Ian's face was pale, stuck in a position of grim terror.
"How much did I drink?"
"Six pints of beer, a few shots of whiskey, and a margarita," Ellen dutifully informed him.
"I drank a margarita? Jesus, I must have really been drunk."
It had been two days since the ceremony, a nice, calm day of perfect weather with nothing to do. Ian had been slightly terrified to know what hell he raised in New Harare, but finally decided to ask.
"Did… I make a fool of myself?"
She weighed her answer in her head.
"You may have violated a few rules on fraternization."
"With who?"
"The ODST liaison officer. Lieutenant Lumi… something. I couldn't pronounce her last name. Swedish, I believe."
"Häyhä. Finnish, actually," he said, embarrassment in his voice.
"Well, you certainly took a liking to her. And she took one to you."
Ian swallowed.
"Just flirting, right?"
"I'm afraid not. I may have had to pull your hands out from under her uniform. Shirt and pants."
"Oh God," he mumbled. "Thank you for saving me from myself."
"Of course. I do understand, you always did have a taste for Helljumpers, judging by your reading material."
Ian looked at her in confusion.
"Pardon?"
"When you asked me to get your DMR the other day, I found those copies of "At Ease." The one with Trooper Tina, and the one with the O-Double D-ST edition. I did like the pun."
Ian's face turned ashen as he realized what she was talking about.
"W-w-well I've been holding onto those f-for Janni, he just never picked them up."
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not!"
"What are you two arguing about now?" Unc said, rubbing his grey stubble as he made coffee in the Greek style, of course.
"Nothing!" Ian hurriedly said.
"You finally get all that alcohol out of your system? I could barely move you yesterday."
"It's been a while since I had a hangover Unc, give me a break."
"I lived half these last few years in a drunk or hungover haze, you're being a wimp."
"I am not a bloody-"
He looked over at Ellen, her face one of disapproval.
"Whatever. I'm fairly sober now, and I don't have that goddamn headache."
"Good to hear," Unc said as he vanished into his room.
Ian looked back at the Spartan and diverted his gaze in slight shame.
"So… you knew about my stash and didn't say anything?"
"Why would I? It's just a bit surprising, given how much you denigrate them."
"I can't explain it either. Maybe I like women in armor."
Ellen bit her lip at the comment.
"Oh really?"
Ian's face turned from one of embarrassment to horror as he realized what he said.
"U-uh I-I mean, they have nice helmets! And maybe it's their mood, think about what kind of woman would want to drop out of a pod in orbit! I-I-Oh Christ."
He was trembling now, trying to keep himself together.
"Can I ask you something Ian?"
"S-sure."
"If a Spartan ever got a chance to be in one of those magazines, would you buy it?"
Some color returned to his face as he thought about it.
"Well yeah. For the oddity of it."
Ellen's face turned somewhat sad.
"I don't think anyone would like to see us out of armor. Scars and all that."
She was wearing her standard t-shirt and BDU pant set as she looked over the various imperfections on her flesh, some marble, others pink. The surgical scars were the worst, for their precision and uniformity. And on her back, that patchy skin graft that covered a plasma burn did little to help her self-esteem.
"I think you look fine. I know you've been through the wringer."
"You're too kind."
She paused and thought for a moment.
"How old do you think I am?"
"Uh- is this a trick question to embarrass me?"
"No. Just a guess."
He looked her over for a minute or two and shrugged.
"20's, maybe 30's."
She smiled at him.
"Good guess."
Of course, she and her comrades were far older. She must have been approaching her mid-40's, maybe 50, but the augments and stasis meant that she would look youthful for a long while. Then she thought of something from her friend's night of debauchery.
"There was another thing at the bar. They played a song, and you started crying. You were halfway through all your drinks."
"I Started A Joke," he said sadly. "Bee Gees. That was dad's favorite song, said I would understand it one day."
Ellen could sense a mix of grief and sadness from him.
"I finally did after he was gone. I-"
He controlled himself before he cleared his throat.
"I wish you could have met him."
"I know," she said meekly.
"You asked me about that magazine. Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly."
"You had a family before you got chosen as a Spartan. Do you know if they're still around?"
She froze, unable to speak. For a few moments, he thought she had a stroke or a seizure before she came back to life.
"I don't… know. And I don't want them to see me."
"Why not?"
"The recruitment… It was complicated. And the Eleanor they knew… she's dead. And I-just don't want to talk about it, I'm sorry."
She stood up and rushed away.
"Ellen, wait! I didn't mean-"
"It's alright, I just need to be alone for a little bit. And I need to get over to Piet's soon. Sorry."
The door to her room closed, Artemis looking at it before pawing in a vain attempt to get inside. Had he offended her? He felt a bit sick and shook his head before going back to his room. He moved to grab the magazines from under his bed, thinking he should burn them. He looked at the well-read one, the words "ODDST" on the front. He stared at it for a few moments before rolling his eyes and began looking for a new hiding spot.
"Bloody Helljumpers," he grumbled.
XXXXXX
As Eleanor spent the day watching the De Vries' children, Ian and his uncle inspected the coffee beans as they reached the last stages of drying before they were ready for sale.
"If we can actually offload all this, we'll be golden," Unc said with glee.
"What do you mean "if", the whole bloody point of doing this was because YOU said it would be a good idea," Ian said in exasperation.
"Well maybe I could be wrong?"
"If you are wrong, I'm getting Ellen to throw you out of the goddamn house."
"She wouldn't do that."
Ian shot him an angry glare as he looked up from his clipboard. He knew the old man was right, he had somehow convinced a UNSC super soldier to come to his side. He shook his head in disappointment as the last bag was cleared. It was almost dinner time, and the woman they spoke of would be coming back from babysitting soon. Satisfied, he jerked his head to the door as he headed out.
"What's the rush, boy?"
"Didn't know I was."
"Well, it's not like we have anything to do."
"Run a farm."
"What are the bots for?"
Ian rubbed his face and nodded.
"Why do I feel like you're trying to trap me into one of those "Let me give you wisdom" talks."
Unc smiled and sat on a bag of beans.
"That's because I am. Now let me give you some of that wisdom. Are you ready for it?"
"Oh God," Ian sighed.
"I think you need to realize that Ellen is not going to be staying around much longer."
"What?"
"She's… different, Ian. Spent all this time with us and still isn't entirely comfortable. I know what you're trying to do for her, and I can't decide if you're keeping her behind or she's forcing herself to stay. It's just not going to work. And you can tell she still has that itchy trigger finger."
"I disagree. She's finally relaxed, and she can do what she wants! And this is what she wants, why she's with us, why she came all the way to Dzimba, and-"
"What if she's just telling you that? So you don't get worried or upset?"
He opened his mouth to answer, unable to find any. For the first time since she had moved in with them, he felt doubt to the level that he was seriously starting to question not only her, but himself.
"Boy, she's bright, she's capable of anything, and we're just here. I don't think farming or spending her life with us is exactly what someone like her wants to do."
"Maybe, but with all due respect, you weren't there. You didn't see the things I did, and I can't even imagine what she might have. Having peace and quiet, never having to kill again is exactly what I want."
"But is that what she wants? She's a trained killer, best at it among all of mankind. I don't know what the exact deal is with the Spartans, you don't either, and frankly, the less I know the better. But I'm not saying she is going to head off, but I want you to know that she may just do it one day, and you can't stop her."
Ian frowned and looked back at his uncle, a hint of defiance in both of his eyes apparent, even after his injuries.
"Well, if she wants to leave, she can bloody well tell me. And you know what, I might be able to stop her."
"Your funeral, boy."
"One I'd be willing to go to."
The sound of a truck pulling towards the house stopped the conversation, much to Ian's silent relief. Unc shrugged and put his pipe back in his mouth, striking a match as he took a puff. Despite her best efforts, he could be sober, but it would be a long while before he would kick tobacco.
"We don't talk about what just-"
"Christ boy, I was married twice, I know how to keep my mouth shut after talking about women!"
"Then what were the two divorces about?"
"They were better at keeping secrets. Well, I was bad at keeping them."
"I'm aware," Ian grunted as he stepped out of the warehouse.
Shielding his eyes before pulling a pair of well-worn aviator sunglasses, he coughed as the dust cloud left by the Spade finally caught up. With an effortless grace, Eleanor swung out of the driver's seat, waving to him as she did so. He checked the front and side, as if inspecting for any damage.
"Really?" she said disappointedly.
"I won't mention that one time, but there were three other instances of-"
"It's not funny anymore."
"It wasn't funny riding with you when you decided to drive through that Elite and his whole squad of Grunts and into the side of a cliff wall."
"That was improvising through challenging strategic circumstances."
"No," Ian sighed, "That was you driving into a wall."
Ellen rolled her eyes as Unc approached.
"Hi Arthur. I see you're smoking again."
"Aye, and what are you going to do-"
He stopped as he thought about what she could do about it and decided to simply nod and head inside the farmhouse.
"What's for dinner tonight?"
"Beef Wellington."
He looked at her in surprise.
"A few weeks ago, you couldn't trust yourself with chicken and rice soup, and now you're trying that?"
"Your uncle got filet mignon from the store the other day, I decided to put it to good use. I started it before I left today. But there's something we need to talk about. Now."
"Alright."
"Not here. Can anyone see into that warehouse?"
"No."
"Get inside, don't make it seem like you're suspicious of anything."
At first, he was concerned she was about to give the exact kind of talk his uncle had warned him about, but as her demeanor and tone changed, he became panicky. Though she was acting normal, he could tell from her eyes and manner that she was back to her old ways, and that was anything but good. He followed her into the warehouse, where he closed the door quickly.
"What's wrong?"
"Something," she said while pacing the concrete floor. "When I was watching the kids, I noticed one or two of the farmhands watching me. Almost monitoring."
"Maybe the sight of a Spartan was something they weren't used to?"
"No. It's not that. Somethings up, and I can't tell what it is."
"What do you think?"
"Could be anyone. Insurrectionists. Gang. Maybe…"
She paused and shuddered for a moment.
"ONI."
"I think you're being paranoid."
"Maybe. I don't know Ian, I haven't felt like this in a long while, even when I was back on Earth. I can just tell something's wrong."
"So, what do we do?"
"Stay alert. Be ready for anything."
Ian crossed his arms as he thought about this. On the one hand, he could just handwave her concerns off as the last vestiges of her Spartan training still taking hold of her mind. On the other… he had spent three years at her side, saving his life or warning him without fail. It didn't take long for him to conclude.
"All right. We're not fortifying the farmhouse, but I'll sleep with the R1 loaded. I'll try to convince Unc to get his shotgun ready."
"We don't want them to know we're prepared."
She paused and looked at him, the look on her face one all too familiar to him: one of preparation, ready for war. Ready to kill.
"Right. Well, we should just… act normal then, eh?"
"We should."
They moved to the warehouse door before he stopped.
"You think you should get your armor ready?"
"If the need arises, it's always ready."
"It'd be nice to see you in it again."
"You did say you liked women in armor."
He audibly swallowed and nervously chuckled, much to Ellen's unhidden amusement as they went outside.
XXXXXX
The stars lit the night sky as the fifteen men snuck through the wire on the outskirts of Avon Fields. Wearing an eclectic mix of camouflage and light clothing. They wore no identifying colors or insignia, not even having any form of identification. Unidentifiable, unknowable, unnoticed. Moving towards the dim lights that illuminated the farmhouse proper, the leader lifted a clenched fist, the group stopping. He turned to one of the men on his left and motioned him to come alongside.
"And your friend confirmed the woman's here?"
"She left the De Vries' a few hours ago, I doubt he'd be wrong on something like that."
"We should be hitting the De Vries. Rich Boers shouldn't be here."
"They support the cause, now shut your mouth, comrade."
Most of the group were Africans, children of the slums of New Harare, poor farmers who did not care what kind of work it was if it paid, and a few Europeans with dreams of freeing their home planet from the yoke of the UEG and were tired of the bloviating of politicians. Their commander had briefed and approved the mission, given by the high command in the capital and to be done to the letter. One of the white faces, darkened by shoe polish, moved to his other side.
"Commander, I need to say I don't think this is a good idea."
"Why?" he asked in a tone not of annoyance, but genuine curiosity.
"The wording of the orders- did that seem like a kill order to you? I think they meant trying to recruit this Walls' guy to our side."
The commander adjusted his beret and clenched his teeth. The one who brought it up was one of the smarter ones, a rarity given the nadir the DLF had hit after "The Cull", that day in 2537 when the helicopters and fast soldiers found their main headquarters and wiped out the command structure of the Front almost entirely. Given that poor showing and the patriotic frenzy that the Covenant threw the planet into for the tyrants on Earth, he had to take what he could get, and it normally was very poor. Most of the other members of his squad were about as bright as a cloudy night sky and were unknown to him following the Front secrecy protocol, but at least they followed his orders.
"It's what our officer said, so we have to accept that."
"Reach out to him doesn't strike me as "Infiltrate his farmstead and kill him." I apologize sir, I just-"
"The Front needs to remind the UNSC no one is untouchable, especially a war hero and his wife."
"File said he wasn't married, and the fact we still barely know anything about her worries me. We needed more intel."
"Hell with it. There's three of them, fifteen of us. Who here's the quickest and quietest we got? Maybe we can just send one guy into the farmhouse, pop him, and sneak away. Any takers?"
He looked at his ragamuffin squad and saw one hand raised up. Looking the volunteer over, he nodded before turning to the hesitant one.
"You know this guy?"
"Him? I went to school with him. Won us a couple track and field tournaments."
"Then why the hell is he here?"
"Attacked a cop. Record was ruined."
"Ah."
He pulled a silenced pistol, half plastic printing and the rest a collection of stolen parts, from his belt and handed it to the track star.
"Find him and kill him. Come back when you're done. If something happens, we'll move in."
The man nodded and snuck towards the farmhouse, his gait and demeanor better than his comrades, half of whom had laid down their weapons to sit and watch, others taking the opportunity to sleep.
"For fu- cover him! Jesus. Friggin amateurs," the commander grumbled.
The guerilla dodged the lights that illuminated the warehouse and the farmhouse, stopping in front of the veranda. There was a truck sitting in front of it, but as he placed a hand on the hood, he found it was cold. Whoever parked it there had left it a while ago, meaning no new surprises, at least in theory. He readied his pistol and moved slowly up the steps, finding a standard automatic door. He pulled out a hacking device that quietly opened it, stepping into a rather well-furnished lounge. He took a few steps in the dark before he heard an unfamiliar growl. He stopped and looked in all directions before seeing a gray and white cat at his feet. He tried to pet it, to calm it down or keep it quiet, but it hissed and batted at him.
"Stupid cat," he whispered, bringing the pistol up to silence the animal.
XXXXXX
A dull thud quickly thrust Ian from his sleep, nearly throwing himself out of bed and grabbing the locked and loaded Vektor R1 near his door. Readied with one hand, the other on the entryway, he pressed it open, rushing out and scanning the room. He quickly saw Ellen's frame, glowing from the lights coming through the front windows.
"What's going on?" he asked, battle rifle still at the ready as he approached her.
He looked down at her feet.
"Jesus Christ! Please tell me you didn't-"
"He was about to shoot Artemis, so I broke his neck. I told you something was off."
"Good lord."
Unc's door opened, its owner bleary eyed.
"What in God's name is-"
He quickly realized what Ian did and stared at the corpse, open mouthed.
"Holy shit."
"That's one way to put it. You got your shotgun ready?"
"Yeah," he said absentmindedly. "Christ, this isn't the '30s anymore, what the hell are they doing raiding farms?"
"What do you mean?" Eleanor asked, her face a distressingly blank expression.
"That get up and the tactics, that's a Liberation Front guy, no doubt."
Ian stood up from the body and looked at his uncle in disbelief.
"They haven't been a threat in years!"
"Well, that's one of them. I'll call the police. They're probably going to realize this fella isn't coming back and try to take us on-"
"Not if we counter-attack," she said.
The Walls looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
"We what?" Ian said.
"We can counterattack. Groups like this, from what I read in your father's library, move in fifteen or so man echelons. So, we're facing fourteen or more men waiting for this guy to report in, but we can get the drop on them."
Unc looked at his nephew, hoping he would talk reason into the Spartan, but was quickly disappointed.
"Alright. I'll get some light gear on and get some weapons out for you-"
"No time. Give me a knife."
"Just a knife?"
"One Spartan is worth a thousand enemies. And those were the ones who were trained."
Ian nodded and went back to his room, throwing on a chest rig with six magazines and one addition with a pair of cheap but dependable night vision goggles on his head. He handed the other piece over as he looked at it with a grin.
"Fairbairn-Sykes. Commando knife."
"Never left home without it, but you knew that, Petty Officer. Unc, call the cops, stay here and watch the door. And don't let them burn anything, you don't know what these bastards are willing to do."
"Aye. Are you actually going to-"
"Yep," she said as she snuck out through the garden door, Ian right behind.
Unc shook his head as he realized he was living with two absolute nutters, while outside in the field of harvested coffee trees, the man in the beret became more nervous with every passing moment.
"Where the hell is he?" the commander asked, concern in his voice.
"Dunno sir, we've been watching that front door, and no ones left or come back. I think we should move in."
"Yeah. Three fives. Take the left echelon."
"Sir."
Stirring or readying themselves, the group divided into 3-man groups, 5 troops in each. As the commander's group pushed forward, the others swung around from the left or right. Unfortunately, given the ramshackle and civilian nature of the Front, they had no reliable communications between each other, a constant issue that plagued their operations. At the very least, they had two advantages: surprise, at least as far as they could tell, and firepower. Armed with a mix of civilian weapons, such as single shotguns, hunting rifles, or pistols alongside "misplaced" or "requisitioned" military hardware such as submachine guns and battle rifles, if they couldn't surprise their enemy, they certainly could overpower them. The only thing that worried him was how the others would react if he was hit. He was able to lead them, but could they manage themselves? He doubted it. All he had to do to ensure success was to stay alive.
Unfortunately for the DLF, the first shot of the skirmish on Avon Fields was a 7.62mm NATO round that tossed chunks of his skull and brains across the brown dirt that nourished the crops.
XXXXXX
Eleanor was good at many things: making sure the De Vries' children would finish their homework, cooking, even taking care of animals. But the one thing she was superior above almost every human in existence was killing. As Ian opened fire, she rushed onto their left flank, dodging through the lines of trees. She could hear the startled curses of her targets, all of them in an obvious state of confusion. Her superhuman abilities allowed her to see better, react quicker, and feel almost no fear. In a rookie mistake, the guerillas stopped to try to figure out what the hell was going on instead of pushing on to continue their mission. The rattle of gunfire soon echoed through her ears, one a loud, thunderous crack, the others smaller or similar, but more constant. She grimaced, realizing that they were better armed than she and Ian hoped. But she knew he could hold his own and continued her mission. As she rushed past another line of coffee trees, she stopped and kneeled seeing four or five figures in a single file line, all staring in the direction of the fire.
"What do we do?" one asked.
"I think we should go and find whoever's shooting at them."
"No, we should continue with the mission," the one in front said.
Still facing the gunfire, he started moving towards her. She shook her head at how easy it was, but given the previous opponents she faced, it was not that surprising for her to think so. She quickly got behind him, thrusting the knife into his jugular vein and covering his mouth, the shock and violence of which meant he had no time to react or warn his comrades, too focused on the distraction elsewhere to realize they were about to die. As her victims' last moments passed by, she quickly found the M7 SMG slung at his shoulder, bringing it up and letting all 60 caseless rounds into the line ahead of her. None of them had a chance as the bullets tore them apart. As the silence followed, she looked down at the corpses, unable to hide her satisfaction with her work.
Then it hit her, one of those rare moments where she was stopped in her tracks by thoughts. Doubt? Concern? Or was it disgust? It had been a long time since she had killed humans, thinking back to the earliest years of her career, when the biggest threat the Spartans faced was a few groups of Insurrectionists, all of them never expecting that soldiers as young as they were to be a threat. Maybe the rumors were true, that ONI were able to alter the mind, or put an implant in the brain that rewired the Spartans mental state to only find joy in killing. But was that true? She was good at normal things, found pleasure in simple actions this last month or two, but maybe she would always be best at killing-
A sudden, furious burst of gunfire snapped her out of it, fear and concern filling her. While she was sitting here and trying to figure her thoughts out, Ian was out there, in danger, and she wasn't helping. She looked down at the corpses, finding one of her victims with a few magazine pouches filled with 5x23 ammo. She took three, putting two in her pocket and slapping one into the M7. She could worry about her mental state later. Her friend was in danger.
The man in question tried to not get nauseous, not from seeing the havoc his rounds were wreaking on the bodies of his enemies, frankly he could care less about what happened to the bastards, but from the green glow of the night vision. How was it possible that the tech had not advanced in nearly 500 years since its creation? It was only a few minutes since he fired the first shot, having moved to the grassy savannah that marked the edge of the coffee plants. Judging by the boot prints, the guerillas were on the run, retreating the way they came. He was happy to let them do so, the farm safe and the police on their way, and the less he had to fight again, the happier he was. All the bad memories of the last 6 years flooded his mind, but his bearing and experience kept him ready for whatever came next. He had come under heavy fire, but his ability to see in the dark was a clear advantage, putting down three or so men. One of them was hit but ran off before he could finish the job, the wet trail of blood a sign of the man's attempts to rejoin his comrades. As he swung around another line of trees, only one or two more away from the plains, he was blinded by a blast of fire from the dying man, who had prepared an ambush for him before he would bleed out. After he put two rounds in his attacker's chest, he took a moment to feel if he had been wounded. Nothing felt damaged or broken, so he took it as a good sign before continuing. As he moved into the chest tall grass, he scanned the horizon for any enemies. Looking to his right, he saw a silhouette moving towards him, about to aim before he recognized it.
"You good?" he called out.
"Fine. I got an SMG."
"And?"
"Five down."
"I got six or so, that means about four or so left. Stay alert!"
He was taking a risk in calling out to her, but he felt his opponents were so few and focused on escape that it was worth it. She was about fifty or so feet away before he turned his head to her.
"Good work, especially without the goggles."
"I have good eyes," she replied as she kept watch.
"Didn't help much on Ataraxis."
"Fluke."
Ian chuckled as he saw no hostiles and he relaxed, swinging his rifle on his shoulder.
"Yeah, whatever keeps you comfortable at night. The only thing that saved you was-"
Everything went hazy as he heard a gunshot and was thrown on his back, the air being forced out of him. He was not exactly sure what happened, but the goggles flew off his head as he hit the ground, everything going dark as the green, visible haze left him. He coughed and struggled for breath, trying to gasp as his midsection throbbed in agonizing pain. Gunfire erupted, a mix of small and large rounds, the unmistakable bark of an MA37 ringing in his skull. He tried to sit up, but it hurt terribly, as if his body informed his brain not to bother. His tongue went dry as he fought for air, his weakened arms trying to find the R1 and defend himself. Was he dying? It was a bit unfair, having survived the Covenant on so many worlds only to die on the farm he spent the whole war fearing would be destroyed, killed by a fellow human of all things. The gunfire stopped a few moments later, and he could hear rustling in the tall grass. A figure loomed over him as his eyes adjusted to the low light environment, and he couldn't help but smile, the pain not even warranting notice in comparison to the rest of his body.
"Ellen," he rasped.
But instead of the disapproving and critical face she normally had, it was one of concern, maybe fear. She almost looked as hurt as he did.
"Ian, it's alright, just stay with me," she said, almost sounding on the verge of tears, impossible to believe.
He blinked and looked at her again. She had never been like this before, but the last time he had been hurt badly he could not remember much, so maybe there was precedent.
"Where were you hit?"
"Abdomen by the pain," he grunted.
He felt a hand on his abs, and had he not been certain he was hit and dying, would have admitted he felt a slight jolt in his spine at her touch down there.
"I don't feel any blood. I think that-"
She stopped for a few moments before turning back to him.
"You lucky bastard."
"I don't feel lucky," he wheezed.
"Well, you should," she said before holding up an object to his face.
He stared at it, realizing it was an FN FAL magazine. But in the middle was a noticeable dent, a small, foreign object lodged in it.
"Son of a bitch," he moaned before laying his head on the ground.
"You're unharmed, I thought you'd be happier."
"Do you know how much one of those cost?"
"Are you kidding me? Of all things-"
"I guess I'll have to take one of those trashy Brazilian made mags until I get the good stuff."
"You nearly die, and the first thought you have is that one of your toys got broken. You're as bad as Dannie."
"Yeah. I'm just going to stay here for a little bit, if you want to chase the rest down-"
"I think we're safe for now."
He looked up at her, and maybe it was the brief thought of mortality taking him, or the moonlight, but he was unable to ignore how pretty she looked. He wanted to say something, but then felt a sting on his left cheek, different from the usual pain ever since Criterion.
"Dammit, he got me on my bad cheek."
She leaned over slightly to check and swallowed.
"You got a graze wound. Fixable, but it's bleeding a bit. Wait here."
She vanished into the grass for a minute or two, coming back with a red armband in her hands. She pressed it against his cheek, holding her hand on it.
"It'll help."
"Yeah."
The pain was starting to lessen, and he could move his arms again. But as he was still trying to breathe normally, he needed to say something to her, to let her know he appreciated everything she did that night. He did not understand what made him do so, but he placed his hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes. He thought she would look away or try to ignore him, but she looked back at him, not moving or hesitating at all. They stayed like that until the police arrived, and neither seemed to be bothered.
XXXXXX
Ian rolled onto his side for what must have been the thousandth time that night. To his and Ellen's surprise, the action had not taken hours like they felt, but fifteen minutes. The police arrived soon after, taking statements and securing the area, telling the two to get back inside and try to get some sleep. They were given the unenviable task of recovering and lining up the bodies of the dead guerillas, in various states of damage and ruin. But he had spent the last few hours trying to get back to sleep, finding the task impossible. He looked at the clock again, groaning before he threw his head back into his pillow. It would still be a while before sunrise, and he decided to keep trying. He wasn't afraid of another attack, the police cordon would force away anyone dumb enough to try again, and the Front tended not to follow up on failures. He closed his eyes again and gave his best effort before he heard a knock at his door.
"Is that you, detective?" he groaned.
"It's me," a female voice answered.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Come in."
The demigoddess form of the Spartan moved in, the door quickly closing after she entered.
"Can't sleep?" Ellen asked.
"Course not."
"I can't either."
"I never could figure out if you actually sleep."
"I do a lot more than I used to. It's nice not having to use a stasis pod."
Ian lay back on the bed, the bruise still painful as ever.
"Goddamn. I know it was a lucky hit, doesn't feel like it."
"I'm glad you're alright."
"As am I."
"Ian, could I ask a favor?"
"I think you've earned the right to ask given your actions tonight."
Ellen smirked before turning serious again.
"Can I stay here tonight?"
"Like in the house? I'd hope so."
"I mean with you."
He sat up and looked at her, thinking he had fallen asleep and was having a dream or nightmare.
"Uh… well, I mean, that's fine with me. The carpets pretty soft, and I got an extra blanket or-"
He had not even finished the sentence before she moved onto the opposite side of his bed and lay down on top of the sheets, looking up at the ceiling like he was. An uncomfortable silence followed, Ian too startled to say anything, Ellen unsure how to proceed before she finally found enough courage to speak.
"I need to tell you something."
"A-and that is?"
"I-I'm scared Ian."
"Of what? You took the rebels down easily, and I'll be fine."
"When I was out there, hunting for those guys. I felt good. I felt great, actually. But I felt that searching and eliminating them. Is that all I'm good for? Killing? Do you think that?"
"Of course not. And I think Unc and the De Vries would disagree. Hell, most of Delta would stand up for you."
He looked over to her, doubt across her face.
"I just-I do want this to work. To do something other than fight, but what if it's the only real thing I can be good at? What if it really is my life and nothing can change that?"
Ian looked up again, pondering the question. Between this and Unc's earlier warning, he felt that maybe she was about to slip from his fingers, that having her move in and try to find normality was an exercise in futility. Maybe it was desperation or an attempt to give an answer he liked, but he thought of something and blurted it out.
"Hey, remember when you told me I was seeing a victory as a punishment? Staying alive and all that?"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe you're doing the same thing."
She sat up and turned to her side, facing him.
"How so?"
He rolled over and faced her in the same manner, feeling slightly nervous for a reason he wasn't exactly sure of.
"Well, maybe you didn't enjoy that you were killing people, that was never the Spartans mission, right?"
She avoided his glare briefly before nodding.
"Your mission was to protect humanity from the Covenant. Maybe you didn't find satisfaction, or whatever you felt, from slotting those guys. Maybe it was from protecting the farm, Unc, Artemis."
He wanted to say himself as well, but he decided not to. She looked at him and sighed, rubbing the back of her neck in the nervous twitch only he ever noticed.
"You… ah. I never thought about that."
"Makes sense when it's thrown your way, eh?"
She nodded before clearing her throat.
"Thanks Ian."
"You helped me before, least I can do in return."
She rolled over, her back towards him.
"I need to think for a little bit. Or maybe get some sleep."
"Sleep sounds great right now."
"See you in the morning."
"You too Ellen."
He looked back at the ceiling, and to his surprise, quickly succeeded in getting some rest, even with her next to him. He did not think about it, but having her that close probably helped matters more than he would ever admit.
XXXXXX
"What was Janni talking about back there?"
"What, Erika? Oh, some Spartan we worked with a while ago. They were pretty close."
"That's rare."
"She was always a bit off. Crazy or mental unwellness. Shorter and less built than you are."
"Ah, one of those Spartans."
"There's different types?"
"It's complicated. And classified."
Laying on the 35th floor of a ruined office building, Ian and Eleanor had broken off from the rest of the fireteam, preparing to pick off a high value target from a long distance. The city of New Konya was little more than a ruin, having been bitterly contested between the UNSC and a Covenant force of Elites and Brutes before a strategic retreat forced humanity to abandon half the city. Having snuck through the front lines, the two had been sent to kill a Brute chieftain or leader, the Intel boys weren't sure. As usual. He adjusted his viewfinder, sitting on a little stand and facing towards the highway overpass this mystical officer was supposed to appear on. Chewing on a piece of candy he had traded with a Marine for an energy bar before they headed out, he seemed as satisfied as a man could in the situation. Ellen's helmet turned to him briefly before looking back at her 99's scope.
"Is that stuff any good?"
"I have to say, I think I'm a fan of saltwater taffy now."
"Is it salty?"
"Nah, guy I traded with told me someone said that to give it a memorable name. All those jokes about New Jersey from Americans, and the one thing I get from there isn't half bad."
He chewed another piece, leaving the waxy paper that wrapped the taffy on the floor. He had a feeling no one would exactly fault him for littering. He swallowed the piece and looked back at her.
"Wanna try a piece?"
"Can't take my helmet off in a combat zone. Orders."
"You want me to save a few pieces for you?"
She continued her vigil, seeming to ignore him. He shrugged as he adjusted his own helmet, her nagging finally making him ditch the beret this mission.
"If you don't mind."
He chuckled at the answer as he looked through the pieces he had.
"I got lemon, blueberry, and I think this one's cotton candy."
"Lemon. I like the sour stuff."
"Bitter in taste and deed."
"Hilarious."
"I try."
He looked down the viewfinder and swallowed as he saw a few figures move into view from the edge of a ruined apartment block. He whistled to get her attention, but she had already swung her rifle in the new arrival's direction.
"Alright, two klick distance, finders saying there's 4 kph wind from the west, adjust accordingly."
"Roger."
"Not my name."
"Get serious."
"You've been with me a year now; you should know I don't take anything seriously and it's kept me alive."
"Despite the odds," she grunted.
As the minutes passed, more hostiles came into view, almost an army of them. Heavily armed bodyguards or high-class troops, a few in golden armor.
"Now, what would a high up gorilla look like?"
He scanned the crowd, trying to find someone to fit the bill. To their annoyance, the intelligence officers could not have any indication or description of the HVT, they couldn't even tell what he'd be wearing.
"I'd think plenty of gold," she said flatly.
"Well half of the bastards are wearing gold."
"Elites, not Brutes."
He clicked his tongue a few times in agreement. Then, just as he was about to make a smart comment, the largest creature he had ever seen on two legs walked into view, flanked by two of his species, wearing a flanged helmet, gold and gleaming from the orange sun above the planet.
"I think we got our target, Petty Officer."
"Agreed."
"Conditions are the same, adjust as needed."
"On target, ready to fire."
He looked at the red dot, visible only to him and her, trained right on the supposed commander's head. He seemed to be in conversation with an Elite of similar rank, and they looked to be in a heated debate.
"Wonder what they're arguing about," he blurted absent-mindedly.
"Maybe we can get them to fight one another," she said with barely hidden glee.
"Fire when ready."
A breath or two later, he felt the dull thud of a 14.5mm round flying towards its target. But just as she fired, the Elite officer took a swing at the target, who lunged back to avoid the four-fingered fist coming his way, the bullet barely passing the front of the Brutes face
"Shit!" she hissed, moving to correct herself.
The missed shot confused the two Covenant, who paused to figure out what had just happened. Quickly taking advantage of this, Ellen pulled the trigger again, throwing the gilded helm off the Brutes head. Now realizing what was going on, his guards moved to whisk him away or take the bullet themselves. Before Ian could warn her to finish it quick, another round punched through the side of his head, a wet spray coming from the other side.
"Done and dusted," she said with satisfaction.
"Nice shot."
The crowd broke apart, rushing to cover or trying to find whoever had killed their supposed leader.
"Look at them run," he said amusedly.
"Nice to see them doing that for a change instead of us."
"Aye. Well, they don't know what's going on, so we got plenty of time to pack up and-"
He saw a massive, purple vehicle swing around the side of the ruined apartments, facing right towards them. A Wraith. A heavy mortar armed one.
"Oh bollocks," he hissed, scooping up the viewfinder.
"We need to go."
The SR-99 was already slung around her shoulder, a greenish-brown blur rushing towards the stairwell they came up on.
"You just gonna leave me?"
"Maybe you should try being faster."
Ian laughed as they started tramping down the concrete stairs, halfway past the 27th level when the building rocked. Direct hit.
"Damn!"
"You alright, Ian?"
"Missed a step. I'm good."
They went down another few levels when another hit rocked them, a sudden screech and crash following a few moments later.
"Bet you're glad we didn't take the elevator," she said.
Even faced with death, he could not help but find enjoyment from being with her. She had been kind and surprisingly open for a Spartan in comparison to the previous ones he served with, and they had quickly become a good couple. He snorted at the other implications of such a word, echoing through his helmet's microphone.
"I made you laugh, finally."
"You're always funniest when we're about to be killed."
Every few floors, another hit, but none as bad as the one that knocked out the elevator, and they quickly found themselves in the marble floored lobby of what was once the head office of İlk Koloni bank.
"You good Ellen?"
"Yeah."
"Stay put, I'm going to get command on the horn."
He slapped the side of his helmet and heard it connect to the UNSC CommNet.
"Pilum to Victrix, do you read?"
A few moments of static followed, interrupted by another hit from the Wraiths mortar.
"Victrix to Pilum, read you. Status?"
"Mission accomplished, under artillery fire, still in the office. How do we proceed?"
"Hold position, armored elements are pushing forward to your location. RTB when they arrive and secure the area."
"Roger Victrix. Pilum out."
"Stay here? Really?"
"I'm just a lance corporal, I don't make decisions. Good soldiers obey, not think."
"Explains why we're doing as well in this war."
"Hey now, you need to play nice. Especially considering your-"
He stopped as he heard what sounded like a stampede of cattle. The two looked around in all directions, trying to figure out what it was. Ian looked up and went pale, realizing almost too late what happened.
"Cover!"
"What-"
"The buildings collapsing on top of us!"
He dashed into a stairway that led into the lower garage, tripping and rolling down the stairs as the noise of shattering glass and rubble impacting the ground came from behind. He simply lay flat, knowing that if everything came down on top of him, trying to protect himself would be a fool's errand. As the noise stopped, a cloud of reddish dust blew over him, and he grabbed at the standard issue mask and respirator that came with the helmet. Clicking it into place, he took a few deep breaths and lifted himself off the floor. Feeling his limbs were intact, along with no wounds, he stood up and vainly tried to brush himself off before he realized someone was missing.
"Bollocks," he muttered. "Ellen, you alright?"
No response came.
"Ellen?"
He was starting to panic a bit as he rushed back up the stairs to the lobby, the pristine business environment now a junkyard of concrete, steel, and glass. Climbing over piles of debris, he frantically looked for any sign of her.
"Ellen! God, please tell me she's-"
"Ian?"
He let out a sigh of relief.
"You alright?"
"Ian. Help. Please."
His blood turned cold as she said it, not in a tone of simple request, but in what sounded like a terrified and desperate plea for help. He climbed over a tall pile of rubble and stood on top, scanning around for any sign of her.
"I'm here, I can't see you."
"Arms… sticking up."
He looked around one more time, still unable to find her.
"I'm looking, is anything broken? Are you alright?"
"Help," she whimpered.
He started breathing heavily now, desperate to find any sign of- there, sticking from the rubble was an arm. He nearly tumbled ass over elbow trying to get to her. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it before she did the same, much harder than he was possibly able to and feeling the strain on his bones but ignoring it.
"Alright, lemme try to move-"
He pushed at the chunks of floor and ceiling on top of her away, the weight almost immovable, but the adrenaline was pumping through his body, and he was seemingly capable of the impossible, finally revealing her chest and torso. She shot up, lifting herself from the rubble and standing ramrod straight.
"Got ya. Anything broken or-"
She gave no response, moving towards a nearby wall somehow free of the wreckage. As she did so, she scrambled to remove her helmet, nearly tossing it away. She turned and pressed her back onto the grayish, solid material that once bore the logo and name of the now defunct financial institution. He looked at her, but she was unrecognizable from the confident, professional super soldier he had learned to serve with over the last year. Sweat trickled down her face, which bore a mixture of blind fear and agony as she crossed her arms over her chest, her hands grasping her shoulders as she sat down, rocking slightly back and forth as she took shuddering breaths. He took the mask and respirator off, slowly approaching her with an extended hand.
"Ellen? Are you alright?"
"No," she whispered.
He scratched his cheek, almost not believing what he saw. One of the fearless, unstoppable saviors of humanity at large sitting in a barely controlled heap. Or more accurately, a Spartan scared out of her wits. He heard a crackle in his ear, and realized someone was trying to contact him.
"Pilum, do you copy? Victrix to Pilum!"
"Pilum here. Apologies Victrix."
"We've received reports your position has fallen, is that correct?"
"On top of us. Me and Sierra-074 are fine though."
"Understood. Armor is hitting more resistance than expected, stay where you are and await further information."
"Loud and clear Victrix."
"074 is not responding to hails, are they still in combat condition?"
He looked at her terrified face, almost unwilling or unable to notice him.
"She's alright. We're setting up a position in the rubble. Get those tankers our way stat."
"Trying, Pilum. Victrix out."
He took his helmet off and sat next to her, placing the headgear next to him. They both sat there, looking at a monumental globe that he recognized as the planet they were on, Sığınak. Chunks of rebar pierced it, as much a symbol of the disaster that had befallen it as much as the office. He looked back at her, seeing she had stopped rocking, but was now trembling. He wanted to say something, but decided that, as his father always said, actions spoke louder than words. He lifted a hand to her right shoulder, trying to take the hand on top of it. To his surprise, she took it and squeezed it gently, holding onto it for a few minutes before she spoke.
"When I was in training," she said with a strained voice, "Something went wrong, and a building fell on me. I didn't get dragged out for a whole day."
"Got it."
"I just… I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Letting you down and not being ready for anything."
"No problem. You'll still be better than me at much of our work."
The sound of a tank cannon echoed through the ruins, a loud, plasma sounding detonation following. Rifle and plasma fire followed, the two realizing the armored column had finally reached them.
"Can we stay here? Until I get back to-"
"Take your time Ellen. No rush."
So, they stayed there.
18 hours later, aboard the troopship Ojibwe, Ian sat in his personal quarters, a rare luxury awarded a lower-level NCO, but given the smaller size of the Light Infantry, one he could afford. Having assisted the retaking of New Konya, or at least assisted in securing the front there, the DLI was being whisked away to another danger spot as the system slowly fell to the destruction of the Covenant war path. Having gotten some food and rest he was in good spirits, especially since he was reading the latest copy of At Ease given to him by Seb. Special edition on the Air Force. He sat back in his swivel chair, feet up on his room's desk.
"Peyton, that's not how you sling an M7 over yourself, you naughty girl," he mumbled to himself as the centerfolds three pages fell out in front of his approving eyes.
The beep of his doorbell was an irritating distraction from his assessment of the Air Forces physical fitness program, but one he had to answer.
"How can I help you?"
"Ian? It's me."
He straightened up at Ellen's voice and quickly stashed the magazine away.
"Come in!"
The door opened to reveal her noticeably large body, a long sleeve workout shirt and BDU Pants covering it up quite well.
"Well, this is a surprise. I thought they put you on ice already."
"Power failure on the tube. They're working on it right now."
"Ah. Well, thank you for visiting."
"I wanted to-"
She paused, trying to think over the words.
"About what happened in the bank-"
"Don't worry about it. You had a bad moment. We all do."
She opened her mouth to say something, but simply nodded in appreciation.
"That reminds me-"
He pulled something from a desk drawer and tossed it to her. She grabbed it effortlessly with her training and abilities, looking it over. It was a yellowish tube, the name Shriver's on it. She pulled it apart to reveal a piece of saltwater taffy.
"Lemon?"
"Like you asked."
"Thank you."
She chewed on the candy, finding it quite good.
"Worth the wait."
Ian laughed; his arms crossed as his legs still rested on the desk.
"Anything else?"
"No, just wanted to talk about that."
"You're good."
There was an awkward silence before she spoke again.
"See you at the next briefing."
"Sounds good."
She opened the door and walked out but stopped halfway through.
"Ian, thanks. I won't let you down like that again."
He shook his head and looked back at her.
"You didn't let me down. Even after all that augmentation and training, you can have faults. After all, you're still a human being."
She stared at him for a moment before nodding again and walking out. He would not remember saying that, but for the next three years, she certainly did.
It was the kindest thing anyone had ever told Eleanor, and it meant more to her than he could have ever imagined.