When Snake emerged into the waiting room, feeling tired and somewhat dazed in the bright morning light, Otacon was already there, waiting for him.
He sprung up to his feet and padded over to Snake, and patted him on the shoulder.
"Well," he said, in that lilting tone that would have made Snake want to punch him had he not been standing so damn close that he could see the light dancing in his eyes, "that didn't quite go the way I was planning, but it worked out for the best, I think."
Snake rocked onto the balls of his feet, awkwardly trying to ignore the stiff bandages.
"Otacon," he advised, sullenly, "next time you decide to blackmail a surgeon into treating me for free, could you make sure you know what kind of surgeon he is first?"
"You didn't have to go through with it," Otacon said, evilly.
"I have to lie on my front for three weeks. I'm going to be out of commission for so long."
"I thought he was nice. He was nice when he did me, anyway," Otacon prattled. "Besides, look on the bright side. It could be a new lease of life for you. It might make you more confident in public. Then maybe you'd have some friends."
Snake frowned.
"What did he do to - "
"I don't want to say," Otacon said, a second too quickly. "It's not important."
Self-consciously, Snake reached behind himself. He was so – round. It'd take him a while to get used to this.
"Hey," he said, to Otacon's retreating back, "when it all heals, do you want to – see?"
"I picked up a leaflet about quitting smoking that you might like," Otacon said, threateningly. Snake decided to drop the subject.
"Let's just go," he said, uncomfortably aware that the receptionist's eyes were fixed on his behind as he exited the door.