"Never thought I would fight alongside a split-lip, but we both know stranger shit's happened."

"Probably saved us the war."

"It was crazy, Eleanor. We were dropped behind their lines, had the OP set up and everything, first attack we did. Me and three others in the stick were ready to raise hell at an emplacement they set up, watching the Covies for an opening. Then one of the Brutes hears something over their radio or whatever. Then he swings one of those massive hammers on an Elite in armor. The others pick up what's going on and start shooting or slicing through everything. Grunts and Jackals were trying to figure out what was going on or who to side with. Then Jimmy Whitaker says "Hell with it" and blows one of the Brutes' heads off with a 99 and reveals our position. I tell him he's a dumb prick and to cease fire."

"Actually Ian, you can call me Ellen. It would be easier, just like before."

"Ellen. Ok. Anyways, you remember Jimmy, right?"

"The one who always talked about hunting in the Bull-Ba-Berlaoh?"

"Bulawayo. He says "I think the Elites are on our side now." Now, the rest of us are staring at him like he's insane, but he always had a knack for things, so I tell him if we die it's his fault. So he stays back and keeps picking off the other Brutes and we go forward, guns blazing. All hells broken loose, Grunts killing Jackals, Jackals killing Elites, Elites killing Brutes. Then one of those gold armored Split-Lips looks at me after I put two in a gorilla's skull, and he gets knocked down by what I guess was their leader, judging by the hammer. Flat on his back, he knicks the hair off the bastard's chin with an energy sword and says something in their language. King Kong then laughs and gets ready to smash the golden boy's chest in. I put the last five rounds in his chest, just pisses him off of course, then-swoosh! Golden boy cuts the bugger's head off. Other gorillas see this and start trying to get away, but the Elites didn't have any of that and finish them off."

Ellen raised an eyebrow at his story.

"Really?"

"Swear on my heart. Anyway, the golden boy stands up and looks me over. Course, I got an empty mag, so I'm thinking "All this time, and now I die?" Then he nods at me and says "You have my thanks, human" in perfect English! Then his buddies all come around and start talking to them in their language. Then they all hear this broadcast and-"

Ian looked out into the coffee plants in the field.

"Have you ever seen a scared Elite?"

"I can't say I have."

"I did. They all were. As if they couldn't believe what was happening. Golden boy then says "Our brethren are trying to kill us all. If our species are to survive, we must stand together, human." I look at the others and just say "You don't shoot us, we don't shoot you." Spent the rest of the war fighting alongside that golden boy. Zase Luvru. One of the good ones now. He's fighting the remnants with that Arbiter fellow now."

"I see."

There was a brief silence between the two, the windmill still creaking.

"And you?"

"Various ops. Place to place. Wherever I was needed. Got rushed to Earth right after your award ceremony. North America mostly. Ever hear of a place called Havana?"

"Only in songs."

"From what I've heard, after the battle you couldn't tell the difference from before and after."

Ian chuckled, a slight grin on his face.

"Did your men celebrate when they got the news about the war being over?"

"It was… strange. The guns went silent, and we all kind of just sat down or took our helmets off. Honestly, I thought it would never end. Zase looked over at me after a few minutes and said "It has never been so quiet." Then we got back to HQ and Colonel Pearce ordered a formation to give the formal announcement, read it, then just scratched his head and walked off."

"That's unlike him. He always knew what to say, even when you and your regiment were in the worst of it."

"Yeah. Added to the surreal-ness. I went over to his tent to talk to the RSM and the Colonel looked at us both and said "What the hell do we do now?" Then the Pelicans came down to pull us off world, said my goodbyes to Zase and his friends, and then got shipped back here."

He tapped the steps and sniffed.

"I looked you up on the casualty list. You were MIA."

"Yes, you said so. I was listed that for a few months."

"What happened?"

She brushed her hair and sighed.

"Pelican went down when I redeployed to Kenya. Comms in my helmet were out, and the net was a mess. Fought with a couple of stranded Marines and other troops until the peace was announced. You would think with all the effort they put into us, the UNSC would know where they left a Spartan or two."

"UNSC couldn't figure out their arse from their elbow, let's be honest."

"When the peace was announced, I didn't know what to do. I felt-" she tried to find the right word. "Empty. All my life was war, all my being. And now it's just over."

Ian looked at her, her face a mix of confusion and sadness.

"I finally had time to think, to remember, to wonder. I honestly started to think that-" she chuckled. "That someone had a chip or something in my brain that they turned off when the fighting stopped."

"Did they?"

"Not that I know. But the survivors I was fighting with just tried to get back to their commanders, anyone. I relieved them and just walked off. Just followed the roads, past the bodies and the wreckage."

"Jesus."

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed his shoulder, feeling like a tank landing on it with her armor.

"I want something. I'm not sure what."

"That's a tall order. You might've asked someone else, like a therapist or something. I'm dealing with my own issues, so I might not be much help."

She looked at the ground and shook her head.

"I had nowhere else to go or find anyone else who I could trust. I remembered you offered me a place to stay. And after being with you and your unit for three years-"

Ian held up a hand.

"Point taken. And you're staying. Don't listen to what that old fossil says if he thinks otherwise."

They were silent again.

"Well, I may not be able to help you get what you want, but you can help this farm get back in shape."

"It doesn't look all that bad."

"It's fairly easy with all the tech we have. But things like maintaining the machines, mending the fences, the wildlife preserve and all that. I'll need an extra pair of hands. He's half useful at best," he said, jerking a thumb at the house.

"I see."

"It's only midday, so we can go work on that fence a bit. It's just putting in some new posts and stringing wire."

She shrugged.

"It sounds like a good first step at being useful."

"It sure is. That extra room is yours, as far as I'm concerned. That bed may actually be big enough for you. Not the one on the left of the lounge, at the back. And not the door on the right, that's mine, and it's a restricted area."

She nudged him as gently as she could given her physique and Mjolnir.

"Glad to know your sense of humor's intact."

"Now I got to ask, are you going to wear that armor all the time or-"

"I was given a few sets of civilian clothes that will fit me. I am officially in reserve status, with the ability to live in the civilian world as long as I see fit, so I was given a farewell package for re-integration."

"How benevolent of our Earth born overlords. I'll load up the Hog while you get changed. Probably will just have to re-dig some fence posts and other junk."

"Got it. I'll be out in a minute.

"Take your time, no rush. This isn't the military anymore."

She nodded and stomped into the farmhouse, not on purpose, but Mjolnir armor was capable of anything except being light. Ian chuckled as he checked the fence posts in the Hogs bed before heading over to the toolshed, grabbing a post hole digger and a strand of metal wire. Tossing both alongside the fence posts, he looked up at the sunny sky before realizing he needed water. Pulling two old canteens out of the Hogs door pocket, which he filled up at the pump and took a sip. Not the best tasting stuff, but it beat the plastic bottles they packaged in the emergency rations back on Earth, at least according to his mother. He leapt in the driver's seat and tapped the wheel, waiting for Ellen. He was about to get worried when he heard the farmhouse doors open. He turned to make a joke about her taking so long, and-

He did a double take. It was a simple set of clothes, light tan t-shirt and greenish BDU pants.

"Something wrong?" she said, noticing his confused glare.

"Didn't see you in that get up much."

"Wasn't all that social."

"Yeah, but most of the time you were in armor."

"Most of my time out of combat was either sleeping, training, or stasis, now that I think about it. Am I impressive to you?"

He weighed his words carefully, not sure how to answer. On the one hand, she was certainly above and beyond, a tall intimidating figure on her own. But given the rumors of the scale of augmentations that Spartans went through, she looked remarkably normal. Some hard to distinguish scars, others very obvious and certainly surgical in nature, but nothing like the steroidal, ludicrously built body some believed. Fit, extremely athletic, more than Olympian, but not unattractively so. Attractive? He was somewhat loath to admit it, but she looked… fine. Damn fine.

"Well my taxes paid for your creation, so I bloody well hope so. By the way, I like the haircut."

"The pixie style only goes so far until you get tired of it," she said while jumping in the Hog. "I won't ask to drive for now."

"After that mission on Epirus, I don't think I'll ever let you drive anything if I'm riding along."

"It was only one Warthog," she said flatly.

"That you wrapped around a tree in a way that the mechanics had to play crash scene analysis. Do you know how hard it is to break one of those? It was considered impossible before you did it."

"But I did it with gusto," she retorted, much to his amusement as they pulled away from the farmhouse.

XXXXXX

The sun was beating down on them, but Ian could not help but still be amazed by his new roommates work ethic. He should have known better given half of the stories about the Spartans he heard and the miracles Ellen had performed in front of his eyes, but it still blindsided him. It was only 6 at night, and they had finished what would've taken him and Unc a few days and she had not even broken a sweat. As she replaced another fencepost, he finished stringing up some wire.

"What exactly is this for?" she asked as she tossed a 40 pound block of wood like a stick.

"The fences? To keep the Innies out."

"What?"

"An old joke. Mostly for the zebras and lions. Zebras eat the crops, lions might get the zebras. Or us."

"Are the Insurrectionists an issue here?"

"Not really. Most rural people are happy as long as the lights are on, the foods plentiful and cheap, and the waters clean. Urban folks are more revolutionary, but they've not been a problem since '37. Liberation Front had its back broken then."

"I heard something about the Front. Shouldn't you be worried about them?"

Ian pulled the wire cutters away and sighed.

"In the cities, they recruit educated city folk to lead, and get poor rural folk or shanty towners to fight their battles. They'll talk about revolution, then send those kids barely able to shoot straight to die fighting the militia or the police in droves. It used to be tougher in my dads day. You could kill a hundred rebels but as long as they had one comrade colonel, they'd keep going out to fight. But they've had nothing but misguided college kids in command recently, the old guard was actually smart."

"I see."

She put another pole down and buried the bottom of it before looking back at him.

"Are you an Insurrectionist?"

Ian looked at her, twinged with a bit of fear. She was staring at him grimly, as if she could read his thoughts. He had no love for Earth, a planet he had only seen in photos and heard stories from his parents, and even less for the idiots in charge. Even the UNSC, which he fought and bled serving, was thought of with ambivalence. He fought the Covies for mankind's survival, not for any politics. He hated terrorists, so he could never join any of the fronts, but if there was a political solution-

"Ian?"

"W-well-"

Her grim features vanished as she smiled.

"I was joking."

"Oh. Oh! Ha! Nearly got me there, didn't you!" he chuckled.

She finished placing the post as he went back to finish the wire. He had been a bit terrified of her, which considering her abilities, was hardly something to be ashamed of. If there was anyone on Dzimba not to piss off or give a reason to not like you, she was probably the one. Even after all they had been through, all those missions, that she could scare him was a testament to her superhuman strength. The last time his heart had skipped a beat like that was- He stopped twisting the wire as he realized something. His heart had not skipped when she asked him that, or during the long silence as he tried to come up with an answer.

It was when she smiled at him.

He frowned in disbelief, trying to rationalize what happened. He had seen her with her helmet off plenty of times, in her dress uniform and in barracks dress, and despite what some believed, Spartans were not uncaring androids. He'd seen her smile plenty of times, hell, even made jokes. Not funny ones, but still. Stunted in many ways emotionally, stoic to the point some considered them sociopathic, but they were still human. He looked back at her, seeing she was down on one knee, pulling the wire through the post. She stopped for a moment and brushed her hair away. He blinked as he looked at her. Was she always that pretty? She had a nice face and all, but…

"Bloody hell," he grunted.

She was a Spartan for God's sake! Hell, he knew men who outright avoided being anywhere near her in the DLI, put off by the sheer size and strength that seemed inhuman. But he never was afraid of her. He told himself it was the result of being alone with no woman out in the middle of nowhere, maybe the sun. He shook his head and stood up.

"You almost finished?"

"Just need you to tie the wire."

"Will do. Are you hungry?"

"I…" she started before rubbing her cheek. "Can't remember the last time I ate."

"Well there's some sandwiches. Roast beef, good stuff. Bag in the back of the Hog. I'll finish this up and join you. Appreciate it, saved me and Unc a lot of time."

"My existence is to help my fellow man."

"Yeah, I think they had fence-mending in mind when they trained you."

She walked back to the vehicle as he finished the last bits of wire. It did not take long at all, and in no time he was back on his feet and looking inside the cooler in the back. Ellen was sitting in the bed, looking towards the horizon as the sun lowered. He stood next to the wheel and got ready to jump in when she noticed him.

"It's pretty," she said.

"Sunsets are always nice here. Dad told me that the ones in Zimbabwe were just like it. "Proof that God blessed Africa. Shame about the people." I think he had a point."

He lifted himself into the bed and sat next to her before he reached back into the cooler and pulled the sandwiches out before handing her one.

"Courtesy of our neighbor Piet. He raises cattle."

"So he's a cowboy?"

"Yes, but never say that to his face, he hates being called that. Afrikaners are a prickly bunch, if you remember."

"I remember the one that liked using the 319. I don't think I've seen anyone as accurate with a grenade launcher."

"Janni," he said with a smirk. "He's a riot cop in Krugersburg now. Piet's his brother actually."

"Interesting."

He looked in the cooler again for drinks and found a couple bottles of beer, and two cans of soda, one of them-

"Oh God, I told him to throw that piss away. It's bloody undrinkable."

"What is?"

He pulled a greenish can from the cooler and sneered.

"This soda. It's awful, but he and his buddies don't get why I think that. And I'll spare you the misery."

"I want to try it."

"You really shouldn't."

"But I want to."

He was about to argue, but maybe it was best not to with someone like her. He shook his head and handed the can over, which she cracked open and took a swig. It only took a second for her face to contort as she spat it out in a misty spray, coughing and spluttering as she did so while pouring the can out on the dirt road.

"It tastes like Cryo-Inhalant!"

Whenever a human went into cryo-stasis, to keep nutrients in and the subject in good condition upon awakening, a special liquid had been created to ensure they were intact and still of use when the pod opened. To its creators credit, it did work. To their discredit, all their attempts to make it taste decent had failed miserably. Imagine the most revolting thing you could swallow then vomit, but with an added lime taste.

"I warned you, and now look at yourself. All the things we did together, and the one time you don't listen…"

"Sorry."

"It tastes fine to people who have never had the privilege of going into stasis. But those who do, well, you figured it out."

She grumbled as she tried to rid the taste from her mouth. A canteen appeared in her peripheral vision, which she gladly took.

"Didn't know if you drank beer, but water's better for that anyway."

She swished some of it in her mouth and spat again.

"What about the others?"

"That you know? Well, Sebastian is now a surgeon over at Saint Anthony's. Always was good with a scalpel. Did his first heart transplant before we went on exercises. Lucky guy's gonna live another twenty thanks to him. Colonels in charge of the militia here, and Oliver is his RSM. When the LI got de-mobilized, most went home, some went and joined the other units we have, and a few just vanished. I try to stay in touch with the ones in 2nd Commando."

"What about that one who was good with the explosives? Herbert? I thought he was amusing."

Ian's face sank a little as she looked at him after a painfully long silence.

"Tinashe. He was already a bit… off, between all the things we did and saw, and I think the shockwave of all those blasts probably damaged his brain, CTE or whatever it's called, Seb told me about it. Well, a couple months after the war ends and we all come home, his wife took his truck and the kid. Getting groceries in the town they lived in, when they get slammed by a drunk asshole decided he could drive home from the bar after a six hour bender. They... didn't make it."

Ellen's eyes looked at the truck bed for a moment. She was as bad at showing emotions as any of her fellows, but she still had them.

"Lost what little sanity he had left after that. I met him up just to check a few weeks after the funeral. He seemed fine. Laughing, saying it hurt, but he was dealing with it. Said goodbye when he grabs and hugs me. Said it was an honor to serve with me. I-"

He hit his head on the back of the Hog's driver seat.

"I should have known, or said something. Next day I got a call, police did a wellness check when he didn't show up for work. Put his mouth around a shotgun barrel and pulled the trigger with his toe. Left a note saying he was never going to be alright again."

He rubbed his face and shook his head before looking at her. But for the first time, he saw something more than her normally blank or curious face. There was a slight twinge of regret, maybe even grief.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"He got buried next to his wife and kid. I think it was for the better, in a messed up way."

He took a sip of beer and looked at the sunset.

"Have you ever thought about that?" she asked.

"What, being buried?"

"Committing…"

It was as if she couldn't finish it, either out of pain or just not wanting to say the word. He thought for a moment and shrugged.

"No. I got a farm to care for, a drunk uncle to manage, and my mom's already got a broken enough heart after dad passed. And you know me, going out easy was never my style."

"I would prefer it if you didn't joke about that."

He was slightly taken aback by this. Of all things to get upset over, a little black humor? She had never been like that before, so it was better to be diplomatic.

"Sorry. But no, I'm stable. I got things to care about."

They watched the sunset a bit longer before she sat up a bit.

"Ian, do you remember what you always told me whenever we headed out?"

"I got you covered," he said with a bit of pride. "And you always said "Same here." I may have been injured, but nothing brain related. Far as I know at least."

"That still stands, even if we're not fighting anymore. If anything is bothering you, or you feel like you're alone-"

She stopped, frowning as she tried to figure out the right words.

"I was happy to find out you were alive. A way to think about it is that I've said more in these last few minutes than I did for a few weeks on Earth. You're the closest thing I have to a friend that isn't a fellow Spartan."

Ian smiled and tapped her shoulder.

"Feeling's mutual. I'm glad you're ok. Even gladder you're here."

"Actually, I'm still alive because of you."

"How so?"

"Remember when you had your award ceremony?"

"Same day that the fighting on Reach started."

"I had originally been assigned there, but when you asked me to pin the Colonial Cross on you, I got permission to stay for it. When Reach got attacked, I was sent to Earth to help defend it."

Her face turned grim.

"A lot of Spartans were on Reach. Barely any got off it. So I owe you for that, in an odd way."

"You're welcome. And we've been through enough that I can't figure out who owes who at that point. Epirus, Cydonia, Scipii-"

"Skye, Gaia, Nirvana," she replied.

"Nirvana was a fluke," he said looking at her and pointing his finger.

"You thought you could do our normal ops without me. Good reminder that you aren't a Spartan."

"Fine. Then Criterion…" he said with a smirk.

Something odd happened when he mentioned that last mission between them. She tensed up, quickly avoiding his gaze and facing the sun. He was about to ask, when he realized that maybe her getting caught in a situation like that was a source of embarrassment or anger. He didn't stay on the subject and cleared his throat.

"How about we stay here until the sun goes down, then go back to the farm? We'll find something to do before we head to sleep."

"Sounds good to me," she said quietly.

So they sat there as the sun set over Dzimba.

XXXXXX

"You sure you want to head out on your own ma'am? I know the fighting's over, but the Brutes don't exactly understand what peace is, and there's still some stragglers out there."

"I can handle myself, sergeant. Thank you for the offer."

"Of course. Well, hopefully you find someone to get you out of here. Never thought I'd see Kenya in such a state."

"We won, and we'll rebuild. Good luck."

"Thank you ma'am."

The Marine leader jogged off, gathering the ragtag group of soldiers, sailors, and Marines he had collected to help fight the Covenant, or the Brutes, or whoever was trying to destroy his homeworld. She was relieved as he did so, finding his rigid adherence to the ranks and chain of command constricting and unpalatable. Spartans were never ones for set leadership, and her time with the Light Infantry, who though professional and highly respectful of tradition, had never felt as tightly controlled. She blinked under her helmet, amused by her memories of the strange unit she had been assigned to these past few years. It was nice to have some silence. She slung the two parts of the SR-99, her preferred weapon, over her shoulder and just… walked. Where? She did not know. For the first time in a long while, she had no orders, objectives, or anyone telling her what to do. It would not last, as she knew, so she would enjoy it while she could.

The first day, she found pieces of the great New Mombasa Tether. That the rings had been flung so far away was a testament to the once great achievement, and the great destruction the Covenant had wreaked upon the Earth. She was somewhere north of Voi, probably in the middle of Kenya. Her orientation and bearing were a bit off, and having been MIA for a few weeks, one learned how important the flow of constant information one relied on in the 26th century. She passed a sign that said something about the land ahead being a national park and to respect the wildlife. She wondered if any of the animals inside were dangerous, or were even still there. Nearly the entire population of Earth had been evacuated before the Covenant arrived, had the fauna been as well? She did not dwell on the thoughts long, and as night fell, she found an abandoned game rangers shack to shelter.

The second day was marked by rain. The damage the attack on Earth had done was an ecological catastrophe to put it lightly. Checking if the rain was acidic enough to cause any injury or damage and determining it was safe, she continued north. She had found an old compass in the shack and decided to continue heading one way. She kept walking through the long grass and still pristine trees of the park. To the south, all had been destroyed to reveal an ancient structure that would take even the finest minds of mankind or the Sangheili years to figure out why it was there. She had found a group of Brutes that had escaped the vicious fighting near Mombasa and Voi, and had quickly eliminated them. The only animals she saw were the buzzards that came to feast on their remains. She had heard stories about the appetite of the Covenant aligned race, and briefly wondered if they ate the former inhabitants. She hoped not. For all her emotional constraint, she found any who brought harm to animals, who had no concept right or wrong, judgment, or hatred in their hearts, were deserving of whatever fate that awaited them. That night, she stayed in the rear of a crash-landed Pelican.

The third day was the same as the last two: waking and moving north. She wondered why north. Why not south? Or east and west? She had no answer, but she continued. The Pelican was an early sign of what lay ahead of her, as the edge of what she later learned was the South Kitui Reserve had been the site of a vicious skirmish during the first Battle of Mombasa. Wrecks of vehicles, ground and air, covered the ground before her. She was about to continue when she detected movement a few hundred meters ahead. She crouched and snuck behind a ruined Ghost, assembling her SR99 in preparation. When traveling long distances, she removed the barrel from the rest of the rifle, making it easier to transport. Sliding the barrel into the other half, she tightened it using a 14.5mm round as a wrench to fasten the barrel in, a design quirk of the older 99's taught to her by-

She stopped assembling for a moment. She wondered if he was alright. The last news about his unit was they were sent to some inner colony that hid a massive arms depot for emergencies. It gnawed at her a bit, but she quickly regained composure and after checking the barrel, aimed down the scope. She relaxed immediately as all she found was human forms. Civilians. Some wearing bright vests, others plainclothes. A few were lifting what seemed to be heavy bags onto a truck. She was unsure what they were doing, and part of her wanted to avoid them. She was never comfortable around civilians. They never understood her and she did not understand them at best, at worst, they treated her like a hero despite knowing nothing about her. But there was a part of her that felt a desire to help. She spent a minute arguing with herself before the angel on her shoulder finally won. Taking apart the rifle, she moved towards a few of them.

"I'm detecting three here. Should we get the excavator?"

"It's over on the other side of our search zone. Dammit, at least the Warthogs are easy to flip."

"If we had someone strong enough…"

The two facing the shattered half of a Scorpion had their backs to her, and the one presumably supervising them, a middle-aged woman focused on her datapad, was too busy to notice her. She was torn between stepping in, or letting them know she was there. The angel was 2 for 2 that day. She cleared her throat, the two turning to her.

"I can help."

They gaped at her, astonished not only that someone had snuck up on them, and no less than a Spartan.

"Uh…"

"M-Margaret? Y-you're gonna want to see this!"

The supervisor looked up from her datapad and looked the newcomer over.

"Spartan?" she asked with nonchalance, surprising her.

"Yes."

"Are you here to shoot us for violating something?"

"I-I'm here to help you."

Margaret shrugged in acceptance.

"We'd appreciate it."

Her accent was English, the type that one thought of when discussing them. High-brow, prideful.

"What do you need me to do?"

"We have three under that tank, or what's left of it. Can you lift it?"

"Yes."

"If you wouldn't mind," she said, waving her on.

She moved to the wreck and grabbed a barely intact track protector. The Scorpion had landed upside down, the turret buried in the dirt. She heaved, and though it took more effort than usual, it was still possible, more than one could say for a normal human. Then the metal gave way, and she was able to nearly toss the tank upright. It landed with a crash, sitting upright as it would in service. She looked at the canopy, its windows cracked. She then looked down at the ditch it formed and saw-

"There's two of them. Thanks."

Corpses. Wearing the uniform of the UNSC Marines. Her mouth went dry for a moment. The two pulled bags out, and gingerly lifted the two bodies and laid them ready for sealing. They pulled one dogtag from each corpse before zipping them up and lifting them out one at a time. She walked around the ditch, and opened the canopy to the Scorpion. She was thankful for her Security pattern helmet, as the body had begun decomposing. But there was still enough there to recognize a young woman in BDU's, her eyes closed, but her mouth hanging open. A splotch of dried blood ran from her lips to her chin. She reached in and disconnected the harness holding her there, and lifted the body out of the seat. She hoped the remains would not fall apart as she did so, and thankfully it stayed intact. She looked down to find Margaret standing there, holding a bodybag in her right hand.

"Thank you."

"Yes ma'am."

She normally avoided civvies, but this one… was familiar, but she was unsure how. Opening the bag, Margaret lifted a mask to protect herself and motioned for the body to be put inside, which she did so without question before pulling a dogtag off and zipping it up. She handed the metal tag over.

"1LT Angelina Galtieri. Argentina. Catholic."

The woman placed a hand over her heart and whispered a prayer before staring at the bag for a little longer before she turned to face her new assistant.

"Are you just passing by?"

"I… don't know."

"If you want to stay and help us, I've no issue. It's not easy or nice work, but I've been doing this for a few weeks. The only pay I can promise is the satisfaction of giving peace to the families who lost their loved ones. We've recovered a few hundred from here, so far a couple thousand in total across Kenya."

"I would-" she paused. "Like to stay. I would like to help."

"Glad to hear it."

She stuck out a hand, covered with a surgical glove.

"Margaret Walls. I'm with the Remembrance and Recovery Group."

She started for a second, once again thankful the helmet hid her face. He had never said much to her about his mother, not even her name, but… no. The accent wasn't from there. What were the chances? And Walls was not a rare last name. She gingerly took the hand and briefly shook it.

"Spartan-074."

"Nice to meet you, but I would hope you have a name."

"UNSC policy is that you call me by my number designation."

"That's a bit inhumane, isn't it?"

"My... name is Eleanor.

The two looked at the bag for a few more moments.

"How about I call you Eleanor when no one's around, but I tell the others to follow your wishes?"

"That breaks protocol."

"I'm not a soldier. And thank God I'm not."

She had a feeling this woman was not the type to take no for an answer, and decided to err on the side of caution.

"I… accept. Should I take the body over?"

"I'll follow you."

The two moved to the large truck, filled with bags. There must have been fifty or so. She gently placed what remained of Lieutenant Galtieri on top of another bag, and stepped back.

"Thank you for showing respect. The others sometimes forget we're handling the dead and just throw them willy-nilly. Bloody disgraceful, but they are volunteers."

"What do you do with them?"

"The truck takes them to mobile storage sites. Then the family is notified and it'll be transported and delivered for proper burial when the evacuees come home."

"Very organized."

"We pride ourselves on helping this way. I would want the same for my son. He's in the Army, and I don't even know where he is or if he's alive. I wish he fought here on Earth, and I especially hope I'm not the one who stumbles across what's left of him one day on some godforsaken colony."

She was almost scared to ask, but pushed ahead.

"What's your son's name?"

Margaret smiled sadly.

"Ian. His name's Ian."

XXXXXX

Ian awoke in a better shape and mood than the day before, his knees seeming to have recovered fully, and his headache was gone. He slid out of bed groggily, rubbing his hands through his close cropped hair. He hated having it cut short again, but he had to keep up with the standards of grooming until his militia contract ended. He was only wearing boxers as he left his bedroom, finding his uncle's door shut, but unable to dampen the buggers thunderous snoring. The first dinner the three had spent together was focused less on eating than Eleanor trying to keep the man from drinking himself unconscious, Ian working to help her as much as he could. It was not helped when he told stories about his various female conquests in his younger days, even less when he was leering at the Spartans chest. He could not blame the old bastard, but still, table manners. He was still trying to wake up as he stumbled into the bathroom, stripping what little clothes he had and throwing them into the laundry bin. He opened the shower door, feeling steam on his skin, standing under the warm water washing the previous day's sweat and grime off of him. It was a feeling he learned to appreciate during those long days in the field, or on the troopships that moved from combat zone to combat zone, some of which had their water heating systems damaged or worn thin by the amount of times they were-

His eyes shot open, and all feelings of exhaustion left him, like a drunk who suddenly went sober. Why was the water already on? Why was it steamy in the bathroom? And why did he feel like somebody was watching…him.

"Oh dear God," he whispered before slowly turning to look behind him.

"Good morning Ian."

He snapped his head forward, having only caught a glimpse of his new housemate.

"G-good morning…Ellen."

He was unable to move, frozen in sheer shock, embarrassment, and a bit of terror.

"Uh-I'll… just get out and let you do what you need to do."

He opened the shower door and was about to step out when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"It's alright. We'll conserve water if we shower together."

"W-w-we don't need to do that, I assure you. Let me-"

"Here's your soap. I borrowed it, I apologize, but I couldn't find anything else."

"...thanks."

He tried to make an effort to scrub himself, but found it more difficult with every moment. Eleanor on the other hand, judging by what he heard given he was too shocked to move his head, had an easier time of it.

"Can I have the soap back?"

"Y-yeah."

He held it over his shoulder, where it was quickly taken. Regaining some sense of urgency, his hands darted for the shampoo, quickly covering his hair. But no sooner had he rinsed his hair, he felt a hand on his back, giving the feeling of an electric shock through his body.

"You missed a spot on your back."

"Appreciate it," he mumbled.

He was finishing off the shampoo, but he was unable to move, almost scared stiff. Stiff. He swallowed before tilting his head down to see his throbbing-

"Goddammit," he muttered.

"Is something wrong?"

"A lot actually, but nothing you can help."

He opened the shower door and nearly leapt out, tying a towel around him, unsure how much of the beads on his forehead was sweat or water.

"Oh, Ian?" she called out.

"Y-yeah?"

"Do you have an extra razor I could take?"

"F-for what?"

"Shaving. I may be a Spartan, but body hair in some places is a bridge too far for me. I am a woman after all."

"I-I noticed."

He looked through a drawer under the sink and dug through his mothers belongings. He grunted as he found a pack of women's razors and pulled a fresh one out.

"Here, compliments of my mother," he said while opening the door and handing it to her.

"I'll thank Margaret eventually."

"Yeah, you sho- wait, how do you know my mums name?"

There was a momentary silence as Ian tried to remember if he ever told her about-

"You showed me a picture of your parents once, remember?"

"Oh."

"Is there anything pressing you need help with today?"

"N-not as far as I know. When Unc gets up we'll find out."

"Alright. By the way, my door kept opening up last night, I think there's something wrong with it."

"I'll get to it today."

"Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"Knock next time. Please."

He rushed out of the bathroom and into his own room, closing the door and then sliding down it, his head in his hands. He was embarrassed, angry, and utterly confused. Why didn't she just throw or force him out? Why did he bother trying to look at her? And why did he get…

"Son of a bitch," he hissed.

He looked over at his bed and saw a datapad marked "Medical Records" sticking out, the anger suddenly taking a hold of him. That quack therapist filling his head with ideas about her. There was a thought of going back there to apologize, to say something, but the thought of walking in on her stepping out of the shower was-

"Goddammit!"

He stood up, stepped to his rooms sink and threw cold water on his face. He looked at the battered reflection in the mirror and sighed. Maybe having her around was harder than he thought it would be.

He groaned at the poor choice of words.