AN:
"When both sides are convinced they're about to lose, they're both right,"
-Excerpt from Murphy's Laws of combat operations
Location: UNSC Murphy's law, standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 16:38 standard military time, January 7th, 2559
Eyes forward. Ears open. Commit all of this to memory. Any Intel you can get could save you life tomorrow. Stay focused. On this ship, you represent the Army. They depend on you, and your men depend on you. They are more important than your life, and you will see them through this mission, even if you have to pretend your heart wasn't ripped in half just a few hours ago.
Brandon repeated that to himself fifty six times this briefing. He knew there was no way in hell he would ever believe it, but he just couldn't shut himself up. He needed something to put his back against. Anything actually, that might wall out the pain of Alison walking out on him.
That wasn't to say he blamed Alison. He didn't. Really, he was mad at himself for trying such a stupid move. What was he thinking, kissing a woman who was hardly comfortable with him holding her hand? Why did he let his impulsiveness get the better of him?
He hadn't let himself get that close to a woman in years. He had many partners in his time in the Army, but usually it was just physical. There wasn't any tenderness, just sex to distract him from the horrors of battle. He longed to have something more a few times, but typically, the detachment was mutual. War was just too brutal for soldiers to get attached to each other.
Alison was different. He felt something when he looked at her that was more than just physical. Did he even deserve to say the word love? He wanted to. Why did he fall so hard for her? Because she was exceptional. The Spartan program did a thorough job of selecting the most amazing people in the galaxy, and she was one of them. He didn't deserve someone like that. He wasn't sure he deserved anyone.
He fought to close his mind off from any painful memories, but he couldn't keep the smiling face of the first woman he personally lost to the war out of his mind. He'd hadn't thought about her in years, he'd forced himself not to, but one thought of the softness of her skin or smell of her hair made him remember Christine Barnett, his last love before Alison.
Now, the only record of her existence was a name in his head, because when Skopje was glassed any digital record of her existence was destroyed, and her family was massacred on Kholo years before that. They met in college through the engineering classes they took together. She was taking a smarter approach to life, and was actually going to do something with her degree, while Brandon only wanted it, so he didn't get a shitty MOS when he graduated.
She was loving, unlike anyone he'd known. He could hardly fathom how someone who lost so much could find it in her heart to love a guy like him, who was still nothing but angry and bitter with something to prove to an alcoholic dad who would be dead in a few years anyway, whether the covenant got to him or not.
"You'll come around," she used to tell him before kissing him on the cheek.
"No one can stay bitter around me."
And she was right. He couldn't, and when she agreed to move with him to Skopje when he was garrisoned there he was overjoyed.
He thought he was going to marry her, but instead, the planet was glassed, and he had orders to follow. Orders that didn't include running around searching for a single civilian, even if she was the one person he loved.
It was the only point in his career that he could look back on and say in honesty that he should have deserted. He should've found her, and if they couldn't get each other off the planet he should've died with her. It was what she would've done if she was in his place.
Now she was gone, and glassed planets kept no record of the love that was lost with them. He could only sit watch as her memory danced through his head, blaming himself for what happened to her.
"Lieutenant?" barked Osman as she noticed his eyes wander away from the holographic projection of the URF base.
He pretended to be lost in thought, instead of dreaming about the what if's and missed chances of life, as he snapped his eyes back to meet hers.
"Yes sir. Sorry sir," he responded before straightening up. He practically yelled that at her, something he was hoping she would attribute only to him having a healthy fear of a woman with the power to kill anyone in the galaxy.
Does she know? She has to know. She knows everything that goes on on this ship.
Honestly Brandon was just surprised the Admiral hadn't separated his body from his head yet. Shouldn't she be mad at him for angering her sister? Why didn't she end their relationship before it started?
Brandon decided not to dwell on it. Whether she was oblivious, or playing oblivious, he was going to count his blessings. Today didn't have many of them.
"I was just going over our escape options in my head," continued Brandon.
"I don't see many of them."
Truth be told, Brandon didn't like how any part of the operation looked. The holographic projections that the 'Law scanned of it painted a bleak picture of a highly fortified compound, far beyond a run-of-the-mill URF installation. The whole perimeter was encircled with barbed wire with hesco bastions beyond it. There were machine gun nests every 200 feet, five anti aircraft guns covered the skies, and six watch towers covered every corner of the irregularly shaped compound.
The troops there were well equipped as well. Warthogs and older model Scorpion main battle tanks with a variety of armaments were positioned strategically throughout the compound. A full sized airfield capable of landing fighters and transports ran along the compound's east side. Longsword fighters and Pelicans were lined up on the Tarmac. If those longswords managed to launch this mission would end very quickly. Brandon calculated the odds, crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned. A soldier's odds, at best, but he didn't have to like it.
And all of them were there to protect one building.
BB's thermal scans showed that a single building in the center of the compound was where the URF was storing the AIs. The building was cooled to twenty degrees below zero, so no infantry would be protecting it, but it was probably alarmed, and cyber intrusion was probably an impossibility given the capabilities of these new AI.
All in all it was just the kind of mission he expected ONI operators undertook on a daily basis. Too bad he was now counted as one of them.
Osman narrowed her eyes at him, and then nodded, accepting his answer, or at least, so it seemed.
"Lieutenant, I won't lie to you," she said, looking him in the eye. What he saw there passed before he could identify it.
"If you get caught this time chances are you will not make it back alive. This will be a force reconnaissance operation. You will have no backup other than the ODSTs accompanying you, and no air cover other than Devereaux and the 'Law's space to surface missiles and pulse laser weapon. No one will be coming for you lieutenant," Osman repeated as if he hadn't heard her the first time.
Brandon was hardly fazed by the stark picture. To be honest, this was one of the few times he'd entered a potentially disastrous op, and his CO was honest about how screwed he was.
"No one ever is," said Brandon. He thought back to his day on Reach.
It really became his day. There was no one else left alive to remember it. Not even Noble team. He spent how many years pouring his endless anger onto those six Spartans, and now, after hearing what he heard from Alison, he found himself taking it all back. Those capable soldiers he asked for fire support that day were actually nothing more than children. The fact that they survived what the UNSC did to them made them heroes in their own right.
How dare he blame them for anything?
Osman glared at him for his somewhat sarcastic remark, but moved on.
"The ODSTs that will serve as your quick reaction force in the event of an emergency will arrive tomorrow along with another Spartan to support you on the ground. Unless you'd like to study the battle plan further, you're dismissed."
Brandon snapped to attention.
"Thank you Admiral," he said before returning to the map. He stared at it for a long while after the Admiral left, scrutinizing every detail of the base. He wasn't preparing for anything. He was just giving himself an excuse to stay on the bridge a little while longer. He knew he couldn't be any more physically or mentally prepared for this mission.
The complement of ODSTs they were bringing in was the most they could possibly bring onto the mission without chancing a breach in OPSEC. Not that he was worried about a lack of support. He's been waiting for his chance to die in battle for seven years now, no need to drag anyone else down with him.
He didn't want anyone to see him in this sorry state. He couldn't run from his problems forever, but at least there wouldn't be any enlisted personnel on the bridge, so that at least ensured he wouldn't run into Alison.
Physically he was prepared, mentally he was prepared, but it'd be a goddamn miracle if he didn't fall apart emotionally tomorrow, and if anything happened to Alison he wasn't sure he could live with himself.
He glanced down at the briefing table one last time and read over Osman's tactical notes.
OPERATION: LONG ARM OF THE LAW
The long arm of the law, an invisible hand of justice with an unlimited reach in the galaxy. Was that what ONI thought it was being when it kidnapped the Spartans? So many thoughts ran through Brandon's head. Why was he so stupid? Why did he still serve an army that could do such awful things? If you just want it to end why not end it before you end up getting someone else killed also? He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up, cry, or draw his sidearm and shoot a hole in the bridge's viewport.
Brandon clenched his fists. He couldn't entertain any of those thoughts. He would be ready for tomorrow's mission, he would make sure everyone made it out alive, and he would put Alison behind him. She made the right choice. People who stayed around him for too long tended to become casualties of his own bad luck.
Location: UNSC Murphy's Law, standoff distance from Forerunner installation X50, 1622 hours standard military time.
When Alison-065 lost someone, her first response was always to detach herself from reality. Processing loss in the moment, if at all, was inefficient. It was better to pretend it didn't happen and move on with the battle than to dwell on it. As she walked through the hangar of the Murphy's Law, she felt a similar feeling of detachment wash over her.
Funny, she hadn't lost anyone. Why was she so upset? Losing a single acquaintance never affected her in the past. She saw so many soldiers, there one moment, and the next a fine cloud of red mist.
How could she justify crying over a lieutenant who was still alive?
But that was what she did. While she let her freezing cold shower wash away her worries, a few tears ran from her eyes. They were invisible to everyone but her, but still she felt the guilt of each one.
She should be saving those tears for glassed colonies, or children left without parents by the Covenant, or the millions that would die if this URF fleet took on a defenseless UNSC colony, not for the loss of a temporary source of pleasure.
That was all Brandon was. An experiment, and a dangerous one at that, into territory that she was not designed to venture into. She was bred for war, not warmth. Maybe it was best she closed herself off.
Alison suited up in her full armor the moment she could. She needed something to take her mind off of Brandon, and section 0 was always rolling out new software patches for her HUD. What could be more mind numbing than getting acquainted with all of her helmet's menus all over again?
She approached the Pelican labeled Tart-Cart, and lowered the ramp. On most ships, aircraft were usually kept locked down until they were needed, making them perfect hiding places.
Alison sat down heavily in one of the aircraft's web seats and began to scroll through the new menus. Looks like ONI moved her ammo counter from the bottom left to the top middle. Someone probably did a calculation and determined that putting it there would make her 0.0362773% percent more combat efficient, not taking into account the fact that it was located at the bottom left for her entire career.
She tried to move it back to its original position, but the genius that created the feature was just as good at hiding how to change it. She bit her lip and used a combination of eye movements and her own thoughts, transmitted through her neural lace, to navigate her helmet's labyrinth of unnecessary software. Her frustration built until she finally decided to tear off her helmet and slam it to the ground.
Alison felt pure rage flow through her. If she was being honest, she wasn't angry at the piece of malfunctioning software, she was angry at the fact that she was spending her time staring at it rather than looking into Brandon's eyes like she was last night. How could she have been so stupid? Why did she always push away the things that brought her happiness?
She lost a man she was truly able to emotionally connect with. It was something he would probably never find again. She was about to allow her anger to form into sadness, and rest her head in her hands, when she caught movement near the cockpit out of the corner of her eye.
"Damn Alison, ease up," said Lian Devereaux as she nonchalantly leaned against the doorway that separated the pelican's troop any from its cockpit.
"No need to give poor tart cart any more dents than she already has."
Alison froze as her mind boiled with a mixture of shame, rage, and astonishment. How did she not notice the ODST when she entered? Why did she neglect to check the cockpit before allowing herself to be emotionally vulnerable? No one was supposed to see this side of her. She was invincible, but just now, she felt trapped.
Yet Brandon somehow got her to let her guard down. Would it ever return to where it was before? Before she could continue this line of thought any further, Alison clamped down on her emotions, set her anguished face back to a thin line, and looked Devereaux in the eye.
"I'll be leaving," she said.
Her voice was laced with anger despite her best efforts to conceal it. Why was she falling apart like this?
She retrieved her helmet and moved towards the loading ramp, but before she could seal it over her head, the female ODST ran after her, her hand outstretched to physically restrain her?
Alison acted on instinct and spun around to catch her hand mid stride, clamping down on it with near bone crushing force. Devereaux cried out in pain for a brief second before Alison realized what she was doing and dropped the woman's hand.
What the hell was she thinking? Doesn't she know that's a good way to get killed?
Devereaux realized her mistake at the same time Alison did as she flexed her wrist and gritted her teeth in pain.
"Last time I ever make that mistake again," said Devereaux. She laughed lightly before pulling her hand close to her chest gingerly.
Alison scowled at her, but found herself instinctively reaching to examine Devereaux's hand. Normally she was colder than this. She would have sent her to the medbay rather than personally examining her just to maintain a healthy distance from the other woman, but something about the sensation of human touch now enthralled her, even if it was through layers of armor.
Alison gave the hand a cursory glance before dropping it and letting it clatter against her thigh armor. Dammit. She needed to stop this now.
"It's not broken," said Alison, "I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"You didn't bother me at all, but it looks like something's bothering you," responded Devereaux.
Alison glared at the smaller woman. She didn't like having her emotions read like that. She was wrong in one regard, at least, something wasn't bothering her, everything was.
"I appreciate your concern," she snapped. But that was all she was willing to give her. She needed no distractions if she was going to put Brandon out of her head.
Devereaux laughed a quiet and knowing laugh.
"It wouldn't have anything to do with Mister Short, brooding, and...Army? Would it?" Said Devereaux in a jeering tone.
Alison spun on her heels fast enough to make an AI's head spin. She didn't care whether this was Devereaux's pelican or not. She never felt a stronger urge to paint the inside of a ship with someone's blood.
Devereaux, however, looked unfazed by Alison's honed gaze. The satisfied grin of someone who got just the reaction they wanted adorned her face. Alison was confused as to whether Devereaux was trying to commit suicide, or was gravely underestimating what happens when a spartan loses their temper.
"That bad, huh?" Commented Devereaux.
Alison felt a wave a cold fury wash over her. She wanted to unload on Devereaux, but surprisingly, she found her fury hard to maintain. The fire that burned behind her eyes was slowly being put out by the vacuum that was ripped in her chest. How could she feel angry through sadness like this. Honestly, it was becoming hard to feel anything else.
"Yes," said Alison as the anger drained from her eyes. "It's hard to explain. I don't want to bother you with it."
"You're not bothering me," responded Devereaux quickly before she lost Alison to her despair.
When Alison looked up, her smug expression was gone. Devereaux was an ODST, so she wasn't fully breaking her cocky character. Her relaxed posture still remained, and her arms were closed over her chest tightly in a way that was far from warm, but she allowed her face to relax into something less jeering and more understanding.
"Look, I get it, this is confusing to you. You've never felt like this before, and all that, but trust me, I went through this with your sister, Naomi. There's nothing about this that isn't explainable, and it doesn't have to feel scary at all," said Devereaux confidently.
Alison stopped listening to her after the word Naomi pierced the air of the room.
Naomi was alive? How? Alison didn't hear anything about her in a long time, not since training when they were as close as family. Collectively, the Spartans were close. They all slept together, fought together, ate together, and lived and died together, but that was nothing compared to the bonds that formed inside Spartan teams. Alison was assigned on day one to her small group of three, consisting of Serin, herself, and Naomi. Serin was a born leader, and directed the group. Naomi was a brilliant thinker, and developed the daring plans for the group. Alison knew weapons and could destroy anything the team needed to with brute force. They made a fantastic team, but then again, the sociologists behind the Spartan program probably knew that before assigning them to a group.
But Alison hardly heard from Naomi since they received their armor, and trying to find her was next to impossible. Her files were sealed, just like every other Spartan's, and with most of the II's dead Alison just assumed…
Alison felt her broken heart start beating once again.
"Is she alright," blurted out Alison, "please tell me Naomi is alive."
Devereaux grinned and nodded.
"Just fine Alison. Actually she's supposed to be arriving with the ODSTs tomorrow. I'm surprised the admiral didn't tell you. Sorry to spoil the surprise."
Alison was astonished. All these years she believed her, and everyone else she cared about, to be dead. How many others survived? Alison wasn't sure anything could brighten her day, but this sure did.
"Thank you Sergeant," said Alison formally.
"I'm sorry to have intruded on you."
Again, Alison tried to turn to leave, but Devereaux caught her before she got too far.
"Nope, you're not getting away that easily," said Devereaux.
Alison looked over her shoulder to find Devereaux still leaning nonchalantly against the bulkhead. Her smug grin told Alison that she was convinced, one way or another, that Alison would stay. Alison clenched her teeth in frustration, but let it go.
Alison let herself fall back into the seat.
"Fine, if it is really that important to you."
She did not like the satisfied look on Devereaux's face one bit, but Alison tried to ignore it. After telling her that, she supposed she owed the ODST this much.
"Honestly there's really nothing to tell. He tried to kiss me last night, and I pushed him away. I doubt there will be anything else between us."
Devereaux frowned at the Spartan's quick summary.
"So he's not a great kisser? Or did he try and do something stupid?" Asked Dev.
Alison shook her head.
"Neither," she responded.
The more she thought about why she pushed him away the less it even made sense to herself. She didn't have much of an idea of what someone was supposed to do in a situation like that, but it felt like he did everything right. Why did it all scare her so badly?
Devereaux nodded as though she understood, but how could she?
"Let me guess," said Devereaux knowingly. "You don't know what about it scared you so badly. You enjoyed it, but you didn't understand it and that frightened you."
Alison was really not enjoying having her mind read. She glared at Devereaux, who as usual, was completely unfazed.
"Quit acting like you're in my head," she snapped.
Devereaux seemed to get the message to drop her usual, cocky, ODST attitude when she saw Alison's barred teeth showing in her look of anger. Like it or not she needed someone more approachable. She unfolded her arms and sat down across from her, putting herself on equal, physical footing.
"I'm not," said Devereaux, her tone a little more diplomatic.
"That's exactly what your sister told me the first time we talked about this."
Alison gave Devereaux another suspicious look. The fact that this woman claimed to know so much about her sister, and Spartans in general gave her a nervous feeling in her gut. Surely they weren't all that easy to figure out.
"So what scares you so much about it, anyway?" She asked.
Alison bit her lip as she tried to put her finger on it. The problem was that everything he did wrong, was right in its own twisted way. She loved the feeling of his hands on her, but she didn't like giving up control of herself that easily. She reveled in his warmth when he was close to her, but vulnerability of it made her skin crawl.
Alison did notice a common thread, however.
"I want more control over the situation, I just don't know how to ask for it."
Devereaux didn't seem phased by her statement in the least. Alison considered it a daunting problem, but by the look on Devereaux's face she didn't even seem to consider it an issue.
"Then just ask for it honey," said Dev nonchalantly.
"Brandon's no ODST. He's not stupid enough to fight you for control."
Alison fumed. How could she possibly turn this issue into something that seemed so trivial? At the moment it was just about ready to eat her mind alive.
"Easy for you to say," quipped Alison.
"It's a whole different feeling for me."
Devereaux laughed as though she was trying to push the limits of what happens when you take a condescending tone with a Spartan.
"It was also a whole different feeling for me," said Devereaux.
"But that was when I was fifteen. Trust me, everyone goes through something like this at some point in their life. There's always something about sex that's scary for everyone. It's a lot to trust someone else with. Eventually though, you work it out. You figure out what you like and don't like and eventually you grow to accept it."
Sex!? When was that put on the table?
Alison cringed at the thought. She wasn't a fool, she knew what it was, but even the thought of what it entailed made her head spin. How could she possibly let herself be fully exposed with no armor or weapons with absolutely no space between them. At least now, if she ever felt threatened she had leverage, and a sidearm at her hip to blow his brains out if he did what exactly? A man who was a foot and a half shorter than her sixty pounds lighter than her would have a helluva time trying to hurt her.
She sighed. Maybe she was being a little absurd.
"What if there are parts of me he hasn't seen yet?" Said Alison as she glanced down at her scars.
Even the ones that were visible were jagged and disgusting, but they were nothing compared to the ones she hid.
"I say show him," advised Dev.
"Look, take my advice, or leave it, but I say just talk to him. I'll never admit this to his face, but the LT's not a bad guy. I doubt he'll reject you if you work with him."
Alison bit her lip, and nodded. Maybe she was being a bit too harsh. He was accommodating of her in the past. Maybe he deserved a little more credit than she was giving him.
"Alright," said Alison reluctantly, "I'll talk to him."
Dev laughed at her downtrodden tone.
"It won't be that bad, I promise."
Alison was about to glare at her for continuing to treat this like a joke, but gave up. Her lighthearted tone didn't come off as malicious. This was just Devereaux as herself.
Alison nodded, and picked up her helmet, placing it on her head. She paused for a long moment, and then sent an audio message to Brandon, telling him to meet her at the port side observation deck. Alison turned to Devereaux briefly before leaving.
"Thank you," she said tersely, "I think I needed that."
"No problem," said Devereaux, "I'm here to help."
Alison walked down the ramp and headed to the armory to shed her armor.
Here goes nothing.