TWO; DENYING HOPE.
"I don't understand, Doctor. His times are better than ever, his teamwork textbook. He never hesitates, has never in his life refused an order, is uninjured, and is performing at his peak."
"He's not right," Catherine Halsey said with a sigh. "I know you don't care about the emotional states of these Spartans, John, but that was the mistake I made with your generation. Not caring. I could have, and should have, taken better care of your minds. We would have more of you now, if I had. Now, I'm not saying you didn't do a good job of leading them – you did – but a few… incidents… would never have happened had I paid attention to your thoughts. Your feelings."
"Feelings are unnecessary distractions," John said gruffly, stifling his own as he did so. He should not still be grieving for Cortana. She had been gone for years. "All a Spartan needs is his intuition and his logic. Emotions are extraneous."
"Emotions are human, John."
"Exactly!" John was tempted to turn on his heel and leave, but he stifled the urge. "So why do we care if Spartans are upset by an order? All that matters is that it gets followed."
Halsey sighed and shook her head. "Why must you be so stubborn? Have you already forgotten what Cortana taught you? You are human. All that UNSC HIGHCOM cares about is that their orders are followed, but hasn't it occurred to you that Marines and ODSTs get shore leave? Stress leave? Constant support for PTSD and other mental illnesses? And what do Spartans get? Nothing!"
John flinched at Halsey's mention of Cortana. He still didn't understand quite why it felt like someone stabbed him in the heart whenever someone mentioned his former AI partner, but he did understand the anger that came next. If someone hurt him, he got mad. He always controlled that anger, but it was there. And he understood it, so he clung to it.
"That was below the belt," he hissed, through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry, John. But now do you see my point? We need to look after these Spartans. I'm not sure if they're mentally healthier, or less healthy, because of their different upbringing… they haven't really been around long enough for me to gather much data… but that doesn't matter. I won't repeat my mistakes. Not that they're even my responsibility…"
"Command listens to you," John was quick to remind Halsey.
"As a consultant, and only because of my years of experience!"
For a moment John was confused at the angry outburst, then he pushed down his confusion, allowing himself the tiniest of shrugs, and turned back to the camera feed on the holoscreen that covered most of the far wall. "So. Spartan Haydn Vance."
"He lost someone dear to him a couple of years ago. Spartan Martha Slover. Remember her? She was his only friend. The only person he would allow close enough for friendship. He blames himself for her death. I've given Vance this long because grief, normal, healthy grief, usually lasts about two years."
"I remember Slover well," John said slowly, carefully controlling his tone to hide his distaste. "I always thought she was too emotional. Undisciplined, to some degree."
Halsey smiled, amused. "You just don't like her because she put you flat on your back on three separate occasions."
John couldn't deny it. He shrugged again. "I see why she and Vance were friendly. I see why Vance believes he is at fault for her death. I am even familiar with the pain he feels at her loss. I just don't understand why you want to reassign him."
"Three words for you, John. Spartan Javier Gomez."
"Gomez is an exceptional soldier," John protested, unable to comprehend the Latino being a problem.
"Gomez is dangerous for a man like Vance. He could be a bad influence. And Vance has more than proven himself for a special assignment. Of course I don't want to leave Fireteam Grimm another man down, but it won't take much of a re-shuffle to replace him. I happen to know there's another group of Fours coming through very soon."
"How," John wondered aloud, "is Gomez dangerous? His record is immaculate, he is disciplined, he is honest and he is reliable. I would be proud to have him at my back. Vance… not so much. Perhaps Gomez's 'influence' would not be such a bad thing."
Halsey sighed and shook her head. "I forget you've never had access to things like alcohol, tobacco, and other such substances. Gomez drinks to excess. Regularly. He can control himself when he's on duty but off-duty… I worry that he could lead Vance astray. In his current emotional state Vance is vulnerable. A lot of men turn to drinking to forget. Women, too, but more often men."
John looked at the floor. "If something could make me forget Cortana…"
"Exactly! Alcohol is extremely dangerous that way. It doesn't actually work, so people drink more and more, until they can't stand up, and can't remember what they did or how the hell they got the feathers up their ass."
John stared at Halsey, open-mouthed, in naked shock. He had never heard her speak like that.
"I can't believe you don't remember seeing what alcohol does to people," she said, before he could recover his composure.
"Doctor, the last time anyone I had contact with had anything to do with alcohol was a long time ago, during a time I try not to remember."
Halsey just shrugged and turned her attention back to the screen. The Spartan that the camera was concentrating on paused suddenly, so suddenly in fact that he almost overbalanced.
"What is he doing?" John growled. "If he was one of my Spartans I would-."
"Shh!" Halsey hissed at him, somehow shooting him a death glare without her eyes leaving the camera feed.
-MEANWHILE-
Vance stopped in his tracks, losing his balance for a moment, and then upon regaining it, he froze completely.
"What is wrong with you? MOVE IT!" Cross bellowed at him, shoving him out of the way when he didn't respond.
Swallowing hard, he tried to respond, but he couldn't force any sound past the lump in his throat. Vance just shrugged and forced his feet to move, his breath occasionally hitching. That simple deviation from the usual steady in-out-in-out puff proved exhausting, but he pushed through the breathlessness, trying to forget that for a second, he had caught Martha's scent. It was happening less and less often as time passed, but the effect her 'presence' had on him was no less now than it was the day of her death.
It was still crippling. The knife-through-the-heart agony of loss shredded him and left him bleeding, and it got harder and harder each time to pick up the pieces and keep going. But that was what he did. He kept on running, one foot and then the next, breath slowly returning to its usual rhythm but for the odd hitch here and there.
Through the rows of tires, up and over the wall, a long commando-crawl under razor wire that could tear him to ribbons at the slightest touch, and still he couldn't get away from Martha. She was gone but she wouldn't leave him alone. Even dashing across the balance beam, where a single wobble would result in a fifty-foot fall onto some pretty sharp rocks, Vance could not concentrate. He didn't struggle with the challenges the course threw at him, but he felt like he was just going through the motions.
"Come on, man, you're slowing us down," Javier complained as he ran past. "We're always fastest, and look at you today! We'll be last across the line if you don't hurry up!"
By now Haydn was panting. He had lost his rhythm and therefore the smooth, steady in-out hitched and caught constantly, at the most inopportune moments. He nearly tripped over a hurdle and had to smash through the one after it, rather than even try to jump it, finally recovering in time to clear the last three of the line in somewhat awkward style.
With only three obstacles left – the sheer rock wall, the rope bridge, and the climbing rope – Vance finally ran out of puff. His stride faltered and he dropped from a fast run to a languishing jog. It was a cruel irony that when Martha finally left him alone, he could barely move, because his lungs were refusing to work. That just wasn't right.
He came to the rock wall and started climbing. His arms and legs could work quite well with very minimal oxygen in his system, for climbing and pulling and the sorts of activities that required anaerobic fitness, but he just couldn't run if he couldn't breathe properly. He sucked in fast, shallow breaths, feeling that lump in his throat growing.
"Great," he groaned to himself. "Panic attack."
Vance came to the top of the wall and set off running – or rather trying to run – again, but didn't even make the start of the bridge before he dropped the pretence and just half-stumbled onwards with the sort of dogged determination that only a Spartan could muster.
From the platform the climbing rope hung from, he could hear the rest of the team. All nine of them. They muttered about him, from Javier Gomez expressing concern to Holden's half-serious scathing remarks right the way to Cross wondering if she could rely on him in a fight. Finally, Haydn reached the rope and started up it. For the first time in his life, he was finding being a Spartan almost impossible. But he kept on going. He didn't know any other way of surviving.
-MEANWHILE-
"Doctor, what do you expect to be able to do for him?"
"I'm not sure, John, but something's wrong. Look at the rest of the team, they're all concerned. Gomez is this close," Halsey held her index finger and her thumb about an inch apart, "to climbing down and helping him. I've never seen him fail to finish the course before."
"He's still going."
"They have to run the whole way, or technically, it's a failure. If he wasn't so stubborn, he'd have passed out by now."
John knew he wasn't going to be able to talk sense into Halsey, so he simply blocked the doorway. He had sufficient bulk to do so, and more than enough strength to stop any normal human from getting through. "Remember what you kept telling me when I started helping train them, Doctor?"
"Don't get too involved."
"Exactly. We should let them solve this. Whatever 'this' is." He watched, with a little concern, as Halsey's expression went from worried to briefly angry to worried again to surprised, then an odd expression that John could only identify as reluctant understanding.
"You paid attention," Halsey said, and John was floored – figuratively speaking – to realize there was pride in her voice, in her expression, as well as what he managed to identify on his own.
"Of course I did," he said, confused. Even after these few years he'd had to get used to people as a whole, he still often found himself utterly at a loss as to what to do or say, and civilians – even familiar ones like Halsey – kept on surprising him. Of course he'd paid attention. That was his job. He wasn't sure why that was a point of pride for the Doctor. Or anyone.
Hell – even military people kept surprising him now. Things had changed a lot since John had really had an active role as a soldier; Requiem didn't really count. He had been quite surprised to see Lasky there… he could remember so clearly the boy – still very much a boy, then – who he had rescued when the Covenant had attacked the Corbulo Academy. Lasky and two others had survived, the only three survivors from that planet, and John considered that much a victory. So many planets had been lost with no survivors at all.
"John?"
"Sorry, ma'am… apparently I'm getting old." He frowned, a little disturbed by the concept. "I find myself becoming quite… nostalgic."
Halsey laughed at him. "If you're getting old, I don't want to know what I would be considered. Ancient? Fossilized?"
John couldn't quite make himself respond with a realistic chuckle. For some reason laughter always sounded forced when it came out of his throat, no matter how he tried to make it sound real. No matter whether it even was real. He found civilians quite amusing at times, yet it was better, with most of them, not to bother trying to show his amusement. They never thought it was genuine. Halsey was the sole exception. She knew and understood how foreign the concept of laughter truly was to him.
"You're trying too hard," she told him. "Just relax."
John glanced at the floor. When he was relaxed, he didn't express any kind of emotion. That came from far too many years of strict control of his face and body language. Only a Spartan could really truly read a Spartan. With a few exceptions, of course.
"I know that's easier said than done."
John just sighed. "You can say that again."
Despite the bored, slightly depressed exterior, he was actually quite pleased with himself. He had successfully distracted Catherine Halsey – not an easy task – and was now watching, in his peripheral vision, as the Spartan on the holoscreen made the top of the rope and was helped onto the platform by nine other Spartans.
He still wasn't sure that there was any need to reassign Spartan Haydn Vance. On the fireteam Vance would have peers to turn to for support. On his own, where Halsey wanted him for that special assignment, Vance was more vulnerable. John foresaw a breakdown, of sorts, but he wasn't sure if he was over-thinking things again or if this was really his instincts speaking.
Over-thinking… that was a Cortana trait. He examined a chip in the paint on the wall, pretending it was suddenly fascinating. Perhaps Halsey was right. Perhaps Cortana wasn't really gone.
AN: Well, I'm pretty happy with this chapter :D
Apologies if John or Halsey seem a bit out of character, I'm bad at writing other people's characters. Much as he professes not to give a stuff about Fireteam Grimm, John is rather fond of them, despite their 'lack of discipline'. Vance in particular, though he refuses to admit it even to himself.
I also apologize in advance for any AU, I haven't read all the books [just Fall of Reach, The Flood, and Ghosts of Onyx]. So while I am using a few book-based characters, I may have them in the wrong place, or alive when they shouldn't be. I'm trying not to be AU with this one, but not having been able to play Spartan Ops [my gamer profile doesn't have Live] I don't actually know what goes on there, and can't unless I pinch my brother's profile to play through, which I expect he would not be overly impressed with. My understanding of the Storm-Covies is that they're a splinter group, still true to the word of the Prophets, whereas the rest of the Elites, Grunts etc etc are still allies... but I could be wrong.
Please correct me if I have made any mistakes, and review my grammar [which is not always perfect, I know!], and tell me off if anyone is out of character. John feels very chatty but then again he was very chatty right the way through H4 and especially up near the end. So that might be just his personality coming through despite his constant insistence that he is not actually as human as Halsey thinks he is, and how little he actually 'gets' the way people think.
Reviews please!
As per usual all canon characters and concepts belong to 343 Industries, and all original characters and this story belong to me.