The Seraph's Broken Wings
By: Sinead

Chapter Six

Fingertips were resting upon Pandora's hand, knowingly not touching those places that were still sore. An Elite voice spoke. "Pandora, child, awaken."

"Leader . . ."

"It is me. I have good news."

"Tell me."

"Phaedra is alive. She is awake, recovering faster than you are. John Orion is alive. He is sitting up and eating solid foods."

"What else did you want to tell me?" she asked, her voice weak.

"Yukae, Sibilee, and Boratamee have undergone a type of augmentation that Torilian had also been through, albeit a more organic one than these human methods."

"How are they?"

"Good. They want to see you and your siblings."

"Soon, then. Soon." She opened her eyes in the dimmed room, seeing the usually-white-armored Elite in the casual white robes and helmet-like headdress that he wore when off-duty. He gently touched her upper left arm. "They didn't cut through the tattoo."

"Good."

"Yes, very good." He gently traced her jaw, whispering, "Your father is close to rioting. They did more than they had said they would."

"What do you mean?"

Phaedra's voice answered. "All that had been done to Dad was done to us; bone augmentation, muscle enhancements, that growth cataclysm, the . . . the occipital capillary reversal, changing the way our nerves work . . . All that had been done." She sighed, and the sound was starting to become unusually loud to Pandora. "Added to that, they changed our ears a little. They had seen our specialties, and had adjusted our bodies just that bit more to become more of what we were supposed to be."

Pandora blinked at her sister, who said, "They lengthened your legs already. That's how they'll tell us apart."

"What about you?"

"Minimal changes, but there nonetheless. They changed my hands and wrists." She looked at Leader. "I hear Dad's muttering."

"Ah. I'll leave then." He chuckled, and bowed ceremoniously to the twins before leaving them.

Phaedra looked at her father when he walked in, his face showing his concern. Before he could speak, however, Phaedra pointed to Pandora's left arm. "Can I get that tattoo?"

John blinked at Pandora, who clumsily moved her arm out to show her father the mark proudly. He smiled, kissed Pandora's forehead, then did the same to Phaedra. "Of course." Gently, he touched each cheek, sitting in a chair that was in a narrow space between the two beds with a hand upon either daughter's shoulders, guarding them as they fall back asleep.

John Orion stumbled into a wall, cursing his clumsiness since the augmentation. Pandora was taking the adjustments better than he was, but never flaunted that in his face as she would have when they were younger. Instead, she stopped and helped him stand straight, holding his elbow gently until he could stand upon his own again. They entered the room with the others who had survived the augmentation, eyes smarting from the lights, ears throbbing from being too fine-tuned. Phaedra met them there, the Elites behind her.

It was the first time that the twins saw their human siblings in almost a month, and Yukae couldn't believe the visible changes. Pandora was tall and lithe, looking almost stretched-out and a mite too thin. John was more bulky, his limbs not moving as he wanted them to. Pandora looked at Yukae, seeing that her Elite sister was slightly darker in shade than she had remembered, and looked almost as if she had been boiled down, removing all the baby fat and dross from her body. Sibilee, however, was broader in frame, taller as well, nearly at his full height. Muscles bulged where they had once been mere hints of the musculature he was to have, and as John Orion lost balance again, Sibilee reached over and supported his brother. Boratamee walked up to them as well, his face looking haggard. It looked like he had the worst time recovering from his augmentation.

"Welcome, all of you. And we wish to thank you for finding your way here."

Everyone focused upon the figure behind the podium. She looked from one face to the next. "I am Dr. Halsey."

"Not the original one," someone grumbled.

Her glance was amused. "True enough. I am her niece, Estelle, and I'm in charge of this group of Spartans, the Spartan-Fours, along with Chief Petty Officer Stirling. The Spartan-Threes are all deployed against the remaining Covenant forces, and you are to be the clean-up crew until you prove yourselves to be everything that the Spartan-Threes are and more. Now all of you are dismissed, but remember that you are to all required to be at the mess-hall at thirteen-hundred for lunch, and again at nineteen-hundred for dinner. Breakfast is at eight-hundred. Rest up, Spartans."

Pandora and Phaedra looked at each other, then caught the glance of one of the male recruits. He indicated that they all meet up, somehow, and immediately.

"All right, you called the meeting," an anonymous voice called out. "Now what's this about?"

"I'm hungry, and my eyes keep crossing, my ears hurt and my ass is leaking something horrible again, so can you make this short?" another voice asked, tired, weary chuckles bubbling up from all corners of the room. There were only twenty-seven left in the combat-ready force, including the triplets. The other survivors would join their Spartan-II and Spartan-III brothers and sisters at either the UNSC HQ, or ONI.

These were the real trainees, brought up since the age of seven to be Spartans. The Elites were their Brotherhood counterparts, females accepted easily into the ranks. The triplets stood out a little, and the leader of the Spartan-IVs were watching them. "Those three and their Elites. Who are you?"

They all stood. The brother spoke first. "John Orion Vouzaku'amee."

"Pandora Rhiann Vouzaku'amee."

"Phaedra Taylor Spaldin."

"Sibilee Vouzaku'amee."

"Yukae Vouzaku'amee."

"Boratamee Shanath'gree."

The leader blinked at them. "You two humans have Elite last names. Why?"

"Our mother married an Elite, Squad Leader," Pandora replied. "He adopted us at birth."

"But with the last name Vouzaku'amee . . . that's . . ." His face lit up with recognition, understanding, and he nodded. "Then I formally welcome you in, triplets. My name's Westin." And here he grinned. "Spartans don't have last names. Westin-483"

"Only the ones born to Spartans do!" a female voice crowed. She walked forward, her face sad. "And he's not Squad Leader. Randall-467 was."

Phaedra looked from one face to the next. They were all still bald, all still looking woozy. "So who's leading?"

"Westin is, for now. Until we're told who. Were you given numbers?"

"No, not yet," John Orion replied. He saw their faces jerk into impassive masks as they saluted to the person who just opened the door behind them. He turned and saluted as well, smiling. "Sir, welcome in."

"At ease. Phae, Dora, John, you three have everything you need in your new quarters. Just made sure of that." He looked around the room, seeing the fresh faces. "I told you, 'at ease.' I'm a fellow Spartan, not one of the Brass."

Exhausted titters were heard from the corners of the room, and the Master Chief cracked a smile. "Better. I heard about your Squad Leader, and apparently Four-Eight-Three was second-in-command in your unit. Continue leading them, recruit, unless you wish to stay as a second. Come to me with candidates if you feel it necessary."

"Sir!"

John looked at his son. "John, you keep an eye out for leaders as well. I know you have an eye for recognizing traits, and being a late recruit has the advantage of not dealing with old dynamics. You'll see traits that the others might have taken for granted. The Elites have already chosen to have Yukae lead them."

The triplets glared at Yukae, who laughed in pure Elite fashion, her voice echoing richly. "I thought that you would appreciate being told by your father, rather than having to endure me bragging."

An astounded silence followed that, within which Sibilee asked, "I take it that you only knew that these three had been sired by a Spartan, not the Spartan?"

"You keep that up, Sib, and I'll not wait for your father to come back before I kill you," the Master Chief snarled.

"Ah, sir, I would only be honored to die by your hands!"

"Don't worry. You just might."

Phaedra sighed. "Da, Sibilee, you two are starting to embarrass me."

"You?" Pandora asked. "I lived seventeen years with Sibilee! He was always like this!" She aimed a glare to her elder Elite sibling. "And I'll kill him before Dad can."

"How would you know?" Westin asked.

"I'm faster. That simple."

John smiled at his second daughter. "Right enough."

He looked at the rest, hearing the door whoosh open behind him. The Spartan-IVs saluted at the same time, and he turned to see the CPO Stirling, his face contorted into a glare at the sight of the Spartan-II. "What are you doing here?"

A cleared throat came from behind the CPO, and he turned, seeing Miranda Keyes Spaldin watching him, her face a glare blacker than his own. "He is your superior, the Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117, Chief Stirling."

"Mrs. Spaldin–"

"Stow it. You're wanted in debriefing."

"For what, might I ask?"

John-117 glared down his nose at the younger officer. "How would she know? Get. Moving."

Once the man was gone, almost all the Spartans blinked in clear astonishment at the small woman marching up to Phaedra, looking her straight in the face. "You're already taller."

"I know."

"You think you'll be ready?"

"Most likely."

"And your siblings?"

"Definitely."

"Atta girl. You give 'em hell, darlin'."

"Always do, Mum."

Miranda grinned, then nodded to the Spartan-IVs before landing her spouse with a glare that wouldn't leave him with much option to refuse. He nodded once. "Westin, CPO Stirling won't be your training officer. I will be. Report tomorrow right after breakfast."

"Sir!"

Once the adults had left, Westin looked at the triplets in clear relief. "Is he always like that?"

Phaedra grinned. "Nah. Usually he's worse."

Westin's face paled.

"You have been shirking in your duties to your Spartans!"

Westin tried not to flinch under the strong voice of the Spartan-II. "Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, you have not been taking your command seriously!" John glared at the seventeen-year-old. "Why."

"I am not fit to lead, sir."

"I can't hear you."

"I am not fit to lead! Sir!"

"Then tell me who is!" John roared back, knowing full well that this boy's ears were sensitive, and that they would throb for a day or so. To lessen that effect, however, he had chosen a large room to chew the youngster out in. Their first assignment, and it was almost a complete failure. Almost. It wasn't even that hard of a mission, and it had ended up being saved by another Spartan who had the quick thinking he needed these 'Fours to be lead by.

"Phaedra, sir. She took over when I was knocked out."

He stormed over to the door, slamming it open and startling the man into cursing on the other side. "Lieutenant, have Spartan-497 report to me." He slammed it shut before the Lieutenant could reply, and stood in a brooding silence, watching Westin with unblinking eyes. Phaedra entered, saluting. At this point, and during training hours, she knew that this man was her superior officer first, and her father second. He nodded, and her arm fell to her side. John indicated Westin. "He told me you saved the mission, 497."

"Yes sir, I did."

"Explain."

"He was knocked unconscious by a stray bolt of plasma while fighting the rebel Grunt forces. I re-maneuvered the forces into a more defensive position, sir, and from there split off some from each end to circle around and flank the enemy, sending some into trees on either side to snipe at their commanders, and the fastest to pincer them in towards the main force."

"You had two wounded Spartans and one wounded Elite at the end of this assignment."

"Yes, sir. Weston-403 with a minor head wound; Doreen-465 had two fingers burned off by a near-miss with a plasma grenade; Forandamee has three plasma burns along her left arm that occurred when Weston-403 went down, unable to cover her side. I filled in, telling Fora to get herself back and to treat those burns before she went into shock."

John nodded. "And of Spartan-499?"

"He twisted his ankle upon drop, sir. He's still clumsy, even with his suit to support him. If you don't mind my saying, sir, he'll improve within the week, once we're back to sparring."

Moving to sit at the single seat, John steepled his fingers, elbows upon the desk, looking from one Spartan to the other. "403, you are hereby no longer Squad Leader. That falls now to 497. Spartan-497, you are promoted to Petty Officer Third Class. Dismissed."

The teenaged warriors saluted and turned upon their heels to leave. Once out of the office and back in their large bunk-room, they closed the door, and dually collapsed against it. Pandora laughed, walking over and crouching by her sister. "Exhausted you, did he?"

"I've never seen him that angry before."

Westin groaned. "I hope that I never have to see him like that again. My ears will be sore for days."

"Orion," Phaedra called. "How's your ankle?"

"Still hurts, sis. You should know that."

"Dad inquired about it. Back to sparring with you."

"Says you," he said from his bunk.

"Yeah, she says," Westin snapped. "She's a Petty Officer Third-Class, and your new Squad Leader. Hop to it."

"Oh, real funny, Wes."

"Your Claimer seems not to want to give in," the Brute said into Willow's face.

She gagged at the stench, retching all over the alien. Spitting, she said hoarsely, "Give in to lies? He's more honorable and noble than that."

Perdition snarled. "I wish our Prophets would allow me to break you. You'd be ever so pleasurable."

She didn't reply. Arbiter was coming to beside her left arm. Perdition ordered the others from the room, then rotated the "wall" they were chained against so that it was level. Grinning, he crawled over Willow, leering at Arbiter.

Willow sent her mind far away.

Torilian wept bitterly into his wife. She was crying as well, but her hands didn't stop stroking the Elite's head as he pushed it against her chest, his arms wrapping around her. Carefully, she laid back into the nest of blankets, her hips and back aching from the abuse. She was no longer as young and resilient as she had been. Her husband curled around her, still sobbing at his lack of being able to do anything while she had been raped.

Finally his sobs spaced out, and his breathing evened. Willow whispered, "Dragon?"

A shuddering breath answered her.

"Show me."

He sat up slightly, and she rested her hand upon the Mark of Shame. He brushed silvering hair away from her face. "What do I show you?"

"True love. Our love."

"You hurt. I cannot."

"I'll hurt more if you don't. I need you."

Sighing he gathered Willow back into his arms, lowering his mouth to her left shoulder, reopening the bite-scars for the first time since they had been made. She didn't dig her fingers into his arms as she had before, and then he moved his head to her other shoulder, whispering, "From beginning to end . . . I Claim you again." He bit, feeling her kissing whatever part she could reach. When he pulled away, he dressed the wounds, laying her back. "It has been twenty-five years, to the exact day, that I had first Claimed you. I love you."

Willow smiled, tears tracing glimmering paths down her cheeks. And her Dragon was over her again, one hand cradling her head while he did as she had asked him to do.