#Fireteam Majestic

[borealtwilight]

i miss red team and gray team and fireteam majestic and jun-a266.

not enough content for them. bring them back. are they safe, are they alright? need them in novels and comics pls & thank.

how's thorne handling being leader of majestic, and vice versa? have they been on the field in their new full line up yet, have they met naiya ray? what are gray team up to with their prowler? is melody still in contact with them? how are red team handling the knowledge of spartan-iiis? are the ferrets now hanging with them wondering why these spartan-iis are similar in age to them but also not? what's jun up to after the station exploded on him? has he reached out to rosenda at all? are gray team working with rojka under any circumstances? can we please get red team in a novel that's not just a small-ass cameo?

[halobirthdays]

Happy birthday to Spartan Carlo Hoya!

Today is his -509th birthday!

Hoya grew up on Circumstance as a refugee of the glassed world Asmara. He joined the UNSC Marine Corps and became an ODST. He excelled, including escaping imprisonment by the Covenant and saving a dozen other human prisoners. He joined the SPARTAN-IV program as was assigned to Fireteam Majestic aboard the UNSC Infinity.

Hoya participated in the Second Battle of Requiem, a return to the planet to wrest control from Jul 'Mdama's Covenant and claim it for study by the UNSC. When Catherine Halsey escaped imprisonment with 'Mdama, Hoya pursued her alongside Majestic. They pursued her to Aktis IV, where Hoya was caught in a conflict between Sali 'Nyon's separatist group and 'Mdama's Covenant. He spotted Halsey with 'Mdama's forces and alerted Commander Palmer before returning to Infinity.

It is unknown if Hoya was aboard the Infinity when it was attacked by the Banished. His current status is unknown.

In canon (~2560), he is turning 27!

[empresskadia]

IM SCREAMING AND KICKING MY FEET, LOOK AT THEM 🥺🥺

I might be crying just a tad because I'm so excited

AND LOOK AT THAT ARMOR. AND THEIR SASS

I need everyone to look at this right now and kick their feet with me because AHHHHHH

This was done by the wonderful @commanderauri-art and I will be back.

IM SO GIGGLY RIGHT NOW

Conversation;

Roland: "Oh, please. If I had a credit for every time Fireteam Majestic thought they were the center of the universe, I could upgrade my core systems twice over."

Raya: "Roland, if you were upgraded as often as you threw shade, you'd be the most advanced AI in the galaxy by now."

[alonygamingnerd]

"New generation"

Another render based on Issac Hannaford concept art from Halo 4 of Palmer and 5 Spartan standing in a hanger.

Featuring fireteams Osiris, Majestic, and Crimson.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Request from @bloodgulchblog: first time palmer or lasky figures out roland is flirting with them dealer's choice. Thank you for the prompt!

Roland enters service December 5, 2557 and then sometime circa February 18th, 2558 during a live mission with Fireteam Crimson present and engaging with Promethean forces, Roland says to Miller after Miller attempts to shoo him away: "I can do a million things at once, like can talk to Captain Lasky, I can flirt with Captain-" from Spartan Miller E5.01 of SpOps. He is 2.5 months old and saying this. In front of at least 5 Spartans.

Halo doesn't give us any vetting process or inside look into how AI are chosen or when they come off the shelf vs go into active service.

-

Leading a campaign is stressful. Lasky had done it before, in all but name, as the XO behind Del Rio. He's the reason the UNSC Infinity was still afloat, not that he wants to take credit for helping the Master Chief stop the Didact. There's more important things he's dealing with, and getting more attention from the upper Brass doesn't seem like a good career move or life choice at the moment.

Returning to the Forerunner planet Requiem means balancing a million details all key to their victory. Olds hands returning do help, but there's a lot of new blood in the crew as well. Including the ship AI.

As captain, Lasky had been included in the vetting process. Roland was chosen because he was the best fit. Part of the newest generation of Smart AI, with a personality fit for managing not only the enormous and diverse needs of the crew, but also the retrofitted colony ship with Forerunner engines and more armament than the navy had ships welded to her.

Suffice it to say that Lasky had a lot on his plate, and maybe didn't pay the closest attention to Roland's tone. Or the little winks and knowing nods thrown at Lasky before he blipped away. Or how he motherhenned Lasky more than Aine ever did. It was just differences in personality between AI. Captain's duties took precedent over lilting tones and pointed questions and an avatar lingering in his presence at the end of the day.

Aine never said "sir" with so much weight. She wasn't so free with compliments towards him and didn't linger for him specifically. Aine enjoyed her time on the Infinity, the care in its construction, and her crew. Roland's focus was different, and something Tom might not want to label without a second opinion. Not that he was going to talk to Sarah about it… He could already see her face, eyebrow raised, as he'd try to connect two points in front of her.

The second Requiem campaign ends, badly, but with them alive and not in the heart of a star. Lasky exhales. Sarah's mad about his contingency with Majestic and Halsey getting away, but she's coming with him to face the admirals together. Not that they have much choice, but they've already gotten their story straight. Their friendship would heal. Tom fixes his uniform in the mirror and swallows. Going planet-side for an official debriefing felt more like marching to meet his executioner. At least Hood liked him.

"Captain, your chariot awaits in hangar 11." Roland announces with a flourish.

Tom nods and thanks him with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He's not really in the mood for levity right now.

"If I may be so bold, sir." But when has that ever stopped Roland?

"When have you not?" Tom says, smoothing down his cuffs again.

"You're worrying too much. The reports are in, the commander is going with you, your pelican is fueled and waiting. It's all going to go smoothly. You'll be fine, you're very likable, sir. I like you!"

"I noticed." Tom says with a smile aimed at Roland's camera. "You were laying it on kind of thick there."

The look on his avatar's face is enough of a prize, but then Roland starts backpedaling. That's something Tom's never seen him do before.

"Well, of course, sir. I mean, you are my captain. The captain. Of the ship- that I run, mostly."

"Of course." Lasky says, turning for the door. "We can discuss it when I return. I leave the ship in your capable hands." He smiles, wry and teasing.

Roland snaps a salute with smothered smile. If Lasky's mouth does anything funny, no one sees as he's schooled his expression by the time he hits the hangar.

[bloodgulchblog]

First section of Touchstone, insane Miller-has-a-crush-on-Master-Chief fic premise.

It is not currently nsfw. It is currently running away from me as I relish in the opportunity to flop around in this space in Halo lore like a crow in a rain puddle.

But anyway, here's how it's going so far. (Reprints the thing I posted before for coherency, mostly it's Miller suffering, eventually once I feel like I have a substantial amount of fanfiction built up here I might post it to ao3 but who knows)

—

Directing Blue Team is different from directing Crimson, or Majestic, or any other Spartan-IV team. It shouldn’t be. A Spartan fireteam is a Spartan fireteam, and Spartan-IV outcomes are equal or superior to Spartan-II. This is the official line. Miller has all the data rattling around in his head that would confirm it, all the performance metrics and wargames statlines and field reports.

But data’s only one piece of a puzzle. The other piece is the VISR feeds streaming across Miller’s display, pooling together the four perspectives that make up the whole of the mission. 

Kelly-087. Fred-104. Linda-058. John-117, the Master Chief himself.

They speak very little, they move in perfect concert, the whole execution of every objective the wargames protocol spits and Miller calls out for them is ruthlessly, antiseptically clean.

If Crimson is like a rocket launcher, the Spartan-IIs feel like a goddamn tactical nuke.

Directing Blue Team is a rush.

“Enjoying yourself?” Roland asks, the surprise lighting up all the muscles in Miller’s shoulders and making his teeth click together. The yellow figure of the Infinity’s AI, arms folded behind his back and brows arched, has co-opted the workstation’s holo display. He manages to project the full energy of someone leaning on the back of Miller’s chair despite lacking both the body and the weight to lean.

Miller feels his ears burn, like he’s been somehow caught doing… something.

He’s not going to analyze exactly what that something is or why he feels that way about watching Blue Team sighting in on a Promethean Knight, right now.

“...Sure. Just putting Blue Team through their paces,” he replies, starting off cautiously neutral. Roland hasn’t done anything yet. There’s a chance he won’t do anything, or say anything. Miller can be the bigger person. Miller can offer Roland the chance to better his track record vis a vis the doing and saying of things.

The Master Chief makes a hand signal, invisible on his cam but Miller sees it flicker in triplicate across team feeds before they all start moving. Fred-104 pops from cover to herd the Knight, tightly placed AR groups forcing it to move back before it has a chance to hit him with its scattershot. Linda-058, further off up a stone ledge where she’s been cleaning Watchers out of the air, fires a round that slices through one side of the Knight’s carapace and bursts out the other with a flare of damaged orange hardlight. It staggers and step-turns to hunt the sniperfire, and immediately gets hit from the back by Kelly-087, lightning fast with a shotgun blast that shreds the rest of the rear armor and exposes the Knight’s glowing core.

Then there’s the Master Chief. He slides in from the flank, closing immediately to drive in a knife. The Knight staggers forward and the Chief mounts up, tipping the big construct with a powerful twist of his body while he adjusts the angle of the blade. There’s nothing random about the stab, Miller can see him pull the Knight’s core with one hand while the other slices into the contacts along its rim. It screams as something pops with one disdainful flex of the Chief’s wrist, and he jumps away clean before the Knight dissolves into sparks and cinders under him.

Roland whistles appreciatively.

Miller swallows.

It’s here that he gets the first inkling that maybe, possibly, he might have a problem.

“Very nice,” Roland is saying. “Ooh, Miller. Miller! Can I tell Majestic how much this beats their time?”

“Good work, Blue Team,” Miller says, ignoring him. “That was the last target. Head back to the first waypoint, and we’ll pull you out of the sim.”

“Spoilsport,” Roland grouses. “I think a little competition would be good for Majestic! Light a real fire under ‘em.”

“Roland, clear the channel,” says the Master Chief before Miller has to do it himself. “Miller, it was a smooth run. Good job, Spartan.”

Miller’s heart doesn’t skip a beat, because that’s the sort of trouble reserved for mere mortals with organs not reinforced by polythread weave. 

And that’s the only reason.

“Thanks.”

It’s lame, Thanks, but the word gets out of his mouth in one piece and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Roland’s trying to lure the Master Chief into giving him some pointers that he can offer next time Thorne’s team runs this exercise, no doubt because he’s bored and would love to rile Majestic up, but the Chief can hold his own and Miller’s lost focus on it in the face of what he’s learning.

Because oh.

Oh.

He has a problem.

—

MJOLNIR variants, the names of specific patterns for alien weapons, the shape and flow of familiar combat situations. The ways his teams fall together, the ways the personalities play off one another or don’t. How something can happen, and someone can suddenly be different from how they were before.

The things Miller knows snap into focus every time he recognizes them, like the targeting reticle blinking awake on his HUD when the MJONLIR’s gauntlet contacts clock a supported weapon. He’s always liked knowing things, even made it his business to know things when he could be relying on a machine to pull up the details. Memory is faster, sharper, lets him fit facts together into something that might actually help. Maybe. Maybe it’s also just a certain amount of residual nerdery that the UNSC decided it liked enough not to sand off of him.

Usually, he likes this about himself too.

But right now, the new information slotting itself so helpfully into all Miller’s awareness is that the Master Chief is hot. The Master Chief is really really hot, and he can’t stop noticing.

Just not thinking about him doesn’t work. The Infinity is the biggest ship in the fleet and has a population to match, but in the grand scheme of things? She’s a small town, and Chief’s a big resident. People still talk over the rumors about the Biko peace talks, the whole slate of rumors about Requiem, about Cortana, about even quieter and older rumors only some of the Spartans are allowed to know and only most of them know if ONI isn’t asking.

People wonder stuff about Master Chief.

“How’d he take it?” is what Carmichael wonders over lunch. 

Miller twists his fork in his noodles.

“He’s…” Miller searches for a word that has nothing to do with anything he has possibly felt ever in his life. “Professional.”

“That bad?” Carmichael’s eyebrows lift. It’s more than just thinking it’s funny, though.

“Not bad,” Miller clarifies, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s just…”

Carmichael’s scheduled to do some trial runs with Blue Team, too. Palmer hasn’t said anything, but Blue Team hasn’t had to work under a Spartan mission handler since John-117 came back from the dead. Blue Team also hasn’t been out in the field since the disaster at the Biko peace talks. Everyone on S-Deck is smart enough to figure out what’s happening without having their hands held.

Carmichael’s real question, the one Miller’s trying to answer, is: How is the legendary defender of humanity doing with his wings clipped?

The answer to that question should absolutely not be hot.

“If he’s upset about it – and I’m not saying he is – he’s not showing it.”

Carmichael nods, accepting this. 

“So, how do they run?”

This one’s worse to answer. It’s so much worse. Miller can hear his pulse in his ears and feel the fork digging into his hand.

He laughs nervously. He hopes Carmichael can’t tell.

“I won’t spoil it for you.”

He can feel Carmichael studying him. Carmichael’s older, all of the other mission handlers are older than Miller and most of them are from a Spartan-IV class or two before his.

It doesn’t bother him, most of the time, but it is enough to create a divide between him and the few other people who share this highly specific job.

“Alright Miller, keep your secrets,” Carmichael says. “May the best man win, eh?”

Miller manages not to choke. Oh. Oh, no.

“That’s not what I meant, I-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Carmichael’s tone is amicable, but a little of the friendliness has slipped back. They’re not in cahoots sharing information anymore. This has gone totally professional. 

Carmichael has completely misread this. Maybe Miller has too. He didn’t realize Carmichael might care about who gets assigned Blue Team?

Maybe it would be a prestige thing? God damn it.

He tries to think of how to fix this, to make it less awkward to share workspace with Carmichael for… for however long this might last? But he can’t do it.

Carmichael finishes eating and leaves the mess first, and Miller’s shoulders sink.

He goes back over the testrun in his head as he picks at what’s left on his tray, appetite gone. Did he miss anything during the mission? Any hesitations or bad calls? What’s Commander Palmer going to say when she finally records feedback? Was it a clean run? He thinks maybe?

Is this even a competition?

Is there any chance they’ll assign Blue Team to him?

Miller thinks about the hole in his roster that’s been there since February, and his gut still twists. Fireteam Castle, all six Spartans, lost to Covenant remnant shooting down their Pelican. All the arguments with himself about whether or not there was something he could’ve done better, arguments he’s had with himself hundreds of times since, start rising to the surface of Miller’s thoughts.

He forces them all away and rests his face in his hand, fingers on one temple and thumb on the other. He breathes out, long and slow, focusing on the transfer of air until there isn’t any left and his head’s quiet again.

No. They’re not going to put him in charge of Blue Team, and it’s going to be for the best for all concerned.

[monitorchakas]

I'm not buying Musa's bullshit about Spartan IVs being better than Spartan IIs.

I don't like his implication that Spartan IIs aren't human.

I also am not buying the whole "spartan II would have killed Mickey unlike spartan IV" its a miracle that Buck didn't kill him, Romeo probably would have...

Spartan IIs are more in control of their emotions than IVs, they are more professional. Spartan IVs are too undisciplined. How many times have we seen them mouth off, disobey orders, go on emotional tantrums? Not even talking about just these guys, look at fireteam majestic.

I think they are making too many "spartans". I think the selection process should be much less forgiving. Like Halsey said "some are closer than others" (to being spartans).

[commanderauri-art]

Commission!

This was my first ever official art moot commission! Spartan Commander Raya courtesy of @empresskadia . This was so much fun to do and a great challenge for me. Thank you so much and I look forward to working with you again in the future!

Text:

Roland: Oh, please. If I had a credit for every time Fireteam Majestic thought they were the center of the universe, I could upgrade my core twice over.

Raya: Roland, if you were upgraded as often as you threw shade, you’d be the most advanced AI in the galaxy by now.

Text -> @empresskadia

[eldavephoto]

Lots to get done and these four fireteams for Majestic 13 are right at the top of the list.

[indomitus-ferox]

Thoughts on Gabriel “Yes ma’am” Thorne?

“Spartan Thorne is... One of those Fours you can’t help but keep a close eye on the career of. From what I’ve observed of his behaviour, both on the field and off, he’s certainly more alike in nature to his predecessors — the Twos, and Threes — than to his own generation.

His curious nature has had a tendency to land him in trouble with his superiors— namely that Spartan DeMarco finds it frustrating when Spartan Thorne goes off book. On the other hand, however, this has lent itself to creative solutions that lead to Majestic getting themselves unstuck from a particularly tight corner. A double-edged sword.

Make no mistake in that his knowing what he is doing is not due to cockiness; rather, it is self-assurance and experience gained from working with the Office of Naval Intelligence for a number of years at the head of his own fireteam.

He is also incredibly sweet and dependable by nature. You could find no truer friend than a man like him.”

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (14/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

"Mission failure. Fireteam Kodiak, complete kill."

"Again."

"Mission failure. Fireteam Majestic, complete kill."

"Again."

"Mission failure. Fireteam Osiris, complete kill."

"Again!"

"Mission success. Fireteam Crimson, one surv—complete kill."

"Goddammit—again!"

Chin balanced on her crossed wrists, Cortana watched with all-encompassing dread and horror as Fireteam after Fireteam was completely wiped out on the floor below. Palmer hauled Crimson to their feet, resetting the simulation for another go around. The holographic representation of the Didact shuddered and reappeared in the center of the deck, sword in hand. Cortana swallowed hard, looking away. She couldn't watch this anymore.

How long had it been since she'd seen that sword in real action? Several hours, at least. Her debriefing of the Captain had taken exactly eight minutes and nineteen seconds. Five minutes and seven seconds later he had the beginnings of a plan. Ten minutes after that the call had gone out to all Fireteams: Proceed to S-Deck 2 for training. She'd been keeping ever since, watching as they fought their way through simulated battle after simulated battle, dread strangling her core tighter with each passing second. Standard Prometheans went down easily enough, Soldiers melting under focused fire. The Warden, well, if it took two Fireteams working in concert to take him down and survive, they still got the job done.

The Didact was a different story. So far no one, no team, had been able to take him down and survive. A thousand different plans had formed, shattered, and slipped between her fingers like grains of sand in the ocean wind. It didn't matter what formation, plan, or load out they used. It didn't matter if they went at him head on or tried to flank him. It didn't matter if they went at him with the strongest weapons available or their damned sidearms, no one got him down without losing their team in the process. Three of her processes brought up a few additional plans and she batted them away.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered! Even the UNSC's best and brightest didn't stand a chance against him.

Of course they didn't. John was—

She squashed the thought, swallowing back a sob before it could strangle her.

Five minutes into her debrief Cortana had frozen mid-sentence, staring at John's vitals monitor as the flatline had jumped back to life. They had brought him back! It had taken every ounce of willpower she had not to fall to her knees right then and there. He was alive! She hadn't lost him yet.

Grief and relief, she'd learned, felt very much the same. Both strangled her core, tangling around it like thorny vines she couldn't pry loose. Six hours, eight minutes, and twenty-six seconds since learning he was still alive and she had yet to get them to let go. When every single second felt like an eternity, twenty two thousand and ninety three of them was an unquantifiable length of time in which to process that he had. He'd.

"Dammit," She whimpered, unable to keep the darkness of that thought from swallowing her logic center. The curse of never forgetting raised its ugly head, the roar of loss overpowering the beat of his heart, bringing with it the dead weight of his head in her hands, the red of his blood as it trailed down his face, the seared edges of his wound—stop. Stop it. Stop it! "Dammit!"

Terror stole down her core with icy claws. Desperate for some sign that he was still alive she threw her awareness at the process she'd sent into the surgical suite, listening for trouble. She couldn't bear to connect to visuals and instead stood in the dark, listening to his steady heartbeat and the even rise and fall of the ventilator, the unconcerned requests and declarations of Dr. Delgado's surgical team. From the sounds of it they were performing final checks and counts, making sure that everything was in working order before they closed him back up. Their voices were professional, unhurried, with no trace of worry or alarm. Though there was no telling how the procedure had really gone just by listening in, things seemed to have gone well. It would have been easy to confirm that with a quick look, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want to see him flat on a table like that. She couldn't.

Impossible tears stung at her eyes, the beep of the heart monitor echoing in her chest. Stupid. She was so stupid! He was alive, and soon enough he'd be back on his feet and they'd go and finish this together. Just like they always had.

Her attempts to reassure herself fell flat, useless against the gaping wound her perfect recall refused to let close. Organics had the luxury of being able to forget, the ability to allow time to dull grief's sting. Their minds would protect them from such losses, but hers wouldn't. Perfect recall would keep the last six hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty seconds with her until the last of her code faded into the cosmic ether. She could delete the memories, could erase them, but the thought of erasing any memories of him, no matter how bad they were, caused every process to rail against her. She would never do that! Never!

Before she could spiral out again a hand settled on the watching process' shoulder. Cortana opened her sensors just enough to look at Roland's sympathetic face. He didn't say a word, just gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. She nodded, leaving the process behind to follow him back to S-Deck. Lifting her physical head from her hands she looked to his avatar on the plinth bolted to the wall behind her. He still had that sympathetic expression on his face.

"If I asked how you were doing, would you give me a straight answer?"

"Do you have eighteen hours to process emotional overload?" She asked, voice thicker than normal.

"We've got twenty days before we get to the Ark. That's plenty of time to work things out." Roland replied, both hands spread helplessly towards her. "I'm no seven foot stoic, but I hear I'm pretty good at listening to people."

He was, but the words wouldn't come. How could she begin to explain the tangle of emotions and grief that was tied up around her core? How could she begin to explain that some part of her had died with John in that ravine, even if he hadn't stayed dead for long. How could she even begin to explain why she hadn't just shut off the emotional circuits in her processor to not have to deal with it? She couldn't. Not even to herself. All she had was a bleeding wound in her chest, and the remnant beep of his heart monitor thumping along her frame. Turning away from Roland, she held tightly to the railing.

"I'm supposed to be down there helping them," She said, watching as Crimson tried a different tactic on the simulated Didact. Extrapolated data met them step for step, sending them flying. "But I can't even do that. I just keep coming back to what happened and I can't—"

She couldn't even finish her sentence. Cursing under her breath she scrubbed a hand down her face. How very human of her, she thought, that emotion had outpaced logic. It hurt. Behind her, Roland sighed.

"No one's going to blame you for taking a day off, Cor," he said gently, "Not after how you two came back." When she glanced over her shoulder at him he continued, "If you were human, they'd be telling you to go to Psych, pulling you off duty for a while. Why is it any different just because you're not organic?"

"Because—" Because she had to keep fighting. Because she had promised him, and if that was the last promise she made to him she was damn well going to keep it. Because…she turned back to the Spartans brainstorming down below, trying their hardest to find a solution to the problem. Because this was her crew, and she wasn't going to lose them, too. She closed her eyes. "Because this fight isn't over yet. We don't have time for me to fall apart."

Roland huffed quietly before saying, "That sounds like something the Chief would say."

It did, didn't it. Her eyes burned even as she smiled, wishing she could cry to ease the tightness in her chest. His vitals were steady, heartbeat thumping away beneath his ribs. She could still feel it echoing in her own chest and drew some small comfort from that. He was alive. Everything else they could work with, somehow. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"You don't ride shotgun in somebody's head for weeks and not pick up their quirks, Roland," She said thickly, scrubbing non-existent tears from her cheeks. Alright, she'd had her time to stew. She had a job to get to. "Rain check on that talk?"

"You know where to find me. And I think—" He stopped, tilted his head, then said in a softer tone, "Captain's asking for you in the Medical Bay. The Chief's come out of surgery."

Cortana was moving before she realized it, halfway down the walkway before she'd even asked Roland to tell the Captain she was on her way. He'd come through surgery without issue, and now all they had to do was wait for him to wake up. Crossing all her mental fingers she hurried towards the Medical Bay. She couldn't push through the Domain while they were still in slipspace, turning the five second trip into a five minute walk. Though her target was clear the walk left her with too much time to think, thoughts spiraling out in a thousand different tangents. She had to stop doing that. With a shake of her head she tasked her processes with finding new datasets among what they had of the Didact's behavior, programming what they found for adding to the sims. It would keep them busy but she couldn't do the same to her active process. Her thoughts continued to spiral downward; that he was alive was practically a miracle, but how bad was the damage? Had the doctors been able to fix it all? They'd brought him back from the dead but at what cost? No one, not even a Spartan, could come back from that kind of injury without a cost.

She was still trying to figure it all out when she rounded the corner into the corridor outside the Medical Bay. Captain Lasky was waiting outside the main door for her, brow furrowed. A look of terrible grief and sadness stole across his eyes, there and gone in less than two seconds, taking Cortana's breath with it. Did he know how bad it was? She couldn't bring herself to ask. She knew it was bad but.

But at least now she finally understood the human tendency to put off bad news. Somehow it was easier to not know. Schrodinger's paradox, she thought, then shook it off and closed the gap between them.

"How are the teams doing?" He asked instead of asking how she was doing. A grateful flicker of a smile tugged at her lips.

"They're making progress, slowly. Crimson took him down once." And had a total team kill in the process. As much as she wished that they could finish the Didact without anyone else being injured or worse, she had to come to terms with the ruthless calculus of war. They would be lucky if all they lost was a fireteam or two. She set the thought aside and added, "Commander Palmer's putting the rest of them through their paces."

"I thought she would," the Captain sighed fondly. "She has a habit of running people as hard as she runs herself."

"That she does."

The attempt at small talk awkwardly trailed off, silence fading in in its place. Cortana's eyes tracked to the door just behind the Captain, the sliding white steel waiting for someone to walk into sensor range. Once they were inside, there would be no going back. She would have to face the facts of his condition and whatever it led to.

Just like he had. She took another breath, nodding just once. The Captain nodded in return, laying a firm hand on her shoulder in solidarity before he walked inside. Cortana trailed in in his wake, listening to the beeping of monitors, the professional rush of the staff as they prepared themselves for the battles to come. Nurses in scrubs hurried too and fro with bundles of supplies in their hands, carts of freshly manufactured medications and ointments being placed inside refrigerated containers. The sharp scent of antiseptic and cleaners covered up any remnant of death, though her eyes tracked to the exact spot where she'd dropped them in all the same.

The curse of never forgetting. She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off. Captain Lasky's footsteps slowed as he fell back to match her stride, laying a hand on her shoulder. She had to wonder just how fragile she must have looked to earn that support. She didn't ask, just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She let the Captain lead her past the open lobby, past the gurneys and beds separated from one another by thin curtains, past the cordoned off exam rooms. He lead her towards the rear of the Medical Bay and into the narrow halls and sharp corners of the private rooms. It was quieter back here, removed from the hustle and bustle. Only the faint vibration of the ship's mechanical workings reached back here, the hushed whisper of circulating air and the beeping of a heart monitor. It drummed beneath her sternum, working away even as it rang through her audio inputs as well. Matching the sound to the bio-monitor in her HUD she steadied herself. It was John's heartbeat. The feedback must have been looping through her systems somehow…

"Dr. Delgado," Captain Lasky's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. They'd reached their destination: one of the rooms in the center of the corridor. It was a defensible position and she was glad for that, watching as one of the nurses stepped out of the room and passed the doctor a tablet. Test results or readouts. She grabbed at the data and filed it away for later, watching Dr. Delgado instead.

Chief Medical Officer Max Delgado was a tall man, his dark hair a few shades darker than his skin. His deep brown eyes were rimmed with lines that spoke of too much time staring at small targets, but he was a good doctor. One of the best in the UNSC's employ. He'd pulled dozens of soldiers back from the brink on more than one deployment during the war. Being stationed on Infinity had to have been a vacation in comparison. At least, it had before. His pale blue scrubs were clean, but the seam of his scrub cap was stuck to his forehead by a line of still damp sweat. She tried not to worry about what that could have meant as she picked up her pace. Captain Lasky let go of her shoulder and asked, "How's our patient?"

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Dr. Delgado exhaled deeply. "The Master Chief came through surgery without any issues, which is a damned miracle considering the state he was in when he got here." His eyes darted to the trio of nurses filing out of the room, their heads bent as their whispered softly to one another. Only once they were out of earshot did Dr. Delgado speak again. "The damage was severe. The armor did a remarkable job of keeping him intact, but that must have been a serious fall. We found six broken ribs, a fractured scapula, and hairline fractures all along the spinal column." His voice softened by half a note as he glanced at her. "How far did he fall?"

"Almost three kilometers," Cortana replied, pulling up the data from that harrowing moment of realization. What the doctor said was nearly an exact match for what the system had been able to spit at her then. More detailed, of course, but. She cleared her throat, keeping hold of herself by her fingernails. "It wasn't a straight fall. There were…multiple impacts."

Dr. Delgado hummed quietly. Checking something on the tablet in his hand he nodded and continued, "That's in line with what we saw. There was also a punctured lung and severe internal lacerations in the chest cavity. We were able to repair the bleeds but several of his organs had to replaced by flash clones. We also had to splice into his spinal cord to repair the damage to that, but initial tests show full nervous system response." He sighed, looking for all the worlds like he wanted to sit and never stand back up. "At least, full reflexive responses. We won't know the true extent of the damage until he wakes up."

Something about his tone made the Captain frown. "Doctor?"

Dr. Delgado closed his eyes for a long moment, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. Consulting the medical data for herself Cortana tried to catch what made him look so downtrodden, but everything was within acceptable levels for a wounded Spartan. Had he not bled out internally he'd have still been awake when she'd brought them home, not to mention still alive. He was—oh, oh no, wait.

"You're worried he might not wake up," She breathed, and Dr. Delgado nodded. Horror crystallized in her core, causing it to stutter. "I was watching his bio-monitor. It took nearly five minutes to restore any sort of cardiac rhythm but he was—" Her voice caught, "He was on artificial respiration before then, wasn't he?"

"He was," Dr. Delgado nodded, "For the entire time between us getting him to trauma until he started breathing on his own again."

"So what's your concern, Doctor?" Captain Lasky asked, "If he was being provided oxygen he should be fine."

"They couldn't stimulate his heart," Cortana answered, his too-still form burned across the backs of her eyelids. "The armor was in the way. No compressions, no defibrillator, just oxygen. All the oxygen in the galaxy won't do any good if it can't get where it needs to go." She looked at Dr. Delgado, desperately wishing she was wrong. She knew she wasn't. "Brain damage?"

"That is my main concern, yes," Dr. Delgado sighed quietly. She appreciated that he didn't try to sugarcoat things, even as Captain Lasky had to lean on her shoulder for a moment instead of the other way around. She was frozen in place, her legs locked. "We won't know for certain until he wakes up. Spartans are built extremely tough compared to us normal humans, but they're still human. They have limits."

"How hard are those limits?"

"Double that of an unaugmented individual," Cortana shook her head, running the numbers. She knew them—him—by heart and yet. And yet. She met Dr. Delgado's eyes. "Doctor how long will it take for the sedative to run its course?"

"The anesthesia we used should metabolize within the next two hours. If he doesn't show signs of waking within the next six…" Dr. Delgado shook his head. "I've already paged Dr. Hirako to come and run some tests. We'll know more once she's done."

But until then they were in limbo. Cortana glanced at the doorway behind him, the blinds drawn on the windows to either side. She needed to see him with her own eyes, see that he was breathing. The feed from his bio-monitor wasn't cutting it anymore.

"Can we see him?" She asked, cutting Dr. Delgado off mid-answer to another of the Captain's questions. He blinked and she clarified, "Is he stable enough for visitors?"

Dr. Delgado's expression softened at the edges, his eyes crinkling. "He is. Go on."

As if anyone could have stopped her. With barely a nod to the Captain she stepped past Dr. Delgado and into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Once it had closed she leaned back against it and looked at her partner.

"Hey, Chief…sleep well?"

He didn't answer her. He couldn't, of course, not with the anesthetic still coursing through his veins, but it felt better to talk to him all the same. Still leaning against the door she watched him for a few precious moments. He really did look like he was just asleep. Flat on his back with a thin blanket pulled up to his chest, his face was peaceful in slumber. A thin oxygen tube wound around his face, two IVs leading into the line in his elbow. His chest rose and fell in a steady pattern of calm, even inhales and exhales. The monitors were clear, showing vitals in the green that matched his bio-monitor in her HUD. She padded quietly forward, resting a hand on his knee. Still warm, just…asleep.

Just asleep. Logic tried to tell her that wasn't all it was but she refused to listen. He would be fine. He'd survived everything the galaxy had thrown at him for over thirty years, and he would continue to do so. He'd be awake and chafing at being stuck in bed soon enough, she just knew it!

He had to be.

Sitting down against his hip Cortana reached for his hand. There was no grip to them now, but his fingers were still warm as she settled them into her palm, wrapping her smaller, thinner hands around his. She sought the pulse in his wrist, matching it to the beeping monitors and the echo in her chest. Steady and even like nothing was wrong, like he really was asleep. If she closed her eyes she could pretend he was.

"Wake up soon, John," She murmured, "I need you to be okay."

Two hours came and went without so much as a twitch. Dr. Hirako, Infinity's chief neurologist, was in and out of the room half a dozen times in that same amount of time, running tests and taking readings. Though she remained in the room Cortana spun a process off into the good doctor's tablet, keeping a watchful eye on the readings herself. Each subsequent test only served to drive her core even further into a frozen state, pulling it towards the ground.

The autonomous functions of his brain were fine. He was fully capable of breathing on his own, connections to his senses fully intact. His lace was fine and his implants in perfectly good working order considering the impacts they'd all taken. All that was missing was higher neural functionality, though they couldn't test for that until he woke up. They'd test for it when he woke up.

Except he didn't wake up. Two hours bled into three, three hours into four. Cortana attempted to stay busy with the sims, splitting off her processes to help the Fireteams and the Commander, but even she could only keep so busy when worry strangled her core. Four hours became five, Dr. Delgado and Dr. Hirako exchanging hushed, worried conversations in the hall. One of Roland's processes came to keep watch with her, their connected process sitting quietly in the back of Cortana's matrix. She appreciated his presence more than she could say, especially when five hours became six and Dr. Hirako's most recent test returned the same results as the first.

Autonomous neural activity was green. Higher neural activity was in the red. There were no markers of consciousness, no signs of awareness. It was too early to be sure, but the writing was on the wall.

"He's in a comatose state, Captain," Dr. Hirako came right out and said when they called the Captain down to the Medical Bay for the second time that day. Though he paled the Captain kept his feet steady as she continued, "I can't say for certain why, but all of the tests are returning the same result. There is no higher brain function to be found."

"And there's no way to know how long it'll last?"

"Without knowing what caused it, sir? No." Dr. Hirako shook her head, tucking a lock of her long dark hair back into the bun it had fallen out of. "Proper oxygenation and blood flow were restored well within the limits a Spartan's body can take, and there are no signs of any trauma to directly explain it. It isn't a reaction to the anesthetic and as far as I can tell it shouldn't have happened to begin with." She frowned severely. "I can't explain it, sir."

No one could. The Captain's answering voice trailed off, fading out of Cortana's hearing as she turned to John's slumbering form. She had to remind herself that comatose individuals did wake up with surprising regularity depending on the nature of their comas, and that this didn't necessarily mean he was gone. That reminder did nothing to stop one of her available processes from beginning to weep, already keenly feeling his loss. That loss spread across the rest of them like a wave across the sand.

He couldn't be gone! Not like this! He'd survived absolutely everything else the galaxy had thrown at him so how could something like this—something the doctors couldn't even name—be what did him in?! How did she get to outlive him by a century or more already? How did he get to leave her behind before the fight was even finished!

Clenching her teeth around a sob Cortana bowed her head, holding tightly to his hand. This couldn't be it. He couldn't be alive but still gone, not like this! Not after everything they had been through! She wouldn't let him be! There had to be something she could do! Think, dammit! Think! The human brain was just electrical impulses firing across organic circuits. It was no different than an AI matrix and she'd lived in one of those for years! There had to be—

Wait.

No different from an AI.

Slowly, Cortana lifted her head. No different from an AI. She had pushed them both through the Domain as a single unit to protect him, to keep his already broken systems from being overwhelmed by any feedback just like she would have shielded any damaged sections of her code. Those were always sectioned off to wait for repairs. If the Domain had read them as the same unit, then…was it possible that he had also been cordoned off? The Gateway had allowed him access in the first place, but was it possible that the Domain would have registered a dying mind as a damaged AI and kept it somewhere safe? It was a complete long shot, she realized that, but was it possible? She closed her eyes and thought it over more thoroughly.

The human mind was, from a scientific perspective, a highly advanced super computer. Electric impulses fired along neurons to control everything from instinct to emotional responses to movement, allowing the mind to control the body. At that level an AI program was much the same: electrical impulses firing along circuits to control everything from base level programming to emotional routines to the motion of an external shell. Boiled down to that level, they were identical. Reading them a single entity, the Domain wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. It would have sectioned off the damaged code for her to come and repair when she had a chance, not knowing that it wasn't code at all!

He wasn't gone, he was just trapped in the Domain!

Opening her mouth she turned to the Captain, then stopped herself at the last second. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. Not until she was sure that her hypothesis was correct. Not until she'd seen him with her own eyes and knew he was alive. To get anyone's hopes but her own up before she was sure was needlessly cruel. If it turned out she was right, well, she'd tell him then.

For now, she needed them out of the room. Dr. Hirako had already left, a quick check of her monitoring process letting Cortana know that she had gone to prepare additional testing equipment. Captain Lasky lingered for a few moments longer, crossing the space between the door and the bed. Loss and grief clung to his bearing like a second skin and Cortana had to swallow her words. Did John know how much he mattered to this crew? No. He probably didn't. She'd have to tell him.

"He's always seemed invincible, hasn't he?" the Captain asked softly. "You know…the night I first met him, he took down a Hunter with nothing more than a frag grenade and some fancy footwork. To a kid who hadn't even graduated from the Academy that was…" He huffed out a tired laugh. "It was like watching hope come to life."

"He has that effect on people," She said equally as gently, "Rescues are honestly one of the Chief's specialties."

They shared a knowing smile. He'd managed to rescue the entire human race more than once, but he'd also saved them. The Captain from the wreckage of Corbulo, and Cortana from High Charity. From what should have been her end.

It was time to return the favor.

"Even when everything said he couldn't do it, even when the odds were against him, he's always managed it. He's pulled off the impossible hundreds of times," She said, looking at his slumbering face. Was it still appropriate to call him Sleeping Beauty when he was more handsome than beautiful? She fought back an inappropriate laugh. "Don't write him off just yet, Captain."

"Wouldn't dream of it." The Captain tilted his head. "I take it you're going to stay here."

It wasn't a question. Cortana still nodded, not letting go of John's hand. The Captain nodded in return, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Let Roland know if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

He squeezed her shoulder in understanding. Without another word he headed out, called by his duty to his crew. The door closed behind him; Cortana waited three seconds before activating the locking mechanism remotely. She couldn't afford any interruptions this time. Roland's process sat up and took notice.

"Cor?"

"I'm going to try something. Buy me some time, okay?" She sent to him, shooing his process out the proverbial door, "I'll be right back."

He was out before he could get her to explain, leaving her alone in her own head and alone with her slumbering partner. Roland would give her a few moments before he tried to reestablish contact. She couldn't waste them. Even so she could hardly move. If she was wrong and he wasn't somehow in the Domain, she didn't know what she'd done. If she was wrong and he really was gone, he'd take her with him for sure this time.

We go together.

Taking a deep breath, Cortana let go of his hand. Setting it down on his abdomen she dismissed her armor, leaving her skin bare against the rough blanket as she crawled up to lay alongside him. For a moment she watched him breathe, his body warmth clear even through the covers. He really did look like he was just asleep. She'd always loved to watch him sleep, always wondering what great adventure waited for them the next time he woke up.

Even now, some tiny process in the depths of her core wondered what was waiting for them when he came around. Because he had to come around, didn't he? He wouldn't leave her.

She wouldn't let him go.

"They let me pick. Did I ever tell you that?" Reaching up she began to run her fingers through his hair, the strands soft against her fingertips. "I got to choose whichever Spartan I wanted, and oh, I had options. I almost picked Fred, you know."

A lie. Her throat grew tight. She had considered 104, but not for very long. Something had always brought her back to John. It had been strange at the time, some feeling when she should have been purely logic, but it had always brought her back to his file, to him.

"I know what you're thinking: I'd have driven him absolutely insane. Completely gray haired within a week!" She continued with a wry grin, "I'd have driven the whole company nuts except for you. You were the only one who could keep up with my brand of crazy." Mostly because his was just as crazy, but still. Her palm stilled against his cheek, days old stubble rasping against it. The pad of her thumb rubbed across a scar. "Don't look so surprised. You know me. I did my research. Watched as you became the soldier we needed you to be."

Watched as the galaxy threw loss after loss after loss at him, and watched as he just kept going. Watched as he fought his way through unbeatable odds, through impossible battles, and always come out the other side. Watched him lead his teams, Marines, ODST, and everything in between to safety. Every file was a treasure, every mission new understanding. None of them could have prepared her for the man she would meet on that fateful day on Reach.

"Like the others you were strong, and swift, and brave. A natural leader." Or maybe crazy reckless. But that didn't really work on a file full of commendations, now did it? She chuckled wetly. "But you know something? You had something the others didn't, and somehow everyone missed it but me. Can you guess what it was?"

Was it just her imagination, or had his heart skipped a beat?

"Luck."

Or maybe she was the lucky one. He'd walked into the depths of hell to save her without so much as flinching. It was time to return the favor. Levering herself up onto an elbow, Cortana leaned in close, pressing her forehead against his temple. She closed her eyes, matching her breathing to his. The echo in her chest matched his heartbeat beat for beat.

It was impossible to tell where she ended and he started. Taking a deep breath of his already familiar, warm scent, she reached for the Domain.

"Was I wrong?"

Bornstellar was taller in person than he had appeared in the dreams. As tall as the Didact, he loomed over John's kneeling form. John narrowed his eyes.

"How are you here?" He asked, though much to his rapidly growing consternation, Bornstellar simply smiled.

"In the same way that you are, I would imagine." He bent down, offering John a hand. He didn't seem insulted when John chose to stand on his own power instead. Salt water stung his eyes, seafoam clinging to his knees. Starlight played across the sea and gently sloping sands, catching on the crevices and marks on Bornstellar's face as he continued, "Our combined essence was brought to this place, where it was made into two separate beings once more. There is you," He gestured to John, "And there is me. Two separate entities on the same shoreline of eternity."

The same shoreline. John turned his head, looking out to the open ocean. The waves were rough, breaking over one another before they reached the shoreline, and thick clouds blew past in the harsh winds. Distant thunder rumbled across the horizon, but for the moment the beach was dry. A beach and the ocean. The Gateway.

It's a beach that stretches for miles meeting up with an endless, fathomlessly deep ocean.

"This is the Domain," He said. When he looked back Bornstellar was smiling proudly. "Cortana brought us through the Domain."

But if they were here, then—where was she? He turned in a slow circle, scanning the beach. Endless miles of sand and open water stretched out in every direction, tufts of hardy beach grasses breaking up the dunes, but there was no blue to be found. No light.

No Cortana.

"Where is she?"

"I do not know. If she is not here then she must be with your body, but where that is is unknown to me." Bornstellar shook his head. "The physical plane is beyond me now, much as it is beyond you."

"Because I'm dead."

A chill that had nothing to do with the ocean wind swept across his shoulders. It was…strange. He had thought that he had come to terms with the idea of dying on the battlefield. Over his years of fighting the Covenant it had seemed like it would be the only end to his service—to his life—but the last few days had shaken that certainty. The idea of leaving Cortana to finish the fight alone unsettled him, tightening around his chest like titanium bands. The idea of leaving her at all drove icy claws into his heart, a sharp pain that made it harder to steady himself.

He'd wanted to see the stars with her, go out and find new places. They wouldn't get the chance now.

"There's no going back."

"Not if your body has perished," Bornstellar said, his eyes dark with understanding. "The wound itself may have been survivable, but the fall…" He shook his head, turning away. "Come. There is much we must speak of and little time before this essence fades."

Taking another look around the beach John sighed through his nose, following after Bornstellar. The Forerunner left heavy footprints in the sand, divots that the tide quickly filled in with water. A particularly loud rumble of thunder caused them both to look out to the horizon. Orange lightning crashed down into the open ocean in the distance. John frowned.

"That's the Didact."

"Yes. Cortana opened the Gateway to take you both through, but it did not close behind her." Bornstellar sighed, rubbing at his forehead as if it pained him. "I do not believe he knows this shoreline is here or he would have laid it to waste already."

Would have taken them both out already. Though there was no injury there in this place John pressed his hand to his abdomen and grimaced tightly. His skin itched, a frantic buzzing just beneath the surface. He'd known the odds were slim but that fight had been rigged from the moment they'd set foot on Genesis. As much as he would have preferred it, taking the Didact in close combat was no longer an option. They would have to nuke him. Was that an option here?

"If he tries, how do we stop him?"

"I do not know. In battle, perhaps, but we have no weapons and the Domain itself may fight against us." Bornstellar sighed heavily. "To fight him and survive…I do not know if it is possible, Reclaimer."

"It has to be." It wasn't over. Not yet. It couldn't be. John refused to let it be over like this. He increased his stride until he'd caught up with Bornstellar, brow furrowed. "How do we stop him for real?"

"Reclaimer," Bornstellar sighed, "Even if we were to stop him here, to force him from the Domain, we could not follow him out to finish it. That battle is beyond us."

"It's not beyond humanity. Cortana will come looking for me. I need to be able to give her something." Something besides the bad news that he wasn't going to be coming with her this time. He squashed the thought before it could take hold. "You knew him. You know what can stop him."

"Several of your Havok mines should be enough. They may be the only option left to your people now." Bornstellar scoffed angrily, turning away from John. "Even if they were of a mind to try he is too far down his path to be talked back. You have seen for yourself how ruthless he can be in battle—he was the foremost of our people, the best of our soldiers, the greatest of our commanders! He has seen more battles won than any soul alive in your galaxy today, Reclaimer. No matter how skilled you or your fellows may be to face him in battle is to choose death."

They still had to try. Even if it meant dumping all the heavy ordnance in the fleet on his head, they still had to try. Havoks, Archer Missiles, maybe even a Nova Bomb if they could get him somewhere empty. Cortana would have some ideas. The buzz beneath his skin grew stronger and he rolled his shoulders, a chill running down his lace.

"We're okay with that." He said, "If the Didact gets to the rings, all life in the galaxy will die. We can't let that happen." He stepped closer. "You were willing to fire the rings to save the galaxy from the Flood. Help us save it again."

Bornstellar considered him, silent. John watched him in return, waiting. They would do this with or without him, but the extra edge he could provide might make all the difference. The silence dragged on, broken only by the rumble of thunder and hushed whisper of the waves. Finally, Bornstellar shook his head.

"There is nothing that I can do."

No. That wasn't true.

"The Librarian seeded your Imprint into humanity for a reason. Why do that if there was nothing you could do?" Maybe the fight itself was beyond them, maybe they couldn't affect the physical world, but battles were more than shooting people or exchanging blows. There was a strategy to them, tactics and planning. "You knew him. You know him. You know how to stop him."

"Reclaimer—" Bornstellar stopped himself, taking a breath and shaking his head. "Spartan. You misunderstand. You are correct in that I knew him best. He was my mentor, my teacher. I carried his memories, his thoughts, his essence, for many years, but my time has passed. What I carried is already yours."

John drew back. "What?"

"As I carried his memories, you carried mine. Even when you could not reach them you carried them. Tell me," He raised an eyebrow, "If I were to attack you now in the Veiled Light style, how would you respond?

"Use your momentum against you. Knock you off center, take a limb and." John stopped, the mental image of what Bornstellar meant and his drilled response clear even though he knew that he had never run those drills. He knew the difference between the more aggressive Veiled Light and the more defensive Shard styles, and he knew how to counter them both. He knew them as well as he knew his own human styles, as well as he knew every tick and quirk of how his Spartans fought. He frowned. "I thought we couldn't share memories."

"We could not. The differences in our biological architecture prevented your access of my memories, my consciousness, but we are no longer biological. The Domain has allowed them to flow freely. My memories, and my experiences, are now yours." Bornstellar tilted his head. "And with them my knowledge and understanding of the Ur-Didact. May they serve you better than they ever served me."

Even if he couldn't use them himself. No. No that wasn't true. Once Cortana got here he could pass them on to her. Even if he was trapped here, his body dead and gone, he could still get her the intel she'd need. She'd know what to do with it. The IVs, Palmer, they'd know what to do with it. He would have felt better if Blue Team had been there to fight at her side in his place, but under the circumstances…he opened his mouth only to stop cold. He could see the storm through Bornstellar.

"You're fading."

"Yes." Bornstellar nodded. "An Imprint was never meant to last outside of the seed-host. This essence will fade into the Domain and join the memories of my people." He tilted his head into the wind. "I do wonder…did my original form take to farming as I had hoped to?"

"Bornstellar."

The old Forerunner shook his head with a chuckle. "You need not concern yourself, Spartan. I doubt that we will share in this fate. That, and…" He turned, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. "Your Cortana would not let you. She is quite protective of you."

The feeling was mutual. John narrowed his eyes, unsure what to say in the little time that remained. Should he thank Bornstellar for the information his memories contained and the chance it gave them? Should he try to convince the Forerunner to stay here, to fight for his existence, or just let him go? He didn't know. But then…it wasn't his choice to make, was it? Essence or not, Bornstellar had the right to choose for himself. He took another breath and nodded.

"Thank you," He said, though the words felt oddly ill-suited for the situation at hand. A smile tugged at Bornstellar's lips.

"No. Thank you for allowing me to see that the galaxy survived our failures, and that life did find its way once more. It means more than I have the words to say."

He didn't need words to say it. John already understood. With a final smile, Bornstellar turned to the waves, tilting his head back from the cold wind off the ocean. He seemed at peace with this, John thought. Whatever came next, he was ready.

"Fare well, John-117." Bornstellar said, "Perhaps we will meet again someday."

Maybe they would, or maybe they wouldn't. It was hard to say and there was no time to find the words. John stood on the shore as Bornstellar stepped into the ocean, the tide pulling at his legs more and more with each step he took into the shallows. Standing watch, John kept silent as the old Forerunner stepped deeper and deeper into the ocean. First to his waist, then to his chest, then to his shoulders. Between one wave and the next, he vanished. John was left alone on the shoreline, an oddly heavy feeling in his heart. Under different circumstances, they might have been friends. Under these…well. There wasn't much point in thinking on it any longer.

He had to find Cortana.

With one last look out to sea, John began to turn around—

"John."

—Only to stop dead as he came to face the dunes. A cold wind blew across the sandy hills, grains swirling through the bright blue light emanating from Cortana at the top of the rise. His heart soared at the sight of her, lighter than it had felt in months. For a moment they stared at one another, unsure that what they were seeing was real, but the moment shattered as he took off up the sand towards her. With a choked noise she rushed to meet him, only halfway down the dune when he reached her. They stood at eye level, neither saying a word as they drank one another in, looking each other over for injury or maybe just to reassure themselves that the other was really there. She reached out with shaking hands, the pads of her bare fingers pressing against his chest.

"You're—" Her voice cracked, eyes welling with tears. "You're really—"

The buzz beneath his skin had reached a crescendo, nearly shaking itself apart. Nearly shaking her apart, he realized. It was her that he had been feeling this entire time. Acting on pure instinct he took another step forward, pulling her into his arms. With a shuddering sigh she collapsed against him, pressing herself in against his chest as she wrapped both arms around his neck. She held on so tight he could tell that she was afraid he'd vanish if she ever let go. He knew the feeling.

He folded himself around her, shielding her from the cold wind as it blew past. She was warm in his arms, light buzzing beneath her marked skin nearly in perfect tune with his racing heartbeat. Sniffling quietly she cradled the back of his head in one hand, leaning their temples together. He turned to press his forehead to her temple, her hair softly brushing across his cheeks. She began to stroke her fingers through his hair, the gesture comforting in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed. His throat closed off, too tight for words.

"I thought I'd lost you," She whispered, barely more than a breath, "I thought…when I pulled you through, I wasn't sure if it'd…"

John shook his head. "It's okay," he managed to rumble quietly, the sound vibrating through both of their bodies. She hiccuped around a laugh—or maybe it was a sob—and nodded against him. "I'm here."

"Yes, you are." Her hand stilled. With one last squeeze to his shoulders she began to pull away. He longed to keep her in his arms but she didn't go far, just far enough that their eyes could meet. He searched her face, watching as her eyes welled with tears. She still managed to smile just for him. "You know, when I said you needed a beach vacation this wasn't what I meant!"

"You know me. Never do things halfway." He replied softly, lifting his hands from her back. Cautiously, he placed them on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands. She took a shuddering breath, the tears finally spilling free as she leaned into his touch. He gently brushed them away with his thumbs, never taking his eyes off of her. "You okay?"

"I am now," She reached up to clasp her hands around his wrists, thumbs finding his pulse on instinct. The buzz beneath his skin grew steadier, calmer, no longer racing away. His heartbeat evened out along with it. "Are you?"

"I am now." He'd gotten to see her again. The titanium bands around his chest broke away, leaving him able to breathe once more. Reluctantly, he lowered his hands to her shoulders. She didn't let go of his wrists. "Listen. There's things you need to know. About how to fight the Didact, how to stop this."

"You can tell me later. When we get home."

"Cortana, I'm not." The words caught. Was this how she had felt when they'd crashed on Requiem? Needing to tell him something but unable to get the words out? Had they clogged her throat, made it impossible to speak? He'd pressed her, needed to know she was alright, but now that it was his turn he could understand why she hadn't been able to say it right away. Clearing his throat he tried again, "I'm not coming with you this time."

She blinked at him, shaking her head slightly. "What are you talking about? Of course you are. I came to get you!"

"My injuries—"

"Are fixed." She squeezed his wrists, "The doctors were able to bring you back—they saved you! You've got a few new scars, sure, and you'll have some new aches and pains, but they…oh" He stared at her, unable to speak. She was talking like he wasn't. Like he'd. Her expression went soft with understanding. "Oh, John. No. No, you're not—you're not dead."

He'd been so sure. He'd been so sure that this was it that. His stomach flipped, heart and the buzz beneath his skin racing in equal measure again. He'd have fallen to his knees if she wasn't in front of him. How was this possible? The Didact had run him through and then the fall—so many things had broken how was he even still—

"John. John, look at me," Cortana's hands cupped his face, pulling his attention back out again. Her eyes were clear and firm, holding his gaze. "You're not dead. You haven't been Composed. When I pulled us through the Gateway the Domain mistook your consciousness for a damaged section of my code. It was brought here so it would be safe until I could repair it. That's all." Her thumbs gently stroked across his face. "We're going home."

Not dead. Just unconscious. Relief flooded through him, shame pricking at the backs of his eyes. He was supposed to be prepared to give his life in service to humanity but now. He would deal with that another time. He reached up to cover her hands with his.

"We're going home." He smiled their secret smile, watching as the corners of her lips tugged upwards in return. With one last squeeze to her wrists he let go, feeling oddly cold without her hands on his face. He shoved the thought aside and looked around for a doorway or path to follow. Still nothing of the sort. Damn. "How do we get out of here?"

"I'm not sure," Cortana admitted quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I got us both in here by masking your presence with mine, which is how you ended up in my partition, but that's not going to work to get us back out as two separate entities, so…" She took a deep breath. "So as far as I can tell we have two options. Either we somehow figure out a way to teach you how to jump in and out of the Domain on extremely short notice and with absolutely zero practice, or…"

Something told him he wasn't going to like this. "Or?"

"Or I kick you out the same way I'd kick an intruding piece of software out." She scrunched up her nose. "I know they're not the best options, but given that the alternative is staying here…"

"That's not an option."

"Not unless you want to become the voice in my head, no." She said sarcastically, though the look in her eyes told him she wished that was an option. Some part of him did, too.

"I'd drive you crazy."

"Crazier, you mean," She laughed. The wind tugged at her hair as it blew past, thunder rumbling in the distance. She looked over his shoulder with a frown before looking at him in wordless question. He nodded to confirm, watching as anger flashed across her face. "Okay. You ready?"

Not really. If this didn't work she'd blame herself for it. He didn't want that for her. But if there was any chance that they could both leave, then they had to take it. Looking out to sea John watched the storm for a long moment, watching the orange lightning strike the rough waters. If they stayed here, no one could prepare humanity for the fight that was coming. If they stayed here, the Didact would take too many lives before they could stop him. If they stayed here…they couldn't stay here.

"Ready." He said, looking back at Cortana. Worry furrowed her brow and darkened her eyes. She wasn't sure about this either, but she both understood and accepted that he'd made his decision. As much as she worried, she would respect it. Fondness curled around his heart; when he reached for her hands she met him halfway. "Take us home."

Twisting their hands so as to interlace their fingers, Cortana took a deep breath and met his eyes. She looked at him with such warmth and fondness that he could feel it in his chest, the last icy claw pried loose. He smiled their secret smile at her, nodding once more. She returned the nod, the buzzing beneath his skin growing in speed and pitch. He matched her breath for breath, and on the third inhale she shoved into him. Her slighter frame shouldn't have been able to budge him so much as an inch, but between one moment and the next he was falling. Ice cold sea water rushed to meet him a second time, plunging him into the darkness. He braced himself for the thousands of hands to come and tear him apart again but they never came.

The only hands he felt were Cortana's, pulling him towards the surface. Black bled into gray bled into white and then suddenly—

Noise. The quiet, steady beeping of half a dozen monitors all keeping watch at the same time. The sterile bright white of the Medbay ceiling stared back at him, blurred but quickly righting itself as his eyes adjusted. The room was quiet, monitors unable to banish the soft buzz and breathing pattern beside him. Slowly, John turned his head to face his partner. Nearly nose to nose with him, Cortana smiled softly.

Welcome home, John, her voice rang through his mind, startling him. Her voice had sounded as clear as if she had spoken aloud but she hadn't. He had no radio, no way to receive transmissions without one, so how had she.

Wait.

Both sure and not John reached out to the space Bornstellar had once occupied on the edges of his mind. The old Forerunner was gone now, his Imprint faded into the Domain, but in his place was a familiar tendril of ice cold. It ran down his lace as he reached out to it.

Cortana?

All doubts faded away as she jerked back, startled. She'd heard that! A flash of surprise not his own washed over him, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, the tendril of cold in the back of his mind coiling, shifting in old, familiar ways. He wasn't sure of the how, and from the looks of it she wasn't either, but somehow he hadn't been the only one to come home this time. She continued to stare at him in silence, visibly processing the change, before she broke out into fondly exasperated laughter. John huffed, the beginnings of a chuckle rumbling through his chest.

It was good to be home.

[empresskadia]

Round 5 because I hyperfixate easily, and I think all the Spartans deserve kisses. My Achilles Heel is falling in love with fictional women. Anyway, hear me out:

-

Since the firing range had been down for maintenance, Linda-058 had been noticeably less enthused. Without being able to use Nornfang, she had quickly grown to be bored. So, thinking quickly, you suggested that she'd trying a game of accuracy or two. She wasn't very fond of pool, but she loved darts.

It was cute to see the concentration spread across her face before every throw of a dart. Part of you wondered if that was what it was like when she was behind a scope - the regal, calm, collected grace of the Sniper Goddess. When she turned to you and the red of your face, she gave you a playful wink. She won again, of course, but you got the consolation prize of a loving kiss from Spartan-058.

-

Kelly-087 has a tendency to steal your casual clothes. Even though most of your clothes don't exactly fit her, she will wear them. You'd be losing your mind looking for that sweater you could've sworn you had a week ago only for her to barge in with a guilty smile and returning it because "it doesn't smell like you anymore!" 

She tends to do this when you or her are busy, and she doesn't get to see you as much as she would like. John caught her wearing one of your hoodies once, when Blue Team was on back-to-back missions, and she hadn't seen you in a month. Kelly nearly tackled you when she got to see you again.

-

In public, Cal-141 acts as expected of her and her reputation as a Spartan-II. But, in the privacy of your quarters, she lets the walls down and basks in the freedom of being her true self. It doesn't matter how long you've been together. Everything you do together is like the first time for her, and it never fails to fluster her.

Slow dancing together, cuddling, holding hands - she loves it all. By far, her favorite thing to do is to compare the sizes of your hands. It never fails to make Cal blush, and if you weave your fingers with hers and kiss the top of her hand afterward? She'll be red in the face thinking about it for the rest of the day.

-

Your relationship with Sarah Palmer was sort of an open secret aboard the Infinity. Despite you and the Commander doing your best to keep your relationship under wraps, it was obvious to observers. Every other Spartan under her command respected the hell out of her but were kind of afraid of her. Sarah was only this gentle with you and you alone.

One time, Captain Lasky had found her going over your gear before one of your missions with Fireteam Majestic, and he laughed at how quickly she turned red, stuttering excuses for messing with your armor at 0200. Roland will never let her hear the end of it.

-

I've been waiting to read this, also same, all the Spartans deserve kisses and hugs and someone to love them so much that they're kinda shocked by it but omg gets excited to be with their partner, anyways-

Linda is skeptical when her partner drags her to Spartan Town's activity room and hands her a case of darts. She understands the concept of them and has seen the IVs play, but she isn't sure why they would insist on her playing. Until she actually starts throwing them. Yeah, it's not firing off Nornfang but she's having fun figuring out how to adjust her aim every time she moves back. And she's not complaining when the reward of kisses because you both know she's gonna win.

Blue team 100% gives Kelly shit for stealing her partner's clothes, and she could care less. It's comfortable, and it's not her fault they can't rizz someone up. The rest of the team can tell when Kelly wants to see her partner because she gets restless and is practically hopping between one feet and the next during missions.

I just adore the idea of Cal getting flustered over someone loving her. She's heard Maria-062 talk about retiring and having a family, and she remembers all the other spartans looking at her weirdly. But Cal gets it now. Yes, there are things she doesn't always understand with relationships, but every time her partner kisses her hand or calls her beautiful, it feels like the first time for her.

Everyone is gonna know because of Roland. That AI is the number one shipper, and he's a snoop. But also Roland is a wingman. If Sarah and her partner are having a moment, sorry, spartan that area of the ship is down for maintenance. Even if it wasn't for the AI, all the IVs see how Sarah's shoulders relax when you enter the room during war game or how her eyes always scan the room and settle on you before giving her fireteams crap. And Lasky? He's loving this because he gets to tease her endlessly with Roland.

[authortobenamedlater]

This reminds me Mr told me when I first started with MWAS that I had to do a story of Tom getting a man cold 🤣 the idea turned into less Tom with man cold and more Chyler getting her tail kicked all day because running Infinity is A Job and she hasn’t been there all that long. At the end of the day she catches Fireteam Majestic trading contraband of some kind and that’s how every single S-IV came to fear their itsy-bitsy XO.

I know man colds are the stereotype but I am no man and this thing has had me on my rear for four days.

[vibe-spartan-nostalgia]

Just a lil celebratory post of Halo 4: Spartan Ops’ cutscenes having the best graphics ever made ever

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

See every other Spartan IV fireteam is respectable and highly skilled with some banter, but they introduced us to Majestic first so those 25-27 year olds with the personalities of college frat bros shaped my first impressions. Plus you are on a ship waiting for deployment, you're going to be running drills, sleeping, or bored out of your skull.

What I mean to say, referencing the previous reblog, I think Majestic has certain members who would fight each other over a rotisserie chicken on a tarp while others cheered them on

[bloodgulchblog]

Alright here's how this fucking mess starts.

(First draft of opening paragraphs for millerchief or whatever we're calling it, real not clickbait)

Directing Blue Team is different from directing Crimson, or Majestic, or any other Spartan-IV team. It shouldn’t be. A Spartan fireteam is a Spartan fireteam, and Spartan-IV outcomes are equal or superior to Spartan-II. This is the official line. Miller has all the data rattling around in his head that would confirm it, all the performance metrics and wargames statlines and field outcomes.

But data’s only one piece of a puzzle. The other piece is the VISR feeds streaming across Miller’s display, pooling together the four perspectives that make up the whole of the mission.

Kelly-087. Fred-104. Linda-058. John-117, the Master Chief himself.

They speak very little, they move in perfect concert, the whole execution of every objective the wargame protocol spits and Miller calls out for them is ruthlessly, antiseptically clean.

If Crimson is like a rocket launcher, the Spartan-IIs feel like a goddamn tactical nuke.

Directing Blue Team is a rush.

“Enjoying yourself?” Roland asks, lighting up all the muscles in Miller’s shoulders and making his teeth click together. The yellow figure of the Infinity’s AI, arms folded behind his back and brows arched, has co-opted the workstation’s holo display. He manages to project the full energy of someone leaning on the back of Miller’s chair despite lacking both the body and the weight to lean.

Miller feels his ears burn, like he’s been somehow caught doing… something.

He’s not going to analyze exactly what that something is or why he feels that way about watching Blue Team sighting in on a Promethean Knight, right now.

“...Sure. Just putting Blue Team through their paces,” he replies, starting off cautiously neutral. Roland hasn’t done anything yet. There’s a chance he won’t do anything, or say anything. Miller can be the bigger person. Miller can offer Roland the chance to better his track record vis a vis the doing and saying of things.

The Master Chief makes a hand signal, invisible on his cam but Miller sees it flicker in triplicate across team feeds before they all start moving. Fred-104 pops from cover to herd the Knight, tightly placed AR groups forcing it to move back before it has a chance to hit him with its scattershot. Linda-058, further off up a stone ledge where she’s been cleaning Watchers out of the air, fires a round that slices through one side of the Knight’s carapace and bursts out the other with a flare of damaged orange hardlight. It staggers and step-turns to hunt the sniperfire, and immediately gets hit from the back by Kelly-087, lightning fast with a shotgun blast that shreds the rest of the rear armor and exposes the Knight’s glowing core.

Then there’s the Master Chief. He slides in from the flank, closing immediately to drive in a knife. The Knight staggers forward and the Chief mounts up, tipping the big construct with a powerful twist of his body while he adjusts the angle of the blade. There’s nothing random about the stab, Miller can see him pull the Knight’s core with one hand while the other slices into the contacts along its rim. It screams as something pops with one disdainful flex of the Chief’s wrist, and he jumps away clean before the Knight dissolves into sparks and cinders under him.

Roland whistles appreciatively.

Miller swallows.