I'm Alone

by AmbroseVox

As the Human-Covenant War rages on, a tight-knit band of marines find themselves fighting side by side the dedicated crew of the super heavy cruiser UNSC I'm Alone, but the ship's commanding officer shares a bond of fury and anguish against one of the marines, which will ignite a personal conflict that could divide the titanium world they live in and last throughout the war.

38. Chapter 38: Knee Socks, Part Two

Chapter 38: Knee Socks, Part Two

---

When Jasmine woke up, she found that Frost was absent from her bed. His crutch was leaning against the wall beside the stand. Black boots sat side by side at the desk chair, and his shirt was draped over the back. Water was running in the bathroom. As she swung her slender legs out and sat up, the door opened and Frost limped out. He wore only his camouflage pants; his light brown hair was still wet from the shower and was messy. It grew so fast. His dog tags jingled with each step he took, the two metal discs nestled in the sheen of hair on his semi-broad chest. A trail of hair ran down from his chest, all the way down to his belt buckle. All over his torso were black lines-the stitches from where the shrapnel had penetrated. Beside them were older scars, some very faded. Jasmine winced; she could feel a miniature wave of pain wash over each tiny spot she saw. A few moments of hushed, deep breathing and focus brought her back.

Frost flashed her a very pleasant smile, far different from the usual curl his lips too, and held his toothbrush in the air for a moment.

"Morning," he garbled.

"Morning," Jasmine yawned, averting her eyes, hoping to conceal her blush. "What time is it?"

"Oh-nine-thirty," he mumbled. He limped back into the bathroom, spit, rinsed, and began filling the sink with hot water. Steam began to rise as it grew fuller. He splashed some on his neck and upper lip. After turning off the faucet, he applied shaving cream to his neck, to the same spots. The rest of his beard, which only descended slightly onto his neck, remained untouched. Slowly, he brought the razor down his lip in short, vertical swipes, and once it was bare, he doused the razor in the water. Then, he began scraping it down his neck. It was quiet in the room and Jasmine could hear the dull scratch of the metal on his skin. Some of the shaving cream had been lathered quite thick, and some dripped from the razor into his chest hair. Some water from his neck had been seeping down, so a few, solitary white streams traveled down his chest and stomach. Jasmine watched. And watched. "When's your shift at the med bay start?" he asked. He didn't seem to notice her staring.

"Administrative duty for me today. No surgery, unless there's an emergency," Jasmine said, finally looking away. "Where are all your bandages?"

"Took'em off," he answered. Having finished, he drained the sink, splashed cold water on his lip and neck, then splashed the stream into the sink to wash the little hairs down. When he was done, he took a spare towel and wiped his face, chest, and stomach. He had shaved his beard so that it was hugging his jawline a little more closely. It still maintained a jagged shape, not an even strap.

"Nathaniel..."

"What? The stitches are holding up just fine. The hot water didn't bother me at all. Those meds you gave me are much better than the morphine, I don't feel like crud."

"Is it too much to ask that you continue resting?"

"Holed up in here?" Frost frowned. "By myself?"

"I can work from here. I have a terminal right there," Jasmine said, waving a hand towards her desk.

"I need to get up and move around, Jas. I have to draw up my list of candidates for the Raiders and go speak to them. I can't sit around doing nothing at all."

"Why don't I come with you then and help? I can do most of my work from my data pad in between interviews. I can take notes and help keep track of who we need next."

Frost smiled.

"I'd like that."

Jasmine smiled back. His smile, which always possessed a certain sadness, seemed so much warmer. Maybe it was the lack of a mustache, she joked to herself.

"I'll go freshen up, we'll grab some chow, and then we'll start seeing who's raider material," Jasmine said enthusiastically. Frost chuckled as she went into the bathroom.

Last night had been one of the best in a long time. She hadn't slept so soundly in all her life. All her life she had never felt afraid when she had closed her eyes and pulled the sheets up. Monsters under the bed or in the closet were never imaginings that never bothered her. Darkness never made her wary either. Shadows or dark corners lacked the menacing facade many others feared. Yet in his arms she had felt a certain safety she had never known before. Already, she yearned for it again. Quite frankly, she hadn't wanted either of them to get out of bed. But being able to spend an entire day together was a fine idea to her. In the eyes of many, she and Frost were inseparable. Despite such rumors, it wasn't as it seemed. In the few months they had known one another, they had many occasions to share each other's company. Those moments had often been fleeting, no matter the depth their conversations reached. Convicted as ever, Jasmine still believed that time well spent was more important than how much time was spent together. Even so, she was excited to be by his side for the day. She hoped he was too.

---

Frost was sitting at the edge of the bed with a pad of paper and a pencil beside him. While Jasmine had showered, he had figured out what kind of specialists he would need for the unit and the best men for the jobs.

He slipped on a t-shirt and then his overshirt. It was form-fitting and comfortable, although he kept the zipper unzipped. It only went to around his sternum and only reveal the shirt underneath. Taking a few moments to change the bulge of white bandages wrapped around his middle finger-or rather what was left of it-he found it to be quite grisly. Already, he could hear some smart-ass remarks from fellow Marines as he walked through the hall. Hopefully, none would be too embarrassing.

Walking the ship with Jasmine would be refreshing. It had been some time since they had walked its seemingly ever stretching halls and corridors. Going over and getting his boots, he plopped back down on the edge of the bed and slipped both on. Just then, Jasmine appeared from the bathroom. She was wearing a fresh tank top and nothing below the waist except for a pair of underwear. Her dog tags disappeared beneath her tank top, and her dark hair, which was starting to grow back a little, was messy. Staring was impolite, he had been taught. But he couldn't help it. Jasmine didn't quite have an hourglass shape. Her upper body and middle appeared to be, but her hips were wider than they appeared when she was dressed, giving her a slightly more pear shape. A birthmark, just a tiny splotch of light brown, marked the upper part of her right thigh.

When she looked over at him, Frost wasn't quick enough to look away. If she had noticed, she was too good natured to say anything. She pointed at his untied boot.

"No, let me tie them. I don't want you to put weight on your leg by bending over."

"Huh? Oh, my boots. It's alright, I've-"

Jasmine wouldn't hear it. She crouched down on one knee and began lacing them up. Frost couldn't help but look down and felt embarrassed and intrusive. Her tank top wasn't that tight, and much of her breasts were exposed. He remembered seeing them bare when he patched her up during the Battle of Camp Havens. Even then, he had been thoroughly bashful. He looked only for a few moments before staring at the wall, red and embarrassed.

"I don't mind."

"Hm?"

"I don't mind that you look," Jasmine said sweetly as she finished and stood up. Frost didn't know what to say, so he stood up awkwardly, stuffing the pad of paper into his pocket, tucking the pencil behind his ear, grabbed his crutch, and was out the door.

"I'll give you some privacy while you change," he blurted.

Jasmine didn't take long. She popped her head out, dressed in her usual attire save for the lab coat.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked with a smile. Frost shrugged. She motioned for him to come back in. When the door shut, she handed him his NCO soft cover. Frost held the hat in his hands for a moment, turning it around a few times. "Something wrong?"

"Always hoped I wouldn't have to put one of these on."

"Don't you want to be in command of the unit?"

"Well, at first I had pictured that one of the officers from my company could do it. Lieutenant Conroy has been my commander since we left Earth, and he's never steered us the wrong way. I thought he could be in charge and I'd be his second in command. That was fine by me. Leading a squad is enough pressure. Now I'll have fifteen, twenty soldiers-friends-to take care of. I don't know what to make of it."

Jasmine smile softly.

"Tell me, why do you want this unit?"

"It's complicated," Frost answered after a moment's hesitation. "I'm a soldier. When I'm given a mission, I do my best to carry it out. I believe a raider unit can not only further complete our objectives but save lives."

"Save lives?"

"By hitting the Covenant's forward infrastructure from orbit and on the ground, we'll make them a less effective fighting force. Which means we can get the upperhand. And..." he stopped himself. "...this may sound crazy, but..."

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his eyes darting away. Jasmine put a hand on his arm.

"Go on."

"Well, I want to engage the Covenant on my terms. I think the more we can fight on our terms, eliminate variables, constrict their agency, the better our chances at success and survival. I know keeping my people on the offense will put'em at risk, I know that, but I think if we keep fighting, we'll stay sharp, stay focused, and that'll make us more effective. That's sort of how the entire 89th operates; we remain aggressive and engaged. We're not afraid to go toe-to-toe with the Covvies. In a strange way, our aggressiveness is our shield."

Frost ran a hand through his hair. "I just worry that this strategy will get them killed all the same."

Jasmine thought for a moment.

"When I watch the Marines board the Pelicans, watch the pilots lift off, I get a sinking feeling in my gut. I know some of our people are going to die. Others will come back, wounded. I fear for them, and I hope that everyone will come back in one piece. But I know that's wishful thinking. So I make myself accept reality: that casualties are inevitable. After a battle, when I walk into the medical bay, I sometimes wonder how I can help all of the wounded. All the screaming, all the blood. And the looks on their faces: hollowed, terrified, pained. When they see me, they don't say anything. But their eyes show it; they're begging me to save them. Stop the pain, bind their wounds. How can I save everybody?" She shrugged a little. "And then I do what I can. That's all we really can do in the end. You have to get over that nagging question and just do anything and everything you possibly can. If you can manage that, you can do it again. And again. A thousand times over, until you don't have to anymore."

As she spoke, with that tender smile of hers, those rich eyes seeing something else altogether, Frost couldn't have found her more beautiful. Every word resounded with him and struck him in a way that made him want to reach out and embrace her. She had the right of it, and as he looked down at the hat in his hands, it suddenly didn't seem so daunting anymore.

Fixing the cap, he slowly put it on, adjusting it.

"How do I look?" he asked. Jasmine smiled.

"Very handsome."

###

Sergeant Borko, or as Frost had labeled him in so many ways, 'that damnable scrawny goulah-sucking Croat,' was the first name on their list. Frost explained that while he needed someone for demolitions, he also needed someone for basic engineering. Maddox served as an in between, but having all three would make the unit more flexible. It wasn't so much as a vetting process as letting the young engineer know he was going to be a Raider.

Jasmine had heard the name Borko back during the battle but hadn't paid too much attention to him. He was a slim, short man with hair the color of wet sand and stubble coating his cheeks. He had a big smile and warm brown eyes.

"Jacky Ripper!" he greeted as they approached him in the Weaponsmith. "You cheat death once more!"

Borko embraced Frost warmly, then reached over and held up his left hand. "Oh, brudda, they took the hole-fuckin' finger."

"Yeah, the whole finger," Frost chuckled.

"No, no, the hole fucking finger," Borko repeated, grinning from ear to ear as he made a circle with his thumb and index finger, and slid his other middle finger in and out of it. Realization, indignation, and agitation flashed across Frost's face. He gave him a rough shove with one hand, enough to make Borko stumble back several steps as he howled with laughter.

"Very funny..."

"Ah, I been waitin' to try that," he looked at Jasmine, then at Frost, then back to Jasmine. "I'd make more but then I think you'd hit me real hard. Maybe even kill poor me, you syrup-slurping, tree-hugging, frozen bastard."

"Listen you beachcombing, tripe-munching little runt," Frost said, putting his right arm around Borko's shoulder, grinning like a wolf. Jasmine was surprised to hear such an insult but Borko only tittered. "I'm putting together a special unit. Marine Raiders, light infantry who deploy fast, cause a lot of damage, steal some Covenant goodies, and exfil just as quickly. I'm in need of a good engineer, someone who can get us through tough obstacles, whether it be a Covenant roadblock or a shield wall."

"Raiders, eh? Sounds like fun. Been brushing up with Covenant tech since we captured all that material. Got to see what makes those Phantoms tick."

"Good. We'll need that knowledge going on these raids. So you're in?"

"I am. Does this mean I room with you now?"

"Uh, no. The way I'd like to see it is that we can form whenever necessary for raiding or other operations. If the unit isn't needed, we'll still bunk and fight conventionally with our original units within the 89th during a general battle. That is unless of course they legitimize and re-introduce the unit. Then we'll bunk together."

Borko shrugged.

"You smell anyways. Like women's shampoo. I wonder why that is," Borko tapped his chin, pretending to think. Frost gave him a bit of a shove.

"Alright, make yourself scarce. I don't want your fishy breath in my face any longer. And when the time comes for a raid, you better get your ass over to the hanger, pronto."

"Forever at your service, Jacky Ripper," Borko said, hopping up on a nearby crate and taking a sweeping bow. Frost rolled his eyes and walked off. Jasmine checked a box beside the name in a special document she had made on her data pad.

"He's quite the character," she remarked, walking beside him.

"You'll get sick of him soon enough," Frost muttered, "he thought it was a funny prank to roll training grenades across the floor of our barracks back during basic. He's been promoted and demoted so many times they ought to just put a zipper on his stripes."

"You're rather mean to him. Have you got something against Croatians?"

"Of course not. We've always talked like that."

"You Marines are strange," Jasmine murmured after a beat. That made Frost chuckle.

"Comes with the job!"

"Oh, Jacky!" Borko leaped from the crate and slid up to them. "You need a demolitions expert, yes?"

"Yes."

"I know which one you need, come."

Frost and Jasmine followed an eager Borko into another part of the Weaponsmith. They passed the 'smiths,' tinkering with rifles, rocket launchers, pistols, shotguns, and more. Others operated on explosives. Jasmine had never really taken the time to explore the facilities within the armory. Weapon grease, oily metal, spray paint, and other smells bombarded her nostrils. Men spoke with vulgar language and about crude topics. A few pinups and cut outs from dirty magazines had been hung on the walls. Men walked around without shirts or in tank tops, smoking cigarettes around high explosives. If Frost hadn't ushered her on, she would plucked each one from their lips and disposed of them...somewhere. Where did all of the cigarette butts these men smoked go, she wondered.

As they approached one group, Frost made an approving sound.

"We'll be talking to Gabe now," he said.

"Gabe?"

"He's one of our best demo experts in the 89th," Frost explained. "I should have thought of him."

Gabe was from Andorra, one of the smallest countries in Europe, between northeastern Spain and southwestern France. Although, as Jasmine found out, he had emigrated to Mexico with his parents when he was very young. He had jet black hair that was trimmed close to his scalp and a clean shaven, full face. He was of average height and possessed a medium build. His dark eyes were warm and friendly, and he had a reserved smile.

Frost and Gabe gave each other a one-armed hug.

"How are you, Gunny?" he asked.

"Holding up just fine. Doc Ebrahimi put me back together again."

"With the way you fight, she's gonna be patching you back together on a regular basis. You'll be a regular Frankenstein, won't you? Stitches and all." Gabe said, poking him in the chest. He turned to Jasmine. "This man has gotten into some of the worst firefights we've ever seen. Used every weapon he's had at his disposal, right down to those fangs of his."

Jasmine blinked, finding the thought of Frost getting wounded as well as him using his teeth in combat to be equally disturbing. Frost cleared his throat and explained his intentions with the unit. Time seemed interested, nodding, arms akimbo.

He tapped his foot a bit. "High risk, don't you think?"

"Our entire unit has been on high risk operations before, Gabe. Nothing more aggressive than usual, really."

"Lotta opportunity to hit Covvie infrastructure. Wouldn't take more than a few charges of C12 in the right spots to blow up a factory or destroy a ring of defenses. I'm up for it."

The two men shook hands. Jasmine wrote his name down and then checked him off. They were moving right along.

###

Jasmine kept pace with Frost easily despite how fast he walked with the crutch. He seemed to be in a good mood, actually happier than she had ever seen him. Perhaps the activity, the change, was exciting for him. Maybe he was just relieved to be out of bed and eager to move around. When he wasn't wounded, he was usually training; out of the day, he probably only spent a few hours awake in his barracks. Jasmine made a mental note to remind him, once he was off his crutch, to take it easy once he started training again. Any good doctor would have forced him into physical therapy, but it didn't look like he needed any. Even for his hand, but Frost seemed ambidextrous enough. Despite how uncomfortable it made her to cut corners, she understood that constraining the mind and emotions could be just as debilitating as a plasma wound.

The next pair of potential Raiders were the Orlov brothers of Russia. One was named Konstantin and the other Nikodim. To her, those seemed to be profound names. Numerous kings and emperors throughout history had been named Constantine and anyone who was familiar with the Gospel of John knew the name Nicodemus. Frost confirmed her suspicions, although he warned her that she wouldn't find that two of the kingly sort.

Indeed, he was right. Konstantin was a slim man with pale skin and hair the color of hay. His features were very fine and handsome, and he had gentle green eyes and a thin lips that appeared to always be smiling. Nikodim was not as thin, his frame a bit more toned than his brother. His face was broader and he had a very strong jaw, and was missing the very tip of his nose. All the same, he was handsome though not as much as his brother, with cornsilk colored hair and olive eyes.

The two brothers were in one of the far medical bays, entertaining some of the wounded troops. Konstantin was playing an old acoustic guitar while Nikodim sang. Jasmine couldn't understand the words though the tune combined with Nikodim was, as Frost said, characteristically Russian. Both guitar and voice were slow and mournful; Frost explained it was an old soldier's song. One might have guessed that such a song would not have been appropriate to raise the spirits of wounded men. Yet all of the men, confined to their cots, bandaged, broken, torn, listened and watched, a strange sort of contentment evident on their faces. Their eyes were not hollow like many soldiers recovering from wounds. Instead they seemed to glisten and twinkle, as if the song spoke to them. She doubted any of them knew the words but Jasmine realized, as she listened, she didn't need to. Somber words struck her and brought about a feeling that she couldn't name. Instinctively, as the song went on, she reached out and put a hand on Frost's free arm. Instead of letting her hand rest there, Frost took her arm around his, as if he were an old movie star taking a starlet out for dinner. He smiled at her.

"The song's about a soldier who hates what he does, but war always calls him back, and he always answers the call."

Jasmine could tell Frost liked the song.

When it was over, the wounded men around them clapped. Frost stepped forward; Jasmine slipped her arm from his before anyone noticed. It felt silly to be shy about it, like two teenagers who had just started dating in high school. Or at least that's what she imagined looking at all the couples back then, who ended up breaking up a few months later, causing controversy and awe in the student body for about three days. Konstantin stood up and Jasmine realized he was the guitar player that Frost had spoken to in Russian the day he left for the long range mission with Adley.

"Nataniyel'!" he exclaimed, setting his guitar aside. The two embraced. "You look well, soldat."

"I feel well," Frost said. "How're you holding up? How'd you fare in the fighting?"

"Not badly," Nikodim answered, as he clapped a heavy hand on Frost's shoulder. "We stormed a grav-tower and set up our M247 there. When the Covenant retreated, it was like a shooting gallery."

"Stacking'em up?"

"Da."

"I have a proposition for you two," Frost began. He explained the idea of the unit and their activities, then went on to say, "I need a machine gun team. I've already got a heavy weapons specialist, a sniper, a pointman, two combat engineers, a demolitions expert, one radio op, mostly from my squad. Having you two on the M247, being able to cover assaults, guard flanks, and hold strategic points. Generally, you'd add a lot of flexibility and firepower in the field."

The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Should we rock, paper, scissors for who gets to carry the gun?" said Nikodim

"You say it like it's a bad thing. Whoever gets to carry it gets to shoot. I like to shoot," Konstantin said back.

"Which is heavier, the gun, or all the ammunition?"

"It's almost eleven kilos without the tripod, twenty with it."

"Each box has a hundred rounds. We'll need to carry a full rucksack with it all if we want to stay in the fight longer than five minutes..."

"Maybe we oughtn't use boxes. Belts might work better; one of us shoots, the other feeds."

Frost rolled his eyes but he didn't look annoyed with the pair of brothers. Jasmine raised her hand a little.

"Why don't you just switch off every mission?"

The two brothers looked at her, but before they could utter a single word Frost nodded his head."Good. That's settles it." The brothers made dismissive sounds and waved him off, but it all seemed in good fun. Jasmine, smiling, checked their names of the list.

Frost departed with Jasmine, leaving the excited brothers behind to sing and play guitar. This time it was a happier tuned that made the wounded troopers smile and laugh. The sound followed them down the hallway.

"I thought siblings weren't allowed to join the same unit," Jasmine said.

"I know. Hayes somehow bypassed those rules. He has a way of doing that. Maybe it's because of his service record. Prove yourself and the brass gives you a break. I shouldn't be in charge of a unit of this size but Hayes willed it and now, here I am, recruiting Raiders. What Hayes wants, he gets."

"Except your field commission."

"Ha! He'll have to kill me."

Frost now wore a determined grin on his face and his pace quickened. Jasmine was glad to see him happy. His head was high, his cap was on squarely and firmly, and despite his crutch he walked confidently.

---

Langley waited in the hallway as Sánchez stepped out from his barracks. He was clad in his fatigues and seemed to be in a good mood. Sánchez was a bit taller than her, with a standard crew cut and a clean shaven face. His cheeks were a bit on the fuller side, which made him look a bit younger. Whenever he smiled, he revealed the tiny gap between his two front teeth.

"Hey, Nora," he greeted, "what's up?"

Inside his barracks she could hear joking and laughter. She quirked her eyebrow. Sánchez chuckled. "Just a little celebrating. They say I'm a real Marine now." He smelled like cigar smoke and she could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. It was a soldier's way of celebration, she told herself with a little smile.

"Gunny Frost sent me over to talk with you." Langley briefly detailed the purpose of the unofficial raider unit and its planned activities. Aggressiveness, high-risk, quick-deployments; these were the phrases that Frost had told her to use. Sánchez didn't seem entirely thrilled with the idea. Langley expected the veterans Frost was talking to would be more inclined. They had been trained to be hard hitters. Unlike them, she and Sánchez were trained to be riflemen as well as radio operators. Going on commando raids hadn't been a part of their job description. "He wants to have two radio operators; one to coordinate with the fleet and the other to call in close air support."

Of course, the third part of the role was to take the other's place in case one of them was greased during an operation. Whether or not Sánchez understood that by the reluctant expression in her eyes, she wasn't sure.

The pair walked down the hallway for a bit. Sánchez's hands were jammed into his pockets.

"My girlfriend told me before I shipped out not to do anything dangerous," he said with a weak smile. "Dangerous. I'm heading off to war and she tells me not to do anything dangerous? When did people start thinking that war is safe? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was just telling me not to stick my neck out. Of course, that makes you seem like a coward among the company we keep."

"I think it had more to do with us being new to the unit. New blood is never welcomed," Langley said.

"Your squad didn't seem to give you much trouble. You went in and asserted yourself. I've never been able to be like that. I let Nebiyev and the others walk all over me. You didn't see the worst of it. They pissed on my toothbrush, went through my footlocker, filled my boots with...something's shit. And you don't even want to know what they did to the photo of my girlfriend," he grimaced. "And if it wasn't crap like that, they made me do extra...everything during training. Extra target practice, extra PT, extra hand-to-hand training. They wore me out every chance they got because they saw me as a liability. I thought it'd all change after our first battle together, but all they did was get meaner and more distant. Once in awhile they'd give me a smoke or a ration, but that was it. It wasn't until now that they actually smiled at me. Things are finally looking up."

"So you don't want to join? Your technical scores are great, I know that. You'd be great for the unit."

"These ops sound like they could get pretty hairy. My squad finally has my back, for real this time. I know it seems selfish, to focus on my own-"

"Self-preservation isn't selfish," Langley cut him off. "And I assure you, everyone in this unit will have your back, no matter what. And it's not a permanent change. We won't be deployed in a conventional battle unless there's some kind of special op. So, during normal battles, we'll be with our original units, but we'll form up when it's time to go raiding."

Sánchez sighed.

"You sure the people in the unit will have my back?"
"I guarantee it."

The young radio operator looked at his boots for a moment, then looked back up.

"I'll join, but only because of you did for me that day in the mess hall. You stood up for me, and I won't forget that. I'm doing this for you, okay?"

Langley nodded and they shook hands. Then they heard someone clear their throat. Both turned and sat Nebiyev, leaning on his crutch, standing behind them.

"You two, with me, now."

---

In the hanger of the I'm Alone, Jasmine and Frost stood at the rear of the Pelican dubbed 'Triple Seven.' Jasper, the South African pilot, sat on the edge of the blood tray, his hands under his thighs, swinging his legs forward and backwards.

"So, you want my Pelican to be a part of your Raiders? Fly you in and out of the hot zones, hm?" he said, his usual smirk absent and his eyes on the floor.

"I don't want to have a different Pelican crew dropping my team off or picking us up every op. I want somebody I know. We've been through plenty of drops already. And you saved our lives from getting nuked on Ambition. Any crew willing to do that for me and my squad is more than dependable."

Jasper shrugged.

"You're not the only one with people to look after. Isha's got a wife and two kids. And although it might not seem like it, Pajari wants to marry me after the war."

The red-haired Finnish girl, sitting up in the cockpit, leaned into sight with an infuriated expression on her face.

"Only a woman with half a brain and half a heart would marry you, you sleezy son of a bitch. You're as toxic as an oil slick!" With that, she disappeared from sight. Jasper only laughed.

"See? Head over heels in love with me." His chuckle softened. "The three of us have been in this war as long as you have. We've been shot down more than once and seen lots of Pelicans get hit. We have high casualty rates, you know. Seven years, Jack the Ripper, seven years. Going from this hanger down to the surface of a colony is already dangerous enough. Banshees, Seraphs, AA guns, some Grunt with a fuel rod cannon; all of these can knock us out easily. Going on raids, without escorts, puts my crew at an even greater risk. I'm not going to allow the three of us to become another statistic."

He jumped off the edge of the Pelican's blood tray and sighed. "Look, Nate, I appreciate that you think we're the best fit for the job. I just can't say yes."

"Well, I say yes."

All turned; Isha, the crew chief, was standing nearby. "Have you forgotten, Jasper, that this was the man who led the rescue team to find Alvarez?"

"I haven't forgotten," Jasper said quietly.

"This man almost died for her," Isha said, walking over to Frost and putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at him sincerely. "You may not have known, but Alvarez meant a lot to everyone here in the hanger. Even us Pelican jockeys. She was brave and she cared about us. At her previous posting, Alvarez would always divert from combat to protect transports under attack from Covenant aircraft. Sometimes she was all that stood between them and us."

"You served together previously?"

"We did," Isha said, "our posting before this was on the same ship as her. She was a war hero. Alvarez might not be with us anymore, but you and your squad did everything they could to save her. The least we can do is be there for you. So I say yes."

"So do I," Pajari said, who had come from the cockpit and now stood in the rear hatch of the Pelican. "Anything to help bring the fight to the Covenant. Our auto-cannon and rockets can cause a lot of damage."

"We're not a gunship," Jasper said, glaring at her over her shoulder. "I suppose if it's two against one, I'm out-voted."

Shaking his head, he looked at the floor briefly, arms akimbo. After mumbling something to himself, he looked back up at Frost. "You make me a promise, Jack the Ripper. Promise that you won't play with our lives out there."

"I promise. You have my word."

Jasper spit into the palm of his hand and extended his hand. Frost didn't miss a beat, spitting into his own, and shook hands with the pilot.

Jasmine didn't ever think she'd seen two grown men spit shake in her life. She had thought displays of trust like that appeared only in television shows and films. Sometimes, the opposite branches of the UNSC were alien to her. Respect, hate, love, and admiration flourished between them all. What a strange life, they led.

When they parted ways with the Pelican crew, they found themselves being approached by Borko and a very tall chap.

"Hey Jacky, I was thinkin' who else might be worth putting into the Raiders. Macintosh here might be useful."

Macintosh stood at six and a half feet tall, clad in Hellbringer armor, complete with the orange-visored helm. All that was missing was the NA4 and the oxide fuel tank backpack. Hellbringers were a rare sight and Jasmine hadn't known that any were aboard. More than likely, the complement within the 89th had made themselves scarce. Such troops were regarded with a mixture of awe and fear, anyhow.

"Macintosh, good to see you."

"Jack the Ripper," he grunted.

"Interested in joining the Raiders?"

"Yes."

"Right. You're in."

"Hold on a second," Jasmine interrupted. Everyone turned their attention to her. "He wasn't on the list. Furthermore, how effective is a Hellbringer going to be?"

"What would you know about Hellbringers, lieutenant commander Jasmine Cloe Ebrahimi, age twenty-two, height five feet seven inches, weight one hundred-forty-three pounds, boot size seven, glasses for moderate bilateral astigmatism of the eyes, author of several medical textbooks, trained in over a dozen fields of surgery?"

Jasmine blinked. Frost cleared his throat, aggravated.

"That's enough, Macintosh ."

"Wait, how does he know-"

"I can tell," Macintosh grunted.

"He just can," Frost said quietly, "he's done that to me before. It got weird."

"Hellbringers good for clearing out entrenched foes," Borko chimed in, "make good assault troops. He'd be useful in a raid, would he not?"

"He would. You're in Macintosh ."

"Good," the Hellbringer said, and stomped off. Borko leaned over to Jasmine.

"Don't worry, he's actually friendly."

"Borko, seeing as how you want to make yourself useful, go fetch my next couple of candidates: Parker, Mōri, Boulos, Emery, Christianson, and Tholane. Bring them here."

Borko jogged off, happy to be given a task. Frost and Jasmine sat down at a pair of nearby crates. Still overcoming the oddity that was Macintosh , she scrolled through the list, striking the names off. No words were exchanged between the pair. When she looked up at Frost, he was sitting with his legs stretched out, both hands on the crutch, which stood perfectly vertical in between his legs. He seemed a little tired.

She cleared her throat as she began reading down the list.

"Parker...grenadier. Tholane...tech expert. Christianson...tracker. Mōri...designated marksman. Emery...driver. Boulos...corpsman. Hm."

Jasmine remembered when the 89th had finally settled onto the ships she had taken stock of how many had received medical training beyond basic first aid. The UNSCMC still did not supply its own field medics, but the course of the war had made some gears shift. Combat lifesaver courses, an Army device, were now being taught in the Marine Corps. From her study, a few hundred men had completed the course. While not a full-fledged medic or corpsman, Marine combat lifesavers had saved plenty of lives over the past decade.

Looking over the roster of current and selected members of the Raiders unit, she noted that Moser had taken a combat lifesaver course. That was was a definite boon. Langley had received PJ training though had not finished the final specialist course. In her CSV, the only note was an ominous 'training accident,' followed by a demotion and a transfer to communications. Frost had told her that the radio operator was medically knowledgeable but was reluctant to utilize her skills. If push came to shove, Jasmine was confident that Langley would put those skills to use. Still, she wasn't confident in anyone who hadn't finished the entirety of their training.

After reading a bit more, she said, "Do you know Boulos well?"

"Sure do. When the 89th and the other units were created, the Navy participated in the program by selecting members to join the Navy as corpsman who were expected to go green. As a result, we've always had a ready contingent of corpsmen who don't need to be rotated."

"I take it that was another of Hayes' desires?"

"Yes. Trust me, he's a Marine, through and through, but when he designed the Youth Programs he drew on a lot of training and organization from other branches, mostly the Army. I think when in the concept stages for the units he wanted to add a new unit to UNSC Special Forces, to serve along side Force Recon, the ODSTs, and all the Army units under SPECWARCOM. I guess somewhere along the line we were just folded into the Marines." He shrugged. "Now the old man's got his wish-now that we're a part of the Vivian's Pirates, we're a part of NAVSPECWAR."

"Considering your diverse and enhanced training, I would say you're spec ops material," Jasmine said. Frost held his head up a bit higher and smiled, trying not to look prideful. "All the same, you should have at least two corpsmen. One PJ-dropout, a combat lifesaver, and a single corpsman just aren't enough to my liking. What if the corpsman is wounded or killed during a raid, and somebody else suffers a grievous wound the others aren't capable of handling? You'll need another to remain flexible. Please, be realistic about this."

Frost frowned.

"Alright, let me think. Pachis might be-"

"What if I went with you on raids?" Jasmine blurted. Frost's eyes popped and he looked at her, exasperated.

"What!? No way. I can't bring the chief medical officer on a raid. Are you kidding? That's more dangerous than operating a frontline field hospital."

"I've fought with you on the ground before."

"Once," Frost said through gritted teeth. He stood up, putting his weight on the crutch. He pointed at her with his free hand. "What's going to happen if you get wasted on a raid? Hm? How many people are going to die because you aren't around to patch them up?"

Jasmine stood up quickly, her eyes fixated in a seething glare.

"Don't try to pull that on me. You're a squad leader and you constantly throw yourself into the line of fire; if you get killed, how many men will die because you aren't around to lead them?"

Frost's arm dropped and he brought it close to his side, almost defensively. He looked away. Jasmine took a few steps towards him. "You know you have a greater responsibility to your squad, and with the Raiders, you have even more responsibility now than ever before. Why do you go out alone? Why are you so reckless when you have people depending on you? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care!" Frost snapped. "Sometimes all you can do is throw yourself into the line of fire to gain control of the situation. I'm willing to do that, to make that difference, so nobody else has to."

Jasmine and Frost stared hard at one another. Eventually, Jasmine pushed her glasses up her nose and folded her arms across her chest.

"I don't believe you."

Frost quirked an eyebrow. Jasmine shrugged. "That's not the whole story. You fought like a man possessed. Tell me the whole of it."

He said nothing. Jasmine did her best to soften her gaze. "Are you afraid I won't understand? Are you ashamed to tell me?"

"I don't know how to put it into words."

"Try."

"I'm a soldier. I have to fight. I'm good at it. Sometimes when I'm in the thick of it, I just get this weird feeling inside that tells me to keep going." He shrugged. "That's the best way I can describe it. Maybe it's adrenaline." At this, he looked away. "Just makes keep pushing."

It was all he was willing to say, Jasmine thought. She could see it in his eyes. Something more to say, but he couldn't, or wouldn't; she saw something defensive, shameful. Maybe he didn't fully understand himself. Jasmine understood Vivian's frustration then, though she still felt sorry for the man in front of her. Man; he had just turned twenty-two. Hardly a man at all.

Frost put a hand on her shoulder. "I know I go solo sometimes. I can be reckless. But I do it so somebody else won't. If I hesitant, one of my friends will jump up and pull the stunts that-"

"You make a habit of," Jasmine said, unamused. Frost shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah, I know." He straightened up. "If they do what I do, they'll die."

"How are you certain?"

Frost smiled, flashing his missing tooth.

"Because they're not as good as me."

His voice was cloaked with cold, cold confidence. In that moment he was a different man altogether; his gray eyes darkened, he seemed to tower over her, and his features were almost wolfish. Thankfully, it was gone almost as soon as it arrived. Frost smiled as he always did, boyishly, sadly. "Like I said, I want to have control on the battlefield. By being the first one forward, I'll always have control."

"You need to have control of yourself first before you attempt to control a battle," Jasmine reminded him.

"I am in control when I go out there, even if it is reckless."

"Are you?"

He pursed his lips, eyes darting away briefly.

"Of course." Frost's expression softened. "Do you remember when I sat you down during Havens? I put you there so you didn't have to fight, so you could have a chance if the line broke. I fought-"

"So I didn't have to," Jasmine said, remembering, smiling.

"And you couldn't sit there anymore and joined the line," Frost reminded her. "That's what it's like for me. You can't sit around contented with what little agency you have. You-I have to act. I have to. I'd rather it be me than somebody else. Do you see what I mean?"

Jasmine nodded reluctantly. "So you understand me now?"

"Yes, I do. But promise me you won't do things like that anymore. For the sake of your teammates and yourself. You have greater responsibility now, people are depending on you. They'll be there for you, so you need to be there for them. Control yourself."

"I will," he said, and Jasmine believe him. She could hear it in his voice. "I'll do better."

"Thank you."

Frost smiled.

"You're still not coming."

"But-"

"No but's."

"Afraid Vivian will lop your head off if you take me?" Jasmine smirked.

"Pah, she's not strong enough to wield the headsman's axe," Frost boasted. "No, it's not about Waters."

He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I meant what I said the other day. I need you. For this. To kick me in the ass, keep me on the right track."

Jasmine blushed.

"I'd still like to go."

"How about we leave it at 'I'll think about it,' alright?"

---

Langley and Sánchez tailed behind Nebiyev as they entered the hanger. Word had passed along that he was gathering the last of the Raider recruits there. Nebiyev's pace was hampered by his crutch, so they had slowed themselves further to remain behind. Hands in pockets, shoulders stooped, and heads down, Langley could have found their appearance laughable-like a pair of school children behind led to the principal's office for out of hand roughhousing during recess.

She looked at the square shouldered NCO ahead of her. Seeing him, smug and comfortable with his mistreatment of poor Sánchez from two months ago was still with her. Letting go was not one of her strong suits. However, she did not maintain too much ill-will towards him. At least his attitude had changed and he was treating her fellow radio operator like a proper soldier. Pretty soon Sánchez's mild, gentle demeanour would shift and he'd become a whiskey slugging, cuss-slinging jarhead. Well, she wasn't that much different now. Thank goodness normal rotation didn't apply to special units like the 89th; she couldn't imagine traveling with a different band of Marines than the nut jobs she currently resided with.

Frost and Jasmine were by a pile of crates with Boroko and eight other men. The trio stopped and listened.

"Hey Parker, how are you?"

"Just fine. How're you holding up?"

Parker was a tall man from the Midwestern United States. He had dark skin, a crew cut, shining brown eyes, and pronounced cheekbones, hollow cheeks, and a strong chin and jaw. His left earlobe was missing and his overall frame was very slouched. His head seemed to lean to his right.

"Tholane, good to see you."

"You as well." Tholane was a Zulu of South Africa, with a barrel chest and strong arms and legs. He kept his head shaved but wore a thick beard. He had an imposing stance but his face was very kind. Looking at such a strong fellow without knowing him, it would have been a shock to anyone to hear that his speciality resided with computers and other kinds of tech.

"Mōri, what's up?"

"Your second ain't gonna mind an extra shooter, is he?"

"Lotta difference between a sniper and a DM."

"Suppose there is." Mōri hailed from the Hiroshima Prefecture of Japan. He was a slim but fit man, with black hair that was combed very flat although it came up slightly at the front. He had dark brown eyes and fine features. He had a burn scar on the right side of his neck and had his blood type-B positive-tattooed above his right eyebrow. Overall, his demeanour seemed cool and reserved, though his eyes did a great deal of searching.

"Emery, you old redneck piece of white trash. You doing alright?"

"Always nice to see you, you stupid Canuck," Emery answered. Emery was a red-haired tanker of middle height and scrawny shape. He was slouching a bit, though he differed from Parker's demeanour; Parker's stemmed from a innate reserved quality, while the tanker was more laid-back. Emery possessed a shock of red hair, a scraggly red beard, and acne scars on his cheeks.

"My two corpsmen!" Frost said jovially. "Boulos and Pachis the Hoplite!" Boulos was from Saudi Arabia. He had a scar running down his left eye, a thick beard, and trim black hair. Despite the scar he had a very friendly look in his smokey dark eyes and big smile. Among the majority of Marines present, he seemed a few years older than the others. He was of an average height and weight, but his left hand had been replaced with a robotic prosthetic. Beside him was the stern-faced Pachis. Unlike all the rest, he was standing at attention. He was clean shaven, had dark hazel eyes that seemed mean, and a muscular physique. While he was no taller than Frost he was certainly more imposing. His black hair was short and his face lacked emotion.

"The Hoplite?" Jasmine asked, standing behind Frost. Boulos laughed.

"This man here," he said, clapping a hand on Pachis' back, "once fought an Elite one-on-one, using a dead one's energy sword. Lost my hand trying to help him, ha!"

"You defeated an Elite in a sword fight?" Jasmine asked. "That's impressive."

Pachis said nothing. Jasmine seemed to frown.

"I thought hoplites were spearmen. Have I got my history wrong?"

"Hoplites used swords as well, Doctor," Pachis corrected rigidly.

"And last but not least, Christianson. Our tracker."

Christianson was a tall and dark skinned, with tight features, a clear complexion, and a confident expression is brown eyes. His black hair was a bit curly and he had a closely cropped beard. Tall, fit, and rigid in the body. Frost had explained he needed someone like Christianson on the team, someone who was knowledgeable of multiple types of terrain and lead troops along paths seldom used. Having someone with that skillset would give them an advantage on the long march.

The two bumped fists.

"Looking forward to working together, boss," he said, "haven't been able to do some really trackin' and pathfinding since Skopje. Those were the days, huh?"

"Some days indeed," Frost said. "Gonna need those eyes of yours for sure.

Frost, satisfied, took a step back and explained the core idea of the Raiders unit to the assembled party. Langley noticed that his demeanour had changed, his wounded leg and crutch notwithstanding. He was standing a bit taller, projecting his voice father. A new cloak of authority surrounded him. Just guessing, Langley assumed that the small, smiling doctor standing just behind him had something to do with the change. Whatever she had said must have stuck. The radio operator wasn't going to complain. She trusted Frost with her life and now, seeing the unit forming before him, made her confidence soar.

All of the men accepted and Frost, quite contented, let them go. He turned around and whispered something into Jasmine's ear, which made her giggle.

Nebiyev, with a quick motion of his hand, led Langley and Sánchez forward. Frost was surprised to see them.

"Frost, I hear that you want my man Sánchez for your Raiders unit. What makes you think you think you can just take one of my men away whenever you fancy?"

"It's up to him. He's his own man, just like the rest of the 89th."

"I told you Sarge, I want to do this," Sánchez said, quite meekly. Nebiyev turned around.

"Say it like you mean it, kid!"

"I want to be a Raider, Sergeant!" Sánchez answered, loudly.

"That's better." Nebiyev turned around. "Listen to me, Frost. Sánchez ain't like the others around here. You and I, we're stone-cold killers, we've pulled ops like this before. He hasn't and he needs one member of his squad with him to show him the ropes. If he's going, I'm going too."

"Sarge-"

"Shut up."

Frost looked at Jasmine, who scrolled down her data pad.

"Well, you do need another NCO for command purposes."

"Fine then, you're a Raider," Frost said. "I'm not sure when our first op will be. I'll have to determine that with Captain Waters. Once you're able, take Sánchez to the armory and give him the basics." He turned his attention to the radio operator. "It's all about moving fast, being aggressive, and working with your team. You'll pick it up real fast."

Frost glanced at Langley. "I think you'll be just fine, Nora."

Langley could only grin.

---

Happily, Jasmine and Frost decided to head to the mess hall. With the roster completed and it was only after midday, they could now take the rest of the day for themselves. Or so they thought, until Frost stopped in the middle of the hallway. Jasmine stopped and looked at him for a moment.

"Nate? Are you alright?"

Despite his high spirits, she could tell he was already becoming fatigued. A noticeable sheen of sweat was developing on his forehead, his gait had begun to slow. More of his weight was being placed upon the crutch. Everyone knew he was a strong man. But even a man who had received so many wounds, no matter how many he had sustained in his life, tired easily while his body attempted to heal.

"I was just thinking. We've got Tholane to tackle any human tech we come across. Borko's got some experience with Covenant equipment. But we don't have anybody who knows how to work with Covenant technology as a whole. Someone who knows their equipment better than us. We know how to use some of their weapons, the ones we can lift, that is. We've got enough training to run a Ghost. But hacking into a console? Reading their language? None of us are qualified. Without an expert, we could miss out on valuable information or get stalled by some of their equipment."

He scratched the back of his neck. "But we don't have anybody like that on board, do we?"

Jasmine thought for a moment.

"Let's go to the bridge."

###

Jasmine led Frost onto the bridge, where Vivian and her staff were working. Decatur was standing upon his pedestal, turned to face them.

"Ah, Captain Waters. Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi and Gunnery Sergeant Frost have decided to pay us a visit."

Vivian looked over her shoulder, then stood up. She smiled at Jasmine, who saluted along with Frost.

"No need for that, Jas," she said. Her shining emerald eyes glanced to Frost. "Can I help either of you?"

"We've been putting together the Raiders unit the past few hours. We're all done but we've encountered a roadblock." Jasmine explained the situation. Vivian thought about it for a moment.

"We have a science team on board. Reclusive bunch. I haven't had the occasion to really speak with them. I would imagine they'll have some acquainted with Covenant technology. Commander Solak, the bridge is yours."

Vivian walked out, along with Jasmine and Frost in tow. It was only when the trio entered the elevator that Jasmine was aware of the two individual on either side of her. Slowly, she looked to her left. Frost was leaning on his crutch, breathing through his nose a bit heavily, eyes straight ahead. On her right, Vivian was looking down at her data pad, gazing at system readings, diagnostics, maintenance reports, troop numbers, and other various going-ons. Always the professional, with her dirty blonde hair tied into a smart little bun, her posture perfect. But the dark bags under her eyes were telling. What was giving her sleepless nights? Perhaps the man on her side. Stresses of command? Both, most likely.

It seemed as though the elevator's descent would never end. Normally calm and kept, Jasmine felt her eyes darting between the two incessantly. Both officer and Marines stared straight ahead, never breaking their gaze from the silver-plated elevator wall. She thought about saying something, maybe engaging one of them in conversation. How awkward would that be? Caring for wounded men and being shot at seemed much easier to deal with than this. What would have happened if she hadn't been in between them? Another quarrel? A fistfight perhaps? Everyone knew who would when-Frost was the premiere hand-to-hand combat specialist in the entire battle group. Though, everybody knew Vivian to be adaptable, quick to learn, and entertain unorthodox ideas. Granted, experience and mastery would defeat adaptability on any day of the week.

As the elevator landed and the doors opened, Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief as the trio disembarked. Passing hordes of engineers and technicians in different colored uniforms, Vivian led them to an isolated lab in the cavernous engineering room. Many machines, labs, terminals, catwalks, and other facilities filled the compartment of the ship.

The door was oddly locked and the wide, horizontal rectangular windows on the square shaped lab were closed. Not matter how many times Vivian tried, the sensors on the door glowed red and denied her access.

"Why is the captain of the ship being barred from entrance?" Frost mused. Vivian glared at him over her shoulder, and not wishing to be party to a vicious argument, poked him with her elbow.

"Mr. Decatur?"

"Yes, ma'am?" came the voice of Decatur through the ship's intercom system.

"Override Lab Fifteen's lock."

"Right away, ma'am."

It took only three seconds for the lights to flash and the door to slide open. Vivian, Jasmine, and Frost entered the pristine white lab to see a data pad go flying across the room.

"Shut your mouth, Vickers!" cried a brown-haired woman clad in a white lab coat. "If you'll take one moment to read my hypothesis, you'll see that I am right!"

"Oh really?" mocked the so-called Vickers, wearing the same uniform. He was bald and had a goatee. "Maybe if you jumped off your high horse and read my hypothesis, you'll see that I am right!"

"Well maybe we should run an actual test then, hm!?" the female scientist fumed.

"Whether or not either of you is more 'right' than the other..." said a third scientist, with deeply tan skin and thick black hair. "...you've got no way to test these hypotheses at this point in-"

"Shut your mouth Tane!" the other two shouted in unison.

Tane lowered his head and began tending to his work, as did about seven other scientists. Just as the female science officer and Vickers stormed towards each other in the center of the white room filled with computers and large screens mounted on the walls, they paused and look at the three baffled individuals before them.

"How did you get in here? This is a restricted area!" Vickers stated huffily.

Vivian quirked an eyebrow.

"Um, I'm the captain. Nowhere is off limits to me."

"Oh," Vickers said, turning red in the face. He cleared his throat. "My apologies, ma'am."

"You've all made yourself scarce," Vivian said to them now that they had all turned around. "You're punctual with your reports of the ship's experimental systems. But what tests are you talking about?"

"Oh well," said the female officer, "we were just-"

"What's your name?"

"Dr. Mia Evans, ma'am. We were just testing voicing some hypotheses about reverse engineering Covenant shield technology for our own ships. Of course, we've never been able to capture an enemy spacecraft and take a look at its internal mechanisms. Downed Seraph fighters are the closest we've come to seeing their shield technology but it's slow going working with damaged equipment. But I don't mean to trouble you with our ideas; what brings you down to our humble laboratory?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost here," Vivian said, her voice firm as his name passed her lips, "is organizing a raiding unit to work simultaneously with our attacks on forward Covenant infrastructure. While he does have a pair of competent engineers familiar with Covenant technology, he's in need of expert in case they meet with an obstacle beyond their capabilities."

The scientists had all turned to face them, and their faces paled slightly. Jasmine noticed a slight grimace creep onto Vivian's face. "Who here has the most experience with Covenant technology?"

All eyes and hands went to Tane. He pursed his lips and looked at his compatriots with a scathing look, as if he had been betrayed.

"Yes, I do. I've worked in multiple environments collecting, documenting, and testing Covenant technology, from firearms and captured vehicles to data storage containers, hand-held shield tech, and more since 2530."

Frost stepped forward.

"You work with UNSC ground teams before?"

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"Good. Have you done much killing? Any fighting?"

Tane's head lowered sheepishly. He seemed a timid fellow, scrawny in the body while his face was full and strong.

"Well, not any. I usually work in research teams with military escorts in the aftermath of a battle. ONI ensures we receive self-defense courses and weapons training, but it's rather limited."

Frost frowned.

"Any other qualifications or experience I should know about?"

"I have a doctorate in xenobiology and another in engineering."

"Were you expecting a stone-cold, dead-eye killer, like yourself?" Vivian mused to Frost. The gunnery sergeant ignored her, turning to Jasmine.

"Maybe it'd be best not to bring someone like him. Babysitting a noncombatant will add more variables to a raid that we can't afford."

"Train him up, then," Vivian said with a commanding tone. "You need a science officer with you. A crash course in small unit tactics, advanced weapons training, and some physical conditioning should turn our bookworm here into a fighting machine. How's that sound, doctor?" Vivian asked, smiling. Tane was already turning green. Frost was agitated.

"I don't need a lecture on how to do my job, Ahab."

"Watch your tone with me, Gunnery Sergeant Frost," Vivian snapped. "You asked for my help and you're getting it. Be grateful that I'm allowing this unofficial, highly irregular unit exist. There's a reason the Marine Raiders aren't around anymore."

With that, she departed. Frost looked angry. Jasmine sighed; word would get out about that tense exchange. Whether it was in front of a few science officers or the whole ship, such confrontations would be bad for morale.

Frost walked over to Tane and poked him in the shoulder.

"Listen to me, Doc."

"It's Tane."

"Doc Tane, where are your barracks?"

"Well, are located in the naval officer's corden but we usually just stay here."

"Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred you shall be roused from your lab by two fine you gentlemen by the name of Moser and Grant. And until seventeen hundred hours, you'll be training." This he said with a nearly sinister grin. Jasmine and Frost went to the door, but just before they crossed the threshold, he stopped and turned. "Oh, and they'll come for you at the same time every following morning until our first raid."

Jasmine and Frost exited the lab, the door sliding shut behind them. She closed the file on her data pad.

"All done," she said, "that was fun. Want to grab something to eat? Evening mess is starting in less than an hour."

"I'm actually very tired," Frost said, "I think we should head back to your quarters. I need a break."

---

Frost was tired as they approached the door to Jasmine's quarters. He knew he had pushed himself too much. All the walking and pushing he did was now making his body ache all over. While it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before, it was draining his energy. What he wanted more than anything else right then was a shower. His quick pace had worked up quite a sweat.

Hobbling in, he went straight to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he took five minutes just to sit on the toilet, catch his breath, and stabilize. He felt overheated and a few of the deeper wounds in his torso were aggravated. Not a throbbing, nor was there bleeding, but all the same, they were causing him more pain than earlier. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, he thought; he should have listened to Jasmine and taken it easy. One more day was all he needed to be back in shape. Or at least something more manageable. How he hated being in such a state. It wasn't the actual act of being shot or blown up that made him angry. Having to recuperate and deal with the fuss of medicine and tubes and all such nonsense was tedious. And waiting! The waiting was awful. Boredom was to be expected in a military life but being laid up in the infirmary was a death sentence to activity. Some chumps in other Marine or Army units liked to joke that going to the hospital was better than going on leave. You had an excuse to just lay in bed and do nothing, they all said. Not once had he found such jokes funny. Pretty nurses to wash you, hot food to eat, and being from the menial and backbreaking duties of soldiering. Frost found them to be poor soldiers and poor men.

After taking the quick break, he stood up and looked into the mirror over the sin. His skin seemed clammy and a sheen of sweat clung to his brow. A certain amount of sickening green had crept into his cheeks, and what wasn't green was pale. Skipping lunch might have been a bad idea. Poor Jasmine hadn't said a word when he kept on pressing for the next candidate. Already he felt bad for dragging her along with him on his escapades to round up old friends. She had wanted to, he told himself, but a more polite thing to have done was to refuse her all the same. Jasmine was the ship's chief doctor and had other duties to attend to. That didn't mean he hadn't appreciated her company; in fact the day had been more bearable because of her presence. He had to thank her; when he was able, maybe he could run into the city, what it's name was he did not know, and buy her a gift for Christmas. The New Year was approaching and he couldn't let the holidays pass without giving her something. She had, after all, operated on him and pull dozens of Brute shot fragments from his torso.

He reached up trace the scar going across his face. It was scabbing well enough and it was immensely itchy. Scars always looked their ugliest just as they began to heal. The yellowish scabs and the blackness of the stitches made for a gruesome sight. Carefully, he removed his shirt. It made his aches worse to lift his arms and he groaned through gritted teeth. Once it was off, he sat back down and removed his boots and socks. Standing back up-which just made his sore frame ache even worse-he took off his pants, leaning against the sink as he tried not to fall over. While the two wounds on his left leg were healing nicely, it was still stiff, practically feeble at this point. His pants got caught around his ankle; not wishing to reach down and remove them, he tried to kick it off. Half a dozen quick quicks later and still he couldn't free his foot. Swearing under his breath, he tried thrice more before sucking it up, reaching down, and removing it with his hand. A wave of pain shot up his entire upper body, stopping only at his neck. Hissing, Frost brought his fist down on the edge of the sink. Not from the pain; from the hassle. He hated being lame like this, he hated how the most simple tasks became difficult, how much it hurt to make even the most minute, smallest movements. It was like going from an able-bodied man to an elderly prune shuffling alone.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened. Jasmine was standing there, holding two short stools, neither more than a foot and a half high. Frost, clad on his undershirt and underwear, stood there for a moment, staring at her. Jasmine had removed her lab coat, leaving on her turtleneck with the logo of the UNSC on the back and small sigil of the same logo on the left side of her chest. Walking in without a word, she drew the plain beige curtain of the shower back and placed one of the stools in the square space of about four feet by four feet, and another just outside the edge of stall. She came up to Frost, standing directly in front of him, hardly an inch in between them. Frost stared at her, and she at him. Eventually, she reached over and carefully helped him remove his shirt. She turned him around and removed his underwear. Frost was red in the face, hoping his body odor didn't offend her. But he knew that look; it was her doctor look. The same one he had seen when he had his first physical with her, when he was trying not to seem embarrassed to be naked in front of her in the cold examination room of a UNSC warship.

Jasmine went over to the shower and turned it on. Rolling up her sleeve, she held her hand under the water for a moment until it was warm. Then she pointed to the stood in the shower. Frost limped over and sat down with her back to her. Instantly, he sighed as the water rolled over him, soaking his hair and easing his muscles. He let his head hang low and his hair fall over his eyes for some time. He listened to Jasmine move about behind him; pushing his hair back up and running a hand over his eyes, he looked over his shoulder. Now clad in an olive drab tank top and matching shorts-she must have stepped out of the room-Jasmine pushed her glasses up so they were resting on the top of her forehead. Grabbing the standard issue soap, she walked over with a sponge, a kind he had seen from the infirmary, and sat down on the other stool.

Frost lowered his gaze once more. Her slender arm reached around him, wetting the sponge in the falling water. A moment later he felt the rough sponge, slick with soap, running up and down his back. She was slow and gentle, almost massaging him. Eventually, she reached up with both hands and pressed her thumbs into the back of his neck. Ever so gently, she rubbed her thumbs in small circles. Relief spread throughout his neck; he hadn't realized how tense he actually was. Her hands traveled down his back, resting on his old scars for a few moments, then massaging, them stopping to trace another. For a moment, Frost felt sad, as he knew she was feeling his pain. She was allowing herself to. He felt compelled to turn and take her hand, tell her that she didn't have to do it. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Time passed. How much he did not know. Nor did he care. His eyes were shut, his mind and body at ease, as soft fingertips danced over his back. He couldn't hear anything accept the running water and he was glad for it. So many years had passed with firearms barking, artillery thundering, and explosives detonating in his eardrums. Quiet was something soldiers on the front didn't experience, and when they did find themselves immersed in a cloak of silence, it was treated with loathing and suspicion. Here, with her, there was a balance to it all.

Her hand came around again, holding out the sponge, covered in foaming white soap that ran over her hand. Frost took it and began to scrub his front, being especially gentle over the wounds. Jasmine's hands remained on his back. Finally, she spoke.

"You've got a couple of clogged pores on your back. I told you to wash your back better during your physical."

"I don't remember that," Frost said. Jasmine picked at one of them. This made him chuckle. "My older sisters would pick and poke and paw at my back whenever we went swimming. They were obsessed with popping pimples and all that stuff."

"They say all girls are."

"That's just a silly joke." Frost said, even as Jasmine began to scratch at another. "Doesn't help that my sisters fit the bill entirely."

"Four sisters is a lot to manage, I would imagine. Tell me about them."

"Oh, well. I've got two in front and two in back. Adelaide is the oldest. She was always looking out for me, keeping me up when I was down. She has that oldest sibling authority, you know? Real leadership material. She'd make one hell of an NCO. And then Sadie was the second oldest and we were really close. Inseparable. We did everything together. Ride horses, read books, tend to the garden, play games, go to town." He frowned in a sad sort of way. "She got into a lot of fights with our parents as she got older and I was sort of the voice of reason for them when I was around eleven."

"That's a lot to expect from an eleven year old."

"Something just changed in Sadie. She became more independent, more headstrong, but still stayed close to me. It was like an overnight changed; she just grew up. And I grew up with her I guess. Ade once said I was her shield or something." He scratched the side of his face. "Sadie took my enlistment the hardest of all my sisters. Hardly talked to me those last few days before shipping out."

"She was losing the closest person in her life. Undoubtedly she was going to take it hard."

"I knew. Seeing her face in those last days together, it made me want to give up on the whole thing. But I stuck it out."

He cleared his throat. "But my other sisters-right after me was Karen. She's very sharp, kind of reserved, soft spoken. She got hooked on the music my Sadie, dad, and I liked. And finally there's Danielle. She's very pretty and is into all kinds of sports and...art. No, Sadie is into art. Dani was born right after Karen, so they're both still in high school. I think."

"You think?"

"I haven't really had words with my family these past six years. I spoke to Ade some time ago but it was...difficult."

"Why's that?"

"My family's just been far from my mind. I don't know what to say to them anymore. I read all their mail but I can't bring myself to write back." Frost paused momentarily, picturing his sisters' faces again. He was having trouble piecing them together. All he could see were their faces when he left; how much had they changed? It wasn't as through each letter they sent contained a photograph. "Sadie's never wrote me."

"That much be difficult."

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll be docked for a few more days. I heard the local garrison has a communications bank that supports video transmissions. Maybe you can give one of your sisters a call."

Frost shrugged.

"Maybe." He smirked. "The first thing they'll ask about is my face. How'd you get that scar-stick your face where it didn't belong? Oh, I can hear the jokes already."

"All the same, you should call them. I'm sure they miss you very much."

"I'll think about it."

Some time passed. Frost looked over his shoulder slightly. "What was it like growing up without any brothers or sisters?"

"Lonely," Jasmine answered as she took a breath, making her voice seem a tad lighter. "We moved around a lot. Inner Colonies, Outer Colonies, Inner Colonies again. One planet after another. I didn't spend more than six or seven months in one place. Made it impossible to make friends. Without siblings I didn't have anybody except for my mom and dad."

"They seem like busy folks," Frost said sympathetically.

"Sure. I mean, they made time for me whenever they could. It's not like they neglected me. But sometimes it just felt like I was just a note on their agenda, worked in between dozens of other activities."

"Any cousins?"

"I've got a few, but they all live on Earth, mostly in Spain. I have an aunt there that I've only ever seen through video transmissions. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to meet her in person."

"Mm, I can't imagine having family you've never met face to face."

"Being a kid leaving an empty apartment for school, and coming back to that same empty apartment was hard. Reheating food for dinner, sitting alone in the table, doing my homework in utter silence, and going to bed just to hear my parents try and creep into the apartment after midnight. The most they would do is crack the door open and take a look at me, before going to bed."

"Do you resent them for it?"

"Not really. I wish they were around more, sure, but I don't hate them for it. I just wish I had some more company. I never got to have friends over, never had slumber parties, never went on a date, nothing that teenagers ought to experience." She sighed. "Not having friends or someone special was tough. It's why I was jealous of Vivian when we first met."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. We just ended up in the same room and she seemed so...perfect. Very smart, very brave, good natured, strong, tenacious even. She just seemed to know what to do all the time and had no trouble doing what she needed or wanted. I felt so meek and shy next to her. But she accepted me, encouraged me. I'm not much different now than I was a few years ago, at least it feels that way sometimes, but Vivian helped me grow stronger. I finally had a friend. She's my best friend. The closest thing to a sister, even if we disagree so much."

"Siblings disagree all the time, let me tell you," Frost chuckled.

"Just to have any kind of connection is new to me," Jasmine said. "Just books and books and books to keep me company. Books don't make good companions. Even in school I felt lonely; no friends, no relationships, no one to get through the day with. I'm thankful for Vivian. And for you."

Frost felt her hand rest on his back, remaining still for some time. Slowly it slid up his back until it rested on his shoulder. "I wanted to ask you last night about..."

Her voice faltered somewhat. Not in a way like she was frustrated or saddened, but Frost could feel an apprehensiveness in her voice. He reached up and craned his hand around to rest on top of hers. After a moment he gently held all her fingers, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. That made her draw a breath and start again. "I'm a lieutenant commander of the UNSC Navy, and you're a noncommissioned officer of the Corps. Being together like this is breaking so many fraternization regs but I don't care. We both knew what we were getting into when we joined the military. We know that either of us, both of us, could die at any moment."

"Yes," Frost said gravely.

"Knowing all of that, knowing our duties, knowing how we feel, I need to know how fast you want to go."

"Fast?"

"I, just, I care about you immensely."

"And I you. I don't care how short a time it's been."

"Nate, I just want to know what you think our pace should be. Do you want to take things slow, or go fast?"

Frost thought for a moment.

"I mean, well, I'm not sure. I've never been with anybody like this, never had feelings for somebody other than you. I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," Jasmine chuckled nervously. She was silent for a time. "Are you finished washing?"

"Yep."

Jasmine stood, shut the water off, and handed him a towel. Staying seated, he ran it over his head, ran it up and down his face a few times, and then began drying his chest. His dog tags, having been nestled in his chest hair, began to tinkle as the towel bumped against them. But Frost froze as he felt Jasmine's arms wrap around him and her body press against his back. The side of her cheek, warm, laid against the back of his neck. "You're going to get wet," he said, bemused, red in the face, glad she couldn't see his blush.

"Maybe we should just...go," she said then.

"What do you mean?" Frost asked, confused. "Like...desertion?"

"No! I mean, we just do what comes natural. I want us to be together, I just don't want it to get in the way of our duties, or our duties to get in the way of us."

"Jas I don't think we can have anything resembling a normal relationship on a ship of war," Frost said.

"I know, that's sort of my point. We just, do what feels right for us. Is that alright with you?"

Frost nodded.

"Yeah. We just, you know, stay open and honest and all that. I think everything'll be fine."

Her arms were still locked around him, her tank top wet against his back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Let me fetch you some spare fatigues."

"Just pants and a t-shirt is fine right now," Frost said as she exited the bathroom. He stood up and wrapped the towel around his waist, and limped to the doorway. Jasmine was already walking back, the camouflage pants and shirt draped over her left forearm. Yet when she held her arm, he didn't taken them. He just stared at her, and she at him.

As he stood there, dripping wet, she stock still, the front of her tank top wet and clinging, he wanted to say something, though he didn't know what. Something meaningful, profound, loving. Those words were beyond him. Where were his aged poetry skills that had earned him so much distinction in school? His chest, his heart, were swelling with feelings he had never felt before and no matter how badly he wanted to he knew there was no chance of eloquently soliloquizing those words into something special for her. What kind of man couldn't drum up a few emotional words for the woman he cared about?

The clothing slid from her arm as she reached up and placed her hands on his cheeks. Instinctively, Frost put a hand on her side, while the other gripped his towel. For a moment, just for a moment, they stood there, staring into one another's eyes. What he saw in her eyes, Frost couldn't place a name too, but he could feel it all within himself. His hand went to her back, and he brought her closer, until she was pressed up against him. She brought his face down, pulling him into a kiss, slow and loving. And another, quicker. And another, and another, and another, until their lips wouldn't part. Heart racing, fingers tightening, hot in the face, Frost's hands traveled up her slender frame. In their contained flurry, they fell upon the bed, with he on his back and Jasmine on top of him. With a gasp she parted her lips from his.

"Is your leg okay?" she asked then. Frost nodded, reached up, and pulled her down. Jasmine hands dug into his chest and her dog tags dangled from her neck, brushing against his skin. Eventually she broke their kiss, sitting straight up. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts. With eyes locked, she began to grind against him, and Frost propped himself up slight, hands still gripping her.

Going for another kiss, they were paused by a knock on the door. Frost and Jasmine both jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to come calling. Panting, they looked at one another. Jasmine pushed a lock of her dark hair back and cleared her throat.

"Who is it?"

"It's Private Grant, ma'am."

"Grant, what's up?"

"I gotta talk to you. It's about Bishop."

Frost exchanged a glance with Jasmine. She smiled and shrugged, and he blushed, looking away, embarrassed. Eventually, they both chuckled.

"How's that for going?" he joked.

"Get dressed," she said, blushing as well, that same pink dusting settling on her cheeks that he found so endearing.

Once he was back in his fatigues, sweat stains notwithstanding, Frost answered the door. Grant was revealed to him, looking nervous.

"Is something wrong?"

"Bishop went out drinking early. He was royally pissed and even shouted at Nora when she tried to keep him around. I think he's getting worse. Steele volunteered to go out and talk to him but that was three hours ago. He probably went out just to get away from Carris. They got into a fight too."

Frost pursed his lips. He had tasked Steele with keeping an eye on things and for the second time he was now off the ship instead of being with the squad. Whatever happened with Carris explained his huffy behavior the other night. It couldn't stand any longer. He had to wrangle his squad back together.

"Do you know where Bishop's been going to drink?"

"Some of the swabbies mentioned a bar that's pretty popular. It's called Bulgy's. Lots of Marines have been going there too. Starting there might be a good idea."

Frost nodded and was about to speak to Jasmine when he paused, thinking. He looked at Grant curiously.

"Why're you bringing this to my attention and not one of the others?"

"Nobody else wanted to bother you while you're recuperating. Nora said you looked kinda beat. But I think with the way things are going Bishop, Maddox, Steele, and Carris need you right now."

Frost smiled.

"Thanks for being honest, Grant. I ought to put you in for lance corporal."

"Ah, that's alright."

"Go back to the squad and tell Carris to look after things, and you back her up, alright?"

"Roger."

Grant left for the barracks and Frost came back into the room, grabbing his identification and other essentials.

"I know what we were about to do wasn't strictly speaking R&R..." Jasmine said, pretending to sound coy, "...but I really think you ought to stay here and rest."

"Trust me, I want nothing more than to stay here with you," Frost said after he had gathered up his things. He crutched over to her and wrapped his arm around her. "My squad needs me." He kissed her tenderly. "I'll be back soon."

###

Frost found Bulgy's with relative ease. Large crowds of Naval and Marine personnel were exiting. They all made a grand show of it; shouting, laughing, singing. Looking down at the white paper bag he was holding by the handles, Frost-not particularly prone to social anxiety-hoped nobody would tease him for carrying a bag from a well-known jewelry store. He hoped jewelry wouldn't make for a lackluster gift for Jasmine. Hopefully, it would mean something.

Taking a breath and taking his weight off the crutch, he hobbled into the bar. Some Marines he knew greeted him warmly as he passed through the entrance. Despite their drunken stupor they made sure he got in without having to push or shove by the civilians also infesting the establishment. Inside was what one would expect walking into a large bar; many tables with at least three or more occupants, a cloud of smoke hanging above their heads, swearing, singing, screaming, crude jokes followed by laughter. Fighting men happy to be alive, waitresses trying to avoid being groped, prostitues enjoying drinks and smokes before inevitably taking a man or two to the apartments across the street, civilians being mocked and slurring at the military personnel, a few sober civvie dates, watching in abject terror as their Marine accompanent got drunker and drunker. A band in back was playing some contemporary music-a genre that Frost himself could not define but found trashy all the same. Glasses of various liquors fell and shattered, fries, burgers, and pizzas were mauled by soldiers. The place itself was set up like an old timey bar; wooden floor, an ornate oak bar with designs carved into the front, simple wooden columns. One would have expected such a place to exist in old Western movies.

Looking around, Frost wished he was back on the I'm Alone. He wasn't entirely sure if his heart hadn't stopped racing. Nothing like that had swept over him before. There had hardly been anytime to think. Had she been planning that? Had it just happened? Most likely it was the latter. Frost shut his eyes for a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, that would have to wait until he returned to the ship. Right now, he had a job to do.

Scanning the bar proper, he saw a familiar figure at the furthest corner, not bothering anyone else. Bishop. The pointman didn't look drunk but he looked absolutely wretched; his beard was thick, hair unkempt, and his eyes distant. Between his fingers he was clutching a cigarette. A thin stream of gray smoke spiraled upwards into the dense cloud that hung just below the ceiling.

Preparing for the worst, Frost went over to him. It was slow going. Once he got to the bar, he slowed his pace further. He knew Bishop could see him out of the corner of his eye; that's what he wanted. To give him a little time, just a little time, to prepare. Even in his state, Bishop was no fool. He knew why Frost had come.

Just as he was going to close the distance, somebody stumbled into Frost. Pain shot up through his leg as he locked it to keep himself from falling. Groaning in pain, he dropped his crutch and braced himself against the bar. Some drunken lout, a civilian, regained his balance.

"Fuck outta my way, jarhead" the scraggly civilian slurred. "Think you're something special because-"

A fist collided with the man's face, and he fell to the floor, out cold. Bishop stood over him for a moment before returning to his stool. A pair of other civilians, friends of the knocked out drunkard, knelt beside him. Unconcerned with them, Frost picked up his crutch and finally stood next to Bishop.

"Thanks," he said.

Bishop merely grunted. Frost looked at him. "Do you mind if I have a drink with you?" Once more, he received only a grunt. Setting the bag in front of the stood besides Bishop's and setting the crutch against the bar, Frost sat down and waved the bartender over. "A bottle of whiskey...any kind, doesn't matter. Two clean glasses too, please," he said, sliding over quite a few credits.

A glass and a bottle were slid across to him. Frost unscrewed the cap, filled both glasses a quarter of the way up, and placed one before Bishop. He took his own and downed it.

"Should you be drinking while on meds?" Bishop asked.

"I'm not on anything heavy."

Bishop nodded. Frost stared him, his brow furrowed in concern. Rather than looking lost, the bulky Scotsman just seemed sad now. It broke his heart. "Say Frank, what's say I don't leave until you do. What'll you think will happen?"

"Both of us are probably going to get raving drunk."

"Fine with me," Frost said with a shrug, filling his glass halfway up, then stopping to light a cigarette.

Bishop drank from his glass and Frost from his. He filled both halfway up again, despite the burn in his throat and chest-it was worth the warm feeling in his gut.

As the other patrons jeered and cursed and hollered and fought and fell and ate, the pair sat in silence. In their corner of the bar, no one bothered them. Just two men, cigarettes dangling from their lips, whiskey-filled glasses in their hands, leaning on the old wooden bar, staring straight ahead at the shelves populated with an army of different colored bottles.

"Suppose this is where you tell me to shape up and act like a Marine," Bishop finally said.

Frost considered.

"I could. I could say that you're a weak link in our team and that if you're not up to snuff, you're going to get someone killed. But," he shook his head slowly as he took a drag on the cigarette. "I don't believe that one bit. You're hardest son of a bitch. If somebody can lose his folks and step into their shoes, knowing the risk, by my book that means you can move mountains."

"Then I suppose you want me to open up. Spill my guts about what happened in the blockhouse."

"Of course I would, but that's not what I want either Frank. I don't think talking to me-or anyone in the squad-will help."

"Just say what you're here to say then," he said, aggravated.

"You do need to talk. Go see Jasmine for counseling and say what you need to say there. She's a professional and she'll help you."

"Fuck off, Nate," Bishop scoffed, sliding his empty glass over to him. "I'm not some nutcase."

"No one's saying you are," Frost said firmly, "but guzzling booze, getting drunk on the ship, yelling at your teammates-that's not dealing with the problem either. Jasmine can help sort out what's troubling you better than anyone."

"How can talking to someone change things?"

"What else can you do but speak? None of us have been through what you have."

"Yeah?" Bishop said, turning on the stool and facing Frost. He pointed at him, "But you have. Those tunnels in Skopje. Same exact thing."

Frost remembered all too well and a chill ran throughout him. What Steele had said before his op, it was all too true. Trapped in the tunnels, in darkness, blades in hand, getting shot and stabbed, killing everything that moved, soaked in blood: howling, howling, howling like an animal. Thinking like one, acting like one, moving like one, just to stay alive. Fear, how it tore through him. Anger, how it pushed him onward. Each splash of blood, his own or another's, thrilling. Distant-he could feel himself becoming distant. Detached, like in the Skopje days. Those dim lights, hanging on the walls, hanging on the ceiling, illuminating dirt and beams, flashing, flashing by, as he stormed ever forward, killing. Frost shut his eyes; he was in a bar on some shithole colony world, drinking and smoking with Bishop. "How did you come back from that?" Bishop asked. "How did you shake it off? Because for me it, it, fuckin' hurts to think about. Like, like, like a drill going right through my head." He pressed his finger to the center of his forehead. "I can't make sense of it, of how I made it, of what I had to do. I felt like a goddamn animal. Isn't that how it felt?"

All Frost could was nod. Bishop, almost pleading, leaned closer. "Then how'd you get back?"

Frost faced forward, away from his friend, thinking. Eventually his gaze dropped, looking at the half-filled glass in front of him, the burning cigarette in his right hand, his left had opening and unopening.

"Truth?" he asked.

"Truth," Bishop answered.

"I'm not all that sure I have come back from that, Frank."

Bishop leaned back finally, disheartened. He swiveled around, facing forward. Frost continued. "I go back there, sometimes. I have to pull myself back, remember where I am. Sometimes, it just doesn't work. I'll thank any God out there for letting that happen on the battlefield and not around someone I care about."

"I don't want to go back there," Bishop murmured. "The blockhouse was dark, cramped. And they just kept coming. Literal monsters coming at me in the dark, shrieking like the most awful things you ever heard. It was like being beside myself, watching me do things I didn't know I was capable. I felt like I wasn't a person anymore. I feel that way right now."

Frost reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

"Hey, all I see right here is one of the best men I have ever known. And you need help. Go see Jasmine, get the smoke out of your head, get it all out of your chest. She'll know what to do, what to say."

Bishop continued to looking forward. Glancing over, ever so slightly, eyes brimming with tears, he nodded. Frost put his arm around him. "Thank you, Frank. I need you back; we've many battles ahead of us and we need to patch the team up."

"I know it," Bishop said. "I've been such a bastard to them. Been to lost up here-" he motioned ot his head, "-that didn't see they were just trying to help."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. Everyone will understand. They'll be happy to have you back."

Frost began to stand up, but Bishop reached over, putting a hand on his arm.

"Thanks, Nate."

"I'm sorry that I didn't talk to you sooner. I thought you needed space. It was stupid of me to make that kind of decision for you."

"No, I appreciate that. Won't you stay a little longer? Have another drink, like when you turned nineteen?"

Frost chuckled, as did Bishop. "What? Can't remember that night?"

"I think you should lay off the booze."

"Come on, I'm already about to go over the brink. Besides, when's the last time you and I had a drink? Just the two of us. One more."

"Bishop..."

"One more."

"...one more?"

"One more."

"One more?"

"One more!"

"Alright, one more."

---

"Well you cured my January blues,

Yeah you made it out all alright,

I got a feeling I might have lit the very fuse,

That you were trying not to light,"

-Knee Socks, the Arctic Monkey's

---

Author's Note:

Alright, alright, simmer down folks. So as you can see, this chapter has no tone whatsoever. But so what? Life doesn't have any tone either. Actually this chapter is more mechanical for the most part: the gathering up of recruits is sort of a facade for a slice of character study. It's actually more about Jasmine and Frost, than anything. Not anything super fancy or special. Anyways, thanks for reading you magnificent beautiful people.