Chapter 32: Backfoot

Frost looked over his shoulder at the litter. Two corpsmen were on either side of Langley holding IV bags filled with plasma. A third intubated her and was squeezing what appeared to Frost as a rudimentary bag to breathe for her. Carris was at the rear holding both handles while Vivian was to Frost's left, holding the corresponding handle. Langley was still unconscious but they still had a pulse. It was very weak. They removed her M52B body armor and opened her blouse partially. Blood was everywhere even after they filled the wounds with biofoam. What was usually a beige colored foam was stained a deep, dark red. So much had leaked out some of the stains on her pale skin appeared black.

But Nora Langley looked very peaceful. Her eyes were closed gently as if she was asleep. It was beyond jarring, it was absolutely terrifying to see her in such a way. Frost kept looking back to make sure she was still alive and each time he looked he was not sure if she was. But the corpsmen hadn't given up yet and neither was he.

Bishop came jogging up beside the little with the rest of the squad. They took off their helmets and leaned over her.

"Hang in there, Nora, you're almost there. Just another minute, everything's going to be fine," Bishop assured her.

"You're one tough motherfucker," Steele said. "This ain't shit. Ain't shit, Nora."

She didn't respond. How could she? Steadily, she was becoming paler. Her skin nearly bore the same shade as printer paper, a stark, sterile white. Frost looked ahead as they entered the hall leading to the infirmary. Once again, the halls were filled with wounded men and women. People screamed, shirked, moaned, and sobbed. Blood was on the deck, hastily cut uniforms and removed body armor pieces were discarded everywhere. Clots of walking wounded entered medical bays one by one, ushered by hospitalmen and nurses. Many had plasma burns, others were shot, and a few possessed broken limbs. Comrades carried groaning, wounded friends between them into the bays. Multiple times, personnel in the halls moved aside to allow surgical teams to rush their patients to the OR. Occasionally, a team zipped up a body bag and carried it away. As they hurried, Frost saw a foot on the floor. Just a foot, no ankle, no leg, no body. From the boot it was wearing, he knew it was not a Marine's foot, but an Army trooper's. Marines wore black boots while the Army generally wore khaki or OCP camouflage boots. Even as they passed it, he couldn't take his eyes away. What was more startling was the lack of blood. It was very clean. Standing upright, he looked down into it and saw the pasty red of the flesh and the white bone cut very evenly.

Frost looked ahead. Out of a doorway came Jasmine, ordering a clique of her staff into another medical bay. There was blood on the curtails of her white lab coat. Her face was drawn into a serious but commanding expression. Despite the chaos, she was in complete control of the situation. Everybody who passed by her was given an order. When none of her staff was around, she communicated rapid-fire orders with them via her earpiece or her data-pad. If a wandering, wounded man came by, she quickly grabbed them and carefully led them into one of the medical bays. All the while, she gave the wounded and her teams encouragement. At that moment, Jasmine the empathetic and compassionate and Jasmine the Navy officer coalesced into a singular entity that provided hope to the men and women around her. It was awe-inspiring.

Jasmine turned and saw them coming. She rushed over.

"Where do we go?" Frost asked her immediately and she checked Langley. "Where do we go? Which way?"

"Talk to me, Nate, what hit her?"

"Two Type-51 rounds to her chest."

Jasmine didn't respond at first as she checked Langley's vitals. Some of her personnel came out a moment later and she ordered them over. Each of them took a little handle from Frost, Vivian, and Carris.

"Operate immediately."

"Jasmine—"

"Nate, you have to leave. You're in the way," Jasmine told him quickly. She put a hand on his chestplate. "There are people here who need help. The best way you can help them is to make room, give them space, and allow my people do what they need to do. Go, please." Frost opened his mouth to speak but Jasmine turned. "Viv, get them out of here. Fast."

"On it. Gunny, Corporal, Petty Officer, let's move it. The doctor gave us an order. Move."

Frost's feet felt like two lead weights. As Jasmine walked off, he couldn't stop staring at Langley's litter. He was so focused on it he didn't even notice Steele and Vivian each putting an arm around his own and leading him out of the medical bay. It all became a blur for him. He was too numb to cry or even speak. Already, the scene began playing out in his mind. A hard-fought battle only for it to end in defeat. Once again, he would have to lead his friends into the viewing room to see the body of a fallen comrade. Hardly anytime after the loss of Moser, they would have to look down at the table and see her laying there. Nora Langley, who never so much as marched as she did storm everywhere. Langley, who was ferocious and fiery but tempered it with discipline, training, and utmost dedication to her friends. Someone who loomed so large but when you took a moment to look at her she was so short she nearly looked out of place in the armor. He didn't want to see the little body of his friend and someone they relied on so much on that table. The thought made him feel hollow just as much as it terrified him.

The blurring didn't stop until he ended up in the barracks. Frost found himself sitting down on his bunk. At first, Steele's face came into view but then he was pushed out of the way. Vivian's face appeared; her freckle, tan skin was caked with dirt and dust. Much of her blonde hair was matted to the sides of her face and scalp even as it peeked out from under helmet. Quickly, she removed the helmet and grabbed Frost by his harness. Then, she turned and looked back at the others. "All of you, get out. That's an order. Deposit your gear in the Armory."

Frost wasn't sure if there was a verbal altercation between his squad and the captain of the I'm Alone, he was fading in and out of intense thought. Still, he wracked his mind with images of seeing her little body enter the chambers where so many fallen Marines were frozen for the voyage home. He remembered Teo's corpse sliding into it, Moser's corpse sliding into it, countless comrades from so many different squads, platoons, and companies sliding into those terrible, freezing boxes. It broke his heart to think about it. He couldn't see any more human bodies. Not again. He couldn't take it anymore. No more bodies, not those of his friends, not those of his fellow servicemembers, and not even that of the people he killed. How they came to him in dreams, wreathed in snow, bathed in freezing winter winds. All the people he killed, all the friends he lost, all the terrible, bloody circumstances that he could have avoided or prevented or refused. Maybe all these people, both bad and good, would still be alive if he just stayed at home and never bothered anybody. There wasn't a guarantee but maybe Moser would still be alive, Langley would live, Teo would be in charge, and he wouldn't have to burn his hands in the fires of war.

When he came back again, Vivian was the only one left in his room. She took off his helmet and set it aside. "Nate? Nate? Listen to me. You need to catch your breath and get back on your feet. Your squad needs you right now. You cannot just clam up and sit here." The Captain grabbed his harness with both hands and jostled him slightly. "Nate, you are a warrior and a leader. Those Marines need their leader. You can't leave them high and dry at a time like this. Stand up."

Frost couldn't move. He wanted to lay down and go to sleep. But Vivian persisted. Gritting her teeth and grunting with exertion, she pulled him onto his feet. "Stand up, Nate! You're a Marine, act like it!"

Forced onto his feet, he nearly slumped over and grabbed Vivian's shoulders to steady himself. They looked at each other then.

"I don't think I can do this for much longer," Frost said, his voice quivering. "I can't keep it up."

Vivian reached up and grabbed his chinstrap.

"Yes you can. You're a Marine and a Marine can do anything. Check?"

"Check," Frost said after a few moments.

"Say it."

"I'm a Marine."

"Louder!"

"I'm a Marine!"

"When I send those people back in here, who are they going to find?"

"A Marine."

"That's right."

Then, her stiff expression softened, her body language changed, and Frost was shocked as Vivian threw her arm around her. She brought him into a tight embrace and planted her hand on the back of his head. Her fingers dug into his hair. Blinking, he didn't know what to say or do. Slowly, he put an arm around her and held her back. He wasn't sure how long it lasted; it could have been thirty seconds, five minutes, an hour. Time passed in a way he hadn't ever experienced before. It was as if he was removed from himself, standing beside himself, looking at himself. A Marine his armor was embracing a Navy captain; two warriors were locked together, the woman whose friends were killed and the man who killed them were holding one another; two enemies who had forged an alliance; a liar and the one who believed him the most were standing together as one.

When he returned to his body, Frost's breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to scream, sob, and strike out at someone or something as a surge of furious, unrelenting, unknowable emotions surged up from his gut, scorched his lungs, and burned his throat. But Vivian parted from him and then squeezed his shoulder very hard. "Thank you, Nate. For letting me take point."

Vivian picked her helmet. Her glimmering emerald eyes were watery. But she offered him a huge smile. "Everything's going to be okay. You'll see. Be the leader they need you to be."

She backed up, nodded, and then jogged out of the open barracks door. Moments later, the squad returned. Steele led them in and he raised his hand as he approached Frost. Before he could speak, Frost reached out and grabbed it.

"You good? Is everybody good?" Frost asked him.

"Good to go," Steele answered for the pack. They nodded together.

"We still have work to do. There are still Pelicans arriving on the I'm Alone and they are filled with wounded. We're going back to Hangar 01 and we're going to do whatever we can for them. Check?"

"Check!"

Frost walked by them and led the way. He needed to occupy his hands, fill his mind, to move, or else he was going to be trapped inside his own mind. If that happened, he would break.

Vivian jogged through the long halls and corridors of the I'm Alone. She ran so fast she was positive none of the Navy crew members even recognized her. She was still wearing Marine BDUs, complete with the MARPAT fatigues and M52B body armor. In her right hand, she still clutched the grip of her MA5B and in her left she held her helmet. Dodging, side-stepping, and racing around the crew as they moved to their duty stations, she raced for the bridge. Finally reaching an elevator, she nearly threw herself into it. Slamming the button to the bridge level with her palm, she caught her breath and bounced on her feet. The elevator was moving quickly but not fast enough. Again, she pressed the button.

"Come on, come on, come!" she seethed through gritted teeth. "Come on!"

The lift stopped and the doors slid open. Vivian blitzed out of it, sprinted down the hall, and burst through the door to the bridge. Everyone stopped, turned, and faced her. Even Decatur, calmly standing on the AI pedestal, seemed surprised to see her. The sight they were greeted with was Captain Waters playing at Marines; her uniform was covered and stained with dirt, her body armor pieces were all scorched by plasma bolts, her hair was loose from its bun. What locks were matted down by hours of sweat were wild, loose, weaving, and filled with dirt. So much dirt was on her face that she looked like she had taken a mud bath. Only where she wore her goggles was clean, denoting her tan skin in comparison to the darker, shaded, dirtied hue. She caught her breath, keeling over and resting her hands on her knees.

The first one to speak was Decatur.

"Captain Waters has the deck!" he declared, then looked back at the others and waved at them with both hands, as if he was shooing away a group of curious children. "Back to work, back to work, come on now, work!"

Everyone bolted back to their stations and began monitoring their screens. Commander Solak came over and took Vivian by the arm.

"Captain, are you alright?" he asked in his deadpan, emotionless voice. Vivian nodded as he led her to her station.

"SITREP."

"Two Covenant battlegroups entered the system a few minutes before the strike on the enemy base last night," Solak ordered. "They've just been reinforced with a carrier strike group. We are grossly outnumbered and they're coming right for us."

Vivian set aside her rifle and helmet on the deck, tore off her body armor, and sat down at her station. Immediately, she looked at the starboard side tactical display. On the large screen she saw three groups of red dots. Corvettes, frigates, destroyers, cruisers, and imposing assault carriers. Looking at the port side screen, she was updated on the status of the fleet. Her battlegroup was in good condition but many of Travers's ships were still under repair at the mobile repair stations. Those that weren't had depleted hull integrities, low munitions, heavy casualties, and damage to critical facilities.

The combined fleet was unprepared for combat. The previous engagement was only won by the timely arrival of Vivian's ships. A full on fight against fresh and numerically superior forces would result in a slaughter. Although success was a possibility, it would result in unacceptable losses. Vivian was not prepared to sacrifice thousands of lives and badly needed ships for a planet that was being evacuated. And remembering her combat actions against resilient and persistent Covenant ships, she knew these ships were well aware of the damage that was caused behind their lines. Without a doubt, they were zealous, angry, and ready to avenge their losses.

"Koroma, patch me through to Travers."

"Go ahead, ma'am," the Lieutenant said.

"Vice Admiral Travers, we are in a disadvantageous position. It is my recommendation we retreat; slipspace jump out of the system abiding by the Cole Protocol, and then fall back to our secondary, secure assets."

Operation: EXALT had two major pieces to it. One was Vivian's part; raids, feints, and otherwise occupying Covenant attention from the main attack force. Travers' job was to engage and destroy the Covenant fleet, retake desirable planets with Marines, and then garrison them with Army troops. Essentially, they would craft a line of rugged, well-defended, and easily reinforced redoubts that would penetrate into Covenant controlled space. Subsequent Covenant attacks into what remained of the Outer Colonies would be absorbed, depleted, or deflected by this line of fortresses and other similar defensive lines like it. In theory, if they bypassed them, they would walk straight in UNSC fleets that would plug the gaps.

In the months since the operation began, she knew Travers had met with success and the planets he secured were being reinforced and built up. None were anywhere close to the Port in terms of overall infrastructure and sustainability, but they were far better places to duke it out with Covenant. By drawing the enemy into their territory, they could cut them off and kill them at their leisure.

But Travers didn't respond immediately. Anxious and agitated, she gripped the ends of both armrests and drummed her fingers against them. "Vice Admiral?" she asked after a few moments. A long, defeated sigh came through FLEETCOM 7. A few heads rose and began to look back at her. "Lieutenant Koroma, transition this comm link to a private, secure channel."

"Aye, ma'am."

Her gut tightened as she prepared herself for what he had to say. She knew, or at least had a suspicion, as to what was about to come out. It wouldn't do the crew of her ship any good to hear it. Their morale was tenuous already and she was concerned as to what a retreat would do to it after the boosters they received by taking out the Covenant fleet in this system and obliterating their ground forces.

Again, Travers didn't speak for almost a minute. Eventually, he let out a dry, sad chuckle.

"Thought I was back in the old days. Blazing through the colonies, wiping the floor with Innies..."

Vivian was caught between sympathy for her commanding officer but the necessity of the situation. This was no time to philosophize and hark back to the good old days in the face of defeat.

"Sir. I again request we retreat from the system and return to...Decatur, coordinates." Several possible destinations popped up on her screen, punctuated with the nearest garrison, Port Battery. She promptly sent the coordinates to Travers. "We'll use this route to work our way back to friendly territory. Once the evacuation is complete, we should vacate the system immediately."

Travers was a mysterious individual. Vivian believed that from the moment she walked into his office on Mars nearly three years ago. While he was unknowable, she understood him enough that she trusted him with command. He was a career Navy officer with decades of experience against both the Covenant and the Insurrection. Despite losing his arm, he was still in the fight and able to engage with the enemy. Not to mention he held influence in NAVSPECWARCOM, HIGHCOM, and ONI. But at this moment, Vivian became grossly aware of how Travers was an old warhorse. He wanted to get back into the action that blazed and burned in his youth. Aggressive, tenacious, and experienced, he wanted to achieve victory again. Instead, it turned into a setback. Vivian herself was unwilling to call it a defeat; if they regrouped at Port Battery they could potentially turn the operation around. But if Travers wasn't prepared or willing to do that, she was prepared to assume command of the entire UNSC task force.

It was surreal. Vivian never thought she would ever have to remove an officer from command when she first joined the Navy. Not only had she had to arrest Captain Oswald she also had to put down a mutiny. Oswald, Chamberlain, two UNSC officers who went bad in two different ways. Travers warned her about this kind and now he seemed to be teetering in their direction. It was depressing that an officer she admired, despite his eccentricities and mysteries, would falter in front of her.

Just as she prepared to draft a communique to all ships, ordering them out of the system, Travers cleared his throat.

"Your plan's a-go Captain Waters. All our ground assets are on board. I'll issue a recall for all our star fighters and then begin my retreat. UNSC Frying Pan and Double Down are under now assigned to your battlegroup. Get your ships in the fight for a delaying action."

"We'll hold them as long as possible," Vivian told him, "and then make our jump."

"Give'em hell, Captain Waters."

"Yes, sir."

Vivian hit the shipwide intercom. "Attention all hands; battlestations." She stood up and peered at the Covenant ships storming towards her. "I want two lines of battle; Double Down, Frying Pan, Lion's Den, and Determined Guardian at low elevation. I'm Alone, Bataviai, and Best of the Best maintain this battlestation. MACs and Shivas only. River Styx, prep M441 Hornets, deploy on my go. Decatur, keep me updated on the rest of the fleet."

An extended, single line of Covenant light cruisers, frigates, and corvettes formed across from the UNSC ships. Behind them, their heavier ships were forming up. As the orders were relayed, Vivian watched the blue icons on the tactical display shift. The camera angle changed, allowing her to see projections of both battle lines, one below the other. Decatur kept listing slipspace ruptures as UNSC ships fled from the system. Vivian stayed on the edge of her seat, gripping the armrests very tightly, her eyes darting between the viewing glass and the displays. One by one, the number of blue icons on the map began to dwindle.

"Thirty seconds until enemy ships in range, MACs are green," Bassot notified her.

"Dispatching firing coordinates to the battlegroup," Vivian said, then flipped over to FLEETCOM 7. "All ships, wait for my command." She typed in another set of coordinates and directions for each commanding officer. Sending these off individually, they were to be followed once all their munitions were expended.

"Ten seconds."

"Sosa, half-speed."

"Aye, Captain."

The Covenant ships' weapon systems flared. Vivian got onto FLEETCOM 7. "All ships, fire!"

Wreathed in golden flame and light, MAC rounds flew towards the enemy ships. Blue shields blossomed as fire washed over them. Multiple rounds struck ships, dissipating their shields and pummeling their purple hulls. Fissures and cracks appeared, secondary explosions rocked smaller vessels, gouts of flame shot out from damaged engines. One corvette exploded in two. A light cruiser's engines were knocked out and it began to drift aimlessly, providing an obstacle for ships around and behind it. Vivian ordered another fire order and multiple Shiva nuclear warheads were launched. She wanted the delaying action to be as effective as possible and she hoped to dwindle the numbers of the enemy ships before they engaged next time. White explosions engulfed the Covenant ships moments later. Some were heavily damaged, a few disappeared, and others were reduced to black, burning hulks. Nearly all the ships in the first line were either destroyed or damaged. But the enemy fleet commander still had plenty of reinforcements to draw on; the secondary line began pushing through the wreckage, followed by a third line, and a fourth was beginning to form.

This was the moment Vivian was waiting for. She glanced at her screens and found they were the only UNSC forces left in the system. "All ships, proceed to slipspace coordinates! Sosa, full speed ahead! River Styx, deploy your M441's and then jump immediately!"

I'm Alone lurched downwards along with Batavia and Best of the Best. As they barreled to a lower elevation, the four frigates passed between their ships as they flew upwards. The plasma rounds and lances that attempted to strike their ships were thrown off by the maneuver, unable to lock on and pursue targets. River Styx completed its mission; Hornet mines began exploding and mid-tier Covenant ships' shields dissipated and sustained heavy damage. In front of all her ships, blue-white slipspace ruptures appeared. A moment later, the I'm Alone was engulfed in the light and began speeding through the golden-blue tunnels.

Vivian sat back in her chair and released a breath so larger and loud it came out as a gasp. A collective sigh of relief rose from the bridge staff. Some of the officers congratulated Sosa on her excellenting steering and Bassot for his shooting. Decatur turned on the pedestal and folded his hands behind his back.

"Captain, should we issue orders for non-essential crew members into cryo?"

"Negative," she replied immediately, "this journey will take up a week. I think after heavy action we could all use some time with our heads above water.

"Splendid, ma'am." Vivian continued to sit in her chair, deflated and exhausted. Despite being a hologram, and being able to see everywhere in the I'm Alone, Decatur leaned as far as he could off the pedestal to look at Vivian. "Ma'am? Are you well? Shall I send orders down to the mess hall to bring a meal to your cabin?"

Vivian chuckled a little.

"That's not necessary, Decatur, but thank you. What about you? Do you need anything?"

"Begging the Captain's pardon and meaning no disrespect to Commander Solak," Decatur said, turning to face the XO. Whether or not Solak heard them was difficult to tell as he did not look up from his station or make any kind of comment. After a moment, Decatur turned back to Vivian. "This battlegroup needs their commanding officer more than the Marines need another musketeer."

"Didn't Stephen Decatur make it a point to fight alongside his Marines and sailors during boarding actions?" Vivian asked slyly. Decatur smiled pleasantly.

"Indeed, but that was a different age. We have no need of swashbucklers these days!"

"Maybe we do," Vivian said, finally getting to her feet. "Alright everyone, stay at your station, monitor your data, start running projections. The next time we engage the Covenant, they'll be the ones retreating, not us."

She hoped it was enough to spur them on. Vivian saw many encouraged smiles and eager eyes, but nobody said anything. Nobody added their voice to hers, they didn't cheer, they didn't make any humorous remarks. Even Decatur remained silent. It was jarring for the bridge to be so quiet after a battle and Vivian found the silence to be unsettling. But there was no more she could say, so she handed control of the bridge back over to Solak, picked up her rifle and helmet, and proceeded to the Armory to disarm herself.

The infirmary was packed and quiet. Every bed was full with wounded Marines and Army troopers. Less serious cases were billeted in the halls. Medical staff patrolled among them, giving out food, checking on their vitals, changing dressings, or just sitting and talking with the warriors for a little while. Carris had just come from the barracks and the mess hall; sections of both facilities had been converted into temporary medical wards. The I'm Alone was one of the largest ship classes in the entire UNSC Navy, but even its medical wing couldn't support the hundreds upon hundreds of casualties.

She held two styrofoam cups of coffee, one in each hand. As quietly and carefully as she could, she marched through the halls, careful to avoid the wounded men and women who sat and lay on the deck. Eventually, she passed through the standard medical bays and went to one of the recovery rooms. Most of the beds were full too; many patients were still under the effects of anesthesia. Friends and attendants maintained vigils over them, waiting for them to wake back up after their prolonged surgeries.

Standing in the threshold of the slightly darkened room, she tried to pick out Frost. She knew his profile well but couldn't make him out.

"Follow me, Petty Officer."

Carris looked down. Dr. Jasmine was standing to her right, half in the room, half out. She was partially veiled in the subdued lighting of the recovery bay but the other half was lit from the stark white lights of the hall. That light caught one spectacle of her glasses, causing it to glare. The other was masked in the shadow. Although her eyes were hidden, Jasmine looked very tired and grim. Her lips were pressed into a very tight line, as if her jaw was set. There were dark bags under her eyes; no doubt she had been treating casualties since they first arrived at that system. To receive another load of them kept her from rest; she was probably nearing thirty-six hours without sleep. But she bore it well; her head remained raised, her shoulders were not stooped, and her back was straight.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget Dr. Jasmine was an officer. Everyone had something pleasant to say about her; she was smitten with stories about her kindness and generosity. But it masked the dedication she had to her rank and post. Most UNSC personnel received boosters to all them to move faster and stay awake longer, but they were nothing compared to the kind of enhancements Spartans received. Even the most experienced troops stopped and slept when they were exhausted, sometimes leaving the firing line and returning to a safer spot to sleep for ten or twenty minutes. One might have thought it impossible, but Carris saw it happen before. But Jasmine possessed a strength that she had seen few bear. Looking down at her, the slim, articulate professional, she was reminded of some many of her comrades from the old days. Young men and women who would go days upon days without sleep and still complete the mission. And as she looked down at her, Carris reminded herself the war was not confined to planets or the orbital battlefield; there was a war to be fought in these very wards and medical bays. This was Jasmine's war and she was fighting it as hard as everybody else.

Silently, she followed Jasmine into the recovery ward. They walked all the way to the end. On the left side of the aisle, they found Frost sitting on a stool in his filthy utility uniform. He was leaning over the bed. Carris let Jasmine go first; the doctor went up to Frost, put a hand on his back, leaned down, and whispered something in his ear. Frost didn't say anything, but reached around and wrapped his arm around Jasmine's waist. She let him pull her close and then he looked up. Their faces were so close their noses touched. Then, they kissed one another gently. "Carris is here," she heard Jasmine whisper. Frost looked back and smiled at her wearily.

Returning it as best she could, she handed over one of the cups. Frost gratefully accepted it, sniffed the steaming contents, and sipped it gingerly. He sighed and held the cup up in thanks.

Carris stepped closer and looked down at Langley. She was lying on her back with her head on a soft while pillow. A clear mask covered her mouth and there were multiple IV ports on her left arm. More tubes, larger and small, were connected to ports inside her chest. Langley remained very pale but her chest rose and fell. Beside the bed, the heart monitor beeped steadily.

Jasmine went to the other side and checked a data-pad left on the stand beside the bed. "Those two rounds punched right through her armor. Her sternum was heavily damaged and needed cybernetic enhancements to repair it. Both lungs were struck by fragments of her armor the rounds' momentum carried into her. But they've been repaired and she can more or less breathe on her own, she just needs a little support. The rounds traveled throughout chest, broke several of her ribs, and damaged others. She lost a lot of blood but she's stable now."

"That must have been one hell of an operation," Frost breathed.

"Yes. Finding and removing the rounds and fragments was difficult and dangerous. We put a lot of metal into her chest to repair and support it. She'll have those plates and enhancements inside her for the rest of her life." Jasmine sighed and put the data-pad back down. "Type-51 rounds are radioactive and she received a minor poisoning. She's undergone treatment for it and the medicine is working, but she'll need further treatments."

Frost and Carris both looked up. Jasmine shook her head. "I'm sorry, Nate, but it's going to be a while before she's ready to go back out. It'll take months for her bones to heal, months of treatment and PT to get adjusted to the metal in her chest, and then she'll need to retrain. Her recovery chances are very high, but there's a chance she might be discharged."

"That won't go over well," Frost remarked after a few minutes, his gaze falling back to Langley. "They'll have to hospitalize whoever they send to tell her that."

"It all depends on her recovery. What's important is that you're supportive of her. When she wakes up, make sure she understands that it's okay she won't be fighting for a while. She's no good to anybody wounded. Let her know she should focus on her recovery."

Frost and Carris nodded. Jasmine walked back around, held Frost from behind, and whispered in his ear. "I have to go now. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. You?" Jasmine nodded. "If there's anything I can do to help out around here, let me know."

"Thanks, Nathaniel." They stayed that way for a while; Frost withdrawn into himself, Jasmine embracing him from behind, putting her weight on him. For a moment, Carris thought the doctor might fall asleep on her lover's back. But Jasmine stood back up and walked away. For a time, Carris and Frost didn't speak to one another. She didn't know what to say or what she even could say. There was nothing that could make the situation better. She was still comprehending the news; they were losing another friend.

Carris just tried to focus on the positives; Langley was alive and there was a chance she could come back. In a way, she hoped she wouldn't come back; the war was nowhere close to being over and Langley had already served for several years. In Carris's opinion, she had done her time and earned the right to go home. The UNSC needed everybody they could get their hands on but Nora Langley belonged to this squad. If Carris had anything to say about it, it was that Langley deserved to go home.

She looked at Frost. He didn't look broken but he didn't look the same. Not tired, but devastated. Yet when he looked at Langley, his eyes appeared strangely absent. It was as if he was looking past her at something else. Frost must have noticed her staring because he looked up at her.

"You haven't taken your armor off."

"Yeah."

"Felt strange taking mine off," Frost said, looking back at Langley. "Just felt...different. I don't know how else to say it. I guess things are just different now. Or maybe, it's that everything and everyone else has changed and I haven't." Again, he looked back at her. "Skopje was a long, long time ago. I thought I moved on from it, was able to...I don't know, heal, I guess is the word. What I did there, no one should ever do. Sometimes when I think about it, it's really scary. What's scarier is how often I look back to Skopje and what happened to those people I killed in the mines and I argue with myself at how I wasn't wrong to do that." He let out a dry, indignant laugh. "Like, what about what I did wasn't wrong? Everything about it was wrong, right? And here I am trying to justify it to myself. So I'm just caught up inside me. I'm still on Skopje, I guess."

Frost shook his head and looked down at the deck. "I held someone today, someone I hurt very deeply long ago. I took people away from her. Somehow, she's moved on. But I haven't. There's some kind of discord in me, Carris. Something...wrong. Am I insane?" He looked up at her. After a time, he shook his head and smiled weakly. "I'm beginning to wish you'd turn me in. Maybe then I won't think about it as much."

"I couldn't do that to Louis," she said. "Forcing you two apart would hurt him more than you know. And contrary to what you might think, you are my friend."

"Yeah?" Frost said in disbelief, but said nothing more than that. "I think I have to talk to Lou about this."

"You should talk to Jasmine."

"I can't tell her."

"It doesn't matter if you can or can't. You have to."

"Why?"

Before Carris responded, Langley's heart rate monitor sped up by a few beats. Both of them looked up at the monitor and then down at her. Her eyes were open. Frost jumped onto his feet, leaned over her, and put his hand on the top of her hand. "Hey there, baby..." he said in a soothing voice. "...aw man, you're looking great."

Langley smiled slowly underneath the clear mask. Carris leaned over Frost; she wanted to reach over and touch her face but it was too far, so she gingerly placed her hand on langley's thigh. That made her smile a bit wider. Her lips moved a little but they both told her not to speak. Instead, she lifted her hand and she pinched fingers together. She wiggled them and after a few moments they realized she was trying to signal them for a pencil and paper.

Frost departed briefly and returned with both. Langley only used her right hand, pinning the pad of paper on the bed and carefully dragging the pencil around it. She wrote, 'what happened?' Oddly, Frost and Carris couldn't help but laugh. He leaned over her, his hand stroking her blonde locks. "You got shot, dude, but you're okay now. You're a little badass!"

Langley smiled wide, showing her teeth. She raised her left hand and made the devil-horns gesture. Weakly, she shook it and stuck her tongue out between her teeth slightly. That made Frost and Carris laugh even harder. Tears streamed down the former's face and Carris felt her own blue eyes begin to grow misty. "Carris got you out of there. She saved you."

Slowly, Langley reached out and put her hand on Carris's armor. Kneeling, Carris took her hand in both of her's and squeezed as gently but firmly as she could. For a time, they stared at one another silently. Sometimes, when one gazed at someone or something for a time, they became lost in what they were looking at, and couldn't quite make it out. This happened to Carris and when she finally blinked back into attention, she saw tears rolling down Langley's face. Her hand slipped from her grasp, took up the pencil, and scribbled on the pad. Dropping the pencil, she slid it to Carris. Only two words were on the page: thank you. Carris felt warm tears run down her cheeks.

Words: 6,513

Pages: 15

Font: Garamond

Font Size: 12

Line Spacing: 1.5

Author's Note: Not much to say. This chapter was bit of a doozy for me to right, especially the last part. So I'm going to stay a little quiet this time. Hope you enjoyed it.

Comment Responses:

MightBeGone: Thank you. Frost and Waters' relationship is the crux of this whole story and ties into the theme/title, so I'm having a lot of fun driving things home and wrapping things together. Very good writing challenge on that level, as well as the action and emotional pieces. That too was my favorite part; at first it was kind of difficult to write it out but once I wrapped my head around it, I enjoyed that part so much I actually pursued it longer than I originally intended.

TheShadeOps: She's down and out for now, but not permanently. And yeah, that'll actually come up later!