A/N: So, Kat and her younger sister catch up on old times. Meanwhile, the other three are having a time of it, trying to find a Warthog...


She hadn't heard that name in years.

The voice, so painfully familiar, brought tears to the cryptanalyst's own eyes as she nodded, stepping forward some more.

"It's me, Danika." she admitted, her words coming out in more of a whoosh of air than a breath.

"I thought you were dead," both women said in unison, which caused them to both release a slightly pained laugh; Kat then did not hesitate to stride forward and sweep her younger sister up and out of her wheelchair in a slightly-too-tight hug – not that either of them cared.

Noble Two released her sister after a few moments in revelling silence, and placed her down again before stepping back, smiling properly for the first time in years. "It's so good to see you. How did you survive? The Covenant – those aliens – they were ... how?"

A rather rueful smile from Danika told the SPARTAN-III half of what she needed to know without even saying anything. "Uncle Dimitri, who else? You remember that I was staying with him to be closer to the hospital and the school, don't you? That and because staying with Aunt Magda – you remember she's a nurse. I guess we were far enough away that when the Covenant attacked the city, we were safe. I haven't been back here since – I had always thought that it hadn't survived."

Here – their childhood home. Where they had grown up together, even though the last couple of years before becoming a SPARTAN was when she saw her sister the least ... after the accident...

Said fact that she was one of those "legendary armoured warriors" must have become painfully obvious when Kat felt her sister's eyes scrutinizing her; most especially her prosthetic arm. Yet when she spoke again, her voice was gentle and not full of pity – more it was curiosity and concern than anything, and that realization alone was what made Kat's heart jolt again...she remembered just how close she had been to her younger sister.

"What...happened, Kat?"

The SPARTAN smiled bitterly and shook her head, barely shifting her shoulders in a shrug. "Long story short, those alien freaks shot at me with a fuel rod cannon. I was too close...got caught in the blast and landed wrong. Busted my arm in at least three places."

"Sorry to hear that," Those words were genuine, and Kat felt an odd warmth beginning to seep into her chest. "You're still...?"

"Ambidextrous? Yes. The prosthetic is combat-rated and field-tested...the UNSC only wanted the best for their soldiers." In one fluid movement, Kat turned into the shadows behind her, unsheathing Carter's knife from where she knew the holster was on his chest piece, and turned back, flipping the knife in her right hand; tossing and catching it easily.

"See, it's no problem." Nonchalant, the cryptanalyst handed the knife back to the Commander, who sheathed it in silence, though she felt his questioning gaze on her.

Her sister must have been able to make out Carter's shadowy form behind her, because she raised an eyebrow knowingly, and asked in a teasing manner, "Who is he, your boyfriend?"

Noble Two froze slightly, the question catching her off-guard. What is a boyfriend? Hm. Better to find out later. Better to act like you understood what she said, though. She gestured for One to step forwards, an amused glint in her eyes. "Pff, more like overprotective guard dog older brother." she retorted, stifling a laugh at the incredulous noise Carter made. She just elbowed him in the ribs, ignoring him when he pointedly cleared his throat.

"Her description is fairly accurate," the darker blue-armoured SPARTAN admitted, his voice coming out clearer as he took off his helmet. "I'm Commander Carter-A259. I would go so far to assume that you're Kat's biological sister?"

"Danika Balmont. Nice to meet someone who can handle my sister's sass." The introduction was polite, bordering on curt, but she stuck out her hand, which the Commander shook.

Six also took off her helmet, and dipped her head in a respectful nod, before stating, "I am Lieutenant Artemis-B312 – and one of your sister's closest friends."

"We both are," Carter butted in, looking slightly affronted, and that drew amused smiles from both Kat and Danika.

"So, I assume then you're all SPARTANs, judging by the oversized suits of armour, the ranks, and the numbers. I thought there weren't many of you left?"

A solemn shadow flitted over the Commander's face, and it was gone again before he spoke. "There aren't," he informed her, voice grave; perhaps even lined with melancholy. "Your sister and us – we're half of the only full team of SPARTAN-IIIs left. And technically, we aren't supposed to exist, unlike the Master Chief and those of his generation...but..." He shrugged. "It no longer matters."

"I am sorry to hear that. There aren't enough heroes like you out there – and I don't mean to sound like most civilians, nor do I mean to over glorify you – and we, the general population, need people like you, whether we realize it or not. Whether we want you protecting us or not." Kat wondered just what her sister had gone through to cause her to be so ... sombre ... and she remembered that Danika had been through war just as the cryptanalyst had – this was what it was like for the civilians.

"For the longest time, I did wonder how the SPARTANs got so good at what they did – but no longer. ONI showed me enough ... that's a story for another day." Danika's mood changed from sober to cheerful in the blink of an eye, and she inquired, "Kat, surely you remember our old hangouts? I think it's time we paid them a visit, don't you?"

Noble Two simply smirked in response.


"Remind me again why I have to use a SAW instead of my machine gun?" Jorge was quite obviously lamenting the fact that he had to use an M739 Squad Automated Weapon – or SAW – instead of his more-favoured M247H Heavy Machine Gun, which he'd named Etilka; "noble" in Hungarian. He also was not wearing his Mark IV/LBE-A Field Case; he was now quite able to keep up with, if not outpace, his SPARTAN-III teammates, unless they utilized their sprint modules.

Of course, it wasn't like the big man to complain, but Jun figured he just missed his gun, and felt pretty naked without it – he felt the same way since he had to use a DMR instead of his sniper rifle. Though the DMR had a scope, it didn't have the same zoom capabilities as the sniper, and he missed the way the sniper's rounds would crack through the air before splattering the brains of the enemies on the wall. Not that he was bloodthirsty, mind you, but he always admired the handiwork of a good battle against the Covenant. They all did, really.

"Because," he explained calmly, "Just as I'm not allowed to use my sniper rifle, and just as Emile mustn't unsheathe his kukri knife, you cannot use your machine gun because we're amongst civilians. And I know that you've carried your gun amongst civilians before – but we've got no intel on civilian life here, and therefore we need to be as inconspicuous as a group of armed and armoured SPARTANs can be."

"What wouldn't I give to stick my knife in something right about now," Emile muttered sulkily, shaking his skull-visored head. "How much further are we gonna walk? I'm sick of hoofing it."

"The moment we find a Warthog. Since you've done nothing but point out each and every individual Mongoose you've seen, which isn't any use because it's better we use the one vehicle." Jorge said curtly, locking the SAW onto his back. "And so far, since there's no 'Hogs about, then we keep walking until we find one. So shut your mouth and put up with it before I tape it shut."

The Warrant Officer was silent for a few moments, before asking, "...You have tape stored in your armour? Man, who even does that?"

Jorge just shrugged. "Never know when you might need to tape something together. That, and it's useful for silencing lesser-ranking operatives who don't know how to keep their mouths shut."

Thankfully his threat worked – either that, or the other man had nothing else to say – because Emile fell silent, and instead swept the area with his shotgun at the ready.

"So, I'm curious...fill me in on how you two managed to survive near-death situations. Oh, and explain to me just how the Commander managed to survive the destruction of his Pelican after ramming it into a Scarab." This time, Jun was the one to break the silence – only it wasn't with meaningless, idle conversation, or complaints.

He was genuinely interested to know how the hell Jorge had survived the destruction of not one, but two Covenant vessels, and all the radiation from the explosion. And he wanted to know what had happened to Emile, Carter, and Six after he'd been split up from the three and tasked with defending Dr. Halsey with the assistance of an injured Kat.

"I honestly have no idea how I survived," again, Jorge shrugged his broad shoulders. "One minute I'm floating about in space – I had put my helmet back on at that point, because I figured if I was alive, I might as well try to stay that way – and the next, all I can see is this bright light, and a Pelican is picking me up. Took me to a frigate that was headed to Reach, and then kindly dropped me off at CASTLE Base."

"Lucky break," Jun remarked, shaking his head. It seemed that the sheer tenacity of being a SPARTAN-II was what had saved the Chief Warrant Officer. Either that, or just an uncanny lot of luck, purely well-timed.

Emile was unusually sombre when he gave his own response as to what had happened to him and the Commander during their mission to get the fragment of an AI to the Pillar of Autumn before it fled the planet. "Lemme tell you, it's not something that I'm willingly repeating here. I mean...I don't think I'd ever want to relive that day." He shook his head, and carried on, "I have never seen Carter get as low as he did. It was like he was just...like he was a... spooked Marine, rather than a SPARTAN-III and leader of a team."

Jorge rubbed his stubble thoughtfully, and then came up with the conclusion that, "So he's not tired, he's emotionally drained. But he doesn't understand that, and he thinks he's tired, when he's really not."

"That does make a decent amount of sense," Jun agreed quietly, shaking his head. "Too bad there isn't anything we can do to help. He'll just have to figure it out on his own."

"But we can, actually," the Chief Warrant Officer said firmly, and the look in his eyes meant that he would not allow anyone to argue.

"How?" Emile and Jun asked at the same time.

"All we have to do is take some of the burdens of leadership off his shoulders. But subtly, so that he doesn't notice. Trust me, I've done it before. He can't manage on his own – no man can." the SPARTAN-II explained. "It's not that difficult, and we owe the man that much, at least."

"S'pose I can't argue with that logic, and y'all know that I love to argue." Emile was still unusually solemn. Perhaps what he had seen of the Commander's behaviour had disturbed him; maybe it even sobered him, changed him.

"That's the spirit," the heavy weapons specialist said rather cheerfully, clapping the assault specialist on the shoulder so hard that he actually stumbled, glaring at his companion even though he couldn't see that underneath the visor.

"Do that again, and there won't be any more niceness from me," he said grumpily, swatting at Jorge's shoulder. "'Cause that was me being nice, if you hadn't noticed."

"We have just plainly strayed from the topic." Jun pointed out, and Emile tossed his head and rolled his eyes, jabbing a thumb in the SPARTAN-II's direction.

"Blame him. You know we always clash on our views. If you'd like, I can get us back on-topic by explaining what happened...?"

"By all means, do," the sniper said dryly. "Your constant arguing is getting a little tedious...need something else to think and talk about."


UNSC shipbreaking yard, Asźod, August 30th, 2552

"This is nuts," Emile declared, holstering his shotgun and glancing about him. "I mean, how are we supposed to get off-planet anyway? Board a Covenant vessel and kill everyone aboard and use that? I don't think so." He looked over at Carter, who was slumped in a corner, gripping his Magnum a little too weakly.

The Commander, for his part, had been oddly quiet thus far, not offering much insight into any questions that the Warrant Officer had raised. And that wasn't good news. It either meant that he was more injured than he was letting on, or something had bothered him psychologically. Emile certainly hoped it wasn't the latter. Injuries he could deal with just fine, but problems with someone's head?

So not his forté.

"Look, man, are you gonna like, say anything? Your silence is kinda disturbing." Emile crouched down in front of the other SPARTAN, tapping his shoulder. "You're still alive, right? I mean I can see you breathing and all but you're so quiet you might as well be dead." A stupid, dry quip always worked...right?

Nope, still nothing. Those blue eyes just blinked at him solemnly, the Commander remaining stubbornly silent. What in slipspace was wrong with him?

"Yoo, Commander, you still with me? Are you alright?" Emile snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face.

"I'm fine." Curt, tense, but at least it was something. However, it was also a lie, and that kinda pissed the assault specialist off.

"Like hell you are! You have said hardly a word since Six and I saved your ass – even when I've asked you a question! What's really going on with you? Look, I'm not Kat, and I sure as hell ain't Jorge, but can you at least talk to me? I'm just trying to help!" Emile exclaimed, an undercurrent of anger mixed with concern in his tone.

"Do you really think this is worth it?"

"This what?" That question caught him off-guard.

"All of this – any of it?" A bitter laugh followed, Carter shaking his head. "Look around you. Reach is lost to us. Humanity's going to be destroyed. And yet why do we continue to fight for a cause that's pretty much as worthless as a DMR with no ammo."

Okayyy, definitely messed up in the head then. It was pretty hard not to think it was something else – especially not given the look in the Commander's eyes. He thought that they couldn't win this war. And that was saying something. Sure, they'd just lost humanity's primary military stronghold, and a number of SPARTANs – both Model II and Model III – but the Covenant hadn't exactly reached Earth. Only then would they have been well and truly screwed. So it didn't make sense for Carter to be so...unhopeful. What had changed him?

What was going on inside his head?

That did it. Emile pulled off his helmet, tossing it aside, and glared at his teammate with piercing green eyes. "Seriously, if I could punch some sense into you right now, I would. But since you're injured, then I'll be nice and not lay a finger on you. Come on man, what the fuck is wrong with you? You've never been this downbeat – not even after we lost Thom. You still held hope that we could win this war, even if yet another highly-skilled SPARTAN had just died trying to fight for something that we thought we were losing."

The older SPARTAN glanced down, staring unseeingly at the Magnum that was clutched limply in his gauntleted hands. "I guess I just...I've lost the heart to fight," he admitted quietly, and Emile could have sworn he heard the other man sniff. "Do you really think that we'd wind up making much difference in the end now that Reach is gone – plus the countless other colonies we've lost? Not to mention the fact that I don't think there's enough of us left to make a difference even if we tried our hardest. All those good men and women we've lost...and all of the SPARTANs."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, man," Emile slid down the wall to sit beside his teammate, nudging his shoulder with his own. "I mean sure, things look bleak as hell, but at least we're all alive. I mean, imagine if any more members of Noble Team were lost. We'd have to rebuild ourselves, as well as help rebuild humanity – that's more my concern, really. The rebuilding. Always the hardest part. Because it means moving on. Letting go. And it's...it's hard. But we'll get there. I mean, us humans are tough and determined. Always have been. Why would that change now? Yeah, we're losing. But we haven't lost. And we won't, if we try hard enough. You just gotta... keep your head held high, and your priorities straight."

"You sound very philosophical," Carter remarked, and Emile snorted derisively, shaking his head.

"Nah, maybe Jorge's finally rubbing off on me. That, or maybe my near-death experience changed my outlook on life a little."

"Probably more logical," the older SPARTAN agreed, and he must have been holding himself upright, because he suddenly began to lean to one side; his strength was running out.

"Whoa there," Emile pulled the other soldier upright, and put an arm under his shoulders to support him. "Can't have you passing out on me, boss. Just gotta hold on for a little longer, alright? Then we'll get a medic to see to you and get the hell outta dodge."