"All those years. All those times calling you sweetheart, talking to you when your father brought you in, and all those times I give you candy, and this is how you repay me?"

Ian stood at the front desk of the Selous Post Office, stunned and confused by the berating he received from Winnie Lesabe, the long-time clerk and self-appointed leader of the small facility. He had gone into town to get some groceries and was notified that instead of the usual collection of bills, spam, scam letters, and other minutiae one could find in the mail system of the 26th century, somehow still existing and surviving, he also had a package. He was already confused, neither he nor his uncle had ordered anything, and curiosity had finally gotten to him.

"I thought we were friends. Your father and I were. And now you go and break my heart in a way that I can't understand!"

"Er-I don't know what I did to upset you," he replied, thankful that there was no one else in the building as she broke down in front of him.

"Well, I sorted your mail, and I got notified your house has a package today, and what do I see-" she stepped into the sorting room, pulling out a thin, bulky package. "But this!"

She tapped a finger on the center, the handwriting on the front impeccable. He picked it up and looked it over. Starting at the bottom and moving up, thinking there was some sort of address error, it seemed fine. Dzimba, Selous Post Office, Box 297, Mrs. Eleanor Walls, package to be delivered-

He stopped and looked at it again, trying to say something in surprise or outrage and it merely came out as a pathetic squeak.

"You got married to this Eleanor woman, and you didn't even bother to tell me you were engaged? Do you know how many weddings happen around here? Barely any. And of all people, I think you and your parents would see me as family!"

Ian's mind was far more pre-occupied with the words than the frustration of the mailwoman. Mrs. Walls? Was this a joke? Did Ellen start doing that? He would take no issue with her using the last name, that was fine, but did she just not know the difference between Miss and Misses? He looked back up at her and swallowed.

"I… wasn't expecting this."

"The package or the marriage? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you didn't know you were married?"

"Actually Winnie, that's exactly what I'm saying."

She gave him a questioning look.

"You aren't? Then why-"

She paused and looked at him with pity.

"Oh, did you get scammed?"

"No, she's living with us, there must have been an error in the labeling. I'll take it though."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said as he handed the box to her to be scanned out. "By the way, where's it from?"

She looked at the corner with suspicion.

"Earth. It's from a- the label got damaged, but I can read enough of it, Maria, something."

"Hm. Well, I'll get to the bottom of this. I do appreciate your concern. And if ever do have a wedding, I'll put you in the second row."

She smiled as he took the package.

"You promise?"

"Of course, Winnie. You have a good day now."

"You too Ian!"

Stepping outside into the evening Dzimban sun, he was certainly left with more than a few questions when he got home.

XXXXXX

Walking into the lounge, Ian tried to find the Spartan and deliver her package. Checking the grandfather clock and seeing it was 5 o'clock, her absence was all the more odd. All he found, to his slight disappointment, was Unc and Artemis as he sat at the kitchen counter.

"Hey sweetie," he said as he stroked the cat's chin. "Unc, have you seen Ellen anywhere?"

"Range. She's been chewing through our ammo supply. Especially ever since-"

"Yeah."

The attack on Avon Fields had been a firestorm of media and government attention. The first large-scale DLF attack in years, on a nowhere farm in one of the most rural parts of the planet and attacking a war hero was certain to make headlines. Ellen had gone into full defense mode, rifles at the ready constantly, daily range visits that would take multiple hours. His fears about Unc being right grew more and more in the week since the attack. There were still signs that she had made progress away from being a soldier, which eased him a bit, a small consolation. She was still cooking, and getting better at it with every new dish, watching Piets kids who barely noticed any change in her, and Artemis was almost inseparable from the Spartan. But she was slipping back into her old ways, constantly on watch, checking corners and the horizon, even sleeping less. She had even asked him to go on patrol with her around the farm's edges, and once called him corporal. Had all the progress she had made over the last couple months been completely undone? Before he could ruminate on the possibility, the front door slid open and she stepped in with a BR-55 slung over her shoulder, wearing the famous t-shirt and BDU combo.

"There you are."

"Ian," she said flatly.

He tried to ignore her demeanor and waited for her to drop the gear before showing the package.

"What's that?"

"Package for you. From a certain Maria back on Earth."

Her face brightened at the name.

"Maria sent me something?"

"She sure did, Mrs. Walls."

At first, he received a blank stare as he handed it to her, then one of embarrassment as she read the front.

"That… is a joke. She would do something like that."

"Who is she exactly?"

"Another Spartan. She got out a few years ago. Wanted to start a family with some Marine or ODST, I can never remember what he was."

Ian sat up in shock.

"How did someone shack up with a Spartan?"

"From what she told me, they had been operating together for a few missions, then one day, she's trying to find someone, searching the ship she was stationed on. Then, out of nowhere, her future husband comes out of the showers, singing that old song "My Maria," or something like that. Belts out "Maria, I love you" when he does."

"Oh hell," Ian said with a grin.

"Yeah. She said he stood there in his skivvies for at least a minute in terror before she smiled and said "You could at least have dinner with me first." Then this guy, and I must give him credit, says he's free that night. A few months later, what started out as a little joke turns into an actual relationship. Literally sweeps him off his feet, gets married and gets permission to go into the reserves. They have a son now."

"W-what? Spartans can have kids?"

Ellen went from humorous to embarrassed again.

"I guess the females can. Don't know about the guys. And I don't think they'll give me an answer on that."

"Ha! Well, that fella's a lucky man. Can't believe that he got taken like that."

"Maria was always a bit of a black sheep. Headstrong, doing things her way, always a pain in the ass for officers. Out of all of us? It wasn't a shock she would be the one to do that. And she's why I'm here, after all."

"Really?"

"Set a precedent when she did that for other Spartans to retire. And I stayed at her place with the family while I waited for the Navy to finish my move over there."

Ian nodded as he was deep in thought, which she quickly recognized.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Me? Oh, nothing."

He would never admit it but knowing that a Spartan was capable of settling down, having a family... On the one hand, it made him feel a little bit better about her chances of becoming normal, finding peace. On the other, he imagined her in the kitchen, finishing up something as a young boy or girl pulled on an arm for her attention. He snapped out of the thought as he realized how he thought of her.

"Anyway, here's your package. You gave the clerk there quite a fright. Thinking I got married and didn't tell her."

She took the package and looked it over, shaking it like a child on Christmas. Then she turned to him, thinking to herself.

"Ian, have you ever thought about getting married?"

A splattering noise came from the other side of the kitchen, the two seeing Unc spitting what was left of his iced tea out.

"Bloody hell woman, you don't just run around asking that!" he said in frustration.

"It's a good question, though. Well?"

He was pale, a bead of sweat on his brow. To the veterans credit, he composed himself and shrugged fairly quickly.

"I haven't found the right woman to be with yet."

"Why not that ODST at the bar?"

"Well first, that would be fraternization. And I don't know a lick of Finnish, so I'll stick with the English speaking ones."

"His mother wants him to be with a proper English girl," Unc said as he cleaned the spat liquid on the floor. "Problem is that no English girl wants him, the poor bastard."

"Hilarious Unc. I'm fairly good with women, actually, Ellen can attest to that."

"Blind and deaf ones don't count boy," he grunted before disappearing into the shower room.

"He didn't sleep well," she said non-chalantly. "But I respect that you're waiting. I know there were plenty willing to take you."

He grinned.

"Before or after I got shredded?"

For barely a second, he saw a tinge of pain in her eyes before she answered.

"Well, before you did well. But Sebastian told me-what was it, "Chicks dig scars and shrapnel?" Something like that."

"Maybe. Now open that package."

She nodded and tore the wrapping off, finding a medium sized pink box. With a look of confusion, she pulled the top off to reveal-

"Oh no," she said before sealing it again.

"What?"

"Maria played a prank on me that wasn't very funny."

"Well, what is it?"

"Nothing. Old Spartan joke, you wouldn't get it."

Ian, though more curious than ever, shrugged.

"All right. Keep your secrets."

She placed the sealed box on the counter and shook her head, seeming to be disappointed.

"Anyway, we're having chicken soup for dinner."

"Lekker."

She was about to walk away when Ian cleared his throat and got her attention.

"Ellen, I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure."

"Tomorrow, since we're not doing anything… do you want to go hunting with me?"

"For what?"

"Whatever we find in that nature preserve. 350 acres of God knows what. Are you up for it?"

"I've only hunted Covies."

"Well, maybe you can try something new."

She mulled the suggestion over for a few moments before nodding.

"All right. You'll have to teach me the finer points though."

"I can do that."

"I'll put this in my room and start cooking."

"Take your time. There's plenty of evening left."

"I know you can handle yourself. Your uncle on the other hand… he gets cranky."

"He's an old man. They do that."

"He's not that old."

"Well, we look like kids in comparison."

She giggled as she vanished into her room, Ian staying in the kitchen. He sighed in relief, finally convincing her to spend time with him. The hunt would go on, but it was more a pretext to get her away from her normal routine and possibly pick her brains. And maybe he'd be able to prove something to her. He only hoped there wouldn't be any lions.

XXXXXX

She looked at the lines of coffins, about a hundred silver tubes before her. It was a good day for recovery, but it was clearer than ever the amount of sacrifice it had taken to keep Earth safe. Looking out at the rows of the dead, she suddenly felt a chill in her armor, wondering if he had joined them. Maybe it was from being so close to his mother for the last few weeks, but it seemed at least once a day she would think of him. She had a feeling he was perfectly fine, having been dragged out of terrible situations before, but… she was not there. Was it because he was a fellow soldier who fought and bled with her? Was it something more than that? She found that suggestion ludicrous. One thing was certain at least: she hoped he was ok.

"What a mess. Thank you again Eleanor."

"Of course, ma'am."

"It's alright. We at least have you until tomorrow, and that Pelican was impossible without you."

"It's a shame. None of them got to fight."

"Did you ever worry about dying like that?"

She paused, looking through the visor of her Security pattern helmet at the coffins.

"There are worse ways to go."

Margaret Walls nodded slowly before looking back at her tent with a bit of frustration. It was not every day that one as low as her got contacted by ONI, but having discovered the Spartan aiding her, they quickly asked- actually demanded, her return to their command. By that time tomorrow, Eleanor would be packed up and shipped off to wherever the UNSC's intelligence, R , and God knew what else apparatus wanted their pet project.

"I'm going to take a tea break. Are you hungry?"

"No ma'am, but I'll join you."

"My goodness, we're already breaking that soldier down. Soon you'll be as lazy as the rest of us."

Eleanor grinned as she took off the helmet, feeling the warm African sun on her skin. Being in Mjolnir armor certainly had many perks, but a few human elements were sacrificed for it. Fresh air was a luxury, and though it concerned few of her comrades, her skin was noticeably pale in comparison to the average soldier. Following Margaret into the container housing unit, essentially a shipping container with an A/C unit and maybe a window that was laughably called a mobile home and office, she sat on one of the few chairs able to take the bulk of her armor before noticing that her host had already prepared hot tea. She never drank any but found it a good opportunity to speak privately with a woman she had come to respect for her unwillingness to bend and her disrespect for higher authority. Some aspects of her old comrades' personality made more sense with each passing day.

"You need to change that hair of yours. You look like a 12 year old boy."

"It's form fitting."

"It looks dreadful. I'll figure out a better style for that before you leave."

She wanted to protest, but this woman was a battleaxe and a half. To skip out on a fight that was unwinnable, she decided not to argue.

"Well, at the very least, I hope that your time with us has taught you something. Or at the very least gave you the satisfaction of giving some form of comfort to the families of the fallen."

"It has, ma'am. I wish I could spend a bit more time with you and the others. They've warmed up to me."

"Well, it is nice having someone who is a walking forklift."

"I think it's more than that."

"It certainly helps," she said with a smile, taking a sip of tea.

The two looked out the small window next to the table, looking out into the once untouched fields of Kenya, now covered in wreckage and the coffins of the dead.

"It's probably for the best that you're leaving now. We're almost finished here, and I don't think you can follow us."

"Where are you headed next?"

"South America. Maybe Brazil, God help us. That whole bloody country was a battlefield before we made first contact. They tried to flank some of our forces there, but thankfully they didn't get anywhere close. Defense was bloody though. Local and UNSC. And that's humid conditions when it comes to the remains… God, I don't even want to think about it."

"But someone has to do it."

"Correct. Is there anything you need to pack up or-"

A buzzing noise came from Margarets impromptu bedroom, which she showed immediate displeasure for.

"Oh great, I bet it's my boss. Again."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"It won't take too long, you can stay here. Enjoy the aircon."

"Very well."

She had spent plenty of time here, with her own cot in one of the extra rooms that accidentally was added to the collection of "livable" shipping containers. There was a part of her that wanted not to snoop on Margaret, but given her advanced hearing and rather inquisitive nature, it was a lost cause from the start. Even from the kitchen, she could clearly hear her argument with the VI that connected her to the rest of the galaxy.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Walls! You have an incoming communication from- *error, location undetermined*!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, it's another one of those scammers, isn't it? Connect it, I want to mess with them for a while."

She smiled slightly at the comment. As much of a menace her son was to those who annoyed him, she elevated it to a near art form.

"Very well. Connecting now."

The sound of a few beeps followed, the call finally receiving and in stable condition.

"Oh good, even the screen can't work. Bloody amateurs. For the last time, I do not have a vehicle with a warranty of-"

"Hi mum!"

A jolt went up her back. She recognized the voice instantly, and how couldn't she have? It was constantly with her for the last three years.

"Ian!" Margaret said with a startled gasp.

"I'm sorry, we just got on a ship. Mission went all pear-shaped and we've been out of the loop for the past month or so. All comms went down, and we got damn near killed at least a hundred times. Are you alright?"

She didn't answer with anything other than a sniffle or a sob.

"I-I thought you were dead!"

"Oh, come on mum, I'm too good at my job to die."

"A-are you alright?"

"No wounds, and I got my platoon home in one piece, no casualties."

"I'm… just glad to hear your voice. And that you're safe."

She heard a familiar laugh before a grunt of pain.

"Dammit!"

"Are you alright sweetie?"

"Still getting used to my new face. Well, old face, just newly arranged. Not sure the ladies will dig it."

"You look fine dear."

"You're just saying that because you're my mother."

Margaret sniffled again and laughed.

"I was hoping this would happen for so long, and now I can't figure out what to say."

"It's alright mum, and the damn camera is on the fritz, of bloody course. I don't have much time, we're about to jump soon."

"Alright, thank you for calling me."

"You think I wouldn't? You're one of two women I would bother calling nowadays."

"You try to contact that Spartan of yours yet?"

Already processing his survival, she was now thrown for a complete loop at this statement. She stood up and closed in on the edge of the door, her interest now piqued.

"I'll try when we reach port. I hope they're alright."

"Well, I have one working for me right now."

"Get real mum."

"No, it's true! Showed up a few weeks ago and started helping us. Been a great help. Maybe they know your friend."

A depressed sigh came over the speaker.

"Doubtful. But it would be nice to win out for once. Anyway, I'll let you know when we can find a time to meet up. Apparently, they're going to deactivate the regiment when we get back, and I'll have to switch over to the militia."

"Your father wanted that in the first place."

"I know mum. Look, I want to talk about-"

"Sergeant," a new voice cut in. "We're jumping in five. We need your men secured and ready."

"Yes sir. Sorry mum, I have to go. I'll talk to you first chance I get, I promise. Love you."

"Love you too dear."

The signal turned to static and died. Leaning slightly over, she could see Margaret sitting on her bed, wiping away tears. Unsure what to do, she hesitated before knocking on the doorframe.

"Yes, Eleanor?"

"Are you alright ma'am?"

"Fantastic, actually. Ian's alive, best news I've had in a month."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

She wiped at another set of tears rolling down her cheeks, but soon found a box of tissues in front of her.

"Thank you, Eleanor."

"Of course."

Wiping her cheeks and eyes, she looked up at the Spartan and smiled.

"It was hard losing Bertie, if I lost my son… it would be too much for me."

Eleanor nodded, having heard various stories of Ian's father during her time with the recovery group. But there was a more pressing thing on her mind.

"I apologize for listening in, but I heard something about a Spartan?"

Margaret looked up and smiled, wiping the last of the tears away.

"It's alright. He's been serving with one these last few years. Maybe you know her?"

"Her?" Eleanor asked, surprised at her knowledge.

"Every time I got into contact with Ian, he would never shut up about her. Tried to stay confidential, but things slip."

"I see."

"Never told me her name. A shame. But she probably would know him and talk about it."

"Possibly," she said flatly.

Suddenly, she found an irresistible urge to press for more information.

"Can you tell what he thinks about her?"

Margaret laughed and stood up.

"My teas getting cold, come on."

Moving back to the kitchen and taking a sip as she offered the chair to the Spartan, Margaret quickly returned to proper form and sat with the pride and arrogance befitting a British matriarch.

"Can I ask a rather personal question, Eleanor?"

"You can ask, whether you get an answer is entirely up to what's said."

"You'd make a good politician with an answer like that. Can you and your fellows form personal relationships?"

"How so?"

"Affection and the like."

"It's possible. Why?"

Margaret smiled as she put the tea cup back on its little plate.

"Because my poor son is madly in love with a Spartan."

Eleanors blood turned cold at the statement, confused and startled at the same time, but her composure and face stayed firm.

"What… makes you say that?"

"Well, he'd never admit it, like his father. I can say from experience it took months before he even said that he enjoyed my company, and a year or two after that before he finally figured out he loved me, and Ian's almost a perfect clone of his father. The way my son talks about her, even in passing, it's obvious to me."

"I see. Do you have any… advice? For the one he's spent time with. Maybe I'll meet her."

"Plenty, but I'll give you the biggest one: there's a way to know he's completely over her, even if he won't realize or admit it."

"And that would be?"

"Well," Margaret said with a grin, "If he says something along the lines of "you're incredible," or "you're the best thing to happen to me," it's over. Either you're going to have to kill him or run off and hide, lest he take you and never let go."

Eleanor nodded and made an inquisitive grunt.

"If I run into this mystery Spartan, I'll let her know."

"Hopefully sooner than later, lest it become impossible to stop him.

"Will do."

"Oh, I need to check in with Ibrahim about those Zoroastrians. Bloody burial practices. I'll be back in a little bit, hold down the fort, if you don't mind."

"Of course, ma'am."

Margaret went outside, calling after the man in question. Eleanor silently thanked whatever was above for the distraction, in desperate need to control and understand her thoughts. She needed to be on top of things to report to ONI the next day, and now… she felt her face redden, trying to figure out this sudden whirlwind of emotions, and this strange burning feeling in her chest.

"At least Ian's alive," she said nervously to herself.

The next day, the Pelican swooped in from the east, blowing the dust and grass of Kenya around. Standing at attention as it landed, a uniformed officer stepped out of the open hatch in the rear.

"074. We're happy to see you're alive."

"Sir," she said with salute, which earned a confused glare before she realized that the she had used the British style palm facing salute, which she adopted as well.

"Well," the captain said with slight amusement as she corrected the movement, "We're going to get you back and debrief. You must have quite a story to tell, you're still technically MIA."

"Apologies sir."

"Not your fault, the system's a goddamn mess, and it'll take months to update and correct. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes sir."

She looked back at Margaret amongst the crowd of volunteers watching her leave, who made a slight wave in farewell. Returning it, she was almost at the ramp's edge when she heard someone call her name. She turned and found the woman rushing up towards her.

"Apologies, sir, I need to give her something."

The startled captain gave no sign or statement of refusal as she placed a small piece of paper in the Spartans hand.

"I figured it out last night. Give it a try."

"Yes ma'am," she said in slight confusion, unsure what she meant. "Stay safe, and I hope you can help more people wherever you go next."

"Same to you, petty officer."

As Margaret walked away, she moved her Mjolnir armored frame inside, taking a seat. As the ramp closed and the craft lurched into the sky, she looked at the paper and crooked her head slightly. It was a picture of a hairstyle, short, but not pixie style. At the top it read "short bang styles sure to make you hot in the winter." The helmet hid her frown, but as she looked at it more… That would be a good look. She chuckled in amusement as ONI took her away.

XXXXXX

Standing on the veranda, Ian checked his watch again. It was almost noon, and he was beyond impatient. That it took her so long to suit up and get ready was almost unbelievable, and a part of him wondered if she was trying to stall for time or try to flake out on him. He understood slightly, but to lose an easy opportunity of some time alone with her was not something he wanted. Just before he checked his watch again after only a minute passed, he heard the door open.

"Finally."

"Sorry, I wasn't given much to work with in terms of clothing. I'm not a fan of camouflage."

Ellen was wearing her tried and tested choice of clothes, and for the first time he wondered if that's all she had when it came to clothing.

"Well, look at me, I'm not doing much better."

Wearing a khaki button up short sleeve shirt and a pair of light shorts with his trusty R1 slung on his shoulder, he was hardly a beacon of fashion.

"Did you get my DMR?"

"Yep. And I didn't have to dig under some dirty magazines to do so."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"And stop bothering you about it? Never."

"Great. Well, we should get out there before it gets too late and fumble back in the dark. Who knows what's lurking out there."

"Especially given recent events," she said flatly.

"Yeah," he said with a hint of sadness.

Throwing the gear in the back, lighter than anything they served and fought with, the two mounted up and waved at Unc as they headed towards the impromptu nature reserve. Parking on its edge and gathering their belongings, Ian put a flap cap on before offering Ellen a similar piece of headgear. After she didn't seem to take it, he turned to ask why before giving her a startled look.

"What are you wearing?"

"It's a straw hat. I found it in my room."

"I know what it is, and it's my mother's for your info."

"I don't think she'll mind if I borrow it."

"It's more a fashion item than a real hat."

She shrugged and continued to wear it to Ian's mild disbelief before he used UNSC standard hand signals to tell her to follow him, which she dutifully did as they followed an ill-kept path, surrounded by grass that came up to her torso but with a large tree in the distance. After a few minutes of what seemed to be aimless walking, he lifted his hand to stop and turned to her.

"There's something I have to show you first."

"Alright."

They came to circular clearing at the end of the path, a green-leaved oak tree growing in the center. Following Ian towards it, Ellen noticed a little plaque at its base. It simply read "Albert".

"Your father?"

"Yeah. We buried the urn here. He always loved coming out here, didn't even hunt. Just loved being out here in the grass, listening to the birds, the calls of springboks, even the roar of lions. But he planted that when he first got here and paid for the land. Old saying about the British having hearts of oak, or something. When I got to him right before he passed, he told me and my mum he wanted to be buried with it. So… we did."

They both looked at the tree, matured and well-grown. She was unsure how to feel, whether a bit of pity for Ian's still palpable grief, surprise at how well an oak grew in the African-like soil, or to just stay silent. After a moment or two, he turned to her and cleared his throat.

"Well, the path here is a good way to start. Now, we're looking at boks, maybe a few other animals. Aren't really rules to this in the colony, but it's a gentlemen's agreement we don't kill young ones, or mothers. Males are fair game."

"So much for equality."

"I didn't make the rules, I only follow them. Let's go."

Diving into the deep grass, they spent a few hours crawling, crouching, or slowly moving through the reserve. Despite the size and the supply of fauna, it was almost entirely fruitless. They spoke little to one another, but Ian had noticed that the old bond between them during the war working as a sniper team was coming back in a good way. Despite his local knowledge and being the supposed expert, they quickly reverted to their old patterns, the Spartan at the front with Ian in tow. Checking his watch and reading 3 PM local, he tapped her shoulder.

"Wanna take a break?"

She nodded and lowered her weapon from its ready position, taking a seat next to him.

"Is it always this boring?"

"Unfortunately. Either it was this or fishing, and I know you hate fishing."

"I thought doing it with grenades would speed up the process."

"Well, Janni let you know about your error, I remember that much."

She checked the DMR again and adjusted the sight aperture slightly before she spoke in a whisper.

"Ian, why did you bring me out here?"

His eyes widened at the statement, but realized that given their time together, he should have known better than to try and fool her.

"I'm worried about you, Ellen. Ever since that attack, you've been a bit off."

"Off how?"

"I don't know, it… I know you wanted to try to find something here, and I thought it was you just finally having a normal life, away from war, the UNSC, all that. And I thought I could provide that, and I wanted to… apologize for failing. And I don't know if you've realized you've been slipping on that, but you have. Maybe I was wrong in assuming what you wanted, and I wanted to say sorry for that too. I dunno."

He looked away, almost ashamed of admitting all his personal fears and worries to her. He had to say it, but it wasn't easy, and any feeling of relief seemed to not arrive. He suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Ian, I know I'm not that great at it, and I've been trying, sometimes not well enough, I'll admit. But you gave me a chance I probably wouldn't get from anyone else. So even if this doesn't work out-"

She sighed and rubbed one of her temples and rolled her eyes.

"Thanks. For trying."

"Well, hopefully we'll do better than try."

"It… maybe not enough to try. You have to understand, the UNSC wanted us to be a certain way, and they got it right. I'm a soldier. A killer. I was trained and forged into a living, breathing weapon that could change the tide of a battle, maybe a whole war. Maybe you just can't turn it off, and it never changes. It-"

A rustle in the grass ahead silenced the pair as they moved for their weapons. Then, as if by magic, a massive animal with horns that seemed to swirl out of its head moved barely 50 yards ahead of them.

"What is that?" she asked as she looked at the creature in amazement.

"Bloody hell, that's a kudu," he whispered. "I haven't seen one here in years!"

"Is that something we hunt?"

"Y-yeah, that's a hell of a catch!"

She obediently pulled the DMR to her shoulder and took aim. The sights were directly on its horned head, right between the eyes, a perfect shot if there ever was one. She took a breath, lowered her finger onto the trigger…

And could not pull it.

Her mind was telling her to just do it, take it down, to have a trophy to bring home. But something held it off, and then her mind started racing as to why as the sight went away from her original target, the aim faltering as she began to tremble. After a few more tries, she lowered the rifle and looked to the ground. She realized she was sweating, her mouth dry as the savanna around her.

"I can't do it," she muttered quietly before turning to her friend. "I can't do it Ian."

He looked back at her, and to her shock, he fought through a painful smile.

"You're wrong."

"What?"

"You said you were a killer, that you couldn't turn it off. You didn't kill."

"There's… no reason to. It's not hurting anybody."

"Would you kill someone or something that wasn't doing anything wrong?"

She thought about the question, watching the kudu eat some grass and gently walk towards them, oblivious to the two hunters ahead of it.

"No. I don't think I would."

They watched the animal continue on with its life, blissfully ignorant of its narrow death. Ian sighed, causing it to raise its head and look at them, almost straight into their eyes. Bafflingly, it simply continued to eat, almost acknowledging their pacifism towards it.

"Can I tell you something, Ellen?"

"Sure."

"I never told anyone this. So, I'd prefer if you kept it secret, but I trust you with it."

"Yeah?"

"You know that stuffed impala head in the lounge? The one near the door?"

"I wanted to ask you about that."

Ian grinned slightly and rubbed his eye before he continued.

"That was from the very first time I went hunting alone. Dad was out doing something and said a 12 year old was big enough to bag his own animal. So, I took this R1, and I walked out there. Spent six hours before I found that bugger, put one in his heart and dragged it back, past that oak tree to the house. Course its body was cut up dragging it on the ground for so long, but the meat was still good, and the head was fine. Cut it up, stuffed it, and put it on the wall. Dad was so proud of me. Always told people who never visited before about it when they walked by, saying if his son could do that, imagine what he was capable of."

He smiled slightly before it melted away.

"A month after I got demobbed, I went hunting again. Went the same way, walked out, tried to get something, anything. But… I didn't enjoy it. No rush, no passion. Instead of thinking about 'boks, kudu, and God knows what else, all I could think of was Elites hiding every couple feet, a Jackal sitting in ambush, or a Grunt about to arm two plasma 'nades and charge towards me. I was terrified, but I kept going, just hoping it would go away and I'd be able to go back to how I felt before. And then I found another impala, exactly like that one. And you know what? I did the same thing you did. I aimed, I was ready to take it down and I-"

He stopped, closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, going quiet for a minute or two. He took a deep breath and looked up.

"I broke down and cried. At that moment I realized that the Ian Walls who came out here to hunt is no longer with us, and Color Sergeant Ian Walls is a man who's trying to figure out how to put the pieces back together and not constantly have to watch for enemies he knows aren't there. But he must stomach it, put the uniform on, go to militia drill every month and try not to fall apart again. I'm a mess Ellen. I put a good show on, but it's the truth. I took therapy, prescriptions, and none of it seemed to help a damn bit. That or I'd see the side effects and think it was worse than the disease it was for. But I feel a lot better with you here. A hell of a lot better actually. And I'd be really sad to see you go."

He couldn't bear to look at her, feeling utterly pathetic at having to admit this, but at the same time, a weight let off his chest that had been choking him for the past month or so.

"You're probably not gonna understand it, but I really do feel that way. And I just-"

He sighed before he rubbed the back of his head and choked on whatever he was about to say before he swallowed. Ellen's silence was almost unbearable to him, even though he knew Spartans were absolutely terrible at showing their emotions, good for a chat or a joke, but unable to handle the pleas of desperate men and women hurting on the inside. He was about to stand up and tell her to head back when he felt her hand on top of his, he looked over at her face, blank, but showing some signs of pity, maybe understanding, but he wasn't sure.

"Ian, I'm not going to leave. I don't know why you'd ever think I'd do that. You gave me all this, and I-look, it's not easy for me. I'll probably never be able to be fully normal, and I know it's not going to be simple, but I know one thing: I don't abandon people. And especially don't abandon those I consider friends who came back for me plenty of times. I promise."

He opened his mouth to speak, but once again did not answer.

"I think we should leave the kudu and the others alone, talk about this more back at the house. There's plenty of places we can do it in private."

He looked at her, then the still unaware animal, and nodded.

"Let's go home," he whispered, grabbing his R1 and standing up.

The kudu finally realized they were there and ran off to the pairs amusement. Ian took point to lead them back to the trail, seeing the oak as a marker.

"Hey, thanks' for listening."

"You always were a talker," Ellen said with a hint of sarcasm.

"With you, I certainly was. That's because you actually bothered to talk back."

"I'm a good listener."

"I can be. Sometimes."

He was already feeling better from his low point only minutes ago and was looking forward to getting back and talking more. The six months before her arrival had been confused, tolerable, and somewhat depressing. There was a time when he thought a Spartan living with him, let alone another veteran, would have been a huge ask, and that he had taken the leap for a payoff was a rare win in his eyes. As they dug through the grass, he was starting to feel embarrassment at nearly breaking down in front of her, almost wishing he could take back everything he could-

A growling noise came from in front of them. One that was deep and full of bass. The pair stopped in their tracks, even though they weren't sure what it was, the human body naturally could assess that something was wrong. A threat. A big one.

"What was that?"

"Holy shit," Ian gasped.

Gilded fur and a matted mane stepped towards them from the grass, the massive form of a male lion closing in.

"Stay still," he said. "They don't attack people. Normally."

"Normally?"

"Yeah. Still."

It looked at them both, its predatory eyes assessing them, trying to figure out these unapproved arrivals in his domain. It did not seem to take umbrage with them but continued to stare.

"Ellen, I want you to slowly move into the thicker grass. Slowly."

"Alright."

She tried to do so, moving ever so slightly, inch by inch. Her training and augmentations made her less susceptible to fear, but she was frightened all the same. She remembered the stories and books they had given her during training, the tidbits about the strength and capability of the king of the jungle, and was fairly certain if she did not have to learn their accuracy first hand, she'd be better for it.

"Ian-"

"Just keep moving, I'll follow you."

"Don't be a hero if you can't-"

A small sinkhole caused her to lose balance, the clanking of her gear made the beast crouch down and ready itself.

"Bollocks," Ian said, no longer in a whisper.

It was a poor choice of possible last words as the lion pounced towards him.