Teaching Feeling

by A Salty Archer

They were both machines, killers created by higher causes, brought together for a singular purpose. But war has a way of changing things, and they will have to realize that there is more to life than the battlefield. The only question is, if they will be able to come to that realization before it's too late. (AU Delayed Human/Covvie War)

4. Interlude 1

Teaching Feeling

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Interlude: Static in the Air (1)

February 25, 2530

UNSC Athens

Slipspace, En Route to Epsilon Eridani System

Angel Antonio Ramirez sighed as he stared at the mirror in his ODST fatigues, the new Corporal rank on his chest catching his eye.

God, he could barely stand the sight of it right now.

He shouldn't have gotten it.

Not like this.

"Everyone is replaceable," Ramirez reminded the twenty-year-old Outer Colony farm boy in the mirror. God—Sorry, mama—that felt long ago. "But it's not about being replaced. It's about how hard it is to be replaced."

He glanced at the rank on his chest again, and his heart threatened to break.

And it's pretty fucking hard to replace you, buddy.

Ramirez cleared the lump in his throat and made sure his uniform was good one last time. Once he was sure, he went to the bunk bed on top of his and grabbed the patch off it before leaving the room.

He had a party to go to.

---

Getting promoted to Corporal was a bit of a big deal, was what many NCOs and Officers told Ramirez. It was supposed to be his first big step as a leader of Marines, they told him. Others would say that it was the way others made him do all the 'bitch work' and have him take responsibility if he were to fail, while others get the credit if he succeeded.

Honestly, Ramirez just wished everyone could fuck off for a moment and give him some space. If he wanted someone to blow his horn, he would do it himself. Damn.

If he had to hear another speech on the importance of joining the 'Backbone' of the Marine Corps, he was gonna jump in an airlock and space himself. Then they could enjoy a bunch of safety briefs and ship lockdowns to make sure no other Marine would do the same.

Ramirez wasn't being serious; of course, he knew it came with the job. Par for the course and all that stuff. Still, he wouldn't lie and say that the airlock sometimes made him feel a certain way.

…It was only for a moment at worst, anyway.

Oh, if only Mama Ramirez would hear his thoughts now. He would sooner try and fight the Devil than deal with that mess.

And knowing her, she would probably choke out the Devil, bring him back from hell, just to kill him herself.

Nah, she probably would just beat him with her sandals or something. Maybe a belt, if she felt inclined.

As she used to say, 'Mis manos son para todos, mijo.'

…Antics aside, he still loved her though.

At least his friends from the other platoons didn't treat him any different. Not yet, at least.

They wanted to celebrate his promotion from 'a lucky grunt' to 'a lucky grunt-with-a-stick-up-his-ass.' And what better way for ODST's—the finest of the Marine Corps, to celebrate?

Why, by getting shitfaced drunk at the rec room, of course.

Well, more like everyone giving him their alcohol rations until he was puking his guts out or screaming out the NCO Creed at the top of his lungs while standing on top of the table. All while the rest of his ODST compatriots cheered and beat their chest and shouted 'Rah, Murder, Death, Kill' while making monkey noises or some shit.

Not that he planned on embarrassing himself anytime soon. Not while he was conscious, at least. Something the ODST's around him seemed determined to change.

God, he loved his friends. Did he let them know that?

"Seriously, guys. I appreciate this. You guys are the best." Ramirez slurred, raising his ninth—or was it tenth?—beer high into the air. "I fucking love you, Devil Dogs."

"Aw, look! He's already feeling it!"

"Chug! Chug! Chug!"

"Did your mama raise a bitch, Ramirez?! Hurry up and drink that thing!"

Ramirez made sure to keep his middle finger up the entire time as he downed the bottle of beer, releasing a belch when he was done. He grabbed another right after, showing them that no, mama ain't raise no bitch.

He received way too many slaps to the back in return as they howled in his ear. He almost turned around and slugged Bennet from second platoon when the fucker missed his back and hit his head instead.

Who even invited that guy? Word on the net was that he was a certified, Grade-A, buddy-fucker with wings bluer than the Air Force. He didn't want to be around a guy like that.

Out of the corner of Ramirez's eye, he spotted a familiar face and immediately got choked up. The majority of alcohol felt like it flushed through his system and almost left him sober.

It was Sergeant Myers—Red Cross-2, the tough as nails assistant medic from that shitshow of a mission just a few days ago.

The only medic to survive that mission—One that ended with only six survivors out of a platoon of twenty-one.

Ramirez stood up and almost stumbled, causing most of his table to laugh. He banged fists, shook some hands, and promised them he would be back. They threatened to drink the leftover beers if he didn't hurry up.

The Sergeant looked up when he approached, one arm in a sling to help with the gunshot wound he took to the bicep. "Corporal. I see you're enjoying yourself this fine afternoon."

"Hey, Sergeant. Besides, it's five o clock somewhere, right?" Ramirez took a seat across from him and gestured to the beer he was nursing. "With respect, you're not much of a saint yourself, Sergeant. You sure you're supposed to be drinking? I thought you were on pain meds?"

"First of all, touché. Second of all, fuck off. I could ask you the same, Corporal. You got took a round to the neck and armpit. That last one, which came out your back, bounced off your body armor, reentered your fucking body, and then out your side. And after all that shit, your first reaction was to sling your dick over your shoulder, grab Sanchez's SAW when he went down, and keep firing back. You should be counting your stars when you found out none of that knicked any of your arteries."

The medic motioned to the table full of lower enlisted ODST's. They had already begun drinking the beer. "Instead, here you are, partying. You just got pinned that rank."

Ramirez rubbed his neck, making sure to take care of the bandage there—not like he could feel it anyway in this state. "I mean, you make it sound really bad when you say it like that. I'm just trying to relax, is all."

"Ramirez, your fucking—what? Nineteen, twenty years old? You're not even supposed to be drinking. There's cameras in here."

Even though he had been caught, the corporal just smiled wryly and took a sip from his beer. "Old enough to kill, right?"

Myers angrily sighed before he softened. "How are you really, Ramirez? I know you and Mitchell were close. He was your sponsor when you first arrived at the unit. Word is that you guys ended up stuck by the hip afterward."

That was an understatement. Ramirez was a farm boy from the planet of Venezia, an outer colony, which was now home to a major Insurrectionist Militia attempting to contest it from the UNSC. Considering that most of the colony's inhabitants were part of the Militia itself, it forced him to find a transport off-world to even find a UNSC recruiting station to take him in.

Even then, he was met with suspicion and concern when they read his file. It was rough as a seventeen-year-old with only one-hundred and fifty credits to his name. It even got to the point that he had to wait outside for fifteen days during the cold winter nights of Imber when he ran out of money for a crappy motel room.

The recruiter seemed surprised when he found Ramirez sitting in a corner at the back of the recruiting center by a dumpster one day, freezing his ass off. Guess the guy decided to cut him a break and actually try to in-process him after that.

Not that Ramirez didn't expect all the disdain. After all, the Insurrectionists had done some pretty heinous shit like gas and nuclear attacks on both Inner and Outer colony worlds that left a whole lot of people dead.

And sometimes, they were the lucky ones.

Terrorist. Innie Spy. Animal Fucker. Baby Killer. Cutthroat. Those were a few names that he got called after he joined the UNSC, and people found out his planet of origin.

…And that was just basic training. It got even worse when Ramirez went through Shock Trooper selection, which made basic seem tame by comparison. Hell, he was sure he could've died by some of the 'incidents' he went through, the instructors often only helping him out because of professional courtesy.

He could appreciate that much, even if it was because they had to do it.

But things didn't get any better by the time he got to his unit, and things had escalated to violence by then. Funnily enough, with Mitchell as the perpetrator.

Long story short, an extremely paranoid Ramirez and Mitchell beat the living hell out of each other when the latter threatened the former with cutting him open if he turned traitor, causing him to snap. They went at it until they could barely see through all the bruises on their faces.

It was then that Ramirez broke down from it all, yelling at Mitchell and telling him the true reason why he joined the UNSC. Why he wanted to fight back against the Insurrection. Why he tried to keep going, even with all the shit he went through by his own comrades in arms.

Mitchell was silent, and when he got up, Ramirez was sure he was going to finish the job or leave. Instead, he was taken into a mighty bearhug by the guy, who told him, 'He was alright.'

'After all,' He had said to him. 'It takes guts to want to kill your pops for being a terrorist.'

Yup, good old Papa Ramirez was one of the leaders of the Venezian Militia.

Turns out he was also the mastermind of a terrorist attack with a dirty bomb that ended with one thousand dead, all men, women, and children. There was at least a good three thousand that would have to deal with the aftereffects of the attack too.

Mama Ramirez was pretty pissed when she found out, to say the least. She really showed off that her knife-wielding skills extended past preparing lomo saltado. It turns out she's really good at cutting any type of meat she could get the edge of her knife close to.

—Almost got the pendejo too.

Of course, Ramirez was bewildered at first by this and tried to remove him, but then he learned more about Mitchell—how he was made into an orphan because of the Insurrection when he was in middle school. From an attack with nerve gas while he was on a school trip on the other side of his home planet, was what he said. He told him how hard it was, coming back from what was supposed to be a fun trip, only to find out that all his folks had been killed while he was gone.

And Ramirez listened, unable to do anything else.

It was a bizarre situation, two guys who were at each other's throats just minutes ago, now becoming the best of friends.

And it wasn't like Mitchell was just telling him stuff just to be nice. The dude looked after him like a hawk and would put down anyone that tried to badmouth him while he was in earshot. The guy was like, a papa bear when it came down to it.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he used to have younger siblings before the incident. Ramirez didn't count out the probability that Mitchell might've used him to fill in that gap.

Eventually, leadership changed, and older people in the unit came and left, and the new people they got actually tried to get to know Ramirez. To understand him. It was a radical change from what he was used to.

And honestly, he doubted he would've lasted long enough to see that happen if it weren't for Mitchell looking out for him the way he did.

And now he was gone. In less than a second, while Ramirez wasn't looking. Just like that.

Ramirez took another sip to clear the lump in his throat. He swore the moisture in his eyes was from the drink's carbonation. "Taking it day by day. It's part of the job, ya? 'Feet first into hell' and all that jazz. I think I'll be fine."

"Be honest with me, have you been sleeping well?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "But I've been taking siesta's under the Pelican's in the bay when I can. No nightmares or anything, so that's always a plus. How about you? Did you talk to your wife yet? How's the kid coming?"

"Mandy's doing alright, thanks. She's due in six weeks, and we won't be anywhere near Reach by then. I won't be able to see my daughter be born like I did my son."

"Mierda," Ramirez muttered as the medic took a long swig of his beer. "That sucks. Sorry to hear that, I couldn't even imagine."

Myers shrugged. "Like you said, 'par for the course.' Either the Corps medically discharges me, or we deal with all those Innies first, and I still got too much fight left in me to stop and go home now."

"Fuck yeah. I hear that, hombre." They clinked their bottles and drank.

"Speaking of which," Myers raised a brow as Ramirez spoke. "Who were those green gigantes in the tricked-out armor anyways? Never seen them before. You?"

He had only seen them twice after the mission. The first time was when they returned to the UNSC Atlas after the UNSC Ranger was nice enough to evacuate them. He only saw that sniper chick and the dude with all the knives on him. The second time was when they were paying their respects to the first platoons fallen, and a few of them showed up out of armor.

The only reason Ramirez figured it was them was because of how damn big they were out of armor. Like damn, what the hell were they fed to make them so damn gigantic?

But what bothered him the most was how young they looked. Like yeah, the blond kid was a real kick in the huevos and all, but the others didn't look a day older than Ramirez.

Yet the guy that the blond kid always stood next to was a Chief Petty Officer of all things. The dude didn't look a day over twenty—maybe younger if he had to guess.

How long did he have to be in to look like that? And he wasn't the only one, the others—

"Hey there, boys!"

Two bottles of beers striking the table nearly made Ramirez piss himself, only to see 1st Lieutenant Dubbo grinning down him when he looked up. Her leg was in a brace while she wielded a crutch in one hand, the bottles in the other.

"Uh, hey, ma'am!" Ramirez stammered, hoping that she thought the flush on his face was from the alcohol. Given how her green eyes seemed to stare into his soul, it seemed like she knew otherwise. "What're you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be healing?"

"I am!" She replied as she sat down next to him, gingerly adjusting her leg. She then twisted the cap off and took a long pull of her drink. She sighed in contentment. "Just needed to get some extra 'anesthetics' to help out. The pills they gave me were doing fuck all for the pain."

"Even though I'm not supposed to say this," Myers muttered as he raised his own drink. "Nothing helps better with the pain than some brews to help keep those pills stay down."

"Fucking oath, mate." They clinked their bottles together before Dubbo pointed hers toward Ramirez.

He blinked before he touched his beer to hers. "Um, yeah?"

She rolled her eyes, punching him in the chest where his rank was. Hard. "Relax, Corporal. No need to be all tense around me. I used to be in your shoes one time too, before I became an officer."

"Um, alright, ma'am."

"Good!" They all sipped from their beer. "So, what did you guys want to know about the cunts in green?"

Ramirez blinked, trying his best to keep sitting straight. "Do you know about them, ma'am?"

"Not too much," She admitted around another sip. "Just that they perform clandestine black operations, assassinations and sabotage. Some super-secret squirrel shit."

"I thought we were 'super-secret squirrel shit,' ma'am? Unconventional warfare and all that. That's what the recruiter told me when he got me a spot in Shock Trooper school!"

"He's a recruiter, Ramirez," Myers said with a faint smile hidden behind his beer. "He's supposed to tell you that. It's so you'd be excited to show the doctors in MEPS your butthole when you get there."

"Aw, what the hell, man? That's not cool."

"Make sure to thank your recruiter later," Dubbo smirked at his glum look. "Though, some rumors are floating about that they were the team that bagged Colonel Watts from his fortified Insurrectionist base in Eridanus Secundus almost five years back."

Ramirez was astonished while Myers looked grim. "If that's the case, then there's definitely something wrong with their heads. If I remember right, the docking bay doors on the asteroid were blown apart, killing a shit ton of civilians." The medic said.

"I guess ONI and Naval Special Weapons Command found a group of sociopaths good enough to commit war crimes while getting off scot-free." Dubbo shrugged. "Say what you want, but we didn't suffer any causalities from the op. So that's always a plus in my book."

"Um," Ramirez mumbled. "Are we even supposed to know this stuff? Isn't that info classified?"

"Chin up, you'll have to get used to knowing things that are 'Need to Know.' Especially if you get sent to an op that'll end up killing you and your team." Dubbo finished her first drink and started on the other. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather know the 'why' I'm getting sent to the field to get whacked if the time ever comes up. Really adds to the motivation to not die… Or to take as many sons of bitches with you, if it comes down to it."

"Huh," Ramirez didn't know what to say to that. "Didn't think about it like that." He raised his beer to his lips, only to realize it was empty.

"Get used to thinking again, kid," Myers added. "It's part of the job now. You've got the skills to kill, but the ability to make last-second decisions is what gets your team out alive or in body bags."

"Okay. Still, you make these guys sound like a bunch of boogeymen and stuff." Ramirez noticed that Dubbo had stopped grinning and was just staring at her beer instead. "What's wrong? It looked like someone stepped through your tomatoes when you weren't looking."

"Wha—?" She blinked, and that's when he noticed the heavy bags under her eyes. He got so used to seeing his own he forgot how faces looked without them. "Oh, that's right—farm boy. I forgot. It's nothing, really."

"Is it about Sylca?" He ignored the sharp glare Myers sent him.

Not that he could blame him. Out of the six that survived that mess, they were the only three not on critical life support in a cryopod. After they all got back to the Atlas, they were all forced to report to a mental health therapist to make sure they were still stable after the event. He could only imagine how that weight of the mission was affecting her, having been the leader of it.

"I wish." Dubbo snorted.

"Can we help?"

She fingered the bottle a bit. "…Been having trouble sleeping."

So was Ramirez. "Sleep's overrated anyway."

Dubbo managed to grin a bit before it faded. "The shrink I've been seeing has been telling me some gnarly stuff recently. Said that I should cut old ties and start fresh."

"What does that mean?"

"She said I shouldn't talk to you guys anymore. You believe that?"

Myers snorted. "Sounds like you need a new shrink. Personally, I can't stand the bitch. Too high and mighty. 'Oh, I have a degree. I know what I'm talking about even though I'm fresh from school.' Tch, stupid."

Dubbo had a slight smile that didn't fade this time from his mocking. "I just thought… if you guys and I talked…."

Ramirez tried. "Ma'am, that's just… what happened wasn't our fault. We did our jobs. I know it might be too early to say this but… we have to move on."

Her green eyes narrowed.

"And it's that easy, huh?" Dubbo raised up her hand. "Wait, don't answer that. I'm being a selfish cunt. It's your promotion day, and here I am, trying to dump my problems on you. Hell, let's get drunk! Myers! Get us more drinks!"

The medic gave her a deadpanned look as he gestured to his arm in a sling.

"Er, right. Then, Ramirez, I know it's your day, but be a good cunt and help him out, yeah?" She moved her braced leg up and down with a wince. "…I'm not exactly the most mobile right now."

"…Yeah…"

The two men went to the bar and got more alcohol. Ramirez's old table saw who he was with and catcalled and whistled at him, much to his embarrassment. The bartender probably heard of what they went through, though, as when he saw them, he gave them a look of sympathy and even handed them a bottle of bourbon from under the table.

The gesture only served to make them feel uneasy as they made it back to their table.

Dubbo leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, a shot of bourbon in her hand. "See, Ramirez? There's no problem that can't be solved with copious amounts of gunpowder and alcohol!"

Ramirez tapped his glass against hers. "Bloody oath, ma'am."

They all shared a laugh at his horrible imitation of her accent, downing their burning shots of alcohol. But behind their smiles was a world of guilt and sorrow they wouldn't share with anyone but one each other.

And sitting in Ramirez's pocket—Mitchell's bloody ODST patch laid.

---

April 7, 2530

UNSC Athens

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Kelly paused before rapping her knuckles against John's door three times. Stepping back, she waited patiently for a few moments before she began to fidget when no one answered.

Biting her lower lip, her knuckles barely touched the door again before the door whooshed open.

She blinked when the faithful blue eyes of her close friend failed to greet her. Kelly craned her head down to be met with John's 'weapon' welcoming her instead, who straightened and clasped her hands behind her back in a show of basic respect for her given rank.

She was a beauty-endowed weapon, a commodity, an asset. One that was permitted to live in exchange for her battle capabilities, one that John kept at his side at all times.

Kelly saw her for what she truly was though. A problem her unit has been dealing with for the past couple of months. One that had been running her childhood friend ragged and had split their three-man group once it had entered their lives.

Not for the first time, Kelly cursed Sam's actions in her head. She knew he meant well by giving John such an asset, but the payoff was not worth it.

She had seen the growing bags and forming stress lines around John's eyes.

Her eyebrow twitched when said problem spoke, their blue eyes staring at her without a trace of emotion. Their adult-like appearance was enough to throw off anyone when compared to their short height, revealing the true extent of their youth. "Is there something you require, Petty Officer?"

Kelly slowly breathed in out, remembering the reason why she came here in the first place. To check on John, given his odd behavior after the last mission. She was fully aware of how closed off he could become with others when he was internally struggling with something in his mind, the problem being small or large. "Where's John? Is he here?"

"The Chief is showering right now. You can see him after he is done."

She was quick to notice Violet's now smooth speech. John must've worked out the stuttering and pausing she had during their trip back to Reach.

"Is that right?"

They stared at each other when neither budged.

"You gonna let me in? I need to have a word with him."

"You can see him after he is done."

This girl.

She must think she's special or something, having monopolized so much of John's time.

The thought pissed off Kelly more than she thought could be possible. In some ways, it felt like a direct insult to the bond she, Sam, and John had growing up. That this girl could come up, kill a couple of chaps, become registered directly under John, and everything would be fine and dandy.

—Acting like she's been here from the start like the rest of them.

All while forgetting that she was the reason Sam had to back out from their last deployment and broke her squad up.

"Shame, but I wasn't asking for permission."

Kelly shoved herself through the doorway, reaching out to push Violet out the way, only for the girl to snatch her wrist, lock her arm, and try to twist it around her back.

Violet got her to stumble in a little, not having expected the action from the more petite girl and the strength behind it. Kelly quickly reacted before she could pin her arm behind her back, simply flexing the muscles in her arm and brute-forcing herself out the hold, nearly launching the girl to the ground with the vicious action.

Kelly quickly gave a light kick to her behind before she could recover from the stumble, sending her rolling onto the floor into a crouch, body taut to continue attacking.

They stared at each other for a few tense moments before Kelly released a small scoff and relaxed, walking into the room and closing the door behind her.

Leaning against the wall, she glared at the still tense girl. "Don't try that again, you muppet."

"My name is not 'you muppet.' It is—"

"Shut up."

"I do not understand your anger."

"Oh? Maybe it's 'cause some toddler is trying to tell me what I can and can't do before attacking me."

"I am not a toddler, and this is the Chief's room. Fraternization between leaders and subordinates is illegal."

"Oh yeah? Then you shouldn't be here then."

"I am not his subordinate. I am his weapon."

"Sod off."

"You are being difficult. Please remove yourself from the room until the Chief is ready. You will end up getting in the way of his duties with this behavior."

Me. Getting in the way. How rich.

"Listen, you muppet." Kelly's tone was frigid as she pushed herself off the wall, walking to Violet. "Fred told me what happened in the last mission with the Wolverine—how John got tagged by a flamethrower saving your behind. Then took a whole collapsing building making sure you were safe. So, I'm gonna tell you this once."

She leaned in, her mouth by Violet's ear—her voice, a deadly whisper. "I don't care who you think you are to him. You slow him down like that again. I'll bleed you. Real quiet. When he isn't looking. Leave your body for the crows to feed on."

She leaned back from her ear, staring directly at her eyes. "I can promise you that."

Violet just stared at her blankly before she retorted.

"If I fail to protect the Chief, that is not an optimal solution for my disposal."

Kelly blinked, taken off guard. "…What are you on?"

"If I cannot protect the Chief, I have no use. There is no value in continuing to exist. As long as the Chief is alive, I will protect him. I will fight."

She looked at the brat strangely. "…You're a bit touched in the head, aren't you?"

"No one has touched my head."

"That's not what I—"

The door to the bathroom slid open, steam escaping the opening as John came out, wearing a pair of briefs and rubbing a towel on his head.

Kelly quickly straightened up as she turned toward him, her earlier demeanor gone as she raised an amused brow at his state of undress. "You finally done powdering your nose?"

She received a blink in response, John finally having registered her presence inside his room. "I didn't hear you come in… and what can I say? The hot water here is nice."

She rolled her eyes at him as he dropped the towel to his neck and shrugged his shoulders before softening. "…How are you feeling?"

"Um, good? Why? Did something happen?" John looked a little spooked, his eyes moving between Violet and Kelly as if he could sense the tension between them. Violet had loosened her fighting stance the moment he walked into the room.

Picking her nails always helped give Kelly the picture of apathy. At least that's what Linda told her. It beat wringing her hands and letting everyone in the room know how she really felt.

"Just making sure. The guys on the last mission took what happened in the end pretty hard at first, but we're good now. Clear minds and steady hands all around for the most part, if you were wondering. Though there was some talk about checking in on you too. I told them there was nothing to worry about, that I could handle that myself if they really had to know."

They actually figured that he would be alright by now, but there were lingering whispers amongst them. For what he did. And how he might be coping. Kelly was lucky to overhear one of the whispers and use that to her advantage to check up on him.

She was bending the truth a bit, yes, but she wasn't entirely wrong.

After all, she had heard how shaken he was when he commanded Violet to kill the family. He never sounded so unsure, ever.

The fact that the runt was the reason he seemed to be off his game made the whole situation worse.

John chuckled as he relaxed and made his way to his dresser, removing a set of military fatigues and putting on the bottoms, unmindful of the amount of skin he was exposing to Kelly.

And why would he? They've seen each other bare during their time as trainees for one reason or the other. He saw no reason to be self-conscious of her now of all times, not with how much he trusted her.

Kelly glanced at Violet, who showed no reaction aside from casually staring at him as she usually did.

Don't get too comfortable in your position.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm alright. We were following orders, Kelly. Nothing different from the usual."

The shadows in his eyes expressed his true feelings on the subject, even as he dipped his chin toward his chest to hide them, busying himself with putting on and blousing his boots.

Liar.

He was doing it again, wasn't he? Making himself seem fine so people wouldn't worry about him. Unfortunately for him, while he could fool everyone else with his tough man bravado, no matter how much he tried, the idiot could never quite succeed at hiding it from her and Sam.

"Oh really?"

It just frustrated Kelly how much he tried to do it, regardless of being caught or not.

John was like them, damnit. A living human being. There was no reason for him to bottle his emotions and discard them like some machine.

"You sound mad."

"I'm not. Nothing different from the usual. Right?"

She knew why he acted like this. Ever since Sam told him those words while they were children, he took it like he had to carry the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

"Ah… so you are mad. Was it something I said?"

'Don't let them see you bleed.' She remembered hearing Sam whisper to John after the latter had gotten hurt during a field exercise. Kelly had been hiding behind one of the trees, wondering what was taking them so long to come up with a plan.

What a bunch of bollocks.

Kelly wished she could've punched the stupid saying out of his stupid skull when she still had the chance when they were kids.

Not that she couldn't do it now, it just might look bad if the wrong person saw her attacking her commander like that.

Besides, the little runt might narc on her or something. Say that it was 'illegal' and whatever.

She folded her arms over her chest. "No, of course not. Just… don't forget to take care of yourself, alright? You're our leader, Chief. We need you to be in top shape."

In the end, she couldn't voice these concerns. She couldn't. She knew how simple, yet complicated; John could be when it came to this subject. How easily he could clam up if he felt too pushed. As much as she cared about him, the last thing she wanted to do was alienate him from her.

Kelly's eyes flickered toward Violet for a moment.

…And push him in the direction of others.

Not after all they've been through so far.

"Noted. You guys won't have to worry about me letting you down. You have my word."

Now fully dressed, he got onto his feet, making his way over to her—his palm falling on her shoulder. He gave it a firm squeeze, causing her insides to flutter a bit.

God, she hated how relaxed the simple touch made her.

It just wasn't fair.

John gave her a slight smile.

"…But if anything is bothering you, don't be afraid to bring it up on the net. Sam and I, we're here for you, you know that."

She averted her eyes.

Bloody hypocrite. He should follow his own words.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Just make sure to get some rest when you can. That's all I'm saying."

"Don't worry. I will."

Letting go, his fingers strayed against the tips of her brown hair, now brushing against the collar of her fatigues.

Kelly tensed up from feeling his fingers so close to her neck; her ears became warm.

"Your hair is getting pretty long, though. Make sure to cut it or put it up. God knows Chief Mendez would have a fit if he saw you out of regulations." John told her, rubbing the tips between his digits.

She scoffed, tapping his hand away from her. "More like an aneurysm. Haven't you heard? Jorge is trying to grow those facial whiskers he calls a beard out. Turns out most SF forces are pretty lax when it comes to the grooming standard. You should try it out sometime. Who knows? Maybe you'll stop looking like a fuzzy overgrown thumb if you did."

His brows furrowed, his features darkening as he brought his hand up to rub the stubble of hair he had on his head. "I don't look like a thumb, Kelly."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"It's in regulations."

"If you think buzzcuts look cool, just say so. No need to be all defensive."

His mouth worked for a moment, before rolling his eyes and sighing. "It's too early for this, Kelly."

She stopped fighting back the grin trying to form itself on her lips. "Well, if you're not doing anything right now, how about we get some brekky? I'm starving after being in cryo. I'll make sure to keep slagging you off your high horse after we get some proper nosh in our bellies."

John dropped his hand, sending her an apologetic smile as Violet walked to his side. "Sorry, but I've got to take the first Pelican planetside. Doctor Halsey has some information about Violet's test results that requires my attention."

The grin vanished. "Gotcha. Well, you've gotta do, what you've gotta do. Don't let me hold you back."

He kept the sorry smile on his face as they walked out of his room. "Sorry, I'll make it up to you later though. Alright, rabbit?"

She punched his shoulder for using her nickname, scowling to hide her growing embarrassment with it. "Shut your gob, you. And quit being so conceited. I'm not that gutted about getting pied off. I've got nothing else to do but faff around until then, but I'll hold you to your words."

"Of course, see you later."

She lazily waved as the duo walked away. Only after they turned the corner, did she sigh and let the disappointment show on her face as she made her way to the cafeteria.

Alone.

"You daft bloke," Kelly muttered. "It's been all work and no play with you for the past couple of months. Take a hint and relax a bit, will you?"

She was fully aware of how seriously he took his job, but it was beginning to get ridiculous. The least she could do as his subordinate and friend was look after him before he wore himself out or something.

He could even take a page from Linda's book and do that weird meditating stuff. 'Be like water' and use it as an excuse to get some winks in.

It's what Kelly sometimes did when she got bored of testing her reflexes.

But screw that weird Chinese contortionist shit Kai did sometimes though, that was freaky. Humans shouldn't bend that way naturally. You couldn't pay her enough to even try that out.

That runt at John's side wasn't doing him any favors either—making him come in and out of Reach for bloody doctor's appointments.

As she walked further down to her destination, Kelly found herself lifting a hand and rubbing the tips of her hair, remembering how John reached and touched it. She thought to the long ponytail Violet had. About how much time and effort John had spent maintaining it instead of cutting it off like he originally wanted to.

Maybe he likes long hair?

---

April 7, 2530

ONI Sword Base

Badb Catha Ice Shelf, Eposz, Reach

"You were given a lucky break by UNSC Command, John. Fight the battles you know you can win; I know I taught you this."

John frowned as Halsey scolded him while digging through her stacks of papers with one hand, the other hand scrolling through a datapad on her desk. Next to him, sitting on a smaller stool, was Violet.

"I understand that now, ma'am. I just didn't understand how far their reach was. I'll be more careful from now on."

"Well, I'm not going to beat a dead horse with a stick. That was Chief Mendez's job. For now, we can place the blame on him for not being better at it. Now then." She pulled out the papers she was looking for, pushing the stack away from her and mushing it with another.

She should really clean up her workspace.

John took the papers and graphs handed to him, furrowing his brows at the pictures and scans. Again, there were light and dark parts; only these were on Violet's entire body instead of just her brain.

"Tell me, John," He looked up when Halsey stood, going to the pot of coffee in her office and pouring herself a cup, all while staring at her datapad. The brown liquid looked cold. "What do you know about your augmentations?"

Putting the papers together neatly, he laid them on his lap. He doubted he could make sense of what was on them anyway. "Not much. Just the summaries of how they help our combat capabilities."

"Makes sense," She made a face when she took a sip, forcing herself to take another. "The purpose was to make soldiers out of your group, not scientists. So, tell me what you know of your bone augmentations."

"An advance carbide ceramic material was grafted onto them. They make our bones virtually indestructible."

"Correct. Do you know how much of this material makes up your skeletal structure?"

"Doesn't it make up the entire thing?"

"Incorrect. Tell me, do you know your bones are also living organs, just like your liver?"

John blinked. "I did not. And this is relevant? How?"

"It's simple really; they continually replenish themselves and regenerate new bone in the place of old bone when it's damaged. In fact, it is one of the few organs inside of us to do so. We had to keep this in mind when we grafted the material on them, assimilating them only on the uppermost layer of each individual bone so it wouldn't interfere with such a process. In actuality, that augmentation only makes up three percent of your total bone mass. If we went any deeper, we would risk them undergoing significant white blood cell necrosis."

"White blood cell necrosis?" All these terms were beginning to go over his head. Thankfully, it wasn't math, but it was still a subject that John didn't find as interesting growing up. It was a bit ironic now, seeing as he had to know now in order to keep his 'weapon' in proper health.

"When white blood cells die, new ones take place, simply put. With the carbide ceramic ossification, this process would accelerate faster. Your body would not be able to produce new white blood cells to match with the output needed to maintain a healthy body. This would end up running the risk of your cells becoming damaged or abnormal. When this happens, the risk of tumors would have run rampant as they grew, ending with everyone possibly having cancer."

"Cancer?" That was something John had never heard before.

She waved her mug dismissively. "A rare and old disease we found an instant cure to long ago. The only reason why it was such a worry was because it wouldn't be financially sound to cure you with every case that came up constantly. Cure or not, your body would've been a breeding ground for such pesky deformities. Not really an ideal situation."

"Oh. Okay."

"Besides, it would have been a risk had we not worked another augmentation with to work in tandem. That is what the catalytic thyroid implant was placed for. It was a pellet that released a human growth hormone that boosts the growth of skeletal and muscles tissues to help strengthen them, overriding the current white blood cell necrosis by boosting your body to produce more naturally."

"I see." John looked down at the papers on his lap, staring at the one showing Violet's skeletal structure. "So, I'm guessing she received the same, only a lesser version?"

"Not quite." He tensed at her sharp reply. "She was given all the enhancers, without any of the balancers. Parts of her skeletal structure show that the ossification was done deeper in other parts than just the outer layer. Probably from how broken her bones were when she first came in. Look at the graph closely."

He looked down when she pointed at the area of Violet's arms and legs, specifically the little balls that were formed near there. "These are…"

"Tumors. She's already at the fourth stage of cancer." Halsey sighed. "Nothing too problematic to remove with our current advancements in chemotherapy, even with the number littering her body. Though there have been some abnormalities that have been noted within her nervous system. Most likely the result of the culmination of the many crude augmentations that were dumped inside her when she was younger."

"Our biggest concern as of this moment is to regulate her body cells to match the output needed to function properly. Let's just be glad that it didn't grow in any of her vital organs. Not yet anyway. Again, it's a miracle that this girl is still alive. Much less even able to function as a normal human being."

John brought the paper closer, eying the tumor spots littered across it, before putting it back down. "Okay, but what do we do about the carbide ceramic in the deeper parts of her bones?"

Halsey didn't even flinch. "We'll have to manually scrape it out as best as we can. Fill the bones back up with an artificial substitute while they naturally heal with the help of supplements and other medicinal drugs. Then we'll be able to give her an improved and modified thyroid catalyst from the one you and your peers received to help strengthen the skeletal structure, without any of the drawbacks."

"Really, this is all to be done as a series of procedures, but those in UNSC Command that are aware of her existence want you and her back in the field as soon as possible. Hence, we'll have to force package it all into one evasive surgery."

John glanced at the girl sitting next to him quietly, who had begun swinging her legs back and forth on her stool. She looked up at him, her blue eyes seeking his through her bangs.

Violet cocked her head. "Is something the matter?"

Part of him wished he could be as laid-back. That he could send her to what could end with her death with barely a thought to her well-being.

…That he could stop looking at her as a person and start using her as a weapon—just like Violet wanted him to do.

The more significant part just wished she could stop wanting him to treat her like she was less than human. It had already been nine months since they met, five since he taught her how to speak. Weapon or not, he had grown to care for her as he would any other of his Spartans.

He was a soldier, yes, but that did not mean he was callous when it came to the lives of his subordinates.

He reached up to give her hair a quick ruffle but paused, dropping his hand and shaking his head. "No. It's nothing."

Despite his promise to her, John wasn't sure how to treat her anymore.

It's just not fair…

Her lips moved a bit, before she simply closed her eyes with a nod, not saying another word.

Halsey watched them interact with critical eyes, crushing the empathy she felt with John at that moment.

They were not the same, after all.

Halsey had done what she had for the greater good of humanity in mind. To sacrifice the few to save the many—a sin that would forever stain her soul. Even now, standing at nearly seven feet and able to likely kill everyone in the base in a matter of minutes, she could see the smiling six-year-old boy she had handed a coin to.

One which had ultimately damned him to his current life

On the other hand, John just wanted to save a life that was given to him—to work with and against his programming simultaneously. Because of his very nature, he would be forced to use her as a living weapon—a tool, instead of allowing her to live as an average person. That would be the only way of life authorized to them by the powers of those appointed above them.

In some ways, Halsey felt like—in the end, all the fingers would end up pointed back toward her and her choices.

It always came back in a full circle.

A butterfly effect, as it were.

"I'm not going to lie to you, John. It'll be an excruciating process that can end up killing her from the sheer strain, but this is the only way we can help her if we want her to have a life expectancy past twenty. Since if the cancer won't kill her, the constant surgeries to remove it will break down her body much too quickly. It'll be all or nothing."

She took another sip of her cold coffee, eying John as his expression became heavy.

He was getting tired of hurting her so much just to save her life.

"I see… when do we start?"

Violet just sat there, quiet as ever. The urgency of what was to come seemingly went over her head, despite her understanding why it needed to happen.

Still, she straightened as the Chief's heavy gaze fell on her.

Ever resolute.

---

"You might die, y'know."

Violet paused, before slipping off her shoes, placing them to the side. She began to work on her shirt, undoing the blue neckerchief. "Yes. I heard the Doctors warnings."

Inside the room with her was the Chief, who stood by one of the doors, his back facing her.

Idly, she wondered why he did not simply speak to her like he usually did when she changed clothes. Her nude form was not anything different from what it used to be when he first began to teach her, after all.

The Chief had been acting rather odd recently. He was becoming less kind, not like he was hurting her, but he seemed constantly troubled.

That bothered her. She wondered if she could do something to make the Chief feel better. Serving him only did so much, so maybe it had to be something specific?

While she had been neutral about his displays of physical affection initially, she now missed the head pats he used to give.

Not that she would tell him, for comfort was not integral for her to serve her lord.

"And your still okay with that?"

"If you order me to," Violet lifted the shirt above her head, the cold air of the room coming into contact with her exposed skin. She suppressed a chill as folded it before placing it to the side. "I will not die."

"If I…?" He looked over his shoulder at her, only to look back forward as she unbuttoned and removed her skirt. "My orders?"

"Yes, if they are your orders." She placed it with the rest of the pile.

"Don't you want to live?"

"Is that an order?"

"Wha—no." The Chief turned around fully this time, his brows furrowed, a slight tremor in his voice. "You should want to live. I shouldn't have to order you. This isn't a game, Violet. It's your life."

Ah… he was troubled. For one reason or another, he was upset by her words once again.

"I do not understand. I am not being playful." Violet reached for the gown. It was paper-thin and left much of her body exposed. Its use as clothing was negligible at best.

"I… you…"

She watched as he shut his mouth, her eyes flickering in confusion. "If the Chief wishes so, I will absolutely survive. If the Chief orders me…"

Even if his orders were impossible, Violet would sooner die trying than to give up–as long as they didn't conflict with her purpose to protect him.

Not that she planned to die anytime soon.

Violet tied the end of the gown off, folding the last of her clothing and placing it to the side before standing in front of the Chief. He stared at her, his… his… blue eyes shadowed, before he turned and walked out the room.

Violet did not like it when the Chief looked like this.

"Let's go."

She hurried after him, her bare feet plodding against the cold metal floors.

The hallway was long and grey. Some people in long white coats moved back and forth, while others in black clothing watched over them, some of them staring at her when they noticed. Some looked at her coldly, while others gave her a look that made the hairs on her neck rise.

Violet shuffled closer to the Chief's side.

The Doctor was waiting by one of the rooms, looking up from her datapad as they approached.

She spoke to the Chief. "I've tried to explain to the surgeons that your presence will be required as we put her under. The one in charge is giving me a hard time, but he'll come around. I'll make sure of it." The Doctor told him, putting a hand in her pocket.

A streak of black and red in the corner of her eye caught Violet's attention.

"That's for the best. Last time, she nearly tore her way out of her restraints trying to follow me out of the room."

The tiny figure hid behind one of the pillars in the hallway, their shoe sticking out from the bottom.

"His concerns of you getting in the way are baseless, anyway. The surgery will be done by automatons. But still, it's always better to be safe than sorry, I guess."

A green eye peeked from the corner before the figure ran out, a giggle escaping their lips as they cradled something in their hands.

"If I have to wear a sterilized suit, then I will."

Charging toward the Chief and the Doctor.

Looking from her position next to the Chief, the latter saw the figure, an exasperated look crossing her face. "Miranda, what are—"

Violet's body moved with vicious energy as they got too close to the Chief, catching the figure's arm and connecting their hips, using their velocity to throw them over her shoulder.

They landed on their back with a breathless gasp. Tears built in their green eyes and leaked out as they struggled to breathe, the wind having been knocked out of them.

"MIRANDA!" The Doctor cried out, and she felt the giant hand of the Chief grasp her shoulder as he pulled her back.

"Damn," She heard the Chief hiss out a small breath, a grimace on his face as the Doctor went to the little girl's side, frantically trying to soothe the now sobbing girl. "Why did you do that?"

"She was running to your position while hiding something in her hands. I moved to suppress." Violet answered his question, watching as the girl eventually calmed down under the doctor's uncharacteristic coos.

Oddly enough, she felt a twinge in her chest at the sight.

Violet brought up a hand to the area, feeling confused when she did not find any wounds.

How odd.

---

"Did I upset you and the Doctor with my actions?" Violet asked the Chief as they walked into the sterilized operating room.

In the middle laid an operating table with several automaton arms with various surgical tools embedded in them hovering above it. Technicians wearing white sterilized suits moved back and forth, uploading the programming data into the machines for the upcoming surgery.

"I'm not. Mistakes happen during the heat of the moment. I can't speak for Doctor Halsey, though." Having changed into his own sterilized suit, he walked her to the operating. She stripped off her gown, letting it fall off her scarred and petite body, climbing onto the table.

"I see. The Doctor should not have non-essential personnel in a facility like this."

"Yeah, your probably right."

The technicians moved, securing her in with metal braces around her ankles, wrists, head, and abdomen. One of them placed a hairnet on her for her blonde locks

Violet held back another shiver as the cold metal pressed tightly against her skin.

They continued on, inserting IV needles into various parts of her, before placing anesthetic gel on her groin to enter a catheter.

She squirmed in discomfort at the numbness and feeling, but a cold hand fell on top her restrained one, causing her to look up and meet the Chief's eyes as he stared down at her.

He stood by her side, holding her gaze as the technicians continued to work around them.

Violet felt herself relax a bit, a warmth filling her chest that fought against the surrounding cold as they ignored everything around them.

Her master may have been a stoic man who confused her with his questions, but it relieved her to see that his kindness—while recently lessened, was still there.

The moment was finally broken as one of the technicians moved her face to the side. They were quick to place a mask on top of her mouth and nose. Soon after, a hissing noise filled her ears as a sickly-sweet smell assaulted her senses.

Violet's little heart began to race as her eyelids soon began to lower, no matter how much she fought against the urge. An anxiety she couldn't explain surged through her body, as it did the last time she prepared for surgery.

It was as if it was remembering. Reminding her.

Her grip around the Chief's gloved hand tightened. The rapid beeping of the heart rate monitor slowed down as her body began to feel the effects of the drug.

"Chief." She croaked, rapidly losing the fight to stay awake as she stared back at him. "Wh-What do I do?"

Her voice was feeble and frail, even to her own ears.

"Y-Your orders. Please."

Once he spoke, she could find the strength to carry on.

"P-Plea—se."

He stared at her passively as her world darkened, and she barely felt his fingers tightening around her hand.

"My order, Violet." His voice warbled in and out as she lost the battle. "Is to survive."

Ah… there…. It is…

"…Ye…s…"

---

"Is she okay?"

Halsey looked down at the girl sitting on her lap asleep, her dried tears staining her face. She used a finger to push back a stray piece of black hair on her face—a screen detailing Violet's status and surgery progression lay in front of her. "She's fine, thankfully. Just a bruise at worse."

John frowned, feeling responsible his subordinate's actions. "Violet… she did what she thought was right. It's my fault that I didn't teach her to—"

"No need to blame yourself. It's my own neglective actions that caused this, as I should've kept a better eye on my dau… Miranda. Your Violet was only reacting to what she was trained to do."

He frowned, looking away from Violet being cut open from his position in the observation room, looking at Halsey instead. "I… didn't know you had a daughter, ma'am."

"I do." She took a sip of her half-empty coffee mug. "I had her a few days before you received your augmentations. She barely turned five a few weeks ago."

"I see…" John shifted on his feet before clasping his hands behind his back. "Is her father here as well?"

He knew the basics of sexual reproduction, but he still had a rough time wrapping his mind around the thought of Halsey committing the necessary actions. With another man, no less.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that." Her reply came out rather clipped.

"Yes, ma'am. My apologies, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine," She sighed, swirling her mug as Miranda shuffled against her. "…Even though it was an accident… it's an odd experience, being a mother. I never thought I would ever become one with how preoccupied I was with my work. Yet, look at me now."

"I see…"

She drained the last of the coffee, placing the empty mug against the table in front of her to hold Miranda more securely to her body. "You don't have to be so restrained with me, John. Feel free to ask what's on your mind."

"Um, okay." He thought for a moment. "Will she join ONI as well when she's older? Or serve as part of the UNSC?"

Her eyes glazed over. "Hopefully, none."

"Ma'am?"

"Nevermind. Tell me, John," Halsey blankly stared ahead. "Do you feel like you could ever handle the responsibility that comes with parenthood?"

John was taken aback, his mind racing at the odd thought. "Uh, no, ma'am. I don't think I would want children anytime soon… or ever, really. There's too much work to be done, with the Insurrectionist cells still active in the colonies."

"I thought the same way with my work back then too, you know. Then I fell into a brief romance. Even loved, you can say."

"'Love?'" John was puzzled. He saw the pain in her eyes. "Ma'am, what does that mean?"

Was this 'love' what led to her having a child with another man?

"…Just answer the question, John." She flipped the script back to him.

John looked up in thought, slightly rocking on his heels as he did.

He had already enough to deal with raising Violet, but the thought of having to do so for a newborn threw his mind in a loop. He just couldn't think of a logical reason for him to have one. He was a soldier, not a caregiver. At the same time, he felt that his sense of responsibility for the child would interfere with his duties if he ever had one.

Besides, while he could still feel something with those he considered physically attractive, he never felt the 'urge' to procreate.

His results with Violet so far were enough to discourage him from ever going down that road. No child deserved to live like that, not unless it served a purpose toward the greater good as he and his fellows did.

Even if it were for the greater good… could I…?

John shrugged. "I just don't see it happening, ma'am."

"I see," Halsey cradled Miranda tighter. "Forget it. It was an odd question anyway."

"…Okay." John looked back at Violet, the surgical machines doing their work inside her. "Can I ask a question, ma'am?"

"Permission granted."

"How long did you know of Violet's current condition? Shouldn't it have come up in the last test results?"

At least with Halsey, who looked at anything but the Spartan, a tense silence formed between them.

"…Did you know, ma'am?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then why did we only commit to the surgery to get her into fighting capability? Why wait until now—after the mission, to deal with the abnormalities inside Violet? She could've died from them."

Halsey sighed, closing her eyes. "Orders, John."

"Orders?"

"Yes, as much as I'm the one often giving them, even I have to follow the ones given to me."

"But why would they…" He then remembered the last mission, what Matthews had explained to him. "Was it because she hadn't proved herself in their eyes?"

"The Spartans already receive a lot of funding to maintain and update your gear with the latest cutting-edge technology. Some in Command believe those funds are a misused allocation of valuable resources. Luckily for you, I and many others disagree; your reputation with past successful operations only adds to that sentiment. That does not mean we can give you everything that is asked for immediately. At least, not until it made sure that it will be a worthwhile investment."

Investment?

Is that the extent of Violet's life was to them?

Was theirs, the Spartan-II's, regarded in the same light?

Of course, it is. It's our duty—as soldiers, to fight and die when we're told to.

John looked toward Violet.

It's our duty, nothing more, nothing less.

He thought of the girl who followed him.

It's our duty.

—Who he taught to speak

To read books.

It's our…

Who looked up to him, her faith in him and his choices never wavering.

It's…

He then looked toward Halsey, who held her child, and felt himself soften.

He and his team being looked at as assets by those in the Chain of Command was a given, even if he wished for more in regards for Violet. But he would never doubt the woman who raised him and the other Spartans as children to ever view him as 'just' an 'asset.'

John only hoped that viewpoint extended to Violet as well.

"I see." Was what John responded with, the turmoil inside of him put to rest.

…for now.

Miranda shifting awake caught his and Halsey's attention as her big green eyes fluttered open. She let out a small yawn, before her eyes locked onto him, and she froze a little.

John, hands still clasped behind him, rubbed his thumb across his fingernails. "…Hello."

Miranda pushed her face into Halsey's coat, eying him shyly. "…Hi…"

Despite trying to, he was sure the smile on his face came off as a grimace.

"…."

"…."

Halsey sighed, and after a moment's hesitation, shifted Miranda's body closer to John. "Miranda, this is John. John, Miranda."

"Hello." He tried again.

"…." Miranda just pushed her whole face into Halsey's coat, hiding herself.

"Now, Miranda," The Doctor said sternly to the young girl. "If you want to apologize, you have to face him and say that you're sorry."

She glumly removed her face at the verbal reminder, nervously looking at anywhere but John as her head turned to face him.

"I….m….s…ry…"

John patiently waited, letting the girl gain her wits.

"You have to speak louder, Miranda." Halsey gently coaxed her.

Still hard to believe that she could speak like that.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry, J-John." Her green eyes filled up with unshed tears. "I-I didn't mean t-to…to…."

He sighed as she looked like she was going to break down once more. Getting on a knee, he tried to make himself look as unintimidating as possible. He still hovered over the seated Halsey. "It's alright, Miranda. Just…be careful next time. Violet didn't mean to hurt you…but…."

He rubbed his neck, his gaze falling. Violet had ended up hurting the younger kid anyway. "…Yeah."

Miranda wiped her eyes, nodding through trembling lips. "I-It's okay. Mommy always told me that I would get hurt if I kept running through the halls like that. So, it's my fault too."

Not really.

John nodded slowly, eying the area around them quietly as she fidgeted, before his eyes zeroed in on her clenched hand. He remembered Violet's reasoning. "What did you have in your hand anyway? Did you want to show it to the Doctor?"

She perked up almost instantly at that line of questioning, her previous tears gone as she brought up her hand toward her mother. "Oh yeah! Look at this, mommy! I found it outside!"

Halsey looked pale when Miranda revealed it to be a beetle as large as the girl's hand. "M-My, Miranda, wh-where did you...? Where did you even find such a thing?"

The girl frowned, beginning to look a little disheartened at her mother's lackluster response. "Um, it's a scarab… I… found it outside…and thought… you would like…."

Her voice became softer and tinier as she sank into herself.

John was curious and couldn't help but correct her. "That's a rhinoceros beetle. It looks like it's barely a few weeks old though."

Miranda looked up at him, surprised. "You know bugs, John?"

"Sort of. I used to play with them when I had nothing to do when I was…." Training. "…when I used to go camping."

He wasn't expecting the big smile he got from the green-eyed girl as she offered him the beetle. "Aren't they cool, John? My daddy showed me a few when I visited him last time, but it's hard to find them here with all the military cars around!"

Picking up the offered insect, he let it crawl around his hand, feeling a tingling sensation of its tiny legs touching his skin. "Yeah, you usually find them in the mountains."

"Really?!"

"Yeah, and these guys can get bigger too. Almost as big as my hand, maybe even bigger."

"But your hand is so big, John!"

John didn't have to force the slight smile on his face anymore. "Just a little."

"How about these then?! Have you ever seen these?!"

She then proceeded to reach in her pockets and pull out a hand full of worms that wriggled in her hand.

"Oooookaaay," Halsey sounded on the verge of a panic attack as she quickly removed the raven-haired girl from her lap. "That's enough of that. How about you talk to John about the bugs you found? Together?"

She received an innocent blink. "How about you, mommy?"

"Mommy is interested too. She'll just… uh… be interested from here."

Miranda looked doubtful. "Okay?" Before she faced John with a smile. "John, have you ever seen these before? My daddy said they were called worms!"

John blinked, a thought coming to him.

"Your… daddy did?"

"Yeah! He's like you! A soldier-man!" Her lips pursed in thought. "Your bigger though, like a lot."

"Oh, really? Well, what does he do?"

"Here!" She handed him some of the worms. "And he works on spaceships!"

A sailor, then.

"Thanks, Miranda," He took them, letting them pool onto his palm. "I've worked on ships too, you know."

She puffed out her cheeks a bit. "Yeah, but he's actually gonna have a ship soon! It'll be his! But not yet though. Right now, he's a Lu-Luuminum Cammanter! So he has to wait a bit."

Lieutenant Commander, a Naval Officer.

"That's impressive. I probably served with him. Do you know the ship—?"

"John." He looked up to see the stern disapproval on Halsey's face. "Please stop."

Ah. She must've caught on to what he was trying to do.

Miranda giggled at him, waving around her hand filled with worms. "Ooooh. You're in trouble, Joooohn."

He replied by flicking the worms straight to her face, earning a squealing laugh as she shouted out a quick 'Hey!'

"Sorry, ma'am."

Halsey's eyes flickered to the joyfully laughing Miranda, relaxing slightly. "Just don't do it again, John."

"Hehehehe, yeah John, don't do it—"

Violet began to scream. It was a long and pain-filled wail, raw and animalistic to its core.

John went ramrod straight as he heard it, the bugs on his hand forgotten as he moved to the railing of the observation room.

"M-Mommy, what's going on?"

"Shh, mommy's working, Miranda."

The whining of drills pierced John's ears as he stared at the trembling Violet on the operating table. Her petite body was cut open at several places, arms of the machine moving in and out of her as she continued her wails. Occasionally, she would convulse, the restraints bucking against her augmented strength but holding firm.

He had never heard such a sound come from her before. John could feel the urge to jump over the railing and into the room rise with the pitch of her screams.

Keeping steadfast, he instead asked Doctor Halsey. "What's going on?"

Miranda had latched back onto Halsey and buried her face in her coat, who was rapidly tapping the screen in front of her. "The surgery has progressed to the removal of the excess carbide ceramic in her bones. The pain must be too much for the anesthetics, but we cannot go any higher. She'll have to power through the rest."

John gripped the railing, a squeal coming from it as his fingers crushed it. He didn't register it as all he could hear was the screams and cries from the girl below. "Is there anything we can do to help her?"

"Yes, but you won't like the answer, John."

"Please, tell me what to do, ma'am," He almost begged.

Her voice was full of empathy for him.

"You're going to have to do what you hate most. You're going to have to wait and watch."

---

"We'll survive. And once we do, we'll get out of here."

"Y-ye…s…"

The other kids were screaming again after the bad people took them.

The boy—her brother from their similar hair and eyes, hugged her with all his might as he made this promise. She could only remain limp in his grasp, though not by choice. The pain flowing through her body from the last shots became too much for her small mind to grasp.

Even with the warmth from the body holding her, she still felt cold.

The girl herself wore a ragged pair of shorts and a shirt—her arms and legs covered in bloody bandages from her most recent experiences.

After they and the other kids in their tent were brought back to their tent, she and her brother quickly huddled in their corner. They forwent their cots as they fought against the rage in their minds.

The whispers.

The urges.

Some quickly lost themselves to the rage, banging their head bloody against the wall or gouging their own eyes, hoarsely screaming as they did.

The others who survived weren't as lucky, though the girls lasted longer than the boys. After some time had passed, they suddenly began to bleed from the eyes or foam from the mouth. Their bones contorted, and their muscles tearing from underneath their skin as they spastically twitched themselves into their death, their bodies rapidly breaking down.

A whimper escaped her lips as footsteps reached their cell. She felt the boy shift his body in front of her protectively as a pair of hands grabbed her. She cried out in terror as she was ripped away from the boy, the figures ice-cold fingers digging into her collar.

"Don't touch her!" The boy screamed, only to be sent to the ground with a backhand to the cheek.

"Shut up, boy! Before I give you a real reason to start screaming!"

The boy struggled to his feet, only to get kicked back onto the floor.

The girl could only mumble nonsensically as she cried, her mind long having deteriorated to the point it could barely form words.

The man in the green uniform forcefully took her from the tent to the scary church with the other scary people in green uniforms and white suits were.

They mumbled amongst one another, the uniform's speaking in grim tones compared to the suit's passionate ones. They placed the girl into the line with five other girls in various stages of pain. Out of the others, the girl was the only one whose condition was the best after the series of injections.

Before them, a large, painted portrait of a pretty woman with blonde hair and shiny white armor stood, sword drawn to the sky; feathers of pure white surrounding her.

One of the older men in uniform was staring at the portrait while a suit spoke to him.

"—getting riled up."

"We'll deal with them later. If they're that insistent on dealing with the kids just because they look similar to someone in some book… well, we'll just use what they're so afraid of to kill them all. It'll be a good test."

"Yes, sir. We're just asking to mobilize a small task force to at least defend the borders…."

One of the suits approached them with a kind smile, even as another got another dose of injections prepared. "You're doing well, sweeties. Just a few more sessions, and it'll be over. Just keep holding on, and you'll be stronger than ever before."

One of the other girls sobbed and flinched as her punctured and bloody arm was wiped clean before being stuck with another needle, cradling it as she shook.

"I know you may not understand now, but it's your duty to fight."

The first girl fell to the ground, whimpering and shaking violently as the others were given their shots.

The suit stood in front of the girl herself, staring into her eyes.

"…I know you've got what it takes, ・・・・."

The girl whimpered as her bandages were removed, revealing the fresh hypertrophic scars she had underneath. They bled slightly as the skin was gently gripped, the needle sliding in and injecting its contents into her arm.

"You've got to tell yourself, 'I will do what nobody else is willing to do!'"

She trembled as her arm was released, gripping it and tensing for the pain that would surely come soon.

One of the uniforms stared at her coldly as the girl raised her head toward her.

"So, please. For our sake, against our oppressors, for a better future for our home…."

She raised a hand toward the woman, tears filling her eyes.

The girl knew her.

"—."

Her throat burned, her mouth wordlessly moving, struggling with the words in her crumbling mind.

She knew her. She knew her. She knew her. She knew her!

"・・・・, please!"

"M-Mo…" She whimpered, the scary rage burning once more from within. "…mmy"

The woman stood there, unwavering at the sight of the girls begging.

"…Kill our enemies. And save us all. Please…"

Her head throbbed; her stomach recoiled.

"…Kill…"

Then her mind shattered as the pain came, the fire flowing through her veins.

It took her a while to realize the screaming was coming from her.

---

Compared to what she looked like a while ago, she seemed so peaceful now.

John sighed, leaning his elbows against his knees as he sat on a chair at Violet's bedside. The girl was asleep, having passed out soon after the operation to her bones had been completed. Her body had been wrapped in surgical dressing to keep the incisions closed, though the current ones were beginning to brown with blood.

He began to bounce his leg.

What's wrong with me?

John couldn't fully comprehend this apprehension for her to wake up—it had been only ten minutes since her operation had ended, and she had been moved. Halsey had told him that the soonest she would awaken would be anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour.

This was not the first time he had seen those he cared about, much less considered subordinates, in pain while under the knife before. He had done plenty of combat surgeries to save the lives of others before, usually before passing them off to someone more medically qualified.

Hell, he had been worried for Kelly straight after their augmentation procedures, as she had been one of the last ones to recover from them. It had been hard news, being told that she may or may not make it; the strain of the operation might having been too much for her body to endure. For three days, he and Sam stood by her bedside as she recovered; he even remembered how still he had been until she had finally opened her eyes almost two hours post-op.

That had been then, when he had been just a fledgling into the world of clandestine operations and its various morally dubious activities. Since then, he had gained more battle experience–become more adjusted to battle and the violence it could bring.

John had learned how to distance himself from emotions that did nothing but impeded his mission readiness to make the hard decisions, should they fall onto him.

…At least, that's what he thought.

Why do I feel like this?

He felt constantly jittery, almost to the point that he was suffering from a lack of control. He wanted to get up on his feet and pace around the room until she woke up.

I hate this.

He was trained to be better than this, damnit. To be the best of the best—and for all intents and purposes, he and the Spartans are the best and the best.

Then why…?

John perked up as Halsey walked into the room with Miranda at her side. Compared to the Doctor's cold exterior, the young girl looked concerned, the complete duality of mother and daughter still throwing him off a little.

"Still waiting?" Halsey asked, glancing to the still sleeping Violet. "It won't make her wake up any faster."

He clenched his fists, dropping his gaze toward the floor. "I know. I just…"

This feeling of helplessness. He hated it so much.

"Is the pretty girl going to be alright, John?" Miranda asked, looking at said person. "She sounded like she was really hurt."

John exhaled. Pretty, huh? "Yeah…She's fine. Just a little tired, is all."

"Um, when I get really tired, I like to hold my tiger, Simon. Or my bear, Suzie."

Tiger? Bear? Why would she…?

"Stuffed animals, John." Halsey cut into his confused thoughts. "They're little toys."

"Yeah, I have a bunch of them though! Daddy gave them to me! I can give one to her if she wants!"

"Violet," John told her. "Her name… it's Violet."

"V-Violet? That's a pretty name!" Miranda was almost bouncing on the balls of her heels, looking up at Halsey. "Mommy, can I get some of my toys for Violet? Please, please, please?"

The Doctor looked torn but nodded, nonetheless. The smile on her face was strained. "Go ahead, Miranda. Just no running, okay? Mommy has to stay here and look over Violet with John."

"No running!" Miranda adopted a serious look, one that didn't coincide well with her jittering movements. "I promise!"

Despite her words, she dashed out of the medical room with her little legs, a smile on her face.

"That girl…" Even though her words were full of exasperation, there was a fond smile on Halsey's face. "She really deserves better…."

John glanced at her. "…You make it sound like you'll be sending her somewhere?"

The smile faded.

"…To her father. It's for the best for her, honestly. Just these few hours were the longest we've interacted in the past month. To say even less from when she was born." She sat down on one of the chairs in the room, sagging into it a bit. "Besides, she always had more interest toward her father's assignments than what I was looking under the microscope. She even showed some curiosity of the books of naval tactics in my office, and I'm sure she would love to read them if she could."

John looked to Violet, more than understanding of Halsey's desire to give her charge a better life. "I see…"

Unfortunately, the two soldiers would not get the opportunity to choose, not like the Doctor and her child. All they could do was look after another until the day came for them to make the ultimate sacrifice.

—For the defense of Earth and all her colonies.

As always, the thought of his own fate ending up being so left nothing but a feeling of assurance inside him, as it was his purpose. The same could not be said for the girl on the bed next to him.

Violet twitched, before her eyes fluttered open, hazily landing on John.

"Ch...ief…"

"So quick…"

John ignored Halsey's comment—all his previous thoughts were gone as he scooted over to her side. The burden in his chest had lightened in relief. "I'm here."

Her bandaged hand twitched, grasping in his direction. "Ch…ief…"

Automatically, he gently placed his hands on her bandaged ones, all too aware of the pain her healing bones must be in. "You're fine, Violet. I'm here." When she struggled to bring the hand holding his up, he frowned. "Relax. Don't push yourself."

Her head squirmed against her pillow, the side of her face digging against it as she hazily muttered. "Chi..ef… Ch…ief…"

John's frown deepened, before looking at her bandaged body, a small realization dawning on him.

Could she not feel me?

Releasing her hand, he hesitated, before laying his palm on her cheek. "…It's okay."

Like a released rubber band, Violet instantly relaxed, nuzzling her face against his digits. "…Chief."

The Spartan froze when she then put his thumb in between her teeth and nibbled on it, her eyes closing as she went back to sleep.

She had not done this after her last surgery.

"Well," He heard Halsey mutter. "That's something…."

"Um, Doctor…" John almost stuttered, unsure what to do. "What… I… she…"

He heard Halsey get up from her chair, before approaching and bending over the unconscious Violet, using a finger to peel open an eyelid as she flashed a light into it.

Aside from her teeth squeezing his thumb a little tighter, Violet didn't react.

"Hm. Interesting," Halsey clicked off the light and placed it back in her pocket. "Tell me, John. Have you ever seen Violet bite her nails when she seemed nervous? Suck on her own thumb when she was asleep? Put random objects in her mouth like her hair?"

"Uh, no." John had never seen such things. Granted, he also wasn't staring at her whenever he got the chance to like she did with him. "I haven't. Is that bad?"

"Not quite. Quite honestly, I'm a little surprised there was never a documented case of you or the other Spartans doing such things during training. Though there were plenty of other particularities that were shown."

"Why would we suck our thumbs? We were children, not infants."

"You overestimate how easily disturbed the developmental physiologically of young children can be, John. In Freudian psychology, it has been proven that unmet oral needs and lack of parental love in early childhood have led to higher chances of people gaining an oral fixation. It causes the subject to seek a sense of pleasure when facing anxiety and stress through oral means."

There was that word again. Love. Only this time, it was used in a parental sense, instead of a romantic one. It was said so plainly—as if it was an ordinary way to explain things

If John had ever used the word when he was younger for one reason or another, it was too long ago. He couldn't possibly remember the meaning of it now.

The Spartan glanced down at Violet, not removing his thumb from her mouth.

Still, Halsey explained this phenomenon as a byproduct of a lack of parental care.

So, if she was using him as a sense of comfort—could it be in replacement of…?

Does this mean…?

He shook his head from the thought. Focus. "So, is it normal?"

"It's a part of normal childhood development. I'm sure you did the same thing once when you were younger, and there are plenty of adults that revert to the same habits when stressed. Plenty of servicemen do it, either through smoking, chewing tobacco, chewing gum, and such. It's not a bad thing, as long as you don't let her gain a habit of doing it with harmful substances."

John nodded, setting an internal reminder to try and pay attention to Violet's behavior when he had the chance. "Okay. Thank you, Doctor."

Halsey was really helping him out here. He wouldn't have known what to do had he seen this habit happen in front of him suddenly.

"Of course, John. I'm not around often for Miranda, so I do what I can to look out for signs when I can. I can only do this for so long though. My research, it's…."

Hence, her work took precedence, sending Miranda to her father—where she could hopefully get all the proper care and attention she needed.

"I understand, ma'am."

"I… found that keeping a personal journal helps when analyzing subjects of importance. It can help you document questions that you may not have the answer to yet. Especially since sometimes, our ability to find a coherent enough answer will only come with time and a deeper understanding of the subject. Perhaps… you should invest in one during your time with Violet and the others?"

Sounds interesting.

"I'll keep it in mind, ma'am."

It seems like the list of things John would have to do to care for Violet kept growing.

Even if he could only do so much for her, in the end, he found himself to be fine with the idea.

Still…

Love, huh?

Even if he didn't quite understand such a concept that seemed to have multiple variations, there had to way for him to make sense of it.

After all, if it was something that could make even Halsey make strange choices, it had to be —something worth looking into.

---

The light was piercing for Violet as she woke up, but not as bad as the pain aching through her body. Feeling something inside her mouth, she automatically bit on it, and she felt calmer, dulling the pain.

The object moved, and she tried to bite down on it again to hold it as it extracted itself, fully opening her eyes in discontent.

The blue eyes of the Chief stared down at her as he wiped his hand against his shirt. "Sleep well?"

"Ch…eif," Pain flared through her body as she attempted to sit up, her arm struggling to raise in salute as she did—just as she was taught. "Violet…reporting for…duty..."

The Chief pressed a hand against her chest to lay her back. "Rest. That's an order."

Her body immediately went limp. "Yes, Chief."

Ah. At least he did not look troubled. Not like before.

Her body throbbed.

Everything felt heavy and slow.

Violet noticed something on her left. She turned her head to stare at the Doctor and the child from earlier sitting next to her.

The child had big green eyes—they reminded her of her false master.

The child held some furry items in her small hands that resembled various animals she had read about.

Violet's gaze strayed on the doggie.

"U-Um…" She looked up when the girl spoke, nervously fidgeting in the Doctors lap. "H-Hello V-Violet. M-My name is…." She trailed off, murmuring under her breath.

"I cannot… understand…." Violet replied, her voice feeling weak to her own ears. "You… must speak... louder..."

The girl shrank a bit, clutching the animals to her chest

Violet's jaw ached as pain flared within her arms and legs. She began to suck on the inside of her cheek.

"Miranda, what did I say about speaking up?" The Doctor's voice was different from before—still harsh, but it was slightly toned down. "C'mon. Where did all that enthusiasm go?"

The girl—Miranda, looked at the ground. Her eyes began to moisten. "I'm sorry…."

Seeing this caused Violet to feel a little jittery. She did not know why. "Why are… you… apologizing?"

Miranda hiccupped, sniffling. "U-Um… My name is… my name is…."

"Why are… you…crying…? Are…you hurt?"

The girl buried her face into the animals, whimpering.

Seeing as she was making the situation worse, Violet looked to the Chief for orders on what to do.

She received a blank look in response, since he looked just as lost.

Violet furrowed her eyebrows.

How troubling…

The crying girl aside…

Why did she feel like she had forgotten something?

---

It took a bit of time, but with some encouragement—half-baked from Halsey and unwilling on John's part, Miranda calmed down enough to try again.

John figured that the kid was just shy with new people. It probably didn't help that Violet was also the one that threw her onto the ground hard enough to cry. Though, it was surprising how fast the energy Miranda had evaporated once Violet woke up.

Speaking of Violet, she sat on her now-elevated bed, stoic as ever. Though she looked better than how she was when she initially awoke.

"M-M-My name is, M-M-Miranda." The little girl finally stuttered, getting a nod of acknowledgment from Violet.

"Hello, Miranda. I am Violet, the Chief's weapon."

John's fingers gripped the bridge of his nose.

That doesn't sound right at all.

It was just odd when he heard it said aloud, hearing a weapon owning a weapon.

The kid just looked confused.

"W-Weapon?" She gave the bandaged girl a once over, frowning in realization. "But… you d-don't have any…weapons."

"I do not have any weapons. I am the weapon."

"U-Um…? I-I don't get i-it?"

"I am the Chief's weapon—"

"Miranda," John cut in before this could continue on in circles. "Didn't you want to give Violet something?"

"U-Um! Right!" The girl then brought up the armful of stuffed toys. "I-I brought some g-gifts, V-Violet!"

Violet didn't react.

Miranda raised the toys up to her face, hiding as she made the toys bow with a squeaky 'Hello, Miss Violet!'

Again, no reaction from Violet.

The toys seem to droop with Miranda's mood at the silence, and John could see the tips of her exposed ears turning red. "Y-You don't l-like them?" She sounded sad, dropping the toys back to her lap. "M-Maybe it's because you th-think it's for little k-kids?"

She looked about to cry again when she received no answer.

"Violet," John had to at least try to prevent that. He didn't feel like comforting a crying kid again. "Miranda brought you some gifts. Do you accept her offer?"

"Chief, what is a 'gift?'"

John withheld a sigh; he should've seen that coming. "A gift is… when someone gives you something without recompense. Usually, it's something that's meant to help you in some way."

"Help me…? Can it accelerate my healing capabilities? I already heal fast."

He shrugged; he could go with that. "Sure…maybe…"

John avoided looking at Halsey's pointed frown. Though, he did notice her pull out a datapad from somewhere.

Violet blinked, before turning to Miranda and the toys. "For me…? Why for me?"

"Y-You sounded like you w-were in a lot of pain. It sounded s-scary. So I wanted to give you something that'll h-help you feel better soon!"

Violet stayed silent.

"U-Um, do you like bunnies, Violet? Or bears? They're cute, right?"

"I do not know."

Of course she doesn't know.

'Cute things,' were not on John's list to teach Violet about. Why would it be? It's not like they would get the time where such things would become relevant, right?

Now he was regretting that line of thinking. He should've given her the knowledge anyway, even if she didn't need it.

"D-Do you like dogs then? O-or maybe tigers?" Miranda was better than him at least, still trying her hardest.

"I do not—"

"Violet," He was patient, but he knew how Violet could get. He needed to cut to the chase. "Pick the one you want."

"Is that an order?"

Miranda looked alarmed.

"No. I want you to pick the one that you desire."

"The one… I desire…?"

Violet quietly eyed the toys, from left to right.

"W-wh…" She looked up as Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out the words. "What if you picking one was going to stop the world from ending in three seconds!"

Violet whirled on John—her eyes wide in confusion.

He shrugged. "Choose, Violet."

Three…

Two…

On—

"…The doggie, then… maybe?"

"Riley, right?!" Miranda wriggled herself off her mother's lap, who was too busy tapping away at her datapad to notice her extend the dog plush toward Violet. She made it bow, her attempt of a deep voice coming off too high-pitch and squeaky. "'Nice to meet you, Miss Violet!'"

"…Hello, Riley."

Violet barely looked interested as she took the stuffed toy, but eventually dragged her head toward it to rub it against her face.

"It's soft, isn't it?! Don't worry! Riley will protect you from the scary things next time!"

"Yes…" Violet closed her eyes to press her nose toward the toy's stomach. "…It feels nice. I believe I want to keep touching it."

Miranda looked ecstatic, and it was beginning to give John tonal whiplash on how quickly her demeanor would switch back and forth so much.

"Mommy, look! She liked Riley—Mommy?" She turned excitingly toward Halsey, only to pause when she saw her more focused on her datapad.

Halsey barely looked up at it; any traces of tenderness had been replaced with her usual look. "Hm? Yes, yes. That's kind of you, Miranda. But if you're done talking with Violet and John, I need to get back to my work. I've already wasted enough time as it is. So, say goodbye to them."

John almost felt curious at how downcast Miranda's eyes became. It was like all the happiness was sapped from her.

"Oh… Okay." She looked up at them and tried to smile. It looked painful. "B-Bye, John. Bye, Violet… do… do you think we can see each other again?"

"Maybe…" He shrugged. Violet was too busy with the plush to answer.

Miranda's eyes went down again, toward the stuffed animals in her arms. "…Oh…"

"Miranda," Already up and at the door, Halsey called out to her daughter. "Hurry up. We have to go. I'm going to be behind on my work."

Not once did she look up from the datapad.

Miranda looked like the last thing she wanted to do, was to listen to her mother.

To John's surprise, she walked up to him instead, her hand reaching up to undo the red ribbons in her hair. With her raven tresses free, she handed them to him. "Um, I have more of these, so can you give them to Violet? I think she'll look prettier if she wore them."

"Alright," He took the offered ribbons from her. "I'll make sure to pass them off to her."

"Thanks, John… um… do you think you can see me again? When you have the time?"

Oh?

The question puzzled John—since nobody ever asked that before.

Most people outside of his circle tried to avoid him and his kind when they could. He could understand why, with how badly their social interaction was with others.

This was a definite first…

"Miranda," Halsey spoke before he could think of a response. Her cold tone caused Miranda to flinch. "Let's go. Now."

"…Bye John." It was like this girl was determined to keep surprising the Spartan, as she gave his knee a quick hug before running off to her mother.

"…Bye." He replied to the closing door, blinking. Glancing at the ribbons in his hand, he then looked up at Violet.

Just to see her place the dog's ear in between her lips to nibble on it.

Right, oral fixture—or whatever.

"Seems like you're having fun."

She removed the toy from her mouth to resume rubbing her face against it. "I do not know what 'fun' is. But it feels pleasant."

John just watched as she continued moving only her head to touch it. Maybe it was because the pain from her bones kept her from feeling and moving as freely that she was doing it? Once she had pushed it too much and it had strayed, she would stir her neck to let it fall on her cheek again.

Her movements seemed incredibly natural.

At this moment, she really did look like a child. Something John had almost forgotten, given his own upbringing.

Maybe she really had been doing such things when he wasn't looking.

…He didn't like the feeling that line of thinking brought.

"Uh," He muttered, trying to derail his current thoughts. "Looks like Miranda likes you. How does it feel? Making your first friend?"

Violet paused her ministrations, her eyes opening. "We are not friends."

"…That so?"

"Friends know each other on a personal level. We do not, since we just met. So we are not friends."

John sighed. Honestly, that would be the same answer he would give. "Fair point."

"…What is that?" He looked down at the ribbons in his hand, giving Violet a better look.

"Miranda wanted you to have this. She really likes your hair, thinks it looks pretty."

"'Pretty?'"

"It's like 'cute.' It means you find something attractive, but…in a more…delicate way?" John fingered his chin in thought. "Something like that…."

"'Pretty…" She muttered. She glanced at him for a moment and looked like she was about to say something, before her lips pursed.

"What?" She shook her head.

"It is nothing, Chief."

He raised a brow.

Didn't sound like nothing.

John shrugged it off. "Okay. Also, my name is John. Not 'Chief.'"

Violet furrowed her brows. "But Chief is the Chief."

"Yes, but that's not my name. It's John."

"John…?" She looked troubled, her fingers squeezing the dog. "Chief…John…Chief John?"

The Spartan wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, such a thing would be difficult for her to understand immediately. He should know better than to raise his expectations of her. "Sure. Close enough. But call me that when we're by ourselves or with the other Spartans. Okay?"

He brought a finger to his lips in a shushing motion—and after a moment's hesitation, she mimicked the gesture, nodding. "Okay."

"Good," He motioned to the ribbons in his hand. "I'll hold on to this until you're discharged. You can wear them afterward."

"I'll lose them."

"Then don't wear them during missions. Wear it when we're outside of combat."

Violet nodded slowly, but he could see that she really didn't understand.

John held back a sigh of frustration.

She might be flawed—extremely so…

But at least she was trying.

That's all he could ask for.

So, the least he could do was the same.

….

….

…Maybe he should teach her how to play cards…?

---

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---

A/N:

Sheesh, I did not expect to get this chapter out this soon, nor for it to be so long. I was going for, like 5,000 words at most.

Honestly, I think I'm just grieving because Violet Evergarden is finally over. I actually teared up pretty badly watching the final movie. Gahdamn.

I already miss it. Halo Infinite, you're my only hope now.

Please, don't expect this type of update schedule.

Marine and soldier stories is gonna be a thing. While they're not really gonna be a real focus during the story, I need some comedy or lightening of the mood with them. Of course, this won't always be a thing. Still, let me know if I should stay with it or just regulate it to a more clinical perspective during the Spartans deployments—keeping it more oriented to the Spartan's and Violet.

Let me know guys, I actually want to be good at this.

Chief is like, what, nineteen at this time. Without Sam's death and the Great War and stuff, I feel like he would be more of a man trying to become a machine than anything else. But without all the radical experiences of death, he still trying to figure out a way of doing it. Poor dude doesn't realize it'll leave him broken if he wants to follow that path.

Also, I believe the way his and Violet relationship is a bit on the mark in regards for him caring about her, considering they're together almost 24/7. The dude knew Cortana for like, four months and he went to the heart of a Flood Colony to save her.

Just my two cents really.

Of course, our little murder doll, Violet, is already there, the question is if she could come back from it. Turns out her having an oral fixation was an actual thing until she was able to get out the military, just shows how much care the author had when making her character. I love it.

While her past isn't specified at all in the anime, in the LN, there are hints of it. One of them include her having a brother.

Those who are wondering, yeah, she'll get armor eventually. She's just too little for it right now.

Oooh, Kelly ain't very happy with her though. When it comes to a group as tight knit as the Spartans, I could imagine it happening when 'an outsider' interferes with their dynamic.

I just felt bad for little Miranda this chapter, Halsey's not a monster with her, but she ain't a twenty-four-hour loving mother either. Probably dotes on her for like two or three hours a month or something.

Hopefully I'm doing well enough job by keeping the characters in relative—well, character.

Next chapter is likely to be a big one, like really big. Please look forward to it.

Thanks for all the support, guys