Chapter Text
Over the years, he has been called many things.
(John, Jack, Snake, Big Boss)
Ishmael?
But none of it suited him any longer. He was just a tired old man denied by death once again. He had been so sure that the curse that ran through the clone’s veins would end him for good this time that he never questioned what he was going to do if it didn't. He should have known better. Solid Snake never did what he was supposed to do when it came to him.
He lived while the clone had died.
The last of those creatures. (A better man than all of them combined.)
Calling him a clone was the last thing this old man had over him. Ignoring the fact that calling him 'son' now, when he never was his father, felt like an insult.
He remembered the bright-eyed kid he met at the FOXHOUND, coming straight from the war he was too young to participate in, and still carrying unhealing wounds from it, just like he was when he joined the FOX all those years ago. (He shouldn’t have been allowed to enlist; none of them were, not that it ever stopped them.)
The clone following his footsteps without knowing any of it made him sick to his core.
(Like a snake biting its own tail, they were destined to destroy each other.)
He remembered the exact moment something akin to hope bloomed in his younger, almost identical face when he told him he was his father. That was the easiest explanation he could give. The kid had been moving from one foster home to another his whole life, never staying in one place long enough for it to feel like home. And now that he had a ‘father’, he had hoped that they could be a family. He had sick pleasure in destroying those hopes.
They made him sick. All three of them did. They were his biggest regrets, which said a lot, considering his life could be explained as one big mistake after another.
(Should he have accepted and raised them, would it turn out for the better, or would he just ruin the one good thing that came out of that whole ordeal?)
(David, the clone’s name was David.)
(And he deserved so much more.)
(Perhaps all of them did.)
Kaz hadn’t been pleased. Not that anything he did pleased Kaz after ‘75.
Meeting him after all those years, he had expected Kaz to be angry; he desired him to be angry, to lash out at him. Yet he had just shaken his head and asked which of them he was this time, as if he didn’t know the difference between him and the phantom.
Ahab was far away, taking steps to assure their plans sailed smoothly. (they never did)
“Does it matter?” He had answered. Only for Kaz to shake his head again.
“No, not anymore.”
He wasn’t the Kazuhira he met in Colombia.
The way Kaz latched onto the clone made him resent both of them even more. He had protected him in a way he hadn’t protected Eli, the inferior clone —not that he needed any protection from what he heard (Of course, he did; he was just a child, and he had a spark in him that neither he nor Ahab managed to extinguish with their halfhearted attempts, only succeeded at fueling his anger) — nor was Kaz the person he had been back then. It wasn’t kindness; none of them had an ounce of it left in them to show it towards anyone. Perhaps Kaz saw a better version of himself in the clone or recognized him as a foolish young man that he could manipulate and mold into whatever shape he desired. Giving clone (David) the attention he had longed for in the process. (Ishmael had watched them from afar and caught glimpses of the Kaz he once knew.)
Somehow, despite everything, they managed to fall into each other’s arms in the cold nights filled with alcohol, not for the sake of anything meaningful or even passionate. Maybe they searched for the remnants of what they once shared. The remnants of the people they once were.
But those days were long gone, the memories of before MSF became big, and they still had that trusty old oil rig threatened to surface, the times when all he had was a handful of people.
(And Kaz.)
(He had missed the sound of Kaz’s laughter.)
After their escapades, none of them lingered for long, keen on ignoring the echoes of people who shared their beds. (It was stupid to think so, but perhaps their hearts.)
They didn’t talk much either; he didn’t ask Kazuhira about the wife he somehow managed to get hitched to, or their offspring, or how a certain little snake kept throwing looks at him. (The boy was infatuated with the hell master; it must have been some kind of Stockholm syndrome, or inherited bad taste.)
Kaz never asked what happened to Ocelot or what he was doing, nor did Ocelot, but he wasn’t one to ask questions like that. He knew how Ocelot's mind worked, knew that Ocelot always kept a close eye on Kaz, and he didn’t question the reason behind it. They had shared something when he was incapacitated, something he couldn’t inquire about with Kaz anymore, and something Ocelot stubbornly kept close to his chest despite his endless devotion to him.
The young major had somehow become a constant in his life. (The most trusted of his companions) Even after the whole fiasco with the Patriots. Ocelot stayed just one call away. Devoting every moment to him and his cause.
So, throughout the years, he had met with him many times away from watchful eyes. And it didn’t take long for the reports on the remaining Patriots' activities to become excuses rather than reasons for those meetings. They had their fun in unremarkable hotel rooms.
A different man might think about how they had kept orbiting around one another throughout their lives, romantic. He found it pathetic.
He didn’t love them. Not the way they loved him. He’s been a dead man walking ever since he pulled that patriot's trigger. And the dead couldn’t love.
But it was such bullshit, he’s been like that long before Tselinoyarsk, even when he was still Jack. Something in him was broken from the start. (He had only loved one person in his life, even though it was different.)
He understood devotion; he could see it in Adam’s eyes. He understood passion; he could see it in Kazuhira’s eyes. He could see that they were searching for something in him, but couldn’t find the corresponding emotions within himself. (Didn’t think he was capable of doing so.)
He didn’t let them have him (ignoring the question of whether there was anything left in him for anyone to have) and just left them with enough to be for more. Perhaps that’s why he had kept both of them at arm's length and separated from each other.
It wasn’t the fear of losing them but a nagging voice at the back of his mind reminding him that they deserve better.
Of course, it didn’t matter anymore. They were all dead. All of them except him.
For the first time in a very long time, he was utterly alone. And some days, thinking of them filled him with resentment. He was furious at Kaz, at Eva. But the one he was angriest at was Ocelot. (was himself)
No, not Ocelot, Adamska. One of the few things that was left of him was his name. (The name she chose for him)
His grand plan to save “the damsel in distress” infuriated him. He should have unplugged the plug and been done with him once and for all, or put a bullet through his skull just like he said he would years ago. He should have been here with him, instead of buried at God knows where.
He wondered if any of them had graves. Or were they buried without their names and thrown away like she was?
He should have asked the clone when he had the chance, even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t one to leave his dear master or the woman who gave birth to him without a proper burial. What he wasn’t sure of was whether that kindness included his enemies.
But only a few people had his answers, and the idea that he had to ask an Emmerich for anything made his skin crawl. Thankfully, he didn't have his number or any way to contact him directly, so he called Campbell instead.
Roy Campbell had been an infrequent figure throughout his life. Somehow, going from a Green Beret, he only joined forces against the common enemy to become the XO of the FOXHOUND. Of course, his own involvement with FOXHOUND was just a smokescreen for Ahab to jump-start their life's goal, which came to life with Zanzibar Land.
To do that, not only did he need an XO whom he could manipulate, but also someone who would take care of their men even after his betrayal. He hadn’t had many choices. Thankfully, Campbell had already proved himself to be a reliable second-in-command throughout the whole debacle at San Hieronymo.
At that point, Kaz turned out to be untrustworthy to be left at the helm, showing how dangerous he could be when he had power. And Adam had more important tasks and couldn’t be tied down to a place. Too busy going back and forth between Zero, Ahab, and him.
The phone rang for a moment before it was picked up. “Campbell speaking,”
“Roy,” It was always a good idea to start a conversation with a reminder of their positions. He might not be now, but once, he was his boss and the reason he survived.
“Snake?” He staggered for a second. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. Giving the clone his own codename as he sent him on a suicide mission had been both a petty move and an unorthodox way of claiming him as his own.
(Both Kaz and Roy must have thought he had changed his mind about the boy.)
“Not the one you’re hoping for, but I require your assistance in an important matter.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, the FOXDIE keeps failing to kill me.”
The virus reacted differently to him than it did to others. Keeping him not only alive but also healthier than he ever was. Apparently, his genes with the clone were just close enough for the mutated virus to segregate him from those it was supposed to kill, or something along those lines; the only expert on FOXDIE had died months ago.
“Alright, how can I help?” It was strange to hear respect in his voice, even after all that had happened.
“I want to know where they are buried, if they are, where Kaz, Eva, and Ocelot are.”
Roy sounded thoughtful for a second, “Most of it must be classified, but Dr. Emmerich would know. I could give him a call and let you know when he could stop by.”
His hopes of not having anything to do with Emmerich died in his chest, and he forced himself to say, “There is a dinner nearby we could meet.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know, and Snake, it’s good to have you back,”
“Not many who would say that."
“Perhaps.”
He felt a lump at the back of his throat, but somehow managed to utter the words “Thank you, Roy. I’ll see you soon.”
This man, whom he used and threw away without batting an eye, who had to handle the aftermath of both operations N313 and F014, who had been a better friend to David than he ever had been to him, still held him in some regard and was unexpectedly glad that he lived.
Leaning against the relatively low-hanging railing of his balcony, Jack buried his head in his hands and once again wished that he could shed tears.
He did meet with the Emmerich at a nearby dinner. Despite the passage of decades since his last visit, nothing seems to have changed in it. The decor was still tacky and outdated. The old junk box stood at the corner, softly playing a song from the 70s. (He recalled Kaz singing a similar-sounding song at one point; he wasn’t very good at it.) And sat at the seat he used to frequent, ordering coffee with cherry pie on the side. The cherry pie tasted artificial, and the coffee was bland. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for Huey’s brat to arrive.
He looked just like his father, with a touch of his mother in the way he carried himself, and for a second, he was back in Nicaragua, watching the Peace Walker sink into the lake with his dead mentor’s eerie singing echoing in his skull. The old man took a sip of his coffee to mask the taste of blood in his mouth.
Emmerich sat opposite him and seemed as shaken to see him as he was. He probably looked like how the clone did on his deathbed. For a couple of minutes, they stared at each other without uttering a word.
It was 1974. As a rare occurrence, he was sitting at a similar dinner with Kaz and Huey. Kaz had ordered overcooked sunny-side up with bacon that mostly burned; he liked it that way. When asked, he would always jokingly remark that that was how his mother used to make them. His empty smiles never reaching his eyes. Huey had ordered black coffee and had put too much sugar in it, which he remembered even now. He had spent most of their outing trying to convince them of the need for a UN inspection—no wonder they didn't go out more often.
An unnecessarily cheerful waitress approached their table and said in an equally cheerful voice, “What can I get you?” breaking Emmerich out of his stupor.
“A cup of coffee is fine, thanks.” He replied. She noted his order and smiled at them before leaving.
The old man reached for a cigarette, it wasn’t anything fancy, not like those expensive cigars Adam always carried around. And turned to Emmerich for a light, clone smoked, a habit either inherited from or influenced by him.
He wondered if the clone ever realized its origins. Did he ever think of his old man, whom he burned alive every time he lit his cigarette? Or was he just another fallen foe in a long line of enemies?
Sometimes when he closed his eye, he could still feel his flesh burning, and the smell of it filled his nostrils. The clone’s young face, determined to cling to his life, appeared in front of his eye. He remembered thinking that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, but also wondering if this was the salvation he had been searching for all this time. It didn’t matter much in the end.
“Got a match?” He said with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“I don’t smoke,”
“But he did.” Emmerich’s expression didn’t change even though his eyes got colder. If he had assumed they were going to skirt around the elephant in the room, he was dead wrong. Without entertaining him with an answer, he continued, “Colonel informed me that you wanted to know the whereabouts of…certain people.” The old man sighed before signaling the waitress for a lighter.
“We buried Kazuhira Miller near his hut in Alaska,” he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slipped it over the desk. “That’s the address.” (He had died in a cold, empty house with the consequences of their actions.)
The waitress returned with a lighter and a cup of coffee, which Emmerich dumped unholy amounts of sugar into. The old man chuckled darkly; perhaps some habits did pass on.
“Miss Eva is in Budapest,” He slipped another paper. “We didn’t have time to bury her. The remaining members of the Paradise Lost army had to handle it.”
“He didn’t have time to bury the woman who gave birth to him?” he said condescendingly as he lit his cigarette. “Too busy fixing the problems you started,” Emmerich returned. The old man just shook his head as he inhaled a breath from his cigarette.
“Ocelot is buried in Arlington, near you, though I suppose that’s Solidus lying there.” Thinking about who was also buried there, it was more appropriate than one might initially assume.
Seemingly done with this conversation, Emmerich made a move to get up. “It was nice meeting you, hope we never see each other ever again."
“Where is he?” Emmerich stared at him, caught mid-action, trying to figure out the villainous intentions behind his inquiry.
“Look, I might not always have seen or treated him as a son, but he was still the closest thing I had to one.” Ignoring the other two.
After contemplating for a second, he sat back down and said, “He wanted to be buried near our home,” turning over the piece of paper and writing another address behind it.
And despite his initial annoyance, Ishmael found himself wishing for this conversation to continue, troubled by questions only this man could answer, or perhaps just by a desire for connection. Thankfully for him, he wasn’t one to second-guess his actions. At least he needed to know this. “In his last moments, was he happy, was he at peace?”
Emmerich nodded. “I made sure of that.”
“Good, perhaps you’re a better man than your father ever was.” Emmerich stared at him, dumbfounded, “Yeah, I knew your parents.” He collected himself faster this time and looked away, “Well, that makes one of us.”
If years of hunting in various forests taught him anything, it was to see his prey’s disadvantage and use it. And if one wants to take something, they have to give something in return first, simple quid pro quo. Emmerich's issues with his father were obvious, and few people knew Huey as well as he did.
“You ask three questions about him or her, and in exchange, I ask three questions about him.” Emmerich stalled for a second, seeming unsure and uncomfortable with the questions he might ask, but the old man could see the questions in his eyes —the questions only he could answer.
He just waited and watched as Emmerich took the bait, hook, line, and sinker.
“What was her name? Out of all he could ask, that wasn’t what he expected.
“Huey raised you, right?” He knew he wasn’t one to question anyone’s parenting anytime soon, but telling your child their mother’s name at least must be the bare minimum. Unless he also never knew her name, which he wouldn’t put it past Strangelove to not tell him.
(He also never told David about Eva when he was in the FOXHOUND.)
“For a while, but he never told me her name.” That was another cup of worms to check into at a later time.
“I never knew her real name, but she was called Strangelove.” Something changed in his eyes. “After the Kubrick movie?”
“Yeah, it was something she owned up to after the fools around her used it to diminish her. She wasn’t one to be ashamed of herself.”
Emmerich just nodded. His mind was far away. “Ask away,”
He had to start with the easier question, “How did the two of you meet?” Emmerich looked at him funnily.
“What, am I not allowed to know how my son met with the man he spent his last moments with? The more he called him ‘son,’ the less it felt like a lie, but more like a possibility that never happened.
Adam’s notes on what happened after Zanzibar Land were weirdly worded and contradictory at best, and intentionally obscure and ridiculous at worst; it seemed both he and Eva just made things up as they went. Looking from afar, their actions seemed to make little to no sense.
“I was the chief engineer at Shadow Moses when he infiltrated the base. We met there,”
With this short, somewhat dodgy answer, things begin to fall into place; it was ironic how both of their sons had trouble stepping out of their shadow. The old man let out a mirthless laugh. “So you were the engineer in charge of REX, continuing the family tradition?”
“I’m not like my father.” The funniest part was that, despite his words, he wholeheartedly believed that. Hal Emmerich was many things, but he didn’t seem to have much of Huey in him, more than his appearance. Huey was a weak, treacherous worm that sucked everything he touched to the bone, leaving nothing behind. David had chosen this man, and that alone said everything he needed to know.
“Could have fooled me.” He noticed how Emmerich tightened his grip on his coffee. What was he going to do, punch him?
Somehow managing not to dock him, Emmerich took a sip of his coffee-flavored sugary water. John found his self-restraint admirable. Huey would make a fool of himself already.
“How did you even meet them?”
Feeling generous, he answered plainly, “Meet with Huey after he realized he had created nuclear weapons, which his boss was actually planning to use. He asked me to stop them.” Emmerich actually looked like he saw a ghost.
“And she was taking care of the AI of them.” Ishmael wasn’t sure who he was protecting by not telling him more than that. He didn’t think about how it felt when electricity coursed through his reins, and of course, his hands didn’t shake. He was almost 80, and he was too old to be bothered by old wounds.
“AI?”
“She specialized in that, apparently, they had connected over some sci-fi flick,“ Emmerich’s eyes went wide as he leaned forward. “Huey had said she was impressed by the depiction of AI in it.”
“Do you remember the name of the movie?”
The old man looked at him unimpressed. Did he expect him to remember something offhandedly mentioned to him forty years ago?
“Something like an Odyssey in space.”
“They really named me after that.” Emmerich looked at him incredulously.
Ishmael shrugged, not caring about the inner turmoil the man opposite him was going through. “Wouldn’t put it past them.” And pressed on. “Why did he keep going after Liquid? It must have been obvious that he was dying, so why did he keep on going?”
That was one of the questions that kept him awake at night. Adam’s plan rested heavily on David’s inability to let it go. And he just couldn’t comprehend how David found the will to fight for a future he would never see.
He repeated his question when Emmerich stayed silent. “Why did he keep fighting?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice.
“Because it was our duty to see it through, because we had to. Rex was my creation, and Liquid was his brother; we’re responsible.”
“But more than that, he couldn't stop because he knew he would fall apart if he did so, the aging, the FOXDIE, everything kept piling up, and he needed to keep on going.”
“He couldn’t live with himself otherwise.”
It was at that moment that Jack, John, Snake Ishmael fully understood what differentiated them.
He had given up and put down his weapon.
Just like she did years ago.
He had one thing David fought for harder than anything, and he’s been wasting it.
“Answer me honestly, why are you really asking all of this?”
He didn’t have an answer; this hadn’t been a sly little trap for Huey’s son. In the end, it was he who ended up trapped.
Emmerich's blue eyes scrutinized his reaction. He didn't know what expression was on his face, but it enlightened Emmerich in a way. “I can’t believe I'm doing this,” he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Every two weeks, we have dinners with R-Jack’s family, and now you’re invited.” He said, writing one last address to the paper. “The next one is in ten days, excluding today, bring wine with you.”
“Why?” He was under the assumption that he, justifiable, had already burned the bridges between him and the life his son had built with his pointed remarks, and would never hear from him ever again.
“Sunny could enjoy a doting grandpa-.” His phone rang, interrupting his sentence. He swore under his breath before continuing, “I have to go now, but don't forget that you owe me a question.”
With one last glance as if he was seeing him in a new light, Hal Emmerich got up, dropped a couple of bills on the table, and left the dinner without saying another word, leaving him with the echoes of familiar voices.
Ever since the virus's failure, Ishmael had so much time and so little to do but wallow in his misery. But now, looking at the small papers stacked neatly in front of him, he was, for the first time in a long time, filled with determination.
For the first time in a very long time, he knew exactly what he was going to do.