A/N: Hello all and welcome to Chapter 68. We are slowly nearing the end for this story arc, with us going to Valhalla. I don't know about you, but that is always the best map for Halo 3 multiplayer. It's just so gorgeous and hey, the cover art for this was done on Valhalla on OG Halo 3. Hmm…maybe I should update it with the new MCC graphics…

*Chapter 68*

Reach took a slow sip of coffee as he stood next to the boxing ring, watching Tucker and Maine have a few rounds. It was the early morning and in the Spartan's opinion, there wasn't a better time to get a good workout in.

He grimaced as Tucker was flung against the ropes, Maine letting out an assertive roar. The big man never really knew how to go easy on people and that was part of the reason why he had him going up against Tucker in the first place. Apart from the fact that it would be interesting to see how he would fare against someone three times his weight. Scrawny bastard.

Tucker scrambled out of the way of a heavy haymaker that would have probably knocked him out, wiping some blood off of his cheek. "Shit dude, I don't need reconstructive face surgery."

Maine growled and responded with another heavy punch. This one connected, his fist planting squarely into Tucker's stomach. The simulation trooper's face turned slightly blue but he didn't collapse. Instead, he let out a wheezing laugh, placing his hand on Maine's shoulder. The giant Freelancer growled in confusion, only to grunt when Tucker's own fist connected with his stomach.

Reach sipped his coffee again and didn't say anything. 'Now this ought to be interesting. If he's challenged Maine of all people to this kind of pissing contest, it won't be pretty. Eta, what are your odds on me having to carry him out on a stretcher?'

"I'd say it's guaranteed, but nothing is ever confirmed until it happens," the AI replied quietly. "Why? Are you having a bet that I don't know about?"

'Yes. With Wash to be precise. Wager is a bottle of moonshine we stole from the Director's private stores. Wash thinks I'll carry him out, I say he holds his own. Jun has twenty credits on Maine putting him in the infirmary for the next two weeks.' Reach smirked. 'We're not that fucking lucky.'

Eta watched as Tucker went soaring across the ring, Maine bellowing like a caged animal. "You still feel confident about your choice?"

'Definitely. If there is one thing you have to admit, Tucker is a stubborn son of a bitch. He either wins this or he gets killed. My money is on the former, having trained him.' Reach lowered his mug and called out some friendly advice as Tucker scrambled to his feet. "Try not to let him hit you. It really does not feel good."

"Thanks for the fucking advice, coach," Tucker shot back snidely, ducking under a pair of heavy swings. "I really appreciate it."

"Any time." Reach chuckled and looked over at Maine. The bald Freelancer was sweating a little and one of his eyes was slowly growing purple due to one of Tucker's punches hitting its mark, but he looked fine. Tough son of a bitch could withstand a ridiculous amount of punishment. "How are you feeling? Nice and warmed up?"

Maine wiped a smear of blood off of his face and grinned. Bastard was having the damn time of his life. If there was one thing he loved more than doing shots of whiskey, it was having a good old fashioned fist fight.

"Do try not to kill him," Reach requested, sipping his coffee. "I need him in one piece. Mostly."

Maine let out a disgruntled hiss.

"I never said you couldn't hurt him." The Spartan smirked.

A deep growl rumbled in Maine's throat and he grinned. Reach figured he would like that more.

"You are an asshole," Tucker muttered irritably, ducking under a pair of heavy swings that would've put a dent in armor plating. "Hey, what's up with your throat, dude? You sound like you have a permanent cold."

Reach let out an annoyed groan as Maine's next punch connected squarely with Tucker's jaw. If there was one thing that would set Maine off, it was mentioning his throat injury that completely destroyed his vocal chords. "Fuck me…" 'Goddammit. Now I am going to have to go to work.'

"Won't say I told you so."

'Shut up, Eta.'

Tucker's dazed and unconscious form was lying on the ground, unmoving, and Reach slid under the ropes to pick him up. Maine was looking a little concerned, giving Tucker a gentle prod with his foot to see if he was still alive, and Reach waved him off. "Don't worry. He's as tough as we are. He'll be fine. Though I definitely don't envy the headache he's going to have when he wakes up."

Maine hissed in response.

Tucker's eyes slowly flickered open and he touched his jaw. "Am…am I dead…?"

"Nope." Reach shook his head. "You're alive."

Tucker let out a pained groan and rubbed the giant purple bruise now forming on his face, grimacing. "A-anyone get the license plate number of that truck?" He let out a weak laugh, attempting to have a sense of humor about the situation he was in. "Fucking hell…"

"So, what did you learn today, Private Tucker?" Reach asked, helping his protégé up and carrying him over his broad shoulders. "And please refrain from making any smart ass comments."

"I learned not to fuck with someone eighteen times my size," Tucker mumbled. "And that jackass hits harder than even you do." Maine glowered at him and cracked his knuckles with a menacing growl.

"And? What else?" Reach motioned his hand for him to continue.

"Don't make fun of his throat. Otherwise he'll beat the living shit out of you."

"There it is. Don't. Fuck. With. Maine."

"I'm concussed, not retarded, you jackass." Tucker glared.

"Hard for me to tell the difference sometimes. You understand, I'm sure." Reach chuckled. "Come on; let's get you fixed up. I'm surprised you held your own as long as you did. Most don't last five minutes in a fist fight with Maine; he usually beats the shit out of them within seconds."

"Yeah I kind of worked that out on my own, funnily enough."

THUD!

"Oops, did I accidentally drop you?" Reach asked innocently, giving Tucker a prod. "So sorry for that. My hand slipped."

"Asshole."

"Dear God, for the life of me I sometimes cannot remember why I decided to train you."

He made plenty of poor choices in his life and right now he was debating if deciding to try and train Tucker into a deadly combatant was one of them. For all the bitching he had to deal with on a daily basis, he somehow didn't think it was. He was actually starting to enjoy the endless shit talk. For reasons beyond his comprehension.

Though he definitely hated carrying Tucker on his back for the tenth time. Apart from that though it was the only real downside as far as he could see.

Reach carried the simulation trooper's limp form into the infirmary and he wasn't surprised to see Doc already waiting for him inside. The purple clad medic let out a sigh and took a healthy chug from a bottle of liquor and looked at Tucker's body exasperatedly.

"Do I even want to know?" he asked in despair. He was probably regretting his choice of career now.

"Trust me, you don't." The Spartan shook his head. "Give him a couple shots to make sure he won't get paralyzed and let him sleep for a bit. He's not going to be doing any strenuous activity for a day or two, I promise."

He would have liked to bring Tucker along to inspect the Mother of Invention crash site at Outpost 17-B on Valhalla, but with him concussed he'd be more of a hindrance than an asset. Besides, he was confident that between him, South, Maine, Wash, Carolina, and Jun, they could easily handle any kind of threat that lurked on the surface. 'If we need more support than that, I think we were fucked from the beginning. Two Spartans plus three Freelancers ought to be more than enough to deal with any kind of threat.'

Still, Tucker would have been valuable on the surface. He had good marksmanship with a DMR and his swordplay was only getting better. Calling him the most competent out of the Reds and Blues was an understatement.

Hell, Reach would put money on Tucker being able to fight the others all at once and win. The only one who would be a problem was Caboose. Yes he wasn't by any means intelligent and God forbid he touched any sort of vehicle or heavy machinery, but in terms of raw physical power he was on Maine's level. He was crazy strong. As Church put it, it was God's way of compensating.

"Fucking perfect." Doc took another swig of liquor and slammed it down on the table next to him, looking at Tucker's limp body. "I really wish I became a farmer instead of going into medical school."

"Why, so you can fail at planting crops as much as you fail at medicine?" Reach asked dryly. "Just give him some chorotazine so he doesn't end up paralyzed. He might be used to heavy shocks but I am not taking any chances. We have enough problems as it is."

"You know, I didn't have anywhere near this many headaches until I got dragged into this mess," Doc muttered with a grumble, looking through the medicine cabinet for the drugs mentioned.

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual." Reach sighed. His alcohol consumption also exponentially increased but he could deal with it. Speaking of alcohol, he owed Wash a bottle of moonshine. Fuck.

He really hated being on the losing side of a bet.

'Well, a bet is a bet. Gotta see it through.' Reach left Doc to tend to Tucker and headed on his way to his quarters where the bottle was currently stashed. He didn't open it yet and he knew Tex wasn't going to touch it since she was pregnant so he wasn't worried about it being there when he opened the door.

When he did open the door to his room he was greeted by the sight of his wife still passed out on his bed. She was sprawled over it with one arm dangling off the side and he smiled. Being careful not to disturb her he silently made his way over to one of the dressers and slid it open, plucking the bottle out before closing it.

He assumed Wash would be on the bridge with South and Carolina and sure enough, Reach found him there. "Hey, Wash. Catch." He tossed the bottle across the room.

Wash caught it and chuckled. "What's this for?"

"Winning the bet," Reach answered sourly. "I had to carry his ass out. Again."

The black haired Freelancer let out a bark of laughter and opened it, taking a healthy chug from it. "What happened?"

"Maine happened," the Spartan deadpanned. "Maine punched him in the jaw so hard I think it took a few years off his lifespan. I mean it was already shortened due to the beatings I try to call training, but still. He didn't mean to hit that hard."

"What the hell did you think was gonna happen, pitting Tucker against him?" Wash asked. "I'm surprised that he even lasted five minutes with him. What was the timer?"

"I don't fuckin' know; I'm not an alarm clock." Reach rolled his eyes. "All I know is that I had to carry him to Doc to make sure he didn't end up paralyzed."

"That bad?"

"…yes."

"How stressful is it trying to make him better? If I didn't know any better I would say that you were trying to make him into a Freelancer." Wash smirked knowingly at Reach's silence and tilted his glass towards him. "You are, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Reach denied. "Now are you done making false accusations or would you rather keep at it? Jun's waiting on me for some target practice." He definitely wasn't but it was still a good excuse to not have to answer any questions.

"Really? So you're telling me that if I call Jun on the COM and ask him if that's true then he's going to say yes?" Wash asked skeptically. "Because it sounds like bullshit to me." Fuck. He knew, the sly bastard. Okay, Plan B.

"…" Reach was quiet for a moment before calling Jun on the old Noble Team frequency. "Hey, Jun. You want to head to the range and get some practice in? Friendly competition like the old days?"

"Challenge accepted. Meet you there in ten."

"Roger that."

The Spartan hung up the call and smirked. "Yes. Yes he will."

"…you just fucking called him didn't you?" Wash deadpanned. "You're an asshole."

"Thank you. I worked very hard to become so." Reach grinned and turned on his heel to have himself a competition with his old friend. "I'll be back in twenty or so. Just keep Alpha flying in a straight line and we'll be good."

"Yeah, yeah." Wash rolled his eyes. "I'll send either South or Carolina after you if you're not back in time. We're supposed to be in Valhalla's atmosphere within an hour if this tin can holds together. Who are you bringing to the surface? Just us and Jun I presume?"

"Yeah." Reach nodded. "Don't want to complicate things by bringing in everyone onboard. We should be able to handle any kind of resistance we meet at Outpost 17-B or at the storage facilities. If we need any backup for a simple op, then we might have fucked ourselves over. Easier to smuggle us under the Director's radar, too."

"Think he knows that we're coming for him?" Wash asked.

"I do. He knows that there's still unfinished business. This isn't a game to him. He's playing for keeps, but so are we. We're too close now for him not to know. Plus the UNSC is after him, too. He'll be prepared," Reach answered smoothly. "Once we land I'll elaborate on the plan I have some more. I'm still working on some details. By the way, how's your lockpicking?"

"I'll read up on my manual but I should be good," Wash replied. "You're going to need me on lock duty I take it?"

"Definitely." Reach nodded. "There's no telling what the Director could have added for security. We know he's most likely down there thanks to some of the journal entries Alpha salvaged, but I have a feeling we'll learn more once we investigate the crash site."

"You think he's made modifications to the storage sites and turned them into a bunker or something? In this little time?"

"I would. I'd also have a few close friends around me as security. Like I said, I don't know what he would do but I can tell you what I would if I were in the same situation. Being hunted by the UNSC is no laughing matter. Especially with the entire fleet knowing you're a war criminal and probably going to face the death penalty."

"Touché." Wash shrugged. "Well, enjoy your little competition with Jun. What's the wager this time? Another bottle of alcohol?"

"Nah. This time it's for bragging rights." Reach smirked. "He likes to run his mouth about being the best sharpshooter on the ship so someone needs to shut him up for once. Or just punch him around in a boxing ring for twenty minutes. Ten bucks on Maine if they ever spar, by the way."

"Ha. Good luck."

"Won't need it."

When it came to marksmanship contests, they were always very close but the current score between him and Jun was in Reach's favor. Jun's sniper skills were a little bit better since he was Noble Team's sharpshooter and main scout, but Reach had much stronger mid range combat thanks to his hyper lethal efficiency rating. In fact, when it came to mid range combat with a battle rifle or DMR, the only one so far who really gave him a run for his money was surprisingly Washington. Bastard was good with a BR85. Tex, Maine, and Carolina were more of close quarters experts than anything. They could hold their own in a mid range engagement, but it wasn't their strongest suit.

Reach headed to the armory and picked his two weapons, the SRS99 sniper rifle and a BR85. He knew Jun preferred a DMR over the BR85 due to it being more effective at greater range, but the BR was much stronger in mid range thanks to each shot firing a three round burst. One shot equaled three potential kills, making up for its slight lack of range. He'd take that any day.

With both weapons secured he walked down to the shooting range, grinning as he saw Jun getting a few practice shots in with his own sniper rifle. "Getting yourself warmed up?"

"Always." Jun chuckled and ejected a spent magazine, slapping a fresh one in. "Never hurts to have a bit of practice. What made you want to have another contest? You're leading in the score after all." He hadn't forgotten, at least.

"Just wanted one last taste of the good old days before we hit the surface and finish this, I suppose." The Spartan shrugged and stood next to his friend, drawing his battle rifle. "How many times do you think we annoyed Carter by shooting in the middle of the night?" He lined up his rifle's sights and squeezed the trigger twice, hitting five targets.

"Too many times to count, old friend. Jorge didn't mind it too much." Jun took a few shots himself as to not be outdone so easily. "He once did say that you could have been a Spartan II with your lethal skill. I think he meant it as a compliment."

Reach snorted in laughter and took his second series of shots. Bull's eye. "You know, these talks about Noble Team really make me wish Emile survived with us. He'd love running his mouth about the shit we got ourselves roped into."

"Agreed." Jun nodded. "He'd compliment you about finding a hell of a woman though. It's not often someone like you ends up with someone like Allison. Kind of only happens in the movies."

"Yeah well, here I am." Reach fired a third time, checking to see his ammo count. He still had half the magazine to spare and he was already looking at almost twenty kills. "By the way, you're slacking. Better not let me outdo you again like this."

"Oh it is on."

"Look forward to it."

A/N: Yeah, this should have been out months ago. But a bunch of unimportant shit happened plus I am also in the process of revamping a lot of the earlier chapters to make them more up to par with what the current ones are, so I do apologize for any kind of delays. That said, hope you enjoyed and I'll see you again!

-A Lovestruck A2#5371