Metal Gear Solid Fan Fiction ❯ Grenades ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

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

The next three hours were spent idly and while Hal crafted a meager lunch from the remains of their food, he kept his laptop on the couch. He didn't stray far and Dave was thankful for the proximity, even if he was bathed in silence. Dave's mind was working ahead now. He would let Hal map the route back to Bismarck, plan for a good balance of stealth and fuel economy. Once they returned, once they heard from Mei Ling, once they figured out this inconvenient blindness, once he was back in action... He would go back to N38. He would ensure it was decommissioned once and for all and the dead were provided justice. Dave was already planning, a list of tools in his mind. Undetected infiltration was no longer the goal. It was a containment and destruction mission. Above all, these thoughts kept him occupied while they waited for evening's approach.

At long last, just as Dave was considering his impending insanity by boredom, Hal signaled it was time to move. The sun would be under the horizon in a little over two hours. He helped him out to the car awkwardly, got him settled in the passenger seat, and did one more double check over the cabin. Fingerprints and tire tracks were the only sign of their presence. It was enough to make Hal nervous, but since they were not being pursued, he tried to place his worry aside.

Two laptops were on the backseat, in easy reach. Dave insisted that they have a gun in the front, and Hal conceded, but argued that it went on the driver's side. Being the logical decision, Dave agreed. He wouldn't let the scientist see the tightness in his jaw. Not now. He was aware that right now, he was reduced to mere baggage. He couldn't handle a weapon, he was just a passenger.

...When would Mei Ling get their message?

They were finally on their way, rolling at a brisk but prudent pace through the set of unoccupied cabins, then the ones with minivans and sedans, then to the open road. Hal watched the sun crawl across the sky over tedious hours. Dave could feel it on his right cheek, his arm. The warm presence slowly faded as the light stretched into orange, to milky red, then disappeared into cold black. They were near the Saskatchewan-Manitoba border about 2 miles from the US. The sun had set but it wasn't simply dark, it was ink black. There was nothing but fog and void all around them. No cars, no moon, no stars, just black. Hal had turned off the headlights a few minutes before. The tires left the asphalt of provincial road 251 and into the unknown mires that lay before them. Dave held his breath as he felt the car's angle deepen, rolling off the shoulder, finally leveling out onto the field.

It was much different than yesterday evening. The tires fought for purchase on the slippery surface. The mud was probably only half an inch thick, but the engine fought a fraction harder to pull them along the sloppy ground. Hal tried to remember the lit image of the dash before he'd killed the lights. The tank was three-quarters full, right?

The last of their cash had been used to top up at a station just outside the city of Brandon, but that was two hours ago. He had done some quick math and estimated they would coast into Bismarck with a half-gallon to spare in the tank. But now they were burning fuel faster, rubber grappling with the unplowed mud. Could he hope to arrive on fumes? Or would they be stranded? He tried to push the worry from his mind and concentrate on the task at hand.

It was only four miles, but again, it felt like days, eons, were passing them by. Squinting through the windshield, he tried to anticipate any fence posts, furrows, abandoned and moldering sheds... The common detritus of this landscape which morphed into hidden landmines in the dark. It was impossible, everything was consumed by the spring fog. His pulse quickened, eyebrows knit, willing his eyes to coalesce form from the blackness. If only there were another set of eyes, helping him find his way through, picking out the one obstacle he'd surely miss. Dave was quiet beside him. He wasn't sure if he was asleep or merely waiting, listening. He could probably hear the joints in Hal's fingers as they wrapped the steering wheel in a death grip.

A strange mix of anger and guilt boiled up inside him. This was all his fault, again, wasn't it? From beginning to end. And there sat Dave, passenger seat, blind and useless, helpless, crippled. God, why had he suggested they infiltrate the site in the first place? What had his desperate mind extrapolated from that blurry image so many months ago? He'd followed all those anonymous leads, spun a Metal Gear out of thin air. It wasn't his ass out there, he'd made leaps in logic, and he'd put Dave in unnecessary danger.

And now, what if there was no solution? If there was no way to restore his vision? If he was permanently scarred... Hal permitted himself to clench his eyes shut for a second, anguished. Oh god, if this was how Dave would live out the rest of his life, hobbled and exiled from the world... He would never forgive himself. He certainly wouldn't expect Dave to. As much as he knew that nothing would tear him from the soldier's side, he couldn't ask the same from Dave. The days would bleed into weeks, perhaps months, but he knew their friendship would crack. Stress borne of boredom brought out the worst in them and it would turn quickly from bickering to fighting to Dave throwing him out of his life permanently. The vinyl squealed softly under his bruising grip.

He let himself wallow in guilt, self-hatred. It clung to his thoughts and blurred his vision. The tires dug further into the slop with each revolution. Adding pressure to the gas pedal made it worse. The tires gripped and spun, gripped and spun. If you wanted to run the argument to its logical conclusion - and Hal certainly did - then he was responsible for the mess in entirety. Who had designed the behemoth they chased? Doctor Frankenstein at his fucking best. He was so utterly culpable for all of this. He alone was responsible for the life that sat next to him, every decision they made, every bad piece of intel. It would be fitting if they were stuck out here, gas drained by the unquenchable mud, Subaru spreadeagled over the border, waiting for dawn and the eager gaze of a satellite to mark them fugitives.

In his vibrant depression, Hal almost missed the parked tractor that loomed out of the night. The tire tread pattern caught his eyes out of the mist, maybe ten feet before impact, and he swerved to miss it. The traction control bit at the rear wheels before they could slide too far. Thank god Dave had suggested all wheel drive. He vowed that if he wasn't alone on his sorry ass in two weeks, as he expected, that he would let Dave make every single decision from here on out.

Through will alone, Hal eased the Subaru through the mud and back onto pavement, stateside. They were now traveling on main roads. About an hour left. Hal stretched his wrists, craned his neck back and forth until it popped. He dared to take a peak at the fuel gauge and immediately regretted it. It was just below a quarter. He was tempted to urge the car on faster, but knew that was a sure route to being stuck on the side of the highway, easy prey for local law enforcement to stop, inspect the car, the bloody backseat, the contents of the trunk... He let the car slip from 60 to 54. Conservation was key. His stomach grumbled in protest, remembering their last decent meal. It had been two days ago. Two days - it was draining just thinking about all the miles they'd put on, the things they'd both done... He would be so glad to return to their apartment, turn up the thermostat, sink into his bed and just drift off to sleep, safe. That thought drove him on.

It was about 5 miles before their apartment when the engine started to hesitate. It coughed, then regained its sturdy purr. Good girl, Hal cooed. Another mile passed and it paused, paused, then caught again. God, they were scraping the bottom of the tank. The gauge was past empty now. At this distance, they could walk, but god he didn't want to. He silently willed the car on, cajoling it, murmuring under his breath. Good car, you've made it this far, just a little bit more now. You can do it. Another mile and it choked, coasting a few feet, Hal's foot wildly interacting with the gas pedal, forcing a few drops more into the cylinders. Come on, you bastard. You worthless piece of shit. It went on like this until Ella's was within view, Hal dreaming up words of increasing vulgarity to spur the car on. The open sign was off, no cars out front.

Hal signaled to turn into the wide alley behind the building. The engine shuddered in a death rattle, he eased it into neutral, and it died.
"Good car, good car, oh thank you. You beautiful machine." He leaned over to kiss the dash lightly. He sat there for half a minute, collecting himself, willing his pulse back to normal, exhaling the adrenaline from his veins. Hal reached out to nudge Dave awake but paused, making sure he was aware of his presence first, lest he startle him and end up with a broken nose. "Dave? Dave wake up, we're- we're back." His lips wanted to form the word 'home', but it wasn't right. This wasn't home. His own home had long ago been corrupted and he'd scarified his mind of that concept. And Dave never truly had a home. Perhaps his cabin in Alaska, but it wasn't for Hal to ponder. He slowly reached over and tapped his elbow. Lamp light from the street was relatively dim, but it was enough to see Dave's eyelids twitch, coming around.
"Bismarck?" His eyes opened, unfocused.
"Yep. No one's around, let's get inside."

Getting up the stairs together was awkward. Getting all the equipment inside, unnoticed, was nothing short of a chore. Hal piled the last of the bags by the door. The laptops could be unpacked later. The guns could be cleaned later. For now, they would sit in a heap. The first priority was getting both men cleaned. Hal accomplished this in an effective, reasonably dignified manner. Dave would have to take a bath. He drew the water for him, added some soap, and got him to the point where Dave could easily remove his own pants with one hand, keep the bandaged one out of the water, and simply soak.
He occupied himself with getting at least one computer reconnected, scanning the hardware for signs of defect or sabotage, and checking for communication from Mei Ling. Nothing.

"Hal? Little help?" He was at the bathroom door immediately. Dave had gotten out, dried, but couldn't tie the towel around his waist one-handed. He held it shut awkwardly. The enticing expanse of moistened skin from his neck to his navel stalled Hal for a beat.
"Uh, yeah, be right back." Dave didn't own a robe, was too manly for it. Hal's light blue Ultraman one would have to suffice. "Robe," was the simple explanation upon his return. Dave feigned a wince and turned around, dropping the towel to free his hands.
"Oh, god, it's not that robot one, is it?" Concentrate Hal, concentrate. He tore his eyes from the magnificently curving flesh which flexed with every small movement. His skin was a living being, undulating from his shoulder blades, down the fine, precise line of his vertebrae, toned buttocks, thighs of cabled muscle. His fingertips ached to touch.
"Ha ha, no, it's olive drab, army surplus, super manly." He kept his tone light out of sheer willpower. His voice almost cracked. Hal put his arms around his waist, knotted the tie snugly, then withdrew.

Should he help Dave back to the couch? No, no, he knew this apartment and could find it on his own. Any further charity would be an insult, though his heart clenched as Dave shuffled out of the bathroom, good left arm in front, waving slowly, warding off any unexpected obstacles which threatened to lunge at him from his blackened world.
Hal showered quickly and was back at the computer, putting on an auto-refresh to check for news from Mei Ling. All else was silence. As he moved from task to task, his attention never strayed from the screen. He circled it, like a desperately hungry hyena, waiting for an opening from its prey, waiting for something, anything, to break the tension.

While he waited, Dave tried to adapt to his new circumstances. All the small and unimportant tasks became burdensome chores. Walking to the kitchen was easy enough. Finding the cabinet with glasses was simple, needing only two guesses before he got it right. He felt for the refrigerator door handle and then the obvious cardboard ridges of the orange juice carton. Pouring... that was trouble. Liquid splashed onto the counter top at first try. He swore. Everything would be difficult now, right? Returning the juice to the fridge, he had to feel for the dishrag, feel the counter top afterward to be sure he got it all. Then the trek back to the couch, whereupon he stubbed his toes with force on the corner.
"Son of a bitch!" He plopped heavily onto the cushions, rubbing his foot in the carpeting to dull the sensation. When he got up to use the bathroom a few minutes later, Hal stole into the kitchen, grabbed the rag, and wiped up the juice circles from the coffee table.

The remainder of that evening and the next day followed in the same fashion. Dave would bumble through routine tasks, catch his fingers in drawers, stub his toes on chair legs, and Hal would silently follow after, cleaning up the unseen disaster in his wake. Hal was gradually getting better at this morbid game. In between bouts of glaring at the computer screen, he tidied up around their flat. The garbage can was jutting dangerously out from the wall - he pushed it back. The equipment from the car had been left in haste near the door. He sorted and stacked everything up in its proper place and as much against the far wall as possible. He stole into Dave's bedroom and grabbed all the shoes and discarded clothing from the floor. So many objects waiting patiently to trip the blinded soldier. Several times, Hal had to grab the Lysol and a paper towel from the kitchen and clean up the toilet and adjacent tile after Dave had exited. Lack of sight meant lack of aim. Hal said nothing, preferring silence and subterfuge over the certainty of humiliating him.

The one thing Hal could enjoy about his new responsibility was caring for Dave. He was okay navigating the apartment, feeding himself, but needed someone to take his clothes across the street to the laundromat. Laundry was nothing but a drudge before, but now he appreciated the time apart and the chance to handle and fold all of Dave's things. It was a sick little obsession if he stopped to think about it, which he did frequently, but that didn't prevent him from doing it regardless.

He managed well enough in the shower, even with one arm injured, but needed help with a razor. Dave didn't trust himself enough to shave, so Hal volunteered. The soldier insisted on lathering himself at first, but he always missed spots, smeared the foam, and generally made a horrible mess of it. His pride suffered a blow, but what did it matter when it was in tatters as it was? Hal stayed silent through the daily ritual, cataloging the feel of his skin as he held his chin, the thrilling movement of the blade over his adam's apple, under his lips. Despite the tragedy of the situation, it was terribly erotic and Hal found himself planning his own shower conveniently afterward.

However, Dave could help with the dishes. Hal's task quickly became collecting the myriad plates, cups, bowls, that accumulated over the day. Dave ran the water, creating a mound of suds in the sink. His fingers sought out all the crusted food particles on the dirty dishes, scrubbing and scrubbing until he could feel they were spotless. Hal rinsed and dried them and put them away. The clean smell of soap permeated the room, making the silence between them companionable, comforting. This wasn't pity, this was teamwork. Dave felt slightly less of a burden and Hal, for a time, felt slightly less guilty.

All those feelings returned when they shared dinner. That first night, Hal fried a few hamburger patties and assembled the meal. The TV was turned on to fill the silence, but Dave blocked it out, appeal largely gone without his vision. It had no hope of distracting Hal, but he left it on, an improvement over the echoing emptiness. As Hal gathered their plates to return to the kitchen, he noticed ketchup remnants smeared across Dave's chin.
"Uh, you've got-" Unspoken words lodged in his throat. What was the point? He couldn't see it to remove it. He couldn't see a goddamned thing. His eyes burnt. "Hold on." He wet his napkin on his tongue and gently grasped Dave's chin. The muscles underneath his fingers froze, realizing yet another depth to his enfeeblement. Hal cleaned his cheek and gathered up the plates again.
"Thanks."
The TV droned on in the background while Hal retreated to the kitchen. He turned on the tap to let the frying pan soak and to let the sound of the water drown out his quiet sobs.


***


For the next two days Hal occupied himself by repairing the mangled sneaking suit. Dave would need it again eventually, right? Dave occupied himself with books via mp3 - a brilliant suggestion by Hal. He'd gotten through Heart of Darkness and got a good start on Rainbow Six. He'd lifted weights with his left arm. Lost track of the reps just so he could start again.
Still nothing from Mei Ling.

Hal buckled swiftly on the matter of cigarettes. There was no way he could deny him. He'd placed him in this mess to begin with. Hal helped him out to the landing the first few times, and then gave in and just let him smoke in the living room.

After half a pack was gone his nerves were raw. Apathy gnawed at Dave. The bickering began anew and each comment was answered with brutal quickness.
"Hmm, what to eat? I think I'll have some stale soup crackers and mayonnaise. Delicious."
"You want me to go out, or be here to wait for Mei Ling?"
"Christ. What are we doing waiting on her again?"
"I can't figure it out by myself, Dave, there are too many risks. Would you like to give it a try? Computer's all yours." Followed quickly by: "...sorry."
On it went, even though each man felt growing contrition with each word. Mincing comments about the proliferation of anime dvd's, loud repugnant coughing from the smoke, cigarette ashes consistently missing the ashtray. Then the last box of cereal miraculously disappeared from the kitchen. Dave didn't doubt it was somewhere in plain sight, just for the irony.

Finally, the auto-refresh brought a short message with a secure video link. Mei Ling's pleasant, smiling face lit up the screen a few moments later, but her eyes were lined with worry.
"Otacon? How are you? How's the big guy?" Hal heard an audible exhale behind him.
"Mei Ling, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice." Sounds of struggling behind him, but Hal knew he could make it under his own power. She hadn't delivered more than a salutation, but the tension in the air evaporated.
"Ah, a day of sorrow is longer than a month of joy." Hal smiled broadly and got up from his chair, letting Dave sit.
"It feels like a month. How have you been? Are you okay? Did you have a chance to check out the the data, symptoms, we sent?"

"One question at a time. I've been... occupied. But I'm okay. I checked out the info, and I came to the same conclusion you did. It's not lobe damage, it's something else."
"Yes, but what? Do you have any ideas to point us in the right direction?" The strain in Dave's voice did not translate over the connection. She continued unabated.
"Well, at best it could be a temporary neurologic issue, damage to the optical nerve. The US military did research into combat injuries involving optical nerves in the late 80s. Project Horus. In some minor cases, the neural pathways rebuilt themselves in as little as a week. In others, the synapses never sufficiently grew back..." there was a collective pause on both ends of the line. "Other causes are damage to the orbital socket or the eyes. In your case, indirect trauma. The retinas could have torn and then detached, which would explain why the effects weren't immediate. We covered damage to the optical lobe, and not that it matters but there are a few treatment options - invasive, but- ...You said the codec is still visible, right?" Dave murmured in assent.

"That was Otacon's first question. It still works."
"Good. That's great. That knocks out the worst possibilities." Mei Ling paused, flipping through her notes. "It could be an exposure reaction, toxicity, but without use of medical facilities, I don't know how we'd test that one. You haven't had any related symptoms, Snake? Think hard." He paged back in his mind over the last week. Running on empty, sheer adrenaline. Tension between the two of them, headaches. Local pain from the healing gunshot wound. He'd suffered too many of those in his life and knew that the itching at the site was normal. It didn't smell of infection or other foreign matter. When Hal re-bandaged it, he didn't mention swelling or discoloration that was anything but normal.
"No, not that I can think of. No stomach cramps, joint pain, no memory lapses, speech isn't effected. But I do have an odd craving for sugary cereal and cigarettes."
"Ha. ha. Okay, but keep an eye on him, Otacon. If it does appear to be poisoning, even if the onset is delayed, he must go to a hospital for testing." Hal nodded tightly.

"The last one - and you'll have to forgive me Snake - but it could be psychological. There's no good way to test it outside of therapy, so we should discount it until the other possibilities are eliminated."
"Agreed. What's the next step?"
"The next step is checking the condition of your eyes." Her gaze broke for a moment, fingers hitting a few quick keystrokes. "Otacon, I just sent you details on how to check for retinal tears and detachment and a few other tests we should do. I don't have any suggestions on where to obtain hyoscyamine other than knocking over pharmacies. I could get you some, but..." Her eyes shifted slightly. "I'm pretty far away. Otacon, and I mean this sincerely, don't use simple atropene to dilate his eyes. It can take days to wear off rather than hours."
"Got it."
"Take care, both of you. Contact me if you run into trouble."
"Thank you, Mei."
"And Snake, hang in there. Jade is not polished without rubbing, nor a man perfected without trials." That earned two small smiles and then the connection was severed.

The tension was gone. They both had things to analyze, discuss. Equipment to gather. They could work as a team. The first step, as Mei Ling has suggested, was to check the function of his iris sphincter muscles. That one was easy. While he retrieved a flashlight and darkened the room, Dave sat and rested his head against the back of the couch. Hal knelt beside him, holding his eyelids open gently with his fingers, moving the flashlight back and forth. As hoped, his pupils constricted and dilated, constricted and dilated. Good. One down.

The next step was checking for retinal detachment. This was more involved. Hal wasn't keen on demanding drugs and equipment from people at gunpoint, not again... Hospitals and pharmacies were out. The best option, as before, was a humble vet clinic. One which was not open 24 hours. One which he could infiltrate, secure the necessary tools, and slip away without a trace. But this was clearly not his arena. This was Snake, this was his domain, where he fit into the equation. The irony lay heavy on his shoulders. Dave was injured and his treatment lay in the hands of the most stealth-deficient man on the planet. But there was no use worrying about it now, they needed to plan and execute quickly.

Dave chose to ignore the trepidation he heard in his voice, instead instructing him how to pick the lock on the ammo chest. If Hal simply shot off the lock on the door of the clinic, there was still a locked case inside containing the controlled substances. One gunshot would alert everyone to their presence. Two would bring the police with all haste and fury.

Blindness didn't stop Dave from picking the lock with ease. He set his jaw and extended his right arm. God, it was still sore. The muscles hadn't yet knit back together and the tendons scraped raw as he moved. He gingerly took Hal's hands in his, guiding the tools in the slot. Showed him how to feel for the minute grooves, the springs which held the bolt shut. The pins slid free and the clasp popped open. Dave clicked it back into place with his good hand.
"Good. Again."
It was frustrating work at first. So unlike the simple lock on the cabin door that he'd forced with his driver's license. After 15 minutes of struggling, he gave up, and Dave showed him again. The next attempt ended in success. A bright smile lit up his face. Dave knew it was there, and grinned back. “Good job.” He smacked the device closed. "Again."

After the ammo box was thwarted successfully a dozen times, Dave locked him out of the apartment. He could hear him on the other side of the door, struggling, focused. Eight minutes. Click. The door opened.
"Good job, Hal. Really." He closed the door in his face.
After several additional attempts, his speed was up. A minute. Dave let him back in and Hal retrieved the cereal box from its clandestine spot atop the refrigerator. Dave enjoyed a bowl and two cigarettes, companionable silence returning as they ate.

In the afternoon, a search began. Hyoscyamine, as it turned out, was a fairly common drug. A simple browser search netted 10 vendors in the state that manufactured it. They could get it right from the source, but doubtless pharmaceutical factories would be heavily guarded in comparison to a lone clinic. As for the latter, there were 9 different facilities in Bismarck alone. Two were twenty-four hour emergency clinics. Of the remaining seven, three were downtown, three in heavily populated suburban areas, and one nested at the crux of two highways, where industrial parks met farmland. A large animal practice. Perfect. They would have ample supplies on hand. Dave started rattling off a shopping list of sorts.

"If you see it, grab some morphine. Lidocaine, too if they have it. Actually, I know they've got ketamine, we could use that too. Well... why don't you grab a pen, Hal?" The sound of shuffling, then the tell-tale click of a ballpoint. "Epinephrine would come in really handy, and I think we ought to grab some dopamine if it's on hand. It's a veterinary clinic, so how about the usual amoxicillin, penicillin, erythromycin..."
"Any other requests?" Hal arched an eyebrow, but it was lost on Dave.
"Rabies vaccines? I don't know. That's all I can think of."
"Mei Ling said not to get atropene to dilate your eyes, but isn't that the same stuff soldiers carry with them to use in case of nerve gas attack?"
"Yeah, and it's an antidote for other types of poison too. Grab some of that while you're at it." Hal smiled softly. Yes sir, Dr Snake.

Next, equipment prep. Hal didn't think a gun was necessary, but Dave insisted. "Better to have it and not need it-"
"Than need it and not have it. ...Fine.” He sighed. “Where's the holster?"
Hal quickly found the shoulder holster at Dave's instructions in his room. He put it on, letting nimble fingers adjust the straps for him. Hal knew how to use a weapon. At least, he knew how to chamber a round, aim proficiently, and not let the recoil spoil his next shot. He hadn't gotten the hang of switching magazines. His hands weren't small, but his thumb just wasn't deft enough to hit the magazine release accurately each time. But there would be no need to change magazines for this mission. They weren't planning on a firefight. Oh, heaven help him if it turned into a firefight! He let his pulse settle back to normal. No, this was get in, go shopping, get the hell out.

A mission. That's what it was, after all. And now it was time. Hal's hands shook while he laced his hiking boots. The sneakers would probably provide better traction, but they were white, visible. Maybe it didn't even matter, but Hal preferred to fill his mind with choices, decisions, even the most banal if it meant not thinking about all the possibilities for disaster that could erupt over the next few hours. He had on his black turtleneck, holster over that, olive drab messenger bag hanging on the doorknob. All he owned were lounge pants and jeans, so he unlaced the boots, snuck back into Dave's room and borrowed a pair of black fatigues. The soldier's eyebrows were raised when he came back into the living room, soundlessly. Well, nearly.
"Pants," he explained. Then into his room for a belt, then back out to the living room to make sure his wireless headset had charged.

"Deep breath, Hal. Nothing to this." Dave's voice was even and deep. He forced himself to stop in mid stride, breathing in and out through his nostrils.
"Nothing to it. Sure." Headset charged, Glock in holster, safety on. Was it? He checked again. Safety on. He checked the connection between the laptop and the headset, satisfied it worked, and shut it back off.
"Let's go over it again. Keep your mind focused." Hal sat down on the couch next to Dave.
"Okay. Once past it to check for security guards or police. Then park the car, pick the lock, find the cabinet with the drugs, pick that. Get back outside, in the car, drive around for 30 minutes, then back here."
"Good. Remember, there might be security or police cars in the parking lots of nearby businesses. Scan everything when you drive through. Make a mental note of each car. Each car. Is that a threat? Yes or no." He heard Hal sigh deeply next to him, raggedly. "If you don't get the lock on the first try, don't worry. Calm down and try again. Once you're inside, ignore all distractions. Barking dogs, beeping machines. Find the cabinet, that's your only goal."
"Find the cabinet," he repeated. "Got it."

"When you're back out, force yourself to drive slowly, normally, as you would any other time. I know - it's not easy to do. You're keyed up, your foot hits the gas, and either it's not in gear and it revs or it is and you burn rubber on the way out. Be smooth. If you act calm, you will be calm."
"Calm. Right. Be calm." His knuckles popped, one at a time. Dave's big hand rested on top of his clenched fists.
"Otacon, look at me." Dave's unfocused gaze really didn't soothe him as Hal caught his eyes. "You can do this. I know you can. We've been in bad situations before and you've pulled through. Remember that time in Ankara? Pitch black, GPS out of juice, jeep out of gas, soldiers on both sides. But we managed to find a place to bunk down for the night. And you jury-rigged that electrical converter to get our equipment running and get us out of there." Hal scoffed.

"Yes, but that was me and you - that was us at full tilt, no complications, no injuries. Certainly not me on my own, you out of commission."
"Yes, but this is North Dakota, not the Middle East. And we've been doing this for years. You're not the same timid anime geek that I first met. Look at you- I mean..." Dave stumbled for words without his sight and instead wrapped his thumb and index finger around Hal's arm. There was no way he could encircle his bicep. "This is muscle, Otacon. You've earned it, you've sweat for it, shed blood for it. You can do this. You've grown, changed."
"But I'm not a solider, Dave. I'm nothing like you, I'm not strong, or quick or even decent enough to keep myself alive in the field."
"You got me out of that bunker, didn't you? And I'll be here, on the other end of the line. I promise."


***


Thirty minutes later Hal found himself, stomach clenching, hands wrapped around the steering wheel driving down a divided road. The streetlights were spaced widely apart, tall. The light barely pierced the night and dimly lit the road. Everything was washed in sepia hues. He drove past the vet clinic, slowly, at the posted speed limit. There was a car across the street next to a metal building. Storage, machine shop? Something. It was a tan sedan, nothing special. Hal concentrated. No one was in it. Not a threat. The next parking lot was attached to a warehouse. A few trailers parked outside, no trucks attached. No cars, no security.
"Otacon, anything?" Dave's voice crackled through the connection.
"Minimal. One car at another building, one outside the target. Blue minivan." No one in it. Not a threat. Not yet, at least.
"Keep driving. Check back in fifteen minutes."

Hal explored the countryside, straight never-ending strips of pavement. No corners, barely a stop sign. He made a u-turn in the middle of an intersection and headed back to the clinic.
"Snake?"
"Hmm?"
"Car is still there." Unmistakable, it was the same blue minivan. The tan car at the building across the street was gone, but someone was still at the clinic. It was eleven at night. His stomach clenched again.
"Calm down." Dave read the slight trepidation in his voice. "Keep driving. Someplace different this time. Check back in thirty minutes." The connection was cut and Hal was dropped back into his silent world.

Oh, god, what was he going to do? He couldn't just keep driving around all night?! What happened if the van was still there when he got back? He'd re-filled the gas tank yesterday, so there was no need to stop, no need to complicate things. He had his jacket in the back if he needed it, but with his luck, the most oblivious gas station attendant would spot his concealed shoulder harness, the gun, and out would come a shotgun and off would come his head. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. It felt so odd around his arms, over his shoulder blades. He knew he carried himself differently, unused to the feel, the off-balance weight. His stomach started doing flip flops, so he rolled down the window and turned on the radio softly. It was Sunday night and his fingers stabbed at the controls, changing it from country music to a fervored evangelist to political talk radio and then back to country. It would serve to distract him as he headed back into the city, taking unfamiliar streets to eat up time.

A car wash. Police station. Library. A few bars. Some cryptic establishment with blacked out windows and pink neon signs. A tractor dealership. A grain elevator. Then back out into the country. The canopy of night held back by the street lights swept down upon him and only his headlights pierced the gloom. They caught the shining eyes of a few animals. Coyotes, probably. The car sped by and they vanished. He was left with the night and a lonesome cowboy singing over his lost love.

'If you're worrying over me like I've worried over you
Don't do it darling, don't do it darling
If you think I'm missing you and I'm missing kissing you
Don't do it darling, don't do it darling'

The guitar was so sad, the voice so lost. Hal's mind was a jumble of warring thoughts, emotions. His stomach was all nerves, eyes scanning the featureless dark. His fingers itched over the steering wheel, coiled energy needing an outlet. The fog crouched again at the edge of the road, waiting for a chance to strike. He slowed down, did a three point turn, and headed back toward the city. The fog inched away now, and slowly a few stars peeked out from behind clouds. Beautiful pinpoints of light. They were soon lost in the haze of sodium street lights.

Back into the industrial park. He hesitated to bring his eyes to the parking lot, knowing the van would still be there. The parking lot across the street was still empty. With effort, he forced his pupils to the vet clinic. Empty. He let out a great sigh, fingers relaxing from their vice grip on the wheel.
"Oh thank you sweet jesus."
He turned off the radio, the cowboy's voice had been replaced by another, just as sad and lonely and desperate. There was no time for poetry now. He had to be focused. And calm.

Hal turned the car gently into the parking lot. No one was around. The street was deserted, the clinic dark. He flicked the key and the engine shuddered to a halt. Leave the key in the ignition. Good idea. He congratulated himself with a half smile. Off came his glasses and he slipped on the ski mask. Wouldn't do to be caught on camera. His glasses fit back on his head awkwardly, but the stems were pinned between the heavy fabric and his head - uncomfortable but functional. He gathered his tools from the passenger seat and opened the door. The air was heavy and still. No sound, even whispers of wind were muted. The rural fog was softly trailing into the city and the heavy humidity that heralded its arrival silenced everything. His footsteps on the pavement felt heavy, thudding. Hal squared his shoulders, and positioned the picks in the lock. He didn't get it on the first try. He was still stuck three minutes later and his heart was pounding, fingers shaking. He removed his tools and forced his hands to his sides.

"Calm down." Hal dragged a deep breath into his lungs. That felt better, but he had to work quickly. So much was riding on this. If he was spotted now... Oh god... Another deep breath. He furrowed his brow and resumed working. Suddenly, the tools seemed to fit, seemed to show him where the pins were, how to manipulate the device. It was one, two, three and he held the tools in one hand and twisted the knob with the other. The deadbolt slid from the jamb in a slick, satisfying motion. But there was little time to congratulate himself. He dropped the tools in his bag, entered, and went to work.

Hal felt for the light switch and the room was bathed in greenish fluorescent light. His eyes darted from object to object. Various big pieces of equipment - a floor scale, a few freezers, what looked like an industrial centrifuge, but little else. One door was marked with a radioactive sticker - x ray bay. He moved quickly to the second, which led to a short corridor and spilled out into the reception area. He backtracked and tried all the doors littered along the hallway. Bathroom. Examination room. Another hallway, he'd try that later. Office. Rather than bypassing it, he entered and his eyes quickly scanned the room. The furnishings were spartan, what little could be seen under the stacks of paper and boxes of supplies. There were at least five cartons of new syringes. He didn't stop to count, instead scooping them in great handfuls into his bag.

Hal turned back to the door and spotted a small white cabinet against the wall. A cabinet with a big-ass lock on it. Jackpot? He dug his tools out from the bottom of the bag and started. In less than half a minute he'd assessed it was similar to the lock on the ammo box he'd practiced on. The bolt popped with a satisfying click and opened to reveal its treasure. Yes, this was the controlled substances cabinet, but it was practically bare. There were a few rows of neatly sorted brown bottles and a cluster of pills on the second shelf. Hal felt the bile start to creep back up his throat. There was a very real chance that what they needed wasn't here. His fingers floated over the bottles, pushing them out of the way to read the next. Lidocaine. Phenylbutazone. Pergolide. Sulfamethoxazole. Way at the back was a bottle of atropene. But no epinephrine, no dopamine, and certainly no hyoscyamine. He double checked, eyes racing over the labels. He even checked the clear bottles of pills. Nothing.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He grabbed the counter top, leaning on it, shutting his eyes for a moment. This was not good. Was there another cabinet somewhere? The likeliest places - the exam rooms, the office - he'd already checked. They wouldn't keep it in the reception area and they certainly wouldn't keep it in x ray. He slammed his fist against the counter top, then immediately regretted it. Pain shot up his arm and his hand throbbed. Calm down. Hal took two deep breaths and stuffed two bottles of lidocaine and atropene into his bag. He didn't bother closing the cabinet or shutting off the lights. They would know in the morning that they'd been robbed. There was no need to take the time to cover his tracks.

Hal tried the second hallway just to be sure, but that only ended in the kennel area. There was space for a dozen animals at least, but only two were filled. One dog continued to sleep and the other gazed at him with dopey interest. He shut the lights off and made his way back out. He checked the first room one more time, but the same equipment stared back at him, mockingly. There was nothing else. Great. They'd picked the one clinic in the city plainly going out of business, and now they were stealing from them, making things worse. Hal felt guilt tug at his stomach, but he pushed it aside for now.

His head poked around the outside door tentatively. The night was just as empty and still as he'd left it. He shut the door securely, placed his too-light bag on the passenger seat, and started the car. He was lucid enough to take the ski mask from his head, but he didn't remember Dave's advice - be calm. His foot landed heavily on the gas and he skidded out of the parking lot, tires squeaking in protest.
"Fuck! Fuck!" He squeezed the steering wheel tightly, only vaguely aware of the world around him. This was a colossal failure. So he'd risked himself, risked blowing Philanthropy's cover, and for what? Some cheap plastic syringes and a measly couple bottles of chemicals. He didn't notice his speed and he didn't notice the car behind him. Headlights crept closer and closer. If Hal was doing 50 in a 35, then it was doing 60. When the headlights in his rear view mirror finally penetrated his consciousness, he realized it wasn't a car. It was a big black Humvee.

His eyes grew wide and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. What the fuck?
Okay, Emmerich, don't panic. Just some drunk out for a joyride. Right? It wasn't a police car at least and with that thought Hal released the gas, letting the car coast back down towards the speed limit. He'd let this yahoo get pulled over, but he sure wasn't about to. It was a wide boulevard, so Hal moved over to the right hand lane to let him pass. The headlights moved as well, following him to the right and getting larger and larger. What? Only two thoughts ran through his brain as the car's speed didn't drop. Confusion and blinding fear. With half a thought to ensure his seat belt was on, Hal punched the accelerator. But the little boxer engine wasn't fast enough. The grill of the Hummer came crashing against the rear of his car, throwing him against the steering wheel, throwing everything from the seats to the floor. The engine screamed with Hal's panic, jumping up to the red line. What the fuck?!

Half of his mind still pondered if the driver was drunk, but that portion was silenced as a 9 mm round pierced the rear window, exiting the windshield with a delicate pattern of cracks.
"Holy shit!" It was all instinct then, and Hal twisted the car onto a side street before the next round could find his skull. He didn't have any brave, petty thoughts about firing back, or trying a daring move to slip behind them and take out one of their tires, or trying to ram them and throw them into some glorious stationary object. No, his only thought was speed and deftness. The little Subaru was more nimble, had a lower center of gravity. He would slip through the side streets and lose them in tight turns. Maybe. It was all he could hope for.

He saved half a thought for calling Dave on the headset, but that dissolved when another bullet rang out, demolishing his driver side mirror. They'd fired wide, but it was still a hell of a shot with the way Hal was careening through every intersection. A hell of shot. Who were these guys? His thoughts immediately raced to the Patriots, but they hadn't gotten a look at his face, only the car. The car! Those fucking wackos from N38? It had to be, but how? Snake said he'd cut off the head, killed the men responsible. That no one was after them. But who else could it be? Here, in North Dakota of all places! This wasn't Iran, it wasn't North Africa, it was pedestrian Bismarck. Another shot, but it was wide and it missed the car completely.

It had to be them, and the thought of what would happen to him if he was caught raced down his spine like ice water. Dave said there were mutilated bodies. Death would be a lucky end if they caught him. He could feel their rage radiating out from the Humvee. Spurned, base defiled, plans derailed. Now they'd spotted the Subaru that had whisked away the solitary man who'd destroyed it all, and they weren't going to let it get away. They would have vengeance on the driver. Make him lead them to the man responsible. And they would make him. He had no pretentious assumptions that he would hold out under torture, or even the threat of torture. They would get to Dave and wreak cold revenge on them both.

Hal knew all this with certainty, and he channeled his fear through the accelerator. The buildings got closer together and businesses turned into residences. One brain cell flickered with the thought of stray gunfire hitting some innocent in their bed. The rest were devoted to measuring his velocity precisely, allowing maximum speed in each turn. But the Hummer remained firmly in his rear view mirror. He saw the headlights bouncing up and down. He was taking the corners, but they were slicing over the curbs and sidewalks on the inner apex. Smoothing the turn into a near straight. Shit! How was he supposed to put distance between them? Did he even stand a chance of getting away? Then one thought flickered into his mind. The police station. Maybe he could lose them there. Maybe he would get lucky and a policeman would latch onto the hulking black vehicle and pull them over. It was the only chance he had, even if it wasn't very good.

He remembered its approximate location from earlier that night. At the next intersection, he took it wide, swinging the car's nose to the right, then viciously yanking at the emergency brake and cranking the wheel to the left. He didn't expect the maneuver to work like it did in Initial D. The back end slid out in a perfect arc and the Subaru did an about face while the black vehicle sped past, trying to compensate for his quick turn. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and he knew his worst fears were true. There were at least four bodies, black BDUs, automatic weapons. The front passenger seat was occupied by a man whose arms swung even now, in slow motion, carrying a small sidearm and tracing Hal's trajectory with the muzzle. But he was on the gas. The bullet shattered the rear window, missing him. He saw the headlights go out of focus as the driver slammed on the brakes, doing a wide u-turn to stay on top of him.

They weren't so close now. He kept the car at the ragged edge, pistons screaming as went from second to third to fourth in quick succession. He didn't spare a glance at the speedometer, but knew he had to be topping 70 with the way the houses sped and blurred together. Intersection, stop sign, brake, turn, vicious acceleration. He couldn't let them get a straight bead on him or it would all be over. Finally, the houses cleared and he sped past the line of bars, the library. The police station was a few blocks ahead. Oh, and the glorious stop light! He'd forgotten all about it!

Hal's senses were on overload and his peripheral vision caught the red light of the opposing road, the flickering 'walk' sign. The light would be changing soon. He slowed down against his screaming instincts and let them catch up. There was a patrol car sitting on the side of the road. Can't get picked up now. But would they blow their cover? It was a dangerous game of chicken. The speed limit was 25 and he decelerated to a meager 31. The headlights of the Hummer exploded in his mirror. God, they were close! A policeman leaned against his car, smoking languidly in the night air. Perfect, perfect, time it right... His heart thudded in his chest and he glared at the green light, begging it to change. He was less than 200 feet away and it turned, amber light washing the pavement. Hal sighed raggedly. This had to work.

The Subaru inched towards the intersection and breached the crosswalk just as the light turned red. He saw the headlights on the Hummer dive, squealing to a stop. The policeman glanced disinterestedly at the occupants. It was working! He briskly turned a corner and poured on the speed. Distance. Distance. The light would change back soon, but he would be gone. He had to be, that was his one and only chance.

The car screamed up an octave and the houses blurred again. They had to be gone. He made a few more superfluous turns and then started back for the apartment. He had to find some cover for the car. If he parked it in the alley again, and they scoured the city - as he knew they would - they would be found in a heartbeat. He and Dave couldn't disappear as swiftly as they had before. Two men could have that apartment cleaned out in 30 minutes and be ghosts, but one man, the other blinded? No way. He was a few blocks away from Ella's, senses still on overdrive, and he spotted it. The perfect little disused warehouse. Metal siding was rusting, windows busted out. He could hide the car here for now. They could torch it later and find another.

Hal parked the car, gathering his picks from the floor where they'd scattered and jumped out to make short work of the lock on the chain. The chain fell and he slid the rusting doors open. God, the noise was fantastic! He winced, gritting his teeth, pretending the sound didn't pierce the night air with an agonizing voice. He parked the car inside, gathered everything - jacket, bag, syringes, mask, bottles - shut the car off, closed and locked the warehouse. He was just mad enough that he chuckled as he clicked the lock shut. What was the point of locking this warehouse? There was nothing in it to steal and the windows had been shattered long ago.

He threw the jacket on over his shoulder holster and jogged back to the apartment. A car passed on the street and he jumped, but it was just some benign sedan. He bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, and collapsed on the other side.
"Hal?" He was too out of breath to respond. "Is that you?" He could hear Dave shuffling in the living room, then the soft click of a gun being cocked.
"Yes- yes, it's me." His chest heaved, he couldn't get air fast enough and his muscles stung. A click, softer still, of the hammer being un-cocked.
"Are you okay?" There was worry in his voice. Hal picked himself up off the ground and walked to the living room.
"Yes, just- just out of breath." He set the bag on the floor, dropped the jacket onto the chair, and sank onto the couch. "Can you- can you help me- get this off?" Dave slid over on the couch toward Hal and his fingers made quick work of the holster straps. He placed it gently on the coffee table.

"So... what happened? I haven't heard a peep out of you since the second drive by the place." Hal's breathing was slower now, but his mind was still racing.
"Oh, my god. What happened?" His fingers drew through his hair nervously. "What happened? Well, I completely fucked it up, that's what happened." He pressed his fingers against his eyes. "God I need a smoke." Dave chuckled nervously and felt against the coffee table for his pack and lighter.
"Wow, now I'm a little scared. You want a smoke? Jesus, did you kill somebody?" He popped the cigarette in his mouth and lit it before offering it to Hal. He placed it lightly between his lips and took a long drag. Then proceeded to hack up his lungs. Hal placed the cigarette back in his outstretched hand.
"Fuck it. I don't need a smoke, I need a drink." He retreated to the kitchen for the vodka and two glasses. Dave's voice followed him.
"Hal, for the love of god, tell me what happened! I mean, you're in one piece, right? And you're back. And the car's not a smoldering wreck, right?"
"Yes, yes, and pretty much." The glasses clicked on the coffee table and he poured both of them a generous helping. "We have to get rid of the car. And I don't know how with just one of us. I mean, if I torch it, how do I get back? You can't drive a second car, and I can't just hail a taxi away from a billowing car fire." He mused out loud.
"Hal. Look at me." He grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to Dave's face. "Why do we need to burn the car? Short sentences. Now." His voice was commanding and despite the fact that Dave's steely gaze was boring into a location just south of his ear, Hal swallowed nervously. He was still goddamned intimidating, even if he was blind.

"Because..." He took a deep breath. "Okay, so I got into the vet clinic with no problem. No one was there. But the drug cabinet was a disaster. I only got some atropene and lidocaine. I got back out without a problem. Then-" Dave's hand relaxed its grip and when Hal reached for the vodka, he released his chin. "Then, and I don't know where they came from, but these psychos in a Humvee started chasing me."
"Chased you? In the car?"
"Yes, I finally out ran them, but Dave... They put three bullets in the car. They had guns, BIG guns. I think they're the remainder of the paramilitaries from N38."
"Holy shit."
"You're telling me. I honestly don't know how I managed to shake them." Dave's mouth opened to speak. "And before you ask, yes, I took the most circuitous path I possibly could to get back here. And yes, the car is stashed out of sight. I'm not so stupid that I left it parked out in front."
"I wasn't going to say that-"
"I know, I know, but trust me when I say that if there was a fraction of a chance that they knew where we were or had followed me, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now." He didn't have to say any more. Didn't have to tell Dave how they would both be broken and bloodied, enduring excruciating pain. Or simply dead.

Hal let out a huge sigh and swallowed the rest of the vodka.
"I have to admit, it was a huge rush up until the point I saw those headlights in my mirror. It was - it was crazy. But when you're being shot at? Forget it. I don't know how you do it. I never have. And I have even more respect for you after tonight." Dave clapped him on the shoulder lightly with his right hand, still healing.
"If I knew- If I knew anything remotely like this would have happened tonight..."
"I know. Believe me. I feel the same way every time you go on a mission." His voice lodged in his throat, tightness in his eyes. "And when things go wrong... God, Dave, this last time- when you called me over the codec, I-" Warm tears poured down his face.

"I can't lose you, you know that? I can't-" Hal buried his face in Dave's shoulder. He didn't bother to hold back the sobs, his hands clawing for purchase on his shirt. Dave swallowed hard, eyes burning.
"I know," he said softly. "I couldn't lose you, either." Tears gathered in his eyes, but he didn't allow them to spill. Instead, his arms tightened around Hal's shaking torso. "I don't even want to think about it. We're friends, right?" Hal pulled away and stared into his eyes, searching.
"Of course, you know that." His heart burned and he automatically reached up to cradle Dave's cheek in his hand. He loved Dave in so many ways, at so many levels. Friends? He'd called him that in his heart very early on, before they'd even fully escaped Shadow Moses. He knew Dave had warmed to him eventually, letting him in under his stony facade when all others were shut out. It didn't need to be said now. It certainly didn't need to be asked. Not when each man knew they would give their life to save the other. "Of course." His vision blurred through the tears. God, he wanted- he wanted to show Dave he loved him so completely. His life was his, didn't he know that? The air was heavy and Hal knew he'd left his hand in place for too long. If they were friends, then what was this? Damn his betraying fingers! But they wouldn't work, wouldn't come unstuck from his skin. Dave unconsciously worried his lower lip between his teeth. Hal's mind worked on overdrive. What was that? A nervous gesture? Dave didn't do nervous gestures. But then he saw his eyes, unguarded, dilated. They'd already tested that, hadn't they? His irises still reacted to light, so this was something else... Right?

Hal's breath grew shorter, shallower. He'd survived tonight against all odds. Could he be so flippant as to throw it all away on a silly gamble? But then Dave swallowed hard, and his hand was still on his face, and his eyes were wide, and his lower lip flush and bitten. And the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and the space between them was far too much. Hal worked his fingers into the hair behind his ear, brushing their lips together lightly. Dave's eyes closed and he sucked in a short breath. But he didn't pull away. Hal studied him from a few inches away, brows knit. He couldn't read him, couldn't explain the situation. He was just frozen... accepting it? He dove in again, this time with more pressure. Daring to test the situation until it splintered.

He caressed Dave's lower lip with the inside of his, tasting, not believing it would last. He pulled his top lip between his and stroked with his tongue, gently. A small choked whimper crawled out from Dave's throat and broke the last of Hal's disbelief. He dug both hands into his hair, driving their lips together, licking at Dave's until he opened his mouth. The warm interior of his cheeks was his to explore. His tongue fought inside, mixing with Dave's, gliding and caressing.

This couldn't be happening? After all this time, after all his wishing. After all his self inflicted misery. If this was a dream he would make it good and he would make it last. He couldn't get enough of Dave's mouth, so he kissed down his chin, down to his neck, drawing wet lines with his tongue over all the proud veins. He'd wanted to do this for so long. Taste his skin. He breathed in his scent, kissing towards his ear.
"Hal-" it was a short gasp muffled when he reached his earlobe, sucking it between his teeth. Oh, it was delicious and he played with it between his teeth, rolling it between his lips. Suddenly Dave's hands were on his face, a vice like grip removing his mouth and crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. He pulled away a millimeter to ask, "how long?"
"Forever." The force was renewed, and Dave plunged his tongue into Hal's mouth. He never... He never thought he would feel this, feel Dave kissing him. And now he was doing so with such fervor. His heart wanted to explode. Hal's glasses dug into the bridge of his nose with their force and he pulled away slightly, set them safely on the coffee table, and surrendered himself to the brutal onslaught from Dave's lips.

His big hands worked their way down from his face to his neck, tipping it back and exposing his delicate throat. While his fingers showed no mercy to his jaw, his nose gently traced down his neck, tongue dipping out to paint a wet line down to the collar of his turtleneck. He licked and nipped gently, but finally frustrated, he murmured, "we have to get his off."

Hal hastily complied and the shirt was flung to join the jacket on the chair. He resumed his work, tongue tracing down to the hollow in his throat, licking the sweat that had gathered from the night's exertions. Hal's hands were buried in his hair, eyes rolled back in his head. God, this was too good, too much. His cock strained insistently against the black fatigues, but he didn't want to risk too much, ask Dave for things he likely wasn't willing to provide. This was enough. This was heaven. So he bit his lip and moaned quietly while Dave's mouth marked his collar bone.
"I love that sound," he hummed into his skin. Hal's fingers itched for employment, so he toyed with the hem of Dave's shirt, slinking underneath to stroke along the taut muscles surrounding his ribcage. But he was still bound by his hands, holding Hal's shoulders steady.

"Please, let me-" Dave released him to trap his lips in a smoldering kiss and Hal took the opportunity to push him back against the cushions. He slowly worked his shirt off and pinned Dave's arms to his sides. Hal's mouth fed hungrily at his chest, sucking every inch of skin, tasting him, embedding his scent into the folds of his mind. It was delicious to hear him gasp, short little breaths when Hal hit sensitive spots of skin. His biceps trembled with the need to move, to push Hal down and return the sensations. Hal inched down, kissing down his stomach, watching it quiver in fascination. His tongue danced around his navel and he was rewarded with a throaty moan.

"Oh, Hal... Please, please..." His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing into Hal's chest. Delirious, he was only too happy to comply, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his thighs.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he breathed as he pulled Dave's boxers down, unsheathing his desperate erection. Dave's hands wound into his curls, but a wicked smile spread across Hal's mouth. "Oh, no, I have a much better idea." He grabbed the holster from the coffee table, removing the Glock and twisting the nylon straps several times. He wrapped one loop around Dave's left hand, working to slide the other end under the small of his back, and hooked it around his right. "Much better." Dave cracked a grin.
"I don't have to see to know you've got a shit-eating smirk on your face right now." He lowered his smiling mouth to the soldier's, pressing the curve of their lips together. Dave's eyes were wide open, his pupils blown wide in arousal. Hal gorged on the sight before slinking away, trailing his fingers over Dave's abdomen before he got off the couch, kneeling on the floor, careful not to touch an inch of skin. It only took 15 seconds of burning patience to collect his reward.

"Hal? What are you doing?" Silence. "I know you're there. I can hear you breathing." His smile grew wider and he carefully licked a small circle over the head of Dave's penis before retreating. He drew in a sharp, quivering breath. "Oh my god." His fingers flexed in their restraints, divided between wanting and not wanting to remove the holster. Hal let another 15 seconds pass, then licked a quick line along the veins throbbing on the underside, winning a gasp. Hal was silent, only Dave's heavy breathing echoed off the walls. Next, he nibbled up the sides of his shaft, waiting until he was whimpering before pulling back. "This is so unfair. Please, Hal..." But Hal was having too much fun, drawing it out, making the sweet torture last as long as possible. He continued to lick and nip on and all around his penis until the sweat beaded on Dave's chest and he was writhing in pleasure and frustration. "Please, please, I'm begging you." His hips bucked into the air fruitlessly. Finally, Hal gave in, one hand around his own cock, mouth enveloping Dave with wet heat. His brain was on overload, everything condensed down to Hal's hot mouth. The world didn't exist, it was just him, just Hal, and one encompassing spot of pleasure that eroded his reality. His body was taut, bucking into Hal's mouth, hands balled into fists at his side. It didn't take long before the blinding pleasure suffocated them both. Dave came with a loud gasp, shooting down Hal's throat. He pulled away and smothered his own moans in Dave's stomach before coming all over his hands and the borrowed fatigues.
They stayed like that for a minute, breathing slowing, Hal planting small exhausted kisses along the line of his chest.

"Wow. Just, wow." Words were so useless now. "Care to help me out of this thing?" Dave's fingers gestured to the holster.
"Hmm, maybe? I'm taken with the idea of just keeping you like that." He smirked, unwrapping the loops from his hands. Once free, they caught Hal's face and buried him in fevered kisses.
"It's my turn now, Emmerich," a predatory grin grew across his face.
"As much as I would love to take you up on that, I think I'm going to pass out instead." Hal collapsed on the couch next to him, burying his face in Dave's chest.
"Nice. You don't play fair." Hal murmured in acquiescence, his lips crushed against Dave's skin, hovering on the border of sleep. "Tomorrow, then. I'll get you back tomorrow."




Chapter 5