Chapter Text
When Snake first arrived at the Smash Mansion, despite bracing himself for the probable insanity he was about to experience, there were still things that constantly caught him off-guard. There were those who looked human yet easily deceived him; some who were bipedal, animal-like in their ways; one was even a robot, shooting lasers and rolling around like it owned the place.
Nowadays, many more have come along as he once did, but even before he pulled up to the probable core of all worlds, there were a few that had participated before him in the two tournaments beforehand. Twelve, around twenty by the second round — but one who had been here from the start, has been here from the start, is Samus Aran, of whom Snake can’t help but stare at whenever she enters the scene.
Varia Suit or not, her entire being is intriguing, being someone from a world where space is far and wide. Apparently, outer space travel is a common occurrence for a few others in the tournament, yet to this day, it’s something the battle-hardened soldier can’t even begin to imagine. He’s always been on Earth; a place of which he’s learnt to despise with all of his being.
...Sometimes, he thinks about whether or not he’d be able to escape the surface. Free himself from his fate, the one he resigned himself to so long ago. For as much as Snake likes to retire, his supervisors always like it more when he’s their lap dog, fighting the wars they caused.
(He wonders if Samus would be able to show him the wonders of space. Someday. Maybe.)
“Snake,” And he almost flinches at the unfamiliar voice calling his name, as he looks up from the weapon he polishes, only to be face-to-face with the bounty hunter herself.
“Samus.”
“The others were wondering about you.” The blonde nudges her head towards the table behind the duo, in which a handful of younger fighters in the tournament sit, gawking at the black-clad soldier. One even waves in Snake’s presence, totally awed.
“Hm?” Snake indulges, cocking a brow.
“Ness was asking if you ever fired a ‘bottle rocket’ before.” Samus quotes in a stoic, deadpan tone, yet Snake sees past her stone-cold exterior, sensing just a smidge of amusement in her delivery.
“...I can’t say that I have.” The soldier shrugs, casually polishing the SOCOM pistol in his hands. “Not that I’ve ever heard of one before.”
“Me neither.” Samus replies, leaning against the wall at this point. “But Ness seemed excited enough to see you in the common area for once.”
Snake hums to himself, drawing his eyes away from the unmasked blonde to his side. “I have no idea why he’d think that.”
The bounty hunter smirks for a second, spying through the brunet’s tone. “Do you really think so?”
“Beats me.” Snake returns the expression, the worn rag over his hand almost a different colour entirely thanks to its previous stains.
A comfortable silence overtakes the two, with Samus breathing a heavy sigh. She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ears, before turning and waving some kind of gesture towards one of the kids in the distance, who shoots a thumbs-up back.
“...Were you raised in space?” Snake suddenly blurts out, catching the almost-hidden look of confusion on Samus’ face. He clears his throat, “I mean… you aren’t from Earth, are you?”
The blue-eyed woman’s gaze softens. “...Yes.” She looks away from Snake, straightening up, and thus he shuts his mouth and doesn’t elaborate further.
‘After Space Pirates killed her parents, she was raised by the Chozo and trained in the fighting arts.’ Otacon’s codec comes to mind for a moment, and Snake frowns. Obviously a touchy subject.
Samus notes the spy’s expression, her look stoic as ever.
“...What is it like, being a bounty hunter?” Snake attempts to change the subject.
“It’s an experience.” The blonde takes in stride, her words chosen carefully and almost rehearsed. “As much as the wars you fight.”
Snake slowly nods, toying with the pistol in his hands as his gaze wanders around all the corners and makings of the weapon. “Experience, huh…”
Samus nods, once and in tune.
‘She's been places and seen things that people like you and me can't even begin to imagine.’ Otacon’s voice echoes once more.
“...I suppose,” Snake draws out his words, “that our experiences make us who we are. Even the ones that bring us down.”
“...Yeah.” Samus acknowledges the sentiment, and a tiny, bittersweet smile crosses her features, just for a moment.
The chatter of the common room surrounds two, a comforting atmosphere compared to their own worlds.
(How he wished it could always be this way.)
The brunet looks back at the space farer, who, after one more nod of acknowledgement, goes over to join the other younger smashers at their table once more. Snake watches as one of them, a more withdrawn child, shows off his powers, to the constant nagging of the others, who all erupt in cheers thereafter.
“So much for a cold exterior,” He playfully sighs to himself, resting his chin on his palms.
[time!]