Disclaimer: Neither Snake/Dave nor Otacon/Hal belong to me. Metal Gear and it's respective characters are copyright Hideo Kojima and Konami.

Summary: They were friends, bound tight and sealed forever in that handshake...SnakeOtacon, NO SLASH

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"Hey Dave?" Hal asked one day as he pried his eyes away from his laptop, glancing over at his companion strewn bonelessly across their sofa.

Snake made an unintelligible grunt in response, his way of asking 'What is it?'

"We're friends, right?"

They'd moved into this apartment a few weeks ago, where both of them shared the room. This was where they coordinated their Philanthropy operations, and where Otacon did all the information seeking before moving Snake in for the missions involving Metal Gear eradication.

At this random question, the soldier cracked a bleary eye open, raising an eyebrow. "Where'd this come from?" he muttered half-asleep.

Otacon shrugged, feeling slightly disappointed, "Nah, no where. Just me wondering, I guess."

David thought perhaps Hal had been decoding one too many government files and had finally lost it. However, the other's hunched and dejected form urged him to reply lest he have a slightly depressed engineer as a roommate for the rest of the week.

That meant his morning coffee would taste awful, and Otacon's whining about his smoking would increase.

Heaving a sigh, Snake forced himself upright, walking over with natural stealth to where Hal was sitting. "Of course we're friends, Otacon," he assured gruffly, "What else would you be?"

Immediately, the scientist's disposition brightened. "Friends do stuff, right?"

Snake blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"Yeah! Like, they have secret handshakes or whatever."

As Hal had grown up, he'd been pretty much a social outcast due to his nerd-like status. He'd never really craved a friend in those times, but that didn't mean he hadn't been observant of their interactions. Friends did stuff together, had secret things only they knew the meaning of.

"What in hell are you thinking of, Otacon?" Snake grumbled, "You must've drank too much coffee."

"Not nearly as many as the cigarettes you smoke, Dave," Hal teased, but his face grew somber, "But I'm serious. We should make up something cool, something only we know."

"Like what?"

"Like a handshake!" Otacon insisted, "A sort of friendly greeting, you know?"

"No, I don't," Snake said bluntly, "And stay off the coffee. Now."

Hal frowned slightly, his lips curved into a sort of pout, "Aw Snake. Come on, please?"

The soldier's eye twitched as he attempted to fend off the irresistible puppy-dog look. Otacon had the unfortunate ability to look like a kicked mutt, and that made it almost impossible to shoot him down. Damn it.

"Whatever," Dave gave up, waving a hand, "I'm too old to argue with you."

Otacon smiled brilliantly, and bounced up to his feet like a five year old, "Alright! Okay, umm...I've never done this before."

Snake raised his eyebrow again, his harsh features somewhat comical in light of his exasperation.

Knowing Dave's attention wouldn't last long if he remained indecisive, Hal began by stretching out his hand. "How bout we start with a slap of hands or something?"

"Or something?"

"Come on, let's try it."

The soldier sighed but nonetheless complied, lazily meeting Hal's hand in a half-assed two-people clap.

"Oh," Hal stated monotonously five seconds after the action, "That's...really enthusiastic Dave. I'm impressed."

"It was your idea to begin with, Otacon," Snake snarled defensively, crossing his arms firmly.

"No, no, it was fine. Okay, so we slap hands...then what?"

"I don't know."

"Umm...how bout...I know! Okay, put your hand into a fist...yeah...now drop it down like...OW! Snake! I didn't mean break my hand in the process!"

"Sorry," Snake said with a smirk, not sounding very sorry at all, "I don't know the extent of my strength."

"Bastard," Hal muttered, rubbing his aching hand.

"And you know it."

Many an unproductive minute later, both of them finally managed to produce a relatively simple but effective handshake greeting. Hal insisted on trying it over and over again so Dave wouldn't forget the steps, but Snake had had enough of this and retreated back to the couch.

"Oh you spoilsport," Otacon called after him, "Coward!"

"Not nearly as much as you," Snake retorted, "Now shut up, I'm trying to go to sleep before you send me to God-knows-where to kill off another Metal Gear."

"Alright," Hal sighed, "But don't forget it, alright?"

"Whatever, Otacon."

The days passed, and those days turned into years. Lots of events happened, specifically the Tanker incident where Snake barely came out alive. Otacon arranged Liquid's body to be dropped into the sea so they would think of it as Dave's corpse, and everything slowly settled down. Snake got itchy feet a few days into his eventual two-year absence from the spotlight, being forced to go undercover and hide his usual identity in the light of his supposed death.

Hal never brought up the topic of the secret handshake again, perhaps thinking Dave may have forgotten all about it. It wasn't something incredibly special after all; it was simply a sequence of gestures performed by two people. Nothing much. In fact, Otacon may have forgotten all about it himself, too.

One thing led to another, and the Big Shell incident came upon them. Raiden, the child of war condemned to live the life of a soldier even in his amnesia; Fortune, the daughter of a deceased man she believed Snake had murdered; so many. And Vamp.

That fucking son of a bitch that should've died on that cross.

And E.E.

E.E., who died from a knife to the gut by that wretched immortal vampire-wannabe. Beautiful E.E., grown up and strong despite her fears and insecurities - a woman he'd run from in shame, shame from having abandoned her when she needed him the most.

Her undeserved demise, her death in his arms, leading a horrified Otacon into a state of shock. She was dead. E.E...no, Emma. Forever Emma. She was gone, dead...never living to hear her brother speak her true name rather than the affectionate initials.

Pain beyond possible feeling wracked the scientist's limp body, howls of terrible loss exploding from his throat as he moaned, muttering her name, the name of a woman. She wasn't a child anymore, the adorable E.E. that followed him wherever he ventured. She was a woman, now. But that didn't change the fact that she was dead.

Dead.

It was then that Dave pulled his friend together, silently raising his hand to begin the long-dead practice.

It came naturally to them both, despite the long years of absence. The motions were perfect this time, a secret handshake that had started out as a random desire morphed into something more beautiful, more meaningful than ever before. Hal held in his tears and they finished off the perfected gestures, feeling Dave's arms surround him as he tried not to collapse.

"I'm so sorry, Hal," Snake had murmured, eyes sympathetic but no less urgent at their lack of time, "But you're strong. You'll live for the both of you. She would've appreciated that."

"Yeah," Otacon had choked out, a wail of sadness barely contained in his broken voice, "Yeah, you're right Dave."

"You're the only one who can take the hostages out of here," he'd said, "Only you, Hal."

So he had.

Yet...

"Hal, I miss you."

Oh how those words haunted him, even now. Still, despite the parrot's words echoing his dead sister's words of longing, he'd plowed on, knowing he was condemned forever but at least he wasn't alone in his damnation.

"See?" Snake had told him over the CODEC when he'd boarded the Kastatka and filled it up with the hostages, "I told you I didn't forget."

"No," Otacon had murmured aloud, "No, you didn't."

Both him and Dave would die for this, for everything they had sinned and committed, but they were in it together. They were friends, bound tight and sealed forever in that handshake.

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