For only the third time in my adult life, I've done something brave.

I've somehow managed to follow Solid Snake into the room with the Metal Gear Rex prototype. As terrified as I've been of even seeing the cursed thing, I know from bitter experience that staying close to this man is pretty much my only hope of staying alive. So here am I shivering in a corner and silently blessing the cloaking device that I've been able to salvage from the wrecked laboratory.

A few mind-numbing explosions later, the monstrous mech appears to malfunction, and through billowing black smoke I spot the grizzled man kneeling by an inert form, calling out a name and shaking the limp body. Even from the distance that I'm at, I can tell that whomever Snake is clutching has been long dead. Rigor mortis is taking hold of that lean frame, grimly displaying its handiwork.

He drops the woman's body onto the cold, bloodied floor and lets out a mutilated sob. I step forward, turning off the masking technology as I do so. "Snake?"

"Shut up," the veteran soldier snaps in a hard voice, and immediately abashed, I turn away, sighing noiselessly. I've had those emotions, felt them with equal weight, not even four hours ago.

The beautiful ice queen is dead. I gave some candy to her when I met her in the hall a few days ago, and in exchange she had told me about her first kill. I had felt no fear for my own safety, only fascination for her perseverance of her quarry. Another piece of chocolate earned me her handkerchief, which she teasingly wiped her neck with before offering it to me – "Because it's so damned hot here," she had said with a pretty smirk.

I stare at the man's heaving back. "She's dead because of him…but I can't hate him. She would have killed him gladly. God, why can't people see how much they hurt others?" I walk up to him again, even more timidly than before. "Snake, we have to leave here."

He stands up as I finish speaking, regaining his composure with a rapidity that startles me. Damn it, is he human? "Lead the way."

So that's his secret. Weep for a good thirty seconds and then squash it down and never mention it again. Emotionless bastard. I do as I'm told, as drops of rage sully the purity of my desire.

We've made it out of the bowels of Shadow Moses Island, and found a snowmobile. I'm shivering, less from the cold than from apprehension. Only half-jokingly, Snake offers me a cigarette. "It'll calm you down for a little bit."

"I'm gonna need more than a little bit," I mutter loudly enough for him to hear. It hardly matters: I could have whispered and he would have heard easily. He gives me a look as he starts up the snowmobile. "Want a Diazepam, then?"

"Sure." I swallow one and gulp a handful of cleaner snow to chase it with. I stuff more snow in my mouth immediately upon actually tasting the medication. God, it's worse than garlic and cod liver oil combined. How in hell she popped these things like peppermints is entirely beyond me.

Snake is laughing as he watches me. "You tasted it, didn't you?"

"Bloody brilliant, you are." I finally force the wretched thing to go down and fight an instantaneous gag reflex.

"Idiot," he says as he revs the engine. "You're not supposed to let it dissolve. You're supposed to try to drop it straight into your throat."

"Thanks. I'll keep in mind the next time I'm going to snipe someone."

He looks at me for the third time in eight minutes, but from the look on his face, he might have actually seen me for the first time in a while. "Are you alright, err…?" He's forgotten my code name, and shows no signs of remembering.

"Hal," I say quickly before the need to clench my teeth against nausea becomes overwhelming.

"Ah, yes." He looks back at me sharply. "Hal?"

"Yeah. Hal Emmerich." My voice surprises me. It's quite sedate. My stomach has stopped its violent protest, and while all's not quite right with the world, I don't feel as though I'm going to keel over at any second.

"Nice name." He pats the co-pilot seat, beckoning me to sit down. "I'm David."

David. Also a nice name. The savior of the world has such a boy-next-door sort of moniker. I rest a hand on his shoulder as I get comfortable. For balance.

He doesn't look at me this time, but I hear him snort quietly. Disgust? Mockery? There's no way to know.

We make small talk as the vehicle traverses miles of tundra. I'm enthralled by the details of his life, although there's no way for me to be pleased by his actions or even approve of his indifferent attitude towards the lives he's ended. But just hearing about it…I'm thoroughly enjoying it. It reminds me of a set of spy novels that I had as a child, and wanting so badly to meet someone like those fictional heroes. And here he was in front of me, monotone, bloodied, reeking of gunpowder and stale sweat, with a decidedly unattractive growth of stubble and a pair of beet-red eyes. And naturally I loved him.

I'm not terribly romantic. Hell, my nickname proves that I spend more time gawking at comics and imaginary worlds than I do pursuing a social life and trying to meet women. But my admiration for certain people often turns into a strange, torturing sort of love. It was definitely the case with her. And why should things be any different, simply because I'm beginning to admire a man?

I open my eyes with a start. The scenery looks exactly the same. Trees, trees, hill, unidentifiable black speck. Lots and lots of snow. Snake looks exactly the same: immobile. But time has most certainly passed. Did I fall asleep?

A chill on the side of my face prompts me to remove my hand from his waist - was my hand actually around his waist? - and wipe the left side of my mouth. That is definitely drool. And there's definitely more of it on his neck. Uh-oh.

He must feel me moving behind him, but he hasn't said a word.

Shyly, I touch his neck to wipe it off. He snorts again, just as ambiguously as before. The snowmobile's slowing down perceptibly. Is it wise to talk to him right now? "I guess I was slobbering down your shirt, huh."

"Yep," he replies as he brings the vehicle to a stop. "Ready for a little break? You were out for two hours."

Two hours…! I haven't that much consecutive sleep for going on three days. Without even thinking about it, I accept the cigarette that he offers me and wait while he lights it. I inhale, but choke immediately. He laughs and shakes his head. "Geez, Hal. I'll be back."

In looking over the snowmobile, I see that we're pretty low on gas, which makes me wonder exactly where he's headed. I don't have anywhere to go. There's no place that's safe now. Except…with him.

He returns, with a comment about yellow snow. We both bark out a laugh, and I hand him the cigarette that I haven't touched. He accepts it with a good grace and drags slowly. "There's about four more gallons of gas in the main tank. The reserve will get us about twelve more miles closer to civilization after the main runs dry."

I nod silently.

"Any place you wanted to go?"

I shake my head. I want to go wherever you are. Naturally, I can't say what's on my mind.

He picks up the slack, flicking the cigarette into a heap of snow. "Well, you can crash with me for a few days while you try to get set up somewhere else. My place actually isn't too far from here. The bike should get us there with fuel to spare."

Living with him?! Not good. Not good. Not good. He remounts and starts the ignition. "You're not too cold, are you? You're shaking like a leaf."

"I'm fine."

"Want another Diazepam?" He turns around to offer me the bottle, but sees the expression on my face and thinks better of it. "Never mind."

I gotta stop just dropping off to sleep like this.

This time when I wake up, it's plainly obvious that I'm hugging him. And better yet, I've quite securely latched the side of my face to his neck. Great. Just super.

He stands, and I'm suddenly quite awake. I just bumped…never mind. I don't want to think about it. I bumped into his suit. I bumped into his suit.

He leads the way into his house, coming home to a chorus of excited yelps. That's right, Snake likes dogs, too. Just like her. Fleetingly, I wonder if he's got a handkerchief, but decide that I wouldn't want to smell it if he did. It would probably reek.

It would probably remind me.

He's showering, and I'm on his bed staring at my hands. These hands…even though they haven't directly taken a life, they're just as bloody and guilty as everyone else's. Wolf, Ocelot, Raven. Even Meryl. I was no better than any of them, deep inside. So what if I hadn't killed someone with a gun? I was directly responsible for technology that was entirely capable of killing hundreds of people in seconds.

My glasses are misting from the warmth seeping out of the closed bathroom door. I take them off and rub the area of my face right above my sinuses. Now is really not the time to get sentimental. Especially with Snake tromping my way in a towel.

Snake in a towel. Oh –

"It's all yours," he says, interrupting my thoughts, and turning them to other things. I stutter something out as I stand, and he looks at me with that expression of semi-sarcastic humor. "It's okay, Hal. I'm just David. I'm not scary when I'm at home, see?" He stands up. His towel does not.

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god oh gawd.

"Whoops," he says, completely oblivious to my mounting embarrassment. He wraps back around his waist before rummaging through a bureau for some dry clothes. I take the opportunity to dash into the steamy bathroom and lock the door.

I just saw Solid Snake naked. Oh yes, he's quite solid. And I'm…quite blind. I don't have my glasses on, and I can still hear him in the bedroom. There's no way I'm going back out there right now. Damn it, I just can't win.

Feeling sorry for myself, I start the shower up, fumbling with the knobs for a while to get the temperature just right. Get this dirt off me. Get this blood off my hands. Get him off my mind.

I'm going crazy. Didn't he love Meryl? Maybe he was crying for her the same way that he would weep for the loss of Gray Fox, as a comrade and a partner.

I could have sworn he loved Meryl.

The scent of soap makes me feel better, at least for a little bit. I'm so glad that I didn't take that damned Diazepam. I'd probably be hopping off the walls by now. Or better yet, saying things that really ought not to be said.

Would it hurt that much to tell him that I love him?

I ponder this impossible question as I rub a nagging sore on my back. It burns and itches, and I haven't had the chance to look at it. I'll get Snake to do it, if he's dressed once I get out. I turn the water off and step out of the shower and damn it all, he's right there.

What the hell?! I try to adjust my glasses, forgetting that I'm not actually wearing them. "What are you doing in here?"

"You needed clothes," he said, deadpan.

"I locked the door."

"I picked the lock."

Stupid jackass world-class spy! He would do something that asinine.

Snake scratches his ear and looks bored.

"Do you have my glasses?"

He hands them to me. As he moves, I smell an intriguing aroma of lavender. Where he got a cologne with such a fruity-smelling base and how he somehow managed to make it quite masculine is entirely beyond me. My eyes are closed again as I inhale deeply.

"Otacon." That derisive name causes my eyes to pop open. He's right there. Did he move? "Otacon, you're standing on my foot. I wouldn't mind normally, but you're getting me wet."

I gulp. Oh, shit.

I'm in bed now, tucked beneath several layers of flannel to insulate my shivering body. As luck would have it, that 'burning, itching thing' on my back was a gunshot wound. Hardly a surprise. I should probably have more of them. There's some scalding hot soup on the bedside table for me. Snake insisted that I was feverish, and I felt no inclination to disagree. Oh no, David, I'm burning red because I have a crush on you. Oh, by the way, are you single?

He's nearby, looking at the barley soup that I'm not eating. After a few moments of observation, he says, "You're not eating."

I don't answer him, choosing instead to smile wryly.

He turns to the window and talks to himself loudly enough for me to hear. I'm probably not supposed to be hearing this, but I can't exactly move and it is his own damn fault for talking in front of me.

"That dirty bastard…dragging me out of my own house in the middle of the night. Hey Hal, you sure you're not hungry?"

I pretend to be asleep and don't answer. He snorts and continues, talking as if there's someone else there to listen. "Bunch o' nutcases with a bunch o' stupid vendettas. Every damned one of them. Hell, the only person who was even halfway real was the naïve little college grad and the greenhorn."

"Mei Ling?" I say in spite of myself.

"Yeah, and Meryl. Naomi was pretty much ready for the loony bin, Natasha was a freakin' moron, and Roy…" His body tensed. Guiltily, I realized that I was staring at his naked back as opposed to sympathizing. "I can't believe how much trust I put in him." He shook his head, gloomy. "He did nothing but lie to me from beginning to end."

"How?" I shuffle my sparse weight beneath the blankets.

"God, where do I start? He was using me to get his niece out of Shadow Moses. I'll bet he wouldn't have even cared if he hadn't had personal stake involved. He lied about his actual role in the whole thing. He lied about what he knew about the mission. Hell…" He ground his teeth and clenched a fist before continuing, "…he even lied about Meryl. She wasn't his niece, Otacon. She was his daughter. He lied to his own damn brother. I trusted him…looked up to him like a father…and he just used me the whole time…"

I push off about ten pounds of sheet to crawl out of bed. "Snake."

He looks at me briefly before turning back to the window, but I saw his eyes. They were bitter and outraged and so very hurt. I would have never imagined him capable of such pure emotion, and I empathize deeply. Oh, David.

He glances back again, this time actually turning around to face me. "What?"

Did I speak? Stupid Diazepam! Someone shoot me if I ever take this stuff again on an empty stomach and next to no sleep. "I, um…"

The side of his mouth is curling. That seductively evil smile is returning. "You're shaking, Hal." His voice is low and husky. "Any reason why?"

How could I have ever thought this man to be cold? I can't speak, but I cup his face in trembling fingers as I make a brief, very brief, contact with his lips.

I can feel his long eyelashes brushing my cheekbones as I step away. He must have closed his eyes. And that smile is still there. If anything, it's grown more intense. His voice is still slightly teasing, but there's an edge there that makes me quiver and gives me gooseflesh. "Now what was that for?"

"You saved my life."

"And for that, I get a kiss? How sweet." He advances and now he's closer than he's ever been. He couldn't possibly miss how aroused I've become. "But what about the time…" He kisses me on the cheek. "…that you warned me about Sniper Wolf? And how about when…" A kiss on my closed eyelids. "…you came to get me in the cell? And what about…" Kiss. "…the elevator?"

I couldn't speak if I wanted to. There's very little blood left in my brain.

"Ah, Hal," he murmurs softly as he backs me up to the bed and forces me to lie down.

Solid Snake really doesn't have too much to say. David, by contrast, is a chatterbox. He all but demands an account of when and where and how I began to like him. I think for a while, but give up on recalling the exact day and time, and tell him something vague about the Ninja and pissing on myself in a locker. He's amused.

Forty minutes later, we're both tired and drowsy and warm. I turn from my side to my stomach to gaze at his form. For once, he looks contented as he snores softly. I play with one of his more errant cowlicks and wonder if he's ever going to find any peace in this lifetime.

Probably not. Some people just need action. But it won't kill me to stick around for a little longer, I guess. And if it does, there's always that bottle of Diazepam.