car, finding another. Tending to Snake. Why hadn't he woken yet? That woman - Tracy - said he would be out only for a few hours, but it had been all day. The pill bottle rolled in the passenger foot well, mocking him. He tried to occupy his mind with other subjects, retracing the morning's events, going over his hacks... Had he left any red flags? It was fruitless and he drove on, mind and stomach tied in bitter knots of fear.

By the time the sun's edge kissed the horizon, Hal noted a glint of red in the distance, caught in the long rays of setting light. As he drew nearer, it coalesced into a stop sign. A tiny lump of hope knotted in his gut and his eyes panned across the edge of what was becoming a road, striving to identify any shapes which could morph into vehicles. But there were none. He strained to prevent himself from pressing down on the accelerator. It wouldn't do to be hasty now, not when he was so close. Agonizing minutes ticked by, and the tires kissed the gravel edge. Canada? He gave it gas and the tires grasped the slight embankment, pulling the tired heap of metal to the asphalt surface. At the sign, he braked, resting his head on the top of the steering wheel momentarily, closing his eyes and breathing deep. His fingers released the wheel and curved reflexively, clenching and unclenching, working away the stiffness in his joints. He lifted his head, clear now, and gazed down the road that lay ahead. A few yards in front was another sign, white, declaring 'Maximum 100'. A speed sign. Kilometers per hour. He allowed a grin to split his face. They were across the border. He put the car back in gear and followed the connecting road north. The tires shed their mud coating and he allowed a flower of optimism to blossom in his chest.

The sun was extinguished below the horizon before Hal heard a small grunt from the backseat. His eyes, dilated from the dark and weary with driving, immediately focused, his lips pursed in relief and surprise. He whispered without turning around.
"Dave?" Another groan, softer this time, laced with pain.
"Mmm... Hal? Where are we?"
"Well away from Bismarck. We crossed into Manitoba about two hours ago." He paused, lest his words speed up, spill together in his anxiousness, and render any meaning void. Slowly, now. "Are you in pain?" A sardonic half-laugh.
"Tons." Hal eased the car to the side of the road and grabbed the pills and a water bottle before exiting and opening the rear door. It felt good to stretch his legs, but the small joy was washed away upon seeing Dave's whitened face in the dim light. Wordlessly, he cradled his head in his lap and opened both bottles. He broke a pill in half with his fingers. Horse tranquilizers. Just a half.
"Do you think you can swallow this?" He didn't open his eyes, shut tightly against the pain, only grunting in acknowledgment. Hal brought the medicine and the water to his mouth and Dave swallowed gratefully. When he took the water away, Dave murmured for more, and Hal let him drink his fill until the bottle was half gone. He stroked his hair unconsciously. "About 20 more minutes. There's a lake near here and probably some vacant vacation cabins. Will you be okay?" He nodded slightly and Hal gently placed his head back on the seats. When he started driving again, he accelerated slowly, his awareness of Dave's injuries again fresh. There was little sound from the backseat as he drove, just heavy breathing and an occasional grunt when he hit uneven pavement too quickly. He was grateful, to the pit of his stomach, that he hadn't been awake for the trek through the fields earlier.

At least a dozen minutes ached by before Hal saw faint lights through the windscreen. Was it the lake? There were a few vehicles on the road, mostly trucks, mostly heading away from the lake. It was far too early in the season for a crowd of vacationers, Hal guessed many were locals. A mote of hope grew in his throat. Maybe finding shelter for the night wouldn't be as difficult as he feared. He only had US dollars, and only eight and some change at that. They would have to break in - correction, he would have to break in - or risk spending the night in a blood-soaked car. While it wouldn't kill them at this point, he didn't relish spending another hour on the stiff, vinyl seats.

His bloodshot eyes panned across every sign, hoping for some gentle suggestion. It was only street signs and highway markers for what seemed like ages. Prairie Lane. Meadowlark Court. Banal, pastoral names that ground at his thinning patience. A few children on bicycles, daring the dark and the spring chill. Caribou Boulevard. Lake View Cabins. There - finally. Their first possibility. No cars around, he turned off the headlights and pulled into the driveway. He could still see, albeit dimly, ahead. But his heart lodged in his throat when he realized the daytime running lights were still on. Super-sleuth Otacon, at your service. God - how to turn them off? He pushed in the clutch. Nope. Put it into neutral as they coasted along. Nope. Tap on the brakes? The rear view mirror was awash in red. Stupid! The car had lost momentum, so he eased it back into first. The parking brake? He yanked up, causing the car to lurch forward and Snake to emit a muffled yell from the backseat. Success! The headlights were gone. He released the handbrake and clicked it back just once, not enough to set the brakes. Lights off. The ECU was tricked into thinking the car was motionless. Hal drove on, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, using the random streetlight for guidance.

There was just a handful of cars parked in front of plastic sided houses passing as cabins to urban escapees. As he drove, the asphalt stopped and gravel began, winding through towering pine trees which sprang to life all around. One parked car. Two. Then they ceased. The road continued on and Hal kept one watchful eye in front, one trained on the rear view mirror until the flicker of streetlights disappeared. The road tipped sharply down and he was presented with a sight so beautiful, he prayed it wasn't a mirage. One cabin at the end of the gravel, down the hill, facing the lake. Out of sight.

He pulled the car to the far side of the cottage and turned the engine off, allowing himself the luxury to relax for a moment.
"Snake?"
"Hmm? What did you find?" His voice wafted, not quite awake or asleep.
"A place for the night. Stay here while I get us inside." Breaking and entering. Today was a first on many accounts. He waited for Dave's skepticism, but it never came. Hal grabbed the Glock from the passenger seat and opened the door, cursing the dome light when it sprang to life, blinded him, and informed every creature within several hundred yards of their existence. He clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and padded up the simple wood stairs to the door. There was no deadbolt, no fancy card reader, just a simple locked knob. Perhaps the super sleuth would be able to redeem himself after all. He cupped the gun lightly in one hand and fished for his wallet. Other than the eight dollars, there were only two cards - one his own driver's license, another for Nick Llewellyn, Minnesotan. Fearing he'd tear the low quality plastic on the fake, he set down the gun and slid his own license into the door jamb. It slid in almost half an inch and stopped. He pressed harder, but the card only bowed, refusing to move any further.

Hal was suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, the cold wind creeping around his collar, up his sleeves. An owl somewhere in the distance. Something small, rustling through the fallen pine needles. The loaded gun by his side, and Dave drugged up and vulnerable in the car. He had to get this. He would not be left standing here in the cold, Dave probably blacking out by now from the fresh dose. He clenched his tongue between his teeth and pushed, slowly but firmly, praying the card didn't snap in half. A little further - so he tried the knob. It would only jiggle, bolt fixed, but there was play. Enthused, he pushed the card further until - finally! The bolt slid free and the knob gave way, opening into a perfectly dark room. Without a thought, Hal stuffed his badly chipped driver's license back into his pocket and grasped the gun in both hands. It never hurt to be too careful.

He pushed the door open, eyes scanning the dark living room, but there was no sign of movement. Nothing in the small kitchen which occupied the far wall. He padded softly down the lone hallway, stopping at two opposing doors. He tried the nearest first, opening into a bathroom. The shower curtains were drawn and the room was dark and absent. Behind the second door lay a bedroom, complete with menacing closet. Hal swallowed down the lump of irrational fear and eased the closet door open with the barrel of the Glock. Nothing but empty clothes hangers and the stench of mothballs. He took a moment to breathe deeply, letting the simmering tension dissolve. His attention immediately drew back to Dave.

He walked outside, pulled the rear door open and tenderly hauled him out of the car, arm slung around his shoulders. Getting both of them into the cabin was tricky business. It was a sort of lurch-step, one foot shuffling in front of the other, dragging with limp fatigue behind, until they reached the porch steps. Hal was at a loss. How to get him up the stairs? He took a deep breath, summoning strength from every sinew, and wrapped one arm around Dave's upper legs. He strained, pulling at unused muscles, lifting him as he stood, up to the porch landing. Hal had been holding in a great sigh and he let it out, let the oxygen wash away the lactic acid smothering his cells. He wrapped his arms around Dave and supported most of his weight, pushing the door open and half-dragging him into the living room. As he laid him on the couch, the solider only emitted a soft moan, collapsing against the cushions. The tranquilizers had taken superb effect.

Hal's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he scavenged a few blankets and pillows from the bedroom. There was no way he could move him any further and no way in hell he was leaving him out here in the front room, unguarded. He covered him with a blanket and carefully propped one pillow behind his head. Dave's unkempt hair was a total mess now, grease and mud and blood caking the strands. But there was nothing left that he could do tonight. Hal created himself a little nest on the floor, propped up against the couch, pistol cradled loosely in his hand, and fell instantly into restless sleep.


***


Friday

The sun slanted around the drawn shades, poking at Hal's eyelids and rousing him from shallow, troubled slumber. The edges of a dream were rapidly escaping him, but he remembered a feeling of home - warmth, safety, a displaced image of Duo from Gundam, and Dave's perpetual good-natured scowl, chastising him for something which vanished at the periphery of consciousness. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the same blank room from yesterday, bathed now in the mellow orange tones of the rising sun. The gun had slipped from his hand in sleep, but nothing was disturbed. He could feel Dave's soft breath behind him, and he twisted his neck to confirm that he was still asleep on the couch above. Hal let out a deep breath, mind swirling with relief and disbelief. He was still alive, after all that had happened yesterday. But trying to wrap his head around the events was another thing altogether.

He'd driven Dave to safety under a verifiable hail of gunfire, held doctors at gunpoint, been prepared to commit armed robbery, crossed into Canada illegally, and to end his parade of crime, broken into this guest cabin. A mixture of fear, thrilling rebellion, and chagrined pride melted onto his face. He'd brought them to safety thus far. Could he keep them out of danger while he recovered? He could be strong for both of them, yesterday taught him there were greater limits to his abilities than he'd previously dreamed. But how long could he keep it up? How long before he made one careless mistake or fate caught up to them and ripped everything apart?

Another sigh - for now, they were safe, and the next task was to create something of a nourishing breakfast. He padded out to the car, steps soft and careful, watching around him for any signs of movement or disturbed foliage. He collected the rest of the food and supplies, as well as his primary laptop and the cigarettes. Back inside, he found a coffeemaker smiling impishly on the far counter. Sweet deliverance! Once the coffee started percolating, he started cutting up apples and a few energy bars. The cupboards contained mugs, but no sugar. A shame, but he'd survive. He filled and then carefully balanced one cup on top of the plate with their makeshift breakfast, his cup in the other hand. If the combination of protein, sugar, coffee and nicotine didn't bring back Dave to the land of the living, nothing would. He let a smile tug at his lips as he crouched back on the floor, blowing gently to cool his coffee and let the aroma waft to Dave's nose.

Hal took advantage of these beautiful minutes to let his eyes slip across his sleeping face, muscles relaxed, lips parted in dreams, eyes twitching avidly beneath his lids. His skin, though caked with dried earth and blood and trails of sweat, glowed in the light of the muted sunrise. It was drawing smoldering trails across his cheeks, down his throat, to the slight rise and fall of his chest. He couldn't deny it to himself any longer, he adored Dave. Every piece of him, each cell, every beautiful molecule. Yesterday, faced with losing him utterly, he'd found the absolute core of his fear, the bottomless depths of panic. And to have him back now, reclining on this shabby couch, beaten but very much alive... Hal's heart filled to bursting. He desperately wanted to reach out, grasp his hand, feel the pulse he could see faintly stirring the lines of his neck. Feel the warmth in his skin. Hal's lips trembled with thoughts he rapidly forbade himself from thinking - how would his mouth feel? How warm? Would he taste like cigarettes? Would his hair smell faintly like smoke if he buried his nose in those curls? Before he could banish it, a vivid image of his lips closing on Dave's warm, sun-kissed jugular... He clenched his eyes shut. No! He chided himself condescendingly - he was acting like an infatuated schoolboy. This was a serious situation, what was he thinking? It was absolutely no time for daydreaming! He opened his eyes and took a long sip of coffee. The bitterness made him focus and knocked his thoughts back in line.

Dave took a long halting breath, finally rising out of the depths of sleep. It was an inhale like a realization, one that all dreamers share when shedding the delusions of sleep for the real world. Hal waited until his eyes cracked open, voice light and warm.
"Good morning - how are you feeling?" He watched as confusion crossed his face, followed by the faint traces of disorientation. His eyes were unfocused, gazing at the ceiling.
"Morning? What time is it?"
"Almost seven." Dave's jaw set then, panic pulling the skin around his eyes tight, his eyes flew open wide.
"Seven? Is the sun out?"
"Yes." Hal's voice ended in a question. Seeing Dave's reaction made his pulse increase. What was wrong?
"Hal - I can't see a goddamned thing." His hand stretched out, feeling the blanket, the curve of the couch back. The other groped in the air towards Hal and he set down his coffee, forgotten, to grasp Dave's seeking hand in both of his. His skin was warm, but his pulse was flying. This wasn't- no. No, no, no!!

"What do you mean? You can see me, right?" Dave's eyes followed his hand, but his frightened gaze fell wandering across Hal's face, not locking onto his eyes.
"No- nothing. It's just dark, I can't see anything!" Dave's fingers wrapped around Hal's cradling hands, locking them in an increasingly tight grip. "What happened Hal? Yesterday, I was fine!" His voice crescendoed, his eyes wide, tendons in his neck and fingers taught. Precious few times had Hal seen Dave overwhelmed, with the shadow of fear rimming his eyes. This was past fear, this was blind terror. He was swept away in an unexpected situation he didn't understand, his primary sense gone, left helpless and lost. His only connection seemed to be Hal's hands, and he was gripping them deathly tight, on the verge of splintering the bone. For Hal, Dave was his rock, his steadfast soldier and seeing him in this state left him shaking, breathless, pressed against the couch, clutching back in his desperate grip.

"Dave, Dave, I'm here." His voice was shaking but he had to do something. The other man was going to pieces in front of him. His breath was coming in short gasps now, and Hal feared he might start to hyperventilate. He wrenched one hand from Dave's iron grip and placed it atop his head, fingers threading through his hair. "It's okay, it's okay, we'll get it figured out." His calming fingers smoothing his matted hair seemed to still the trembling in his hand. Dave focused on his words, maybe even believed them. Hal remembered the words the woman at the vet clinic had told him the day before. Could this be an allergic reaction? If so, could they afford to break cover and go to a hospital? Not likely. He had to think of a plan. He whispered soft nonsense words and continued stroking Dave's hair, gripping his sweating hand. His mind raced ahead, seeking probable strategies. If it meant drugs to counteract a reaction, he could procure them. Though desperately doubting his ability, he had weaponry and would use it without hesitation to get Dave proper medication. What if he needed surgery? A cold shudder curled down his spine. He stopped it just short of his fingers, anxious that Dave would pickup on his trembling fear. Surgery would mean doctors and facilities. Would mean kidnapping and holding people hostage. Could he? Potentially, but there were so many opportunities for things to go horribly wrong in a complex plan like that. Think, Otacon, think!

Dave's breathing had slowed and he let out a long shuddering breath, trying to maintain control over the visceral fear.
"Sssh, that's it. We'll figure something out." He moved his hand from Dave's hair to his forehead, feeling it lightly, trying to discern if he had a fever. His skin was sweaty, clammy, but cool. Not fighting off an infection. "I have to figure out if you're having a reaction to the transfusion. I will be right back. I'm going to get my laptop, okay?" Dave nodded his head, eyes again pointed at the ceiling, unfocused. He released Hal's hand and the engineer moved a few feet to reach the laptop that he'd deposited on the floor last night. As it booted, he moved back over to the couch, putting his back to it and placing Dave's hand on his shoulder. Contact was important. If he couldn't see Hal, at least he'd know he was there. Of course, with his military-tuned hearing, he probably knew, but...

Hal pulled up a secure browser. Where to? 'blood transfusion reactions' brought up a whole host of terrifying possibilities. He scanned the information quickly. Fever, chills, nausea, chest tightness, pain, vomiting, tachycardia - he reached back for Dave's hand, resting two fingers lightly over his wrist. The pulse was fast, but had slowed from the staccato pitch it beat a few minutes ago.

"Um, Hal?" His voice was filled with trepidation. Hal fought to keep his tone even.
"Yes?"
"You said transfusion... What the hell happened yesterday?"
"Well, you had a bullet lodged in your arm, and you'd lost a lot of blood... We got a couple miles and you passed out. I- I didn't know what else to do, so I took you to a vet." A startled half-cough from Dave. "Yes, well, a hospital was out of the question. Too much exposure. And I - I was absolutely worthless, I'll tell you that. The veterinarian and his tech got the bullet out and gave you a blood transfusion." He left out the unimportant details. Where the blood came from. How Hal had convinced them to help. How he'd toyed with murder. "The tech mentioned that you may have an allergic reaction to the blood transfusion. I hope to god it's not that, but..." he reached his hand back to Dave's, resting on his shoulder, giving him what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. "...but if it's not, then I don't know what. Yet." Hal turned back to the screen and the list of symptoms.

Wheezing, respiratory edema, rashes. Renal failure at extremes. No blindness, not even mild vision degradation, much less total. He sighed, what else? He certainly wasn't a doctor. First aid he could do, but beyond that... Then something occurred to him.
"Dave, do you still get an optical display from the codec?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, originally, there was a status when you recharged the codec. Does it still work?" It had been nearly a year since they had a mission of such duration or complexity that the codec's optical display even came into play. If the EMP from yesterday hadn't put most of its functions and the nanomachines out of commission...
"I think so." He flipped on the codec and mentally flicked through settings. Sure enough, it responded to his inquiry and the present conditions. A small red '86%' popped up on the periphery of the blackness that stretched across his vision. He allowed himself a small smile. "Yup, still there." Hal gripped his hand now.

"You can see it? Then... then I think we can both feel safe, you must not have damage to your optical lobe... You couldn't pick up anything if that was the case..." Hal's musings made the soldier grow slightly worried. Brain damage? Had that actually been a possibility? He gripped Hal's hand in return. "It must - it must be something in between, interrupting visual input." He turned back to his laptop and when Dave heard his stilted, one-handed typing, he regretfully gave him back his hand. Fingers flew now, typing a rhythm that echoed off the bare walls. "Optical nerves... congenital, no... poisoning, probably no... injury..."
"Obviously." Snake cut into his musing. "I was hit in the back of the head yesterday. But why would it take so long to manifest?" Hal sighed, out of his depth.
"I don't know. I really don't. All this," he gestured to the computer but realized the needlessness of the action, "is Greek to me. If it were something I could correct by re-programming the nanomachines, then fine, easy - I could at least get a plan in place. But is that the answer? I just don't know." He rubbed his hands across his face. Why were things spinning out of control? Wasn't it bad enough that they were fugitives in a foreign country, on the run, out of options?

"Let's contact Mei Ling," Dave offered. "She may not know either, but she can reach out to people who will."
"Can we afford to?" Hal turned back to him, voice rising in frustration. "If I contact her, that will be a blazing beacon for the military unit you fought yesterday to follow. I can't say that I didn't make any mistakes yesterday, but it was a pretty clean getaway by any standards. If we reach out to her, they'll know right where we are. There's no high bandwidth users here in the fucking middle of Manitoba! It's just us, and Dave, if they're coming after us here, I have absolutely no chance of outrunning them again I-"
"It wasn't military, Otacon. Calm down." When had that happened? The switch had occurred imperceptibly to Hal. Dave was again the calm voice of reason, while Hal was now spiraling towards a major freak out. "It wasn't the Patriots, either. It was just some..." Dave's face morphed into pure disgust, "...nut job. Some well-financed psychopath. His crew and his base is still there, but I made sure he wasn't." His jaw tightened, remembering the innocent lives that were strewn across the cement floor like so much refuse. "If there's anyone chasing us, it's probably a dozen unorganized mercenaries who've just lost their beneficiary and their motivation for pursuing us in the first place." He blinked, dry eyes pulling at his lids. It was an utterly useless gesture, the world in front of him black and empty. "Contact Mei Ling. There's no one after us."

Hal could only sit there, dumbfounded. All the needless running yesterday. The people he'd put in peril. The danger and the risks he'd taken for their sake. They could be back in their cold, dirty apartment above Ella's, not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in Canada. Canada, for fuck's sake. He'd pushed the barrel of the gun, lying at his feet, into the face of that man, imagined plastering the walls of his office with his red brains. The brains of his wife. Been ready to shoot up the gas station, the old lady. If anyone got in his way... If anyone had been a hero... The bile crept up his throat at the possibility. And for what? For what had he risked the lives of so many strangers, the life of his partner, his dearest friend? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. A madman and his well-paid, well-equipped followers. Not even that. A dead madman.

"Oh Dave, oh... I am so sorry. I dragged us up here for-" his voice caught, "for no reason." He felt Dave's comforting hand on his shoulder. How could Dave be the stronger one in a time like this? When he was injured, when Hal should be taking on the burdens, but all he was good for was falling apart.
"You didn't know. How could you know? You did the right thing, Hal. You got us as far away as you possibly could. You didn't double back to our apartment. You kept a level head, got me medical attention and even... is that coffee?" Hal could only chuckle, a bitter, half-sound.
"Yes. Would you like some?"
"Hell yes. Do we have any cigarettes?" Hal got to his feet, unsteadily. His eyes were betraying him, fogging over with emotion, blurring his vision. He was worthless, as always, and Dave was cracking jokes. He dug through the bag he'd brought in from the car, finding the unopened pack. Dave could hear his rustling, jumping ahead. "Get my lighter, would you? I know promised I wouldn't smoke in the apartment, but we're not in the apartment are we?" Hal attempted a smile. Even if they were, he wouldn't deny him, given the circumstances. "It's in my suit, the pocket just below my left knee." He pulled one from the pack, placing it gently between Dave's lips.

"What are we going to do for an ashtray?" Dave smirked out of one side of his mouth, moving the cigarette to the other side.
"Does it matter?" Hal quickly found the lighter bringing the flame to the offered end. Dave took two long, deep draws. "Oh god, that's better." His whole body seemed to relax. "Coffee?"
"What am I, your maid?" The smirk had migrated to Hal's mouth. They fell back into relaxed banter, the initial stress evaporated. He helped Dave sit up at a little bit of an angle, both pillows behind his shoulders and placed the handle of the mug into his hand.

After the cigarette was extinguished, the coffee drained, and their makeshift breakfast eaten, new priorities rose. Hal had sent a quick message to Mei Ling and retrieved the majority of the incriminating goods from the car, lest a vacationing couple were to stumble upon a nondescript Subaru with a cache of firearms in the back seat and more computer hardware than the government of Uzbekistan in the front. The smeared blood on the upholstery would be a larger task for a later time. They would have to take their chances for now.

"Hal? I really should get out of this suit and I um, have to take a piss." Hal was occupying the far end of the couch and turned from his laptop to look at him. Dave would need more than just to relieve himself. He really needed a wash. Neither could be properly accomplished without Hal's help. What irony - a blush that Dave could never see began to set upon his cheeks. He let it roam free and instead focused on keeping his voice even.
"You bet. You really need to wash as well - I'll see if we have hot water." The bathroom wasn't a far walk and he turned on the faucet in the shower stall. He ran his hand under it after about thirty seconds, but it was still ice cold. "No dice. I guess I'm not surprised. At least there's running water. C'mon, let's get you on your feet." He hooked one arm over his shoulder and let Dave stand at his own pace. He stood for a minute, weaving back and forth slightly, disoriented. "Let me know if you want to sit back down."
"No, I'm okay..." He took a step forward, and then another, slowly making his way under Hal's support and direction to the bathroom. Why was this cabin so large? The bathroom felt like it was a mile away. They finally reached the door frame and Dave leaned on it, regaining his bearings. This was an unfamiliar place, he'd never seen it, never learned the layout of the rooms. He just hung onto the door frame helplessly as Hal started undoing the straps on the suit.

For Hal, his blush had spread across his face and down his neck, painting his skin a deep red. He was careful, so very careful, to move quickly, the flat or the back of his hand touching Dave's shoulders only, never his fingertips. Fingertips just seemed wrong, seemed like they would bleed his secrets out into the soldier's skin. Finally, he'd freed one arm. The right arm of the suit was cut apart to make space for the bandages on his upper bicep. There was no way to get the shoulder of the suit off around his damaged arm. Hal's mind did a quick inventory and remembered the knife that Dave kept strapped to the small of his back. He unsheathed it and began to cut through the suit from the open shoulder to the neck. Dave tensed, pulling his face away, giving the engineer room to work, to destroy the fine spider mesh of wires that he'd labored to sewn and solder in place. It had taken weeks to put it together and only a few pulls with the razor-sharp blade to take apart. Hal set down the knife and worked with the straps covering Dave's chest.

This was a tedious and difficult task, the composite material held together with a patchwork of straps and non-metallic buckles. Each was cinched tight, and he had to pry with his blunt fingernails, resorting to his teeth on a few, to get them loose. 8 done, 100 to go? The puzzle seemed endless.
"How do you even get this thing on?" he chuckled, smoothing the nervousness out of his voice. Dave laughed softly, humor traced with impatience.
"You don't even want to know." There was a sharp intake of breath as Hal reached the last buckle above his lower abdomen. On mistake, working out of haste, propriety forgotten, his fingertips had brushed his skin and the fine dark hair trailing up towards his navel. Hal swallowed and slid the strap through the clasp, leaving the last of the tie in place while he backed behind Dave and helped him closer to the toilet. He stayed behind him, steady to center him, but his head was averted, allowing Dave at least a little dignity. Dave freed himself gratefully with his undamaged left hand. Hal could feel tension in his shoulders, but tried to focus on anything other than the smoothly muscled skin leaning against his fingertips. The fingertips which he knew were leaking emotion traitorously through his flesh.

What he needed to focus on was getting back across the border, back to their apartment. He also needed to focus on establishing contact with Mei Ling. With any luck, she would reply in a few hours and give him the guidance needed to deal with Dave's blindness. He felt Dave move, rearranging the remains of his suit. "Thanks. You didn't happen to bring a change of clothes with you?" Hal scooped up the dangling left arm of the suit and wrapped it around Dave's stomach, tying it in a loose knot with the remains of the right. At least it wouldn't flop around this way. The two men shuffled back out to the living room. He was a little steadier this time, but still unbalanced and disoriented. They made better progress and soon he sat back on the couch.
"No, sorry. But I have a jacket, so you can have my t-shirt." It was baggy on Hal, so likely it would fit Dave well. He removed his jacket and shirt, helping guide his lost outstretched arms through the short sleeves. The suit could act as pants and not draw too much attention, but in total it was just too much. The shirt, though stained with blood, helped bring some normalcy to his appearance.

Hal made another small pot of coffee, Dave downed some pain killers, and then he was packing up the car, keen to get everything ready so they could get underway without hassle. The arsenal went on the floor of the back seat, a blanket procured from the cabin on top to hide it from curious eyes. The antennas, modems, and battery backups went under the blanket as well. It was still mid-morning and only two hours direct to the border, three or four with the circuitous route back that Hal was planning. To cross the border under cover of dark meant waiting to leave until late afternoon. Hal killed time by error checking his drives for potential injuries incurred during the jostling drive from N38. At first, Dave was able to sleep. The tranquilizers wafted him into restful sleep, but it only lasted a few hours. By noon he was awake and soon found there was nothing to occupy him. So he started smoking. Hal put up with it for two cigarettes, but when he reached to light up a third, he'd had it.

"Listen, Dave - before you light another one... I understand you don't have anything to do, but that doesn't mean you should smoke. I'm going to get lightheaded from all the nicotine in the air." His words were lightly mocking. Dave mis-interpreted it as bitchy nagging in his anxious state.
"Then what am I supposed to do? All I've been doing for the past hour is running through what happened yesterday. The infiltration, the conversations I heard, the - the fucked up things they were doing, and the mistakes I made on the way out. When I got in the car I blacked out. I can only analyze it so many times and I don't feel like fixating on the mutilated bodies I found. So that leaves me with smoking or going slowly insane because I can't see or do a goddamn thing!" Hal's chest grew heavy with sympathy. It caught him halfway between his lungs and his mouth, and he couldn't say anything. Nor could he think of anything to say. So he moved from his spot across the room, just on the periphery of the smoke, and sat on the couch next to him instead.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're going through. We'll get this figured out and we'll move on to the next task. This was a bump in the road - mind you, a very big bump - but we'll sort this out and we'll start working on the next mission." Dave rolled his eyes. "I mean that. The next mission."
"How can you be so sure? You don't even know if there is a fix for this. People don't simply go blind one day and then snap out of it the next." He turned to Hal to make his point, but he couldn't possibly lock onto his eyes. This, inadvertently, made his words cut deeper. "The conclusion you're not letting yourself reach is that this is effectively the end of Philanthropy." Hal felt his eyes getting tight, hot.

"No, no you're wrong. First, whatever this is, we will find a solution. Second, something like this wouldn't be the end of our mission. What makes you think we still can't gather information, publish propaganda, and ultimately bring down the Patriots? All we need is a little light to send the cockroaches running." But his words sounded hollow, even to himself. He grabbed the laptop off the kitchen table and went back to sit with Dave on the couch. "And what do you mean, mutilated bodies?" Dave told the story, all the grotesque details, and Hal took careful notes on his computer. This wackjob probably wasn't connected with the Patriots, but it never hurt to catalog intel. He could tell that Dave was content with the attention and with something to do, even if it meant recalling the horrors of the day before. He was well acquainted with the terrible things men could do to each other - boys trained to be killers, soldiers brutalizing women and little children, blood lust in battle causing men to visit unholy barbarism on each other. Bodies ripped apart with the nonchalance and glee of Christmas morning wrapping paper.

Despite his familiarity with violence, this hit home in a way that no nameless death could. He had seen the face of the teacher on the news, her bright smile, sympathized with her before he'd even known her fate. Then suddenly, he was face to face with it, with the evil that had taken her and dozens of similarly innocent people to their torturous death.

Hal was pitying him - he could feel it in his voice. It made him angry, but Dave couldn't blame him, all he could do was feel sorry for himself and his current disability and worry about his future or lack thereof. He was just a ball of self-loathing, a snake eating its own tail. It was all so worthless, reeking of psycho-dynamic bullshit. His story ceased, and his voice stuck in his throat, refusing to emerge. Dave was silent for several moments, just sucking in air and trying desperately to push the feelings of insignificance and humiliation from his mind. He was utterly ashamed of himself and the awareness was pushing through his brain, clouding all other thoughts. His futile attempts to stop thinking were bringing heat to his eyes. How highly did he think of himself? People all over the world were dying, now, in various disgusting ways in an endless parade of morbidity. Worse, those living without hope, without worth, dignified only in their struggle and suffering. Who was he to complain?! Super soldier, reduced to the level of an hysteric suburban housewife complaining of the woes of middle age through one stroke of bad luck. He was lucky to have lived in excellent health for as long as he had. This was... another struggle... and his character, if he had any, would have to pull him through.

"Dave? Oh my god, are you alright?" Hal's arms around him now, an awkward embrace, attention when he didn't dare deserve it. But... Were those tears trickling down his own cheeks? Dave had been so wrapped up in self-flagellation that he didn't register the tightness in his face, his throat, the pressure building up and spilling over. "Ssshh..." There were no words that Hal could say that would make it alright. He simply draped his arms delicately around Dave's battered frame, holding him, hoping empathy would radiate from his body. But calm did not come, Dave's silent tears cascaded down his cheeks. As he tried desperately to stop, his whole body shook. Hal read it as sobbing rather than internal struggle, but what was the difference, after all? Hal ran his fingers slowly through his ragged tangle of hair, desperate for some way to soothe him. This was fresh, scary territory. Soldiers did not breakdown. They did not cry.

Hal's ministrations registered only on the periphery of his consciousness, but the soft near-inaudible murmurs, the proximity and safety of the hacker's arms, warm fingers stroking through his hair, finally slowed his breathing. The tears were drying into shameful trails of moisture. As Dave drifted slowly out of his fevered state, he lingered in Hal's embrace, allowing his pulse to slow. He remembered briefly, the rare times in this life when he'd acted like a weak pitiable thing, and the occasions rarer still when he'd been comforted. Once, when he was a boy, still very young - too young to lift a gun, but old enough to endure tutelage in the vicious arts. It was one of his earliest memories, nearly lost in the fog of age and distance. A female caretaker whose arms he'd been cradled in. Had he ever known her name? She was only a blur of bronze curls and warmth now. Twice, when he'd woken from a nightmare. Again, he couldn't remember it, but it involved Liquid and several forms of despairing pain and torture. He did remember waking to a dark world where he wasn't sure whether he was still dreaming. It had been the safety of his cabin in Alaska after all, and Meryl's arms had held him, shaking like a rabbit, until he fell asleep again.

This third time, he was fully cognizant and resolved to etch the memory into his brain. He would not forget this. Hal's arms around him, his cheek resting on top of his head. The slight way he rocked back and forth. Dave was sure Hal was doing it unconsciously. Hal's breath was even, brushing his hair, a slow and centering rhythm. He could even feel his pulse, slowing now that his tears had stopped. And underneath it all, a scent that was uniquely Hal. He knew it, but the knowledge had never surfaced before. It was complex, warm like cornbread, earthy like almonds, and something he couldn't place. Safe. Familiar.

Hal must have felt him, now calm and inquisitive. Minute muscles in Hal's chest and arms twitched.
"Uh, ah... sorry, Dave. I must smell terrible." He pulled away quickly, detaching his arms and fingers. "Neither of us are exactly clean, sorry." The silence that crept in had become awkward for Hal. Dave was simply still, observing the aftermath calmly. He couldn't see, but he could hear the loud, dry swallows Hal was taking, the fidgeting, nails on his arm, scratching. Nagging worries piled into the back of his mind, but he contained them for now. They would get through it together. They were still a team and even if Dave's reasoning said Philanthropy stood a good chance of dissolution, they would be together. He knew it. Five minutes in Hal's arms was therapy like he'd never known. His nerves were cool, steady. A small smile split his lips.
"Thank you." It was all that needed to be said.




Chapter 4