"Though in the hidden garden

Down by the green green lane

The plant of love grows next to

The tree of hate and pain."

- Antonia Michaelis, The Storyteller


"Do you remember them?"

Rosenda's voice coming from the bunk over him was genuine, no ill intention behind her words.

Emile laid on his back in the bunk below, not bothering to try to sleep. His voice came out more gruffer and hostile than he'd meant it to be. "Remember who?"

He wasn't really angry with Rosenda. He was angry with Carter. He was angry that his leader (and everyone else on Noble Team for that matter) thought he wasn't fit to participate in operations against insurrection. He was angry with the fact that he'd gotten a replacement.

"Your family."

Emile wasn't expecting that, and suddenly felt protective and a little frustrated. Maybe he was a little angry with Rosenda. She was his replacement after all.

He didn't give her an answer.

But he remembered.

Emile remembered the anger, the sorrow, the guilt. The loss. The tears.

He could remember he had parents once. He could remember his brother telling him one day that something had happened.

Emile… Something happened at the factory today.

There was an attack. There was a bomb.

It was the rebels.

Mom and Dad… they're not coming home.

He couldn't remember what they looked like. It had slipped away from him during the SPARTAN training.

Memories of his brother were stronger, but lately they'd begun to slip from him too. He tried to hold on to them.

He tried to hold on to the memories when he'd felt safe with him. He tried to hold on to the memories when he looked up to his brother like he was a hero.

You're going to make it, Emile. You're going to make it.

He remembered all too clearly the day the hero fell.

"I can't remember mine anymore."

Rosenda's quiet voice brought him back to the present. He ran a hand over his face, silently noting every scar and patches of uneven skin. Right now he didn't want to remember.

"I think I had a sister. But I can't remember if she or my parents were with me when I was running."

Running away from the Covenant. Running for the evacuation frigates. Running for cover. Running away from the dead bodies of her family. Running for safety that wouldn't last.

Emile remained silent. It was useless. What they'd lost was dead. Gone. Would never come back. Remembering played no point.

He'd tried for years to make every part of himself believe that. He envied his teammate a bit.

The silence stretched in the room.

"I remember," the words were low, almost melting into the quiet air. Emile didn't know why he told her. He stopped mourning the past a long time ago. Rosenda had never struck him as being one to dwell on it.

Now he was dwelling. Great.

Damnit, it didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

He closed his eyes.

"Do you still remember them well?" Rosenda's voice almost sounded shy. Emile held back a snort. Shyness was something he'd also never associated with the woman. Her tongue could be sharper than his kukri at times.

"Yes," he said, shifting in the bed to lay on his side, "and no."

He didn't understand why she'd ask that, or why his answer would matter.

The room fell into silence again. Emile aimed for sleep without really trying.

"Do you want to remember them?"

A part of him wanted to tell her to shut up. Another part urged him to answer just to see where it would take him. He faintly wondered if his answer mattered more to her than it did to him.

He wasn't about to reveal his story to her, but he didn't stay quiet either.

"Sometimes," he revealed, "Sometimes not."

He waited for any following questions, but only the shuffling of sheets and light creaking of metal as Rosenda shifted in her above bunk was heard.

He remembers the pain clearly like he was back there on that day it happened.

He remembers the void that was left in him after Damon's death. A void he's filled with alien corpses and blood.

"Goodnight, Emile." Rosenda's voice was solemn, stronger. Like the recent conversation hadn't happened. Emile was fine with that. Really, Emile found it hard to believe in the first place that anything he'd said somehow would've helped.

"'Night, Rosenda."

He didn't catch any sleep that night. The day played over and over in his mind. He remembered it perfectly.

The pain, the anger, the sorrow, the guilt, the fear.

The void in his heart. The thirst for revenge.

He remembered it all very clearly.

Some nightmares stay with you forever.