John wasn't happy about the assignment. He didn't say as much, but Fred knew it was as obvious to Linda and Kelly as it was to him. He watched his lifelong comrade and brother while they sat at a table in the mess surrounded by the idle chatter of the base's personnel. John's expression didn't give away much - it never did. His cap rested on the bench beside him, as did everyone else's. He ate without paying any particular attention to those around him, a state of being not to be confused with inattentiveness. John knew everything that was occurring around him, it was a heightened level of awareness which never shut off, not for any of them. He just didn't sense anything worth further consideration.

Just the chatter and the stares.

It didn't bother Fred - the staring. When it came to it, it didn't bother any of them in a manner which would preclude them behaving as expected, as they'd been trained. But he knew Linda in particular, and John to a lesser extent, didn't care for the gawking or the hushed speculation. They, more than he and Kelly, found the attention superfluous and uncomfortable. It never seemed to get any better, no matter how many years went by or how many mess halls they made use of. It was as though everyone forgot the bodies inside the MJOLNIR required the basics to survive; food, water, sleep. More of the former and less of the latter, but even so.

It was the image that had been pushed. Stalwart supersoldiers encased in near-indestructible armor. Unflagging. Undaunted. Meta-humans approaching godlike status in the eyes of the species they'd been crafted to protect and defend. Untouchable even by death, or so the premise of the KIA status never being applied to a Spartan went.

It didn't make the loss of his many brothers and sisters over the decades any easier to bear.

Fred knew loss was what hung heavy on John's shoulders. Not of a fellow Spartan, but of an entity which had nevertheless been an integral piece of his teammate's life the past seven years. And it wasn't even just the physical loss of the AI, but the betrayal. Even though Fred knew John was aware rampancy had induced Cortana to mount what she'd referred to as the Reclamation, he still suspected the betrayal and the role Blue Team had subsequently played in terminating Cortana had cut John deeply.

If given the opportunity, he knew, John would revert to the relentless pace of back-to-back missions he'd resorted to when it had at first been believed Cortana had been destroyed along with the Didact's ship. Some might call it a coping mechanism. John would argue it was doing his duty, nothing more and nothing less. In Fred's opinion, the rights of what it was fell somewhere in the middle of both explanations.

But instead of the steady grind of op after op, they'd been assigned as test subjects for the newest iteration of MJOLNIR and shipped here.

No, John wasn't happy about it. He didn't say it, but he didn't need to.

Fred didn't mind the downtime. He wouldn't have minded being fielded either. He wasn't particular about what assignments he was given as long as he was performing a useful function. And since the Gen 2 armor had proven somewhat lacking when compared to its predecessors, any step towards the introduction of an upgraded model he could assist with was a worthy enough role to fulfil in his eyes. Hopefully the Gen 3, when put into service, would build upon the capabilities of the Mark VII serving as its testbed. Fred hadn't been issued a set of the armor, few had owing to both the costly nature of its production and its platform, in keeping with its predecessors, having been customized to complement the Spartan-IIs they'd originally been designed for - a now dwindling population. He'd heard good things about it, however, and he was looking forward to the trial runs.

He recalled the first time he'd set eyes on MJOLNIR. The warning Dr. Halsey had given them about needing to maintain absolute control over not only their bodies, but minds and emotions, or the armor could potentially do them irreversible harm, even kill them. John had volunteered to be the first to don it, naturally. The speed, the power, the sense of invincibility as they'd all grown accustomed to the unparalleled enhancements to their reflexes, response times, and overall efficiency. It'd been as close a state to intoxication as he could relate. Drunk on the incomprehensible potential and the confidence to reach it, regardless of what that meant, of where that led. He wasn't that green any longer. He had thirty years, over two hundred engagements and a hundred-and-forty campaigns, to his credit now. At some point he'd become more comfortable in the armor than out of it. It wasn't a piece of equipment that increased his proficiency anymore, in some ways it was home. One of only a few constants throughout the course of a life that had taught Fred many, many lessons - the least of which was that Spartans were nothing even close to approaching invincible and that potential wasn't everything. Purpose was. Brothers and sisters you trusted to watch your back were. And sometimes the most innocuous and mundane assignments were just as informative as the complex and volatile ones.

They finished their meals in companionable silence, replaced their caps, and left the stares behind. Outside it was still raining, but as they passed the square John slowed to study the replica of Infinity. On closer inspection, Fred noted his teammate wasn't so much appreciating the statue - a distraction which would have been uncharacteristic enough for him - as just staring at it.

Kelly and Linda shared looks with him which denoted, in their own individual manners, their concern. He gave a nod for them to continue on. Went to John's side and just stood there in the pelting downpour, his focus shifting between the statues.

Infinity had nearly been lost in the conflict with the Created and was still undergoing repairs at an orbital shipyard in the Sol system, where it'd managed to limp following the final battle. The supercarrier hadn't been the only thing to barely survive and Fred surmised it was those events which were replaying in John's mind as he stared with troubled and unseeing eyes. "We did the right thing," he spoke up eventually, fully aware he wasn't the first to have uttered the assurance. "You did the right thing."

"I know," was all John said. And he did. But knowing it and accepting it were not the same thing.

Movement in his peripherals from one of the windows of the building opposite the square drew his attention. Fred glanced up, water sluicing off the brim of his cap and down his temples and cheeks as he did so. It wasn't easy to see through the rain, but he could make out a figure - female judging from the long hair, light in colour, blonde most likely. Civilian, since it was unbound. He estimated her to be above average height based on the dimensions of the window and the distance between it and the one looking out from the floor beneath it. Caucasian maybe. Then she stepped back and disappeared. Probably just wondering what the two of them were doing standing around in the inclement weather.

"Psych evals start in fifteen," John announced while he turned to walk on, as though he hadn't been the one to cause the delay to start with. That was just John. Acknowledging he was struggling was a perceived weakness they'd all been conditioned against. Some of them had come to terms, over the years, with the fact expressing difficulty in managing stress was not a character flaw. It was a common side effect of combat. Fred had. But John continued to prove deeply reserved about admitting to such things.

Fred fell in beside him. "They're not going to pull you from active duty for being affected. You know that, right?"

"Affected," John repeated impassively.

He couldn't help a quirk of his lips at the predictable response. "Affected," he confirmed.

"I'm fine."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"I'm fit for duty."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"You implied it."

Fred shook his head. "I'd follow you to hell and back." It wasn't about that. And John knew it. He was being intentionally obtuse, but minutes before a psych eval wasn't the appropriate time to call him out on it.

He turned his gaze towards Fred for a long moment as they headed towards the compound which housed the infirmary, in a wing of which the evaluations were scheduled to be carried out. But ultimately said nothing. As expected.

They completed a 10K at 0700 every day. The base boasted a running track, but preference for variable terrain led them to choose a route which took them off the premises, four klicks along a disused hiking trail of varying altitude, three-and-a-half klicks up the salt water beach the town bordered on, and a further two-and-a-half skirting said town back to base. And each day as they arrived back at 0730, a blonde female with a satchel was in the midst of being searched by the sentries.

Fred had deduced her to be figure from the window that day. Not many civilians worked base-side that he'd noticed and she fit the build of the woman he'd seen and always wore her hair loose. She was early thirties, approximately 1.78m, trim, with a pale complexion and blue eyes. Not the same blue as John's, much darker, much deeper. He knew because the first day they'd come across her on their return, running in formation, she'd frozen and tracked them all the way through the gated entrance and across the grounds beyond, looking like a deer caught in headlights the entire time, her eyes impossibly wide. He hadn't been sure what to make of the reaction, he'd sensed more than shock from her posture and expression. Shock, he was accustomed to. There'd been something else. Something abnormal. And ever since that encounter, she'd pointedly refused to so much as turn her head when they pounded past. He'd experienced a multitude of reactions over his years of service, but this one had struck a chord. Maybe it was nothing. He considered himself adequate at deciphering body language most of the time, but maybe this was an example of him reading more into things than was warranted.

It only happened four days in a row and then she mysteriously stopped coordinating her arrival to coincide with their return. She was still working there because he'd spotted her leaving one evening, on foot with the satchel. Presumably she'd either delayed or advanced when she left to walk there from wherever it was she was living. Which didn't precisely support the explanation that he'd been overanalyzing. The building he'd spotted her in that rainy afternoon was where the team developing the Gen 3's operating system were located, so she ostensibly had something to do with that. She would have been vetted thoroughly before being hired on for a project like this, and was searched every single day twice a day, but something still felt off. She was avoiding him and his teammates, that was plain.

Was it possible she was just uncomfortable with them? With Spartans in general?

People generally seemed to fall into three categories; they either stared unabashedly, wouldn't meet his eye, or acted fairly normal. The last group was by far the rarest. The fact she'd first done one and then the other wasn't typical. She had met his eye that first morning, their gazes had locked for - well, what had amounted to only a few seconds, but had felt like much longer in the moment. And on the three following occasions she'd looked anywhere except at Blue Team. But he hadn't noted fear or revulsion or any other response from her which could explain what was going on when they'd made eye contact.

Fred chalked his preoccupation up to having no other mentally stimulating problems to apply himself to while they were pending clearance to begin trials. Their evaluations; physical and psychological, had all come back satisfactory and preliminary fittings of the armor were set for the following day, so perhaps at that point he'd be able to let the odd situation with the female techie go. He hadn't mentioned it to his teammates. John had his own issues to deal with and he didn't feel it necessary to approach Kelly and Linda with the puzzle when it hadn't at this point amounted to much of anything.

He hadn't timed his return to barracks for 2000 hours. It just happened that that was when he'd finished up at the gymnasium and was cutting across the grounds to return to his quarters, and if questioned, he would admit to having absolutely no ulterior motive. But he didn't alter his path when he saw her passing the square either.

She was adjusting the satchel strap over her shoulder, having draped her red jacket over the bag. It was mild out, mild enough for the short-sleeved shirt she wore obviously. Her hair swung in time to her deliberate stride, brushing over her exposed collar bone. She had angular features, a defined jaw and pointed chin. High cheekbones and slender brows a few shades darker than her pale hair. A straight nose. Lips which weren't too full. They parted when she noticed him and realized they were on a course to intersect paths. She stopped.

Fred took two more steps and halted as well, holding her gaze. Her eyes darted past him, to the gates a hundred paces on. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Is there some reason I'm not aware of for you to avoid me and my teammates?" he asked her mildly.

He could tell he'd caught her off guard by being so direct. She blinked and her brows rose. "What?"

"You used to arrive in the morning at the same time we did. You stopped." He was doing his best not to adopt an accusatory tone since there could be any number of explanations. And he was hoping for her to provide him with one.

He'd said the wrong thing. "You're keeping tabs on me?" She still sounded dismayed, but also affronted. The barest hint of a lilt accented her words, not one he could place.

Carefully raising his shoulders in what he hoped appeared to be an indication of nonchalance, he eased himself a step closer. Her credentials dangled from a lanyard around her neck, but he couldn't quite read them. "Just an observation."

"About what time I arrive in the morning," she recapped for clarification.

It was his turn to raise his brows. "About it changing from 0730 after four days." He didn't see what the problem was here. Was he not supposed to have noticed?

She didn't seem appeased by the correction. "I guess I've been walking slower. Or faster. I didn't know my pace was grounds to be questioned." Her back straightened. "Maybe I should take it up with your superior, Lieutenant…?"

He felt his lips twitch. Was she attempting to intimidate him? "Fred," he supplied for her, as though it weren't displayed prominently on the name patch on his chest. He wasn't certain what sort of reaction he had expected, but it wasn't this. "Would you like me to show you to Commander Kenashi's office, Ma'am?"

"We both know it'd be a waste of his time." She hauled the strap up her shoulder again. Something in her stance had changed drastically between when she'd spotted him and now. Where he'd sensed alarm and unease before, now there was only confidence. "So if you're done interrogating me about my walking habits, I'd like to get back to my room and enjoy a glass of wine and a bath before turning in."

He had to give it to her. She'd recovered well. But he wasn't buying the act. Something had caused her to change her routine. He just had no idea what nor - as she'd called him out on - the grounds to press the matter further. He turned his body to indicate she was free to continue on. "Have a good night, Ms. Ashton." The minute adjustment of her satchel had turned the IDs enough for him to read them.

"Lieutenant."

He stood there and watched her approach the sentries, who struck up a casual conversation with her as they performed the by-now monotonous search. She didn't glance back. Not until they'd finished and handed her back her bag and jacket and she'd passed through the gate. Then she looked over her shoulder and held up her hand in what he perceived as a sarcastic wave before she headed off.

He couldn't help it, the corner of his mouth drew up at the gesture.

Lyra Ashton, Software developer.

The encounter had revealed a few things; she wasn't afraid of Spartans, she or someone she was close to had a military background judging from the ease with which she'd discerned his rank from his stripes, and she was definitely hiding something.