Frederic-104 knelt at the foot of his assigned bed and keyed in the code for his personal footlocker. Once he had the locker opened the Spartan gingerly reached inside and removed a thick canvas roll, then laid it on his feet and fully opened it.

Within this roll were the only things one might call "personal effects" that the soldier had ever owned. Between his near-constant state of combat since the age of six and the nature of both the Human-Covenant War and the Created Conflict, there was little point in trying to hold on to material items. And if he were to be honest, there weren't many items that could ever claim to have grabbed his attention.

All that existed of worldly worth to which Fred had ever given a modicum of importance was currently laid out flat before him.

O had once called it a collection. Linda typically referred to it as proof of psychosis.

To Fred, they were just knives.

There were seven blades in the bundle, comprising the entirety of his personal material worth. The first was a steak knife, one which he had spirited away from the mess hall as a child. Looking back now, he felt fairly confident that CPO Mendez had seen him remove the knife from the table, but for whatever reason the Chief allowed him to keep it. It was now his last memento, the members of his squad notwithstanding, of his training on Reach. Of his family – the majority of which were now gone.

The second knife was a throwing knife. Lightweight and easily concealed, it was the perfect tertiary weapon for any mission that required a more delicate touch than the armored fortress that MJOLNIR armor provided. Though he kept it immaculately cleaned and sharpened, the knife had served him very well during the early years of his deployment.

The third knife was a box cutter. Kurt had given it to him, as a joke, after they finished raiding an Insurrectionist facility. The box cutter was lying on an otherwise empty tabletop and Kurt so nonchalantly tossed it to him – along with a comment along the lines of, "You like knives so much, try this one on for size," – that at the time Fred didn't even have a response. He simply tucked it away into one of the pouches on his armor and continued on. Now, the box cutter was his last reminder of a brother lost not once, but twice.

Knives four and five were souvenirs he claimed after a mission in which he beta-tested a prototype MJOLNIR variant. The armor itself housed detachable blades that could fire from his wrist when he wanted to. The feature itself was largely inefficient, but a significant portion of Fred had always wished he had enough pull to continue its use. If for no reason other than how cool it felt to shoot knives out of his arm.

Another knife, tucked away in a smaller sheath, was specifically for disarming explosives. He'd taken no shortage of razzing from the others about his attention to detail, but there was good reason for it. The knife was smaller, lighter-weight, and its blade was narrow and razor-sharp. It was the perfect tool for precision work within an electronic device, and when dealing with his second-favorite obsession – bombs – one ought never to take precision for granted. The fact that he would often use his standard combat knife to pry open the device, and then produce a smaller knife specifically for disarming it, was a joke frequently enjoyed by the other Spartans.

The final knife in his roll was a foldable butterfly knife. He typically used it to pass time between missions – if he were ever afforded such a luxury. The fluid motions with which the knife could be opened and closed were almost therapeutic to him when the anxiety of inaction became prominent enough that it drew his focus. Ash had been fascinated by the knife. Fred had secretly planned to give it to the younger Spartan, but lost the chance when he and his Spartan-III squadmates were transferred to the Gaoian Veta Lopis's ferret team. Fred supposed it was all for the best, though secretly he hoped that the opportunity might someday present itself to pass the knife on.

Aside from the seven knives and whetstone in the roll, there remained one empty sheath. A ninth slot that left his collection incomplete. Fred considered more than once the possibility of putting a standard combat knife in the spot, just for his own satisfaction in completing the set. Something had always kept him from going through with it, though. An expectation, or maybe even a hope, that he would find one more item that felt like it carried enough of him to fit in with the others.

Now, that secret desire was finally being realized.

"Are you still staring at that thing?" a voice floated in from behind him, interrupting his thought process. "Maybe Linda was right, you really are obsessed."

Despite the sarcastic remark, the voice was warm and inviting as its owner stalked toward him. He felt a hand brush against his shoulder before a body sat beside him on the ground.

"It's really not that big of a deal," she said, the tiniest hint of nervousness entering her voice. "It doesn't deserve such a fanfare." She then held out a small object wrapped in matte-black cloth.

Fred took the cloth from her hand and slowly unwrapped it to reveal another knife. The handle was wrapped in paracord, the purple-hued blade sharpened and polished to the point that he could almost make out his reflection within it. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he turned to look at her. "Are you kidding?" he asked, "It's amazing. How did you get your hands on it?"

Kelly-087 sighed and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, but he could see in her posture anxiety bleeding away at his appreciation of the knife. "Just snagged it from the mess hall when no one was looking," she joked, her casual delivery making him smile a little wider. When she finally turned her eyes back to him and saw the expectant expression on his face, she relented. "It's a piece of scrap from a Covenant facility we raided a few months ago. I found a mechanic willing to cut it for me and finally got it to take an edge. You're a freak about these things," she added at the end, again effecting her air of disinterest, "so I thought you might appreciate it."

Fred rolled his eyes, but continued to examine the knife for a moment more. Finally, he slid it into the ninth slot on his knife roll. "Perfect fit," he said, almost to himself. The phrase effectively captured the moment – the knife fit snugly in its place in the roll, and it was also the perfect combination of sentimentality and effectiveness to truly belong there.

Not to mention that he'd be lying if he weren't also considering the feeling he got when she slowly laid her head against his shoulder.

With one hand he rolled the knives back up, gently placed them back into the footlocker, and secured the door. The other he allowed to float to his side until his fingertips interlocked with those of his fellow Spartan.

Perfect fit.

Author's Note: This is probably the most out-of-character that I've ever written them, but hey, this is all wish fulfillment anyway, right? The idea of Fred having so many knives came from a conversation I had with Separatist Supporter, and it just kind of rolled on from there.