Chapter 33: Obvious

Jasmine lay in the darkness of her room awake. Sleep was an impossibility, no matter how exhausted she was. It was the kind of fatigue that settled behind the eyes, making them sting whether or not her eyelids were open. Her eyes kept opening, closing, opening, seeing millions of tiny colorful dots; red, yellow, white, and green. The muscles in her face hurt, her jaw felt uncomfortable in a hundred places, and she couldn't help but make so many small, rapid movements with it. Nothing she could do kept it from being restless. Despite having kicked off her boots an hour ago, her feet remained sore from standing for so long. Both soles felt worn down and her toes felt especially tender.

So many casualties. So much pain. So much death. Many times before she saw the medical bay become packed with casualties. Marines and sailors, many of whom she'd gotten to know over the course of their deployments. Burned, gutted, maimed, screaming in pain, sobbing in terror, they looked to her for aid. How many lives had she saved over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? It felt impotent and worthless. Many she saved returned to the battlefield but they did not return to the I'm Alone a second or third time.

A dangerous thought entered her mind then. She recognized it immediately as a threat. But she was human and the more she ruminated the less she could resist. Try as she might to get away from it, it began to fester, like an untreated, infected wound. The longer it remained unmolested the further it spread.

Frost's arms tightened around her and that got her attention momentarily. He buried his face into her back, trapping many of her black locks around his face. Warm breath washed over her bare skin and the feeling electrified her briefly. Glad for any distraction, Jasmine sighed and rolled over. By the time she was face to face with him, he was already groping to pull her back in. In a way, it seemed childlike, as if he was cold and begging for another's warmth. That made her smile and she quickly slid against him.

It was too dark for Jasmine to see him even though they were nose to nose. But she didn't need to. The shape and details of his face were burned into her memory. Pale skin, a narrow, wolfish face, a terrible scar running horizontally across his cheeks and nose, a youthful smile with a missing tooth, full light brown locks that swept backwards on their own, gray eyes that seemed to shift from cloudy gray to icy blue. Knowing he was here made her happy and she couldn't help but remember when he first came into the I'm Alone's medical bay. Amid countless screaming wounded, he lay with his hands on his chest, gazing curiously around as he waited patiently for someone to tend to him. Back then, he seemed so youthful he came across as childlike. It was as if he wasn't old enough and hadn't experienced enough of life to entirely understand what was occurring around him. In a way, Jasmine had very much been the same way, or at least she thought she was.

Three years later and now she felt old. Frost seemed older, Vivian seemed older, everybody was different and older. War aged them and would continue to do so; the scourge of battle was the sapper and stealer of youth. What would they be like in another year? In five? Ten? Would they even live that long? How long was this war going to be?

"You're staring at me," Frost said in a teasing tone.

"Ooh, look at me, I'm a big, bad Marine who can see in the dark," Jasmine teased, happy that Frost was awake. She curled her arms around his neck and brought him in very close. His hand stroked the back of her head.

"Talk to me," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

Jasmine liked to think she was perceptive but apparently she wasn't the only one. Laughing a little, her smile faded slightly, and she sighed. Rolling over, she stared up at the ceiling. All she could see was the same darkness despite her natural night vision. She ran over anything and everything before running her hand over her forehead.

"I'm beginning to think I'm not making much of a difference here. Before, we had very manageable casualties. Looking back, it seems really stupid that I thought this would characterize our experiences in this war. Instead, we have wounded on the deck, wounded in the halls, not enough beds, not enough personnel. The I'm Alone is one of the biggest and most advanced ships we have and we still can't rise above what every other ship in this Navy is suffering from." Jasmine turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against Frost's. "I could have gone anywhere in the Colonies and found a civilian job at any hospital. Studied for more degrees, covered my walls in them. But I needed to make a difference for people. For a time, I thought I was. Here, I feel more like a turn-style. They come in hurt, I fix them, they go back out, come back hurt again, and sometimes they don't come back. What kind of difference am I making?"

Frost didn't say anything for a long time. He didn't need to. Jasmine was grateful that he was listening and sometimes that's all she needed. It was more difficult to go to Vivian nowadays. Her best friend was always there for her but she was also her commanding officer. The last thing she needed was her friend and commander to think she was not capable of continuing her work or appeared like she was wavering in any way. Jasmine needed Vivian to be confident in her and she didn't want to worry her either. The I'm Alone's master had plenty of other things to worry about and she was not going to add to that. But Frost was her closest companion, closer than anybody she had ever known in her life. To the man whose bare skin she pressed against, whose face she held in her hands, whose ear she always had, whose shoulder she could always lean in; a man who reserved all his sweetness and kindness in life just for her, who wanted nothing more than to be with her. Frost was somebody she could always talk to without restraint or fear of judgement. She loved him. He loved her.

"These people are warriors, Jasmine. They know what they're in for and what they have to do if we're going to win this war. The only way we can win is if we keep fighting and we can only keep fighting if we have people like you patching us up." He laughed a little. "We're like a bunch of kids rough-housing with each other and then coming back into the house because we scraped a knee or elbow."

"The whole military is like that, I think. Just a bunch of people who never grew up and now have bigger toys."

They both giggled a little. Jasmine stopped when she felt his hand rest on her cheek. His thumb ran up and down her cheek, then stopped at the corner of her mouth. He was closer than he was before; his breath mingled with her own, washed over her face, warm and smelling like standard-issue minty toothpaste. She could barely see him but knew his lips were hardly an inch away from her own.

"We need you, Jasmine. Now more than ever. People feel safe with you. I don't think the people being brought into the infirmary would be so hopeful if someone else was there. It's more than just doing surgery or giving someone medicine. It's about giving them hope. And that's what you do for us; give us hope that we might survive."

Jasmine felt tears well up in the corners of her eyes. It was difficult to contain those kinds of emotions when someone so dear to her spoke so tenderly. In his gentle voice, she could sense a determined tone too. It was the kind of tone in which the speaker meant and believed in every single word. All she could do was close that short, short distance and kiss him as hard as she could. For a long time, they remained that way, tight and together under the blankets, legs intertwined, arms wrapped around the other, nose to nose, lips together. She cherished these moments more than anything else. Just to be with the man she loved so deeply and dearly.

When their lips finally parted, Jasmine stroked his cheek.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice sounded fragile to her own ears although out of tenderness, not from faltering. Frost just chuckled. He lowered his arms so they were around her back. With a great heave, he pulled her on top of him. Jasmine couldn't help but squeal a little bit and giggled. She felt silly but didn't mind; this was the time to feel silly.

"Where are you?" he teased. "Where is she, that doctor of mine?" Moments later he turned on the lamp next to her bed. Warm light engulfed the pair. Jasmine's tan skin glowed in the low light and Frost finally gained some color. For a time, they smiled and looked at one another. Still on top of him, Jasmine traced circles on his chest. There were many faded scars all over his skin. She ran her finger along each one, following their irregular patterns, lines, and shapes.

Frost continued to smile at her. Eventually, Jasmine propped herself up on her elbow and held her chin with her hand.

"What about you, Gunny? Feeling better now?"

"Knowing Nora's going to be alright takes a real load off," he said with a sigh. He reached back and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's a real blow that she may not come back, but what's important is she's still alive. That's the real victory here. You and your teams are the best in the Navy, I wager."

"There is no such thing as best. There's only the well-trained and those who aren't well-trained."

"I think one of my DI's said that to me once, or something like it." Frost didn't say it with a smile. "I love being a Marine. And when I start thinking about it, I'm proud to be a part of this war. Defending humanity from extinction, there's no higher calling. But I'm beginning to struggle more and more with the things I've done that haven't been for humanity."

Jasmine was caught off guard. She lifted herself slightly and peered down at him in concern. He didn't look uncomfortable or upset, but just very sad. He shook his head and held his hand on his forehead. "I'm starting to feel the weight of human lives I've taken. Back in boot camp, all they ever told us was, 'you're going to kill aliens, you're going to kill aliens, you're going to kill aliens.' This is what they look like, this is what they do, this is how they fight, here's the best ways to kill them, here are the tools. We did that for three years as part of the Youth Programs. So you had a bunch of, let's face it, kids shipping off to fight aliens. Not only are they ready and trained to fight them, they're eager to kill them. Then HIGHCOM turns around and says, 'you're going to be killing people.' Like, what the fuck?"

Frost's gray gaze parted from her and he stared at the bulkhead across the room. For a time, he made no expression or movement. He seemed very far away from her at that moment. Jasmine knew it was best to let a person talk but this felt so new she nearly felt unprepared. His voice seemed particularly uneasy and troubled, thick as if he was going to start crying, but his eyes remained dry. The poor man seemed trapped within himself and that feeling extended to his voice. Jasmine shifted so she could place her hand on his cheek and turn him back to face her.

He spent the next couple minutes trying to find his voice. His lips moved, his eyes searched, and he seemed labored. "We tried to act like Marines. But on the way we all talked, said this wasn't something we wanted to do. But what else could you do but follow orders? So we started shooting, we finally got into the war, and it felt pretty good. Because Marines are trained to fight and when you spend three years training, you're like a dog waiting to be let off its leash. I struggled at first, then reached someplace inside me where this killing seemed right. Felt right and justified for years. Now I'm here, I'm older, and after everything I've been through, I'm struggling again."

Jasmine stared at him intensely. She tried to find the right words.

"Nate, did something happen?"

"It's not just the one thing. I feel like something's chipping away at me, at my resolve. Ever since we left the Port, after that botched recon at the mines, I feel more unhinged. I can't control things, not even myself. Losing Moser, almost losing Langley, losing our foothold, getting taken off our mission, and Vivian..." he squeezed his eyes.

She hadn't been expecting that. Frost reached up and touched Jasmine's cheek. He smiled affectionately but he still looked very sad. His gray eyes drooped, there were dark bags underneath them, and he just seemed very worn down. Even his skin seemed thin and his face a tad gaunt. "She fought with me, side by side. She trusts me. She thanked me. I have...a lot of regrets now."

"Because of Skopje?" Jasmine asked. He didn't immediately respond. His eyes bore a pleading expression to the point she almost grew alarmed. "Nate, is it something else? Did something else happen?"

"I...yeah. I mean, no. It's Skopje. Those days are coming back each time I see Vivian. She's like a reminder of all the terrible things I've done. I killed her friends; they were fair game under the ROE but it still feels wrong, because there's somebody here, with me, who feels their loss." Frost took a long, shaking breath and then suddenly covered his face. He sniffed behind his hands. "I never wanted to hurt anybody."

Jasmine heard him and accepted his words. But there was something else there. She knew it; she knew him. Just what it was she didn't know and seeing how distraught he was stayed her from pressing further. Instead, she leaned down, hugged him tightly, and cupped his cheek. It was all she could do no matter how badly she wanted to know what he was hiding.

Carris waited in line in the mess. Ahead of her were many Marines, Army personnel, and I'm Alone crewmembers. Everyone was tired and the often upbeat conversations and laughter that characterized the chow line was absent. People braced themselves against the bulkhead, let their shoulders droop, or hung their heads. Some of them didn't even look up as they slid their trays along the counter while the mess staff ladled food onto it. By the time Carris was at the end, she had mashed potatoes, several cutlets of turkey, a mixture of corn, peas, and diced carrots, and an apple. She grabbed a coffee as well.

The mess hall was crowded and disturbingly quiet. It was like being at a funeral. Unwilling to wedge into a seat between people she didn't know, she decided to take her meal out of the mess hall. Most of the squad were resting in the barracks and she didn't want to join them. Everybody was sleeping and she didn't want to wake them up. Slipping out of their quarters stirred them enough. Steele and Frost were the only ones who weren't present and she was hoping to find either of them here. But she didn't see either of them. Knowing the latter was probably with Jasmine and the former was off somewhere for some privacy, she settled for checking on Langley.

The thought of their friend lying all alone in the medical bay really bothered her. It got to everyone else too and they were taking shifts to spend time with her. Langley insisted they didn't need to; she was an adult and a qualified grunt, she could handle being by herself. But if Carris was the big sister, Langley was the little sister. She wasn't going to leave her unattended. It was close to her shift anyways.

Even though several days in slipspace had seen the situation improve in the medical bay, there were still countless casualties who didn't have a bed. Instead, they lined either side of the hall on mobile stretchers. Medical staff milled back and forth, checking vitals and changing IV's. Nobody paid Carris any attention.

Langley was moved to one of the long-term care facilities on the I'm Alone. Usually, these were nearly vacant rooms but now they were filled to capacity. She planned to wear a big smile for her friend when she came in. Instead, she was surprised to see Steele already with her. Langley was still on her back, still wearing a clear mask over her mouth, and her chest, although still bearing the tubes, was more concealed. Steele was sitting on a stool and was hunched over a book. Quietly, Carris approached from behind.

"'...he heard this, Bilbo was all in a flutter, for he saw that luck was with him and he had a chance at once to try his desperate plan. He followed the two elves...'"

Langley was smiling underneath her mask as Steele continued reading. He was completely concentrated and his eyes flitted quickly back and forth across the page. Carris was quite shocked to see him reading. The most advanced literature Steele picked up tended to be STARS or the pornographic magazines the Marines smuggled onto the ship. As she thought about it, he actually didn't really pick up STARS all that much. Just the titty magazines. But he seemed very invested, giving characters different voices, mirroring the tone of the book in his voice, going from elated to desperate in moments.

Carris was perfectly happy to let him continue. She quietly pulled up another stool, sat down, and began eating. Langley noticed and was trying very hard not to laugh. Steele finally took notice of her delighted grin. "Yeah, pretty good book, right? This one the only thing I ever took from the library when I was a kid. Well, not with a card or anything, I uh...I swiped it. But it's a great story. You enjoying it so far?"

Langley nodded.

"Me too," Carris remarked slyly. Steele looked at her sharply and his blue eyes widened. Immediately, he turned bright red. Setting the book down on Langley's bed, he took the tray from Carris's hands, set it on his stool, then wrapped his arm around her own. Although there was no way he could drag her just holding her arm, he pulled anyways and Carris obliged him by getting up and following. As they marched towards the door, he was still red in the face.

"If you tell Nate, or Grant, or fucking anybody about what you saw here, I swear I'll piss in your helmet instead of the toilet. Check that, I'll take a shit in it."

Carris couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, I won't."

"Promise! You have to promise!" Steele hissed as they went out the door.

"I promise," Carris said, covering her mouth as she laughed. "You're taking this awfully seriously."

"Damn right I am," he said and quickly looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. "You have to really promise. Nothing about the book, nothing about reading it to her. Promise!"

"Cross my heart," Carris said, swiping her finger over her chest. "I didn't realize you were fond of reading."

"I'm not," Steele said through clenched teeth.

"Do you work part time as a mall Santa and read stories to all the good little boys and girls?"

"Oh yeah, I even have a bunch of sexy elves as assistants. Wanna try out? They have short skirts and pointy-fucking-hats with bells on top!"

"I'll pass, thanks. Can I eat my lunch or am I not allowed in during story time?"

"Sometimes, I preferred you when you didn't have an understanding of basic social interaction," Steele mumbled as he slinked back into the ward. Carris followed and began eating while Steele kept reading. At first, he was still embarrassed and didn't put as much effort into. Overtime, he began to enjoy himself more. Occasionally, Carris would look over at Langley who was trying very hard not to laugh at certain parts so as not to disturb the vast amount of medical equipment implanted into her chest.

She still looked very tired, no doubt from the amount of pain medication coursing through her veins. Carris had come to visit her multiple times by this point but seeing her this way still made her breath hitch. Especially the amount of tubes in her chest, she couldn't even look at those. It was a stark reminder of just how close Langley came to dying. It was not just saddening, it was very frightening, but she made the best of it.

Carris got into the habit of sitting close to the bed and throwing an arm over Langley's legs. It might have appeared odd to someone who wasn't in their squad. But there was too much medical equipment on the casualty's chest and she needed her hands free to write on the notepad. Not letting her receive some physical comfort of any kind seemed wrong so a little bit of weight on her legs was all Carris could provide. It didn't feel strange at all for either of them. She kept her eyes on Steele, though, who was still bent over the book and reading with gusto. His blonde locks continued to fall over his eyes and he continually brushed them out of the way. He wore the ghost of a smile, clearly enjoying the book as well as captivating his little audience. Occasionally, he sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eyes at Carris and shyly returned to the book, suppressing his growing smile. Seeing this made Carris grin too.

When she looked back at Langley, she found her looking back already. After a moment, she scribbled something on a slip from the notepad and handed it down to Carris. 'It's obvious.' That immediately made Carris blush and avert her gaze. When she did, she saw Bishop and Maddox walking through the door.

"Steele, lock it down, incoming hostiles to our six."

"Solid copy," he said, snapping the book shut and tucking it underneath his shirt.

After a brief exchange, the shifts were swapped. With Maddox and Bishop now looking over Langley, Steele and Carris were free to go. The former wasn't hungry so they decided to return to their barracks. Spending a little time with Knight and Grant was a very agreeable prospect, but both were absent when they arrived. The teo exchanged a glance and with nothing better to do, went to their bunks. Carris got in and rested her hands on her abdomen. She looked over at Steele as he took off his boots and slid onto his mattress. He sighed loudly and leaned back, as if he was exhausted and thoroughly put out.

"You enjoyed every second of it. Don't lie," she said slyly. Steele rolled his eyes, smirked, and didn't respond to it. Carris knew she was right and he just wasn't going to admit it. After a few moments she lay back with her head on the pillow. "I wouldn't mind if you read a few more pages myself."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Huh, alright then."

Carris closed her eyes and waited for him to begin. "Budge over." She looked up and found Steele standing over her. After a few moments of awkwardly staring up at him, she moved to the far edge of her bed. It was just enough room for the sniper to lay down beside her. Tossing his own pillow over her own, he leaned back, and opened the page they left off on. "'It was a weary journey, and a quiet and stealthy one. There was no laughter or song or sound of harps, and the pride and hopes which had stirred in their hearts at the singing of old songs by the lake died away to a plodding gloom. They knew they were drawing near to the end of their journey, and that...'"

Despite having to slide so far down the pillows to be level with him she was barely on them, and having to hang one leg over the edge of the bed, Carris felt very comfortable. Nervous, but nonetheless comfortable. She tried to look at the book but her eyes kept rising to Steele. He seemed happier than he had in a long time. It was as if what happened to Langley and Moser bounced off him. She knew he was processing it like everyone else and it wasn't easy. He was just better at hiding it than other squad members. But at this moment, he wasn't processing anything. None of it was on his mind. And it wasn't on her own, either. In the barracks, it was just the two of them. The rest of the I'm Alone's crew were nonexistent. More or less, they became less than a figment, nothing more than a mere idea or concept. Intangible, unwritten, and unimportant. And the longer she stared, the closer he seemed. Their shoulders were pressed together, there was no space to spread out their legs, and she could feel his warmth. Did he feel her's? She was so close she could smell the old paper of the book's pages.

Steele suddenly stopped reading and he lowered the book. He turned and looked at her. His blue eyes focused on her but she couldn't read any emotion from him. Eventually, he shook his head and shrugged. "Carris, I've been doing a lot of thinking and I haven't figured out a way to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"How crazy I am about you."

Carris suddenly felt electrified and terrified. She wanted to hug him but she also wanted to try and hide behind her thick, black locks of hair. Instead, she just lay there, dumbly, staring, eyes wide, mouth open, cheeks pinks. Steele dropped the book, wrapped his arms around her neck, and kissed her. He squeezed his eyes shut as he did but Carris's remained open. She had to keep them open or else she wouldn't quite believe it was actually happening. When she was quite certain it was, she embraced him and kissed him back.

Vivian finished her third cup of coffee and returned to her work. This was the business nobody in OCS ever truly prepared her for. Writing letters to the families of the men and women who lost their lives under her command was one of the most difficult tasks she ever experienced in the Navy. Trapped in her office and unable to draw on any kind of support, she had to somehow translate and subdue the emotion she felt towards these lost lives and manufacture a report of how they died.

It was tantamount to lying. In each letter she composed, she had to tell the recipient how courageous their loved one was and how they sacrificed themselves in defense of humanity. One after the other, she wrote the same letter with a change of names and addresses. None of it felt right. These were people she knew, Marines and Navy personnel alike, who worked hard and fought bravely. But death rarely involved such feats. Petty Officer First Class Rinaldo had been rushing to his duty station when a plasma torpedo hit the I'm Alone and the subsequent fire engulfed him. Staff Sergeant Germain was killed by a carbine round when he rushed out of a Pelican and hadn't even fired his weapon. Lieutenant Conroy was shot while calling for fire while pinned down; she had learned that he actually hadn't been able to call anything in. The moment he looked up to spot the enemy he was gunned down. Petty Officer Third Class Salvini was blown up along with the rest of his team by a secondary explosion caused by a plasma shell.

Their deaths were not glorious. Nothing about the war was glorious. Vivian stopped typing and ran her hands over her face. She believed they had died for something greater. Yes, they made the ultimate sacrifice and Vivian believed they served a purpose for the preservation of humanity. But their families deserved the truth, every detail, not so they could understand the gravity of the war but because these were loved ones. Husbands, fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers, wives; these were human beings who chose to fight and now they gave up everything for the cause. Their families deserved more than the UNSC line.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Patricia Gordo. Putting the name into the database, she was shocked to see the words, 'no next of kin.' Vivian grimaced and sat back in her chair.

"Decatur?" she moaned to the ceiling. The AI appeared onto his pedestal.

"How many I be of service, Captain?" he asked cheerfully. Vivian looked at him wearily. She could feel her eyelids drooping and knew there were dark bags underneath. He regarded her as if she did something disgusting. "Captain?"

"Decatur, Lieutenant Junior Grade Patricia Gordo has no next of kin. Can you do a search and see if there's any establishment or other individual related to her so someone can be notified of her passing?"

"Right away." He flashed for a few moments. "Aha, yes, Oaken Grove Orphanage, 31 Temple Street, New Glasgow, Inner Colony world known as Winds of the North Sea. I'll send you the data."

The field at the top of the message box immediately filled in.

"Thanks," Vivian mumbled. She got up and went into the next room to refill her coffee mug. It turned out to be empty and Vivian groaned. "Decatur, do you come with a coffee brewing feature?"

"Unless you somehow link that machine into the I'm Alone or directly plug me into it, I'm afraid not."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Vivian went back to her desk and sat back down into the chair. She stared at the terminal for a very long time. Her eyes stung from staring at the bright screen all day long. Pursing her lips, she didn't feel like looking at it any longer. Sighing, she lowered her head and thought about catching a twenty minute nap. She was on her own time, after all, and nobody was to bother her unless she specifically requested her presence. All she had to do was lean back in her chair, close her eyes, and drift off.

When she did lean back, she found Decatur still looking at her. Vivian blinked, raised an eyebrow, and then leaned towards him. "What are you still doing here?"

"You haven't dismissed me yet, ma'am! But while I have your attention, there is something I would like to bring up with you." Decatur lifted his hand towards Vivian's terminal. All of a sudden, a new notification sprang up in her inbox.

"What's this? Seventy different kinds of coffee and tea brews to stay awake or something?" Vivian mumbled hunched over her terminal and opened it. "Because I'm pretty sure I've tried sixty-five and seeing as nothing's worked so far, I'm not too keen to try...the last...five...Captain Rundstrum? How could he send something while we're in slipspace?"

"Oh, he sent this before our slipspace jump. He sent it to me directly and ordered me to show you at an appropriate time when you were rested. Well, you may not be rested, ma'am, but I think the time is appropriate. It's confidential."

"Did he say that?"

"Not in plain speech but I was able to pick it up from the tone in the message. Do you wish me to be present while you read this?"

"Not that I don't trust you, Decatur, but this is ONI we're talking about. If they're going to try and wrap me up in something, I'd prefer not to drag you along with me."

Decatur chortled happily.

"I am humbled that you think so well of me, Captain! Rest assured, I would follow you into Hell if that was our mission!" He saluted and disappeared. Vivian scoffed, smiled, and shook her head. She opened the message and found the body empty. The title read, 'Decatur, show this to Waters when she's done playing soldier and don't fucking tell anybody else about it either, okay?' For an ONI operative, Vivian though, he wasn't at all stealthy. Or smooth, or slick, or any other word she could conjure up, which in her fatigued state, were few.

Instead, there was a video attachment. Downloading it, she clicked play when it was finished. Rundstrum was sitting in what she guessed was his private cabin and looked into the camera.

"What's up, Captain?" he said, smiling smugly and holding his hands out. "Lucky you, you get a full five minutes of my extremely rugged and manly face." Vivian rolled her eyes. His expression grew a bit more serious. "This is a secure recording and I expect you to delete it when it's over. I'm going to delete my own copy once I said this. If you don't, well, let's just say you don't want the real ONI spooks to know you've seen some of their files. Right. You remember how you asked me to dig into some files regarding Skopje when we were still at the Port? Well, I do enjoy a good mystery from time to time and I did a little more digging. And I thought I should pass on some intel."

The feed shifted to that of enhanced documents he took screenshots of. Much of the lettering was blacked out or marked with [REDACTED] but subsequent documents revealed more text. She squinted and scanned them briefly. "This confirms that the 89th nor any of the Youth Program regiments were selected by HIGHCOM, NAVSPECWARCOM, or ONI for the Skopje mission. Some ONI Sec-One elements passed on some of their intel to Hayes and he not only volunteered his forces for counter-insurgency ops, he specifically requested they be used on those assignments."

More documents appeared, this time for PERSCOM and MED CORPS databases. "I thought that was odd seeing as most of the Marines you and I have spoken with complained they were taken off their first assignment against the Covenant by HIGHCOM. In reality, it was Colonel Hayes. Even he himself has said that he was ordered to take this on. I followed it up, look up his CSV, dug up more intel, and this is what I've found."

Two more documents popped up. One was the CSV for a Foma Hayes and the other for Isaak Hayes. Vivian's eyes widened. "Yeah," said Rundstrum's voice, as if he predicted she would be shocked. "Hayes had sons who served in the Corps. Junior officers who were both assassinated by Innies. Lines up with why Hayes was so passionate about fighting rebs and why he was so effective during his days in the Innie bush. It's personal."

The MED CORPS files popped back up. "Look, some of his psyche eval's didn't go well. Veering between depression, anguish, and fits of rage. One of the head shrinks described him as having a void in his life without his sons. Makes you wonder what the Youth Programs were about. Subsequent operations were very bloody and junior officers complained that Hayes encouraged troops to commit extrajudicial killings. Staff officers complained multiple times about how civilians were getting caught in free-fire zones. These reports were swept under the rug by ONI or ignored by HIGHCOM."

The images disappeared and Rundstrum's face returned. He looked very grave as he folded his hands on his desk and leaned towards the camera. "Look, you may be wondering why I'm bringing this up. Well, first of all, you're a damned fine officer and I'd rather serve with you. I get the feeling you're not going to get me killed. Secondly, you're easy on the eyes." Vivian frowned at the comment. Rundstrum's smug expression disappeared again. "I'm ONI, so maybe what I have to say ain't shit to you, but it's clear to me Hayes could put on a face and he might not be all there." He tapped the side of his head. "We've been in the shit lately and everybody has a breaking point. I'm warning you that we don't know where Hayes' breaking point is, but considering what he's been through and that he's lied about it, you need to be aware of it."

She thought the message would end there but there was still another minute to go. More documents appeared in quick succession. These ones had far less available text. "This is what I was able to find on Major Royce. Basically nothing, but he's been serving under Hayes for a long time. He's been killing Innies longer than anybody. HIGHCOM likes only one thing better than dead Innies: the people who kill those dead Innies. Captain, I'll be real honest with you, I don't like him. There's something off. Do I think he's some kind of ONI agent or HIGHCOM agent? No. But he's definitely not here for altruistic reasons. Don't trust Royce."

The video ended. Vivian raised her cursor and hit the delete icon.

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Author's Note: Can you just imagine the scene? Steele sitting in a big chair dressed as Santa, refusing to wear the fake white beard, smoking a cigarette, and reading a book, and right beside him is Carris in a green elf costume that's like three sizes too small, all muscles and scars, just looking angrily awkward?

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If anybody's interested, I've started a new Elder Scrolls fic called Following Roads & Rivers, an adventure/friendship following a poor, Nord youth in the 4th Era coming of age in the chaotic lands of Cyrodiil leading up to the Skyrim Civil War/Dragon Crisis. I'm looking forward to it as a side project. And if anybody wants a Halo story with less levity and that draws more on current events, you can check out To Be Brave, seven chapters in, which follows a tight cast of characters as they deal with the Insurrection. And don't be afraid to check out Marsh Silas and its sequel!