Hannah and I are back with the follow-up to last week's big mission. This chapter wouldn't be possible without the beta reading work of Minaethiel and BrambleStar14, as always. Just wanted to say thank you for being along for this journey once again. Let's see what these Phoenixes are up to now.
The Monsters We Made
Written by TunelessLyric
With you on my mind,
And my heart held in your hands,
Screaming,
"Break me"
-City and Colour, 'Casey's Song'
There were a lot of things Hannah wanted to say to Harper after they returned to the base. Angry words. Serious words. Instead, she pulled her equipment off the bench, settling her weapons into their customary places. Rifle on her back, sidearm on her hip. Phil had returned her knife during the flight. She stomped down the ramp, keeping her eyes forward and ignoring the heavy shadows behind her. Her fingers itched to hit something. Before she could give into that temptation, she headed to her quarters rather than the armoury to stow her gear. If everyone else was going to be there, she was steering well clear.
The door closed the rest of the world out. Hannah unclenched her jaw and slammed an armoured fist into the wall. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Her anger cracked in half, punctured by a growling hunger now that the adrenaline from the fight had ebbed. She punched the wall one final time, trying to burn the last lingering layer of frost off so she could breathe.
Now that she felt better, she headed to the armoury. By the time she arrived, it stood empty. Even the rest of the team had moved through, nobody waiting to talk with her. Better this way. Prevent any impulsive shouting at the wrong person. The fewer got into the crossfire between her and Harper, the better.
She could still picture Phil standing in the middle of them in the briefing room. She could practically hear him now. We're a team, we're family, so act like one.
She pulled off her suit, cramming it back into her locker with a lingering look at the empty space where her old ODST kit used to hang. She was going to miss it. The comfortable second skin had been melted down and torn into scrap to make the new one. It had been lighter, thinner, more like putting on a set of well-worn clothes than an entire set of armour. She knew how it fit together in her sleep.
The memories tied to both the old and the new sets weren't all pleasant. But they were all she had. She shut the locker, pushing a hand through her hair. There was a good chance the rest of Phoenix were still in the mess hall. And she couldn't avoid Harper forever. That was even more strain than Phil and Mike needed in their lives. Always the peacemakers. Always the collateral. At least Jason wasn't caught between anymore.
And him. God. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw his haunted stare, blue eyes cutting through her like butter. The damage done to his face. To Jason himself. She could see the wild grin on Harper's face while the three of them looked from one familiar stranger to the other.
Hannah ended up going to the mess hall, too hungry to put it off any longer. When she arrived, the Phoenix table was loud. Lucas was describing the fight with the huge white and orange Freelancer, talking with his hands. Mike had to lean away from him as the gestures grew broader and faster. Geist offered brief interjections, sitting stiffly. He must have gotten beaten around by the Freelancer, some sort of medical attention having been paid while Harper, Jason and Hannah tried to figure out the crazy things going on in the MAC room.
Fuck.
And for his part, Aaron played off his concern. He covered the tightness in his posture by slinging his arm along the back of Geist's chair. He smirked while talking with Phil, which was something.
Hannah collected a plate without even noticing what she had been served. It didn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to taste a single bite of it. She dropped into her spot and shovelled something beige into her mouth and chewed.
"You should have seen her throw," said Phil, miming a stab. "I swear there were three people between her and the blue Freelancer."
She shook her head. "Two," she corrected, little more than a mumble with her full mouth.
"Still, it was great."
Aaron nodded. "I still think Mike's shooting at the light blue one was impressive. She was fast. Say what you want about the tech and the idiot blue guy, she and the big white one are something else. If that's what we're dealing with for the rest of the war, it's gonna be fun."
"Full of surprises, too," said Harper, eyeing Hannah.
The edges of her fork dug into her palm as her grip tightened.
"So," said Lucas, having reached the end of his retelling, "what's up next?"
Harper shrugged. "Not sure, mates. Allen's been keeping things quiet so far. I'd expect to be seeing more of the Freelancers, since you lot enjoyed it so much."
Hannah ate quickly and slunk out of the room before any of her teammates were finished eating and socializing. Like the coward she was.
Full of a restless energy, she couldn't settle down for the night yet. She went back to the armoury to clean her weapons. The old routine helped, but she still just needed… something. Without troubling any of the guys, who had enough in their laps just processing ending up on the other side of the war from their best friend. Let alone consoling his girlfriend.
Geist had been put on light duty for a week while his cracked ribs healed. He had taken the brunt of the big white Freelancer's beating while covering Lucas, and it showed in his stiff movements. All things considered, Phoenix had been lucky that was the worst injury after coming up against Project Freelancer. Or a testament to the preparation that had gone into the conflict, along with the team's capability. Their new armour had certainly helped. There were bruises and a few sprains. Not much considering the circumstances and lauded skill of ONI's most recent outfit.
Now, finally exhausted, Hannah climbed into bed. It took a long time to get comfortable thanks to the beating she had taken from the Freelancers, and when she finally did, it was only to get sleep in snatches and chunks. The moment of California's visor depolarizing played out over and over. But every time, green eyes stared out of a burned face.
She rose earlier than usual. Started eating alone. Felt herself slipping back into habits she thought she'd shaken. Her entire existence while wounds healed spiralled down to her data pad and the floor in front of her feet. She spent hours grilling Mark for any scrap of information on Jason, Freelancer, what they'd been thinking when the recruiter came around asking for someone with insider knowledge of the Insurrection.
She understood. It's what she would have done. It's what her father would have done. All was fair in war. The three of them were breathing proof—Harper, her and Jason.
When she couldn't sleep, she curled up in Lucas' workshop and listened to him tinker. Or met Aaron in the gym. In typical fashion they didn't push her to talk about it. But what she really liked to do was hike the wasteland in the deep dark. She liked to put her new suit on and bathe in the light of the now-familiar constellations. To watch the triple moons' light wash over the titanium.
The rest of the team had already made their personalizations—updates on their old schemes, but no major changes. So far Hannah had left hers blank slate grey with only the ice blue stripes on her helmet and shoulder pauldrons. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't feel like being Starlight or Blizzard. Just Hannah.
She was tired, lying on the roof of the base and staring up at the inky black. Metal hands stacked on her metal stomach, she watched the thick clouds cover the stars. The air thickened and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Even the first drops of rain couldn't make her move. Not even when it turned into a true downpour. She stayed, listening to the hammering on her chest. Wondering when she'd stopped being the righteous Marine and started being Harper's loyal hunting hound.
She headed to the bathroom. Went to one of the mirrors and stared at the blank expression looking out. Not quite blank, she realized. Shell-shocked. Just the disturbed edge of vacant. When she sighed, the glass fogged. Her shape blurred, insubstantial. She ran the water and ducked her head under the tap. Straightened and carefully combed out her hair. It had grown a lot in the fifteen months since Harper had watched her slice it off at the obsidian monument. Now it was past her shoulders. Almost as long as it had ever been.
Making a face at her reflection, Hannah carefully sectioned the blonde in orderly quarters and started cutting. She left enough to tie back under her helmet, focused on evening out the jagged ends left last time. Last year. Before Jason and Blizzard and Freelancer and Harper. Back when things were simpler and she was less angry. The two halves of her life, Orange and Phoenix. That's how she could divide the years now. Simple with simple orders and simple days. And chaos.
Satisfied there was some small measure of control in her life, the choppy ends fixed, she started to section off a third of her hair. Gathering it into her hand, Hannah took a deep breath and started to saw it away. She stared down at the handful of blonde like it hadn't come from her. Like it was something entirely alien. Something that made no sense, even though it was only hair.
She had to climb onto the sink and twist to manage a close shave, though near the back she had to go by feel alone. It wasn't the prettiest job, but when she straightened up, the roughest patches were covered. It would do.
Then she realized she'd shaved the same side Jason had been burned on. Well. At least they matched again.
Standing at attention, spine stretching to its fullest height, eyes bored a hole through the wall over General Allen's shoulder. Hannah held herself still as a statue and waited to be acknowledged.
The general finished the correspondence at his leisure. Not looking up once from the time she entered to the time he sent the proof-read message, he held their silence sacred.
Dark eyes flicked from the desktop terminal to her face.
"It is a grave oversight we haven't met in person before now."
She made no comment, being given no leave.
Allen laced his hands and settled more comfortably in his chair. "In truth, while your particular career and personal history have fascinated me since you joined our little organization, I've been concerned about your close ties to your father. I'm sure you understand."
Still the perfect soldier, Hannah gave no sign of being bothered by the comment. She was stillness. The slow creep of frost over a window. A pretty design that obscured sight. She would not flinch. She would not make a sound.
"And now this revelation of Project Freelancer and Jason Shaw's new allegiance. You'll forgive me for springing that nasty surprise on you."
She knew his type. He could have her executed in thirty seconds if he so much as suspected her of turning from the cause. But what he was saying was interesting.
"Your military record speaks for itself. With dear old dad's help, you could be back in the lap of the UNSC any moment. But you're still here and your squad is worried about you." Allen flicked his fingers in her direction. "At ease, sergeant."
Her chin remained tilted high. Her back stayed ramrod straight, shoulders firmly square. Eyes trained on the wall. But she eased her stance fractionally and folded her arms behind her back.
"Are you unhappy, Steele?"
She refused to give him the satisfaction of a blink. "No, sir."
"Speak freely."
A short exhale, a silent snort. "You've perused my file. Should I be?"
Allen barked a laugh and shook his head. "God, no, I'd think you were batshit if you weren't. But sometimes you have to have it said. Are you going to be a liability to your squad or my organization?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Ian's lurking outside. Send him in. Dismissed."
Turning sharply on her heel, Hannah let herself out of Allen's office. She turned over what he'd said, satisfied she understood his meaning. Harper was draped across two chairs in the hall, sharpening his knife.
"Did you know about Jason?" she asked, toneless.
He let the question hang for a moment, running the whetstone down the blade with care. Then, "Why do you care?"
She waited. She was long used to his moods and cold manners. She was used to waiting. She refused to rise to the bait.
"Because you seemed pretty sure I was somehow personally to blame, like everything in your sad little life."
There was only the rasp of whetstone on steel. He kept his gaze stubbornly down, apparently engrossed in his work.
The same tricks worked on Harper. He sighed, seeming to deflate in a gust. "All right, fine, no. I didn't know. Happy?"
Hannah smiled coldly. "Should I be?"
He finally looked up, still looking like the fight had gone out of him. Like he was as tired as she was. As hollow. "Does it matter if I'd known?"
"You didn't hide it to spite me."
Which was a shock she smothered so far down nobody would ever find out.
"You know," he said, gesturing with whetstone in one hand and knife in the other, "I don't like you and you don't like me, but I can be civilized. We're still at this impasse where neither of us can do anything to each other. Maybe I just want to live my life."
"Are you seriously asking me for a cease-fire, Ian?"
"Look at yourself, Steele." Not Bliz. Not Hannah in that uncomfortably familiar way. "Everyone's worried about you—this relapse. Apparently even Allen. Whatever else we are, we're still teammates. You're still my responsibility. And if you're going to shut everyone else out, all you're gonna get is me."
She didn't know what to say. "Didn't think you were one to back down."
"I'm not. Don't get any ideas." He stood, sheathing his knife and pocketing the whetstone. He stuck out his cybernetic hand. "Just let the guys back in. You might even like it."
Despite her instincts screaming to punch his teeth in while his defenses were down, Hannah shook his hand once.
Harper gave her a short nod, shoved his hands into his pockets, and whistled his way into General Allen's office.
After a week of dodging Phoenix, Hannah dropped into her usual seat at a full table. Feeling very much as if she was caught in a memory from a year ago, she didn't offer an explanation. Nor was she asked for one. Lucas bumped his knee into hers under the table without pausing from explaining his latest project to Geist.
Aaron's eyes widened and he stretched across the table, Phil and Mike's private conversation and Hannah's plate to poke the side of her head. "I can see your scalp!"
"Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to touch without permission?" She swatted his hand away.
"As if manners were ever part of his skillset," said Phil, also trying to push Aaron out of his personal space.
Aaron rolled his eyes "Come on, she's all bristly and it feels funny."
"I'll make you feel funny if you do that again," she threatened with a hint of a smile.
"Aw, come on, you can't just change your whole look and expect me to not say anything." He reached forward again.
Hannah's fork was up and she made a half-hearted stab at his fingers.
But after that, Aaron was distracted by trying to feel the side of Hannah's head every time she was within reach. They turned it into a sort of tag. He had to touch her bare scalp. She responded by punching him. Somehow, Lucas got involved with the punching part. It was nine days before they could sit at a meal without reaching past the others or crawling under the table.
It was as if that week apart hadn't happened.
"I'm going to break your nose, Paul!"
Mike altered course, backpedaling to let Aaron charge past, hopping over the barbell waiting for someone to start deadlifts. "Watch out, morons," he chided, shaking his head.
Hannah darted by next, hard on Aaron's heels. "I mean it." Her hands had already curled into fists. The anticipation of putting her knuckles to his face had driven out whatever exercise they were meant to be doing instead.
"Did you have to pair them together?" Phil asked, turning to Geist. Geist shrugged.
Aaron's longer legs put distance between him and Hannah. Until Lucas stepped into the narrow aisle between racks of weights. Trapped, all Aaron could do was bring his forearms up to fend them off until all three of them were laughing together.
Hannah jerked awake to pounding on her door. Her room was drenched in darkness that seeped away as her lights faded on.
"Up and at 'em, Bliz!" Harper's voice was muffled by the metal between them. "Freelancer's on the move and Allen's got big plans. Front and centre, where we belong!"
She was already yanking a shirt over her head, slipping a boot on at the same time. "What time is it?"
But he'd moved on to Mike's room, the words lost though his voice still carried to her.
Hannah hunted down her other boot and ran her fingers through her hair. Good enough. She poked her head into the hall, made eye contact with Phil emerging from his room.
"What's all the fuss about?" she asked.
The still-groggy team second yawned until his jaw cracked before he said, "We're going back to Byzantium."