As with most of my one-shots, this started when a single line of dialogue popped into my head and demanded it have a story to go with it...I think it could probably still use some work, but I also think I'm too familiar at this point to be useful, so I'd love some constructive feedback...let me know what needs improvement :)

Raiden and the Snake Family are Konami's, not mine

Slumped against the deck of the small house, Jack was trying to concentrate on the feeling the cold air brought to his lungs, willing himself to take slow (and quiet) breaths, and cursing the fact that his entire body seemed to move with every inhale and exhale. Their run had been well over an hour that morning, and though he wasn't really sure how many miles that added up to, he was exhausted. They didn't jog—they ran. And running for that long, he figured anybody would agree with him that a flat surface was the greatest sight the world had to offer. Anybody, that is, but Dave. The part of Jack's brain that still had some energy remaining managed a laugh at the contrast of the two men: Jack, relying entirely on the wall behind him for support and still struggling to breathe; and Dave, perched on the railing, shoulders pressed into a support beam with one leg trailing lazily on the floor.

He knew he didn't really have to hide how much their morning run had worn him out. He was nowhere near Dave's equal, and it's not like he would care anyway—tease him a bit, but all good-natured. But that was never the point, for Jack. Running every morning had initially been Dave's idea—he thought starting every morning by getting away from everything but the feel of your own body as it greeted the world would not only help them physically, but…what was the word he'd used? Holistically. Jack remembered having to suppress a snicker when he heard Dave stumble over the word, but he always forgot to ask the girls which one of them had taught it to him. At any rate, Jack had immediately been up for the new routine, and now treated it as though it was something he had to talk Dave into: like a little boy begging his older brother to stay out and play just a little while longer, when the older brother had really only gone inside to turn on the floodlights. And just as that boy didn't want that older brother to see him yawning as nightfall approached, Jack always felt the need to show that he could handle every bit of extra push he gave himself, not wanting to be left behind, or told to go inside before the sun went down.

He closed his eyes and was briefly brought into a memory from when he was much younger, though how young he wasn't quite sure. He felt the cold wind begin to grow warmer around him as the memory took over, begging for his attention, and for once he relented.

They were running. Not for distance, and certainly not for fun—just running laps through the sand. The air was thick with it, clouds of it flooding into his lungs and eyes. He couldn't breathe, and could barely see, but he ran anyway, pushing himself harder and faster than the day before. He had never been last. He didn't know what happened when you were last…but whoever came in last always disappeared for a few hours after they ran. He shuddered slightly, remembering the terrified and half-crazed looks whenever those boys returned to the rest of the group. He never asked. Nobody asked…only the ones who came in last knew what happened. It had crossed his mind once that it might not be all that bad…that maybe they just wanted everyone else to think that. But he decided it was a lie he was okay with believing, just in case it wasn't a lie.

After all…it was bad enough when you weren't first. He'd never been first…almost, several times, but never quite making it…the sand in his lungs always seemed to slow him down. But now…he was first. He knew one of the other boys was approaching him: he should have been able to see his shadow, but the sand in his eyes made it difficult to focus, and he should have been able to hear footsteps, but it was hard to hear anything over the shouting from Master, the roaring wind, and the nearby gunfire. No, he knew someone was approaching him because he got the feeling on the back of his neck he got whenever anyone came near him. And even if he hadn't sensed it, moments later, the boy behind him was kicking sand at his legs, trying to slow him down.

He would not be slowed. He locked his jaw, a sense of determination settling in with more ferocity than he'd ever felt. He had never been first. He wondered if you got anything special. Maybe they let you wash the sand out of your eyes instead of waiting until they weren't looking and you could make yourself cry to try and clear them. Maybe you got enough water to rinse out your mouth and still have some left to drink. But in the moment, he realized he didn't care about any of that—he wanted to be first, because he wanted to win. He wanted to watch the other boys glare at him because he was first, which meant they were all behind him. Especially this boy, whose hands were now grabbing at him clothes, trying to pull him to the ground.

He wasn't sure if he actually tried to ignore him or not—afterwards he told himself that he did…that he yelled at the boy, swatted his hands away, tried to shove him back lightly…but he couldn't remember if he had really done that or not. All he remembered was the feel of his elbow connecting with the boy's nose, and the surge of victory that coursed through him when his attacker's hands abruptly let him go. He didn't look back, but he knew from the cracking sound of bone and the shrill screams that he had shattered the boy's nose.

After he crossed the finish line he noted two things. One, was the boy still lying in the sand, motionless. He wasn't dead of course…but he would be last. The other thing he noticed, was Master walking towards him, and instead of the fury he expected over wounding a comrade, a sort of muted pride was glaring at him from the older man's eyes. So maybe that was all you got for being first…but he'd never had anyone look at him that way before, and he decided he liked it, and from then on, he always had to be first.

He shook his head and blinked, trying to get rid of the feeling of sand and hot desert wind. He thought he could almost taste it, but decided it was just lingering thirst from their run and reached for his water, still breathing heavily.

Dave on the other hand, had lit a cigarette, and was staring into a sky that seemed aware of its morning audience, and was showing off the more impressive colors in its palette. These runs never affected him much, and part of Jack always had to wonder if it was because he was actually that fit, or if it was part of all the genetic engineering stuff. He still didn't really understand how it was all possible, but he went with it. Dave was…Dave. Aside from looks, Jack had long decided Dave was nothing like his brothers. Okay, looks, and talent on the battlefield…but even then, the only similarity was in skill, not in style. That was what made the whole genetic thing so confusing to him. They were all engineered to be the same…but somehow Dave had come out completely different. Jack tried to imagine Mast…Solidus,sitting on a porch in the middle of Alaska, calmly watching the sunrise. Or Liquid scolding him for calling a loon a duck, pointing out that loons were considered the 'spirits of the wilderness' with an almost reverent quality in his voice.

"What?" Dave's voice startled him before he was fully able to laugh at the thought of Big Boss trying to teach the others to recognize owls by their calls. Jack realized he must have been staring at his friend as he thought.

"Oh…nothing."

"Hmph. You looked like you wanted to ask me something."

But how that man could read facial expressions.

"Nah, it's not important."

"Not important?"

"It's none of my business."

"Ah." Dave crushed the cigarette against one of the beams on the porch rail and tossed it into a bucket near the wall.

"Well…it's personal. Promise you won't be mad?"

His friend gave him a look that very clearly stated he could care less about whatever Jack had to ask, and that asking permission to ask a question was not only redundant but completely pointless.

"Do you think…if things had turned out different…Big Boss would be proud of you?"

"You mean if I hadn't killed him?"

Jack winced, regretting having asked, until he saw Dave's lips twist into a half-smile. He tried again. "Well…if everything had turned out different. What if…you'd never had to fight him in the first place?"

Dave was quiet, staring at the sky again, only this time with the look of a man who was actually giving thought to something he'd never before even considered. Finally: "That's a lot of what-ifs. The way things are now…I really don't think he would be. He would have been the first person to say that combat skills aren't everything. His…whatever he valued, it meant a lot to him. I don't think it would make him proud to know that I've dedicated my life to helping create a world of peace, when he wanted a world of war. But…he got to be who he was because he didn't want to follow anybody else's agenda. He didn't want to be any government's tool. So maybe he would be proud that I'm doing what I do because I chose to, not because I was told to…But if I hadn't had to fight him, I don't think I would be where I am right now, so I don't know. Maybe I would have ended up just like him, if I hadn't been on the other side of what he was trying to do."

"You really think you would have wanted that?"

Dave shrugged. "Who can say? His vision looks good on paper, until you realize what it's actually saying. I was young, it's something that I would have been interested in if I'd been approached the right way. And once you're in something like that, it's hard to make it out. But he handpicked me to be his enemy, not his ally. He might have been looking for his death at that point. Who knows, maybe he was hoping once I made it to the end I would agree with him. And maybe I still would have ended up where I am."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just…thinking."

"You wondered if I was secretly trying to live up to my father's expectations?" There was a hint of a laugh hiding in his words.

"I don't know…maybe?"

"Well if I am it's sure as hell not intentional. I tried doing that once, for all the good it did."

"Yeah…"

As though it had been listening, the song of the fox sparrow that had moved in by the house broke into their conversation.

"Do you think it would be easier? If we were still trying to live up to someone else's expectations?"

"No. Easier at first maybe…but I don't think it'd be easy enough to be worth it."

"Me neither."

The fox sparrow agreed as well.

A gust of wind blew across the deck, and it occurred to him that is heart rate was back down, and the burning in his chest long subsided. The sky had lost most of its color by now, but the clouds still gave away the pink and orange secrets of the morning.

"The sun's not completely up yet…we're probably still the only ones awake."

Without looking away from the direction of the sparrow, Dave still managed to glance backwards enough for Jack to see a raised eyebrow. "You think you're up for it?"

Jack moved to stand, but succeeded only in lifting his shoulders off the wall just far enough for him to feel it when he crashed back down. "Okay, so no."

Dave's face crinkled into one of the least genuine smirks Jack had ever seen. For a moment there was silence as both men watched the colors fade into an icy blue, before a defiant "but give me about ten more minutes" cut through the repose, and anyone awake would have heard only a contented laughter underscored by a birdsong fading into the distance.