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Surviving Shadow Moses was one thing, surviving the brutal cold of the Alaskan winter was another.
Snake and Otacon’s escape helicopter had brought them to some abandoned, rustic cabin far from Shadow Moses, where they were instructed to await further correspondence.
They had all they needed to survive, but it was barely enough for two weeks, if even.
They were a week and a half out, now, and still no word. Total radio silence.
Not only that, but a winter storm was starting to pick up. They were going to be snowed in, possibly for the next few days, with very limited resources.
Thinking about their daunting lack of… well, everything, stressed Otacon out, so he tried not to think about it. It was hard not to, though, when there was virtually nothing to do and the wind kept rapping on their cabin's windows.
Snake was out at the moment, presumably exploring the infinite stretch of forest that surrounded them.
That was another thing stressing Otacon out. Snake kept leaving the cabin, in the middle of a blizzard. He'd half-assedly tried to reassure him, saying "I grew up in Alaska," and "I'll be fine," but it didn't help, not even marginally.
He hadn't even bothered to explain what he was doing, or why. He'd even tried to slip out the door without a word. The more time he spent in solitude with him, the more Otacon realized that Snake was a frustratingly secretive man.
He had been gone all day now, and- with nothing else to do- Otacon couldn't stop pacing around their tiny living room, the old wooden floorboards beneath him creaking with each step.
He looked out the only window in their cabin. It had a coating of frost on it, but Otacon could tell that it was already dark out.
He started pacing faster, he felt as if there were a pit in his stomach. He couldn't tell if it was anxiety or hunger or both.
If anything happened to Snake, he was as good as dead, but that wasn't the real root of his worries.
Truthfully, Otacon didn't care if he himself lived or died. He really liked Snake, even if he was frustrated with him at the moment. Otacon had only known Snake for a little over a week, but after what they'd been through together, he already considered him to be a friend, someone he could confide in.
He trusted that Snake wouldn't take advantage of him, betray him, or try to hurt him. He knew it was dangerous to trust someone so blindly, but he did so anyway; he'd never had the best eyesight.
Otacon didn't want to lose the first person he felt he could truly trust. He wanted so badly to call Snake on his codec right now, but couldn't bring himself to— what if there was no answer?
There were tears welling up in his eyes now, so he pushed his glasses up to his forehead, not wanting to stain them. He didn't have any cleaner or wipes on him; he hadn't thought to grab either of those things from his desk before they left.
He didn't let those tears fall, though, instead wiping his eyes with his sleeve, because what if Snake came in and saw him crying? He'd sure feel stupid then, even though he'd already made a fool of himself in front of Snake multiple times.
Then again, what if Snake didn't come back? The wind howled outside, as if tauntingly speaking that thought into Otacon's ear. What if he'd been found, killed, and left to freeze?
The what if hypotheticals only kept getting more ridiculous, until Otacon settled on one that made sense in his over-tired, hungry mind. He stopped his pacing.
What if Snake had been contacted hours before and abandoned Otacon in this cabin? What if he was warm, and comfortable, and somewhere far, far from here?
It would make sense, then, why he hadn't explained where he was going before he left.
No, he wouldn't do that.
'You hardly know him, he hardly knows you, of course he would.' The wind outside was so loud, it was as if it was talking to him. Panic was setting in.
He couldn't.
'What if those were his orders? To leave you behind, to let you freeze or starve to death, alone in this cabin? He surely could.'
He's not that cold-blooded.
'You don't know that. What if he's just like everybody else?'
Otacon felt his knees give out beneath him, falling to the floor. The wooden planks below, rough and unpolished, splintered his hand where he'd reached to catch himself.
Now, tears were shed; he was too in his head to hold them back. He felt like an idiot. Snake had no reason to keep him around, so of course he wouldn't.
Then the cabin's door opened, and he felt the icy panic that had enveloped him melt into a burning hot shame. He quickly wiped his tears, readjusted his glasses, and rose to his feet, turning to face Snake.
Snake was carrying a bundle of wooden sticks and a cloth sack of something that Otacon couldn't quite make out. He was staring, slack jawed.
"Otacon," He finally said. "Were you crying just now?"
"I…" Otacon looked down at his hand, noticing the tiny chips of wood sticking into his skin. "I got a splinter, it hurt. Ow."
Snake shut the door behind him, set the bundle of wood and the bag down on the floor, and got closer to Otacon, looking him in the eye. He examined his hand, before pulling three, nearly microscopic wooden splinters from it.
Otacon did not wince; he couldn't even feel the splinters. Embarrassed, he didn't meet Snake's gaze, but he could still feel his eyes boring into him.
Snake's eyes lingered a moment longer, before he grabbed the cloth sack from the floor and vanished into the kitchen (which was, truthfully, only a few feet away.)
"I found a frozen pond today, did some fishing there. Turns out there was a bunch of ice fishing gear in the shed out back. A sled, too." He explained.
Otacon was beyond grateful for Snake's hard work, they'd be having a filling meal for the first time in a long time. Yet, despite this, he felt an aching kind of bitterness gnawing at the corners of his mind.
Otacon felt jealous, jealous that Snake hadn't brought him along, even though he wouldn't have been able to handle the cold. He felt angry, too, that Snake had risked his own life for someone so undeserving.
Most of all, he was angry at himself. If nothing else, Otacon was painfully self aware. He realized that he was- like always- being ungrateful, overthinking and sabotaging his own happiness. Where he could be rejoicing that Snake had returned- and he'd returned with food nonetheless- he instead was angry that Snake had left in the first place.
'Without a word, during a blizzard.' His mind seemed to echo, as if trying to rationalize the overwhelmingly negative (and overwhelmingly irrational) emotions as they came and went.
Otacon balled and unballed his fists, just to feel the pressure, to feel the way his muscles clenched, then relaxed. He didn't want to let the dam of negative emotions he'd been holding back flood out; he didn't want to drown Snake.
He felt the cushion next to him dip, and realized he was no longer alone on the couch. He still didn't make eye contact with Snake, instead staring at the warm orange flame in their furnace. There were two fish filets cooking in it, now.
"Otacon?" There was concern laced within Snake's words. He could feel him staring again.
"Thank you for fishing today. Sorry for not saying thanks earlier. I'm really looking forward to dinner."
"That's not what— it was nothing, really, but… I…"
"It wasn't just nothing, you worked hard to get dinner for us. Thanks, Snake." The sentiment was genuine, but the shakiness in his voice made it obvious that Otacon was dancing around the conversation they'd inevitably need to have.
"Otacon, are you mad at me about something? You're really quiet tonight."
"No." Did Snake consider him to be talkative?
"Okay." He sounded defeated, as if he knew that something was still off, but was unable to push further.
Snake then got up, and took their fish out of the furnace; dinner was ready. They ate in silence, and they stayed silent until they both went to bed.
In this cabin, Snake and Otacon shared a room. In this room, they shared a creaky bed with hardly enough space to fit them both. The wooly blanket they'd been given, however, more than made up for the small bed. It was big enough to cover both of them, and though the texture of wool wasn't one Otacon typically enjoyed, it did its job.
When they slept, they wore the warm pajamas that had been left for them in the drawers of the nightstands on both sides of the bed. Snake's pair fit him perfectly, whereas Otacon's was baggier, probably originally intended to be an extra pair for Snake.
Without a word, they'd cuddled with one another. It wasn't out of necessity, as they were both plenty warm under their thick blanket and thermal pajamas. Instead, it was for comfort, but neither of them would admit that out loud. Snake had a soft, gentle touch that hardly matched everything else about him. Otacon, all skin and bones, had no clue why Snake had wanted to cuddle with someone so lanky and awkward.
In the nights prior, this room felt warm and friendly. Tonight it felt lonely, the chaste affection the pair had shared having snuck out the cabin's front door at some point during the day.
Otacon sighed, he was going to fix this. He didn't want Snake to think he'd done something wrong, and, though he couldn't place why, he wanted to be held again.
"Snake, I'm not mad at you, at all. I swear."
"You're not?"
"I'm not, I was a bit frustrated with you earlier this evening, but you didn’t do anything wrong."
Snake looked back at him with confusion.
"This morning… You left without explaining where you were going." He paused, "Obviously, you don't have to tell me where you're going all the time— that's not… what I'm trying to say. It's just… there's a blizzard, and…"
"You were worried."
"Yeah, I was worried, super worried. Then, when you weren't back and it was long after dark, I got even more worried. I thought—" Otacon felt the tears from earlier coming back for one more fight. He didn't know why, but just talking about his own feelings was always enough to bring him close to crying. He wasn’t letting it happen, though. "Well, I thought something had happened to you, or that you'd just left me here, or something. I thought you wouldn't be coming back."
Otacon had yet to notice the way Snake had subtly scooted closer to him; he'd yet to notice the hand on his shoulder.
"And I know it's pointless and stupid- to be so upset over some abandonment I created in my mind, but, for some reason, I am."
Then, Snake brought him into an embrace, "I understand, Hal, it's not stupid," and Hal was rendered speechless, both by the embrace itself and the use of his real name. "I should've told you where I was going this morning, I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize—"
"No, I do. It was unsafe and stupid to not tell you where I was going, especially with the weather being the way it is. I don't blame you for worrying. It's not like it was anywhere private, either. I would've gladly brought you with me to go fishing on a better day."
Images of himself and David fishing by a tiny, frozen pond flickered in Hal's mind. David would sling an arm around his shoulder. He was quiet and seemingly uninterested in most things, but he'd ramble passionately when explaining ice fishing to Hal, who, in turn, would listen with rapture.
They'd sit huddled by the tiny hole in the ice for a while, pressed close together to preserve warmth while they waited for fish to come. They'd exchange stories; they'd talk about anything to pass time. Then, just as they're getting ready to give up and retreat to their cabin, a lone fish would tug on their line, and they'd reel it in.
The fish that Hal conjured in his mind, for some reason, was a particularly small one, not enough to make a meal for one person, let alone two. They'd toss it back, and there'd be a moment of tense silence before they'd laugh it off and make their way back to the temporary home they shared together. It'd be an instant noodles night.
"I forgive you. I mean, not that I was mad in the first place, just worried, I guess." Hal pressed his face into David's shoulder and looked up at him, "Maybe if we're still stuck here when the blizzard's stopped, you can show me how to ice fish."
It was funny how a day Hal had made up in his mind was enough to make him wish they could stay in Alaska forever together. It was even funnier how that same mind had convinced him earlier that David had willingly left him to die.
"Maybe... but I honestly hope we're flown out of here the moment this storm stops. I can survive this weather, but that doesn't mean I like it."
"It'd be nice to go somewhere warm, like Florida."
"Florida's terrible, Hal. How about Hawaii?"
Hal had never been to Hawaii, but he found himself trying to imagine what it'd be like, just as he had done with ice fishing. This time it was pictures of sorbet colored sunset skies, crystal white sand, and a soda blue ocean that stretched as far as he could see. Not wanting to get sunburnt, he would watch from under an umbrella as David enjoyed the cool waves.
He'd end up in the water with David, anyways, and he’d get super painfully burnt.
"Yeah, Hawaii sounds much better than Florida, actually." Hal pulled away from David's embrace, deciding to make himself comfortable in bed. "Have you ever been?"
"To Florida?"
"To Hawaii."
"I've been to almost all of the fifty states, actually. Included in that 'almost all' is Hawaii. Florida, too."
"You'll have to tell me about that sometime." Hal said through a yawn. "For now, though… I'm exhausted."
David turned off the light sitting on his bedside table, then laid down as well, pulling the heavy wool blanket over himself and Hal. "It's getting late, we should sleep."
"You read my mind."
"Hal, d'you wanna… like last night?"
Hal found it somewhat humorous how low David's voice was, being barely audible, and how he refused to say the word cuddle, "Yeah, I do." He chuckled.
There was a quiet rustling of sheets, then David was spooning him, with a hand draped on his waist. Hal smiled to himself, then shut his eyes.
For a few minutes, the room was silent, until it wasn't.
"And Hal," David was whispering, not quite in his ear but close to it, "I'd never leave you behind, even if I was commanded to."
He didn't know if he'd been meant to hear that, but his heart soared.
"I needed to hear that, thank you."
-
The next morning, the storm had, for the most part, stopped. There was a thick layer of snow on just about everything outside, but there were no more howling winds rattling the cabin and there were no more dark gray storm clouds overhead.
Hal, forever prone to sleeping in, awoke only after David had repeated 'wake up' around ten times.
He grumbled a bit, then opened one eye to look around. He couldn't really see anything without his coke-bottle lenses, only the blurry forms of their room.
"Morning."
"Good morning" He covered his mouth to yawn, "What time is it?"
"Ten thirty, I let you sleep in."
Hal sat up and stretched, then blindly reached for his glasses on the nightstand. Once he found them, things were much clearer, no longer a mosaic of vaguely familiar shapes and colors.
David was standing by the edge of the bed, and he was wearing his sneaking suit. Hal raised an eyebrow… or was he Otacon in this situation? Was David now Snake?
"I got a codec call this morning, from my Colonel."
"Ah. That would explain the outfit. Where are we going?"
"He didn't say, presumably somewhere far from Alaska, though. Once you're ready, we'll leave."
"Well, it can't be any colder than here, unless they're planning to actually send us to Jupiter." Otacon mumbled. He swung his legs over the bed and rose to his feet. He could feel the cold of the floor, even through his socks. "Guess I'm not gonna learn how to ice fish?"
"Guess not, but maybe I can teach you how to regular-fish."
"I think I'd like that." He pulled the only pair of jeans he had over his pajamas, thankfully they'd been washed since Shadow Moses. His shirt and hoodie came next, then his extremely worn down sneakers. He'd have to invest in new ones once they got settled wherever they were heading.
Otacon gathered what little he had brought with him, then took one last glance around their cabin. He knew he was going to miss it, but he also had a slight inkling that living together wasn't just going to be a one time thing.
In that moment, it occurred to him that the cabin- with its splintering wood and lack of central heating- wasn't what he'd liked about their week (and a half) snowed in. What Otacon had liked most was the friendship that- in spite of the freezing temperatures unfit for any flower- had started to blossom within that cabin.
"Ah, Snake, I forgot…" He felt the cold snow crunching beneath his sneakers. His socks were already getting wet, but he ignored that, hopefully his feet wouldn't freeze and fall off. "Thank you again for dinner last night."
"Hopefully next time we have fish it'll actually be seasoned." And they both laughed, Otacon watching intently as Snake's breath turned to steam in the frosty air.
The word friendship echoed in Otacon's mind. They were friends; he was friends with Solid Snake. The back of his mind whispered Snake’s real name instead of his code name, like it was a secret he’d been let in on.
He guessed that technically, it was a secret. He wondered how many other people knew Snake’s real name; not many, he guessed.
He decided to ignore that weird ever-present warmth in his chest once again.