More cobbled together technological lingo ahead. Advanced apologies, once again, to any computer-type aficionados (or even those of you with a grain more knowledge than my own, which isn't much). Word-salad is being utilized in the absence of knowing wtf I'm talking about. Just remember... it's about FRED, not the other stuff. And we love Fred, right?

They hadn't waited.

Test boots and diagnostics runs had been completed on just two sets of Gen 3 when the oversized and reinforced door had opened to admit all four members of Blue Team into the secure area in which Lyra was working alongside Swinton beneath the supervision of one Dr. Honora Naples. The doctor had seemed satisfied with the cohesion of the integrated upgrades to the Mark VII suite thus far. Aspects from the Gen 2 OS which had received positive feedback from its users had also been incorporated. So far, everything was running smoothly. But Lyra hadn't expected for the Spartans to show up before she'd finished and was tucked safely back inside her office.

She nearly dropped her tablet.

Swinton snorted at the fumble.

Lyra shot her a dirty look and turned her attention back to the third suit of armor, which she'd just begun to boot up. "I was told I had until lunch time to get this done."

"Those sorts of calls go above my pay grade," Swinton responded with a shrug. She was just there in case there was a glitch or something didn't process the way it was meant to, an extra pair of hands which hadn't been necessary up until now.

That was when a memo regarding the advanced preliminary fitting time came through on the fleet-issued data pad. Lyra rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "Here, take over with this one and I'll get the last one started with your tablet." She swapped her own device for the crewman's and walked to the final suit of MJOLNIR.

Naples was speaking with Blue Team, giving them the rundown on the Gen 3's stats as though they hadn't most likely already been thoroughly briefed on the subject.

No way to know if the Lieutenant - Fred - had noticed her or not because Lyra kept her back to them. Then again, who was she kidding? Of course he'd noticed. She'd spoken to him for all of a few minutes and she was already convinced those unique blue-green eyes missed nothing. Her heart had still been thudding its way out of her chest when she'd dropped into her bed after not one, not two, but three glasses of wine and a long soak the night before. He'd seen right through her, there wasn't a doubt in her mind. And all those years she'd put together image after image in her mind, she'd somehow missed the mark altogether, having never imagined he would be so goddamn good looking.

But he was. Oh, he was handsome, though perhaps not in a conventional way. There were too many scars for that. His features were strong and even, and those eyes were about the prettiest pair she'd ever run across. His dark hair was meticulously cropped and shot through at the temples with a silver which his otherwise virile appearance didn't support, but which nevertheless suited him, along with the scars bisecting his hairline and eyebrow. To make the best of it, she'd gotten the distinct impression he'd found her amusing, even if his expression had remained fairly neutral. If he'd smiled - lord, if he'd smiled she wouldn't have stood a chance. The charade would have fallen to pieces.

He knew. He didn't know what it was, but he knew something was up. She needed to give him a wide berth, complete the project, and get the hell out of there.

The assembly platforms began removing the first two sets of armor from the foam dummies they'd been applied to for the software testing. One belonged to one of the female Spartans and the other to one of the males. Relief flooded her when Fred approached it. Good, she'd already clued up with his. Which meant the MJOLNIR she was currently running diagnostics on belonged to none other than the Master Chief.

"All good here," she heard Swinton declare as her shoulder blades began to itch.

Turning her head, she met the legend himself's intense gaze. He was standing a few paces away. Waiting. On her. "Just be a few more minutes."

He adopted the at ease stance, but didn't answer, and when she looked down to her tablet again she could still feel his cool blue eyes boring into her back.

So, no pressure. She willed the data to scroll across the screen faster. She also willed away the memories. The what-ifs. Two donors, one who already suspected her of hiding something, the other practically staring straight into her soul. From behind. Had Halsey known there was something wrong with John's sample, was that why she'd switched to Fred's that last time? Had it been John's sample? Had it just been a coincidence? Given his accomplishments over the past six years and what she now understood about Halsey, using a sub-optimal sample or going ahead with the insemination even if she'd suspected complications just because John was the consummate Spartan and his offspring would have theoretically offered the greatest potential weren't things Lyra would put past Halsey. Her hands had begun to shake and she stilled them with effort.

Swinton came to her side and when she glanced up to the crewman's face, she caught sight of bare skin over the other woman's shoulder.

They were undressing. Stripping down right in the middle of the room, both one of the women and Fred.

Lyra swallowed and told herself not to watch, but he was already shirtless and his pants were following suit. Next thing she knew, he was wearing nothing but black standard issue boxer briefs and was carefully tugging on the liquid crystal embedded techsuit which, along with its integrated skinsuit, would serve as his first two layers of protection. Honed muscles bunched and released as he inserted his feet, then drew it up his legs and torso before slipping his hands through the arms. When the composite zipper was closed, it sealed him inside the form fitting suit from the base of his skull down.

Swinton cleared her throat.

Lyra's focus shot to her, then followed her pointed looked down to the tablet forgotten in her own hands. The scans were done.

Idiot.

Swinton's expression was wry. She knew. "You're clear, Chief," she told the massive Spartan looming behind whom Lyra had somehow also forgotten existed.

They shuffled out of the way to compare results on the two data-pads. The assembly platforms were, with the guidance of Naples and the rest of the Gen 3's mech team, fitting the titanium alloy plated shell over the techsuit and making any adjustments necessary. Since the pieces were crafted using measurements from Blue Team's previous suits of armor, these proved few.

The perfect opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. "Seems to be in order," she concluded of the feedback and started towards the door with Swinton in tow. Now, just to return and review the results, maybe grab a paltry excuse for coffee from the mess along the way, and spend the next however-long it took to put the finishing touches on the programming cowardly hiding from hulking Spartans. With any luck, she'd be on a cruiser back home in another week or so. They'd spend much longer running trials with the armor, but she didn't need to be on hand so long as everything was functioning as it should - and nothing she'd seen so far pointed towards that not being the case.

"Ms. Ashton," Naples called.

Lyra nearly groaned. She was within a metre of the door. So close.

The doctor, on the other hand, was still observing the final tweaks to the assembly of Fred's MJOLNIR.

Turning back, she lingered where she was optimistically. "Yes?"

Swinton was smirking, damn her.

Naples threw a look over her shoulder which said she had no intentions of shouting across the space.

Lyra walked back. "Yes?" she repeated.

"I just wanted to say I've not been disappointed in your work. You came highly recommended and I'm pleased I took the advice." Lyra considered it a testament to her superiority complex that the woman could make praise sound as though it said more about the one giving it than receiving it.

"Thanks." She tapped the data-pad she held. "I'll get out of your way and go run through the parameters one more time."

Naples waved her hand acquiescently, as though it'd been a question and not a statement. "Of course."

"Something isn't right," she heard a gravelly masculine voice announce. Surprisingly, despite having been the last to start donning his armor, John was now fully encased, helmet and all in place. He positively towered over the mechs who hovered around him now, though she realized with some surprise he somehow seemed less imposing - at least to her. It was probably just that she - and 99% of the human population - was accustomed to seeing images of him in it, not out of it and in the flesh and blood.

"Can you elaborate?" Naples questioned as she approached.

The Spartan raised a hand to tap the side of his helmet. "HUD isn't functional and the servos feel sluggish."

"That has to be a new record, even for you," Fred piped up good-naturedly. "You could have at least waited to damage it until we were actually taking fire."

"Too conformist," an accented female voice supplied.

She couldn't help it, the banter teased forth a smile. It softened her perception of the four, exposing the fact they were indeed just people far more than the skin and the scars ever could.

Naples began pulling up diagrams and feedback on the control terminal mounted to the assembly platform since the Gen 3 would still be synced to it at this range. She scrolled through a few different frames of data and Lyra got a sinking feeling. "Ms. Ashton, I need you to take a look at this."

Fuck.

She caught what might have been the beginnings of a smirk from Fred's direction as she made her way over, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of doing a double take to be sure. A new diagnostics scan was already running on her tablet when she paused before John. "I'm not seeing anything here," she had to admit as it concluded.

"Keep looking," he responded before Naples could, resolute.

Lyra bit the inside of her cheek and started manually checking over the individual programs facilitating the MJOLNIR's functions, and when that failed to reveal anything, accessed the suit's BIOS. That was where she found the problem, curiously enough. "I have it." She frowned. "But I don't understand why the others aren't having issues." The same software had been installed on all of the armor.

Evidently that oddity didn't interest him. "Can you fix it?"

"I hope so, it's what they're paying me for. But I'll need some time." She was going to venture a guess this didn't please him if the way his hand fisted was anything to go by.

Naples wasn't amused either. "Do you foresee further issues, Ms. Ashton?"

"No, but then again, that's what these test runs are for."

"I'd like a report on the nature of what's caused this complication when you've figured it out. You're free to go."

Lyra gave a nod and made the walk of shame to the door.

Swinton had wisely adopted a bland expression.

She bypassed the mess - coffee forgotten - and once in the confines of her office, set to work furiously typing to correct the problem.

It was a quick fix. Finding the source was not.

Nine hours, a restless night, and a further five hours of combing through the coding, the files, the drivers, and anything else she could think of hadn't led her to the why of it. But John's Gen 3 was now operating as expected. That was what was most important. It was what she kept repeating to herself, anyway, as she slid her mug beneath the spout of the coffee dispensing unit in the mess. She'd delayed venturing from her office to procure the much needed caffeine only to avoid any of the usual crowd - not in the mood to be propositioned by hormone driven overachievers that day.

"You don't actually drink that stuff, do you?" an increasingly familiar baritone spoke up from nearby.

"No, I just like the smell of it." When this didn't elicit any response she risked a peek over her shoulder. He was studying her in a manner which told her he wasn't certain whether she was serious or not. "Are my beverage choices suspect as well?"

The furrow between his brows eased. "Maybe. If you like that, at least." He nodded towards the unit and then cocked his head. "There's better coffee in the barracks."

Lyra looked to her mug again in speculation. "Is that right?" Why he was informing her of this, she wasn't sure. It wasn't like she could just waltz in there and help herself. "How nice for you." She reached up to jam the button to select her size harder than was necessary, but never got the opportunity.

"I'll walk you over if you're interested."

Lowering her hand again, she eyed the button he'd just unwittingly saved from her ire. What was this about? Was he trying to feel her out? Catch her off guard with more questions? Did it matter? Could she pass up coffee that was potentially better than this stuff? Snatching up the mug again, she offered what she hoped was a pleasant enough smile. "Sounds good."

His teammates were just seating themselves at a table with their meals. For some reason he'd detoured, it seemed.

"You look suspicious," he said as he turned and waited for her to fall into step with him. Too attentive.

"Maybe I am."

"Of coffee?"

It was her turn to wonder whether he was in earnest or not. He'd shot a perplexed glance down at her which might have been genuine or might have been a ploy. "Of further interrogation."

Fred seemed to consider her answer. "But you still accepted." He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I could really use some better coffee," she supplied.

There was that quirk of his lips again. He was gorgeous, he must know it.

"And on that note I'd appreciate not being interrogated, also."

He laughed. It was deep and rich and warm. "Rough morning?" They were outside by now and she noted more than a few startled reactions to the laughter from those in the vicinity. He had to have seen it as well, but he didn't exhibit any outward response that she could recognize.

"Rough night followed by rough morning." Wait, that hadn't come out as she'd intended it. "It's the thing with the BIOS," she explained.

"Chief's armor?" It struck her as odd that he'd refer to his teammate in such a way, but probably it was as much a nickname for them as for everyone else. Not even probably, but evidently, or he wouldn't have used it. "It tested fully operational earlier."

"Yeah, I'm still working out what caused it, is all." Should she be speaking to him about this? He was a test subject and would have had access to the Gen 3's specs. No one had told her she couldn't discuss it with the Spartans. They were directly involved.

"Ah. The report." He slanted a more commiserative look her way this time and the sun shining down onto the brim of his cap threw the uppermost half his face into shadow. For a moment that chin reminded her of...

"That, yes."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, but oddly enough it didn't feel awkward. He led her into the second barracks, a long squat building with rows of symmetrical windows three stories high. Down a hall, around a bend, and they stepped into the lounge area. It sported two pool tables, several seating areas, a large screen which was displaying some recorded sporting event, and a small kitchenette complete with the promised coffee brewing unit. It looked more modern than the one in the mess, so she had some hope as she approached it and slid her mug into the appropriate spot, then thumbed the button.

"You're not going to catch flak for sharing the good stuff with a civilian?" Lyra asked while she waited for it to dispense, leaning a hip against the narrow counter.

Fred had paused a respectful distance away and removed his cap. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. His eyes - they really were something else. "Worried about me, Ms. Ashton?" He sounded amused, but again, there was that note of puzzlement as well. So, he was trying to feel her out.

"Just making small talk."

"Where did you serve?"

That question wasn't what she'd been expecting. She checked her mug. Half full. Hopefully that wasn't a sign this could go either way? "Nowhere. I punched a year of training, that's all." She tapped a finger against her thigh impatiently. "Then I realized a life of terrible coffee wasn't for me."

He didn't respond. Not right away, anyway. She wondered if she'd offended him with the flippant answer, but his expression wasn't giving anything away this time.

"Ashton!"

The exuberant greeting nearly made her spill the mug of piping hot coffee she'd only just picked up.

The source, one Ensign Lundy, had just entered the lounge along with some fellow officers. "Mess is due South, did you get lost?"

By the way Fred eyed them, their lack of acknowledgement of his presence was something he wasn't concerned over.

"I was offered some of your superior caffeine and couldn't turn it down." She gave the Spartan a nod of appreciation as she turned to go.

Lundy had been about to sink down onto one of the oversized chairs, like the rest of his mates, but straightened up again at the last moment. "If you're going to take advantage of our hospitality like that, you know you ought to join us for a beer tomorrow night. Don't say no. You can bring along your Crewmen if you want."

"Can I really?" she couldn't help replying dryly. She could just imagine Swinton's eye roll at being called her Crewman.

Lundy just chuckled. "Or whoever else you like." He'd obviously mistaken her sarcasm as not caring overly much for the programming team she worked with.

"Like the Lieutenant, you mean?"

That wiped the arrogance right from his face. He squinted between the two of them, obviously having not anticipated the caveat, and cleared his throat. "Sure."

Lyra left it at that. Let the lot of them chew that over for the next however long. She headed back through the barracks the way she'd come with Fred no more than a step behind. She supposed he needed to rejoin his teammates and eat still - that, and she had just put him on the spot simply to get a rise out of Lundy. "Sorry about that."

He caught her up easily. "About?"

"Pulling you into their line of fire," she supplied. He was replacing his cap and flashed her the first real, full on smile rather than that faint curling of one side of his mouth. Her heart skipped the proverbial beat.

"First time I've ever heard an invitation to consume alcohol described quite like that."

"It wasn't much of an invitation, to be fair."

"You're not planning on joining them, I take it."

It was her turn to laugh. "No." Wait, maybe she shouldn't be so openly snubbing the guys he was bunking with. "I'll probably be too busy. Why?" Not her best save.

Fred's shoulders rose and fell. "Ascertaining whether my services as an escort were going to be required or not."

Relaxing, she laughed again. "I'm sure you have more important duties, but thanks for the offer." They were closing in on the compound the mess hall was located within. "And, again, the coffee."

"Offer? You volunteered me, as I remember it."

"You should be used to that at this point in your career, shouldn't you?" It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it the moment the words had passed her lips, but she couldn't take them back.

He was watching her from the corner of his eye again like he didn't know what to think of her.

Thanks, brain. Wasn't she supposed to be smart?

She plastered on an oblivious expression, relieved their paths were diverging. "See you around, Lieutenant."