It was too bright and the brim of his uniform cap was doing nothing to shield his sensitive eyes. He'd fixed his gaze on a point at random at the back of the assembled crowd and was doing his best not to squint despite the glaring sun overhead. Lined off beside him stood Kelly, Fred, and Linda, all at attention and equally attired in crisp dress whites.

John hadn't objected much beyond pointing out the extraneousness of them being publicly presented with no less than two medals and innumerable praise, but then again, neither had he fully comprehended the extent of the ceremony at the time. He wished he'd objected a little more strongly after in excess of an hour posted up on display with his teammates while various officials, including Fleet Admiral Hood and President Charet, gave speeches proclaiming both the UNSC's and UEG's continued dedication to properly assisting Spartan-IIs and IIIs in integrating back into not only society but also into roles befitting their qualifications inside the UNSC, as well as by doing better by future participants in the Spartan-IV program and any of its successors.

Kelly had speculated having them appear in dress uniform as opposed to their MJOLNIR was supposed to somehow signify the start of this 'reintegration', removing the stigma of Spartans and the assault armor being one and the same. John wasn't sure he liked the implications, but he knew he had to accept them, whatever they may be. On Earth, protests continued, and the disunity and confusion throughout the Inner colonies was leaving room for the Insurrectionists and other rebel factions to gain a toehold in areas which had formerly been staunch military supporters. Until they got the people back on board with having Spartans in the field, the UNSC's hands were tied, as Lasky had put it.

ONI had been stripped down to bare bones personnel-wise following the backlash over the corruption and other uncomfortable details Cortana had revealed during her Reclamation. In particular, all those individuals formerly involved in Orion and the Spartan-II and III programs had either been quietly ushered out the backdoors, or if their roles had been prominent enough, their reward for their years of discreet and loyal service were charges varying from criminal negligence to causing untoward physical and emotional harm to minors. Three days before being scheduled for court martial, Serin Osman was discovered deceased in her holding cell, the following investigation turning up no plausible explanation. Cause of death was purported to have been cardiac arrest. Dr. Halsey was currently awaiting trial, one among a few it was expected the prosecution would make examples of.

All of this had been explained to John during the mind numbingly long weeks of his recovery, at first in vague and incomplete reports generated by the rumour mill and chiefly related by Fred and Kelly, and later by the lawyers who were filing the charges against Halsey and the others. They'd come in their immaculate suits, seemingly with the expectation news of their impending case would please him - and had left nonplussed when it had become clear that he wasn't, that he hadn't in fact had any interest in it whatsoever. He hadn't wanted to dwell on it then, and he still didn't - his thoughts surrounding the whole ordeal were turbulent and conflicting. He did his best to focus on nothing more than that distant point at the back of the assembly as drones buzzed back and forth, broadcasting the whole affair across the systems for those who cared about such fanfare.

It was a PR plug Fred had concluded more people would watch just for a glimpse of the Master Chief than for any other reason, an observation which had earned him a pointed glare from Linda.

John's attention fortunately snapped back in time to join the others in a salute as Fleet Admiral Hood acknowledged them one last time and things were brought to a close. The crowd applauded. His stomach clenched as this signalled the various invited dignitaries to come forward, seeking handshakes and a few words with the formidable Spartans. He'd been medically cleared for this function, but it was taking a mental toll he hadn't wanted to admit to himself before now. Beside him, Fred and Kelly were handling the impromptu meet and greet with much more poise. They'd always been more socially intuitive. Even stoic Linda was managing it without a grimace plastered to her face, though her discomfort was obvious to him at the very least.

All he wanted was a quiet room and some space. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, dampening his collar as someone else shuffled before him and offered inane platitudes. Over their head, however, something caught John's eye. He watched the soldier turning in the press of spectators, heading in the opposite direction of all others. Her hair, a vibrant auburn coiled into a neat bun beneath her cap, contrasted sharply with the mottled grays of her fatigues. More than that, she stood shoulders above the crowd. Another Spartan, then. There'd been a few interspersed in the crowd. He hadn't recognized them - the angle of the sun threw most everyone's faces into shadow, except those on the raised platform - but supposed they, more than the rest, had cause to find the function of some merit.

It took longer than would have been his preference, but finally Blue team was escorted out of the throng and back into the military facility where they'd been prepped upon arrival at Fort York. The fact they'd been assigned leave time pending the outcome of the ongoing internal reviews did not sit well with any of them, but wasn't something they'd had an opportunity to discuss at length while John had yet been convalescing. Approaching the lift which would bring them to their temporary quarters, Fred, Kelly, and Linda doffed their hats in the ensuing silence. John might have as well had his mind been present. As it wasn't, it took him a beat longer than them to notice the individual loitering by the elevators.

"You clean up alright, I see."

Since he'd been trailing somewhat behind, Fred and Linda obstructed much of his view, but the voice was instantly recognizable. Stepping up to where they'd halted, he waited for them to obligingly shift out of the way.

Fred did so.

Linda did not. No doubt taking in the altered hair colour and erroneous rank denoted by Briar's uniform, she swiftly came to the same conclusion John did. "You're not supposed to be here." It was not an accusation. Not precisely. But close enough.

"There's still some question as to whether I'm meant to 'be' at all." Briar shrugged with nonchalance. "So no. Not officially."

What did that mean? Was she in contact with the UNSC and working towards a mutually acceptable solution? This was the last place he'd expected her to show her face.

"Sounds problematic," Fred decided, his gaze sliding sidelong to John in silent inquisition.

"Pretty sure that's my new callsign."

Regarding her with reserved curiosity, John tipped his head towards the open lift and followed her inside. He turned back and gave the others a nod as the doors closed, then reached out to hit the correct floor. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but it seemed most pertinent.

"Something rash, no doubt," she supplied while leaning casually back against the rear wall. At the slight narrowing of his eyes, she went on. "Seeing you in dress whites was a temptation I couldn't resist."

He did remove the hat now, tucking it beneath his arm as he looked to her. Her expression was carefully neutral - tight, even. A headache had bloomed behind his eyes, the condition one he often suffered from these days. He'd been advised it could be quite lasting and it didn't help him unravel the mystery standing before him.

She was likewise studying him. "You look tired, John."

"I'm fine," he replied simply.

She didn't bother calling him out on the lie.

The elevator paused as it reached its destination and John automatically thumbed the control to prevent the doors from opening. "Tell me what's going on."

"From what I can tell, not a lot. No one knows what to do with me - what they can do with me." Briar crossed her arms. "What have they said about their plans for you?"

"Mandatory leave for the time being." He took a moment to digest the fact she hadn't ducked and run when the opportunity had presented itself. Neither had she contacted him during the past three months, though there were any number of explanations for that.

"Until they figure out how to reintegrate you?" She rolled her eyes. "Have they even asked you what you want?"

"No."

"You don't know, do you?"

John shook his head. There was no purpose in denying it. "I'm still a valuable asset." He saw no reason why he shouldn't be permitted to continue on in the same capacity he had before. Everything that had happened, the Spartan-Ops program and all that it had entailed, had made him what he was now. Who he was now. And whether wrong or right, whether they removed the MJOLNIR or not, he was still a Spartan. He would always be a Spartan.

Briar was considering him quietly. Her dark brows had drawn down at his statement. "Is that all?"

"No." She straightened up a little as he closed in on her, his gloved fingers capturing several reddish strands which had escaped from behind her ear. He rolled them between his thumb and index digit, lips quirking at the stain this left on the pristine white material.

"Not a fan?" she queried, amused.

"I liked it better before."

"Desperate times and all that."

"To see me in dress whites," he reiterated for clarification, a brow drifting upward.

Laughing, she reached up to tweak one of the medals pinned to his chest, but there was something off about the sound. Forced, maybe. "When am I ever going to get the chance again?"

Another function such as that day's wasn't high on John's list of preferred duties, so he hoped it wouldn't be any time in the near future. Instead of informing her of this, though, he grasped her chin in order to tilt her head back enough to kiss her without interference from the cap she still wore. Their lips had no sooner touched than the lift chimed a warning that others were seeking its use.

Briar pushed away from the wall as he put some distance between them once again, resolutely returning his hat to his head and clasping his hands behind his back after hitting the door release.

Outside, a bored looking ensign with a tacpad waited. Entering the elevator without so much as glancing up, it was only as the woman tapped in her floor that she seemed to realize it contained two towering Spartans. Her almond shaped eyes widened and slid discreetly from John to Briar before returning to whatever information her tablet displayed.

John suspected she wasn't in fact reading any longer, but stepping into the lift without checking its occupancy to begin with had been careless. At least she didn't seem to be making her way to the ground level. It would have proved awkward for neither him nor Briar to depart in that case. Speaking of whom, he noticed from his peripherals she'd subtly sidestepped closer. He felt her fingers fleetingly brush over his palm before dipping lower to curl around his ass cheek and squeeze. All the while, the expression of bland composure never left her face, and a muscle in his jaw ticked at the boldness of it.

If the ensign happened to glance back, some explanation would be necessary. What precisely it would be, he couldn't fathom. Fortunately, that didn't come to pass. The doors parted, Briar's hand retreated, and the officer left in somewhat more of a hurry than she'd joined them. It was Briar who nailed the panel to close them again promptly this time. She selected the level he previously had and pivoted to face him.

"You seem tense," she informed him, a gleam in her eyes.

John cocked his head. "You seem handsy."

"I think you like it."

He raised a shoulder noncommittally. "Tell me where to find you." He didn't figure she wanted to stick around longer than necessary. Hair dye or not, she would stand out unless the place was teaming with far more six and a half feet individuals than he'd yet laid eyes on.

"Depends. How long is your leash?"

Considering this, he couldn't recall any orders against venturing off the base. "I guess I'll find out."

There were, as it turned out, benefits to a certain amount of notoriety. John perhaps hadn't appreciated this much in the past, but the fidgeting petty officer second and third classes stationed sentry at the gatekeeping post that evening clearly held him in some regard. They'd practically tripped over themselves to open the blockade for him and had saluted with vigor.

He'd deliberated taking a vehicle for longer than he probably should have, but in the end decided a lone Spartan on foot would probably draw more attention than one driving an M831 TT. Civilians in the surrounding community were presumably accustomed to seeing such transport with their proximity to the fort. Utilizing the warthog's nav system, he soon found himself at the address Briar had provided in a quiet residential area where children broke off from whatever game they'd been playing in the street and cleared the way with much enthusiastic pointing. He might have questioned it being the correct place if not for the fact Briar had appeared in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame as she watched him exit the ground vehicle and approach.

"Very inconspicuous," she remarked.

"Options were limited." He pointedly passed his gaze around to take in the quaint neighbourhood. "This isn't what I expected."

"Why, you don't think I'm suburbia material?"

A kid squealed and he glanced back to witness the lot of them had clambered into the rear of the warthog and were climbing over the roll cage.

"Pretty sure you're supposed to yell at them." She was grinning.

John regarded their antics a moment. "It's got no armament."

This drew laughter - real laughter this time. He could hear the difference. "Just go inside." She passed him, heading down the short driveway, which he'd neglected to make use of. Obviously a mistake.

Entering the house, he removed his cap. It was sparsely furnished, the walls bare and window opacity set to allow a minimum of light through. He paused to watch Briar interact with the children. They seemed to be hesitant to leave the M831, but eventually all five hopped down and gathered around her as she crouched to peer beneath the vehicle for some reason. When she stood again, John noted the ball in her hand. The kids rushed away without retrieving it, oddly. Was she taking it from them as punishment?

Cocking her arm back, Briar launched the ball down the street, sending it sailing over the heads of the running children and out of sight. He couldn't help an amused snort at their whoops of delight. She then walked back to the house.

"There. Though let's be clear, it's your pay that's getting docked if they trash the thing."

"Understood," he assured, unfazed. By the threat of docked pay, anyway. He hadn't been under the impression she was still on the UNSC's payroll. It was strange seeing her in civilian clothing, even if the navy t-shirt and fitted black pants were unadorned and largely utilitarian in style. Her hair, braided neatly over one shoulder, now held only a hint of the red colouring from earlier.

"I guess it was too much to hope you'd wear your pretty uniform."

He looked down to his fatigues. "That would have been less conspicuous?"

She shrugged. "No, but I was looking forward to stripping it off you."

He wanted to know everything she did about the situation regarding her falsely reported death and how Brass intended to remedy the cover-up. Just... not quite as much as he wanted her in that moment. A fact she seemed only too aware of.

Stepping closer, she plucked the cap from his lax grip and tossed it onto the sofa. Then backed down the hallway to the left, brows raised in expectation.

John followed. He paid only cursory attention to the rooms he passed; one empty, one lav, and one equipped with a weight bench and punching bag. He almost veered off to investigate for the telltale name scrawled across the latter, a curious urge of unknown origins. But he didn't. He trailed her into the last room instead, moderately sized sleeping accommodations with an equally moderately sized bed. Well, it was bigger than what had been available in that research pod.

Briar had no difficulty in reading his thoughts on the matter. "It's better than the floor."

"You didn't like the floor?" he prompted dryly.

Lips curving, she reached up to undo his jacket. "It was satisfactory."

His eyes narrowed at the evaluation. 'Satisfactory' did not correspond to his recollection of her reaction at the time. He sensed she was teasing him, but waited until she slid the jacket off of his shoulders and down his arms to retaliate, forcing her backwards until her heels struck the bed. She locked her legs to prevent herself from tumbling back onto it, hands grasping his arms for balance even as his own fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants and shoved them over her hips, bypassing any closures they might possess. This was more efficient. He skimmed the sturdy fabric down her thighs as far as his reach would allow, then decided to keep going, bending forward and knocking her off her feet in the process. She fell back onto the bed.

"Did I say something?" she questioned in obvious entertainment as she laid back, watching him make short work of removing both her footwear and pants.

He cavalierly deposited them on the floor in answer and she laughed again. It was a sound he enjoyed, he realized.

"Oh, that's how it is."

John's own remaining clothing followed suit directly. Her rich dark eyes never left him once while he divested himself of them, an arm having curled behind her head to pillow it as she'd looked her fill. He leaned down finally over her reclining form, bunching the t-shirt she yet wore in his hands and drawing it over her head as a smooth calf grazed his side. In retrospect, he would have preferred her position as audience, but he knew he was not currently possessed of the patience to wait for her to undress herself. It was a testament to the shirt and bra's manufacturers that they held up under his less than careful handling of them. With her leg wrapping around his waist, practically urging him on, the underwear did not fare as well and he smothered what he suspected to be an emerging protest with his mouth.

Grasping eagerly, Briar guided him into her slick confines. A soft sound escaped past her lips as they moved against his own.

In the back of his mind where coherent thought still existed, he knew he was meant to draw this out, but those thoughts fled accordingly the moment she ground her pelvis into him. Her nails were digging trenches in his lower back, giving the impression she was as impatient with need as he was, or so he attempted to reason with himself. Even reasoning was almost beyond him. Everything was, apart from the feel of the lithe body writhing beneath him. Toned muscles flexed under his hands as he thrust into her velvet heat with steadily decreasing coordination, too lost in his baser instincts and in seeking that all-powerful release to pay any heed to where or how he touched her. His pragmatic mind had previously concluded the loss of control and awareness were detrimental side effects of such a heightened state of arousal, but he wasn't willing to decide the outcome wasn't worth the temporary risk. Especially not when she moaned his name that way.

She clenched around him almost painfully and it plunged his own body into climax. John dropped his forehead onto the rumpled blanket as near overwhelming pleasure tore through his nerve endings, causing his every muscle to spasm and quiver erratically. His respiratory and heart rate were not proportional to the brief and comparatively light physical effort. This had bothered him the first time, but he now knew they'd return to within normal parameters in short order.

Briar's fingers were playing over the back of his neck. How she'd retained use of them, he couldn't comprehend, but since she wasn't complaining about the dead weight pinning her down, he didn't bother summoning the wherewithal to move. His own limbs felt inordinately heavy and his brain sluggish. She hadn't been wrong about the bed, as it turned out.