A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"So why do you listen to all of this music again and again?"

Pequod opened his eyes slightly, and flitted a look over to the person that had spoken. Spitting Dragon was leaning forward in her chair, a look of confusion as well as genuine interest on her face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

"Because I like it."

Dragon frowned.

"That's not what I meant, you jerk. I'm just wondering why this stuff in particular." Dragon said. "It's all very…retro."

"Retro?" Pequod snorted. "Are you telling me that the Stones and Genesis are retro?"

"Well, you're mostly listening to stuff from the seventies and even the sixties." Dragon said. "There is good stuff from the 80's, you know. And I don't mean one-offs like that silly little A-ha song you and Quiet seem to enjoy so much."

"Is that so?" Pequod said, his attention now fully captured. "Then why haven't I heard it? Let me tell you: anything good that's music is from the past. Everything sucks today."

"Wow…that is the most depressingly cynical and utterly childish opinion I have ever heard." Dragon said. "What, is there no hope then? Is the world doomed simply because there is no more music that could please the ear of the great and mighty Pequod, lord of the skies?"

"Okay, you didn't need to start mocking me halfway through that." The pilot said. "Because whatever reasonable point you had to begin with has since devolved into something just as childish as you claim me to be."

"You're impossible."

"It's kept me alive."

They sat there in silence for a few moments, as the drums of some deep cut Genesis song provided a background. And then Dragon spoke.

"Well, I'm gonna change that. I'm gonna prove to you that things aren't so musically hopeless as you think."

"Good luck." Pequod said with a wink, popping off the top of a bottle of Guinness.

…

BANG. BANG-BANG.

"Stop."

They all lowered their weapons, and Ocelot stepped forward. He had a look of fatherly disappointment on his face as he spoke.

"The Diamond Dogs are no tribal militia. I expect shots to be perfect." He gestured to the spray of bullets that decked the target dummies at the far end of the platform. "In the time it took you to empty a clip, your enemy got to cover, or called one of his friends to flank and finish you off. And furthermore, the scatter of bullets across the dummy? That's like a toddler spilling food over his plate. Just a waste of ammo and time." He whipped out one of his pistols, and started twirling it absently in his fingers as he walked towards the line of shooters. Once he was in line with them, at an equal distance from one of the targets, he whipped around and fired.

Each and every shot snapped the dummy's head back, and the last one knocked it clean off. He turned to face the Diamond Dogs, and holstered the pistol.

"Not a single wasted shot. Diamond Dogs don't shoot to incapacitate. In the field, we shoot to kill. Now let's see it again."

…

"You're looking well, all things considered."

"Says you. I feel like I got run over by a fuckin' truck."

"That's an improvement. Considering at the beginning you feel like you were going to die."

"I suppose so…got a light?"

"Sure."

"…"

"…"

"It's been too long, Komodo."

"Likewise, Jackal. Where's Ray?"

"He's still in ICU. He had a bit of rougher go at it than I did." Jackal subconsciously scratched the top of his very bald head. "Eh, what are ya gonna do. He'll pull through, I know it."

"I hope so."

"Yeah? Have some faith, will ya." Jackal cocked his head to the side, and fought the urge to grin. "I'm liking the shaggy hair, 'Modo. Though I don't think Jimmy Stewart ever let it get out that far, so the resemblance ain't as good no more."

"Didn't he in Anatomy of a Murder?"

"What? Christ, no. Jimmy never let it grow out. Also, that shit never woulda flown back in the day. They had that Hays Code thing. Can't be unkempt, even if you're a bad man."

"I dunno. He always looked a lot older than he actually was. That's unkempt, right?"

"If you're pickin' nits, maybe. But then again, I guess that gives you another thing in common with him."

"Aw, go to hell, Jackal."

"Already been there." Jackal said, smiling and revealing a missing tooth. "Pretty overrated place."

…

"How are we doing today?"

"Fine, I suppose."

"You're either lying or have a remarkable sense of humor, because you came back in covered in blood Boss." Grey Chameleon said, staring at the leader of the Diamond Dogs that currently sat on the doctor's table. The sight of the legendary soldier's legs dangling over the ledge just like any child was so ridiculous that Chameleon struggled not to laugh.

"I feel like I'm eight while sitting on this thing." Snake said. "Can't we just wrap this up?"

"One minute, Boss." Chameleon said. She looked over her notes, and then gestured for him to take off his shirt. At first, the leader of the Diamond Dogs looked almost belligerent, like a toddler, but eventually did what he was told.

Chameleon tried not to make eye contact, because if she did she was going to blush. The Boss was in phenomenal shape, especially for a man of his age. But then she blinked, and noted with a degree of shock the sheer number of scars and callouses that covered his chest and upper arms. He certainly looked the part of a career soldier. And he carried the signs in more places than one.

Just as the nasty discoloration on his left shoulder.

"Boss, can you raise your arm up in the air for me, please?"

Snake rolled his eye, and was about to do so…but then slowed down, wincing heavily. Grey Chameleon narrowed her eyes.

"Do you mind if I test that joint, Boss?"

"Go ahead, but it will be fine."

A few moments later, and it was clear that this was not the case.

"Goodness, Boss. That's a separated shoulder, alright. When do you think this happened?"

Snake was quiet. He looked like he was having trouble with the question.

"You don't remember?"

"…It might have been a few months ago that I started feeling pain. It was in a hospital."

"And you waited until just now to get it checked?"

"It wasn't affecting my performance."

Chameleon decided to dispense with politeness and formality for her boss and staright-up facepalmed. She looked at him and saw that there was a slightly amused look on his face.

"Well, it would have when you went to fire a rifle and the recoil would have jarred your AC joint and torn something. Then you might have had some trouble." Chameleon said. "We're gonna have to run some tests on the joint and…" She took a deep breath. "…I'm putting a moratorium on you doing field work for at least a week."

Snake blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

"Doctor's orders."

She said those words like they were a death knell. Judging the expression on his face, it was clear that he treated them as such.

…

"Permission to speak, Captain Badger?"

"Permission granted, Wounded Fox."

"I'm just wondering, ma'am, if you will, the necessity of this."

"What is there to wonder about?"

"Well, it's just…" Fox looked down at the choppy waters below them. "I was never the best at these sorts of jumps." The steady roar of the helicopter blades above them made it hard to hear, and he was thankful for the headset microphones in their helmets that made it easier to talk. Badger grinned, revealing the gold-capped tooth near the back of her mouth.

"Oh, sweetie? There nothing to a HALO jump!" Badger said, staring down at Mother Base below them. They were at least a few thousand feet up in the air, and it was enough to make the few trainees in the helicopter rather uncomfortable. All except for Badger, who seemed positively giddy at the thought of it all. "Besides, don't be a little pisser. A real HALO jump might take place at double the height of this. This is just training."

"So, uh, what's the standard procedure?" Fox asked.

"You jump out, and then pull the chute!" Badger said. "If it doesn't work, then go to the reserve chute you carry."

"…And what if that doesn't work?"

"Then I guess it's curtains!" Badger said. The others couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "Alright, Fox, you're up first!"

Slowly, the Philly native made his hesitant way to the opening of the helicopter. He grabbed the edges of the open doorway, and looked down into the watery abyss below. He looked up, and saw that there were a few other helicopters in the distance, aimlessly circling Mother Base. All were doing the same drill that they were; they were just far enough away where there wouldn't be any entanglement accidents. Somehow he wasn't comforted.

He paused.

"Jump, son!" He heard Badger shout. She was totally into this, with a big smile on his face.

"Wait! What if I mess up?"

"You won't!"

"What if the line comes loose?"

"It won't!"

"What if AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…"

She watched him fall down towards the ground, getting smaller and smaller by the second. But then she felt herself release her held breath when the parachute deployed properly, followed by the sounds of the ecstatic screaming in her ears about whether he could do it again. Laughing, Badger turned towards the next person in line.

"Thanks again for that, Bear."

"Of course, Sister Badger. He was taking too long."

…

"You're pulling him off duty?"

Chameleon winced badly. She had seen that Commander Miller could be brusque at best and downright curmudgeonly at worst, but this was the angriest that she'd ever seen him. And worse, he was directing his rage at her. She debated closing her eyes and waiting for the storm to blow over.

"His shoulder is near-completely wrecked." She said. "If he keeps going, he runs the risk of seriously injuring it and requiring surgery. And who knows how long that would keep him out of commission."

"Bullshit, I want a second opinion!" Miller snarled.

"Miller, put a sock in it." Ocelot said, a legitimate frown on his face. "You might not know this, considering how often you're cooped up in the Command Platform, but Chameleon here is the best doctor we have on Mother Base. Especially so after the dismissal of her predecessor."

"Ostrich was a skilled doctor, and I don't know why the Boss signed off on his firing!"

"Gee, I dunno." Ocelot said, a snide tone in his words. "Perhaps it had something to do with Komodo Dragon catching him drinking on the job?"

"He was simply stressed out!"

"So is my entire Intel team, and you don't see them imbibing on duty. And before you say a damned word about him, Pequod never drinks on the job."

There was a stressful silence. Chameleon felt herself sinking into the chair: it was like watching two heavyweight prizefighters gearing up for another round, the blood and sweat already pouring off of them. Finally, Ocelot spoke. He was a little gentler this time.

"Miller, what's gotten into you? No offense, but defending Ostrich? That was such a stretch it could have been used for rubber."

"It's just the worst possible timing!" Miller said, slamming the desk in front of him. "Here we are, with that intelligence about the next step of our actions. Here we have a chance to really get a foothold on Cipher after playing catch-up all throughout Afghanistan, and now Snake's body deciding to stop cooperating?"

"Um…should I leave the room?" Chameleon squeaked. "I don't know if I'm privy to this kind of information, am I?"

"Relax, kid. You're fine." Ocelot said. He turned back to Miller. "You know…Snake isn't the only soldier that we keep on base, Miller. Diamond Dogs isn't a one man show."

"But there is no one man or woman that can replace the Boss!" Miller growled. Chameleon noticed that there was a twinge of desperation in his voice. Ocelot just chuckled.

"Then we won't just use one man or woman, will we?"

"What are you suggesting?" Miller asked. Ocelot smiled.

"I'm saying it might be time to see good the Diamond Dogs really are…"

A/N: Just another day in the Seychelles.