Sunset was a series of pomegranate waves flushed with tangerine, shot through emerald leaves. It was the beauty of hideous storms that have passed by a thin margin, eager to return. Rain had come in a drizzle towards the end of the afternoon with light, flushing intervals, drizzling down for ten minutes, quarter of the hour at most, then dying for double that time. It left the gardens vibrant, the air brisk and sobering. Leaves fanned themselves for its touch. Each blade of grass peered up, mouths open for the drink. The clay of the Croft grounds was left darkened into passing distance of coffee colour, the mortar auburn, the bricks given to darkened mood.

It was during one of the dry spots, the afternoon waning into evening and signs of the night sky's rumour coming to pass that they called it a night. The rest of their days in England would not be long; this one seemed to both of them to stretch out like a summer respite in April. 15°C was not out of the question.

The practice came out even, fair. Twice Lara, then Snake, which spurred on her competitive streak, and brought out a joy in him she hadn't yet witnessed. She hadn't expected his agility, things that could not be conveyed in Nastasha's account, nor his speed. Whereas Lara found herself bounding off of objects or somersaulting beyond their reach, Snake was keen to dive under, aside, and, reminding her of the Gordian knot, stopping one dead with the stock of his rifle. While Lara was most often on her feet, she found Snake on one knee, or in a static position for firing. At the end of every course, she also noticed he only focused on one attribute of its offerings or the other: speed or accuracy. In between, they compared commentary on firearms, shooting styles, and even a little flirtation. She was surprised by the last, feeling maybe her worry for him was unfounded. The impression she had taken from the night previous might have been incomplete by much more than she had anticipated.

After two bouts with Winston at the settings, she requested he turn up the settings for the mobile obstacle speed, which increased the velocity of various rotating foam pads lining parts of the course or emerging at chest length from others, as well as tackling dummies that would dart of hidden compartments at a moment's notice. It was Winston's duty only to make their lives as difficult as possible whilst manning the course, and (again at her request), he did not spare them in effort.

Around dusk, they retired, sweaty and starving, for the house. There was little more to be had in their formalised play, but in her pre-dinner shower, she thought of the askance smile she caught more than once on his face during it. His eyes lit up, his teeth gritted in concentration. Once, she could have sworn she heard a laugh like a dog's anticipatory bark. She wondered of his age, knowing he must have close to ten years on her, and found a sproutling of admiration.

When he came to dinner, wearing another choice from the men's guest closet composited of odd ends composed over the years by other passersby in her home, she found her eyes pausing too long at the length of his legs, or size of his hands.

Lara had entertained Otacon in the dining room and she planned to do so again, but changed the location at Snake's request for a less formal occasion. They ate instead on dual camelback sofas in the central hall, with another wall lined by books (fiction, this time) and the staircase leading to each wing at the north-south walls behind each of them. They would each had to lean forward to eat over the coffee table, something Lara was accustomed to only when without company.

"You smell."

Snake looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Tobacco. God, that's an awful habit. I hope Hal's given you grief over it."

Snake produced a pack of cigarettes and opened its lid. Inside there were only brown crumbs.

"Good," Lara said. "You're not likely to buy more, I hope."

"Lost all my luggage from that thing at the airport," he said. Snake was pacing the shelves, glancing up and down their list. "A copy of The Pentagon Papers? I'm impressed."

"I've never read it, actually." Snake looked at her askance, and she laughed. "Are you surprised? This house has almost three generation's worth of books, Snake, it's not bloody likely I've read most of them. So, Mister Scholar, what is it?"

"A treatise on Vietnam, after a fashion. It's not exactly light reading."

"My mother was actually in Vietnam, briefly." Lara glanced down the hall for the time. Dinner would be short in coming; Winston had asked for requests and Snake had been eager to suggest more steak. "Not during the war, but she saw firsthand a rather large amount of the war's fallout. Volunteered for a some of the mine removal."

"Must have been a brave lady."

Lara looked at crest above the mantle. "She was, but what makes you say that?"

"Most people avert their eyes when something ugly happens." He continued idling around the stock of hardbacks. "You have a humidifier for these, huh. Pages only lightly yellowed. Well cared for."

"I'm glad you approve." Lara looked down at the coffee table, where there were papers Otacon had left for them to look over. One was the original design documents for Metal Gear REX, his creation the year previous, with its capabilities laid out in layman's terms scribbled atop the photocopies. Another was a digital tablet with a variety of resources left to them, a series of photographs and strange text files. "So, have any thoughts on the lot of this?" She rifled a paper at him.

"Yeah. Otacon had a few objectives in mind even before we got started."

"Started with what?" she asked.

"There was a report he went digging up in Bolivia almost a month back. We were trying to gauge whether or not there was a need for this sort of thing. I already guessed there would be, but we needed at least one example to take to people in case the book didn't get any takers."

Lara raised an eyebrow. "You mean you've gone to other people aside from myself?"

"Just three. One was someone Otacon knows, but couldn't find her. Apparently a genius with computers, and seeing as most of this is digital stuff anyway, he figured a second pair of hands couldn't hurt." He was still turned away from her and the light was much better than the night before, but she heard his reluctance anyway. "Computers aren't exactly my, uh, strong suit."

"You can't digitize everything anyway. So, who else?"

"A guy who did advisor work as a contractor for FOXHOUND. Name of George Kessler." Snake was running a finger over a shelf, head tilted to read titles, occasionally turning his head over to speak to her. "Big Boss had recruited him from his days as a merc, but when Big Boss turned, if he was ever really for the unit, Kessler strayed behind. Said an injury changed him."

"Did it?" Lara asked.

Snake gave a shrug and a grunt. "A lot of Big Boss's past is classified, even from other people in the unit. I don't know much, save for in the sixties, he was working for the CIA when he did the op that got him his title. A hero from the second World War defected and he shut her down. After that, there's not a lot of info."

"You're not that far off, either, you know?"

"Well, after Nastasha publishes her book," Snake said, "there's not much chance of that. I'll be another fiction in a series of them." Snake dipped his head, shook it once, then sat across from her. She could see his restlessness. "There's a lot of rumours that get thrown around the military. Half of them are crap. The other half barely have anything to them."

"Like what?"

"Like Delphi's Iron Mountain stuff. Fiction with truth in it tends to expand too big, too fast, and people forget the part of it that's embellished."

"Not unlike fame," she said, glancing at the way Snake played with his lighter. It gleamed in the fading light, and as the windows grew less illuminating, the interior sensors automatically accommodated with artifice. "And not a word about cup size. Rewinding a sec, what happened to Kessler? Not interested?"

"No," Snake said. "Liquid had him murdered. Same with anyone who changed sides on Big Boss after the eighties."

When Winston came into the silent room, their appetites had not returned.

"May I ask of the last recruit?"

Snake shifted in his seat, grumbling under his breath, reaching for the water beside his plate. "Another Moses survivor. Meryl Silverburgh."

"Your Colonel Campbell's niece?"

Snake nodded.

"Weren't you two…?"

Another grunt, a nod.

"I'm sorry. This must be rather forward."

"You keep saying that." Snake picked at his potatoes carioca, shifting slices like tectonic plates.

"Why didn't she join? Was it personal?"

This, at least, seemed to give Snake some relief. "No, thankfully. It was that we had different views on where to go."

"And her proposal?"

"That we do things by the book, try and work with the system. When she didn't join up, that's when we started looking for other agents. We were hoping for Kessler, but…" Snake shook his head. "Meryl's got her own life, and for some damn reason, that's with the military. I hear the Army reconfirmed her contract. She was formally enlisted before but after Moses, a lot of people got moved to different areas. Somehow, she managed to stay with field work. Meryl's one of the lucky ones. Otacon was out and out dismissed by Armstech for cooperating with terrorist activities. Meryl's… complex, I don't know, she doesn't get that not biting the hand that feeds doesn't mean she'll get more food. She's being used and doesn't care."

"Do you, Snake?" Lara peered at him, and when he met her gaze, she felt petty for a strange cattiness that was unlike her.

For a while, they ate in silence, the clinking of silverware and porcelain like abbreviations in between them.

"When I got back to my place in Twin Lakes, Meryl was told she didn't have a place back at her base. There was going to be a formal investigation of everyone involved."

"Snake, I appreciate this, but really, I was out of line."

"No, to hell with it, I don't want to dance around things. It's going to happen sooner or later." Snake leaned back, took a sip of the lager provided, and proceeded. "Meryl had a lot of problems, but she got the light end of it. For Campbell, they threw him in a cell for two weeks, called it a debriefing. The same thing for Naomi, except that was more permanent. Espionage charge, for colluding with the terrorists. I hear someone broke her out a couple months back, but I don't have a clue."

"And you?"

"Technically, they never found me," Snake said.

"How?"

"When they knocked me out and dragged my ass to a naval base, they caught me headed just out of town. Apparently they never found my house, about three hours south of anything resembling civilisation." Talking more openly, Snake found his appetite. Short work was being made of his meal. "Alaska's a big place with a lot of trees. I'd had my house commissioned from an engineer in the area, built for no carbon emissions. Helped me stay off the radar long enough, I guess. When Meryl needed a place to stay, I offered her my cabin until about eight months ago, turn of the new year.

"When I let her move in, it wasn't just the inquisition she was worried about. She and I were the only non-stationed combatants that made it out of the island. I don't think she thought she could relate to anyone else. I'd been living alone for a long time, and company seemed…" He let the words drift apart, drifting away like leaves in a stream. "When I figured I couldn't stay in Alaska forever, she didn't take to it well. She wanted something I couldn't give her. I tried floating the Philanthropy idea past her, but it wouldn't stick. She kept insisting that there could be a place for me in the US again." He looked at his hands. "Moses left her with scars nobody should have. Especially not a woman."

Lara studied his face, the lines under his eyes. "And your scars?

Snake turned away from her regard. "I can deal with mine."

Lara said nothing.

Snake finished his beer, placed it next to an empty plate. Lara had hardly touched hers. "After we had slept together, Meryl told me she needed to find some way to make it important that she had survived everything. That there had to be a reason. I don't think she knows surviving's reason enough."

Lara thought of Peru. Of Malaysia, Cambodia, Kenya. Of friends who had strength to barely make it. Of friends long gone who had not enough.

"I left Meryl a note, the keys to my cabin, told her to stay as long as she wanted, have the dogs taken care of."

"You've gave her your house?" she asked.

"I didn't have much use for it. Alaska to New York is a hell of a commute." At this, Lara laughed at his deadpan, and Snake brightened for it. "Besides, I knew I couldn't stay in Twin Lakes. If the Pentagon could find me, so could anybody else." Snake moved across the table to sit next to her, picking up Otacon's files in the middle of the table. "We should get to work."

Lara was pleased she let none of her disappointment show in face or voice, or so she believed. "Of course. Bolivia's quite the topic, and I'm certain you've enough to make for an interesting evening."

For a moment, Lara only looked at him expectantly. Snake would not meet her eyes still. He looked bemused, and not unpleasantly. Surprised, if anything.

"I've never talked this much about myself," he said.

Lara smiled gently at him. "You should do it more often. You have interesting stories."

Snake looked at the clock, and began talking of their first assignment.