This is mostly based off of the games, because I haven't read the books. My knowledge of the Halo-verse is pretty limited, so bear with me. If there are any factual errors, I apologize.

I do not own nor am I in any way affiliated with Halo. I write for the experience and for the fun. Please enjoy!

John's mind raced back to his days of training. Silas-288 was someone, as a child, he despised. Faster, stronger and extremely aggressive. John could remember grappling with the boy more than once, and he was much younger. But he respected Silas. Although not part of his squad, his encounters with Silas were numerous. He was an incredible sniper with a good sense of hand to hand combat. They last parted ways four years ago. Silas had said something John could never forget. Though they had been trained, tested, and perhaps brainwashed to be a weapon and a machine, Silas had said, with utmost certainty, "When this is all over, I want to see my family." John had never considered this idea. It was made clear they were not allowed to make contact. They were dead. Their parents, friends, siblings. They had been lied to, their fake versions dying of natural causes. If John had gone back, it would be truly horrible. But Silas had said it with such conviction, it had planted something inside of him. The idea that he might be more than a machine. And Cortana had watered it. Over the years the concept had become increasingly more real to him.

"You knew him?" Charlotte's voice was stern and curious all at once. John ignored her, letting each and every memory shatter. Silas was a good... man. His hand tightened around the pad in his hand and he finally raised his eyes to hers.

"No." John moved to leave the kitchen, she stood in his way.

"Why were you asking about him then?" Her tone was tense and angry. John immediately felt her aggression in waves.

"Move," he said sternly, moving a foot closer to loom before her. She refused to budge. It was like a flea commanding a wolfhoud.

"Tell me how you know my brother," she said heatedly, John merely pushed her aside with ease, her shoes scraping on the wood floor. She grabbed his wrist, which she immediately knew was a poor decision. John's hand had flipped, almost instantaneously, smooth and calculated like a art. His hand was now gripping her wrist, slowly crushing her tendon without even knowing it. He had begun to move his other hand, to land a hit in the crook of her arm, but he stopped himself. Instead he merely held onto her wrist and forced her to make eye contact with his steely blue pools.

"This conversation, is over."

"Fine!" she shouted, louder than he had anticipated. He still held onto her tiny wrist. She ripped it from his grasp and quickly clutched it with her other hand. John felt remorseful for all of three seconds, and started for the door. She padded after him. "Give me back my data pad," she said, make a snatch for it. He held it just out of her reach.

"This does not belong to you. I am going to have it destroyed."

"No!" She jumped for it, but missed. The next few moments were spent with her pounding into him with much effort as he attempted to push past her without hurting her anymore. Assaulting a woman in her own home was probably not a very good thing for a soldier to be doing. She had landed a punch on his jaw. If he were a dog his hackles would have bristled. She covered her mouth with her hands and backed away.

"You had better-"

Something bright and blinding. A loud screech, the sound of stillness and complete weightlessness. That was all he could remember. Everything was dark and red. His head felt wet, slick with blood. He rolled to his stomach, and pushed off the ground, quickly ducking behind what used to be the dining room table. Charlotte. John's eyes scanned the debris of her house. He spotted her hand peeking from underneath her overturned couch. The idea of being in danger and armorless made him almost nauseous. He proned and slowly inched to the couch, and flipped it. She was alive. But she was bleeding. He reached down, and easily slipped her over his shoulder. She was lighter than an assault rifle for god's sake.

John assessed his damage; minimal. He'd take some shrapnel to the back of his head, but Charlotte seemed to have a larger wound around her right ear. She needed medical attention. He stepped to the large hole in the side of her home and peered out. It was complete chaos. Dropships were scattered as far as he could see. Screaming, gun fire, the familiar cry of an elite. Damn it. What were they doing? They had a treaty. Something was not right. He needed his armor. He knew that without a single doubt. He needed to make his way back to the Infinity and quickly. Carrying a half-concious woman was going to make it all the more difficult. But he couldn't leave her.

As he was stepped out of the house, an distinctive sound filled the air. He pivoted on his heel in the grass to see the unmistakable glint of an energy sword. The elite holding it raised the digits on it's mouth and rolled into a charge at full speed. John set the woman down, and ducked, missed the hot sear of it's blade by inches. He stood to his feet as the warrior spun around in a smooth movement. In swiped broadly, and he caught it's hand, the sword inches from the tip of his nose. He raised his knee and met the crook of the alien's elbow with a crushing blow. The arm snapped in the opposite direction, the sword falling to the ground and closing with a energetic shudder. John reached down, quickly, whipped open the sword, and plunged it between the plating on the monster's neck, puncturing deep tissue. Colored blood sprung from the wound, the animal screeching in pain, cursing him in it's native tongue. It gargled, and fell to the ground with a groan. John knew the sound would attract it's brother's in arms. He picked up Charlotte, quickly and sprinted behind a row of houses adjacent to the park. There was sufficient cover for him, and he kept to the shadows. He had to paused briefly as a pack of bickering grunts trudged through a backyard. He wasn't far from the ship, but he had also run out of cover. He had to improvise.

The Spartan watched as a jackal took pot on someone's balcony, shield-less and carrying a beam rifle. That was going to be problematic. He set Charlotte down, who mumbled and return, but he placed his hand over her mouth. Behind the brush and shed of some poor family's, he looked her dead in the eye and motioned for her to stay. He turned, squatting to leave the cover of the shed. Charlotte grabbed his arm.

"Be careful." He didn't answer, but merely tucked out in one swift movement. Charlotte questioned if he would return as she clutched her ear in her hand.

John's back was flush against the house. He could hear the metallic sound of a grunt approaching. Timing it perfectly, he reached out as it rounded the corner, and brought it to his chest, disconnecting the tube connecting it's mask to the supply of methane on it's back. The animal gasped and fell to the ground. John detached two plasma grenades from it's arsenal, and padded to a tree facing the balcony of the jackal. Like a complete science he flung the sticky grenade towards the jackal, and it stuck to the creature's muzzle. It dropped it's rifle, which clattered to the ground and fired off a powerful beam. It clawed at the grenade, which exploded it a bright blue light, taking most of the jackal's upper body with it.

He retrieved the beam rifle and returned to Charlotte who was sitting on her knees waiting for him patiently. She seemed relieved to see him.

"I didn't know if you were coming back," she sighed with a smile. John glanced at her, emotionless and motioned for her to follow him. He handed her a plasma pistol, which she stared at. He rolled his eyes, pulled it from her hands, and held onto the trigger. Them muzzle of the weapon gleamed bright green for a moment, before dispersing a ball of energy into the side of a house. Charlotte nodded, and took the gun with light fingers, holding it as far away from her as possible. John just shook his head.

The Infinity was less than twenty yards away. They would have to run and gun it. Well, he would, because it was obvious Charlotte had not dabbled much in the use of alien technology.

"Alright, on three," he whispered, his hand clutching her upper arm, ready to shove her into a run.

"Wait!" she said urgently.

"What?" he hissed. She was going to get them both killed.

"I don't understand, why not leave me back there? To die? You don't know me.

"Because it would be wrong."

She accepted his answer without question and he shoved her into a run. She was quite fast. John followed her, raising the rifle to hit an elite. The beam hit true to it's head and it went down like a sack of rocks. Charlotte made no attempt to shoot, but focused on running towards the bay that was now slowly closing.

"John! It's closing!" she practically screamed, pushing herself hard to run. John whipped his head around, and noticed the large doors lifting from the ground. He set his jaw, and crow-hopped into a full on run. As he easily passed Charlotte, he picked her up by the waist and gained momentum like an angry bull. He wasn't sure if they were going to make it.

Just as the doors were closing, he leaped in, dropping the rifle, and tucking Charlotte into a roll. The landing was painful against the catwalk. John laid there for a moment, letting the pain in his neck, back and head subside. He looked down to his right to see Charlotte's small frame curled into his side. Her hands were covering her ears, her eyes shut tightly. He raised a brow at her, and stood to his feet. She didn't move. He squatted down, and lifted one of her hands, which she attempted to resist.

"We're fine," he said gruffling, dropping her hand and standing to his feet. He really needed his armor. He looked down at her as she sat to her knees, wiping blood from her hands on the thighs of her pants. Her hair was matted with blood, eyes red - from crying he assumed. She was not used to the heat of battle, something he favored. He felt sorry for this woman, but he wanted to shake some sense into her. Sitting around whining was not going to make things better. Perhaps he was being a bit too harsh. She did almost die after all. In human terms, that is a pretty traumatic event (although he had faced death countless times and was fine). He reached down, and grabbed her arm, hoisting her to stand on her feet. She didn't looked at him, and crossed her arms. John didn't speak as he climbed the stairs to the bridge. She followed slowly, and he could hear the soft hiccups from her crying. His eyes rolled habitually.

The bridge was void, save for Lasky who was leaned over a map. His fingers were pushed deep into his temples. John cleared his throat. The lanky, hook-nosed officer turned suddenly to face the Spartan, his hand trained over his gun holster.

"Jesus Chief," he whispered, his eyes falling over Charlotte. He furrowed his brows and gave John an odd look. John couldn't distinguish between curiosity of disappointment. "Who is she?" he asked taking a step forward. 117 walked towards the map silently, and looked down at it. The soft glow of information was comforting.

Charlotte felt awkward, so she stepped towards Lasky and offered him a hand to shake, "I am Charlotte Taggart," she said quietly as he accepted her bloody smeared hand.

"Oh... I knew you father." Lasky sighed inwardly, and looked over his shoulder at the tall man void of armor. "He was a great man Miss Taggart."

"He was." Charlotte smiled softly, "And call me Charlie, please." She felt she was intruding. The bridge was a place for important people, which she was not. "Is there someone I can get, uhm, medical attention?"

"Oh, yes, of course. John knows where it is."

"With all due respect-"

"John, the woman is wounded, show her where the medic is."

"Yes sir." John didn't like men in positions of power. Her stiffened his jaw, and walked back to Charlie. He passed her, silently.

"Nice meeting you," she said, waving to Lasky who watched her leave. He gazed after them a moment before returning to his work.