Hello, readers. I began this story five years ago. Five years! Do you know how long I've been trying to fix all the messes? Yup, five years. So for a start, I'm going to add the sequel chapters to the first story. Apologies to those of you seeing the message in your inbox again. Have a fine Halo day.
TITLE: Tall Enough For You?
CHAPTER: Prologue
AN: I recently downloaded the still from the end of the game cutscene where Master Chief walked passed Commander Palmer and a few other Spartans IVs. It haunts me. Look at it. It's easy to miss when you watch the vid. Look at that body language. Now, there's a story needs telling.
"What's past is prolog," William Shakespeare. The Tempest, Act 2, Scene I
Through the veil of his grief, he noticed her. She stood straight and tall and watched him as walked by. He counted four other Spartans, but they disappeared in the aura of the warrior woman. Chilled to the bone by the specter of death dogging his steps, she stirred a memory. With her reddish hair and velvet brown eyes, she's the warmth and rustle of fall colors. Her stare penetrated his visor with a piercing blow of something he cannot identify. Exhausted, depleted and vulnerable, he doesn't trust the feeling of weakness it left behind. He must keep moving, push away the pain and banish if from his awareness.
It's her vibrancy that reached out to him and slowed his steps. She leaned toward him alive in every line of her youthful body. She represented life, a spark of life in a universe crowded with war, death, and loss. He returned her searching gaze. For a moment, he wanted to stop and ask, do you know how I can be walking when I am dead? Why am I here, when everything I am is back there, shattered in the explosion of the Didact's ship, floating lost in the debris of Requiem? The place where Cortana's sacrifice extinguished the enduring blue light of my purpose and meaning.
Do you know why Commander? Why is my heart still beating?
In the earnest depth of her eyes, he sees the well-lit path of her glory. His steps take him to the end of his. In truth, his path ended with the words, 'Welcome home, John.' What was home? What did that represent to him? The volatile chill of Cortana's embrace. The quicksilver azure of her intellect and the indigo eyes pinning him to his truth, the mission, and goals. When had he begun to cling to her definition of existence? When had she become his reason to live, to move, to survive?
Do you know the answer, Commander?
With her arms spread and palms forward she responded to the broken warrior with the unexpected need to take action. To stop him. For buried beneath the layers of her Spartan armor beats the heart of a woman. It's the instinct to express the art of healing, to offer succor and relief.
Wait, Master Chief. Let it be me.
His feet stubbornly pushed him forward, and the arm that reached toward her fell back to his side. His long arms continued swinging from his shoulders, and the armored hand that flexed open in response to her gesture closed. The moment, the glance, and the gesture ended as he walked away. The Commander turned back to her Spartans, reminding herself he is unreachable behind the twin barriers of armor and training.
However, their question remained the same, floating in the space between them waiting for the answer.
Are you the one?