Author's Note: This originally started as something that would have been all over the place in terms of ideas that came to me that wouldn't have fit into the main story. Since then, it's changed to be something that feels more like a main entry, chronologically, and shows the time between The Flame of Nobility and Infinite Choices, to show what happens in the years between, given the big jump in time between them.


Date: 3 March, 2553

Location: Small town, not far from the ruins of Voi

The mood was somber in the Officer's Club that had been set up. The UNSC hadn't built one outright, a bar owner in the town instead setting it aside for military use for the time being after certain hours. They would be all gone eventually, but for now, it would fill the owner's pockets and stimulate a small town's economy in ways only service members with a sudden influx of leave and unspent money could.

Plenty of grays and whites filled the area, a few blacks, and even a handful of caps adorned with oak leaf embellishments. It seemed even the brass needed a drink after such an event. Low conversations could be heard faintly, drifting across the air like cigarette smoke. People had split into their cliques, the colors rarely mixing.

One woman sat alone, wearing the gray of a Marine pilot. A second chair was empty across the small table from her, but it wasn't on her mind. The small, round glass came to her lips again, ice cubes clinking faintly as the golden colored liquid inside slid into the woman's mouth. Very little left the glass as she nursed the drink, intent on savoring the fairly expensive scotch. But she had nothing else to spend her money on at the moment, so she'd gone ahead and bought the bottle.

It sat on the table, next to a container with more ice cubes. Brown eyes flickered across it again, more interested in rereading the label than speaking with any of her compatriots, but that was to be expected. They were all here for mostly the same reasons. Drinking with those that lived, drinking to those that didn't, and trying to figure out where they were going from here. None of them really knew what came next.

A bell chimed as the door opened, older hinges squeaking in contrast to the pneumatic doors that populated larger cities. The bar had taken a rustic appearance, and kept the old wooden style door. The woman didn't look up, swirling the whiskey in her glass and glancing at it before downing the rest of it. It was only her second glass, or more like half of her first, drinking it a finger at a time, waiting on a guest.

The chair across from her scraped against the floor, and a white uniformed figure sat down in it, looking uneasy as it squeaked underneath their weight. The woman looked up from her musings, brown eyes meeting green with a smile that was welcoming.

Morgan met Lieutenant Amber 'Hocus' Tyndall's eyes, and returned the smile. Taking her cap off, she set it on the table, the golden oak leaves coating the brim looking dull in the low light. "So, I'm here for that drink, finally. I'm… not much of a drinker," she started off, seeming almost sheepish at her lack of experience.

Amber chuckled, pouring herself another finger of scotch and grabbing for the empty glass that sat waiting to be used. Dropping two larger chunks of ice from the container into the glass, she poured a single finger of the golden alcohol into the glass and slid it closer to Morgan. "First time for everything, ma'am," the pilot replied, her southern drawl colored slightly by the alcohol. Nowhere near drunk, but Hocus was feeling the warmth in her gut. Grabbing at her own glass again after capping the bottle, she took another sip, feeling the warmth of the drink even through the ice and the dilution it brought along.

Morgan hummed, tentatively reaching for the glass and pulling it up to her face. Without thinking, she caught a whiff of the alcohol inside and her nose wrinkled as she pulled it away from her face. Amber stifled a laugh, forcing herself to keep it inside. Of course the Commander wouldn't be ready for it, but she thought better to dive into the deep end and get it over with. Not wanting to be rude, Morgan kept the glass in hand, shaking it a little to swirl the scotch. "This is..."

"A little bit much? Yeah, welcome to the world of drinking, Commander. You'll get used to it."

Morgan frowned, her eyes ticking back down to the glass. "I don't know if I want to, to be honest."

Another chuckle from Hocus, her eyes glittering as they caught the light for a moment. "It's always a bit of a hurdle to get over, but you get used to it pretty quickly. It'll be just like riding a bike."

Morgan's eyebrow raised, but she didn't question it. She wasn't gonna tell Hocus she didn't exactly know how to ride a bike. "Can I just… hold my nose?"

Amber shook her head. "Nope, then that just makes it taste bad in a different way. Takes away some of the good stuff and just makes it burn."

The Spartan stifled a groan. "You're gonna make me regret this," she answered, but decided she needed to take the plunge. A deep breath, an exhale, another half breath, and the glass was to her lips. Enhanced senses picked up the smells that came from the glass, still uncomfortable to her, but she could smell something else now, the smell of pines. But that was all gone as soon as the liquid touched her mouth. It was only a sip, but plenty enough to make her tongue set off alarm bells. The glass returned to the table as she tried to deal with it. Overwhelming bitterness, and heat that hadn't entirely dissipated, filled her mouth. Forcing herself to swallow it quickly, her face crumpled, as if she had just stuffed a lemon into her mouth and bit down on it.

It seemed to only amuse Amber even further, and her laugh escaped from her before she could catch it. A few eyes glanced over, wondering what was going on, but she paid them no mind. Her attention was entirely on the woman in front of her. The pilot interlocked her fingers, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head against her hands. "See? You did just fine, Commander."

Morgan shot daggers at the other woman, huffing at what she had been dragged into. "Definitely regretting it now."

Her laughter subsiding, Amber took another sip of her own drink, feeling the warmth of the whiskey touch the back of her throat before spreading through her stomach. A hum of pleasure, enough experience to stomach it with no issues, the pilot was enjoying herself again. "At least you're here with little old me to keep you company," she teased.

"I feel like you just wanna see what happens when I drink this… stuff," Morgan was almost pouting, and Amber's lips turned up in a smile as she looked over the other woman's face.

"What if I do?"

Morgan's eyes went from mock irritation to questioning. "You're sadistic, you know that?"

"Mm, I try. Am I good at it?"

"Unfortunately."

Morgan picked up the glass again. She might not like it, but she would finish it. She had promised Hocus a drink, and she wouldn't begrudge her that, regardless of how bad it tasted. Another sip, and it was the same reaction, but she could feel the heat making it past her tongue this time, the bitter taste not subsiding in the least, however. Halfway through, only a few more.

"Should I get you some water to better deal with it?" Amber wasn't a complete sadist, even if she enjoyed what she saw.

"No." A Spartan's pride was as strong as the armor they wore.

Amber raised her eyebrows in a 'suit yourself' style gesture, her holding firm. She almost felt bad for laughing at the other woman's struggles, but she couldn't help it. The Spartan seemed almost… innocent in how she was going about it. For once, seeing her out of armor, not hellbent on fighting a losing battle, it was nice.

Morgan set the glass back down, content to let it sit for a little while. "What is it you find enjoyable about this? It tastes awful."

Amber shrugged, her smile still in place. "It helps," she replied, leaving it vague, but that wasn't enough to satiate the larger woman.

"Helps with what?"

"A lot of things. Stress, current events, literally whatever is on your mind. You drink enough, your brain gets a little stupid. Everybody handles it differently, though."

"Stupid how?"

Amber's smile grew a little. It was like answering a child's questions, but it was cute either way. "Things tend to blend together for me. I guess it makes me focus more on the moment than whatever is hanging over me. Lets me get away from thinking about the war and everybody around me. Usually drink alone on leave, but..." She gestured to Morgan. "Now I've got a new drinking buddy."

Morgan groaned again, shaking her head. "What have I let you drag me into?" It was half directed at herself, but she didn't completely mind spending time with someone else, where there wasn't another deployment order or a scramble alarm to attend to. Was this what Hood was talking about when he told her to live her life for the rest of them? She would have to find out.

The two sat in silence for a time, the smile on Amber's face dropping down to something that seemed as if she wasn't trying to hold it, and it was little more than a slight upturn of her mouth. She watched Morgan drift away, the green eyes getting that thousand yard stare as the Spartan seemed to get lost in thoughts she didn't understand. Amber didn't interrupt, sipping at her drink again and draining it once more. She set it back down as gently as she could, and it was barely audible against the din of the murmured conversations in the room, but Morgan's eyes snapped to the glass when it sounded its call. Amber blinked, confused, before realizing her compatriot had been drawn out of her reverie by the glass's sound. That had been unexpected.

"Sorry, I was thinking," the Spartan answered.

Amber shook her head. "That's why the rest of us end up coming here and drinking this poison. It's better than thinking without it."

Morgan frowned slightly, glancing back down at her own drink. The ice had melted down almost completely, raising the level of the liquid a little bit and diluting its color. Taking it up again, she mentally prepared herself, and rather than taking a sip, she finished it off, feeling the drink sting her mouth, and the urge to gag came to her even with the taste of the alcohol muted by the water now making up half of the content in the glass. Grimacing, she set it down, shaking her head.

Wordlessly, Amber held the bottle up, her smile a little bit bigger now. Raising an eyebrow, she gestured to the Spartan.

The dark haired woman seemed to mull it over, lips pursing and making her mouth a thin line. Her head felt a little odd, as if she was feeling the effects of exhaustion, or a minor concussion. It hadn't been much, had it? Was it bad to try another? Amber wasn't having any problems, and she was much smaller. Surely it would be okay for one more.

Morgan nodded, almost hesitant, and Amber poured her another two fingers worth of the alcohol, dropping two more chunks of ice into the glass with it. There was still plenty of the golden liquid in the bottle, almost three quarters of it still settling as the glass was put back on the table. "Gonna help me finish this bottle off?"

Morgan's face contorted so quickly, Amber thought she had just thrown up and kept her mouth shut, but the Spartan hadn't, and she shook her head. "No, please no," she said, almost pleading in a way.

Amber shrugged, her smile evolving into a smirk. "Didn't think so. More for me then."

The two continued their drinking, with Morgan eventually finishing her second glass, feeling the buzz in her head grow stronger over time. Her vision was blurring, she was feeling dizzy, and she had grown used to the taste, at least. That didn't mean anything good, as far as she was concerned.

Speaking again, her words were slightly slurred, just enough for Amber to notice through her far lighter buzz. She had spent the last decade drinking this stuff, having picked up a bottle when she was 16 to drown out the image of her father, killed when the UNSC Krakatoa had been lost with all hands during a battle over Kholo. It was something she hadn't thought about in years, for better or for worse. Looking to Morgan, she crossed her arms, leaning against the table. "How are you feeling?"

Morgan shook her head, trying to focus her eyes on the other woman when it felt like all they wanted to do was force themselves to do anything but that. "My head feels like it's filled with water."

A gentle smile from the pilot and she closed the bottle up, pulling the empty glass back from the Spartan. "I think you might have had enough then. I don't want you to black out on me and freak out. Some people don't handle their booze all too well."

A nod from the other woman, not complaining about the drink being done and over with. "I don't know if I wanna do this again, if I can be honest."

A chuckle and a nod. "A lot of people don't want to after their first time. I hadn't expected you to drink at all."

"I made a promise," Morgan replied, a hint of fire entering her voice. She didn't break her promises.

Holding her hands up, Amber defended her words. "I know you did, no problems there."

Morgan hummed, leaning forward and closing her eyes as she put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. Amber watched as the other woman seemed to shut down, and took her face in. She had seen Morgan's face before, but even now, there were new scars, hair that was slightly shorter than it was the last time she had been seen without armor, and an air of exhaustion that Spartans seemed too strong to give off. It saddened the pilot, in a sense. She had never expected Spartans to be like Morgan, but she had only ever met two, and the Chief was dead and gone as far as she knew. He wasn't much of a talker before anyway.

Amber didn't say anything, content to sit and watch, and simply wait. Her own buzz was in her mind, but nowhere near as effective as Morgan's. They both sat there for what seemed like hours, but was probably only one encompassing the entire time they had been in there together. For a while, Amber had thought the Spartan had fallen asleep, but the sound of a chair scraping as a Marine got up and made his way out had both green eyes open, already searching Amber's face to see if she needed to be alert.

"Sleep well?" Amber asked the question dryly, eyebrow raised.

Morgan didn't answer, closing her eyes again for a moment before she sat back up. "Not really."

"Seemed like you were out like a light."

"I sleep lightly," she answered, a grimace taking its place on her face. Her head still bothered her, and the conversation in the bar was starting to grate on her nerves, not to mention the smell of cigarette smoke, acrid and cloying. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Amber nodded, grabbing the bottle and the two glasses. Returning them to the barkeeper, she kept the bottle and went back to Morgan. "Yeah, let's get out of here. Where are you staying?"

"Officer's quarters, same as you."

"I should have known. Come on, I'll hold your hand."

"Please?" Morgan asked.

Amber chuckled, nodding. "I would have told you to say please, but you beat me to it."

Amber didn't obviously reach for the taller woman's hand, but she did grab her hat, handing it over and letting the Spartan put it back on before the big woman lumbered out of her chair, seeming to struggle to keep her balance for a moment. Amber did end up grabbing the crook of her arm, but it wasn't needed for long, the Spartan pointing at the door without a word as she shook her head again.

The two left the bar without any problems, the sun having fallen further, almost below the horizon. Street lights had turned on, and the sky was a faint gray, bordering on a slate color. There was still some natural light, but not for long. It was a slow walk, Morgan seeming to take deliberate steps and make sure to keep her balance, but she looked frustrated by it, something that Amber found amusing in a way, like watching a dog wearing shoes try to walk while not used to it.

Neither said anything, content to walk together in silence. Other service members were seen from time to time, sober and otherwise, a lot of them wearing fatigues now. A prefab city had come into place for those that had returned from the portal to live in while everything was fixed and new orders came in. Now, with the official cessation of hostilities, there were bound to be large amounts of outgoing troopers leaving the city soon, and likely the two women doing the same.

Amber walked the streets with the Spartan, until the figure of the officers quarters came into view, painted by the street lamp, several lights on in multiple windows, others dark, some with curtains pulled closed. It had been a hotel before the troopers came in, and with the area being cordoned off, only those that lived in the area remained, in their own homes and businesses.

There was no need to stop by the desk as they stepped out of the cooling temperatures and into the climate controlled hotel, both of them already holding keys to their rooms. Amber escorted Morgan to her room, and upon being told where it was, found the room number.

With Morgan unlocking the door, Amber looked up at her. "Are you gonna be alright? You'll need to drink some water before you go in and go to sleep."

Morgan seemed to blank for a moment, the alcohol having had plenty of time to absorb into her bloodstream. "I… I think so."

Amber's mouth puckered up, as if unsatisfied with an 'I think so'. "Do you need some help?"

"Please?"

A nod, and Morgan entered the room, unsure of where to go from there. Amber looked around, the halls empty, and stepped in after her, shutting the door with a muted click. Looking around the room as she stepped further inside, she realized there was nothing that would have pointed it out aside from any of the other rooms except for a ship bag that likely held her clothes. No personal items or decorations whatsoever.

A frown and a pang of sadness. Even Amber had multiple personal effects on her half of the room she shared with another pilot. But Morgan had nothing, an empty room that was supposed to be home, but seemed far from it.

Breaking away from her inspection, she saw that Morgan was already sitting on the bed, her uniform tunic already dropped onto the bed and her hat laying on top of it as she struggled to untie perfectly laced shoes. Amber's frown grew, and she moved over to the other woman, grabbing her hands and taking them away from the shoes. "I'll get it."

And she did. Setting her bottle down, it took her only a moment to untie the shoes, getting a knot undone with ease and setting them both on the floor below. Left in only the uniform pants, belt, and the undershirt, Morgan seemed almost ready for sleep. A glance at the ship bag in the corner, and she realized that it probably wasn't anything more than fatigues inside. "Do you have anything else to wear?"

Green eyes came up to look at brown counterparts. "Fatigues."

Amber nearly groaned. The poor thing had wore only fatigues for months, and likely only ever worn them outside of armor or dress whites. Civilian clothes seemed to be so far out of the Spartan's purview that Amber should have seen it coming from a mile away. "What do you sleep in? Fatigues?" A shake of the head. "What do you wear then?"

"I don't."

Amber's eyes narrowed, and she felt herself growing frazzled slowly. This was going a route that she didn't expect. Fraternization was allowed by the UNSC, simply due to the methods that Marines and other combat personnel used to decompress when deployed in the field. She had used the method plenty of times in the past, but she didn't want it getting out that she was with someone several ranks higher than her, and a Spartan to boot, even if nothing had happened. Rumor mills were brutal.

"Alright, here, let's get your jacket hung up and your pants off, then you can finish the rest on your own, alright?"

Morgan rubbed at her eyes, sighing, but nodded. She was quickly getting tired. Amber moved in, unbuckling the uniform belt and sliding it out of the loops, before setting it on the dresser beneath the television that sat against the wall. The pants came next, revealing Morgan had wore the standard issue undershorts that the UNSC gave out to both male and female service members. That was to be expected.

Taking the pants and folding them, as if by instinct, the pants joined the belt, and then the jacket and hat. Finally, the undershirt was all that was left, a skin tight, sleeveless shirt that went all the way to the waistband of the shorts. Amber realized that there was far more muscle in the Spartan than she had expected, the shirts normally just being enough to sit against her skin without any looseness, but Morgan's shirt revealed that her entire body was covered in muscle, as if sculpted from a block of marble. Scars, both surgical and battle made, crawled across her exposed arms and legs, still just as toned as the woman's chest.

With her job done, Amber stepped back, spotting a disposable cup on the nightstand. Grabbing at it, she realized it was empty, and it looked clean. "I'll be right back." A disinterested grunt, and Amber was in the bathroom a moment later, filling the cup with water from the bathroom sink. She returned just as quickly, sitting next to Morgan on the bed. "Here, drink this. It'll help you in the morning."

Morgan looked over, searching the pilot's face for a moment before doing as she was told without complaint. Taking it, Amber set the cup back down where it had come from, in case the Spartan woke up during the night. "You should be good for the night. If there's anything you need from me, I'll..." Thinking quickly, Amber glanced around the room. A datapad sat on the bedside table, something in each hotel room, and she opened it to a document writer, quickly writing out her room number and the address to contact it. "If you need anything, you can reach me there, alright?"

Morgan nodded, her shoulders sagging. "I will."

Amber gave a hint of a smile, nodding in semi-satisfaction. "You might get Sugar instead. We're sharing a room. You remember her, right?" A nod. "Good. She'll either wake me up or she'll help you herself. I'll make sure she knows what's going on. So..." She floundered for a moment, half wanting to leave and prevent an awkward silence, but also half wanting to stay just in case. "I'll just be a message away. Goodnight, Morgan."

"G'night."

Amber grabbed her booze and started to walk away from the Spartan, getting to the light switch and hitting it to send the room into darkness.

"Hocus."

Turning back and looking at where the Commander was laying in bed, the sound of fabric could be heard hitting the floor faintly, the bed shifting and blankets being pulled over. "Thank you, for today."

"Any time, Six. Sleep well."

The door was open and shut without any other words passing between the two, and Amber was back in her room in a matter of minutes, her room on the floor below. When she entered, a light skinned woman sat on one of the two beds, wearing actual pajamas, her legs crossed as she held a bag filled with some snack foods in her hands and her terminal sat in front of her. A sharp jaw and rounded eyes, skin kissed by the sun, and hair left in a loose pony tail were the first features that Amber saw, but she knew them well enough by now anyway.

Another pair of brown eyes met the newcomer's, and an earbud left the woman's left ear, raising an eyebrow. "I figured you'd be back sooner."

"I'm home before curfew, mom," Amber answered, smiling at the other pilot, whose eyes were rolling in reply.

"Little long to be drinking alone, isn't it?"

"Little long to be drinking alone, isn't it?" she replied in a mocking tone, before she went on. "What's it matter to you, anyway? You were too busy to drink with me so I had to find someone else."

"Oooh, you found someone else, huh?"

"Yeah, I did. Speaking of which, if I'm asleep and we get a message from room 422, that's my someone else. They've had their first taste of alcohol and they're a bit of a light weight, if you catch my drift. You know her, so you can either wake me up or answer it yourself."

"I'll just wake you up."

"That works. I'm going to get some sleep." Putting her bottle in the small refrigerator in the room, Amber got ready for bed, her uniform being switched out for a tanktop and pajama pants that gave her a sigh of relief. Sliding into bed came next, the heavy blanket coming over her and wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. The lamp next to Sugar's bed went out, but the blue light from her terminal continued to shine. At least it was quiet.

Amber laid there for a time, until the light went out on Sugar's terminal and she heard the other woman preparing for her own sleep. There was plenty to think about, most of all how to acclimate the Spartan towards living normally. It would be a long road, and she wasn't sure if she would be there for all of it…

But she wanted to be.


Author's note: I'm not much of a drinker, so I had to base this off of my own experience and hit up my alcoholic friend for whiskey advice. Either way, I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you guys like what I'm bringing to the table to fulfill my little chapter 2 promise.