Heya, Tuney here again with the next chapter in our alternate Michigan's adventure. Huge thank-yous to Minaethiel and BrambleStar14 for their time beta reading. And thanks for the follows/favourites/reviews so far. I'm honestly pleasantly surprised to see so much interest in this Phase AU. But that's enough from me. Let's see what Hannah gets up to!
Ashes
Written by TunelessLyric
"But I know that I'm not broken 'til I bleed"
-dangerkids, 'Cut Me Out'
She had been staring out of the window for hours. Folder sitting on the bed down by her knee, her hands limp in her lap, she simply stared out at the nothing she saw. Her instincts had absorbed the hills and distant forest. When she had woken up before the dawn, blank eyes tracked the movements of the river of light in the sky. But Hannah Steele saw nothing.
The door opened with a soft hiss, admitting a tall blond with hands in pockets. No whistling today. He stalked over to her bed, the only one that had been occupied her entire exile here. Dumping himself into the chair at her bedside, normally vacant, he tracked her gaze.
They sat like that for a long while. She barely noted his entrance. Didn't care to ask why he had come. Didn't care about much anymore.
After enough time had passed, Harper staring at some fixed point and keeping his thoughts to himself, he finally raised his voice. "Docs have approved you for light duties. What do you say we pop this joint and go for a walk?"
Slowly, as if thawing an ice sculpture, Hannah's head turned. Her eyes were empty as they landed on him. "Whatever," she said, voice once again little more a croak from disuse.
Harper stood, waving for her to get out of bed. "You can take that with us." His chin jerked toward the folder.
Mechanically, she picked it up and slipped from the infirmary bed. Today she was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and pants. She slid her feet into the grey boots a nurse had dropped off the day before, not bothering to lace them up.
"We went through a bit of trouble to get that for you," he said conversationally, leading them from the infirmary and down a long hallway.
It was military, that much was obvious in the first step out the door. It could be felt in the air, even though the halls were completely empty. They didn't even hear anybody as they walked along.
She didn't have any sort of response. Apparently Harper hadn't expected one. He simply continued, "With your files so tampered and lost, I wasn't risking ONI covering it up any worse, or losing the thread. So we broke into a storage facility. Place where they keep all the hard copies. You should see the dust in those places, Hannah. I hope you don't have any allergies, because I'm telling you."
Letting the words wash over her, she simply kept up with his long-legged strides. By now she was accustomed to much taller people setting the pace and not bothering to check if she was still behind them.
"And the boxes. At least ONI knows how to run a label machine because everything was like an obsessive-compulsive's wet dream. If there's one thing I'll say about ONI, it's that they're organized."
He turned at a fork and stepped through a door. Hannah scanned the armoury, noting the placements of various weaponry, boxes of ammunition and the uniforms. They moved past a few shelves to the wall of lockers. She recognized a few of the names printed, scrawled, or scratched into each door. Crosshair. Firefly. Hunter. An entire bank of lockers and only seven occupied, an eighth standing empty, the door slightly ajar. Spectrum. But there was a lock on one on the other end. No name.
Harper crossed to that unlabelled locker and punched a code in. Opening it with a flourish, he revealed her battered and mauled armour. It had been cleaned, but that was it. No repairs made.
Moving like she was in a dream, she found herself standing in front of it. Picking over every detail. After some of the truly awful things she had seen, there was no room left in her to be embarrassed at how far up her chest the rends climbed. How much skin had been bare, torn and bleeding, but on display. She knew how far up her scars came. How much work had gone into reconstructing her chest.
Casting a wary look at the Insurrection lieutenant, public enemy number two behind Allen himself and the entire Covenant, she wasn't sure what to do.
"Go ahead," he said, hand resting on the door. Far from the magnum and knife holstered at his hip. "Would be a pretty big waste of a lot of money to put you back together just to kill you the second you did anything."
No. A waste was the UNSC pouring years into crafting her, honing her to a perfect, merciless killer. And then ONI flushing it out an airlock.
Still. Her armour was all she had left now. Not looking too carefully at the orange shoulder pauldrons, Hannah pulled the half-shredded underweave on over her current attire. Being an inch away from death and bleeding the rest of the way was one thing. Now that she was firmly alive, she didn't feel like putting so much of her body on display.
Harper simply watched her strap the plating on, the barest hint of a pleased smile threatening his expression. Before she reached for her helmet, his hand dropped to the hilt of his knife.
She was backing away in an instant, fully expecting the weapon to be turned on her despite all evidence to the contrary. For reasons yet unknown, he had helped pull her out of the crater that should have been her grave. A man she had been taught to hate on principle.
He simply held the hilt out to her. "Here you go."
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she watched the way he held it. Like an extension of his hand. Effortless, like he knew the exact balance. A finger ran over the grip affectionately. This was his. Had been his a very long time.
She held out her hand, not knowing what she planned on doing with it. But wanting it.
Harper placed it in her palm, letting the tip of a finger trace a line all the way down the blade before stepping back.
"What do you want me to do."
Her first words since he had invited her out of the infirmary. A question, but she couldn't summon any proper inflection. Toneless. Barren.
"Whatever you want." He shrugged, shoving his hands back into his pockets. Not moving for the pistol in his holster. His suit of armour. Any of the other weapons around them. As if enjoying a thoroughly amusing private joke he said, "Be whatever you want. Do whatever you want."
It felt strange in her hand. Not like her standard-issue UNSC Marine combat knife. The one, if she could trust her still-murky memories of the battle, she had last seen buried in the eye of an Elite. It wasn't worth expecting to ever see that blade again. The one that had saved her life too many times to count when a gun jammed, or when spaces were too tight to manoeuvre. The one that had been thrown at Gregor's killer in a world-ending fury.
Icy blue eyes landed on the length of the blade. It was well made and well kept. It could have been new if not for the nicks and notches in the grip. Its edge was keen, able to cut through sturdy wood with ease.
Her free hand gathered a fistful of loose blonde hair and she raised Harper's knife. Silver flashed under fluorescent lights. She dropped her hair to the floor. She cut and cut and cut. Weight fell away from her head as she chopped and trimmed, pausing every so often to feel the result.
For his part, Harper watched with that entertained look on his face that couldn't touch the emptiness of his eyes. Those stayed flat, staring into her. He simply held out his hand when she was done.
Holding the blade tighter, she turned on her heel and found her way back out of the armoury. Turning her back on the long strands of blonde, she ran her hand over her head one final time. Just to get used to the way her messy couple of remaining inches felt.
"Outside," she said, not looking over to where she felt him dogging her directionless steps.
"This way." It took two strides for him to overtake her, but he didn't push for more conversation or any explanation. They just walked the vacant halls for a few more minutes. He pushed the door open and stood out of her way.
It took a second for Hannah to orient herself. Flipping around the map of the base she had begun piecing together, she walked out of the building and into fresh, moving air. Still not sharing her few thoughts with Harper, she finally spotted the massive black rock she had seen from her infirmary window. Absently flipping the knife between a fore- and backhanded grip, she set off for it.
When they reached it, she passed a bare palm over the smooth stone. It felt like glass to her, but far too opaque to possibly be as simple as melted earth. It was special. Lasting. Tough.
A decent challenge.
Part of her wished for the missing gauntlets. Part of her was glad she could feel the way the hilt of the borrowed knife rubbed and chafed against her skin. Her calluses were in all the wrong places for this weapon. It meant she could give more of herself to this project.
The afternoon sun sank low. Harper eventually sat down, watching her with the same singular focus he had displayed in the infirmary. He never tried to comment or begin a conversation.
Hannah worked. Sometimes with the blade. Sometimes with her fingernails. She cried on and off. Not from the physical pain. Just with the memories of faces and laughter and voices. Salty tears and coppery blood mingled as she worked, uncaring about the passage of time around her.
It was dark when she started on the final three letters. Her hands were impossibly sore, barely able to hold onto the knife as she chipped away at the dark stone. Harper must have been ravenous, dinner time long gone by now. Yet he hadn't stirred once.
She had meant to carve one final K when she got to this point. Wanted to carve it. But as she sat back and surveyed her handiwork, that wasn't what she saw.
There were the familiar names. Her family in all but blood relation. And at the bottom,
Steele, Hannah S. – MIA
A reminder. To herself. To ONI. To the whole goddamn galaxy. She hadn't gone with the rest of Orange. ONI hadn't silenced her. She was still here, still breathing even when she shouldn't have been able to say so. And she dug down until she found that wall of ice. Pressed her hand to it.
Tears dried, she didn't feel the loss anymore. Just the coldness seeping through her blood with every second she spent looking at the names in the rock, lit by the base's exterior lights.
Holding the knife back out to Harper at last, she said, "What was your point with this?"
"Giving you the chance to decide who you wanted to be," he answered, standing and returning his blade to its proper place at his side. "Your words. Your choice."
She nodded, understanding settling into her.
"Come on, you need something to eat. And those hands need cleaning." With those simple declarations, he turned and led her back to base.
The mess was deserted. This late, everyone had come and gone, leaving just the two of them. Harper ate without offering another word. Apparently he was content to only speak when spoken to. And Hannah was too busy trying to clumsily feed herself with her bandaged fingers.
She hadn't been hungry. Had nearly protested when she saw the plate piled high by the Insurrectionist when he had set it in front of her. But it all disappeared as she mechanically, reflexively put it into her mouth one bite at a time. It barely tasted like anything as it filled the pit in her stomach, unable to bury the hard ball of ice.
Harper waited until she was finished to take the cleared dishes away. It was an effort not to stiffen when he tapped her on the shoulder, beckoning her to follow again.
She had spent so much of her life hearing about the horrifying feats done by his hands. And now he had touched her with them. Shivering, she pushed away from the table.
As they strolled through the halls, they encountered other personnel for the first time. Just Innie grunts here for day-to-day running of the base, the garrison aside from Harper's team of terrorists.
He turned down one final hall, a pleased smile making itself known. Voices drifted from a room with an open door. Voices she half-remembered. Harper headed inside to a chorus of greetings. Hannah stayed in the hall, edging to the threshold to peer in.
She spotted Crosshair almost immediately, his hair standing out in a sea of various shades of red. And there was a man with black hair. A memory surfaced, nightclub lights and loud music and shouting. He was pointing at a man with brown hair, grinning as he explained whatever point he was trying to make.
They all looked so at ease, relaxed, comfortable with each other. As if this was what every Innie did in their downtime. They looked human. Real.
Harper's words from earlier echoed in her ears. Do whatever you want.
Hannah stepped into the room. Harper's flat green eyes were on her and heads turned to follow the leader. Seven gazes locked onto her, assessing. Crosshair offered an encouraging nod.
Disregarding nearly all of them, she stared evenly at the dark-haired one. Leaning her weight onto one foot and crossing her arms, she assessed him.
"They killed you too, did they?" she asked coldly.
Anger twitched over his expression. Jason Shaw leaned back, arms spread across the back of the couch, behind Harper's head on one side. "Nah, satisfaction brought me back." There was an edge in his voice she hadn't known before. A darker tone to match the deeper pitch. "Most alive I've ever been."
"Stardust," she sang softly, to the tune of the song he had once played for her.
His body tightened, coiling as if to strike. But she had already moved on, ignoring him in favour of meeting Crosshair's gaze.
"Thanks." It came out a lot more biting than she had quite meant. "Should have left me where you found me."
He held his hands up. "No one's making you stay."
She snorted. "Maybe it doesn't mean anything to you, but I owe you people my life. You're making me stay, trust me." Her voice turned frigid the longer she used it.
Crosshair just shook his head. "Your choice, Hannah."
Turning her attention back to Harper, she lifted an eyebrow.
"Right," he said, as if remembering. "So you know Mike." He waved at Crosshair. "And apparently you know Jay."
She knew she hadn't imagined a hint of teeth in that last introduction. Not when Jason rolled his eyes.
"So that's Phil, my second." The lounging man with brown hair waved lazily.
"And you might remember Aaron." From the floor, a man with flame-coloured hair raised his glass as a toast before taking a sip.
"And we have Lucas and Geist." The former had deep shadows below his alert eyes and what looked like a cold mug of coffee wrapped tightly in his grip. The latter perched on the couch's arm, watching her with intent brown eyes.
Hannah didn't miss the note of pride in Harper's voice as he finished up. "Great. Nice to meet you and whatever. Which one of you does the computer stuff?"
"That's me." Lucas raised his hand to point at the top of his head.
"Cool." From her tone, it was clear that she didn't really have any strong feelings whatsoever. "I want whatever you can get me on Mars."
Lucas nodded. "I'll forward you the files. Not much of a bedtime story, but at least it's light reading, yeah?"
"I don't care." She glanced around the break room. At their laid back socializing frozen in time the moment she butted in. "Just get them to me."
Recognizing this for what it was, she didn't feel like staying. She wasn't tired, but wanted to lock herself in the barracks and have a few hours of relief from being awake. There was no way they were making her part of their big, happy family.
Especially not with the way Shaw glared at her, clearly still burning with annoyance at her very presence. She was tempted to throw something else into his face, just to see if the man she had met was still there, hiding behind the wall of rage, or not. But she didn't want to know. Didn't want to find out if he had left her, too. If maybe she should add his name to the rock outside.
Phil spoke up, cutting down through her silence. "If you decide you want to talk, I'm always ready to listen."
Cold blue eyes landed on him, pinning the much larger man in place. "That's nice." Clearly she didn't think so.
He shrugged, not rising to the hinted aggression. "You're back on light duty, so we'll see you in the morning. Someone will come show you to the gym."
That punctured her ambivalence. A work out sounded almost like a good idea to her. "Sure."
"Your room's at the end on the left," said Harper, wiggling his fingers in farewell.
The team at least turned their eyes away. Stopped staring at her. Though the conversation didn't pick up until she turned on a heel and started down the hall. Laughter burst out, loud and long at a comment she hadn't been able to hear.
Letting herself into the room Harper had mentioned, Hannah found a dresser stocked with fatigues in her approximate diminutive size, a desk complete with a data pad and a bed with standard-issue military bedding. Her jaw clenched hard at the sight. So like the many places she had called home over the years. If she concentrated, she could nearly hear Dom's voice as he and Pascal chatted before turning in.
The data pad blipped, dragging her back to reality.
New message
Snatching it up and clamping down on the ice in the pit of her stomach to ground herself, she sat cross-legged on the centre of the bed to read, not bothering to change out of her mangled armour.
She had a name. Marcus Graham. And she had a location. Tantalus. And she had a rather detailed personnel file. All she needed was to get back into shape for combat and a ride out there.
As she read further, a name began to recur. Over and over again, there it was. A familiar name. One that she had heard White mention in passing every so often when he started a briefing.
Mr. Irons.
Sounded like this agent Mars had a healthy dose of fear for Irons.
But Hannah had a lot of respect for him.