Snake skirted into the room after the nurse closed the door, sat on his bed, and drew his tray onto his lap. He ate, rhythmically. His stomach still hadn't settled down from earlier, but he'd eaten worse food in worse situations, and by the time he was halfway through the turkey he was honestly starting to enjoy it. It had been way too long before he'd eaten anything that wasn't a combat ration, and Zanzibar's rations had been just close enough to real food to be doubly offensive and by the time the mission was over he'd been craving a damn calorie cracker, because at least that didn't try to be anything it wasn't.
Turkey, he realised, looking at the forkful with sudden recollection. Christmas dinner. Holly. He hadn't ever wanted what Holly had wanted - or thought she should want if it had been an action movie. Irrationally, he wondered - if he'd taken her up on her offer, would he be here right now? Maybe they'd have hit it off. Maybe they'd have had something in common. But the thought of ever belonging to someone, needing someone, like that filled him with a visceral disgust - besides, he had no idea how to live like that.
And, he thought, starting on the salad - it tasted fresher than anything he'd eaten in far too long - he wouldn't have changed his mind. Now he was here, he was away from everything; miles away from the real world.
And he was with Fox.
It felt wrong somehow, like nature itself had been inverted - people who are killed are supposed to stay dead and supposed to want it. But Fox was alive, and real, and Snake knew in the pit of the stupid loyal heart that crossed electric floors and beat men to death and jumped off towers in the name of doing what it was told that he'd never be so happy to have Fox there, to have orders.
He also seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on, he thought, setting down his tray, getting up, and turning to regard the bedsheet.
Might as well dress up nicely for his hot date.
It was easy to pull the sheet up from the edge of the bed, and tear it along the weave, pulling off a long, reasonably uniform strip from the edge, a few inches thick and a yard and a half long. With some care, he tied it around his forehead, arranging his hair around it, and then set about emptying his pillowcase for use as a bag, enjoying the feeling of the tails of the makeshift bandanna playing over the back of his neck. He looked, and felt, like a soldier again, and that was what Fox needed from him.
M78
Turkey, he realised, looking at the forkful with sudden recollection. Christmas dinner. Holly. He hadn't ever wanted what Holly had wanted - or thought she should want if it had been an action movie. Irrationally, he wondered - if he'd taken her up on her offer, would he be here right now? Maybe they'd have hit it off. Maybe they'd have had something in common. But the thought of ever belonging to someone, needing someone, like that filled him with a visceral disgust - besides, he had no idea how to live like that.
And, he thought, starting on the salad - it tasted fresher than anything he'd eaten in far too long - he wouldn't have changed his mind. Now he was here, he was away from everything; miles away from the real world.
And he was with Fox.
It felt wrong somehow, like nature itself had been inverted - people who are killed are supposed to stay dead and supposed to want it. But Fox was alive, and real, and Snake knew in the pit of the stupid loyal heart that crossed electric floors and beat men to death and jumped off towers in the name of doing what it was told that he'd never be so happy to have Fox there, to have orders.
He also seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on, he thought, setting down his tray, getting up, and turning to regard the bedsheet.
Might as well dress up nicely for his hot date.
It was easy to pull the sheet up from the edge of the bed, and tear it along the weave, pulling off a long, reasonably uniform strip from the edge, a few inches thick and a yard and a half long. With some care, he tied it around his forehead, arranging his hair around it, and then set about emptying his pillowcase for use as a bag, enjoying the feeling of the tails of the makeshift bandanna playing over the back of his neck. He looked, and felt, like a soldier again, and that was what Fox needed from him.