This has been sitting in a folder for way too long, half finished. I'm attempting to get back to writing, but I make no guarantees how often I'll be able to update. It'll likely be another few weeks before I have time to sit back down and do any *serious* work, but some progress is better than no progress.

To anyone celebrating, happy holidays! Ngl, I can't wait for this fucking year to be over. At least I still have hockey and cider (and the new season of The Witcher and hopefully soon Peaky Blinders) to look forward to!

Cheers!

"I'm not going to ask if you have any idea what time it is here, I know you don't care."

"Facts. Did you get my message?"

"Depends - you mean the one you sent an hour ago? Or forty minutes ago? Or fifteen minutes ago?"

"The second one," Swinton clarified. "The other two were just dick pics."

"What? Why are you sending me porn?"

"Just spreading the wealth, sharing the mementos Fullers sent me. Just in case you've forgotten what one looks like and all. You're welcome."

"Next time, be less generous. I'd rather forget than be privy to whatever sexcapades you're currently pursuing. Speaking of which, what happened to Lundy?"

"You don't climb the ladder by staying on the same rung, Ashton. So you didn't open it, then."

"Fortunately, I didn't open any of them, no."

"You're gonna wanna open it."

"I promise you, I don't."

"Holy hell, you're thick. The second one. Open the second one, run the program, and know that the next time I call in a favour it won't be for drinks at some dive." Swinton terminated the call before Lyra had an opportunity to respond, leaving her wondering why she'd not yet blocked the snarky crewman from contacting her personal tablet.

Promptly deleting the first and last messages she'd received in her inbox, her finger hovered over the second, debating following Swinton's instructions. Worst case scenario, an image of some guy's genitalia would be seared into her retinas, right? With a sigh, she tapped to view the message. It appeared to contain only a compressed file, no text. Downloading the attachment, she took up her glass of wine as she waited for it to unpack itself. Whatever it was took a moment, a testament to the file's heft. When it completed, an inconspicuous window opened. That was it. No picture, no video, no explanation whatsoever for the purpose. Just a black window with a flashing cursor. Seriously? A chat program? That was what Swinton figured she was owed a favour for?

Really? As though bombarding me with video calls at all hours wasn't enough? she typed with one hand and then sipped her wine while awaiting a response. After a few minutes of nothing, she rolled her eyes and closed the window, going back to the article she'd been reading on the latest advancements in Shaw-Fujikawa tech.

It wasn't until she'd drained her glass and reached a point in the article where the terminology was going way over her comfortably fuzzy head that she switched back to the chat window, curious.

Unless my tacpad has been seriously malfunctioning, I don't recall doing any bombarding which wasn't strictly of an armed nature recently.

Lyra snorted. And how would you classify those shots of Fullers' package? What was Swinton talking about, armed bombardments, anyway? Was she completing some kind of mandatory field training? She hadn't mentioned it, if so.

You have me at a disadvantage.

I doubt it - and whatever favour it is you're saving up, you can forget it. Access to my tablet isn't something I remember mentioning wanting you to have.

Understood. Sorry, Ma'am.

Sorry? Since when did the crewman apologize for anything? Blinking at the chain of messages, she felt a kernel of doubt burrow itself in her gut. The tone really wasn't right for Swinton at all.

"Who the fuck did you link to my tablet?" She was on the verge of calling and demanding just that when it hit her. "Oh shit. Oh shit, shit!" Swinton wouldn't be that bold, would she?

Wait! My mistake, I didn't realize who this was! Sucking in a breath, she chewed the inside of her cheek while willing the cursor to switch to the three dots indicating a response was incoming.

I was told that was the point.

I wasn't told anything. That sounded perturbed - though, that ship had already sailed. I wasn't expecting to hear from you.

It wasn't my idea.

Brow drifting upwards, she wondered if perhaps Fred hadn't agreed to Swinton installing prohibited software on his tacpad. It did strike her as out of character for him. And when considered in conjunction with the fact her in-person obligations with the Gen 3 MJOLNIR program had concluded more than five months earlier when she'd returned home to Cascade without any further contact with the Blue Team or the Lieutenant - no, it wouldn't have been his idea. Probably the furthest thing from it, in fact.

Lyre blindly reached out and refilled her glass - a generous glassful she demolished half of immediately. Her fingers hovered over the tablet's digital keyboard indecisively. She frowned and drained the rest of the wine from her glass. No goodbyes - he'd been away running testing drills somewhere classified when she'd shipped out - and five months later, what was there to say? It wasn't that she hadn't thought of him - no, she'd thought a helluva lot about him. Too much, probably.

The cursor blinked, taunting her.

I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye. She sent the message before she could prevent herself from doing so. There was nothing wrong with expressing remorse for the way things had just… ceased to be. There'd been no closure, and even if she'd always known it couldn't conceivably go anywhere, it didn't mean it hadn't been hard to lose that connection so abruptly. In an inexplicably profound way, meeting Fred had felt like it'd somehow brought a piece of her-their daughter back to her. And she'd grieved all over upon crossing the threshold into her place that first day back.

Five minutes passed without a response. Then ten. At the fifteen minute mark, Lyra powered off her tablet. She stared down at it for several moments before realizing her hands were shaking and hastily dropping it onto the fuzzy blanket covering her lap as though it'd scalded her. "Stupid," she muttered and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

Why put herself through this again? Fred had made it clear contacting her had not been his agenda.

Then again, he'd said he'd been told anonymity was the purpose of the chat program, so Swinton had communicated with him about it - whether before receiving his permission to install it on his tacpad or after doing so without his permission was the only question. He could have deleted it should he have wished to though, right? He was a big boy.

She got up from the sofa, carried her half bottle of wine and glass to the kitchen, then went to bed.

Not to sleep. No, that was what normal people did. In stark comparison, Lyra laid there all night, debating with herself over calling Swinton to give her an earful, removing the chat program from her tablet, or more logically doing both. She certainly entertained no thoughts of obsessively checking it for a reply from Fred. But just in case the thought crossed her mind while in the process of either or both of the former options, she avoided so much as setting a foot on the floor, knowing the temptation would be too great should she pick the damn thing back up.

By the time she'd looked to the holo-dock on her small nightstand for the 833rd time, it was still reading an abysmal 3:27 AM. She blew out an aggrieved breath and rolled out of bed, resigning herself to finding some mindless program to watch to pass the final few hours before sunrise. Maybe she'd go for a walk once it was no longer pitch back outside.

The tablet was still laying where she'd left it when she padded back out from her bedroom, half buried in the blanket on the sofa. There was no harm checking, was there? Worst case scenario he still hadn't responded. Or asked her not to contact him further? Yep, that would sting worse than him merely ghosting her. She set the tablet onto the side table and shook out the blanket, settled down on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath herself. And stared at the wall. Got up, used the bathroom, and returned. Eyed the tablet. Then snatched it up and turned it on.

What did it matter? It'd be a form of closure to know he didn't want to speak to her, wouldn't it? It'd be something. It wouldn't be wondering.

She tapped the chat program open and felt her heart lodge itself in her throat.

I have shore leave upcoming.

Was that just a tidbit of information he was throwing out there or was he hinting?

He had to be hinting, right?

Cascade's nice this time of year. Ever been? she typed without hesitation and sent.

There. If he wanted to see her, it was an invitation. If he didn't - that was fine. She told herself it was fine. She'd still murder Swinton, but it'd be fine. She needed to know where things stood between them.

There were no time stamps, no way for her to know how long ago he'd replied. The chat program was as basic as basic got, but that was probably safest. She trusted Swinton's encryption skills and evidently so did the UNSC since she'd been assigned to Lyra's team to work on the Gen 3.

No. appeared on her screen. Then the three dots indicating Fred was typing more - which was a good thing, since she had no idea how to take the simple answer. But I wouldn't mind changing that. he sent next.

Lyra squealed like a three year old on a sugar high.