Looking out the window as the sun rose over Dzimba, Ian allowed himself to feel satisfied for once. The tea was good, the view spectacular, and the day was already looking productive. It was about 5:30, fairly average for him to be up despite not having anything to really do, and he just took a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet. Especially the peace.

"Hopefully the humidity stays down today. Got enough issues while we're harvesting."

Ian turned in disbelief to the voice.

"Unc, how the hell are you up this early? And I didn't even hear you snore last night! Are… are you sober?"

"Didn't have a sip of alcohol last night."

"Well I'll be damned!"

"Old professor in me has come out again. It's nice to have someone in the house as interested in Ancient Greece as I am."

"Hey, that copy of Anabasis has been well read, and I've always appreciated it."

"Well, Eleanor has shown more interest in my area of expertise than you ever did."

"That's because your brother filled my head with thoughts of Zimbabwe."

Arthur Walls shook his head.

"Bertie never could let that go, could he?"

"And God bless him for it. Made me the man I am today."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an indictment?"

"Piss off. Hey, where is she?"

Though she had only been living with them for about a week, Ian was quick to learn about the strange habits of a Spartan. Always mobile, needing to do something, needing little sleep and food. The fact that she had not already woken up was curious enough.

"Maybe she's in the shower," Unc said.

Ian frowned, not wanting to check and repeat the incident he already caused. He was going to say something before he heard a clatter from her room and what sounded like a gasp.

"Ian!" she called out.

"What's wrong Ellen?"

"I need help. Now!"

He put down his tea and rushed over to her door before sliding it open, suddenly wondering if he should have brought a weapon. As his eyes adjusted to the slightly darker room, he quickly realized she was standing on her bed, wearing nothing but a bra and boxer shorts. He looked her over for a moment, her perfect physique on full display. He was a bit too focused on her if he was going to be honest. She pointed near the closet door, her face one of slight panic.

"Rat!"

"Pardon, what did you- oh no, not again! Unc, the rats are back!"

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled from the kitchen.

"We've had them before, and I was hoping they were gone for good, I'm sorry. Over there?"

"Y-yeah," she stammered.

Despite the UNSC's propaganda machine attempting to make Spartans seem unstoppable, he had seen the human fears that still remained after everything they had put them through. And for Ellen, one of those was the simple rat.

"All right, stay calm, I'll get it. Can I use one of your shoes?"

"Just get rid of it, please."

He picked a boot up and slammed around the general area she pointed at, hoping to scare or hit his target. A black figure suddenly shot out from some clothing laying on the floor, rushing out the door and heading to the kitchen.

"He's headed your way Unc!"

"Yeah, I left the door open, he's out."

"Right. Well, crisis averted. Was that the only one you saw?"

He looked back at her, still standing on the bed and looking around the ground for any of the animals' friends. Satisfied, she nodded. He stood and extended an arm out to her.

"I'm surprised the bed could take you."

"Are you calling me fat?" she said, taking his hand as she stepped back down to the floor.

"No, just- it's nothing. We'll have to put traps out again. Well, maybe not, Unc did step on one of them last time. Traps didn't last long after that."

Ian raised an eyebrow as he noticed her Mjolnir on a stand. She realized where he was looking and sighed.

"I'm amazed that they let me walk away with it. Hopefully I won't have to wear it much from now on."

"If you got A/C in that thing, you might regret saying that."

"I did want to ask, since I am in the reserves, I do need to practice my marksmanship. Are there any ranges around here?"

Ian grinned.

"I got something better. Let's get some breakfast first though."

"Sounds good to me."

XXXXXX

Ian stared at the screen either out of frustration or admiration, he wasn't sure which.

"All on the bullseye."

"Did you really think I would do anything less?"

"I mean, with a 99, sure, but with an MA-5-"

"You did pretty well with the DMR. Almost as good as I did."

"Well I've used that weapon for years, so I would hope I'm good with it."

"Are you getting a bit envious?" she asked with a hint of amusement.

"Well, I keep forgetting you're a Spartan and all that."

"What tipped you off to that, the height, the muscles, or the accuracy?"

"The smartass comments, actually."

She stifled a laugh while clearing the assault rifle and putting it on the table. Ian's father, the late first colonel of the Light Infantry, had taken riflemanship more seriously than any of his fellows in the other regiments, and he had put a top of the line training system on the rather sparse dirt range on Avon Fields. Even Eleanor with her high standards was impressed by the set up.

"Well, now I get to use the one I trained on."

She gave him a curious look as he pulled the other rifle case up. He slid the weapon out and smiled as he felt its familiar features in his hands again, pain shooting through his jaw.

"What is that?"

"This, my friend, is a near perfect copy of the Vektor R1 rifle. South African copy of the FN FAL. Rhodies got this as their standard battle rifle. Updated for the new 7.62 of course. When I turned 12 my dad gave me this as a birthday present. Trained with it damn near everyday before I enlisted. Want to hold it?"

She took it, a flash of surprise on her face.

"Heavy."

"Yeah, makes sense why I never complained about the 392 when I trained on that constantly."

He took it back and loaded a magazine, pulling on the charging handle.

"Can switch between semi and full auto, but this thing kicks like a mule, so I always use semi. Also accuracy goes to hell after the second bullet. 20 rounds in the magazine though. Never got why it was only 15 in the DMR."

He peered down the sight and calmly unloaded into the target ahead of him. As the last casing hit the ground he looked at the screen showing a perfect score, a mixture of head and body shots, all exactly where he wanted them.

"You do better with that than the DMR!" Eleanor said, unable to hide how impressed she was.

"Thank you. As I said, I spent years training with this. They said supply issues wouldn't allow me to bring it on campaign with me. Bastards."

"May I try?"

"Sure!"

He handed the rifle and a magazine to her, and before he could explain how to load it, she already prepared to fire. She pulled the trigger and stopped as the screen showed a perfect headshot at 300 yards.

"That does kick. It's nice to have another weapon that isn't a bullpup."

"Yeah. But it's good practice. Must've had a bloody bruise on my shoulder for a year from shooting so much."

"Well, I can understand why you liked the DMR."

"Yeah, it's familiar enough that it fits like a glove. Even if they are trying to replace it with that goddamn Battle Rifle."

"The 55?"

"Yep."

Eleanor glanced at him quickly before looking away, but he noticed.

"Don't tell me that they got to you too."

"The BR-55 is a fine rifle."

"No it isn't!" Ian almost screamed in exasperation. "It's a piece of junk! Only firing in three round bursts, what absolute moron thought that was a good idea?"

"I saw it used well enough on Earth-"

"Well they can keep it away from me. I never liked it, and I hope to God the Army never falls for it like you Navy pukes did."

Eleanor gave a slight slap on the back of Ian's head and shook her head.

"Those Navy pukes, myself included, did a lot to make sure you ground-pounders got to where you were needed with no scratches."

"Fine, some sailors are alright, you included. I'm still pretty pissed that they didn't even invite anyone else to the ceremony at the Voi Memorial."

"It was wrong to leave the other branches out, but believe me, you didn't miss much."

"You were there?"

"Security. Waste of time though, like anyone was going to care enough to attack it. Did get to touch John's-"

She stopped herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Master Chiefs, epaulettes."

Ian could tell there was pain in the words, but decided to ask anyway.

"How many Spartans are left?"

He never bought the MIA non-answer the UNSC was peddling. One could not do the things Spartans were able to and not eventually get killed.

"Not enough for me to be happy," she responded coolly.

Realizing that she did not want to speak on it anymore, he slid his weapons back into their cases and cleared his throat.

"If you want to stay longer and-"

"No, let's go back."

"Lekker."

"What are you doing today?"

"Me and Unc are going to start harvesting the coffee beans. But we don't need much help, so you can do whatever you want."

Putting her assault rifle in a similar case, Eleanor frowned and looked at him.

"Is there anything that needs fixing? Like around the house?"

"No," Ian said as they started heading back. "I mean if you want to clean it up a bit, or something like that, I won't stop you. Neither will Unc."

"I didn't exactly come here to be your maid."

"I was just making suggestions. I can clean up after myself, you know that. Unc, not so much."

"How does someone as smart as him turn out the way he has?"

"Retirement and being dragged into a life you didn't want is a hell of a duo. Dad convinced him and now he's stuck here. You're a good influence on him though."

Eleanor chuckled at the comment.

"I think I've learned more about Spartans and Greece in a week than I ever thought possible."

"Ha!"

"He's an interesting guy. I wasn't aware he had a doctorate."

"One of the best experts on Ancient Greece and the Hellenic era. I had a feeling you would like him, given your interests."

"We've had some arguments."

"Over what, exactly?"

"Sparta and Athens. He thinks that the Athenians were superior and deserved better neighbors."

"Really?"

"It's complicated."

"I'll take your word for it. Maybe I'll spit in his sandwich for you today."

"Not necessary. But I did want to speak with you about that."

"About what?"

She sighed and gave him a disappointed look.

"You two realize there are foods other than meat and bread, right?"

"Oh God, here we go."

"I'm serious. It's a miracle the both of you are as healthy as you are, you only seem to live on roast beef and steak."

"RSM Ncube lives on a diet of cigarettes and warm beer, look at him."

"I think we need to cook more often."

"Not happening. You know for a fact I'm the type that can bugger up an MRE, and Unc… he's a good cook when he's sober. Emphasis on when. And do you even know how to cook? I mean they probably gave you survival training and that, but-"

"I would like to learn how," she said, cutting him off.

Ian stopped in his tracks and crooked his head.

"Are-are you volunteering to cook?"

She looked back at him, a short pause before she nodded.

"We were trained to learn things quickly, and I think it's a good skill to have if I'm not going to be deployed anymore."

"Well, I won't stop you. And there's cookbooks in the kitchen that mum used. So you can find something there. Thanks."

"Thank you Ian. For letting me stay."

"As if I would say no."

"Out of fear or respect?"

"Maybe I like having you around. Just a suggestion, we have chicken in the fridge."

Eleanor shrugged.

"I'll find something to do with it."

"That's the spirit," he said, patting her shoulder.

XXXXXX

Eleanor-074 was capable of many things beyond the pale of human ability. In her armor, she could sprint at speeds of 30-40 miles per hour, out of it, she was able to see things the average person could not, and had engaged an Elite or Brute in close combat, winning in the end. But for the first time in a long while, looking down at the boiling pot of broth and rice, she was filled with doubt. The recipe seemed simple, the name even more so. Chicken and rice soup. How could you screw up chicken and rice? Or soup? She was worried she was about to find out, even though she had followed the recipe by the book with no deviations. But she had never cooked before, unless you counted the survival course during training, and having to skin and roast an animal once was enough for her. But now she had run out of steps, and had no idea what to do next. Did she need to keep watch on it? Did she need to add something? There was no further instruction, Ian and his uncle out in the field and nowhere close to ask. There was also a bit of embarrassment, at having to feel lost over something as dumb as soup. She tapped her hand on the side of the stovetop, deciding to let it boil as she did something else. But what, exactly?

She sighed and headed back to her room… her room. Such a strange thing to think about. She had been given her own quarters countless times in her career, but they were on a ship, or little more than the stasis pod she was going to once again be sealed in. She paused as she thought about the others. Going into someone else's private dwellings was faux pas, but she did technically live there. What was the worst that those two could say? It's not like they were going to throw her out. Not without a fight at least, and that would be one nobody wanted to get involved in. She moved to the door closest to hers, finding a king sized bed. On the right side of the room, there was a full vanity table, covered with makeup and facial products. She quickly assumed that this must have been the Walls' bedroom, and it was little guessing as to which side was Margaret's. The other side looked dustier than hers, simple but organized. On the wall was a framed poster, reading "Be a man among men" in bright red letters, a stylized soldier bearing a rifle similar to the one Ian handed her. There was a night stand on his side, a small paper brochure on it. She gently picked it up, seeing a picture of the late Albert Walls on the front.

In memory of

Colonel Albert Walls

November 11, 2495-August 3rd, 2551

"Not To Be Taken Away"

She gently placed it down and felt uneasy, realizing that his side of the room was likely untouched out of grief. Eleanor left as quickly as she entered, unsure what exactly bothered her enough to do so. She thought about going back to the kitchen and checking the soup again. But then saw the door to-

For a moment her mind tried to fight the urge to check inside, but it was quickly overruled. Moving fast, looking out the windows to see if either of the men could see her do so, the door to Ian's room slid open with not a sound. To her slight relief, it was clean and orderly. From what she heard, his cleaning abilities were passable, but not fantastic, so at least he had gotten better about that. Finding little of interest, she was about to walk out when she noticed his bathroom light had been left on. She stepped in to hit the switch before noticing one of the drawers somewhat open.

"Ian," she whispered to herself in frustration, not realizing she did so.

She pushed it back in, but it popped out not even a moment later. She sighed before trying to slide it back in again, but stopped when she looked at the contents inside. Twenty or more orange pill bottles sat in a messy cluster, bringing her concern to a fever pitch. She had never seen him use medication at all during their time together, so to see such a collection… Her curiosity took the better of her and she picked up a few. The names were as unfamiliar to her as reading Sangheili, but the instructions were in plain English: Take for anxiety, depression, mood swings, panic attacks, the diagnoses one after the other. Her mind flashed back to their conversation about Herbert. He seemed fine… or was that all an act? Was he a complete mess and was just able to hide it better? She looked closer at the prescriptions and calmed a bit as she realized that many of them were past refill dates, others completely full. Probably was given those and never took them. She did not blame him, she never understood anyone who preferred to be in a constant medicated haze, something she had dealt with before from Marine and soldier alike. She closed the drawer correctly and moved out, but then another object caught her eye, a datapad crammed into the side of his nightstand and bed. Pulling it out, the label "Medical Records" on the top answered whatever questions she had. The screen flickered to life as she tapped the screen, revealing a myriad of files. As she skimmed through and found little of note, one caught her eye.

"Psychology report?" she asked, this time realizing she was talking to herself.

She clicked on the file and gasped at its 195 page length. What the hell was going on with Ian? She thought about reading it, but thought he would notice the datapad if it went missing. She began to think that maybe she should let sleeping dogs lie, but…

She tapped into the device's options, found it available for file sharing, and quickly sent it to her personal datapad. The wonders of the 26th century on full display. She quickly deleted any trace of her actions and left the pad where she found it. Rushing out the door, she moved over to the soup again to find no change. Shrugging again, she went to the library in the lounge, living room, whatever it was called, found a book on the successors of Alexander the Great and began reading. She could at least get away with that.

XXXXXX

"Blokes from that company will be coming over to inspect our harvest in a month or two, so we need this stuff bagged and ready to go sooner than later."

"Unc, what the bloody hell do you know about coffee harvesting?"

"Well we've spent the better part of a day doing it, so I'd like to say a little bit."

"Well hopefully it all pays off. I already hate the stuff."

"I could force you to give up tea for the effort-"

Ian shot a finger at his uncle.

"Last thing you'll do in this life."

Unc laughed as they approached the farmhouse. They had done remarkably well in a day, and at the current rate they would be finished in a few more. When the brothers had decided to harvest coffee as their main crop around the time he left for the army, both he and his mother had more than a few reservations. The non-farmer giving farm advice was definitely the breaking point on that. But to Albert Walls' credit, he stuck by his brother and decided to leap into coffee growing. Of course, the war meant that by the time most of the plants would be mature enough the war would have ended for better or worse, but that didn't seem to bother anyone involved.

"So she can cook."

"I'm as shocked as you are."

"Well, chicken and rice is hard to bugger up. I wouldn't give her too much credit."

"We're talking about a super soldier who seems to have no skills other than fighting and killing."

"Do you really believe that Ian?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but found nothing to say. He was simplifying to an unfair degree certainly, but there was also a part of him that didn't want to believe it. He knew that there was more to Eleanor than being a Spartan, he just could not figure out how to get to that point. He shook his head as they went through the farmhouse's front door, finding the woman in question reading yet another book.

"Jesus, you've already finished that one on Alexander?" Unc said in amazement.

"It's not that difficult of a read," she said nonchalantly. "I will say that of all the Diadochi, Seleukus has to be my favorite."

"Why so?" Ian asked.

"The other ones were all close friends of Alexander, but he was just a commander. Then he ends up ruling the largest part of Alexander's empire. Very uplifting."

"Well Ptolemy outlived all of them and died peacefully. Even the old Nicator died in war."

"It's just my opinion. It still amazes me that Alexander was capable of the things he did."

Unc moved to the kitchen to begin cooking dinner, much to her surprise. Ian grinned and nudged her.

"You made him feel guilty with that soup. Now he thinks he has to cook out of politeness."

"He doesn't have to-"

"But he insists."

She shrugged and stood up, her 6 ½ plus foot height slightly startling Ian.

"What?"

"Stop being so damn tall."

"Stop being so short first and maybe we'll talk," she said with a slight smirk.

"You huge bitch," he grunted.

"Whatever, short stuff."

The two chuckled as he went to get a shower, praying that Unc had somehow not snuck anything into his flask earlier in the day. Half an hour later, what was left of his hair was finally dry as he stepped back into the kitchen.

"Excellent timing as always, boy."

"Oh good. Let me guess: steak and vegetables."

"You could starve. See if I care."

"I would care," Eleanor said.

"I got her on my side, you lose by default Unc."

The man grunted as he handed full plates over to both of them.

"Thanks."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see how nice you two are when I'm not cooking."

The three sat around the small table, digging in as best they could. While Arthur Walls could cook, the question was also more "if" or "should" he. The Spartan seemed not to mind, tearing into the meat with little concern as Ian forced piece by piece down.

"Huh wsh if shday?" she asked.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, don't talk with your mouth full."

"Sorry," she mumbled as she swallowed. "How was it today?"

"Not too bad," Ian said. "We'll have the harvest finished by the end of a week, and we'll have the beans ready to move not long after that. All in all, not a bad year."

"As long as nothing happens. Something always bloody does," his uncle said with disappointment.

"You seem to be doing fine," she said while digging through her vegetables to find a disappointing reward of lettuce.

"You weren't in Zimbabwe when the famine hit in '27. We went hungry, not as bad as the rest, but it was a hell of a bite. Something always goes wrong somewhere."

"Yes, yes, you and dad only had lunch and dinner instead of the usual. Zambia and Botswana got hit a hell of a lot worse."

His uncle pointed the sharp end of his steak knife towards him, anger in his eyes.

"We got hit hard boy, and nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever make me wish for anyone to have to deal with…"

Ian was not bothered by the spectacle, he had been threatened before after making jokes at his family's expense. But the fact that he had been interrupted was enough to warrant him looking up from his plate to find Eleanor's arm stretched across the table, her hand around his uncle's wrist, her grim face looking into the older man's eyes.

"Don't point that at him," she said flatly.

Unc nodded quickly, dropping the knife on the table. Letting go of his arm, she went back to eating, unfazed as if nothing happened. The two men looked at each other in confusion and more than a bit of fear, with Ian merely suggesting to ignore it and move on. His uncle swallowed and decided to talk about something else.

"S-so, what else have you read about so far?"

"Peloponnesian War."

"Ah, a good choice. What is your assessment of the conflict?"

"I think Sparta was right."

"Oh really?" Unc said with a combative tone. "So bringing down the Golden Age of Greece and having to rely on the Persians that killed so many of them was a good call then, eh?"

"Oh Christ," Ian sighed, burying his head in his hands.

"Well, maybe Athens was a bit too cocky and didn't realize what they were going to be up against," Eleanor said.

"And bringing down the greatest democracy in history to be replaced by a bunch of tyrants so a city of genocidal enslavers who only understood soldiering was a great result for humanity."

Eleanor shot up and pointed a finger at the ex-scholar.

"Helots were necessary for a society as well-ordered and victorious as Sparta's!"

Not one to back down even against a super soldier, especially when it came to Athens, Unc stood in kind.

"Overrated and over mythologized! The Bronze Lie has been debunked for centuries now! The ratios and amount of defeats versus victories never meant Spartan superiority was actually real!"

He was about to say something about their record against the Persians, which may have gotten him killed, if not for the sound of barely stifled laughter making the two look at the end of the table.

"What's so funny Ian?" the Spartan asked, her anger cooling rather quickly.

"I've seen him get angry before, but you? I've never seen you get this defensive the entire time we were together!"

"Well… it-I…"

She sighed and sat down.

"You've got family history. You know who you came from and what you are. I… don't. Some of the earliest things I remember are learning about the 300. I might be Greek, maybe not, but I have a loyalty to the Spartans in a way most people feel for Earth or their home colonies. I feel obligated to defend them."

Unc nodded and sat down.

"I apologize for raising my temper. I didn't realize how important they were to you."

"It's alright, I apologize for getting you riled up. That's probably the most intense argument you've had about history."

"Hardly. I once got into a fistfight with a Roman expert over Pyrrhus of Epirus and how close he came to beating the Legions. Took three interns to break us up. I won by the way. Argument and fight."

"He loves telling that story. Was that the one on the steps of the Acropolis?"

Unc shook his head.

"That was the guy who tried to defend the Ottomans. In Athens. Man's lucky I was the only one to beat him. Entire city would have come for his ass."

"You've been to Athens?"

"All of Greece. And parts of Syria, Turkey, even a stint in Crimea. If it was near water, the Greeks touched it."

"I always wanted to see it. Never got the opportunity even when I was stationed on Earth," she said with disappointment.

"Why not do it now?" Unc asked.

"I'm here."

"That doesn't mean you can't do it. We do have FTL, it only takes a few days to get to Earth."

"I… don't want to go alone."

"Who said you would?" Ian added, finishing what was left of his steak. "I've wanted to visit too. What would you want to see?"

She thought it over for a moment before answering.

"Sparta, obviously. Athens, to see the Parthenon, maybe a couple other places. But… I really want to see Thermopylae. If I couldn't see anything else, that would be the one thing."

"You got plenty of life ahead of you. You'll get to it. And you know, you can have whatever you want within reason now. You're not in the service anymore."

"Anything?"

"Sure."

Eleanor stood up and went to the sink, where Ian was already washing some of the dishes. She leaned over slightly and whispered.

"I… always wanted a cat."

"Well, we have a rat problem, so we can figure something out. Anything else?"

"...no."

"Alright."

"Oh, Ian, did you pick up those parts from Jimmy?" Unc asked.

He stopped scrubbing and cursed.

"No, I'll do that when I'm finished with this. He's probably still open, it's only 7."

"Yeah, well don't forget. Again."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm good Ellen. Actually, here's how you can help me. Ask him some stupid questions. Drive's the old man nuts."

"Gladly," she said with a grin.

She turned around and started heading back to the lounge.

"Arthur, why did they call it Greece?"

"Oh for God's sake…"

Ian chuckled to himself as he tore at a rather stubborn grease stain.

XXXXXX

"I'm telling you bru, 2550 is gonna be our year. I can feel it."

"Janni, you've been saying it's going to be our year for two of them now. I think you should give up."

"Don't cramp my style Herb."

"Shut it you two," Sergeant Davies said. "Bad enough we've been sent to yet another mess of a planet, even worse I have to hear your whining."

"Yes sergeant," Privates Janni de Vries and Herbert Tinashe said dejectedly.

"What are they doing now?"

"Lance corporal. Where were you?"

"Arguing with our armorer about why we need less MA37's," Ian said. "The usual, sergeant."

"WO Laffin is a peach, isn't he?"

"Sure is. What've you lot been up to?"

Sebastian Novias grinned.

"We were trying to figure out how to keep you away from the new arrival."

Ian crooked his head slightly in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Janni give him a devious look.

"Remember those rumors we were getting a Spartan attached to us? They were right."

The lance corporal's eyes widened.

"You're kidding."

"He's right," Herb said. "And this ones different. Bigger. Like, huge."

"The one's we've been with have always been fairly tall-"

"No," Sebastian cut in. "Like, built like a brick house big. We know your record with the taller pintinhos, so we're stepping in now before-"

"Piss off."

His fireteam laughed before Sebastian stood up and waved Ian to follow. Rolling his eyes, the lance corporal decided to humor him, the others not far behind. Turning the corner of a tent, he looked around for the soldier in question, before Herb pointed to the landing pad, where a solitary-

"Holy shit," Ian muttered.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure that's a Spartan? The one's we've met before weren't that big."

"I know, but the armor, the looks… that's a Spartan."

"Damn."

"We told you."

Ian shook his head. They had fought with Spartans before, a group of miserable, suicidal, possibly insane individuals but… this was different.

"How long have they been there?"

"Got here about an hour ago. Keeps standing there. Maybe no one told her who's in command."

"Maybe. I would think… how do you know that's a female, Sebastian?"

He grinned, placing his hands on his hips and swung them slightly.

"Hips don't lie, Ian. I've seen, been above and below enough to be sure."

"They must have been pretty fat for you to figure that out, given her size," Herb said.

"Chupar as minhas bolas, imbecil."

"Hey, be nice. Anybody bother to say anything to her, him, them?"

The others looked at him as if he was crazy.

"Do you see the size of them? Maybe if I had a death wish…"

"Janni, you chased after that one, Erika-H3… uh, something."

The Afrikaner turned grim.

"Erika-H345. That was different."

"Whatever. You tried getting with her, and now you can't even speak to one?"

"Look at them. Blery skrikwekkend."

"What about you sergeant? Anyone up in the ranks trying to figure it out?"

Sergeant Davies shook his head.

"Navy chain of command is a nightmare to figure out, and we don't know where they really fall."

Ian frowned and looked back at the Spartan.

"I'm betting 20 credits Sebs right. I'm gonna introduce myself."

Straightening his beret and trying to look decent in his BDU's and pullover combo, his fireteam and sergeant nearly leapt out to stop him.

"Hell are you doing?" Janni hissed.

"Taking the initiative."

"Ian, you shouldn't-"

"We shouldn't leave them out and ignore them, sergeant. It's not polite."

"Your funeral," Herb said with a chuckle.

Continuing over to the massive armored frame of the Spartan, he noticed they were looking out into the distance, over the plains of Nageenya. He moved softly and was almost alongside her when he coughed. Turning to face him was a helmet with a massive, golden visor at the top. Even with the armor, he could only imagine the body within, if there was anything. He had heard some rumors about cyborgs and the like, but had never believed them until now.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, but do you need help?"

There was an uncomfortable silence before the Spartan answered.

"I don't know who I should report to."

He hid his surprise that not only he got a reply, but that Seb was right. He quickly looked for rank insignia, but only saw the white, stenciled number of 074 on the chestpiece.

"Well, if you're looking for our commander, that's Colonel Pearce. I'm Lance Corporal Ian Walls, I apologize that no one pointed you in the right direction."

He stuck his hand out involuntarily, but before he could move it away, he felt a shock through his whole body as she took it and firmly shook it.

"No one's bothered to meet me, thank you. Where is your… colonel? I'm not good with Army ranks."

"I-I understand, er, ma'am. He's in the large tent that way, take a right at that tent there, go down a bit, then a left. You can't miss it."

"Thank you Lance Corporal."

"Of course. If you need me, just ask around, everyone here knows me."

"I appreciate it."

"And if no one says it or is afraid to, the Light Infantry welcomes you. We feel a bit better having a Spartan here."

He received a slight nod from the helmet and went off to find Pearce. Ian whistled softly and moved back to his fireteam.

"Alright, did anyone take the bet?"

"I did," Herb said.

"You owe me twenty."

"Aihwa!"

"Score one for the Portuguese-Angolans. Good call Seb."

"I know things," he said with a grin.

XXXXXX

The next morning, Ian was quietly organizing things in the fireteam tent when the familiar tramping boots of Sergeant Davies came closer.

"Walls?"

"Sergeant?"

"BDU's, report to the colonels tent, ASAP."

"Bloody hell- yes sergeant!"

Quickly throwing his uniform on as his fireteam whistled and shook their heads, he quickly moved to meet his commanding officer. In less than five minutes, he was standing outside the imposing tent that was used not only as personal quarters by the colonel, but the nerve center of the whole regiment. One of the guards outside nodded at him.

"How's it Ian?"

"Fine until I got sent here, Neil. What happened?"

"Dunno. Probably nothing serious."

The flap opened to reveal RSM Wessels, the walrus moustache across his face perfectly maintained.

"Lance Corporal."

"Sir."

"Get that button right."

Adjusting his uniform, the RSM motioned him to enter, which he did quickly. Stamping a boot and saluting palm outward, he attempted to be parade ground perfect.

"Lance Corporal Ian Walls reporting as ordered sir!"

Colonel William Pearce was sitting behind a desk and flipping through papers before briefly looking up and nodding.

"Walls. At ease. How are you?"

"Fine sir."

"I need your help with something. It's a bit serious, I'm afraid."

Ian gave a confused look then nodded.

"Of course sir."

Dropping the papers on the desk and standing to stretch, Pearce sighed and rubbed his face.

"I'm sure you're aware that the Navy, or whoever is in charge, has decided to allow a member of the Spartan program to be attached to our unit. Our stats were good enough and the missions we've accomplished were so dangerous that of all the units in our glorious Army, we would get one of them. And before you say that we've been with Spartans before, 074 is different. Vastly."

Ian thought about telling him about yesterday, but thought against it.

"Now, the Army wants to prove that we can work well with them in a variety of mission sets. But before we can integrate, we need to… prove that this will work, and it's worth the time. Come over here, please." He moved towards the digital battle map that took up a large portion of the tent.

"As you know, we're about thirty five miles from the enemy. They have a main camp here, and we believe that the commander of all Covenant forces here on Nageenya is right there. Intel has determined a sniper team could do the job, and we now have one sniper whose better than anything we have. But they need a guide who's been here and knows the land. And a spotter."

Ian nodded.

"Sir, I would recommend Corporal Musona. He runs faster than anyone I-"

"He refused."

Ian started for a moment.

"Sir?"

"He has no interest in being near a Spartan."

"Er… Private Sands is probably the strongest-"

"Refused as well. Vehemently, actually."

"I… can make a list of possible Light Infantrymen that can probably keep up with 074."

"No need, we already have our man," RSM Wessels grunted.

"And that would be who, sir?"

The colonel and RSM looked at each other and then him.

"No… sir, I'm hardly the best we have. There are stronger, better men than me. Better lances, better privates."

"You earned that stripe Walls. Going back for Lieutenant Rahman with all that hostile fire…"

"I appreciate it sir, but I don't think I'm capable."

"Well the decisions been made. Just try to make us look good, eh? Your father would be proud."

"He did tell me yesterday to say hello by the way."

Pearce chuckled.

"Hopefully he gets to see us win this."

"Can I ask you something sir?"

"Of course."

"Where was I on your list? Who was above me?"

"There was no list," Wessels answered.

"Then why me?"

Pearce shook his head.

"You must have done something to impress 074 yesterday. When we told her she needed someone to go along with her, she specifically asked for you."

XXXXXX

Fully kitted in his battle armor with helmet strapped to his rucksack and DMR loaded, all six pouches full and ready, Ian paced the outskirts of the camp. He was wired, nerves and anxiety getting to him. His stomach felt tight, and he had to force the MRE down his throat so he wouldn't be marching on empty, and he must have pissed three times in half an hour.

"Me and my big goddamn mouth," he grumbled. "You had to go be nice, and now you dragged yourself into a big old mess. Goddamn moron you are, Ian, good going."

"Are you alright?" a feminine voice asked from behind him.

He nearly leapt out of his boots in terror, stumbling backwards.

"Jesus-how are you quiet in that getup!"

"Mjolnir armor is quite impressive."

"Please… don't scare me. I'm already on edge."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going on a mission with a Spartan."

"Do I frighten you?"

Ian looked back at her and swallowed.

"No. I'm worried I won't be able to keep up with you."

"Don't worry about that," she said before patting his shoulder. "Just stay close."

Ian sighed and nodded.

"Alright. I got you covered."

"Same here."

They moved through the valleys and mountains, and to Ian's surprise, it was not nearly as rough as he thought it would be. She was helpful, more than the other Spartans he dealt with, lifting him up over ledges, jumping impossible heights to check for scouts, but always staying nearby. Ian guided her on various paths, pointing out shortcuts and other minutiae. But as the sun began to set, he was starting to fade.

"Hey, 74?"

"Yes?"

"I know you guys can do anything and everything, but I need to get some rest, and you don't want to try to move through some of these passes in the dark, believe me."

"I have night vision."

She paused for a second and then stopped.

"I apologize. You're right, we should stop and make camp."

"There's a good vantage point there. We should take it."

"Roger that."

There was still enough natural light that they could set up a little observation post with no issue. Ian sat down and began eating one of the energy bars that the UNSC packed in their MRE's. 074 meanwhile started assembling the SR-99 she had been carrying. He assumed she was making sure it wasn't damaged or out of sync. He fiddled with his DMR to look busy, readjusting and checking for scratches or other imperfections that really didn't matter. Finding nothing new, he looked back to her and was halfway through a bite when she took off her helmet. Her short brunette hair and face were untouched by sweat, unbelievable given the amount of exertion she had gone through. She ran a hand through her hair and looked over at him, an amused look on her shockingly pretty face.

"Never seen a woman before?"

"I have. I just… I dunno. I was expecting more metal and wires under that helmet."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

She focused on the barrel turning it to connect with the rest of the rifle. She stopped and grabbed at her leg, stopped, grabbed again and then sighed.

"Great."

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot the tool for the barrel."

"Is that an older model?"

'Yeah."

"You don't need the tool. Give me a loaded magazine."

She gave him a curious look and did so, Ian sliding a 14.5mm round out. He moved over to the barrel and slid it in one of the grooves, twisting it secure before snapping the bullet back in and handing the magazine back. She looked at him in astonishment.

"I didn't know you could do that!"

"Yeah, it's a South African design. They made everything easy and without any waste. I learned a thing or two."

He finished his energy bar and pulled a book out, pulling the bookmark before he started reading. 074 checked and re-checked the rifle at least three times before looking back at Ian.

"What are you reading?"

"Anabasis. Xenophon."

"What's that about?"

"Ancient Greeks get stuck in Persia, have to run back when their generals get killed. Give command to a guy who gets all ten thousand of them back home. I read it because if he can get that many people out of a bad spot, I can do it with five men anywhere."

"Spartans?" she asked.

"Yep. Xenophon was Athenian though."

"Ah."

She started checking the sight, but stopped and looked back at him.

"Lance corporal?"

"Yeah? And you can call me Walls. Or Ian, I don't really care."

She paused, tapping the stock with her fingers.

"Ian. I have an odd request."

"Sure. What do you need, 74?"

"I…"

She stopped again, almost as if she was judging her words.

"I have a name. I'm… Eleanor."

Ian looked at her in surprise at this new information.

"Well nice to meet you Eleanor."

"We're out of range for Covenant to hear or detect us. I never really get the time to read, and most of what I get is either manuals or briefings. Greek stuff interests me a bit, and…"

She bit her lip and looked at him.

"Could you read that to me?"

He blinked and blankly stared at her.

"I don't see why not. I'll have to sleep eventually."

"Of course."

He flipped the pages back to the front.

"All right, I told you the basics, if you need any explanations, I got taught by a crazy uncle who knows this stuff like the back of his hand."

"Alright."

He cleared his throat and started from the beginning.

"Darius and Parysatis had two sons: the elder was named Artaxerxes and the younger Cyrus. Now, as Darius lay sick and felt that the end of his life drew near, he wished both his sons to be with him…"

XXXXXX

Eleanor woke up quickly, the sound of her door sliding open sending her enhanced body on high alert. Trained for years before she was thrust into combat, nothing escaped her, and nothing survived an encounter with her. She quickly grasped at the M6D she kept on the nightstand and pointed it at the door, which quickly slid shut. She scanned her room for intruders, but found none. Her mind was racing, but she stayed calm, she had to. Elites in camouflage? She could not see the shimmering outline that always marked them. Why would Elites be here? Did they know about her? But it made no sense, none at all. Something was here and she couldn't- Her mind stopped as she felt something jump to her side. She looked down slowly to see what was threatening her.

The gray and white tabby looked at her with its blue eyes and simply meowed.

She rubbed her eyes, and after realizing she was not imagining things, stretched an arm to pet it. It craned its neck into her hand as she scratched its chin and flopped over on the side of her stomach.

"Kitty!" she said, then cringed at the embarrassing outburst.

Sliding out of bed, she picked up the cat and cradled it, walking out into the lounge. It was about 6 in the morning, so the other two were already up.

"Look what I found!" she exclaimed.

"I see you met Artemis," Unc chuckled.

"Artemis?"

"Goddess of the hunt. She normally was surrounded by dogs or cats. Closest thing to a cat god the Greeks had. If it was black, I would have named it Bastet, but I never cared for Egypt anyway."

"She's adorable."

Ian grinned.

"When I went to get those parts last night, one of Jimmy's neighbors came over. He was trying to get rid of some barn cats he didn't need, so… yeah. Neutered, shots up to date. Got a litter box and some food. She's in good hands."

"She is," Eleanor said, walking over to the lounge's table and put Artemis down.

She flopped over as the Spartan rubbed her stomach, and as far away as he was, he could hear purring. Unc nudged Ian's side and leaned in.

"Those are some nasty scars she's got."

"I can imagine becoming a Spartan isn't pleasant."

"She seems happy though."

"Yeah."

He watched her playing with Artemis, seeming to have no care in the world. He put his tea down and just looked at her, watched her be a normal person. One would never know she was a Spartan if not for the scars and her physique. He sighed and fought through the pain to smile.

She looked absolutely gorgeous.