Chapter Text
This one is a tough nut to crack. They observe the place for weeks, remotely, then in person under the cover of the dark; they discuss the possibilities, they look at the flaws in their defences, they try to break in digitally. Eventually, when all the easier, more straightforward options are rejected, the COA they end up with is as convoluted as possible: Hal will have to infiltrate the building under the cover of a cleaner, use his night shifts to sneak in the security room, get control of the cameras, and do as much snooping as he can during the two-night-shift window that he has until the monthly security checkup. So, not easy.
Yet, Hal’s acknowledgement of the task is a dismissive “Ok, I’m game.”
No, no, no, not again. Dave puts back his pen on the coffee table and grabs his shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. “Really think about it: do you feel ready for this assignment?” He raises one eyebrow when Hal goes to open his mouth too quickly. “Put your pride away, ok? Or insecurities, whatever. Do you genuinely think you can do it?”
Hal works his jaw for a long time.
Eventually, the wrong answer comes out. “We don’t have a choice.”
“‘Course we do. If you can’t, then we drop the mission.”
“But that’s- no. What if they are actually building a Metal Gear in there? We can’t just leave it alone.”
“Yes, we could.”
Hal rips himself away, backing to the other end of the couch. “Dave!”
“Am I wrong?” If the following stupefaction is anything to go by, the answer is obvious. “What do you want me to say, we don’t have the means to catch every single lead on Metal Gear production sites, we never will.” And there goes the air of betrayal… Dave raises a hand to stop Hal short once again. “Look. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: we’re four guys against the rest of the world, obviously we’re not stopping the escalation of nuclear armament. We can, at best, slow it down a bit.”
Visibly paling, Hal struggles to come up with big enough gestures of the arms. “But- that’s- How can you even say that! What about the people killed because we just- ‘Oopsie do, this one slipped between the cracks, our bad’?” He gasps for air. “That would be blood on our hands!”
“No, on those of the guys who built the damn things.”
And with a jab to his own chest that looks painful, “Yeah, on mine.”
There is no denying that. Despite how on the brink of tears Hal is, Dave cannot give the false comfort of a lie to preserve his good conscience. Instead, he says, “With our numbers, the best way to help is to keep our strength for another day.”
“What’s the point! If people die, then we’ve already lost.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “There’s no winning in that kind of situation. It’s a game of who can last longer, and we’re competing with the government here.” …Maybe the cavalier attitude is not the best hill to die on here, since Hal’s breathing is beginning to sound awfully wet. Not that Dave actively chose this emotional distance, but then again, being a soldier is a hell of a gateway drug into desensitisation. Now, how to explain that mindset to a civilian-adjacent? “It’s like when someone is drowning, don’t go in if you don’t know how to swim.”
And, sincerely, that last remark was meant to calm down the discussion. How it backfired so horribly, Dave has no idea, but Hal suddenly jumps to his feet and explodes in a shout, “If you think this is a lost cause, why did you get involved in the first place!”
Simple enough: “Because you believe in it.”
This strikes Hal silent.
Spotting the opening that it was, Dave exploited it to explain himself. Questions would come his way if he did not, anyway; stupid questions, like ‘why’ (Hal’s favourite). “I’ve known since day one that it- we- this will not last, but that you will do your best.” A sigh. The problem with being absolutely clear is that it always forces more honesty out of Dave than he initially wants to give. “I won’t retire from old age, Hal, the best I can do is to apply myself to a cause I finally believe in. And you’re it.”
“…Philanthropy, you mean.”
“Same difference.”
If anything, Hal’s face falls harder. “No.” He shakes his head, gesturing increasingly wildly between them both. “We’re it. You, Mei Ling, Nastasha, and me. And every one of our patrons, too, I guess, but they weren’t there in the beginning.”
That, Dave can agree with. “Yeah, it was just you.”
“Just us,” corrects Hal again, eyes huge and worried. “Dave. Dave, what are you saying, you can’t think that shit.”
“…Let’s agree to disagree.” But even that is deemed unacceptable, according to Hal’s squawks. “Why is it so important to you?”
“Because you talk about yourself like you’re expendable! And- and each of our associates, too, which is just rude. But- Then you think, you think I’m absolutely essential when I’m not. Plenty of people could do what I do, better than me even.”
The laugh escaping Dave is not a real one, more surprised than amused; just a tad too merry to match their darker conversation. “Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “Even if that was true, what about it? I’m not partnering up with someone else.”
Are they talking about Philanthropy any more? Hal stands on the balls of his feet, fists clenching around some white-hot anger that cannot express itself. Conflicting emotions circle round and round on his face until he is bursting at the seams and storms off, seething. Dave looks at the empty space he occupied in the room and scrubs his face with a hand.
§§§
After two days of careful avoidance, Hal first breaks the silence. It is for the best: food stocks are getting low, they cannot delay the next supply run any longer, and at least, being stuck in a car will force them to have a more productive conversation. Or so Dave hopes.
Hal fidgets with his seat belt, with the fake leather upholstery, clears his throat. “Three things to say,” he announces. “And don’t you dare stop looking at the road, we’re gonna crash into something.” Dave, who has never had any incident behind the wheel and who is regarded as a very safe driver, does not argue. He merely permits himself one eye roll before dutifully keeping his eyes straight ahead. Hal raises one finger. “First thing first, I’ll do the mission. If the choice is between me sweating a bit and people dying, then yes, I can do it.”
Nice to know that everything he said went in one ear and out the other, because this is still Hal forcing himself and ignoring his own limits. Dave grinds his teeth in anticipation of their argument (God, he cannot wait to repeat himself. Again.).
“Second. Don’t put me on a pedestal, Mister ‘Heroes don’t exist and if they did I wouldn’t be one’. You hypocrite.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. Talking about me like I’m some paragon of virtue or something, when I built a nuclear fucking Gundam. Do you know who had the idea of tracking the data of the leaked Rex plans? Mei Ling. I was just moping around my old apartment and feeling sorry for myself when she contacted me. We had the idea of this whole operation together.”
“But you’re the one here,” notes Dave, thanking a driver who let him pass ahead at a turn with a nod. The dissonance between their outlandish conversations and the normal outside world barely registers any more.
“For obvious reasons pertaining to Mei Ling’s situation, I’m going to ignore that. Thirdly,” Hal adds another finger, “you’re wrong. We have a responsibility to the coming generation, to the world, to stop Rex and fight for change.”
Idly tapping the wheel, Dave hums. “You think you can change the future?”
And Hal, defiant as anything can be, “Yes. There are only so many people who are now in possession of the plans, so we can and will track them down. It might take decades before the end of Metal Gear, but when it happens, you’ll be sorry.”
“Sure. Dinner will be on me.” Not that it would make a difference since they share a bank account, but the thought is there.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe in you.” And is it not enough? Dave is not an optimist; it has always been easier (more meaningful, even) to entrust the weight of hope to someone else who truly gives credence to it.
The same thick quietness comes back with a vengeance as they reach the nearest mall and find a spot in the parking lot. For the longest time, neither of them dares to get out of the car. It would end something that still feels unfinished. Eventually, Hal raises his hand once more, “Fourthly-”
“How many points do you have?”
“Fourthly, you’re not going to die here.”
Dave says nothing; there is nothing to say, noting he did not already make his peace with and stopped mourning long ago. He keeps his eyes straight ahead.
“You’re not,” commands Hal again.
Instead of answering, Dave squeezes his knee briefly and gets out of the car. They now apparently have both groceries to buy and an infiltration to plan.