This is a short piece set 15 years after the events of Infinite Choices, and while unrelated to the overall narrative that's told, is more like a final send off for someone. I hope you enjoy this attempt at closure. Spoilers beware until I finish Snapshots, of course, and for any newcomers after that. Be seeing you, John.

"In memory of those fallen in defense of Earth and her colonies."

- UNSC Hillside Memorial, Voi, Africa.

Age hadn't dulled his senses. Footsteps, the scrape of a shoe against wax coated flooring, the muffled curse of someone who dropped something, then the sound of that object hitting the ground, and then a quiet gasp and a quickened pace, and he was back again.

Back in the aisle that he'd taken a break from for a moment. His left hand was relaxed, his right still holding the basket of items he'd come for. Brown eyes were quick to find their target, settling on a pink jacket. He unfocused, took the rest of the world in around that jacket, and realized why the girl wearing it had run off.

Candy.

There were treats lined up seven feet tall on each side, all down the lengthy aisle. The girl was quick, and tall too. Her long legs had made her the envy of her peers. Able to run faster, jump higher, dance away from whatever she didn't want to be near. It was a growth spurt. That's what he had been told. Her black hair was loose, moving just as she did, bouncing just above her shoulders. She kept it short, but didn't care much about brushing it. It was a little messy, but as soon as they stepped outside, her hood would be back on and it wouldn't matter anyway.

His own legs started moving again, and he hummed slightly as the long strides ate up the distance in bounds that would take another man twice as long to match. He was big, took up nearly the entire aisle, and he was scarred on nearly every inch of exposed skin. Tanned arms hid the scars somewhat, but not enough to wash away the fact that they were there, and anybody who glanced in his direction would see the brutal, jagged scars that had come from combat. One giant line trailed from his left ear down the side of his face until it finally stopped abruptly on his chin. It was one of the most noticeable, one that had come almost thirty years prior. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, upper lip and jawline, looking as if he hadn't shaved in a few days.

When he caught up to her, she had already grabbed what she wanted, turning to him with an absolutely massive chocolate bar. His eyes narrowed, and he felt the tug of a frown, but it wasn't enough to show.

She frowned as well, reading his facial expressions almost instantly, and he mentally cursed. "Should I not get this one, uncle John?"

The big man's frown deepened enough that he was sure it was noticeable. "Do you want that one?" She nodded, and he did likewise. It was an approving nod, one that she had learned when she was still a small child. It had been their secret language since then, one that not even her mothers were privy to.

John Bailey nodded again after she put it in the basket, and they carried on without issue. Bailey wasn't truly his last name, and he'd never know what it had been originally. He still didn't feel right using it, not when he'd gone by 117 for so long. He'd never needed a last name, and his Spartan tag had been enough. He had held a sense of pride in it, in being one of the best of the best. Now? He just felt… nothing. These things had become routine and concrete, and he had adapted as he always had in the past.

It was rare for them to talk at length when they were out, and she had no problems with that. She'd known that John had been a quiet man, and while he talked to her at length about whatever she wanted to ask, there were very few things that came to her mind with enough force to have her ask him aloud. It seemed like he preferred being quiet anyway, and so she would accommodate him.

The girl continuously led the big man around in the search for what they needed. Long ago, the girl's mother had learned where everything was, and then John had learned. Now, he was teaching her. She pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket, now that her desires had been fulfilled, and she nodded in approval before looking back up at him, waiting quietly for her to take the lead once more.

"Macaroni," she said confidently. John didn't have to tell her to go on, and after stuffing the paper back in her pocket, she pulled him forward once again. This was the final ingredient for their dinner tonight, something that he'd been meaning to try for a while, and coincidentally, she had fallen in love with as of late.

"Macaroni," he repeated quietly, and saw the smile on her face grow. Again, another aisle came, another item dropped into the basket, and the aisle was behind them. She led him to the register, through the process of checking out, and back out to his waiting vehicle.

It was one of only two vehicles like it in the moderately sized mountain town that he had settled in 15 years prior. Allerai. It still sounded alien, in a way, but it had quickly become home, and he'd only left it for a few special occasions since then. Some funerals, some celebrations, only ever for those that he had known in life. He'd made many friends, and he'd lost just as many of them. There was no need to retread hallowed ground in his older years.

The Warthog, still the same model that had seen the UNSC through the last years of the war, growled to life in the frigid air that had fallen on the town when Father Winter came to visit. The big wheels let it ride high above the snow that was on the ground, and the doors kept the warm air from a combat proven climate system inside. It was anything and everything John could have wanted in a vehicle, even if it was a little conspicuous.

Rumors had abounded over the years among the town's inhabitants about the two military vehicles among a horde of civilian counterparts. Media had come sniffing more than once too, when some of the rumors got out, but they were always beaten back by the citizens. Nobody outside of a select few knew the truth, but they had kept quiet, and the town had refused to let anyone ruin the lives of anybody that called Allerai home, regardless of their origins.

With the freedom to live in secrecy established, John had done a great many things in the 15 years that he had lived in the area. A home had been built deep in the mountains, where only those who were aware of his whereabouts could reach him. A workshop for working on whatever took his fancy at any moment had also been stood up, but it had been built by him over the course of a few months in the summer early on. John had become an accomplished craftsman in his free time.

It was a ways out, but not too far. He mused on the events of the day, though it wasn't much. His mind was able to partially wander as he drove home, the streets mostly empty despite the winterization of vehicles in the area. Nobody else seemed to want to brave the snow and ice. The 'hog was immune to it all though, already ruggedized for combat, but enhanced further by John's own changes.

Music flooded the cabin, and brown eyes stayed on the road as he turned onto the winding path that led up into the mountains, moving past many houses on either side. The girl got excited when they passed a home that John was familiar with, almost as much as his own home, and while she sat calmly in her seat, her green eyes tracked it like she was worried it would jump at her.

But it was gone just as quick as it had come, the driveway empty and the lights off. Asphalt soon gave way to a natural path, one that had been cleared since his arrival. It was capable of sustaining personal vehicles, or something like his Warthog, but all of the materials his home had needed had been flown in by an engineering unit stationed at the base a hundred miles to the east. It had been a small ask, despite its large undertaking, but only because the Master Chief himself had requested it, albeit through a few backdoor channels and with some lightly pulled strings.

Trees covered the trail on either side as the modified 'hog trundled through, snow hanging in their branches. Several times, the trail split and took other routes, but he knew exactly where to go, and had memorized the route and every bump on the way. Even so, he had never slacked off on his off road driving.

Half an hour saw the "No Trespassing" signs rise up, and soon after, the large gate that was closed and locked. The press of a button on the dash made the gate shudder as it unlocked, heavy bolts retracting, and then it swung open to admit the big vehicle and its occupants. Driving through, the trees on either side spread out, growing fewer and fewer, until they entered a large caldera-like area, with snow covering the land in a blanket of white, a few large oak trees here and there, and finally a large home that sat in the dead center.

It was two stories, and looked a little more rustic than the architecture that had been used for Allerai and its designs. Next to it, the workshop he had built was nearly the size of the house itself, and was connected by a small, covered pathway that was open to the air, but kept the elements out with a mesh screen. Last, a large oak tree was a short ways from the home, a swing hanging from one of its branches on a pair of heavy chains, next to a few chairs embedded in the ground and a large rock pit he'd built.

The massive twin doors to the workshop were already open, snow falling from them as they reached the end of their movements. The Warthog slid in with no issue, and the doors closed behind it as the sensors built into the structure registered that it was in and shutting down.

A few moments after it stopped and quieted its noise, the doors opened, and John stepped out into the heated interior of the workshop, grabbing the bags that he had picked up at the grocery store. The girl was already out and coming around the front of the 'hog, a smile on her face as she returned to the familiar confines of her uncle's workshop.

"Ready?" He asked her, referring to the door that would lead to the pathway and the home proper. She nodded, and he jerked his head to the door, letting her lead the way. She set off without another word, a bounce in her step, and he followed obediently. He had led many in his time, and now he was content to follow the girl that had become his newest charge. He trusted her completely, after all.

When the door closed behind him and they stepped into the large kitchen, he reached into the bag. Her ears twitched and she turned to him with her eyes alight, an unasked question in them. His hand came out a moment later, the candy bar held loosely between his index and middle fingers, and it moved toward her ever so slightly. "Looking for this?" he asked, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Her mouth turned up in a grin, and she nodded, but didn't ask for it. Instead, he held it out, his hand stopping before hers started moving. She took it a moment later, holding it and looking at him for her next task, orders, whatever she wanted to call them at any point.

John felt a rumble in his gut, and heard himself start to chuckle. "You can eat it now," he said gently, his shallow grin showing in his eyes.

"Thank you, uncle John," she said, grinning and starting to unwrap it as she began to wander off. Dinner would be ready when he called, and she wouldn't be far. He had made it clear to her long ago that his home was hers, and she was free to do as she pleased.

Despite her boundless energy, she was polite and soft spoken, something that her mothers had instilled in her at an early age. Few could be said to have so many soft spoken individuals in their family, but this girl was one of them.

John thought about it for a few moments as she disappeared, beginning to take out everything that was needed for dinner. Macaroni noodles, boxed cheese, a gratuitous helping of ground beef thrown in to make it a proper meal, and some bacon sprinkled throughout. He'd bought far too much, some observers would say, but their metabolisms were superhuman in some senses of the word.

Several cooking items came out, and the kitchen was soon filled with the smell of food cooking. It made his mouth water just by smelling it. His ears picked up the sound of something from the other room, where the girl spent a large portion of her time inside. A show of some type, or a movie maybe. He heard her laugh, and his lips turned up again as he went deeper into his thoughts.

That laugh had been one of the things that had helped to guide him to being a better person, to turning that eternal engine inside of him into a proper guardian. He'd spent the better part of thirty years as a faceless soldier, one that had saved the galaxy and humanity more than once, but now he had a face, and he had a name, and now? Now he had someone to protect. Someone he knew, and not just the faceless greater good.

John had been fiercely protective of the girl, and had been almost like another parent for her. So many things had taken place during the girl's life so far, and her parents had more than once been busy or unable to make an event through no fault of their own, despite their best efforts. John had stepped in when he'd been called, and though he lived a life of his own when he was alone, he had always been ready and willing to take over when he was called for. There had even been nights where the girl's mothers had been home, and she still had called out for John, wanting to stay at his home or be in his presence.

He had been confused in the beginning, wondering why she would kick and scream until her throat hurt, even with her mothers both with her. She would only stop in these instances when John was there. He had spoken with her parents when it had happened, wondering why, but they had never really given him any more answer than a smile and sent her packing with him until the girl was ready to go back home.

Eventually, she came back into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of dinner, and John turned to look at her, though he had heard her from the moment she'd stood up from the couch in the other room. "Something smells good," she said, moving up close to look into the pot that he'd combined it all in.

"It does, doesn't it?" he asked, once again jerking his head to one of the cabinets, a gesture that she knew well.

It was easy enough for her to grab two of the large bowls from inside, and she set them both on the counter next to him. He was quick to spoon large helpings into the bowls, taking the pot and setting it inside of the oven to maintain its temperature.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded with a grin, taking her bowl and a spoon and going to the table.

He shook his head. "Not this time," he said, and her eyes lit up again as she took the bowl and scurried into the living room, with John following behind at a much more sedate pace. When he sat next to her on the couch, time got away from the two of them, and before he realized it, three hours had passed, and she was asleep on the couch curled up under a heavy blanket that he had gifted to her for her birthday, only a few months past. Their bowls sat empty on the table in front of the couch, and John came back to his senses with his arms crossed and half asleep on the opposite end of the couch.

It was dark out now, and it had begun to snow again. There was no sound outside of the show on the television, turned down low when she had fallen asleep. Even he couldn't hear anything aside from the light wind outside and the muted conversation happening on the television.

He was debating on getting up and putting her to bed, before going himself, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the caller before answering with a swipe of his thumb.

"John," he said quietly, his normally gruff baritone sounding almost alien when he lowered it like this.

"How is she?" came a female voice from the other end, the faint noise of conversation in the background.

"Knocked out and full of enough food to put three kids into an obesity camp," he replied.

A chuckle, and a moment of silence. "That sounds about right. You feed her more than Kris does, and she's the stereotype of a caring grandmother."

John's own chuckle came through this time, and he hummed before he went on. "How are things on your end?"

He almost expected the groan. "I'm sick of it already. Too many people, and I hate having to keep up a cover story. I wanna just go back home early and call it whatever."

"Sounds like you're having a great time," he said, the smile still on his lips. "Are you gonna break out or be a good soldier and stay in place?"

"Staying in place. Might as well. Our flight isn't departing until tomorrow morning anyway so I figure I'll let Amber run wild a little longer and then we'll head back to the hotel. You gonna be there to pick us up still?"

"Of course, but are you sure you don't wanna walk back?"

The woman on the other end let a warning tone seep into her voice, but he could still hear the playfulness in it. "Careful, Master Chief. If I have to walk home with a hungover wife and our luggage, I'll walk to your house and leave her for you to deal with for the next 24 hours. Clear?"

"Yes, Captain," John replied. "I'll be there."

"Good, see that you are." The authoritarian tone left her, and she was back to normal. "I wanted to call and check in before it got too late. Thanks for keeping Katherine for us on such short notice."

Looking back to the girl sleeping on the opposite end, she fidgeted a bit, as if hearing her name and waking a little before drifting back into the depths of her sleep. "Never a problem. I'll see you in the morning."

The voice on the other end seemed pleased, the sound of voices picking up before a distant cheer sounded. "I better go. Be seeing you, John."

"Be seeing you, Morgan."

With that, the call disconnected, and he was alone again, left to prepare for the coming night. The television was powered off, the bowls rinsed and put into the sink, the remaining food put away, and finally, the girl was picked up and carried to one of four bedrooms. One was his, two others for guests, and one that had been outfitted specifically for her. It was a home away from home, in a literal sense almost.

She fidgeted again when she was deposited in the bed, before falling back into the deep sleep as she had done before. John took a moment to make sure she was actually asleep, before he backed out, leaving the door cracked, and went for his own room.

The house was dark now. Long gone were the nights with all the lights on and a pistol close at hand. There were no more shadows that hid and waited for him to let his guard down, no more fears that every knock on the door was an enemy trying to finish what the Covenant had started.

He changed out of his clothes and into sweatpants before stepping into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He looked over himself as he did, just like every night, and took in the patchwork of scars and injuries. Saw what the Spartan program had done to him, and then what the Covenant and a lifetime of war could do in turn. He looked at the changes that had been made over time, like the tan that had taken over his once pale skin. He was still rippling with muscle, even though he had long ago changed to a more sedate lifestyle.

One of his hands came up to his chest, just below the hollow where his throat ended and his torso started. Hanging on a thin chain, an AI datachip sat dormant. The light had gone out of it many years ago, but he kept it around. It was there, just in case she ever came back. While John didn't believe he would ever see Cortana again, he continued to hope. His hand settled on it for a moment, and he let the silence wash over him, before he dropped his hand and carried on. Goodnight, it said. He never spoke the words. It felt better to think them. Maybe she would hear them better.

The dog tags on the chain came next, worn in a style that someone else had done for the fallen before he had been given the tags. Each one was from another Spartan II, but there were precious few of them for him to have. His thoughts turned to his brothers and sisters, and he closed his eyes as the memories started to play out in his mind.

Some were still alive. Blue was scattered across human space now, living their own lives as their time came to settle down and leave soldiering behind. Gray continued to work with ONI as far as he knew. Red had taken on the mantle of the last Spartan IIs officially on active duty, currently deployed onboard UNSC Infinity. Jerome had taken on the billet for INFSPARCOM when the fighting with the Banished heated up, and Alice and Douglas remained his left and right hands.

Others, he was unaware, but he was always notified when another was listed as KIA,. No longer were the IIs beholden to ONI's propaganda.

Turning the light off, he moved back into his bedroom and sat down on the mattress, yawning softly and leaning over to turn off the bedside light. The room was covered in darkness, but he could still see easily enough. The window's curtains had been pulled back, and he could see the snow outside, coming down in a heavy blanket that meant he would need to dig his way out in the morning.

Not a big deal, he thought.

He took the time to look around the room, to collect his thoughts, as they had been running more than a little wild today. Several pictures hung up on the wall, all of them of the people that he had known and loved in his life.

One, a woman with an almost rugged beauty and a brown pony tail, showed the woman flashing a pair of fingers held in the peace sign, her arms around John's shoulders in front of a verdant waterfall scene. They were both wearing large packs, and in the back, one could see a few other people surrounding the basin of a waterfall. Kelly had grown her hair out in the years since she'd retired, the first to follow John's lead. Since then, she'd pushed herself to see all the things she'd missed out on, and even once dyed her hair blue, as a return to what she had been prior to being abducted for the Spartan program. Now, she was living in Australia, deep in the outback, and had turned into an avid photographer, focusing on nature in her region.

Another showed a perplexed looking man with sunglasses and shaggy silver-black hair, a heavy scar across his forehead cutting into the rug of hair and leaving a small trench of bare skin. The man was handsome despite the scars on his face, and had a narrow nose. The augmentations had shot his hair with silver, and it had grown larger in the years since. Now, he looked his age, while most of the other Spartans continued to look a little younger than they were, due to cryo, genetics, and the augmentations. Frederic – or Fred – had been the next to retire. In the picture, he was sitting across a table in a booth, in one of the bars in town. Fred had been pushed into the inside of the booth by John, who wore a grin. Now, Fred was living on the planet Camber, one of the first of the inner colonies to fall, and one of the first to be reterraformed. John wasn't sure what his brother was doing for work now, and Fred didn't keep in touch much these days.

The next was vibrant red hair and pale skin despite a near constant exposure to the elements. Green eyes were a dramatic change from the woman's hair, but not the surroundings she had chosen. She was lithe and beautiful, lean and well muscled. She had a large rifle in her hands, looking out of a small enclosure that had a slit to the outside, a picture taken during one of the few hunting expeditions he had managed to talk her into a few years back. She had chosen the survivalist's route, and was the most isolated and self-sufficient of all of them. After her retirement, she disappeared for a while. None of them had been able to find her, even with their connections to the military still open through certain channels. It felt like he'd blinked and she suddenly appeared one day on one of their reports, roaming in the Himalayas, and pursuing a deeper connection to the "zen" state that she had used behind a long rifle.

He let his eyes drift to the last picture, one of all of them together. It had been taken here, at his home. The four of them were crowded onto the swing, with Katherine sitting on Linda's lap. He could almost hear the creaking of the wood with so much weight on it. John stared at it for a short time, as he did every night, and it was the last thing he remembered before he drifted off.

Outside, the snow continued to come down in a thick blanket. When the morning came, John would continue his simple life, happy and content, more than he'd ever imagined he'd be when he went through the first forty years of it.

He would continue to heal and grow as a person, and not as a Spartan. His legend would continue to expand, as it would for all time. Humanity's greatest hero, and strongest warrior, would live as a whisper. Humanity would know the feats he had undergone, and the amount of Covenant fatalities attributed to him made him one of the deadliest single men in history, and it would pale in comparison to his role in the war at large, and all that he accomplished.

But the man that had lived – and suffered - through it all, more than almost any would ever know, would carry on regardless of history's speculation. His final mission was one that had been given to him, much as it had been given to Morgan, though it had not been sought out: He was to live a good life, for those that couldn't, and for himself.

He had never failed a mission before. He wouldn't start now.