Author's Note: Okay, admittedly I have never written anything like this before. I am working on it. I would love any reviews or insight about my writing. Please, let me know what you think!


0323 Hours, June 6, 2544 (Military Calendar) /

Aboard UNSC Prowler Aladdin, in Slip Space

Fred stared into the gold visor of his helmet.

He turned it over in his hands. It was a useful piece of equipment. It protected his head. It attached him to his neural uplink. It gave him up-to-date information on his team, it allowed him to track locations of friendlies and enemies, and it kept him alive.

Right now, he hated the helmet. As he stared at the it, he could only see the faces of those that had worn identical helmets.

He should have protected them.

If he hadn't gone off on his own, he could have stopped Solomon from going into that ship on his own. He could have kept Solomon alive.

If he had taken those Seraphs, Arthur would never have been caught. He would have continued the mission.

He turned the helmet until he could see his own eyes in the visor's golden reflection.

If Fred hadn't failed, they would still be alive.

In a fit of anger and disgust, he rose to his feet and threw the helmet with as much force as he could muster. It left a large dent in the wall before thudding dully against the floor.

"That sounded expensive," said a voice from behind him.

He didn't bother turning around. He could recognize his teammate's voice anywhere. "Comm system's been on the fritz lately," he lied, "I thought a hard knock might do it some good."

Kelly stepped around him, squatting and picking up his helmet. "Remind me never to ask you for help repairing my kit," she said, tossing a smirk at him over her shoulder. When she saw him, something in her eyes changed. She turned away from him, pacing around the room while scanning over his helmet.

"I never thanked you," she said, almost startling him.

"For what?" he asked, pulling a knife from his left pauldron and absentmindedly twirling it through his fingers. He noted, with some satisfaction, that the blade still bore stains from the several Elites whose lifeblood had recently been spilt by it.

"For coming back. If you hadn't, I'd probably still be floating around somewhere out there."

He shrugged a shoulder, focusing on his knife. "You were on my way," he said, trying to mimic a tone of nonchalance. He couldn't have left her behind. Not after Solomon and Arthur. Not after Sheila. Not after everything else. She would have been too high a toll.

"I mean it," she said, suddenly in front of him. "You had my back out there. You always have my back, and everyone else's along with it." With a half grin she added, "That's probably the only reason we keep you around."

He opened his mouth to fire of his own witty retort, but no words came to him.

He should have had their backs.

If he had been there for them, they would still be alive.

He worked his jaw for one second, and then two. He had no words. No smug jokes to deflect the pain. Nothing but the overwhelming failure.

He felt a hand press against his left cheek, tilting his chin down slightly. Before he could even react, he felt a pair of lips press against his own.

His knife clattered, forgotten, to the floor.

The kiss was ginger at first, almost delicate, though it quickly grew firmer. His hands, with no experience and moving of their own accord, found themselves in Kelly's armored waist and hers landed in his hair.

By the time the two soldiers finally separated, Fred didn't know if the kiss had lasted a second or an hour. He realized with some excitement that he didn't much care.

"What was that?" he asked, somewhat breathlessly. A nervous smile played unbidden across his lips.

"You have a tell when you think too hard," she answered quietly. She was still standing close enough that he could feel her breath against his face. It made the hairs on his neck stand on end. "I know thinking isn't exactly your strong suit, and I figured I owed you one," she finished.

Suddenly she took a step back and turned sharply on her heel, making a beeline for the door.

Acting on instinct, Fred reached out with one hand and latched onto hers, stopping her before she could leave the armory. She turned to him, her left eyebrow arched in expectation of an explanation.

"I did save your life," Fred said, his grin widening. "Are you sure you don't owe me another one?"