Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold
Location: Praetor Northlands
Time: 0532 Hours
Date: June 20, 2557
Church had never been a morning person, no matter which way he cut it. It didn't matter if it was at home, in the comfort of a nice bed, or running long ops in the field. He'd always complained about trying to get up, try to grab an extra minute of sleep, even if he'd slept most of the day or night. Hell, being part of Delta Force had only made him tolerate it to an extent. He'd never truly become one and, for the most part, he was okay with that.
So it came as no real surprise that he had virtually no time to react before he heard the metal door squeak open and something small flew inside. He barely had time to even see where it hit before a loud bang reverberated across the room and his vision turned white. Even despite the visual dampeners that inherently came with his visor, he still went blind.
The next thing he knew, what felt like the butt of a gun hit him in the side of the head, knocking him to the floor. Still in a daze, he felt two pairs of hands grab in by the arms and drag him across the portal, back outside. He couldn't fight back, the combination of flashbang and hit to the head sapping him of his strength.
By the time he came to, he was able to get some semblance of what happened. Church was sprawled across the snow, his weapons taken and out of sight. He could see at least five or six figures around him, all dressed in winter gear, all pointing a variety of weapons at him. The former AI jolted up into a sitting position, immediately aware of the threat surrounding him. The men tensed in response, gripping their weapons tighter. Those that weren't already aiming their guns raised them at him, circling around him.
"What, no breakfast in bed? I'm hurt," snarked Church, grogginess still in his voice.
"Be quiet, UNSC scum," one of them barked.
"Hey, fuck you, asshole," the Blue answered in kind. "Not my fault you chose to drag me up here like this is some sort of party instead of finishing me off when you had the chance."
"He said be quiet," another one spoke. "We can still kill you, you know." It was then that Church became distinctly aware of just how many guns were aimed in his direction. Without turning his head, he could see four guys within his view and could tell there was at least one more behind him. Two of them held assault rifles, one had an SMG, and the last one had a battle rifle.
"Then why the fuck haven't you?" questioned Church, his usual grating attitude surfacing even despite the amount of firepower directed at him. "'Cause as far as I can tell, you're wasting your time on me."
The first one that spoke, the one with the battle rifle, said, "I'd hardly consider finding one of the guys who blew up our defense platform a waste." Church heard the smirk in his voice as he continued. "And not just any guy either. A Spartan."
Church made a strange choking sound, attempting to strangle the laugh that threatened to come out. He failed miserably.
The rebels gave each other weird looks as he cackled in their faces. "What's so funny?" one of them finally asked.
Leonard continued to laugh at them. "You all actually think I'm a Spartan? Really? You thought you'd catch someone that badass and powerful?"
"Well, yeah," the second Insurrectionist, one to his right holding the submachine gun, replied. "You've got the armor, the helmet, the weapons. Why wouldn't you be a Spartan?"
By now the Blue's laughter had died down, being reduced to a muted chuckle. "There's a lot more to a Spartan than just the armor. They're also strong, smart, and insanely fast, all things that I'm not."
Now they were all giving him really confused looks. "You're lying," the first one said. "You're just downplaying yourself so we'll let our guard down."
Church scoffed. "Oh please. If I was an actual Spartan I would've killed you all by now."
"Without a weapon?" a third one questioned, doubt in his tone.
"You don't get it, do you?" Church faced the one who spoke. "A Spartan is a weapon. He can kill you with nothing but his bare fists if he wanted to, cave your skull in with his hands. The only reason he doesn't is because he doesn't want to waste his time and energy to do it."
"And you haven't killed us because…?" the second one asked.
Church had to fight the urge to facepalm in front of his captors, instead merely sighing and shaking his head. "Because I'm not a Spartan, dumbass. How many times am I going to need to repeat myself?"
"Well," the first one asked, "if you're not a Spartan, then what are you?"
"No one really important," he lied. "Just a Spec Ops soldier here to put a stop to your little operation here." Hopefully he was vague enough as to not give his true intentions away and be as incognito as possible. Who knows what would happen if they found out who he really was.
The group stared in silence at him. "That's it?" the second one asked in disbelief.
"Pretty much," Church shrugged.
"Well," the first Insurrectionist replied, "at least your armor and equipment will have some value." There was an air of confidence in his voice, a stark contrast to the tones of the other Insurrectionists.
Something about the way his captor spoke told him that he'd probably rather not find out how they were going to acquire it. Without thinking things further, he lunged out to the battle rifleman on his right, knocking the barrel off to the side. A burst of rounds came out of the gun as he did so, spraying the other three Insurrectionists and forcing them to jump back in surprise.
A loud crack sounded from behind him and he felt, more than saw, his shields pop. Quickly, he grabbed the battle rifle and swung the user around, placing the rebel between him and his last assailant. He was able to get a good look at the fifth opponent and saw the smoking barrel of a combat shotgun aimed at him. He must've dodged just enough for only some of the buckshot to hit him, otherwise he was certain he'd be dead.
Adrenaline flared through his body and he pushed forward, barreling the man he was holding into the rebel behind him. They collided and fell backwards, Church releasing his grip on the weapon in the process.
Church jerked his head over to the trio of enemies that had reeled back from the rifle burst. Two of them had nearly fallen over, their momentum being carried through the snow. The third one, the first one that had talked to him and the one he could only guess was their squad leader based on how he had talked, was beginning to regain his composure and started aiming in his direction.
He was not going to wait around and see if he would actually aim center mass, instead jerking his head the opposite way and laying eyes on his sniper rifle and magnum, both propped up against the storage container. Church lunged to them but stumbled as his feet failed to gain full traction against the snowy ground. The squad leader fired a small burst at him, causing him to lurch even further forward to avoid getting shot in the back. He wasn't able to grab his magnum, but he was barely able to get a hold of the sniper rifle. He had counted on grabbing just one of his weapons.
What he hadn't counted on, however, was falling off the slope right next to them. The lack of traction in the icy ground certainly didn't lend him any favors. He tumbled over the side of the mountain as rounds chased after him, eager to land on him and penetrate his armor. Church could do nothing but try to keep with the momentum as he rolled.
He slammed into the base of a pine tree, scattering snow and ice particles about him. His head felt dizzy from the recent spinning, but he was able to lift his head enough to see the enemy squad slide their way down to him. He raised his hand to fire only to realize he wasn't actually holding his sniper rifle. He jerked his head around in panic at the sudden realization, seeing where it could've possibly gone. Maybe he still had a chance to defend himself before they could close. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could kill them before it was too late.
Unfortunately for him, luck never seemed to be on his side, as he laid eyes on the weapon some ways up the hill. He tried to stand, make his way over to it, in a vain attempt to delay to inevitable, but his legs were sapped of strength from the landing.
The next he knew, there was a knee in his chest, slamming him against the tree once more. "Sunofabitch!" he coughed. Church looked up just in time to see the leader, the one who had slammed into him, pull a magnum out of its holster. The Insurrectionist flipped the safety off and chambered a round before aiming it squarely at his face.
The Blue swallowed hard as he looked past the barrel, up at his soon-to-be killer. His shields still weren't back up and wouldn't be for several seconds simply because of the knee damaging him.
"Guess the Director can fix your helmet later," he grinned a little too sinisterly.
Church felt his lives flash before his eyes, both his fake and real one, the one that he knew now were the Director's memories, and the ones he experience himself, with Project Freelancer and at Blood Gulch. He saw flashes of Red and Blue, of bickering teammates and exacerbated foes, of frustrations with Caboose, laughter with Tucker, and private, blissful smiles with Tex. He saw his home back in Austin, his father, his high school, a Marine uniform, a baby with fiery red hair and shining green eyes...
That last image was odd. He didn't remember ever seeing Allison as a baby. They hadn't even met until they were both teenagers, when he found her climbing into his newly moved-in bedroom. God, Tucker would've never let him live that down if he found out.
Taking a shaky breath, Church closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable shot that would end his life. Honestly, he never thought he would've made it this far, trying to bring down the Director one last time, with the Reds and Blues, his friends, and his girlfriend all helping bring some sort of justice to that wicked man's life. At least he was able to somewhat mend his relationship with Tex. At least he would die knowing what he meant to her.
Church expected the whole ordeal to be over quickly. He expected to feel nothing, to hear nothing except maybe the voice of God or whatever deity awaited him in the afterlife, if there even was one.
What he didn't expect was to hear was a gunshot and a scream. The gunshot made no sense because he was sure the pistol was aimed at his head and he'd have been braindead long before there was even a chance of hearing the shot go off. The scream made even less sense than the shot, because he wasn't the one screaming.
Church's eyes shot open just in time for him to see the leader's hand come clean off at the wrist, blood spurting onto the snow. He fell to his knees, holding his bloody stump with his other hand, howling in pain.
The rest of the Insurrectionists seemed too shocked by the sudden loss of his hand that they didn't seem to even notice they were under attack until the second shot went straight through the skull of the man with the shotgun.
The three remaining rebels scrambled to whatever cover they could find. In their panic, a third shot rang out and the guy with the other assault rifle was dead before he hit the ground.
Of the two armed men, the one with the battle rifle had his back pressed to a slab of rock while the one with the other assault rifle scrambled behind a thick pine tree. They were clearly scared out of their minds, their heads dashing back and forth. They tried to peek out of cover and see if they could find the source of the shots, but shot back into cover as a fourth round flew past both of their heads. It was only upon recognition of the fourth shot that Church realized that it belonged to a sniper rifle.
Church heard the rapid sound of crunching snow, of boots sprinting across open ground. He still couldn't see who had shot the Innies. He tried looking for them just as much as they were.
It was practically on top of them by the time he saw it. A flash of green and blue armor zoomed past him, dashing to the guy behind the tree first. The Insurrectionist didn't have time to react before a loud shotgun blast rang out. He fell backwards, numerous puncture wounds from the deadly buckshot penetrating his body armor.
The man with the Battle Rifle attempted to swing around and fire a burst, but the blur was on him next. Church saw the man's weapon get knocked out of his hands, sending him off balance in the process. Before he could try to counterattack, the blur had already drawn a knife and stuck it up through his chin and into the brain. He made a gurgling noise and spasmed out as the rest of his body failed to register that the user had suffered fatal head trauma.
The last Innie fell to the ground with a thump and Church could finally get a good look at his savior. He wore forest-green MJOLNIR Mark VI with blue trim, a gold visor staring down at his handiwork. His armor was of the same base design as him, but there were noticeable differences. For one, his left shoulder pad had been completely replaced, a shield-like Commando shoulder pad on it instead. He also had bandoliers of explosives over his chest and in front of his hips. Church could see he had a softcase on his left thigh and a blue tacpad attached to his left wrist. On his back had been the sniper rifle he'd heard earlier, combat knife in his left hand and shotgun in his right. He looked every bit like the badass space warrior he was.
A name popped into his head, one that he hadn't uttered in a very long time. In fact, he wasn't confident he'd ever really uttered it before, such was the length of time. The last time the name had been used, he hadn't really existed, not as Epsilon anyway. Back then, he was just Alpha, and Project Freelancer had been his entire life. It was a simpler time.
"Agent Illinois?" he wondered aloud.
The green-and-blue Freelancer looked up at Church, an impassive visor staring back at him. "Church," he greeted in kind. His voice was stoic, cold, but also intelligent and wise. He didn't sound very old, but he certainly wasn't a young gun. "It's good to see you again."
Church had been truly shocked at who his savior was, that there was yet another Freelancer working with them. And not just any Freelancer, either. This was Agent Illinois, an anomaly of a Freelancer, almost as much as Tex had been back in the day, but not for the same reason. Unlike the rest of the Freelancers, he had had no official placement on the leaderboard at any point in the Project's lifetime. Nobody knew his name, nobody in the Project had any official records of him, no background of any sort to check; there was virtually nothing on him. All they knew about him was that he'd been some sort of ONI delegate, a sort of watchdog over the Director's actions. Even Alpha couldn't get anything on him. When he tried looking through ONI archives he was constantly met with firewall after firewall and the Office's own Artificial Intelligences blocking him.
Looking at him now, in this new light, he could see Illinois was more than just a simple ONI delegate. He was at least a former black ops agent, special forces. Hell, it was entirely possible he was a former ODST or even a Spartan. He hadn't seen enough of him to get a good gauge on who or what he was.
"What are you doing here?" Church asked. "You've been missing for years."
"Eight, if we're being exact," he surmised, speaking as if they had only last talked yesterday. "And technically I wasn't missing, just… preoccupied."
"Preoccupied with what?" the Blue continued, his voice filled with accusation. "What's so important that you couldn't just give us a helping hand when we needed it?"
"The war," the Freelancer simply replied, putting the knife back into its sheath near his collar. Church stood silent, a rebuttal of any kind failing to form on his lips. Illinois snorted. "What? No witty comeback? No snappy, abrasive response?" He continued to bore his visor into him as he continued to fail to respond. "That's what I thought."
Any further comments from either party were interrupted by a small whimper. The two looked down to find the Insurrectionist squad leader on his knees, still clutching the stump where his hand used to be. Blood continued to pour out of the gaping wound, seeping through glove and fabric onto the frozen ground.
Illinois moved forward and, before Church could question what he was doing, grabbed the incapacitated man by the chest and lifted him up to eye level. It was only then that he noticed how tall the Freelancer was. The Innie was hovering a solid four inches above the ground and he'd looked the tallest of the squad. Church had a feeling he was even taller than himself, and he considered himself pretty tall.
"Where is the relay nexus?" he asked, he tone completely even. The rebel still seemed in a daze, so Illinois shook him. "Where is it?" he asked again, this time more harshly.
This time the man looked up at his captor, a hateful glare in his eyes. "Go. To. Hell," he spat out between winces.
Illinois snorted. "Look buddy, you can either give me what my friend and I need, or I can force you through hour upon hours of immense torture. It'll go on and on to the point where you'll be begging for death by the end." The Freelancer cocked his head curiously, as if he were a predator analyzing the prey he just caught. "So what'll it be?"
Weakly, the Innie scoffed. "You don't have the skill or talent."
"You wanna bet?" The Freelancer let out a dark chuckle and the leader seemed to shrink in his grip. "I was designed to hunt and kill people like you, to squeeze every last bit of information out of those who would dare attempt to weaken humanity's shield against anarchy and annihilation." Illinois's tone was full of mirth now. "You asked for a Spartan, traitor. Now you have one."
The Insurrectionist's eyes went wide as saucers and a cold sweat ran down his face. Church could feel the dread crawling up the rebel's spine. Now he knew what a weapon of war truly looked like, how it acted, how it performed. Now he knew what real fear looked like.
After what felt like several minutes of dead silence, the superhuman not moving an inch, the Insurrectionist sighed and closed his eyes, his head drooping. "Its three to four days west of here by foot, in the only saddle between the mountain with two peaks. You can't miss it."
"What's the layout and security like?" he pressed.
"The nexus consists of three buildings of note: the primary comm facility, a separate generator building, and the relay tower itself. There are two anti-air turrets guarding the facility at the top of the main building. The rest of the facility is support structures and storage rooms. There's usually a company of men there guarding the place, although that is subject to change at any time. I don't know anything beyond that."
Illinois merely nodded as he let go of his prisoner. The Innie landed on his feet, stumbling slightly at being released without warning. "See, now that wasn't so hard."
Neither the Innie nor Church were able to react before the Freelancer brought his shotgun up and fired it into the last survivor's face. The head exploded from the force of the 8-gauge shot. Church actually yelped in surprise as he saw it too. He looked up from the smoking ruin of a head at the executioner as he racked another shell into the chamber of his shotgun.
"Dude," the former AI was finally able to let out, "what the fuck?"
Illinois gave him a curious look. "What?"
"Why'd you kill that guy?"
That curiosity now turned to confusion as he answered, "He was the enemy. What were you expecting?"
"Not for you to kill an unarmed man!" Church blurted out in frustration.
Illinois cocked his head to the side, as if the morality of his actions were lost on him. "Well, it's not like we were going to bring him with us. He'd just slow us down."
"We could've just left him here," he suggested irritably. "Left him in the storage crate with the supplies so he wouldn't freeze to death."
"And risk letting another group discover our intentions," the Freelancer countered, "thus alerting the relay and tightening their security. Yeah, like I want to make our next fight that much harder for the both of us."
Church's jaw clenched in frustration. "You can't just go around killing people just because they can become a hindrance!"
"As long as the reason is justifiable, yes, I can," the Freelancer continued as he started to climb up the hill back to the storage crate.
Church scrambled to keep up, picking up his sniper rifle along the way. "It's not right!"
As they neared the top, he heard Illinois sigh, as if he were a parent about to teach an ignorant child. "And what would you know about what is right or not?" he shot back, rounding abruptly on the Blue. There was no anger in his posture, no threatening tone in his voice. He was calm and collected. "Director Church, your creator, the very person you are based on, destroyed the lives of countless people, all because he thought he knew what was right, what was best. He thought all of his actions were for the greater good of humanity. Now look at him; a fugitive, on the run from the UNSC, helping those who dare try to tear humanity apart at the seams, right after a war that nearly drove our race to extinction. So forgive me for not listening to you when you say what I'm doing isn't right."
Church's jaw stood slack in disbelief. He couldn't believe this. Not only did the Freelancer have the gall to excuse what he had done as justifiable, but he also chose to barb him back in return. Could he really not see what was morally wrong with what he just did? Yeah, Church was originally based off the Director, but after seeing all he had done, he had vowed to never become that man as long as he had a say in it. He would never be what that monster had become if he could help it.
Illinois finally reached the storage container, opened the door, and stepped inside. Church gladly waited for him, moving to retrieve his pistol as he did so. He heard rustling and moving boxes from inside. No doubt the Freelancer was scavenging for supplies.
Another minute passed before green-and-blue Freelancer stepped out again, tossing several magazines' worth of sniper rounds and a trio of MREs to him. Church was barely able to catch them.
Once he stored the newly-acquired requisition, he looked back up at Illinois, who merely nodded.
"Alright," the Freelancer nodded, "let's get going."
Several hours had passed since the sun had risen and Tucker had woken up, feeling groggy from having only gotten four hours of sleep. Carolina, meanwhile, didn't look any worse for wear despite getting the same amount of rest, if her posture was anything to go by. He supposed Freelancer conditioning and supersoldier augmentations had something to do with that.
Still, he supposed he shouldn't complain. It was better for one of them needing less sleep than the other in cases like this. That way at least one of them would be at least a bit alert rather than neither, something that would prove vital when they were as deep into enemy territory as they were.
They had continued to traverse along the chilled mountainsides, trying to cross without having to travel down into any of the valleys or gorges. Doing so would mean they'd have to climb up the other side, which took more effort than it was typically worth.
Besides, if they did manage to come across whatever was jamming their helmet comms, it was probably at the top of one of the mountains rather than below. And if they somehow managed to come across it, he had a feeling neither of them would complain about spending some extra time to take it out.
As the hours ticked on and sun continued to move, it started becoming apparent just how much of a difference in rest they had. More than once he had nearly lost his grip on a piece of rock or found himself dozing when he should've been paying attention to how Carolina was scaling a particularly difficult cliff face. Her having to come back for him more than once just to make sure he was still there didn't help.
After what seemed like the dozenth time, once they had finished climbing to the top of particularly tall piece of cliff, roughly a hundred feet, she loudly declared, "Alright Tucker, we're stopping for an hour or two."
"What?" he asked, still panting slightly from exertion. She could see his hands were on his knees and he was leaning forward.
"I said we're stopping," she repeated. "You've nearly fallen down at least seven times in the last hour alone and you're panting when we haven't done even half of what we did yesterday. You need a break."
Finally, he thought, as if his prayers had been answered.
"Glad you thought about me," he replied dryly. Spotting a nearby set of chair-height rocks, he took a seat, resting his back against a nearby wall.
He sat for several solid seconds, preparing to nod off for a quick nap, when he noticed she hadn't chosen to take a seat. "Hey," he called out.
Carolina jerked her head up in surprise, apparent having forgotten he was there for a second. "Huh?" she asked almost innocently, as if for a second she wasn't the badass Freelancer she made herself to be.
Tucker didn't fail to notice the brief change in tone in her voice, but kept the thought to herself. Instead he said, "You should take a seat. You seem a bit out of it yourself."
"I'm fine," she replied, the hardness in her voice returning almost immediately.
Tucker struggled to hold in a sigh. Of course she had go with her tough woman act again, not letting up even a bit. "Carolina…" he started.
"Don't worry about me, Tucker," she cut him off.
This time Tucker didn't even try to hide it. "Look, you're running on minimal sleep just like me. You've gotta be exhausted. Just take a little bit of a rest. Calm down, relax. Doesn't even need to be a nap."
Carolina remained silent for what felt like a solid minute before finally relenting and taking a seat next to him. He could tell she still wasn't relax by how tense she still looked.
An idea had suddenly popped in his head. He had no idea if it would work or if he would be shut away abruptly like his last interaction with her, but he might as well try. He asked, "What do you like to do for fun?"
The question seemed to almost derail her original train of thought, as sudden and random as it was. "What?" she asked in genuine confusion.
"What do you like to do for fun?" he repeated.
"Um," she started, the unexpectedness of the question still leaving her without a proper answer for a bit. "Train in the combat arena, practice hitting bots, time trials, stuff like that-"
"No, no, no," Tucker interrupted. "What do you like to do for fun? And it can't be anything that has to do with training."
She gave him a blank stare. "I enjoy training."
"So do I," he continued. "But that doesn't mean I don't like doing things that are not related to the military or being a badass swordsman."
Carolina gave him yet another stare, either unable to come up with an answer or not willing to share. Maybe he should take the lead on this one.
"For example, besides sword training and spending time with my son, I actually like going onto the dance floor and partying as well as play the guitar from time to time. Helps me get the ladies."
"I thought you were the type to enjoy jacking off to porn," she commented, remembering just who she was dealing with.
"I did," he admitted, "but I haven't done it in a while. Kinda hard to when you've lived on an alien planet for the better part of four years and the only women there are hairless, mandibled bipedal reptiles."
The cyan Freelancer continued to stare at him, the tension in her body now replaced with skepticism. Finally relenting, she replied, "When I was a kid, I always like running and kickboxing as well as doing martial arts. I enjoyed being physical."
Almost shyly, she looked away from him, down towards the ground. Tucker, meanwhile, just sat by patiently and waited for her to continue. Admittedly, he was nearly tempted into using his famous catchphrase, but he was barely able to suppress the urge. He had a pretty good hunch that if he used it or tried rushing her or coaxing an answer from her she'd shut him out all over again and he'd be back to square one.
"I also enjoy dancing and singing," she murmured.
Now that caught Tucker by surprise. While the running and martial arts weren't so surprising, the performance stuff was. However, the reluctance to share that information in her voice suggested something about those activities, which prompted his next question.
"When was the last time you danced or sang?"
There was an awkward pause from Carolina yet again. "I don't remember. Years at this point."
Tucker gave a good look at her. What he saw surprised him. Gone was the confident, take-charge Freelancer that he had seen since day one of her arrival. Gone was the attitude, the air of superiority, of being the best that could be. Now she just seemed melancholy, awkward, embarrassed, traits that seemed so out of place for her.
Great. Now he felt awkward too. Instead of trying to relax her, it looks like all he had done was replace her alertness with anxiety, a different sort of tension.
"Well," he offered, "maybe when this is all over we can do that sometime."
Carolina gave him a poignant look. "We?"
"Yeah," Tucker awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Going out and dancing usually isn't much fun by yourself in my experience."
"Sounds like you're asking me out on a date."
"What? No, no, no," he quickly backpedaled. "I'm just trying to be friendly, that's all. You don't really seem to have any friends around here except maybe Wash."
"And you think you can be one of mine?"
"Doesn't hurt to try." She gave him a doubtful expression. "Look, I'm friends with Church, one of, if not the biggest jackasses I've ever met. If I can be friends with him, I'm pretty sure I can be friends with anyone. Except idiots like Caboose. I can only barely tolerate them."
Carolina continued to give him a pointed look. "Maybe once we find a club or something like that." He seemed almost enthusiastic at the idea. "But doubtful."
Tucker's shoulders slumped in defeat. Now it was Carolina's turn to look at her opposite over. Gone was the show of confidence, of the light-heartedness in the face of the unknown, of the optimism that clashed with her realism, her pessimism. Now he seemed utterly drained.
She felt a little bad. He really did seem to be trying his best to relieve the constant tension she had felt ever since they'd landed on Praetor. He was trying to keep morale between the two of them up, even if just to keep the mind-numbing loneliness of the last day at bay. And he'd been shot down or touched a nerve or sensitive subject at every opportunity. It was like trying to navigate through a minefield without a map of the setup or metal detector. She figured maybe it was time to give him a bit of a lifeline, even just a bit.
"You said you had a son, right?"
Tucker lifted his head to look at her. "Yeah."
"Well," she hesitated, "maybe you can introduce me to him."
He smiled a bit under his helmet. The Blue recognized an olive branch when he saw one. And the first hint of something other than the cold, bitchy Freelancer exterior he had been shown thus far.
"You mean that?"
"Sure," she shrugged. "Not like there's much else to do on the ship other than train."
If Tucker had been happy to learn more about what she liked to do, he was absolutely beaming at her now.
"You should get some rest now," she told him, bringing him out of his stupor. "Just an hour or two, enough for you last the rest of the day."
He nodded at the idea. Leaning back against the rocks, he stretched his back as much as his armor would allow him. Before he went to sleep, he said, "Wake me up when it's your turn. You could use the rest too."
Carolina nodded and she looked out to the horizon, visor shining in the daylight. Satisfied that she'd keep her promise, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Meanwhile, Carolina continued to scan the surrounding area for any signs of hostiles. At least that's what she told herself. The truth of the matter was that she was chiding herself for letting herself get involved in the affairs of the team's womanizer. She'd read his Freelancer profile as well as his Sangheili diplomat profile. She'd gone in expecting him to just try hitting on her at every turn, and not subtly either. She hadn't expected him to try to get to know her.
She shook her head. Here she was, getting treated almost like a normal human being, like a real person, by someone who, by all accounts, treated women like objects instead of people. She was confused and, more importantly, wary of his advances. People don't always change, even when put in a new environment for extended periods of time.
Still, that didn't stop the mild fluttering in her chest she got when he asked her about her hobbies. Strange, she had thought. That wasn't something she'd felt from anyone in a long time, not since the last time York had…
Carolina shook the thought from her head. It was too painful to remember him now, to remind herself of him, of her failure to him. To this day, she regretted the decision she made the day the Mother of Invention crashed, the day the cracks in Project Freelancer began to show, the day it all began to fall apart.
But this team, these Reds and Blues, they were something else. Remnants of an organization long gone, people she had once considered cannon fodder, still as strong together as ever. They were still here, and her team wasn't. Maybe that spoke of their character. Maybe that spoke of Lavernius Tucker's character. Maybe there really was something to him.
Damn it, Carolina, she chided to herself, here you are making promises to visit a child of a man you hardly know anything about. And your heart is fluttering like a teenage schoolgirl. What have you gotten yourself into now?
And there we have it, after several months without a proper update when I said I would give it monthly to bi-monthly, I have finally been able to push out the next chapter. For a while the reason this didn't come out was because my creative juices were flowing much more slowly than the last two chapters. Up to a month or two ago it was because my personal life and job had gotten quite hectic, so I had to let up on the progress. I hope you can all forgive me.
For those of you who are wondering, this version of Agent Illinois is an OC of mine I've had since long before he was ever mentioned back in Season 15. It was specifically because of what they did to Illinois in Season 15 that I was actually kinda peeved at the season in general. Now I have him here, where he can hopefully drive the plot a bit more than before. If you'd like to see what he looks like, here he is on my DeviantArt profile: ultrapredator01/art/Back-In-Business-825055702 .
Hope you all enjoyed!
