Carvings
Foreword
So I just want to say that a post by metalace223 on the John-117 and Kelly-087 tumblr (I know I was on tumblr… plez don't kill me) page inspired me to write this little fic.
…
The war was over; humanity could finally rebuild and try to recover from a conflict that had claimed countless lives. Well, that was what everyone was trying to tell themselves. A war that dragged on for so many years does not simply end. No, it lingers on, burned in the memories of those who fought in it. This war was far from over. The declaration of the end of hostilities was just a way of saying to the rest of humanity that they were no longer on the edge of extinction.
Looking at the monument, Kelly wanted to believe that the war was over. She wanted it to be so badly. Tomorrow, there were still more battles to be won, more fragments to be cleaned up, but today, she wanted the war to be over. Too many of her friends had died trying to achieve that.
She waited until most had left, and then she began to walk towards the monument. She didn't stride, she just walked wearily, hesitantly. As she stepped onto the platform, she felt the warm salty sea air kiss her skin as the breeze played with her hair. She reached out to the memorial and brushed its smooth surface with her fingers.
Tapped to its surface were the photos of those who fought and died, beneath were the wreaths that were laid their by soldiers and civilians. Above it all though, was the insignia of the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy. It was meant for him, in honour of his service, and his memory.
"Hard to believe he's gone," she remembered hearing Admiral Hood say.
"He's not gone," she whispered to herself.
She would not, could not accept that her best friend was gone. He was still out there, she was sure of it.
They had been together since the beginning. They had fought and bled together, supported each other when no one else could. She wished she could've been there with him, to be at his side at the end.
She wished she could've been there with him, instead of spending the final days of the war trapped in slipspace. Looking down on the wreaths, she leaned on her palm against the memorial.
"Kelly?" Linda called softly.
"We should've been there, with him."
The Spartans remained silent.
"Fred, pass me your knife," Kelly said, holding out an open palm.
The Lieutenant looked at her and hesitated for a moment, and then he reached into his underarm holster, and gave it to her.
Kelly looked at the matte black blade with a chrome edge, and without hesitation, she dug the point into the monument and carved into its smooth surface.
Neither Linda nor Fred tried to stop her, they probably didn't want to either. They turned away to let her have some semblance of privacy as she continued to pull the knife in downward strokes, covering the wreaths below in grey flakes.
Her heart continued to thump in her chest, the pause between pulses becoming increasingly shorter as the scrapings grew louder. She refused to let the tears sting her eyes, refuse to weep for a friend everyone believed dead. No, he was still alive. He had to be.
117 she etched.
It was jagged, slightly crooked, but it would have to do.
No one dared to call her out on it; they all knew the significance of that number. So they kept quiet. They all knew that she was a Spartan. Looking up to the sky, she knew he was out there, somewhere, alone in some distant corner of the galaxy, maybe settling in for the long nap.
She barely heard the footfalls of the Admiral approaching them as she stared at the number which meant to her far more than that.
"If there's anything I can do, you let me know," Hood offered quietly.
His voice was soft and low, sincere. He didn't have that faux thankful voice that so many people used. He didn't throw himself at them with gratitude. He was respectful, and though he didn't know their grief, he tried to understand.
"We'll find him," Fred said.
"If he's out there," Hood nodded. "We'll find him, and bring him home."
"We'll find him," Kelly said, but she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
…
Afterword
Well… I just made myself sad.
Love it? Hate it? Leave a comment and let me know.