A Note: This was posted originally late last night by mistake in a prototypical form, slippers and nightrobe barely on. This version is a bit more dressed.

PART ONE

HONA

The house moaned with the attrition of warmth. There was only the wood's sighing as it contracted from the air's frigid touch. Lara was warmed by the feel of lush isfahan and persian rugs, holding the warmth like magnets. She lightly padded out to the stairroom, replete with fireplace, ottomans, divans, et al. There was little point in trying to sneak up on him, she thought. Lara wondered idly, not if, but when he noticed someone else. When she left her bedroom and began towards the central library, when she changed course noticing that a fire had been lit down the hall, or when she was within just a few feet of him. Maybe Snake didn't notice her at all, skills he might have turned off in the context of being somewhere warm, safe.

Lara thought of her own instincts, and did not believe the last option likely.

Earlier in the day, the three of them had abandoned their police vehicle and made travel arrangements. For the next few days, Snake would stay with Queen and Country and Lara, while Otacon returned to New York, and the two of them following suit the next week. But for the rest of the day and until the late afternoon of the next, they would be retire to Lara's estate for ease of everybody involved. Once, Otacon had protested that Lara provide them accommodation.

"That's ridiculous," she said, their conversation limited by the taximan's presence. Snake was on one side of the vehicle, Otacon in the middle. The former remained remarkably quiet, preferring to gaze out the window and observe rather than interact. "I can pick you up from the airport but not arrange you a bit of lodgings? I'm certainly not commuting to the city again tomorrow."

Otacon began to protest her mock offense, before Snake nudged him. "She's kidding." It was the most he has spoken since leaving the airport.

The drive back to her home had been markedly quiet, likewise. Otacon seemed hesitant in regards to their accommodations and Snake seemed quiet. Any attempt she made to draw them out from such exhaustion was met by apathy from Snake, whose eyes remained chiefly closed, and some modest acknowledgement from Otacon. There wasn't much to be done of it, so she let them rest.

Upon arriving, and Otacon remarking to the size of her expansive Palladian home, Winston showed them to the guest bedrooms where they would be staying. Otacon thought it best to convene later, after he had made arrangements for himself and changed the plans via internet for their departure next week. Lara stated she'd want to go to over the Philanthropy details with them both and discuss things later, over dinner perhaps, and they acquiesced to something close to that.

Snake, for his part, thanked them both for the help, neither curt nor warm, and left to his bedroom.

"Rather moody a lot, is he, Hal?" She watched him go, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his gait off from the wound she'd seen earlier.

"No, not really," Otacon said. "I don't know what's up. Maybe it was just a little exhausting. I'm probably going to get a nap in before dinner, myself."

When dinner rolled around and Lara awaited Otacon's company, after showering and with a change of clothes feeling a bit more like herself, they made small talk. About Otacon's time at University, of Lara making a go of it and disdaining the boredom. Of romantic interests, from which Lara could discern Otacon had little in the way of masculine conquests. Of what they thought of technology, or culture, but little that she was entirely captivated by, although she did remark of being impressed with Otacon's technological talents, which he had no shame in basking in.

Buried in the back of her mind throughout all of it, there was a sensation, in spite of meeting Snake, of feeling let down somehow, of the vagary that had come from his curious quietude and hating still to wait more for something more pressing.

After dinner had been served, Winston informed Lara, quietly and with minimum fuss, that Snake had gently declined their invitation, and would dine at a later time. Lara furrowed her brow, asked Otacon, and was met with his concern.

"I wonder if he's alright," Otacon said, mouth tilted slightly to one side.

She told him that "he seemed alright earlier, he's probably just exhausted from being beat like an egg," but Otacon remained worried regardless.

When their plates had been swept away, Otacon went over a few things with her, mostly trivial details and points of necessary interest regarding Philanthropy. How much they would need in capital, what their resource needs might be, and how to get Nastasha's account published. She informed him of the calls she'd made, hoping that delivering the news of disinterest wouldn't affect him much, and she wasn't wrong. They were both realists as to its difficulty, but the glimmer of hope was that a British house with an American branch showed interest after speaking with Lara directly. There was hope as to an abridged version seeing the light of day inside the late summer schedule, and if sales met well, that perhaps a second printing of the full text being reintroduced.

The clock nearby began chiming close to ten when they both called it an evening, and Otacon seemed more himself again by its end. A very small amount of vermouth had a part in that, and Lara had taken a bit of red wine with their meal. It was for that bit of social balm that he accepted her hug before going to bed. She felt they both needed the reassurance. Philanthropy was so out of both of their fields of expertise that it seemed monolithic in its execution.

When Lara awoke around one in the morning, she heard only the sound of her own window and its breezy whisperings. After Lara had traipsed down the hall upon finding Snake out in the den, she felt his presence more keenly, surprised she had not sensed some sort of disturbance in the air around her; Snake was making no effort to be unnoticed.

Snake turned before she spoke. His facial structure reminded Lara of a racing dog, thin muscles laid over prominent cheekbones and a mouth that held little expression, most of it instead conveyed in his eyes and brow. There was a keenness to watching him, enjoyable in its roughshod symmetry.

The swelling in his cheek had gone down, and she noticed bandages on the reading table in front of him. Iodine, gauze, a needle and thread, and a snifter of brandy. He was shirtless, and in the low light she could see only a handful of scars, the fireplace illuminating only his front half, which she couldn't see from her angle, and his arms, which she could.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice sounded voluminous in the vacant space, reverberating almost in the panels of oak and mahogany. She almost regretted speaking, like she had intruded in something private.

"No luck. I don't sleep a whole lot, anyway." He picked up the needle and thread and began working at one last cut just past his elbow. It looked clean, at least, which was more than could be said of other scars long-healed that ran jagged bolts across his forearm.

"May I join you?" She glanced at the implements in front of him again, and frowned. "Did Winston give you the whole bottle? How long have you been drinking?"

Snake nodded his head in acceptance to the crimson fainting couch across from him. "Your butler, right? Couple hours. I was hoping it'd put me to sleep, but I didn't know I'd torn my stitches when I passed out earlier."

"Passed out?" She sat down, and watched as he applied the brandy and began threading the needle through his skin. "I imagine I've most of the story, but what exactly happened out there?"

"I couldn't sleep on the fly over. Glad I didn't. When everybody started deboarding I noticed a steward pointing me out to the captain and I did my disappearing act before security showed up. I got lucky."

"Mm, is that what lucky passes for nowadays?"

"Lucky is any time I don't get shot at. I'd made for an emergency exit and one of the guards fired at me, could have hit a civilian." Snake clicked his tongue in disgust, and she wondered if it was a matter of professional pride that he made a differentiation between protocol in that sort of scenario, or if it was out of the recklessness of the behaviour exhibited.

"So how'd you get a hold of Hal?" She watched the methodical routine of his stitches, surprised his hand was so steady.

"I ended up finding a private area and used one of the mounted service phones to call the airport traveler's desk."

"Wouldn't they just have found out which service phone you were on?"

"No, not like that. I called the traveler's desk and asked if a concierge could contact my flying partner with a courtesy phone."

"Ah, I think I see now. So they thought you were a customer, and as such no one would be looking at what the inbound number was."

"If they had, I probably would have gotten boxed in a service hall," he said. Lara watched a few droplets of blood move a runnel along his arm and tumble to the rug beneath him. She doubted Winston would notice.

They were quiet for a few moments, as she watched the suture slowly advance up his arm. It wasn't deep, or especially long, but she admired the tenacity of it.

"I've never used brandy before," She said.

Snake looked at her, curious.

"Usually," she lifted up the cuff of one pantleg, revealing a scar moved across her ankle, slipping up diagonally to the back of her calf. "There's isopropyl on the dig. I try to bring medical stuff I'll get the most use out of. There's not much point in bringing medications most of the time."

Snake smiled, and Lara felt a small surge like pride, but not quite. Close, but not quite.

"Why didn't you join us for dinner? You were more than welcome."

Snake shrugged. "I'm not really big on banquets and table conversation. Besides, I was too tired from earlier to eat. One of them almost broke my skull in."

"Two, actually."

"Hn?" He looked at her, eyebrow raised, which she replied by smiling demurely. He grumbled to himself, "Thought it was one."

"Sleep and penchant for my spirit cabinet aside, you're feeling better, though?"

He nodded.

"I'm glad. Hal was worried about you, I think."

"I know. He woke me up after you guys went to sleep, asked if something was up. After that, I noticed the blood on the sheet."

"Lord. You raid my liquor cabinet, stain my guest bedroom with blood, and skip out on bonding time. Some house guest you yanks make, I'll say."

When Lara reached across the table for his brandy, he didn't protest, only silently watched in observation as she sipped it, put it back, and refilled the glass. He drank likewise in quiet, informal toast.

"This is some place you have. Was that wing we're in just guest bedrooms?"

"It is. The other wings are my exercise rooms, the master wing, which has my quarters and the service-person's rooms, and the dining halls." She gestured to a large mural behind him, dimly lit by the flames' pirouettes. "If you can believe it, that was painted around the nineteen thirties, during the war. My father's father was an engineer, my grandmother a doctor. Shortly after they commissioned the painting, the manor was abandoned for almost two years, because my grandmother was adamant that Germany would invade sooner or later. When the Nazi's never did, my grandparents had already set up a small life a country away, so by the time they returned, the manor had been struck by lightning and almost a quarter of it burned, and half ruined from weather damage. Our second cellar held most anything of value, though, so the majority of these paintings, rugs, and so on survived, that mural included. Those two little bodies you see in front of the estate are my grandparents."

Snake had sealed his arm but not yet bandaged it, and when he turned to look at it, she got a better view of his back. She felt dirty by seeing him that way, with its myriad pockmarks, indentations. It was a far cry from her most recent male companion's unmarred body. There was only a brief glance, and she saw a rough past laid out like a ruined map on his skin. In an instant, she turned her eyes away, as if she had broken a sort of trust.

"It seems like it's kept you well," He said, not mindful of her sudden apprehension.

"It-it is. Yes, well." She cleared her throat. "My family's held this house for almost two hundred years, and until almost fifty years ago, they all lived under this roof."

"What's a few people to a place this big?"

"Snake, my father was the youngest of eleven children," she said, laughing a bit.

"Eleven kids?" He made a grimacing face that she couldn't be sure was from conceiving of such a fraternity or from tugging at the fresh sutures. "That's a lot of mouths to feed. Do you talk to your uncles much?"

"Plus their husbands and wives residing here, too." Lara bit her lip. "I'm afraid my father's brothers are not very approving of what I've done with the estate. Is it alright if we leave it at that?"

He just bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Snake, do you have any family?"

As soon as she uttered the question, she recalled reading of his past, however brief its mention, in the book. His patricidal brother. His monomaniacal father.

Their distant, awful legacy.

"Don't you already know?" Snake's anger caught her off guard, and she found herself having to recover by its suddenness.

"Oh, god, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to..."

The room was empty of sound for a moment.

"It's alright. Sorry." He looked from the fire, to her, and back again. "It's a little strange when someone else's had a chance to sift through your past, is all. Should be used to it by now." Snake produced a pack of cigarettes and lit one. If not for her gaff, she would have condemned it.

"I didn't mean anything by it. If you had preferred I hadn't read it…"

"No, if you're trusting us, we're trusting you." Snake paused. Thought. She could see something glimmering in his eyes as it happened, a surety of rumination. "I don't know much. Most of what I do know is in that book."

"I can't imagine what they'd be like," she said.

Snake looked at her, and when she did, she discovered for the first time staring him in the eyes too long hurt for some reason.

"Neither can I."

The sound of flames hurried in, a low expiring sound. Snake watched it with inordinate fascination, as though there was divination to be had therein.

"Snake?"

He looked at her.

"I want to make sure I've got this right. I haven't been having second thoughts, but…"

Otacon was right; he was a good listener, she decided. Snake leaned back, body askance of her and more towards the fireplace, as he waited for her to gather her thoughts. After a moment, Lara continued.

"It's awfully bloody complicated. At this Alaskan island, Shadow Moses, you, having been in this sort of spot before, were blackmailed into going into a dangerous place and tasked with the rescue of three people you don't know or care for, and stopping a sort of weapon that's been almost seen production before. In the process, you run a gauntlet of the renegade unit that's taken over this base, and learn of a much more sinister relationship as than any I can recall. I'm not trying to be reductive, but is that about the whole of it?"

Snake nodded.

"Snake, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How was that possible for you? Did you regret it?"

Snake seemed to consider this for a moment, as if regret had not been an option. "No, I don't think so. It's what needed to be done. I wasn't doing much, anyway."

She laughed. "How can you be so cavalier about it?"

"Do you pat yourself on the back that you're on magazine covers and in documentaries?" If she had not been watching him intently, she would have mistaken this for mockery, but his smile was soothing; viral. "I just don't think about it very much. The Colonel needed me to help his niece. I did."

"And that's all? I have a hard bloody time believing that." When Snake looked at her with one eyebrow lifted, she waved a hand away. "I'm sorry, is this too forward for a first talk?"

"No, I like things straightforward," Snake said, looking back to his stitching. "I'd guess you do, too."

Strangely, she blushed, then put his comment and any ennui regarding it out of her head.

"My family's always been a bit of a society type," Lara said. "Under Victoria, they made the papers after moving to London and declaring they would personally commission Conan Doyle to resume the Holmes stories. Of course, it never came to pass, and he did anyway, but we've always seemed to be in the news, albeit now it's in a very different light. Or we're interested in them, at least. Fame and English and history have been the callings of the blood, if I may turn a phrase."

"I know about the fame and the English, so; did you read a lot when you were little?" He asked, sipping at the brandy.

"No, just the standards. My mum read me The Faraway Tree, Carroll, really common stuff. Of Doyle, I recall reading one of the stories, and there's was a woman who beat Holmes. Of all the things! I thought it was marvelous. She was described as an adventuress, going to the continent, to the colonies, being an opera singer, all sorts of things. I still think of that story sometimes." They seemed to have pleasantly drifted off course, so she corrected it. "So how much of my past do you know, Snake?"

He tilted his head, as if to say enough. "Nothing private, trust me. What would you characterise it as?"

"Most of what I've been experienced with," she said, "is getting into places most people can't or won't without a lot of gear to me, and getting something out that might otherwise take years to disarm traps or traverse uncharted catacombs." Again a self-conscious laugh. "I'm not cursing good fortune or being falsely modest, mind, just… It's nothing like this. I want to help very much. I'm not sure this will sustain me forever, and I feel…" Again, she was at a loss. "I read all of the book. I understand it, I mean, it's not disbelief. Save for that name."

"Huh?"

"Your name," Lara said. "Of all the sobriquets you could have, it's Snake. A mite conspicuous, you think?"

He shrugged it off. "A lot of those names are legacy titles. There's not very many people who don't receive a codename others haven't already had."

"And your real name," Lara asked.

She could feel the mirth in the room expire, as if she had made oratory a draft of arctic sigh.

"Otacon didn't tell you?"

She shook her head.

He didn't look at her, not out of any malice or apathy she could fathom from his expression. If anything, a sadness. "David."

In the flickering amber glow, his melancholy was attractive, and Lara felt the pang of guilt for her thoughts.

Her voice wound itself with the fire's. "It suits you," she said, and when he smiled slightly, sadly, she wondered why someone could be so lonely.

"Snake, I have another question."

"Go ahead."

"You've spent so much effort and time doing this sort of thing before. Otacon mentioned you were in the CIA even before Shadow Moses."

"It didn't suit me, but yeah, for a while."

Lara looked at the snifter of brandy, was tempted, decided against it.

"I suppose I'm asking why. Why this, why now, why Philanthropy, Nastasha, Hal, myself. And, well… Why you, Snake?"

He reached for the brandy, polished off the glass, and thought for a moment.

"When I left Shadow Moses, I went back to Alaska with somebody. When I settled back in, I realised there wasn't anything left for me. I had dogs to mush, but not much else. I had somebody, but we… disagreed about where to go forward. And I thought there was something more ahead, something I didn't have before. I gave up a lot of my life, over the years, a lot of sleep. There wasn't anything left inside me, nothing at all. No hatred, not even regret. And yet sometimes at night I could still feel the pain creeping up inside me. Slithering through my body."

"So you did this to… alleviate your pain?"

Snake inhaled deeply of the cigarette one last time, let the smoke waft out, and threw it into the fire. "At first, I thought that's what I wanted. No, what I wanted was to make sure I didn't live my life the way Liquid did. Or Big Boss."

"As a response to them?" Lara asked, "Your…" Lara could not bring herself to say brother, father, false terms to people she barely understood. She did not venture a guess as to how much Snake understood them.

"No, just the opposite. They were obsessed with reacting to somebody else instead of acting of their own accord, finding their own path, and by only reacting it made them too passive. Up until that period, when I left the island alive, I knew I had to find something more to create or else I'd end up with no motive to move on. I was tired of going forward with no victory, no defeat. Of running away.

"When I got home," Snake said, "it wasn't long before I heard about the aftermath. Ocelot, one of the unit's members, had disappeared, and so had Metal Gear's data. I heard because an old friend still with the agency told me they'd saddled me with that, and with breaking out FOXHOUND's spy, Naomi Hunter. The rest wasn't hard, there's only one thing to do with something that valuable. Metal Gear isn't going to be a specialised weapon anymore. It's going to become another tool among a hell of a lot more. And I couldn't let it happen, not when I made the mistake of letting him get ahold of the data to begin with."

Lara shook her head, not quite following. "So why not grassroots activism? Take to the press. To the internet."

"That's Otacon's field. We'll be doing a little bit of both, really, but I don't know much about it." Snake hesitated. "What Liquid said was still rattling around. That I wasn't…" Lara watched Snake almost say natural, then recant it. "…normal. I was made to fight, but I'm not a gun, a tool. I can't let that be true."

"And Philanthropy?"

"There needed to be a body of people who'd work in or out of the law to stop Metal Gear from spreading. It'll destablise everything. Once it's widespread, there's nowhere left to go if every nationstate's got a deathmachine. And nobody will know any better, any way to combat it. I needed to find people who could fight in ways I can't. Fight establishments, or the media. Fight this era of postmodern war. I needed people who could help me fight the biggest beast of all."

"Who?"

"The times. Sooner or later, Metal Gear is going to change the way we live and breathe, and we might be the only ones who know it's coming."

Lara listened to the crackle of burning lumber.

She extended her hand to his. When Snake took it, she felt warmed, excited, even scared.

"I made the right choice, joining you. Whatever I can do, Snake, whatever role you need me to fill, I want to be a part of this."

"Thank you." Snake stood, grabbing his shirt off the cushion beside him. Winston must have provided him a change of clothes before he had retired, because he was in thin sweats. He smiled, and seeing it spread across his face, she understood the appeal he must had to the Silverburgh woman. She felt a familiar sensation by the proxy of his body to hers. "Forget most of this, anyway. The alcohol's made me too talky."

"I think it's done wonders for your demeanor. Goodnight, Snake."

Lara stood, went to put out the fire, then thought of the cold. Of her bed, of loneliness.

When she turned to reconsider company with him, if only a bit more time surrounded by books and the fire and a decanter between them, he was gone.