A/N: Hey guys, I'm here with Chapter 42 of Agent Reach. I know a few people are demanding my head to be served on a silver plate for thinking that I just killed the Meta, but calm your tits. You'll get the full explanation in this chapter, okay? More seafood munchies for Tex included, and happy belated 420.

*Chapter 42*

Haven

Alaska lowered his Sniper Rifle, turning off the laser sight and placing it across his back. "You'll thank me later." He put a hand to the side of his helmet, and as Massa got to her feet, she heard him open up a COM channel directly to UNSC HighCom. "UNSC High Command, this is Agent Alaska reporting in. Agent Missouri is now confirmed KIA; I repeat, Agent Missouri is KIA. Confirm last transmission, over."

"This is UNSC High Command. Good work out there, Alaska. Your charges have been dropped; report home as soon as you wish. Command out." Alaska let out a slow breath, and as his hand dropped to end the call, he pulled off his Scout helmet, pulling a medical kit out of his leg pouch. "Come here, you damn pains in the asses. Time to get fixed up."

Missouri got up, and he wiped his chin with a growl, his fists ready to probably bash his old friend's face in. "What the hell are you doing?" He wasn't dead at all, and there were no wounds on him apart from the first gunshot in his side. Alaska dug through it, not meeting his friend's gaze, and he found a small can of biofoam, taking the cap off. "Getting you out of this mess. Now stay still."

He injected the nozzle into the wound, and the silver eyed Freelancer stood up, letting his helmet drop to the ground. "I volunteered for this mission; that story about Feya going to be executed…I made it up. I sorta hoped I wouldn't make it back." He covered his mouth as a ragged cough rose from his throat, and Massa watched as blood splattered onto his hand. "Alex…you're dying, aren't you? Your old illness hasn't gone away, has it?" 'Why is he doing this? Did he stop getting it treated?'

During the early days of Project Freelancer, Alaska was diagnosed with a rare illness that very nearly killed him outright. He took heavy medication to try and combat the symptoms, thanks to serious pressure from both Massa and the Counselor. However, there wasn't a cure for it, and if he stopped taking the necessary medicine, he would die slowly and painfully from the inside.

"I stopped taking the meds," Alaska grimaced. "I signed up because I knew fighting Missouri would be a suicide mission; hell, it would take at least five soldiers to take him out. I wanted to go out on my own terms, kiddo. Anything else would be than desirable." He coughed again, and as he doubled over with blood dripping from his mouth, Xei flashed up with a warning. "Contacts! Ten of them, flanking us! FOF tags identify them as ONI black-ops team Delta-Nine!"

"So…they caught on faster than I expected," the dark grey Freelancer laughed bitterly. "Ah well. There are shittier ways for me to die. Rather be on the right side of this one and kick the bucket than live knowing I could've done something. I don't blame you for doing what you did, Mariah. A sister's love is a sister's love."

He wiped blood from his chin, and he pulled off his dog tags, tossing them to the blue/white Freelancer. "Go. I'll hold them off for as long as I can. I'll save you a seat, no matter the gate I end up at." Massa caught them, and she ran towards their stolen Pelican with a brilliant red flash destroyed its front wings. "Dammit! We have to go on foot!" 'This is my fault. I have another person's blood on my hands, thanks to my selfishness. First New Jersey, now Alaska…'

"No, you don't," Alaska rasped. "I parked a Warthog about a half a klick away; I'm placing the marker on your HUDs." He slid his helmet back on, and he drew a weapon in each hand, wobbling slightly as he coughed again. "See you around, Mariah. Take care of Jason, and no matter what, don't give up hope. There's still a chance you can get him out of this mess."

"What about your wife?" Massa asked, trying to hold back a sob as yet another friend of hers prepared to sacrifice himself for her. Alaska shook his head, ducking as a shot from a DMR soared over him. "I told her to move on and be happy. I wouldn't be a good dad, with me being crippled with this damn sickness. She'll be okay without me; she's a strong woman."

He returned fire with his Magnum, and he motioned with his other to leave. "Go, now!" Missouri slid his helmet on with some improved coordination, and they ran. Massa looked back once as the dark grey Freelancer fired his weapons, trying his best to hold the black-ops team off. "Goodbye, Alex…" 'How many more people I care about are going to die because of me?'

Missouri let out a growl as the gunfire from Alaska started to falter, and Massa tugged his shoulder to prevent him from going back to fight with his friend. "Don't, please…I already nearly lost you once. I can't bear it if I lose you for good." 'Especially now. We already got rid of that bitch Zeta and have you moving freely for the first time since Project Freelancer. We just need time to get you used to it.'

The big Freelancer hissed in irritation, and Massa winced; she knew that her brother would rather die fighting with his best friend than run away as he got riddled with bullet holes. But he didn't turn back either, and they began to run further and further away from Alaska's valiant last stand. Massa paused briefly to catch her breath, and she lowered her head as the gunfire stopped. "He's dead…" 'Farewell, Alaska. You were a faithful friend to the end.'

The blue/white Freelancer drew her Magnum and fired it into the air, a final salute to the Freelancer who just willingly gave his life to buy them a few precious minutes. "For you, Alaska…"

Missouri growled as he put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, and Massa leaned against him, her eyes leaking. "He truly believes we can get you out of this. Let's honor his dying wish, okay?" 'Never give up hope. I'll remember those words, Alex. I want to get Jason at least a fair trial for this mess. It wasn't his fault; the Director knew damn well what would happen when he gave him Zeta.'

'I guess I'm partially to blame to, though. I stood by and allowed the Director to torture a living entity. Artificially created or not, Alpha still has a conscious and memories. The hottest circle of hell is reserved for those who stand by and do nothing. If I'm honest to myself, I hope I'm judged for it.'

-0-

Somewhere in Slipspace

Washington looked at the blindfold, and he sighed before tying it, covering his eyes. "Alright…I can do this." Reach had instructed him to navigate his way through the ship, starting from the engineering sector and going up to finish at the barracks. The only two things he wasn't allowed to do were use the elevator and take the blindfold off until he was back in his room.

He finished tying it, and he looked around as a slight buzzing started to reach his ears. Unable to see, he tried to picture the thing that was causing it. 'Too quiet to be the ship's engines. A fly, maybe?' The black-haired Freelancer furrowed his eyebrows, and as it approached him, he reached out with his hand. He could feel the insect's wings vibrating against his palm, and he flicked it away into the generators to incinerate it. 'Every object gives off some sort of presence. That's what Reach told me. Trying to sense your surroundings paints a picture in your head. Hearing and touch are some of your greatest weapons; it only takes practice to hone them.'

Washington began to put one foot in front of the other, walking slowly. He could hear the hum of the ship's reactors, and the small vibrations rising through his feet. His arm brushed up against the wall, and his foot hit one of the steps leading out of the engineering sector and into the ship's corridors. 'Stairs. There are four of them, about three inches high each.'

His hand hit something circular, and he looked down, feeling whatever it was carefully. Washington tried to paint a picture in his head of the object, and his hand slid up something cold and metallic. 'Handrail. Made out of steel, by the texture. That little jellyfish we acquired certainly has been busy.'

He stepped out into the hallway, and he could feel a slight shift in the ship's artificial gravity. 'Slight course correction. Looks like Alpha has everything under control upstairs.' The black-haired Freelancer began to walk again, this time not using his hand to feel his way along the wall. Even though he wasn't able to actually see the details courtesy of the blindfold, he was starting to be able to sense them. 'That stupid mantelpiece that the Red Team's flag is on is right there. The Blue Team's is hanging up four meters to the left.'

Maine had already gotten tired of being the new Blue Team's leader, and South didn't want anything to do with it, either. Neither one of them had the patience for it, as South had already tied up the one called Tucker and attempted to use him as her and Maine's newest test dummy to see if the Sticky Detonators actually worked. The only thing that stopped the two was Grif breaking into their bedroom to steal some of South's rum stash. 'I'm not one for that crap, either. I was one of the worst Freelancers; I had a fucking grappling hook stuck to my dick.'

'Still, could be worse. I could've been killed by her.' He walked further down the hallway, and he stopped as his foot painfully collided with something metal on the floor. Washington winced as it began to throb, and he bit his tongue to prevent a loud swear from escaping his lips. 'That fucking hurt. I got a little caught up in feeling pissed off about Massa, and I hit something. Probably the staircase leading up to the mess hall and shooting ranges.'

He waited for his foot to stop throbbing like he dropped a sledgehammer on it, and he began to slowly make his way up the staircase. 'Don't lose concentration. Focus only on trying to get your ass upstairs without breaking your feet; the last place I want to see is another medical facility so soon.' His hand slid up the handrail as he walked up the metal steps, and he let out a slow breath as he reached the second floor. 'Made it to the second floor. One more, and I'll reach the barracks.'

A rather unusual and sharp aroma wafted in the air, reaching his nostrils. Washington felt his stomach growl as he took a slow sniff, and he chuckled to himself as he imagined Texas protesting to no end. 'Smells like…sushi? When the hell did anyone learn to make that? I know Tex hates seafood; she practically threw up every time they served salmon during the project. Maine wasn't particularly fond of it, either. I'm not sure about South or Reach, though.'

He heard a familiar groan of protest come from within, and he kept his laughter down as he heard Tex voice her indignation of having to not only eat seafood, but raw fish. 'I guess even one of the best Freelancers isn't a match for raw seafood. And is that soy sauce I smell? Someone has some good taste; it might be a little strong on the eyes, but I bet it'll taste pretty good.'

The mess hall doors suddenly burst open, and he turned to 'see' the annoyed blonde Freelancer, who was just as surprised. "Wash? Are you…walking around the ship with a blindfold on?" Washington nodded, and he used his hearing to figure out just how far away she was, mainly using her voice as a point to work with. "Yeah. All part of the training to get used to being half-blind. I might not be able to see you, per say, but I can still tell where you are." 'Judging by her voice, she's only about a meter from me. Footsteps indicate she's not in her armor; instead, she's wearing…heels? What the hell?'

"Looks like Reach knows what he's doing," Texas purred. She shifted herself ever so slightly, and Washington let out a sigh. "Tex, why are you wearing heels? Did Reach win a bet or something?" 'That rustling sounds an awful lot like…a skirt. A really short one, to be precise. Dammit, Reach…'

"How can you tell that without seeing me?"

"I can still hear you. You're wearing a maid outfit for Reach, aren't you?"

"That's about right," the blonde replied, probably smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "And why are you sweating so much? Jeez, I'd think that you've been forced to wear one or something." Washington's face heated up at the awful memory, partially from embarrassment and partially from fury. "You have no idea…" 'I have more than one reason apart from revenge to want to kill you, Massa. Humiliation is another.'

Texas walked back into the mess hall, her heels clicking. "Well, unless you feel like eating seafood, don't go in there. Someone thought it would be a good idea to make today Seafood Day. There's some crap called sashimi, sushi with miso or soy, and seafood bowls. Whoever it is decided to take a multi-cultural class seriously. As it's the only thing being made, I guess I'm gonna try and keep it down."

"Don't you hate anything that comes from the sea?" the black-haired Freelancer pointed out. "I can recall more than one instance of you throwing up." Texas let out a sigh, and he heard her put her hands on her waist as she walked away. "What can I say? I guess some things…change. Like having random cravings at three in the morning."

'Why would she...? That doesn't even make sense,' he thought as he continued on making his way through the ship. 'The only reasons why a person who hates seafood would suddenly crave it are because they're stoned off their ass or pregnant. I know Tex doesn't smoke, but she is pretty much engaged with Reach. She's gotta be pregnant, even if she doesn't look it.'

He heard the sound of several DMRs firing from the shooting range, along with a few surprised cheers. 'Sounds like the Reds and Blues are getting better and better with each passing day. Well, things are starting to turn in our favor in that regard. I'm getting used to this quicker than I thought. It's amazing; I'm actually becoming able to sense where things are, even if I can't see them. They still give off a certain presence.'

Washington passed the shooting range, rolling his eyes as he heard a swear of frustration from one of the simulation troopers. 'Hmph. It looks like someone still doesn't know how to shoot.' He stopped as he heard something approach from his left, and he slowly began to reach for his sidearm when he heard a very recognizable grumble. "Oh, it's you, Maine. Had me worried for a minute there." 'I think I'm starting to get a little paranoid. Funny what happens to you after being stabbed in the back.'

Maine let out a hiss, and Washington rolled his eyes; he was one of the few people within Project Freelancer who didn't need Sigma to translate the big Freelancer's growls, hisses, and grumbles. "Tell me about it. I doubt I have the patience or the temper control for it, too. I might end up actually using them as a test dummy." 'He's done trying to be patient for the day. The big guy needs a good fight to lose some steam. That, or get laid; Reach and Tex swear that sex uses up more energy than fighting a Covenant armada single-handed.'

Maine growled in agreement, and he gave the black-haired Freelancer a pat on the shoulder before walking into the shooting range to probably beat the simulation soldiers with a hammer. "Thanks Maine. Try not to kill them; Reach needs them alive for our fight with the Meta." 'As annoying as he is, that kid Tucker isn't too bad with the sword he found. Though I still think his strategy of 'swish, swish, stab' is possibly the worst plan ever, of all time.'

He sensed a sudden change in direction up ahead, and he tried to map out the ship's blueprints in his head. 'To the left is the new training facility the Huragok built. To the right are the locker room…and the staircase leading up to the third floor. Thank goodness; I'm almost there. I just gotta make sure I don't walk into the wrong room. I haven't forgotten the time North drunkenly walked in on CT admiring herself naked in the mirror.'

Washington turned right, and he felt the ship's artificial gravity shift again, though this time it was a little more forceful. 'Course correction. We must have been heading in the wrong direction for a little bit.' He kept his balance, and he continued on his way as soon as the movement stopped. "Learn how to fly, Alpha…" 'I saw him trying to shoot the Sniper Rifle earlier. And he's really not that good with that thing.'

His footsteps echoed in the corridors, almost eerily in a way. 'I sound as though I'm Hell's Harbinger and looking for souls to send to oblivion.' He shook his head almost the second the thought of him wearing a death cloak surfaced, trying hard not to laugh at how ridiculous he imagined he would look. 'Who the fuck am I kidding? I'd make a pretty shitty Grim Reaper. Maine would be a much better one.'

He walked up the third and final staircase, moving quicker than he had previously. With his eyes closed, Washington was able to 'see' where he was going, despite the blindfold. 'Even inanimate objects give off some sort of presence. It's remarkable; I didn't think I'd really have a shot at this. Maybe I ought to stop being a cynical, self-deprecating ass at times; I'm better than I think.'

He found his room rapidly, as he knew his was the second door on the left. He opened the door, closed it behind him, and pulled the blindfold off as instructed. Washington saw the small package on his bed, along with a letter, and for the first time in far too long, he allowed himself to smile as he looked at the picture of Carolina, York, North, and himself on his bedside table.

"Heh…it looks like they remembered what today was after all."

A/N: What is the package that Wash is grateful for? Well, you'll have to wait a bit, as next chapter focuses on Jun and Carolina. I know a few people want a love triangle between Jun, Wash, and Carolina, but in my experience, those NEVER work out, even in fanfiction. Someone always has to fucking yell, or go— *This has been edited out as this note is taking too long*