Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Within Reach

Prologue: Lone Wolf

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August 28, 12550

Not far from Astirah City, Ninavi Territory Coast, Léshelo Continent, Gamma Cygni VI

There was pulsing noise everywhere - the slamming of her boots on the concrete pavement, the hammering of gunfire, the pounding of blood in her ears. As she pressed the button on the detonator in her pocket, the resounding shockwaves of plastic explosives rang out.

Gate down. Two more turns and a bolt across the courtyard, jump into the armored ONI getaway van, and I'm home free.

This kind of thing was what SPARTAN-B312 lived for: the wild-eyed madness at the very limits of adrenaline, danger that would make whole platoons of seasoned assault infantry balk, intense and deadly solo missions that left no room for error. She lived her life on the edge of a knife, and didn't consider a job well done until that knife had cut her.

The best tasks were ones that left her racing one step ahead of death. How was a spartan supposed to know she was alive, if she couldn't hear the grim reaper's sickle singing through the air behind her?

Today was a job well done. She'd infiltrated the compound as instructed, unarmed and unarmored. She'd found the evidence of a well-organized rebel cell within, just as she was looking for - and she'd terminated both her primary and secondary targets with rounds from their own pistols.

So far, four bullets had left bleeding grazes on her skin, and she'd taken a total of zero direct hits.

Could be worse. Could be better, but for a no-armor operation, definitely don't want it to be any worse!

She rounded the first corner with her gun up, and - still running at full speed - shot three men down, missing only one of the shots. A second later, her ears picked out the clacking of a heavy bolt behind her, despite the deafening interference noise.

Skidding to a stop and dropping to one knee, she spun around, and drew the other pistol. She fired both guns simultaneously, once, twice, and two rounds each made gory messes of the heads and necks of the men behind her. They collapsed, dropping the heavy machine gun they'd been about to fire.

312 stood, whirling again as she did so -

But she'd skidded a foot or two too far, and her position was visible from around the second corner.

There was a man, some ordinary rebel, standing there in the courtyard. 312 went to lift her pistol, but he was braced and aimed, his finger already tightening around the the trigger. It was an ugly gun; some kind of sawn-off sniper rifle, forming an inelegant - but very lethal - armor-piercing carbine.

Game over.

The muzzle of the weapon flashed with a blinding light, and then there was darkness.

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Within Reach

Ch01: Flesh And Bone

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June 1, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"Before we begin - and I know this will annoy you - I need yet another signature confirming that you know this will hurt like a motherfucker and you're sure you don't want to be sedated."

"I don't want to be sedated," Catherine-B320 growled. "And, have you ever had a heavy plasma bolt puncture your battlesuit and cook the flesh down to the bone? I can take pain."

"Yeah, yeah, I've had plenty of leather-necked soldiers in need of iron limbs come through here, but trust me." The nurse's expression was serious, despite the raised eyebrow. "I pretty much universally get 'that was the worst experience in my life' after the fact. Hell, I can tell you personally, attaching my new ankle was twice as painful as getting the old one crushed under rubble… though it was over quicker, I suppose."

Kat's frown deepened. "How's this, then: spartans don't sedate well, and frequently shake it off early. I'd rather tough it out, aware, than be half-awake and in agony."

"Well, your call. You know where to sign." The nurse handed over the data pad. "Shame flash-clone limbs take so much longer to grow than organs. I hear it's much less unpleasant to attach real flesh. If I end up losing another limb, I'll do that instead."

"Well, I'm not being off the field for a year when I could get that down to six months," Kat said, scratching a signature on the 'anesthesia' line of the form. "No matter how painful this might be."

"Moot question now, with the anchor healed in, and a spartan-grade prosthesis built to spec and ready." The nurse took the pad back. "Thank you. I'll go retrieve the gear immediately."

The nurse stepped out, and Kat was left alone with her thoughts, and the faint yet omnipresent ache in her right shoulder, as her body continued its agonizingly slow adjustment to having extensive titanium and polymer implants on the caps of severed tendons and cloven bones.

I can take pain. Any pain, no matter how brutal. Life is pain, and pain reminds me to breathe.

I doubt it was painful when Thom died. Caught almost dead center in the fireball of a superweapon-grade nuclear bomb? Burned to free carbon and calcium in the blink of an eye? Quick. Quicker than nerves could even begin to report pain.

"Alright then, Spartan. Here we go."

Kat blinked, looking over at the medical cart that the nurse had wheeled in. A metal box with attached electrodes and two toothpaste-like tubes lay upon it, as well as a black-skinned disembodied arm, with gleaming titanium at the complex joins of the shoulder.

"The limb itself. Lovely workmanship, I think, especially for a custom piece." The nurse hummed as she plugged the box into a nearby wall socket. "Please sit here. This will sting a bit, although it's not the big one."

Kat stood, pushing herself off the examination table and trying not to sway from the lack of balanced weight distribution - although the diminutive nurse looked impressed enough by Kat's towering stature that she probably didn't notice the falter. Kat cleared the distance to the chair in two steps and sat down.

The nurse promptly got down on one knee, bringing the electrodes up to the socket of Kat's right shoulder. "May I?"

"Get it over with."

The series of small stings were sharp, but barely drew a huff of rapid breath before it was over, and the nurse was replacing the implant cap. "What was that?" Kat grunted.

"Priming the nerve relays. They need to be ready to generate an outflow and feedback as soon as the limb is attached, else there's a strong chance of integration failure." The nurse dropped the electrodes, turning off the machine and retrieving the two tubes. "That feedback is what causes the really bad, blackout-inducing pain. The last pain you'll ever feel, in that arm, other than phantoms."

Kat nodded. "What are those?"

"This one is just high performance seal grease. Get used to applying it to the ring join, because you're going to need to periodically grease it as long as you have a prosthesis anchor. Aside from preventing grinding, it's necessary to ensure the join is watertight." The nurse picked up the prosthesis, wiping the thick gel over the interior of the 'ring' that encircled the more delicate connectors, as well as dabbing a little on the bone link cap. "You can tape or patch over the join if you want to look nice without getting grease stains on your clothes, though doing so will restrict movement a little."

"It's just… standard machine grease?"

"Well, you'll want high quality and toxin-free stuff. This shit's going in your body, after all. Don't worry, though; you're an elite soldier, the army will provide it for free." The nurse set down the grease tube, and picked up the other. "This is an electrically conductive colloidal gel, and it is loaded into the nerve relay points to ensure that they aren't easily unseated by shock. Do not apply this to tendon joins. You should need to re-apply less than once a year, even if you take the limb off to sleep."

The nurse had produced a small paintbrush-like instrument, and she proceeded to wipe several small drops of the gel on the ring of fine contacts under the larger, load-bearing linkages.

"Normally, I'd be giving you a rundown as to how the reduced sensation makes you more at risk of puncturing or damaging the skin layer, not less," the nurse said, her tone conversational. "But this piece is made with elasti-kevlar skin, not silicone. Nice customization, spartan-reserved. Stop a bullet with the back of your hand, you could."

"Spartan reserved?"

"Us mere mortals don't have the muscle density… or bone strength, or tendon toughness, to handle really strong artificial muscle. Regular pseudosarcomer is fine, but that ultratempered stuff tends to tear out implants and crack bones if it's attached to a non-spartan. Similar reason it ain't safe for us to wear those heavy battlesuits of yours." The nurse stood, capping the tube. "Anyway, weaker actuators aren't strong enough to stretch elasti-kevlar. But a piece built for you - that could pull it around no problem."

Kat nodded. "Not the first time we've had technology engineered to accommodate superhuman standards."

"No indeed." The nurse lifted the arm itself, holding it carefully in both hands. "Back of the hand is literal, by the way. Your palm is still silicone. It can be damaged as easily as your real skin. That's your trade off for having fine sensation like heat and surface texture in that area."

"Good to know."

"All right. Are you ready?"

Kat chuckled. "No, but I'm not getting any readier."

"Please put in this mouth guard." Kat reluctantly slid the proffered object into her mouth, biting down on the rubber, and one corner of the nurse's mouth curled in amusement at the spartan's annoyed expression. "Oh, yeah, it's necessary if you aren't taking sedation. There's been more than a few cracked teeth and cut-up tongues from soldiers that faked putting it in. Anyway, I'm going to count to three."

Kat nodded. The nurse carefully unscrewed the seal cap from the anchor in Kat's shoulder, setting it aside and wiping the implant connections with a sterile microfiber cloth. Then she lifted the prosthesis and lined up the join with her shoulder, moving with well practiced precision.

"One, two-"

The sensation was as sudden and painful as having her new arm split down the middle with a red-hot razor blade, one that continued through her body out the other shoulder. Her vision darkened, and her heart hammered like she'd just wrestled down a Hunter. She'd have screamed a curse around the mouth guard, if coherent speech hadn't already fled her mind.

She was aware of a creaking sound, though she didn't know where it had come from - she was too busy with the pain. Part of her mind registered a tearing sensation in her mouth, and she realized that at least one tooth had managed to bite through the guard.

It like losing her arm all over again, but instead of having it quickly torn away, it was being burned in an ore crucible. Or stabbed with a million acid-dipped needles, or flayed to the bone by arc torches, or minced by low-speed rock grinders, or-

Finally, finally, the suffering reached a plateau, and began to subside. After about thirty seconds, the black spots dissipated from her vision.

Kat leaned gracelessly over the side of the chair. "Hivno…" she grated, spitting the ruined mouthguard onto the floor.

"I warned you."

"I should have listened. Fuck." The creaking had been the metal of the chair deforming under the grip of her left hand. The armrest now bore several indented finger marks at the end.

"Worst experience of your life?"

In her mind's eye, Kat saw a flicker - a moment of watching a bright fireball in the sky, a comm abruptly going dead with a simultaneous tag update from active to M.I.A., a throbbing spike of pain in her shoulder and no feeling at all below it.

"... no, but very, very close."

"Ahh, well, I really don't envy you whatever the first place was, then. Anyway, look at you!" The nurse crowed, as if Kat had somehow accomplished something great. "Two whole arms again!"

Kat blinked, calming her breathing, then rolled her shoulders experimentally. There was a brief, soft spike in the ache from the anchor, but no further pain from the prosthesis. After more than a month of compensating for unbalanced posture, it felt strange to have comparable weight on both sides of her.

"Now, take it easy with the new hardware," the nurse continued, scrawling on her datapad with an electronic pen. "Since it's your dominant hand, I expect you'll want to use it immediately. But you'll feel clumsy as a newborn kitten at first - and with that kind of strength, it can be dangerous. Remember, a prosthesis skips the limb-growing process, not the physical therapy of re-acclimating to the new limb."

Experimentally, Kat tried to lift her hand and make a fist. Sure enough, her movements were comically stiff and jerky, and she seemed entirely unable to move the fingers independently of one another. The arm felt… strange, no other way to describe it, but it did move.

Step one: get new limb. Step two: learn to use new limb. Welcome to step two, Kat.

"I've already set up your first appointment with Whitepeaks' rehab PT. Oh, and, here's your owner's manual from Misriah Armory's ArmorTech division," the nurse said brightly, handing Kat a folded sheaf of paper. "Anyway, I think that's all from me today! Feel free to drop by my office if you have any more questions or concerns. Or call me, if you end up stationed off base."

"So I'm free to go?"

"Yep! You're free to go."

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Within Reach

Ch02: Unwelcome Stranger

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October 17, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"Holland tells us to hang back on our scheduled run, then makes us wait half the day?" Kat walked over to an empty chair and sat down - rolling her right shoulder and grimacing at the soft ache from the anchor. "I hate being benched for retraining in the first place, now this."

"It's been two hours, Kat." Jorge hadn't moved since the new order had come through, and was relaxed like only an old soldier off-duty could be. "Hardly half the day."

Kat scowled. "I'd have no problem waiting if someone hadn't taken away my pad computer."

"Sorry, but I know better than to trust you with down time and high-bandwidth network access." Carter, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, didn't look up. "Where were you just now, anyway?"

"The data center."

Jun chuckled. "Ahh, they kicked you out, did they?"

"Shut up, you."

"Ey," Jun continued, ignoring Kat's petulant command. "You know what we're waiting for, Carter, I know you do. What aren't you telling us?"

"Can't a commander surprise his troops once in a while?"

"I'm a spartan, Commander. Things that surprise me tend to get shot in the face."

Emile, seated on the floor near where Jun was lying across four chairs, wordlessly raised his fist. Jun returned the awkwardly angled bump eagerly.

Carter shifted then, his attention fixed on the comm in his cochlear implant. He listened for a minute, then murmured an affirmative and looked back to his team.

"Waiting's over, Noble. Look alive."

Kat stiffened, stilling her restlessness through sheer force of will. The others took notice too - Jorge's back straightened, Jun swung his legs back down and sat up; and Emile actually stood.

The door at Carter's end of the small briefing room slid open, and a spartan stepped through.

The gait and hip-to-waist ratio suggested a woman beneath the shell - as did the fact that the figure was diminutive for a series-three spartan; only a mere six-foot-ten or so, while the average fully armored SPARTAN-III cleared the seven-foot mark by half an inch. The armor in question was mostly generic MJOLNIR mkV-B, with the only visually distinctive addition being the UA/HUL on the helmet and some steely-grey vambrace and greave detailing, over the dark green of otherwise stock paint.

Who the hell comes to meet and greet with a new fireteam and keeps their helmet on? Even Emile took his precious death's head off!

The gold visor inclined over each of the room's five figures in turn, taking them in over the space of just a few seconds before straightening to an at-ease stance and looking back to Carter.

"Sierra Bravo Three-Twelve reporting for duty, Commander." The voice was measured and low, but definitely feminine.

There was a moment of silence. Then -

"Shit, that's our new number six?" Of course it was Jun who spoke up first. "Damn, I thought they'd take way longer than that."

The others started talking, but Kat quickly tuned them out, too focused on making sure the bitterness didn't show on her face.

It's not fair to be angry at her. This is just a random spartan; she didn't know Thom, she didn't ask to be dropped into his place like a cheap replacement. It's not fair. Don't be angry at her. It's not fair.

It's not fair…

"I've read your file," Carter was saying. "Even a lot of what ONI didn't want me to."

The new 'Noble Six' visibly stiffened.

"I'm glad to have someone with your skillset on Noble, and I think you'll be an asset. But that lone wolf stuff had better stay in the past." The Commander wore a hard expression. "We're a team here, not randomly grouped solo operatives. I don't want you thinking like a solo operative, I want you thinking like the sixth of Noble Team - clear?"

For a second, the woman hesitated, but then she nodded. "Clear, sir."

"Good. Now take that helmet off so we can see what you look like."

She hesitated again, but nodded, reaching for the sealing clasps at the top of her suit's neck. With a soft hiss of pressure equalization, the helmet came off.

Olive skin, close-shorn black hair. Features that could have come from almost anywhere on earth or a dozen different colonies; the woman's machine-like voice certainly wasn't accented enough to pin on a region. She had dark brown eyes, sharp and wide.

Or rather, the right eye was dark brown. As she shifted slightly, the left came into view: glassy black from corner to corner, with a softly glowing green ring in the center. The messy scarring on the soft skin of the eyelid and within the eye socket - along with a notched ring of surgical incision scars spreading out across her forehead and cheekbone - completed the perfect image of a prosthetic eye.

There are at least a dozen ways that eye could have been made to look more realistically human. Kat subconsciously flexed her right hand, feeling the slight tension as the elasticized aramid covering stretched around the artificial fingers; though the cover was a dark blue-grey instead of skin toned, it was still textured to feel skin-like instead of the fibrous fabric surfacing found on the raw form of the material. Did she directly ask for the bare metal version? Why?

Emile let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl, that looks like a mother of a hit to take," he said, grinning. "Hey look, Kat, now you got someone to join you in the missing bits club."

Kat forced down an irritated snap. "I don't know, Emile," she replied. "I lost a lot more mass."

At that, one corner of Six's mouth curled, although her voice remained neutral. "Aye," she replied, gesturing vaguely at Kat's right side - where her armor's undersuit sported a sleeve of white prosthetic support armor instead of the standard black MJOLNIR gambeson. "That… why Noble is stationed at White Peaks? Retraining, major injury recovery?"

Kat nodded, frowning. "Yeah."

"Me too."

Guess that explains why the scars still look kind of fresh.

"Alright, Six, introduction time," Carter said, grabbing the other Spartans' attention. "Noble One, Carter; Noble Two, Catherine; Noble Three, Jun; Noble Four, Emile; Noble Five, Jorge." He gestured to himself, and each other Spartan in turn. "Welcome to the team, Noble Six."

Six nodded. "Sierra Bravo Three-Twelve. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, too," Jun said lazily. "Welcome to Reach."

Hey, how is that fair? Carter gave her our real names, and we don't get hers back?

"Form up, Noble!" Carter barked, breaking Kat's train of thought. "The rest of the day is going to be basic drills: racetrack, gym, firing range. Let's move out!"

Drilling was about as dull as military activity could be, but after sitting on her hands and waiting for two hours, Kat was glad for anything to occupy her attention. She joined Emile and Jun in their loud cheer.

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The main purpose behind the basic drill was to establish where their new member stood, beside the rest of the team.

Noble Six turned out to be lightning runner, edging out as the absolute fastest in the hundred-meter bolt - with Emile's assault-soldier sprint clipping only a quarter of a second behind her, but far enough ahead to measure. In the longer lap race, Kat's years of running rapid scout operations paid off, but Six still pulled off a close second place.

Conversely, she wasn't very strong, at least in comparison to the average superhuman warrior. Her bulk strength was a little higher than Jun's, since the rifleman was known to neglect hand-to-hand training, but every other noble could lift heavier - even Kat's replacement arm was stronger. Her sustained endurance was better, but Emile, Carter and Jorge could all outwind her.

Her gun skills were, perhaps, the most bizzarely asymmetrical. Her long distance aim was clearly weak; stationary targets were always easy, but even slow movement could throw her off. Conversely, at very short ranges, she suffered severe difficulty with tracking targets and would sometimes even twitch-miss unmoving ones. Despite this, when Six was aiming at moving mid-range targets with a DMR, the muzzle of the carbine loosed shell after shell of perfect bull's-eyes.

"Never my best, sniping," she'd commented. "Used to be better, though… and much better, point blank."

Can't exactly fault her for that. It's why we're here, retraining. Kat's own scores at mid and short range were down too - aiming a pistol or controlling the kick of an assault rifle was simply harder with an unfamiliar prosthetic replacing her dominant hand. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that losing an eye would make aiming a harder task; especially since Six seemed to be left handed.

Sparring was another mixed bag. Six could take on any one of them, and pin them in a matter of seconds; Even Jorge, the team's previously undefeated wrestling champion, fell quickly. However, a group of two or more gave her a lot more difficulty - any combination with either Jorge or Emile in it could take her down just as fast.

Been with ONI since she was taken out of beta company shortly after augments, a duty file with more black ink than readable text, deadly in hit and run engagements but struggles with trench fights and firefights… hard to reach any other conclusion than 'assassin.'

Emile and Jun had both tried to goad her into mistakes, but she hadn't risen to the bait. She sparred in steely silence - and indeed, it was something of her running theme. When she wasn't in the ring, she'd attentively listen to the other Spartans' comments, but never responded unless directly addressed. Even then, she rarely afforded more than a word or two.

Kat couldn't tell if it was ONI secrecy indoctrination, or if Six was just naturally quiet. Still, there would be plenty of time to learn her ins and outs; it didn't even take security penetration skills to read the orders that had assigned Six to Noble Team, and it wasn't a temporary assignment. She was here to stay.

"All right, spartans, that's enough for today," Carter said at last. "Hit the showers. I don't want to be able to track anyone all around Whitepeaks by smell tomorrow. That means you, Emile."

"I'd like to respectfully inform you that you can bite me, Commander."

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Within Reach

Ch03: Phantoms

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October 20, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

A sharp lance of agony in her right shoulder woke Kat from her fitful rest, and she sat up, fighting down a wave of pain-induced adrenaline.

Bracing the anchor implant in her shoulder against the wall, she pushed her left hand against the bedframe. She sharp ache briefly flared, as as the stretch slowly pulled the tangles out of the cramped muscle fibers.

Damn, does it ever suck to try stretching a shoulder with no arm attached.

The posture tension was gone, but the pain persisted. Kat hissed in annoyance as she realized the pain was radiating up from the elbow and wrist of her right arm - her missing right arm.

Throwing the blanket aside, Kat stepped out of her bunk and over to the door.

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The halls of Fort Whitepeaks were remarkably chilly at night. When the heating was shut off, the high-altitude air leeched warmth from the barracks building and left it as cold as a tomb. Kat wasn't too bothered; spartan bodies preserved heat better than unaltered human ones, and waking up rapidly tended to leave her sweating anyway.

The 'fresher just down the hall had generic painkillers and cold water - a sleepless soldier's best friend. It was hit and miss as to whether or not the painkillers would actually do their job, given the striking difference between phantom limb syndrome and normal physical pain, but it was always worth a try.

Leaving the 'fresher, she was about to head back to her bedroom when a glimmer of light down the hallway caught her eye.

Moving with the hush of a trained scout & recon specialist, Kat crept down the hall. The light was coming from the barely-open door of one of the rec rooms.

"Kat? That you?"

Hissing a curse in ukrainian, Kat rounded the door. Carter was sprawled across one of the couches, idly watching a movie that was playing silently on the screen on the opposite wall.

"How could you tell?"

"That someone was awake? Door latch sound. Running water in the 'fresher."

"No, that it was me." Kat pulled the door back to its almost-closed position, and stepped over to the couch, sitting down on the other end. "And I know uneven footsteps didn't give it away this time."

Carter looked at the ceiling, a pensive expression on his face. "Well, there are some tells. The first door sound was on this wall. Jorge and the boys were staying up late in the rec room with a table, over in the west hallway, so Emile is probably occupied. Since the bedrooms on this wall are me, you, and Emile, it was a well-educated guess to pick you… but I wasn't sure until you got close." He looked back at Kat, tapping his nose. "Nightmare? I smelled sweat."

"Ugh, really? Through a cracked door? I wasn't sweating a lot."

"This room has a vent outtake. Draws the air in from the corridor." Carter chuckled. "If I'd been in the kitchen like last time, I wouldn't have known."

One corner of Kat's mouth curved into a smile, and she leaned back into the couch.

"No. Not a nightmare. Pains in my right arm, you know how that goes." She shrugged, highlighting the titanium on her right shoulder beneath the olive-green tank top. "What about yourself?"

"Not a nightmare… actually, I haven't even slept yet." Carter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Just… too damn quiet here on Reach. Fuck. Never thought I'd miss the sounds of distant gunfire."

"Heh."

"What?"

"You'll get your distant gunfire back soon enough," Kat said evenly. "If we aren't sent back to the front lines soon… well, do you really think it'll be long before the Covenant are attacking Reach too?"

Carter's tired eyes widened. "Jesus, Kat," he murmured. "I know retraining has you in a permanent bad mood, but that's dark, even for you."

"Sorry." Kat looked away. "Talk about something else, if you like."

Carter let himself lean back again, and kicked his leg back up to complete the relaxed sprawl. "Alright. What do you think of Six?" His expression was hard to read. "Didn't take ONI long to figure out that it was me Holland stuck her with, and I think they might be… trying to scare me off her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Been getting a lot of messages and calls about her, from ONI people, for two days now." Carter's eyes narrowed. "A lot of them obviously trying to paint her as impossible to work with. One message read, and I quote, 'that deathmonger is more a hyper-lethal vector than a soldier. She doesn't always know friend from foe when she's riled up'. Anyway, with them so blatantly fishing to get their assassin back, I want your opinion - a real opinion."

Hyper Lethal. It wasn't a lightly used term. It had been invented in the early 25th century as a term to describe leviathan superweapons like the skybreaker class of three-stage, megacity-erasing thermonuclear bombs; as the years muddied the technicalities of the term, it became a catch-all synonym for 'particularly formidable'. It was mostly applied to huge starships, or as descriptor for the tactical prowess of large battlefield units. There was only one other infantryman who had ever been described as such, and he was a series-two spartan, the legendary Sierra-117 himself.

Possible it's just hot air, but I doubt ONI would even backhand such an implication if it weren't at least partially true.

"She needs some work, before she'll be properly integrated into the team. That… assassin shit won't fly far on a pitched battlefield." Kat bit the words out slowly, considering each one carefully as she let her eyes hang on the televised movie. "Still. Sharp, dangerous, and tough as they come; she'll make a good Noble, when she's ready."

"Tough as they come? Bold statement."

"It takes a special kind of tough, to lose a piece of your body and still walk back into battle," Kat countered. "Ask me how I know."

"... Conceded." Carter sighed. "How about a standard position? I was thinking scout."

"No. Skirmisher."

"I thought you liked your spot, though," Carter said, confused.

"I do like skirmisher detail, but it's not about me." Kat shook her head as if to clear it. "A scout is too independent. She already likes to roll alone, and barely talks. But a skirmisher is always someone else's support unit."

"Good point." Carter rubbed his chin. "And she's like a machine with that DMR, anyway, which is just about perfect for hit-and-run."

"Mm."

"You think that stoic act is a problem?"

It was Kat's turn to lean back and stare at the ceiling. "It's the closest thing to a problem she's shown so far," she mused. "Quiet isn't bad on its own, but she's very… careful about how she says things. You can hear it in her voice. Can't ever tell what she's really thinking."

"Sounds like ONI to a tee," Carter sighed. "You're right in thinking it could hurt team cohesion. Emile and Jun get jumpy around secretive people."

"Quiet doesn't have to mean secretive. The boys only have real problems with people that… they don't think are being straight with them."

"Hah!"

"What?"

"Can't imagine Jun wanting anyone to be 'straight' with him."

Kat shoved Carter's shoulder, but couldn't suppress her own chuckle.

"Speaking of, I guess," Carter said, "There's always the most old-fashioned team bonding exercise. Might help Six open up, you never know."

There was a mirthful twinkle in Carter's eyes. Kat frowned, unsure of his meaning. "Team bonding exercise?"

"Oh, I ah-" Carter stumbled over his words, then shook his head. "Forget it. Shitty idea anyway."

"If you say so." Kat looked back at the screen. "What is this fucking movie, anyway?"

Carter shrugged, but the base's dumb AI had heard the question through the TV control mic.

"The Fast and the Furious 57. Released October 2, 2395."

"Never would have taken you for a fan of old movies, Carter."

"I'm not. It's not even a good movie. It was just at the top of the play queue when I turned the TV on." Carter sighed again, sinking deeper into the couch. "Fuck, I'm tired…"

"Tired enough to sleep?"

"Tired enough to try. Worst case, I'll just lie still for long enough to rest." Carter ran a hand through his hair, and seemed almost disappointed that it didn't come away greasy and grimy. "How about you? Right arm feeling better?"

Kat looked down at the empty space where her right arm would otherwise have been. "A bit. Don't know if it's the painkillers or just… waiting it out."

Carter stood up. "Think you can sleep?" He asked, holding out his hand. Kat took it, and let herself be pulled to her feet.

"I can try," she echoed.

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"Two pairs? You bet that on two damn pairs -" Emile growled in frustration as Jorge swept the pot towards his stacks. "For such a soft bastard, you've got a killer poker face, give ya that."

"It's all about self control," Jorge chuckled. "Besides, what else are you spending your money on?"

"Hookers."

"Haha, you wish, solnyshka moyo." Jun was laying down across the couch, his head resting on Emile's lap, and he reached up to poke Emile's jaw affectionately. "The day you manage to tire me out and still have stamina left, is the day I'll pay your 'hookers' myself."

Emile rolled his eyes, although there was a trace of a smile on his usually anger-lined face. "Alright, fine," he muttered. "I don't spend my back pay on anything but gambling, just like nearly every other spartan."

"Another round? Who knows, you could win that money back…" Jorge's voice was suggestive, but when off the battlefield, Emile was level-headed enough to not be lead on so easily.

"Eesh, no thanks. Not right now, anyway." He shook his head. "You're too good at this for me to go long. I'm made of death, not money. You'll have to clear me out on ill-advised bets of another kind."

"Hey, speaking of ill advised bets," Jun said, thrusting his finger into the air. "How long until Kat and Six are fucking? I'll run the pot. Usual buy-in. Closest day will be the winner."

Jorge raised an eyebrow as he shuffled the deck, the cards almost disappearing in his huge hands. "You seem awfully sure, Jun, making it a timed until, not a long term if."

"Aww, come on, big man." Emile grinned. "You know how Jun is with reading people, but even I could guess that. Kat might bat for both teams, but she prefers to, uh, play at the home stadium. So to speak."

"Oh, I don't doubt that Kat is interested. I'm questioning whether or not Six is. I'm pretty good at reading people too, but that woman is like a rock wall."

"More like a lighthouse," Emile snickered. "You know, rock walls, but also glows in the dark?"

"Emile? Dear heart? You know how people say you have no tact? This is why.”

"Bite me."

"Not while we have an audience!" Jun laughed, and sat up quickly. "Anyway, I see Kat… compensating, I think. Trying hard to make Six feel welcome here. I think, maybe, it might be guilt over Thom."

A brief shadow passed over the room at the mention of their fallen brother, and all the smiles faded. They were soldiers; they knew that everyone went missing in action eventually… but it had only been a few short months, and Thom had been their brother. Some wounds could never be healed quickly.

"And, I see Six responding." Jun folded his arms. "Not much, not often. But it's there. I've seen her smile just twice so far, you know? And it was at Kat, both times."

"Well, as Emile so crudely put it, they are both… 'missing bits'." Jorge stroked his mustache, a distant look in his eyes. "I imagine that forms a bond of common ground between them. Perhaps you're on to something, Jun."

"I usually am. These eyes see all."

"Aha, but," Emile interjected, putting his hand flat on the table. "What if Six is straight? Did you think of that, babe?"

There was a moment of unimpressed silence from the other two. Finally, Jun arched an eyebrow.

"Is there such a thing, as a heterosexual spartan?" He asked, cocking his head. "I'm pretty sure I've never met one."

"Don't look at me," Jorge murmured, a grin creeping across his face. "Most of us series-twos are aces."

"No, there's got to be a few! Don't indulge his bullshit, Jorge," Emile whined. "Like, I know the bulk of the non-aces are bi, but I can't believe that all of the rest are completely gay. Weren't there those two chicks from delta platoon?"

"Nope, also bisexual. They just didn't get around to any of the other girls before, well, Prometheus."

"What about… oh, wait, nope. Not him."

It was Jun's turn to snicker. "I think I can guess who that was about."

"Actually," Jorge rumbled, breaking his thoughtful silence. "There was one, one from the extra-elite team… Sierra One-Oh-Four, Frederic. One of the, what, three or so? Who got on the lucky side of augments. And he never had much interest in men."

"There, see?" Emile crowed. "There's at least one."

"Well, probably, anyway. We were just teenagers, then," Jorge amended. "It's been a long, long time since I've spoken to him."

"No, wait, I just thought of another," Jun said. "Lucy, Bravo-Oh-Nine-One. That tiny little thing that survived Beta Company's Torpedo. She's a guys-only girl."

"Since when do you know people from Beta Company?" Emile jabbed.

"Well we've got two on our team right now, fool. Besides, you think I lurk silently in my room for all my free time? I do make phone calls sometimes."

"Whatever. Point is, straight spartans: definitely real things that really exist." Emile shook his head. "I don't know why this was even a question."

"Sure. Conceded. Six isn't one, though."

"Oh my god, don't you start again. What makes you so certain?"

"I believe the English term is… gaydar?"

"Bullshit."

"Look, believe me or don't. Whatever. Is that a no-bet from you, love?"

Emile opened his mouth to say 'yes', but hesitated. Though it was a little early to be sure, there were already small tells that Six was bonding faster with Kat than the rest of the team - little shifts in stance when they were around each other, going to Kat with questions before Carter, occasional furtive glances when the technician wasn't looking.

"... Thirty days."

Jorge smiled at the exchange. "Glad someone can bring a soft side out of you, Emile," he said. "I don't need to worry about you as much, when I know you've got the sharpest eyes on the team on your back."

"It's quite a nice view," Jun quipped. "You, Jorge?"

"Put me down for forty-five days."

"Wonderful. I'll hit up Carter when I get the chance."

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch04: War Games

X-X-X

October 24, 12551

Eastern Viery airspace, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"Favorite gun," Jun declared. Beside him, Emile groaned.

"Could you be less original?"

"Anyone else got a better question? No? I'm standing by it."

"Fine." Emile slapped his armored hand over the gunstock of his precious M45. "Shotgun."

"Now who's unoriginal?"

"My favorite gun ain't exactly about to change, dumbass."

"Yeah, whatever. Hey, Commander, you didn't answer last time you and I played twenty questions. Got one now?"

Carter hefted his MA5C, and shrugged. "I keep coming back to using it, so I guess I'll just say Assault Rifle."

"Old or new?"

"New, they're way heavier-duty… who in the hell prefers the 5B?"

Jun just shrugged, and there was a moment of silence in the pelican bay. Then a timid voice spoke up.

"I do…"

Five helmeted heads turned to face the sixth of their group. "You like the MA5B?" Carter sounded puzzled. "The beast gun? Really?"

"Treat it as a light machine gun, not assault rifle," Six elaborated, tapping her left finger on her knee in time with her voice. "It is a good light machine gun."

It was Carter's turn to shrug. "I'll give you that, I guess."

"That your answer I hear, Six?" Jun probed.

She shook her head. "It is not my turn."

As if to prove her point, Jorge leaned forward. "Can I say autocannon?" He rumbled.

"No. Nothing an ODST couldn't deploy with on foot," Jun said.

Jorge grunted. "Hmm. I'd say… tie between the grenade launcher and the M6 Galilean, then," he chuckled. "Even the toughest infantryman couldn't carry Etilka and her ammo."

"Kat?"

Drawing her pistol, Kat twirled it briefly in her artificial hand. "I like the 6G well enough, but the 6D had more punch."

"Almost a short rifle, that M6D," Jun agreed, nodding slightly. "Well, Six? No more dodging the question."

"Can I say autocannon?" It was a remarkably accurate parroting of what Jorge had said, and Jun laughed. "No, I just said that to Five here."

Six's helmet turned, looking out the open bay doors of the pelican for a moment, then looking back. "BR55 Service Rifle," she said at length.

"Hey, what?" Jun countered. "The battle rifle won't even be in service for another month."

"I was on live fire tests about eighteen months ago," Six replied, her voice careful. "If the final product is not very different from what I handled, it behaves like a burst-fire variant of the Designated Marksman Rifle. Lighter caliber, but more flexible."

Jun pointed an armored finger. "There it is. Guns in current service - it's DMR?"

Six tilted her head slightly, then nodded.

"And you all know my answer," Jun said, patting the bolt of his SRS99-AM affectionately. "Good talk, guys."

Jorge leaned forward in his seat. "We got time for another round?" He asked. "I just thought of a good one."

"No," Carter said abruptly. "Cut the chatter, Noble. We're coming up on drop point one."

The change was palpable. Every spartan shifted to sit ramrod-straight, legs down - attentive and listening. Carter stood up, shifting to the back of the drop bay.

"The game is rally," he said. "We're dropping in pairs: One and Five, Three and Four, Two and Six. The goal is to reform the team within seven days, at the rally point marked on your map."

Trying to resolve bitterness over Thom early, Commander? Or is this order from above, to test whether a one-eyed woman and a cripple can make a functional unit together? Kat banished the thoughts, and nodded. "Rules, Commander?"

"Each drop will be at least a double-handful of kilometers - by air - from each other. Armorcomms should be locked to one channel: the teammate you're dropping with. Test and sound off."

"Noble Two, this is Noble Six." Kat twitched; she hadn't expected Six to be that quick on the draw, especially since the other woman hadn't even shifted.

"Acknowledged, Six." Kat's electronics mods had already told her that there were only two listeners in the channel - herself and her drop-mate. She re-opened her external helmet speakers. "Group one, comms isolated."

Emile waved his hand distractedly. "Group two, comms isolated."

Jorge nodded. "Group three, comms isolated."

"Alright, group one," Carter barked. "We're coming up on your LZ. Drop in sixty seconds!"

X-X-X

Though it was not impossible to pull strings of words from Noble Six, she wasn't much of a conversationalist. Everything that could be answered with a nod or shake of the head, would be.

Still, Kat mused, Quiet is not the same as uncompanionable.

Kat was a spartan, and the superhuman children of the SPARTAN project were meant to present the facade of an automaton - faceless, heartless, voiceless demons clad in impenetrable full-body armor. Kat had deployed with infantry and marines before, and had been just as quiet around them as Six was around her. The words of warriors tended to be as terse and simple as possible to ensure clear communication; there was really no need for more, as long as they could work together.

Case in point…

Kat knelt down by the the ledge, reaching down to Six. The smaller spartan immediately latched on to her left hand, then her right, trusting Kat's grip and posture alone to haul half a ton of muscle and armor up the final stretch of the climb.

"Thanks." The soft, toneless voice was the same as ever.

"Don't mention it." Kat got to her feet, frowning as she looked up at the low-hanging sun. "Damn. I'd hoped to be over the pass before dark."

Six tilted her head a little to the side, a mannerism she employed often - but she said nothing, and the gold of her stock visor betrayed no expression.

"Well, I know this shelf continues further up. Let's see how far we can make it."

Six nodded, falling into step behind her.

The precariously narrow shelf did indeed incline slowly upwards as it rounded the mountain, but it didn't even come close to reaching the pass. They were halted by a collapse point in the rock, where a solid fifty meters of their path was replaced with empty air.

"... Doesn't seem safe to scale across by VISR," Kat said at length, looking over at the dying light of the sunset. "I guess we're camping out on this side of the mountain tonight."

Six nodded. "You see the rock hollow, back there?"

"Yeah." Kat looked back at her companion. "Think it might have been a cave?"

The other Spartan looked up at the darkening sky - and the cloudbank advancing towards the very mountain they were standing on. Looking back to Kat, she nodded.

It was only a little ways back where the hollow had been spotted - and a ten-meter climb up the steep rock of the mountainside.

Six immediately stepped up to the rock, retrieving the utility line from the backpack compartment of her armor. Kat tilted her head. "Are you sure you want to lead?"

"Should I not, Lieutenant-Commander?"

The rank reminded Kat that she was, in fact, Six's commanding officer. The goal of Rally as a training game was to foster co-operation under survival circumstances, so it was widely considered poor form for officers to issue direct orders - but Kat was, at least technically, in command.

Finally, Kat shrugged. "If you trust yourself to catch me, then I trust you," she said.

Six nodded, clasping one end of the line to the dorsal anchor on her cuirass, and holding out the other end to Kat.

A fall wherein the unfortunate landed on the ledge would be unpleasant, and probably knock the wind out of even an armored spartan. But the rock shelf was narrow, and a fall that sent the spartan tumbling off the ledge would involve a much, much further fall - and neither of them were equipped with drop jets or orbital reentry gear.

Six was a confident climber, but slow; she would run her hands over the rock in search of handholds, rather than spotting for them by eye.

They made us learn to scale buildings in boot camp… it was very different from bouldering. Maybe that's where her mind is right now.

As soon as Six crawled over the lip of the hollow, she turned and wrapped the utility line around her hands. The slender graphene cable should have dug uncomfortably into her flesh, even through the bulletproofed exterior the MJOLNIR gambeson - but she seemed unconcerned as she folded her knees under herself.

"Brace for lift?" She said, stressing the last syllable just enough to convey a question.

Kat looked up, and her eyebrows rose sharply, a second before she realized that Six couldn't see her expression through her visor. Is that really a good idea? She can bench and deadlift at four hundred kilos, but that's gym conditions - not the same thing as hauling a slippery line up a cliff with another spartan attached -

Six appeared to be patiently waiting for an answer, giving no sign of distress over the tension on her hands. She still seemed as confident as ever, and Kat decided to take the risk - after all, it would be better for everyone involved if Six felt like her team trusted her. She nodded, and loosened her grip on the rock

Six stood, and Kat could see the pseudosarcomer rippling in the armor over her legs as she pulled against the strain. She curled her arms in as she stood, hauling Kat to well within reach of the hollow's lip.

The hollow was, indeed, a cave. Though shallow, it was a more than serviceable field shelter, especially given how difficult it would be for the larger Reach's native fauna to make their way into.

As soon as Kat got her feet onto flat rock, Six retreated under the overhang and removed her helmet. "Glad we did not scale the gap," she murmured, sniffing the air. "Rain. Soon."

"Figured. The clouds didn't look promising," Kat replied, rolling her shoulders. And I trust a spartan nose more than any educated guess.

The lieutenant seemed to be breathing hard - not very hard, but at a visibly elevated rate. "Hey. You okay?" Kat ventured. "That looked like a hard lift, and I know you aren't the strongest superhuman on Reach."

Six blinked, then looked away, her face marred with the first real expression that Kat had seen on it - a faint frown of disappointment. "Should have been easier," she said, softly. "Used to be."

"Used to be?"

"Stronger." Six's left hand moved over her right, digging under the plate on the back of the gauntlet. There was a click of a clasp disengaging.

Hesitantly, Kat reached up and removed her own helmet, turning on its external flashlight to keep the cave lit as she set it down beside her. "Tell me to get bent, if you don't want to answer, but what… weakened you?"

"Thirteen months off duty. Two, comatose."

Okay, eyes are delicate and replacements take minor brain case surgery, but two months in a coma? What the hell?

"If I were to… well, ask what you were doing to get knocked you down like that…"

"The mission details are classified."

Kat chucked. "Surprised it took so long, for you to bring that one out."

Six tilted her head, still stone-faced as she stared off into the air, but said nothing. After a moment, she went back to removing the exterior plates of her armor. The vambraces and rerebraces had been quick work, and her armor lacked pauldrons, but now her fingers were tasked with finding and unlatching every clasp on every one of the many arming points the cuirass attached to.

"There a reason you want that armor off so badly? You didn't even want to take your helmet off, when we first met." In fact, the newest member of Noble Team had displayed a persistent reluctance to show her face, and had remained fully armored whenever their drills didn't demand removal of the performance-enhancing gear.

"You are not…" Six halted, grasping for words, and her expressionless eyes turned to focus on Kat again. Kat was sitting to her left, and the green-lit pool of darkness in her left eye socket was clearly visible. "You do not… dislike the sight of this."

"No, why would I?" Kat frowned. "We're all, ah… 'missing bits' here, as Emile put it. And I doubt the team will think less of you for showing it; they've never been that way with me, at least."

Six nodded, going back to her task. Kat waited a moment, before deciding that the other woman wasn't going to speak further without prodding.

"Have other personnel reacted negatively to it?" She asked, her voice tinged with irritation. There had been more than a few soldiers around Whitepeaks that had given her own prosthesis a variety of strange looks, and she knew firsthand how alienating it could be. You'd think the staff of a military hospital-fort would be a little more understanding of what war wounds can look like!

Six just nodded again, not looking up.

"Well, fuck them," Kat growled. "Point them out sometime, if you want me to put the fear of an angry slavic superhuman into their hearts."

The other Spartan glanced up at Kat, the merest hint of a confused frown on her face. Kat suppressed a grin at having successfully drawn two measurable expressions out of the otherwise stoic Lieutenant.

"Anyway, you didn't answer my question," she pressed. "Why so quick to strip down now?"

Six paused, her mouth moving silently for a moment as if trying out strings of words. "I become uncomfortable, wearing fully plated MJOLNIR for long periods," she replied eventually. "I am unused to it."

"You don't… you didn't usually wear armor for extended missions?"

Six shook her head.

"What kind of m-"

"Their details are classified." Finally successful, Six opened two pin-latches on the sides of the alloy cuirass, unhinging it. She twisted her left arm behind her, attempting to reach the bolts that bound the field gear and powercell into the metal.

Kat sighed, reaching over. "Let me." Six twitched, and let out a tiny hiss as Kat's hands made contact with her back, but she didn't pull away.

It was the work of a moment, really; even with the still-impaired dexterity in her right hand, the boltheads were easy to twist off. The task would have taken several minutes for a lone spartan, but it was an unspoken law that spartans helped each other, standing by their brothers and sisters in arms until they could stand no more.

For are we not siblings, we spartans? We, who guard humanity to such a degree that we have given up our own? A tiny clan, a species from which only a few dozen remain - the twos, taken from parents they do not remember, and we threes, our parents lost to war. The only family a spartan has, are other spartans.

Now free from the encasement of the cuirass, Six pulled it off over her head. This time, it detached cleanly, leaving the powercell and gear still anchored on her back.

Kat sighed again, although it tapered off into a soft laugh. "Good talk, Six," she chuckled. "Good to hear you talk."

The other Spartan just nodded, working the metal of her cuisses off their arming points as she did so. Watching her hands, Kat noticed that a modification had found its way onto her otherwise generic armor at some point - FJ/paratrooper kneecap plates, popular among UNSC heavy infantry for their broad yet flexible construction.

Finally, the greaves and sabatons came off, leaving Six clad in just the black undersuit - or gambeson as the armory staff would say. Without the plates of exterior armor, she was much sleeker, and her already diminutive figure was even smaller. The gambeson was itself armored, reinforced with a dense titanium fiber mesh between two layers of woven kevlar and hardened kevlar plates that served as both arming points and energy shield emitters, yet she still seemed fragile beside Kat's heavy-alloy-clad form.

The sun had set some time ago, and it was growing steadily darker outside. The soft hiss of the rain was punctuated only by the spartans' quiet breathing.

Apparently done, Six crossed her legs and began stretching her wrists. Kat reached over to her helmet, clicking the flashlight off.

The ensuing darkness was almost impossible for even spartan eyes to pierce, but a tiny glow remained: the soft jade-tinted light of Six's left eye. It cast a ghostly quality over the world, turning everything to monochrome and silhouette, and making the spartan herself look almost as alien as the Covenant - perched like a watchful phantom at the cave's mouth, clad all in black, her face thrown into sharp shadows by the ethereal light burning in her eye.

"Sleep," Six murmured. "I will take the first watch."

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch05: Rally Point Alpha

X-X-X

October 24, 12551

Eastern Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

Sometime around midnight, Kat woke to Six gently shaking her shoulder. She was up and alert quickly; a twenty-two-year-old spartan needed only five or six hours of sleep to feel fully rested, when a normal human of the same age would require nine or ten.

Strangely enough, the color of Six's artificial eye had shifted to yellow in the night. Kat almost worked up the nerve to ask about it, but the other spartan seemed to fall dead asleep as soon as she lay down, curled up on her side with one arm over the gunstock of her DMR.

She looks a lot more… relaxed, like this. Serene, rather than stoic. Six twitched, shifting slightly and murmuring something unintelligible, and Kat smiled beneath her visor. Dare I say, even kind of cute?

The sleeping spartan didn't move again, and her breathing slowed, until it was so quiet that Kat had to check to make sure it hadn't stopped.

The watch was uneventful. The only real danger of Reach's temperate zones was the gúta, and any gúta capable of threatning a spartan would have been far, far too large and clumsy to scale high enough up the mountain to smell them - especially through the rain. Kat wasn't as good at sitting back and waiting as Jorge was, but she could find appreciation in a boring and threat-free sentry shift.

For one thing, it gave her a lot of time to chew through the tough, salty, and otherwise mostly tasteless experience of a standard UNSC ration bar. Technically, with lots of proteins and dense carbohydrates and a complete vitamin profile, they were a well-balanced meal for a fighting soldier - and they were very filling, for how little they weighed. However, this balance did not extend to tasting like actual food. The difficulty of gnawing through one intersected with the abbreviation of their full name, leading to the common slang rat-bar.

Eventually, the dusting of dawn's light on the horizon showed thinner clouds, but the rain persisted still. Kat manually disengaged her armor's air filters, and took in the smell of damp air and petrichor. The air pressure had increased overnight, and the rain would likely stop falling around midmorning.

There was a faint scraping of tough polymer on rock. Kat looked back to see Six pushing herself upright.

"Sleep well?"

Six looked up sharply, and Kat was momentarily taken aback. The other spartan had a soft look of curiosity about her - and her left eye was entirely dark.

"Sleep… well?" she repeated nonsensically, mimicking Kat's tone to a note. Then she shook her head, and a yellow glimmer appeared in her left eye, rapidly growing brighter until it blinked green. She grimaced for a moment, but then her face set itself back into its usual neutrality.

Six laced her fingers, arching them over her head to stretch her wrists and shoulders. "I… yes. I did sleep well."

"Good." Kat looked back out at the grey sky, and the hazy terrain below them. "We've got some time to kill yet, before the rain lets up."

"Hn." Kat looked back; though Six's expression hadn't changed, the noise seemed disapproving.

"Not much a fan of waiting?"

Six shook her head.

Kat chuckled. "Neither am I, but we can't make it over that pass until the rocks are dry."

Nodding, Six unfolded her crossed legs, kicking one out to stretch the hamstring. The movement caught Kat's eye, and she found her gaze trailing the length of her companion's body, unmasked without the heavy exterior plates of her armor.

Six was shorter than the average spartan, but about as broad, making her frame somewhat stocky. Her legs were long, and the ease with which she extended the leg while folded nearly double spoke to extensive flexibility exercise. She pushed herself up and kicked the other leg out, the muscles in her lower back rippling as she shifted position.

Quite a view. Kat didn't want to come across as creeping, but perhaps in another life she'd have let out a wolf-whistle. Spartans always sported impressive physiques. Though not as rigorous as the genetic screening for the twos, aptitude tests ensured only the strong, athletic and able-bodied joined the ranks of the series-three spartans; and the augmentation process made a colossus out of every promising child that survived it.

Noble Six was certainly no exception. In fact -

"There's always the most old-fashioned team bonding exercise…"

The meaning of Carter's flippant suggestion hit her, then, and she was glad her helmet was still on - she wasn't one to blush, but the realization would certainly have shown on her face.

Kind of out-of-the-blue, isn't it? Some cold highlands cave isn't exactly most people's idea of a good time… then again, none can say we spartans aren't used to the roughest of the rough.

Six crossed her legs again, then folded her left arm across her body in a bar stretch.

Well, you're here, she's here, at least one of you is certainly interested, and you've both got time to kill… is there really any harm in asking?

Kat unclasped her helmet, putting it down gently beside her. "Hey, Six," she called.

The other spartan looked up, fixing her eyes on Kat.

"Tell me to get bent, if I'm out of line," Kat said, her tone deliberate. "But… well, wanna fuck?"

Six's eyebrows rose - and stayed that way, much longer than her usual passing twitches that passed for expression. She didn't speak up immediately, and when she did, she sidestepped the question.

"Is this a common advance?" Her head tilted. "Casual sexual encounters between members of a fire team?"

"Not, ah… not uncommon, depending on the fireteam," Kat replied. "I'm given to understand it's pretty widespread, in the regular marines and infantry. Rarer in the spartan corps, what with our unusual hormone profiles, but extant."

Six continued looking at her, though her surprise had already relaxed back into a neutral look. Or at least, as neutral as one could be, when sitting unmoving, making direct eye contact, and seldom blinking.

Under the stare of the mismatched eyes, Kat suddenly felt rather small, and she looked away quickly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, and I won't bring it up again."

"I did not say no."

"Huh?" Kat looked back just as quickly. "...I guess you didn't, did you."

Six shook her head, and somehow her expressionless gaze managed to convey an analytical air. "Are there contemporary examples of such encounters occurring between spartans?" She asked. "In defiance of anti-fraternization rules, that is."

Kat shifted uncomfortably. "Well… I don't want to kiss and tell…"

"Noble Three and Noble Four."

Her voice carried just enough inflection to sound decisive, and Kat hung her head. "Yes. Those two are, as they say, an item."

"I suspected so." Six brought a hand up to her mouth in an almost exaggerated thinking pose. "Searching out their tells was useful practice."

"Seems dangerous to me," Kat said, her voice growing darker. "Sex is just, well, sex… but a close relationship like that seems like asking to be hurt. After all, we series-threes are made to die."

"But spartans never die." Six put on an actual smile, and Kat wondered if she meant to be mocking - since the expression certainly came across as more than a little plastic. "They only go missing in action."

What the hell? Miss stoic, silent and down-to-earth, spouting that old poeticism? "Hah. Very clever, Six."

"My answer is yes, by the way."

"... Oh."

"How does one go about this?" Six was already reaching for the tension clasp on her collarbone, which had to be undone to access the outermost of the five zippers that went into sealing the armored gambeson.

"Go about… what?"

"Fucking."

"How does one - wait. You've never done this before." It was a statement, not a question.

Six nodded.

Fuck, not even a quickie in an empty locker room in boot camp? Must have been an unpopular kid. Practically everyone in Beta Company managed that at least once.

"Dammit, Six," Kat groaned. "That's… awkward. Do you really want your first time to be in some damp, cold cave?"

The other spartan glanced out at the misting rain, then back, at the bare rocks of the cave floor. Finally, she looked back to Kat. "It will do."

"You're sure?"

"Do you intend to rescind the offer, Noble Two?" Six's voice remained as opaquely even-toned as ever. "I do not intend to rescind my acceptance."

Kat looked at Six for a long minute, and finally, she shrugged. "I guess we're doing this, then," she said, reaching for the plating clasp under the back of her left gauntlet.

X-X-X

"Ісус Христос." Kat half-heartedly tried to push Six's arm aside, but the other spartan only clung tighter. "A cuddler? I'd have believed it, maybe. But, damn, I didn't even think you could laugh."

Six let out another short chuckle, but then appeared to sober up in the span of less than a second. "Neither did I," she replied quietly.

Kat gave her a curious look, and Six looked away quickly, apparently no longer at ease with staring contests. "I… there is more that I have lost, than you might think," she said, her voice uncertain. "Some, I never had at all."

"And that includes… the ability to laugh?"

"I had thought so." Six didn't look up. "In fact, I was warned that sexual function might have been on that list as well. I am glad that misgiving was proven wrong."

Kat wanted to press for more. She possessed all the boundless curiosity of the animal she was nicknamed for, regardless of how much trouble it landed her in. But in the afterglow of the rush of endorphins and oxytocin, Six was clearly not quite herself, and something in her voice seemed uncharacteristically… fragile. Kat was curious, but the last thing she wanted to do was push hard enough to break something.

Ehh, she'll open up on her own time. She's already shown me more than I thought she would - hell, it was just yesterday morning, that I didn't even think she could crack a smile.

Kat arched her arms over her head, stretching out her shoulders. "Well, can't say I'm complaining either," she remarked, a smirk playing across her features. "You make some pretty cute noises when you're hot and bothered."

Six tilted her head, looking almost contemplative. "Good to know," she murmured. Then, abruptly, she released her hold around Kat's torso, pushing herself up on her arms. "Courtesy dictates that I return the favor, correct?"

It was Kat's turn to chuckle. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm going to have to take a rain check on that, Six," she said. "The clouds cleared not long ago. The rocks should be dry enough to climb."

The transition back to business was instantaneous. Six nodded, sitting up and then standing in just a few seconds. She pulled on the grey shorts and t-shirt - the body sock for a spartan's heavy armor, woven from paper-thin synthetic dragline spider silk - and then made a shooing gesture at Kat.

Still chuckling, Kat moved her weight the side, reaching for her own underclothes. Six rescued her MJOLNIR gambeson from its duty as an impromptu mat, pulling it over her lower legs and latching the tension clasps with efficiency born of thousands of active drills and rapid deployments.

Kat followed suit a moment later. Her under-armor was a little harder to dress up rapidly; the main gambeson and the prosthetic support sleeve were separate parts, with customized sealings at the shoulder join. By the time Kat was connecting the shoulder clips, Six had already finished with her undersuit, and she moved to help her fellow spartan immediately.

Talk about déjà vu. That was me, just yesterday.

"Six?"

Kat felt the hands on her back pause their movements, and she knew she had her companion's attention. "It occurs to me… I don't know your name."

Six was silent for a moment, then continued closing the armor clips. "Yes, you do," she murmured.

"What? No I don't."

"You have heard my name before." Six closed the last clasp on Kat's shoulderblade, and the armor automatically joined its internal seam, forming an airtight seal. "But, it is likely you did not recognize it as such."

"If I asked you to tell me…"

"Please do not." Six knelt down, and slid on the grey plating of her left sabaton. "I prefer to be known by my numbers. Bravo Three-Twelve. And now, Noble Six."

"Alright. Six it is."

X-X-X

Six, accustomed to solo deployments, had immediately moved to take point. However, she hadn't resisted when Kat had instructed her to hang back and cover, while Kat herself took the forward position: Kat was lightly armed and quick, while Six's DMR was a perfect for mid-range covering fire.

Not that it had ended up meaning much. They saw one gúta from far away, traveling in a different direction, and several harmless moa. Other than that, the mountains of Eastern Epsoz were calm.

They trekked for hours. By the time night was falling again, they only had a few more kilometers to their rendezvous point - almost worth pushing through the darkness, but for the fact that the treacherous terrain of the mountains was too dangerous to cross by VISR. Their second campsite wasn't quite as well sheltered; they had to huddle under low-sweeping trees and sleep with their full armor on.

On the third day, they made it to the site, and Kat whistled sharply to announce their arrival. Carter and Jorge were already there, and indeed, had already built a rudimentary shelter in the designated clearing. Carter was cleaning his assault rifle, while Jorge was kneeling in a resting sentry pose with his mighty machine-gun at his side. Neither man had their helmet on; Emile and Jun were nowhere to be seen.

"See you made it here before the boys," Carter called out. "I expect they're otherwise occupied."

Jorge chuckled quietly.

"Yes, I'm sure they're busy," Kat said brightly. "They probably had the hardest hike. Their drop site was furthest out, I think."

"That's definitely one possible explanation for their hold-up," Jorge muttered, though he was still smiling.

As they reached the shelter, Six joined the other two in popping her helmet off. A heartbeat later, Carter inhaled slightly, tensed, then grinned.

"I see Three and Four aren't the only ones enjoying themselves on this mission," he commented lightly, chuckling as he went back to his gun.

Six looked at him briefly, and although her face didn't move, Kat couldn't help but imagine a raised eyebrow.

Her body language is there, whether or not her expression changes.

"Yes, the mountains of Reach are lovely this time of year, aren't they?" Kat said obliquely.

"I certainly enjoyed the view," Six deadpanned, and Jorge muffled a guffaw.

"Well, glad you kids are getting along so well," Carter said, re-assembling the stripped components of the rifle. "Six, find a tall tree to scan from. Two, draw up an outer patrol perimeter. We'll take sentry duty in shifts until Three and Four show, or until two more days have passed."

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch06: Rattling A Sabre

X-X-X

November 2, 12551

Eastern Viery airspace, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"Favorite set of wheels," Jorge rumbled.

"Siege Assault 'Hog," Emile said immediately. "You know, the ones with the rail guns."

"Yeahhh, those are gauss guns, fool," Jun quipped.

"Oh yeah? Hey, whatever, I just know they'll core a hunter like an apple. Don't even have to hit a weak spot, just avoid the big shield. Bad-ass."

Jun shook his head, then hmmed. "Not much of a driver, really," he mused. "Mongoose isn't bad if I'm on the back, though. Small enough not to draw much fire."

Jorge nodded. "I wasn't sure if it should count, when you aren't in the driver's seat," he said. "But I guess none of us like having hands on a wheel and not a gun, huh."

"Depends if the guns are manned from the driver's seat, personally," Kat replied, smiling beneath her visor. "Ghost."

"Hah! Now that's just like you, L.C.," Jun chuckled. "Agile, fragile, but hits a lot harder than it looks like."

Six looked over at Kat. "Is the ghost counted?" She asked. "It is not… wheeled."

"Eh. Call it any vehicle," Jorge said. "How about you, Six?"

"S-" Six halted, looking down, and seemed to consider for a moment. "GA-TL1 Long Sword Interceptor," she said.

Emile whistled. "Flyin' girl, huh? Nice."

Six nodded. "Got my wings… as they say… flying counter-insurgency on Mamore. Flight squadron Juliett- Zero-Five, from carrier Tierra Del Fuego."

Mamore… Kat couldn't help but think Six had picked that mission to speak about, on purpose. It was one of the most heavily publicized counter-revolutionary conflicts the UNSC had ever engaged in, and the longest lasting; it was also one of the few such engagements that weren't entirely hidden under black ink. Every spartan that had ever been involved in suppressing insurrections, which was almost every spartan, period, had been to Mamore at some point in their career. And what was she about to say? A word starting with 'S,' but she thought better of it… and I bet it wasn't Scorpion.

Jun huffed. "Flyers count? I'm changing my answer. Falcon. Hold position, snipe from high up? Perfect."

Jorge nodded. "Commander?"

"Recon Warthog."

"Really?" Kat jabbed. "I thought you liked hanging back and giving orders from the falcons."

"Very funny. No, I like warthogs. Fast, tough, and a light autocannon - versatile fast attack vehicle." Carter shrugged. "How about you, Jorge?"

"Scorpion."

"Of course."

X-X-X

Despite war-games being much easier than the real thing, they were all tired by the time the pelican touched down at Whitepeaks. They were given the rest of the day free, and though it was not yet dusk, they filed through the showers and into their bunk rooms.

After a handful of minutes, Kat's sharp ears picked up the expected routine of muffled sound: Emile's door opening and closing as he headed for Whitepeaks' 'advanced physical therapy center,' the only gym in the complex with equipment that could handle hurculean supersoldiers; the soft creaking of Jorge's bunk as he shifted into his reading position; Carter's desk chair scraping the floor as he sat down to do the inevitable paperwork of a commanding officer; Jun… probably stripping and fiddling with his sniper rifle, or maybe writing in one of his peculiar journals, but he was often too quiet for even a spartan to hear through two walls.

And Six's irregular footsteps as she paced about her room in what seemed to be an aimless discharge of nervous energy - the newest addition to the routine.

Thom used to toss a ball against the wall. It wasn't unlike that tapping, springing walk… Kat shook the thought away. Focus, girl. You've got digging to do.

Kat was, in fact, much more of an electronics engineer than a software jockey. Artificial intelligence technology being what it was, there just wasn't a great deal of demand for flesh-and-blood programmers. However, Kat had built up a reputation with the grunts as a master hacker nonetheless - partly because she did have a knack for deliberately misleading network trackers, which helped her stay off the radar of security protocols, but mainly because she had once been roped into assisting with maintenance of an ONI server farm and had immediately taken the opportunity to plant a wiretap in the system's backbone.

If she was honest with herself, she now had more stolen security credentials than she knew what to do with. ONI had either never noticed the bugged system, or had decided to let her run loose with it for some reason. It didn't matter much, in her eyes. Series-three spartans weren't known for living past thirty, and Kat had long since decided that living in the present was the wisest choice when she might not have a future.

I wonder how Carter was looking under the black ink when he first read up on Six. He didn't come to me for it. Still, I'm sure he has his ways - most officers break the rules every once in a while. Might have been as simple as giving the right stuffed shirt a good old-fashioned bribe…

SPARTAN-B312 had quite a large and diverse duty file - even as spartans went, which was saying something - and access timestamps revealed that she was quite a popular topic of reading. The majority of those who had recently looked her up were, unsurprisingly enough, UNSC medical staff. There were also quite a few access points that were themselves masked to Kat's current identity. Big names, for that level of lockdown.

She switched to a new, clean holopad, powered it on through a non-standard and slightly illegal operating system, and reconnected under an identity with a higher security clearance. Curiously, the spartan's own name was still substituted with their kind's universal callsign, Sierra, but most of the other accessing names became visible.

That's a lot of ONI. She really is one of their most popular, huh…

Kat was tempted to open the medical data file, and the mission logs and reports concerning the last deployment shown before 12550-08-29: Intensive Care Unit, Astirah General Hospital, Léshelo, Gamma Cygni VI, then 12550-11-02: Long Term Treatment Unit, New Alexandria Cerebrospinal Injury Hospital, Epsoz, Reach/Epsilon Eridani II, and finally her most recent duty station - 12551-10-16: Fort Whitepeaks Outpatient Rehabilitation Center, Epsoz, Reach/Epsilon Eridani II. However, Kat also knew how easily her own curiosity could distract her, and decided to save that jaunt for another time; after all, her medical records would have been much less classified than her mission details.

She scrolled back further, finally finding her target deployment file: 12549-12-12: Counterinsurgency: UNSC Tierra Del Fuego, Mamore/Eridanus III. She'd already checked out deployment records. The Tierra Del Fuego's J-wing had listed only four squadrons for that deployment; there was no J-05. However, most other wings listed six squadrons. J and K were the only wings which stopped at four.

However, the falsified credentials claimed Kat was actually an ONI Commodore, and information that wouldn't exist otherwise was now available to her - including attached communiqués from well above her head.

Interceptors of squadrons J-05, J-06, K-05, K-06 to be reassigned to carrier UNSC Courage of the Republic. UNSC Tierra Del Fuego to equip flight decks J and K with new equipment from Misriah Armory Skunkworks according to attached specifications, and stand by to receive new fighter craft. Orders authorized through the SABRE Program.

She couldn't stop herself from laughing quietly.

In order to facilitate the battle tests with minimal loss of materials, ONI has dispatched S-B312 as a pilot attaché. This soldier has excelled in astrionics and pilotage training, and has demonstrated the operational efficacy of a hyper-lethal vector. We look forward to their afteraction reports.

Hyper-lethal vector. There it is again.

"Somehow, I'm not even surprised," Kat mused, as she cleared her access footprints away.

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch07: King Of The Hill

X-X-X

December 13, 12551

Training Range Delta, UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"Yeah! Who wants some?!"

Noble Four has occupied the hill position for over three-quarters the required time. He is emerging as the clear lead in this game. I know I can take him one on one, though; and I will almost certainly not defeat him in the long run, but I will make him work for his victory.

Noble Six risked another peek from her hiding spot. Noble One was making another push towards the five-meter tower that had been designated the 'Hill' for this exercise, approaching at an eighty degree angle or so relative to Six's position.

A distraction; excellent. Six darted out from behind the revetment and dashed for the structure. Rather than immediately climb one of the ladders, however, she pressed herself flat against the wall.

Noble One will not preoccupy him long, so I need to move quickly. Timing: break position in four, three, two, one -

Six turned, vaulting herself up onto the nearest of the hill's reinforced steel ladders. Ordinary training protocol would have dictated an all-wood construction - but in this case, they had to support up to four hundred kilos of dense-bodied spartan and heavy armor, so a more sturdy design had been implemented.

Pulling herself up onto the sloped landing, Six sprinted up and onto the platform. Four was engaged in a furious melee with One, but as a skilled shock-assault soldier, Four had to have noticed and accounted for her added presence.

A narrow window of opportunity is necessary, to make a combat simulation realistic.

One faltered, and Four made good on the opening with a lightning-fast sideways kick. There was a flash and a hissing pop as One's energy shields collapsed, and he was thrown from the tower.

Both were kill-cons in this particular game. One wouldn't be back for at least eighty seconds, assuming he moved to the resurrection points on the periphery and back as fast as superhumanly possible, while his deactivated armor hung off him as a dead weight.

Four spun as well as he could, bringing up a respectable guard in the split second he had to spare. For a moment, Six almost worried she had miscalculated.

Then her shoulder hit Four's block. He'd braced too lightly, and she'd leaned more into the strike than he expected. He swayed, then staggered as she followed through with a low hook.

Four is very sturdy. He stands strong and is hard to knock off his feet.

In the twist of the hook, Six had opened her right side. Four's own return strike hit the gambeson between cuirass and belt-plate; not quite puncturing the reinforced point in the energy shield, but the brutal strength behind the blow was still enough to knock the wind from her.

But in striking, he'd moved his weight almost entirely onto one leg - the leg closer to Six's reach. She hooked her heel behind his knee and twisted, putting the torque of her whole body into the movement.

Four's leg buckled, and he fell. Six fell with him, landing the weight of her torso on her elbows – and her elbows on Four's cuirass. His shields popped like a worn-out tire.

"Noble Six is now King of the Hill," came DOT's smooth voice. Six rolled off Four and stood, springing back into a defensive stance. Four - now 'dead' - got to his feet a lot less gracefully, and trudged over to the nearest ladder. As soon as he reached the ground, however, he broke into a jog.

His plate configuration is exceptionally heavy. It is impressive that he can run at all.

The hair on the back of Six's neck began to stand, and she turned to see the large shape of Noble Five cresting the precipice of the tower. She was harshly reminded, then, of the fact that she happened to be the smallest and lightest spartan on Noble Team.

Five is not as skilled a melee combatant as Four, yet I am on a worse footing against him. He has so great a mass advantage over me, that most normal efforts to martially compensate are rendered futile.

Last time Six and Five had sparred, she'd waited for him to strike at her. This time she dashed forward, hoping to put him off balance with a direct assault. Five halted his advance, bracing and hunching forward; and Six struck her opening punch, turning the tip of her fist into a ballistic missile with her sprinting weight behind it.

Five shifted. Six struck his shoulder, and despite his stronger mkV-A shield emitters, the protective field crackled and wavered. Unfortunately for Six, he'd managed to present a deflecting angle, and energy shields were very low-friction surfaces.

Six was unsteady on her feet and standing right on the edge of the platform - a bad place to be.

This will hurt -

Five turned, preparing to bowl Six off the tower with a charge. It was a sound strategy, given that light vehicles wouldn't be able to stop the colossus once he got moving. He stepped forward, and Six stepped back, dropping both feet over the edge and lashing out with her arms.

Her hands wrapped around Five's ankle, and then her arms were nearly jerked out of their sockets as her full weight dropped against her shoulders - had her distance estimations been wrong, she would have snapped one of her arms at the elbow. Five's sabaton slid precariously near to the tower edge, as he tried to pull back from the charge with a sudden weight on his foot, and it was his turn to waver unsteadily.

Hands still within the Hill Boundary = = still in the game.

Six hauled herself back up in a single pull, banking on Five's mass to keep his leg steady, and dived into a shallow roll. Standing up behind him, she lashed out with a sidelong kick, slamming into his shoulder as he tried in vain to turn around in time.

He staggered, falling back. Unfortunately for Six, his other arm reached out just as fast, grabbing her ankle before she could snap her leg back properly, and as he tipped over the edge of the tower he pulled her with him. Her HUD blinked out of existence as the 'kill' took effect.

Five let out a loud grunt as he hit the ground with another spartan on top of him. Six rolled off clumsily, struggling to get to her knees under the punishing weight of an unpowered suit of heavy armor.

"Good trade, Six," came Five's voice. A moment later, his strong arms - substantially less encumbered, despite his heavier kit - were hooking under her shoulders and helping her to her feet. "Clever, dropping out of reach and hanging on like that."

"Thanks."

I suppose a titan of his stature could lift almost any weight he chooses.

"Noble Two is now King of the Hill."

Of course; she would wait for the melee heavy-hitters to take each other out.

I hate that AI.

DOT? Why would I hate her? She is useful to the team, and useful to me. No logical reason. It is simply that limited AIs make my skin crawl.

Understandable.

Noble Five was already moving back to the resurrection point, his walk calm but brisk.

I suppose I should head back as well.

"Noble Four is now King of the Hill."

After all, I will not lose without a fight.

X-X-X

The rest of the team had broken off after post-game showers - One to write up his exercise assessment, with Two, Three and Five heading to the only bar in Whitepeaks to wrangle Four into covering drinks for his victory celebration. The KOTH game had been nearer than they expected, with Four winning the requisite ten minutes, Five managing nine minutes and two seconds, and Six managing seven-forty-two.

Noble Four, Warrant Officer Sierra A239: Despite his lethality and apparent volatility , I do not become tense when he is at my back. Trust. I experience mild stress when he displays his signature lack of subtlety. Disdain? Yet this stress relaxes when his tactics win out; I think this is respect.

Curious. I did not expect any bond with my team-mates to form easily.

Unlike the rest of them, however, Six was headed for the armory.

When she'd been working for ONI, she'd been strictly forbidden from modifying her armor in any way - even her insignia and service number had been stripped off. She was to be unidentifiable, just another faceless spartan in stock-green stock-plated mkV-B armor. With her reassignment to Noble Team, those orders were now voided.

It was a novel concept to Six, to be allowed the customizations so common in the ranks of the surviving series-threes. Before even reporting to for duty at Whitepeaks, she'd gone to the armory to get her vambraces and greaves painted in steel grey, to finally break up the clear green silhouette that had betrayed her to enemy sentries on multiple occasions.

The stock suit lacks plates in some obvious locations. Where Four struck me, plates are impractical for flexibility's sake, but there are rectifiable weaknesses. And if I am to be facing The Covenant on a more regular basis, I will need to rectify them; energy weapons strip away energy shields easily.

"Oh, hello, ma'am. Noble Six, right?" The armory sergeant saluted. "Welcome to my armory."

Six nodded, walking over to the heavy assembly station - originally designed to assist ODSTs with their gearing process, it was the only mechanized armor assembler that could handle MJOLNIR specifications.

"What can I do for you today, Lieutenant?" The sergeant had already walked over to the set of lockers containing spartan-specific gear, and he glanced back to Six's position. "Not guns, I assume. You really seem to like that DMR."

Six shook her head. "I would like to add pauldron plates to my armor configuration."

"Right on. Kill the shields and stand on the marker, you know the drill." The man knelt, opening the clasps on one of the containers. "Any particular style, or do you want to just try them all?"

Nobles One, Four and Five favor truly huge pauldron gear. But I cannot imagine trying to move as I am used to, with such cumbersome armor equipped.

Noble Five, Chief Warrant Officer Sierra 052: I do not become tense when he is at my back, nor do I move defensively when he catches me off guard. Trust. I sometimes seek his company to no explicit benefit… some form of attachment. He is comfortable to exist near.

"Nothing… overly heavy."

"Sure." He grabbed two pieces of metal from their packing foam, hanging them on his belt, and then lifted one handle of the locker to wheel it over. "Try these on for size."

He passed the plates to the loader, and the assembler's mechanized arms quickly lifted them into place and fixed them into the arming points. Six recognized them as similar to Noble Two's gear.

Noble Two, Lieutenant-Commander Sierra B320: I trust her. She is… comfortable to exist near. I often seek out her company… although it sometimes causes me inexplicable stress to do so. I do not…

Lifting her arms, Six rolled her shoulders and tested her range of motion. "No. Too high-riding."

Simply, she confuses me more than the others. More study is needed.

"Inreresting. You really seemed to like the paratrooper knee guards. Well, to each their own." The assembler quickly reversed its work, lifting the pauldrons back down onto the unloading rack. "How about these?"

Is this actually armor? "What are these?"

"HALO gear. Probably weakest and lightest as armor goes, they're more anchors for reentry kits than plates, per se."

"I only mildly dislike these…" Six shook her head. "Keep them aside. Have you others?"

"Well, not a great deal of light armor in your kit range, really," the armorer mused. "There's a fair few more options for heavy. Oh! Hang on."

He dug in the locker again, producing two more plates - larger and thicker than the paratrooper equipment, but still much smaller than massive pieces like Gungnir plates or upscaled ODST pauldrons. "These are the from the MJOLNIR Hazardous Operations design," he said proudly, dropping them into the loader. "Probably the closest thing to a middleweight in the lineup."

The HAZOP plates were definitely heavier than the paratrooper gear, but they were mounted a little lower - lining up perfectly with the acromion of her shoulder, rather than riding above. They were also a little broader, wrapping around the front and back to a small degree.

Unrestrictive. Easy to equip and remove. Tougher than the light plates. "I like these," she said at length.

"Glad I could be of service." The sergeant saluted again. "Will you be needing anything else, Lieutenant?"

"No." Six stepped away from the assembler, then paused. "Thank you."

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch08: Forged Anew

X-X-X

December 24, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

Kat had let herself go to sleep too early - a minor but frequent problem, for those who slept only four to six hours at a time. When she woke, it was not quite 0200.

It was raining again. Despite her room being away from the exterior walls, the subtle rolling shifts in the air pressures and the susurrus of rainfall ensured she wouldn't go back to sleep in a hurry. The hypersensitivity of their hearing was a known problem for spartans - sometimes noise would keep them awake for days at a time, and although their superhuman bodies could still stay moderately functional under such conditions, it was far from pleasant.

Time to make the rounds again.

Kat stood up, swayed to her left for a moment, then stepped out of her bunkroom.

The hallways were dark and quiet, but for the same sounds of wind and rain. Part of Kat wanted to head for the rec rooms to idle the wee hours away, but her well-honed instincts kept her feet moving, prowling in the dark. As a recruit, she'd thrown herself into the scout and recon training roles, and it had left her with a restlessness that never truly went away.

As she neared the northeastern corner of the building, she made out the faint sounds of breathing over the rain.

Two bodies. Who's up this late, I wonder? Doubt it could be any of the docs…

There was an exterior window at the corner. Reach's moon was bright, and despite the thick clouds the twilight was enough for spartan eyes. One figure was sitting on the windowsill, one knee pulled up with their back against the frame, looking out at the silvery rain. The other - a much larger person, close to eight feet tall - was leaning against the wall on the other side.

Huge, even for a series-two. Got to be Jorge. And sure enough, as he turned, Kat saw the moonlight touch the unmistakable scar on his lined brow before his features were thrown back into shadow.

"Jó éjszakát." Jorge turned back to the other figure, his low voice so quiet as to seem almost subsonic. "See you in the morning."

The other figure nodded.

"Gently," Jorge whispered as he passed Kat. Despite his bulk, he walked very quietly. His footsteps were clear as birdsong to Kat, but an unagumented human would likely hear nothing at all.

Gently? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Shaking her head, Kat kept moving.

Dark skin, so Emile or Six. And Emile keeps his hair shaved, while this looks like at least an inch or two, so… Six.

"Can't sleep?"

Six tilted her head, just enough for the corner of her right eye to catch Kat's form. "Can't sleep," she murmured.

There was a splashing glitter of sound as a gust blew the rain against the window. For a fraction of a second, a hint of a smile curled the corner of Six's mouth.

"You want to talk about it?" Kat asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Talk…" Six turned her head properly this time, looking at Kat. There was no shifting green glow as she moved; her left eye was dark.

A moment later, her gaze returned to the rain-streaked window. Apparently, she was finished speaking.

Gently…

"Is… something bothering you, Six?" Kat said, shifting to lean on the wall where Jorge had stood. "If you don't want to -"

"Mm." Six's hand rose, her fingers brushing her forehead above her left eye and tracing an aimless circle. She winced, as if in pain.

"Headache?" Kat hazarded, her voice so quiet it almost broke.

"Headache."

"That happen often?"

A nod. She's extra quiet tonight, huh.

"I guess you probably already tried painkillers."

Six recoiled - her shoulders hunching, her other leg drawing up. A hiss escaped her.

"... no?"

"No!" The word was forceful and harsh, attesting that she both hadn't and wouldn't.

"I'm sorry," Kat offered, silently cursing her misstep. "I… I guess I should go, huh."

She turned away, but Six's right hand lashed out, clutching Kat's wrist. It felt strange - weak, even a little clumsy, a far cry from Six's usual poise and precision.

"I'm sorry." Again, Kat was struck by how similar to her own words the intonation was. Weird, that she's repeating me like that.

"Should I stay?"

"Stay," Six echoed.

X-X-X

Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow - click. Kat dropped the M6G immediately, snatching the next gun in the rack, a DMR - heavier, louder, deeper. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam…

Noble Team had been intensifying drills recently. Kat had rolled into the firing range right out of a grueling full workout, and the sweat on her left hand made it hard to grip the gun properly. Fortunately, her right hand needed no sweat in order to vent waste heat.

Bam. Bam. Bam - click. Kat dropped the DMR, grabbing the next weapon, an MA5C. Pak-pak-pak. Pak-pak-pak. Pak-pak-pak…

They'd been through heavy regimens of training games, too. Tournament-style wrestling. King of the hill free-for-all. 1v5 infiltration rounds. Elimination slayer free-for-all. 3v3 king of the hill. At least one exercise a week, and hard training in between. In a few days they'd be playing 3v3 capture the flag.

Pak-pak-pak. Pak-pak - click. The assault rifle clattered to the floor. She grabbed for the last, heaviest weapon - a training-specific bolt action SRS99-AM.

BOOM. Ratchet. BOOM. Ratchet. BOOM. Ratchet. BOOM.

"Thirty-six point eight seconds!" Jun crowed, hitting the stopwatch. "Well under the forty-five second benchmark. And look! Target table says eighty-nine percent overall average, and a little higher in the close points."

Kat hissed, frowning. "I was hoping to break ninety."

"Why? Your average was only eighty-six and forty seconds before you got involuntarily upgraded." Jun punched her lightly on the right shoulder, chuckling at the faint metallic noise from the anchor and join. "I say retraining's done you a lot of good, to make you outright better than you used to be."

"I guess," Kat replied, shrugging. Somehow, despite weeks of feeling like an inadequate dead-weight on the team, it didn't sit well with her that she wasn't anymore.

Thom won't get a chance to bounce back stronger. He won't have a chance at anything all, anymore.

Kat wasn't stupid. She could recognize survivor's guilt easily enough. Somehow, though, putting a name on it didn't make it much easier to deal with.

Damn fool, could have waited for backup, but he always had to be the cowboy...

"Reset the range," she said at length, turning away. "Emile's next up, so I expect this will be the bright point of the exercise for you."

"Tch." Jun scoffed. "I wouldn't call it my favorite experience watching him fumbling distance shots… despite how adorable he gets when frustrated."

"Well, as long as he can still take heads off with that shotgun," Kat muttered, grabbing a towel and heading for the door.

She was so lost in thought it took her a full five seconds to notice that Carter had been waiting for her outside the range, and had begun patiently following behind her.

Unacceptable. You call yourself a scout, Kat? You gotta see everything. Five seconds' lapse is how spartans go missing in action.

Carter clearly saw when she noticed him, because he shifted slightly. "Got a minute?"

"Got until I reach the showers," Kat grumbled back, still wiping the sweat from her neck.

"I've been CC'd on quite a flurry of messages this morning," Carter continued. "Some from high command."

"They mad that a whole spartan fireteam has been held up by R-and-R? Well, I seem back into the groove as of recent results, commander." There was a defiant edge to Kat's voice. "Six has been making good progress too. She's on the tail of the range schedule, so we'll see about -"

"Hold up, Kat, no one's rushing this retraining run. You're both doing great," Carter said. "In fact, the docs want to have you discharged within two weeks. Just in time, really."

"In time for what?"

"In time for the war to start coming to us," Carter replied, his voice growing serious. "At 0413 hours, our time, probes picked up inbound slipspace ripples in the Kuiper belt of the Chi Velorum system. Unregistered, moving faster than any standard Shaw-Fujikawa propulsion."

Kat stopped short, grinding to such an abrupt halt that Carter almost walked into her.

"Covenant."

"Nothing else it could be." Carter folded his arms. "They were already dug in, and they'll have piled on as much additional fortification as they can in the handful of hours before the Covenant reach their interior exit limit. But Chi Velorum II just doesn't have the resources to hold against a real siege."

"What about the Tau Ceti battlefleet?"

"No way are they going to break station to advance on a kill zone - especially not when they're still the reserve for Sigma Octanus. They have orbital defenses and field advantage where they're already at." Carter shook his head. "They're arming up too, but I'm fairly certain they're going to just hold tight. They know they're next."

Sighing, Kat draped the towel over her shoulders. "Never been to Tau Ceti VI," she muttered. "Guess I'll need to start field research for a ground fight there, huh."

"Well, I'm not certain. It's not like we've received formal orders of deployment there or anything, yet." Carter gave a rueful smile. "But… yeah, it seems likely."

"Thanks for the tip."

X-X-X

Kat's attention drifted as she auto-piloted her way to the showers. Part of her was excited by the prospect of returning to active duty, but another part - something too primitive and human to be beaten or augmented out of a child - was afraid.

I've gotten out of the habits of a battlefront. I don't look over my back as much, I don't jump at the little noises like I used to. It's nice to be calm, but does calm mean soft? Am I really ready to dive into the blood bath again?

Hell, even the best of us end up missing in action eventually. Thom did, damn near the whole force of Beta Company did… and there aren't many of us left.

It was more than just personal fear, though. Kat had known bone-chilling terror ever since being told the augmentations she was about to undergo might kill her. She'd pushed through it then, and she could push through again. There was a new strain to this dread, one that ran deeper, quieter, and colder.

If the Covenant are advancing on Chi Velorum II, we're running out of ground to fall back on. Just a few short steps: Tau Ceti VI, Epsilon Eridani II… also known as Reach… and Sol IV. Earth.

The water of the shower was hot, and the dynamic heaters were effectively limitless - a luxury a soldier in a forward base would never know. Still, the steam did little to lift the chill from Kat's blood.

We're losing this war.

"Noble Two?"

Kat jerked back to herself, startled. "Damn, Six. You scared me."

"You have lingered for a minimum of nineteen minutes and twenty-one seconds," came Six's voice, followed by the sound of a stall door closing beside her. "Over fifteen minutes longer than your median shower duration. I grew concerned."

"That's sweet of you, Six, but I'm fine." Kat shook her head, setting down the bar of soap as she began rinsing herself off. "Just… a little stressed is all."

A pause. Then - "Let me know if I can help." Then the hiss of running water.

She's become all kinds of cooperative lately. Almost hard to believe she was such a lone wolf before… I thought it would take a lot longer than a few weeks, but here we are.

Just in time for the war to beat its path to our doorstep.

Kat gritted her teeth, knocking her forehead against the tiles of the back wall. God damn, girl, get your mind off this shit! Pessimism is a soldier's worst enemy!

A fraction of a second later, there was an almost-inaudible intake of breath, and Kat realized that Six would certainly have heard the impact.

And now you're worrying your teammates. Fucking great. "Sorry, Six. Just trying to get my head back down to earth."

"Would a distraction assist your de-stressing, Noble Two?"

"I have a name, you know."

"Would a distraction assist your de-stressing, Catherine?"

"Oh god, that's even worse." Kat sighed. "Look, do you not hear the others calling me Kat?"

"Would a distraction assist your de-stressing, Kat?"

The other spartan's patient, exact repetition of the same inquiry lent a surreal tinge to the atmosphere. "Uh… maybe. Can't hurt, I guess." Wait a moment, Kat, just what are you agreeing to? "What do you have in mind?"

"You have yet to, so to speak, 'cash' the rain check from our first training game."

Is that a… yep, that's a proposition. Didn't think you'd be that bold, Six. "Huh, you're right," Kat said aloud. "Is that an offer I hear?"

"Yes."

It was then that Kat recalled something that her former teammate Thom had said to her, once, back when they used to engage in similar extracurricular activities - or rather, when he had turned her away from such. "Once, is convenience. Twice, is a preference. Three times - that's a relationship, of some kind or other, whether or not it's close."

But Thom is dead and gone, Kat countered, shaking her head to once again try to dispel the ghosts of old regrets. And, was he really happier for holding himself back from a little indulgence? I don't believe it. Six is here, alive, and willing. And she wouldn't know 'feelings' if they shot her in the face, so it's not like I'm going to be such a fool as to get attached to her, like before, right?

Kat had never been terribly good at resisting temptation; like her diminutive namesake, she was sure her curiosity would kill her one day. And Six was a tempting temptation. She was pretty, as much as any scarred soldier could be; and she was sweet, in her own awkward, stoic way - and the transgressive thrill of breaking regulations only made her seem all the sweeter.

… Besides, nothing wrong with having a preference. Not like there are any other girls on the team.

"Then, sure," she said aloud. "By all means."

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch09: Made Of Stronger Steel

X-X-X

December 28, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

"You sure you want course hazards, Commander?" Jorge raised an eyebrow. "Seems a bit heavy for routine training."

"This is gonna be the last game we're going to play, Jorge," Carter murmured. "Re-activation orders are already cleared, docs are on their final follow-ups with Two and Six as we speak, and in no more than seventy-two hours I expect to have a deployment and posting in my inbox. Let's make this game as serious as we can."

"Tau Ceti VI?"

"Like I told Kat, I don't know for certain… but that is what I expect, yeah."

Jorge nodded, scratching the stubble on his chin, and returned to the holographic layout plan for the capture-the-flag battlezone. "Stun mines are routine for hazard courses," he said. "Want robo-turrets, too?"

"Seems like the standard of those might be overkill…"

"So, only a few?"

Carter nodded. "Two, battle rifles, stun rounds. Here and here." Jorge nodded in approval.

"Good thinking. They'll need encouragement to keep them from hugging the periphery. Four and Six in particular, they've got such a tendency to go for the flank."

"Well, I want them to still have the opportunity," Carter chuckled. "Hence rifles, not heavy machine guns. But now they'll have to work for it, too."

"How about some unstable terrain? Or collapsing walls." Jorge chuckled. "Keep us all on our toes."

"God knows those horny kids might need the wake-up call. Think the engineers will be willing to put in a few strategically placed buckets of ice water?"

"Now, don't be bitter just because you got the shit end of the hormone augments stick," Jorge chided. "But, you have a point there. I'll ask them."

"The partial to complete ratio, of libido suppression in the series-threes, was fifty-five to forty-five." Carter raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm allowed to feel a little cheated that Noble Team is rocking four to one and I'm the one."

"And? For us series-twos it was about ten to ninety." Jorge sighed, leaning his massive weight carefully on the edge of the holotank. "I'm not trying to tell you how to feel about it, Commander, just… don’t feel like that has to be a part of you."

"Tell that to the regular marines," Carter muttered bitterly. "You're right, though."

Jorge nodded. "Glad I could help."

"I appreciate it." Carter turned his gaze back to the hologram. "Hmm… what're your thoughts on mud slides?"

X-X-X

"This is Noble One to Noble Two. Six isn't responding to comms; can you go retrieve her? War games in one hour."

"Why am I always the one who has to fetch her?" Kat grumbled.

"Because she follows you around like she's a stray dog that thinks you'll feed her," Carter replied, his tone hiding a smile. "Her transponder has her in D wing."

"Medical? I thought we were cleared…"

"Probably some kind of final checkup. You know how those doctors get."

"Ugh. Yeah." Kat was painfully aware of how well doctors and spartans didn't get along. Few things made the superhuman soldiers feel worse than bed rest or injury recovery. They'd been just children when their bodies had been beaten and honed into weapons, weapons more deadly than any blade or bullet; and being too weak to go to war - even temporarily - felt like admitting all the blood and sweat and augment-aches and deaths hadn't been enough.

Besides, on a battlefield, an injury was something that had to be pushed through. The habit was hard to break.

The doctor that signed my release form said he'd wanted to keep me for another month of PT. Wouldn't be surprised if they were more insistent with Six… I can't imagine calibrating a new eye is any easier.

The halls of D wing always seemed grim, despite being brightly lit. Perhaps it was the lingering smell of soap and antiseptic and blood; they didn't perform surgeries often, what with being an outpatient rehab center instead of a hospital, but there were just enough for the smell to linger despite rigorous sanitation - at least, to a spartan's sense of smell.

Or, perhaps it was the high concentration of civilian doctors. Spartans and civilians weren't known for getting along well, either.

Six wasn't in Optics, though. Kat realized she'd wandered that way without actually checking for Six's transponder, and redirected to another hall. After passing through several junctions, she found herself in Neurology.

The brain doctors. Hmm. Now I regret putting off a snoop around her medical file.

Six's transponder was in one of the near wards. Kat knew she shouldn't wait too close to the door, but the curiosity was too much for her to take - and eavesdropping was easy, to those with superhuman hearing, especially after she took off her helmet to hear better.

"... And dexterity looks mostly nominal again, but for a slight increase in ability to aim at distant targets." The sound of a page turning. "Given that your motor learning is definitely still weakened, I'm surprised that you'd take up new training on top of the retraining."

"I learn what my commander needs me to learn," Six replied blandly.

"Yes, quite the good little toy soldier, aren't you?" The doctor's tone was sardonic, but Six didn't seem to respond verbally. "... anyway. I'd like to run you through at least one more comprehensive mobility and fine motor movements exam, and cognitive and verbal skills, and… in fact, ideally, my team would have you stay for another few months or even a year of observation, given how many mostly-blind experiments went into fixing you up. But I doubt I could make you sit still anywhere near that long."

"My fire team is under orders to prepare for rapid redeployment at the end of this week." Six's voice never wavered from her monotonous drone.

"Yes, that's why we're rushing this a little," the doctor replied irritably. "You really have no appreciation for how special a case you are, Sierra. God save me from ungrateful spartans."

Sierra? I thought the hospital rules were that they always use the patient's real name. I know my doctors did…

Six didn't respond, and there was another sound of paper shuffling. "Anyway. I have your final report from the psychiatrist here. Some rather interesting results, I'd say, given that she felt a need to bring them to my attention."

Once again, Six said nothing.

"Your intake file at New Alexandria CIH included Alexithymia, severe - potentially indicative of avoidant or schizoid personality disorder. Although, curiously enough there's no mention of exactly who gave you this diagnosis. Our resident psychiatrist doesn't seem to disagree." There was a moment of silence, presumably wherein the doctor read over his notes. "For the better part of a year, their psych - Dr. Ayame - repeatedly noted you were actively resisting therapy. Is that correct, Sierra?"

Sierra, Sierra…

"Just so. Not particularly surprising, if you ask me. There's something about your kind and trying to be perfect war machines." Apparently, Six had nodded silently again. "The oddity, though, is that about nine weeks ago - when you arrived at Whitepeaks, that is - this resistance seems to have disappeared. Suddenly you're the picture of cooperation, and your treatment has progressed further in this narrow window than in all the months before. Why might that be, Sierra?"

"I would have thought the answer obvious." Six's voice was still flat, and Kat frowned. Six was never exactly a picture of expressiveness, but she'd slowly loosened up enough to at least vary her voice from time to time. On good days, Kat even caught her smiling.

"... Enlighten me." The doctor seemed put off by the unusual response.

"Social avoidance, and an incapacity for emotional response - particularly empathy, anger, fear, or guilt - was an advantage to me, in my previous duties as a solitary operative." Six paused. "Now, I am to integrate into a fire team. Cooperative units are built on bonds of trust. Therefore, despite my distaste for these new interference factors in my function, it is now necessary that I overcome some deficiencies."

"That… is an interesting sequence of logic, Sierra."

Sierra - wait, no. Really?

"Anyway, you're already healthier than expected for such a short recovery. You're probably combat ready… as far as I can tell, with too little time to really ascertain," the doctor declared, his voice sulky.

"May I go?"

"Yes, yes. I'll forward the necessary paperwork. Go get shot at to your heart's content. Maybe the second bullet in your brain will leave behind some sense."

Kat's eyebrows rose. A moment later, however, the door was hissing as it prepared to open, and she schooled her features back into a bored expression.

Familiar eyes - dark brown and glowing green - met Kat's, and the spartan stepped out, the door hissing shut behind her.

Kat inclined her head slightly, and Six nodded; they both knew the team's agenda for the day. Six began heading down the corridor, and Kat fell into step beside her.

"Hear anything interesting?

Heh. No fooling you, is there. "A little. Only a few minutes."

"Have you guessed my name yet?"

"Well, under the assumption that the doctor was not overtly breaking medical procedure…"

Like most spartans, Kat was keenly aware of how people communicated through body language; she'd seen how Six had tensed when she'd trailed off.

'Sierra Bravo Three-Twelve'. Her duty file header read Sierra-B312, and... 'you have heard my name before'. Sierra…

She stopped short in the corridor. A step later, Six halted too, turning to face her.

"Sierra. That is your name."

Six smiled, then, wider than she usually would - though her eyes were dark. She nodded.

"Hey, don't give me that moping look." Kat gave Six's shoulder a soft punch, noting the new pauldron plates. "You said you didn't like it, right?"

"Sierra is every spartan's name," Six replied, her voice low.

"There you go, then," Kat said firmly. "You're still just Noble Six to me. I won't even tell the others or anything."

Six looked up, the faintest glimmer of surprise in her eyes. "... Thank you."

"No problem." Kat started walking again, and it was Six's turn to fall into step. "So, a bullet to the brain, huh?"

The other spartan nodded. "Fourteen point five millimeters. It - what was Four's idiom? It 'cored me like an apple'."

Kat whistled. "And you lived? Well, I guess clearly you lived…"

"The bullet did not rupture any major blood vessels, yet successfully eliminated about twenty percent of my brain, by volume, entering through the top half of my left eye socket and exiting through the back of my head." Six's gaze was distant. "I have no memory of what may have happened to me after the gunshot. Clearly, I made it to evac somehow. I have been told I was 'stumbling and nonvocal', but I did not enter a coma until such was medically induced."

"How are you, well, combat-ready after that much brain damage? If I may ask." Kat frowned. "That was just a year ago, right?"

"Fourteen months now, yes. You may ask. My service record may be classified, but my medical history is no secret." Six seemed comfortable again, back in her manner of clinical neutrality; at least, she didn't seem to mind speaking at length. "The details are too technical to recount in a short time. The simplification is that, rather than put me through several years or decades of neuroplasticity therapy, my neural lace was extensively expanded. A custom AL-EDE system, embedded as gate arrays and a neuronix complex, now works around or replaces many lost functions."

"Same reasoning I followed to get my iron arm… didn't want to wait out growing a new limb," Kat murmured. "Still, a neuronix complex? That would make it almost a fully fledged tactical computer system. You've really got a pet AI living in there?"

"I am not two souls, Kat." Six sounded a little more serious than before. "The spartan you know, Bravo-Three-Twelve, is an integral of multiple functions. As all minds are, human or otherwise. I merely bear a set of artificial replacements among the components I was born with."

"Well… that makes sense. Glad the prosthetic, uh, cerebrum is working out for you." Kat flexed her right hand, lifting it up to briefly study the white-and-cyan armor. "I can certainly empathize with replacements."

Six nodded. "And, does your replacement serve the functions needed?"

"Yeah." Kat nodded, flipping her helmet out from under her arm and sliding it over her head. "Not quite the same, but it gets the job done. Good to be combat-ready again."

"Just so," Six quietly agreed.

"Do you want me to, well, keep this quiet?"

"No need." Six shrugged. "It is in my medical file. Any member of Noble Team may access it, and I assume that the Commander, at least, already has."

"Alright." Kat nodded. "Hey, speaking of combat readiness, you up for capture the flag?"

Six lifted her own helmet. "I am ready if you are," she replied, latching the neck clasps.

X-X-X

There was a sharp BOOM followed immediately by a soft, crackling pop.

SRS99-AM, stun round. Someone's training shields were punctured.

"Fall back to the flagpole, Six." Kat's voice came over the teamcomm. "Five's down, we can't push with just two of us."

"Acknowledged." Six halted, ducking back behind the nearest wall. "Status?"

"Home zone, inner periphery, on guard."

Dashing from wall to wall, Six made her way back to their team's 'home zone'. She had almost reached the broken barricades and loose debris that constituted the outer periphery, when she caught sight of a flash of blue in the corner of her eye.

Noble One. I would recognize that awfully, awfully visible armor paint anywhere.

He hadn't seen her. He'd moved into her motion-track range, not the other way around. Six slung her DMR as quietly as possible; if she could creep up on him slowly enough to not show on his motion-track…

Six looked back, over the center walls. No sight of Noble Three. Take the risk? Go.

Breaking from a dead stop into a sprint, Six charged, slamming into her unwary commander with her shoulder and kocking him against the sturdy beam wall. Before he could recover, or retaliate, she snapped her other arm up - combat knife out.

The physical impact of the charge had weakened One's shields, and Six's knife-strike finished the job, the tip digging into the tough aramid between his plates. "Dammit," he groaned, slumping against the wall. "I'd thought you were too far ahead to double back."

"Shut it, Commander!" Kat yelled, from the other side of the periphery. "Dead men don't talk!"

Noble One popped his helmet off. "What, you've never seen a ghost?" He yelled back, but he turned, stomping heavily back towards his flag-base to resurrect himself.

Six unslung her DMR again, slipping behind the wall of the base periphery.

"Stay sharp. Carter wouldn't be pushing this far if Emile wasn't around." Six blinked her acknowledgement light in response, ratcheting the bolt on her DMR to ensure working order. "Wait! I see him, he's near my -"

There was another BOOM of a sniper rifle, and Kat's comm cut out mid-sentence; the game board that hovered in the periphery of Six's HUD cycled her status to 'dead'.

This is not exactly going well. I am the only living defender, and lightly armed. Four is advancing, and Three has a scope on our base; I need to keep a low profile.

A red blip appeared at the outer limit of her motion-track, moving perpendicular to her position. Thinking quickly, she crept up to the inner periphery, covering behind the wall section while trying to stay in the shadow of the outer periphery.

There he is.

Holding her breath, Six waited until the assault soldier had moved halfway into the open space before the flagpole. As soon as he was well and truly exposed, she snapped her DMR to her shoulder, firing a rapid salvo of five rounds at Noble Four's back.

One stunner missed, but the others tore into his training shields. He spun as quickly as he could, blasting his shotgun blindly - even clipping her with some of the stunshot, though not enough to matter. Six held steady, though, and the next five-round volley she loosed finished stripping his shields away.

Just in time. One direct shell at that range and I'd have been down.

Four groaned, stomping away. As he passed by Six, she heard a muffled muttering.

"... Fuckin' planks are tougher than I thought…"

Planks?

With a screeching crack, the wall behind her - on the outer periphery - started to buckle. The planks that supported the beam were chewed to hell; the electrically charged rubber pellets that made up stunshot weren't as destructive as live rounds, but they still delivered a vicious kick of kinetic energy if a cloud of them struck in force.

"I'm back. Perks of dying near base. Resuming position now."

For a moment, Six wondered why Noble Four would have purposefully tried to tear down the periphery wall segment. It wasn't as if there was a risk of it falling onto her, so -

As the top row of beams crashed to the ground, the elevated knoll of the west side of the training grounds came into view. Complete with its foxhole, that was at just the right angle to be un-targetable by the nearby autoturret, and was probably the best vantage point on the field.

No!

BOOM!

Six let out a frustrated yell as the heavy stunner kocked her into a hard stagger, and her armor went dark.

"Those damn snipers, am I right?" Noble Five was trudging heavily up behind her. "Come on. Let's get revived and make a push to teach Jun a lesson."

Six clenched her fists, released them, and clenched again. "Yeah," she replied, and then twitched, startled by the harsh rasp of her own voice.

X-X-X

Chapter Text

X-X-X

Within Reach

Ch10: Pack Dog

X-X-X

December 30, 12551

UNSC Outpatient Rehabilitation Center at Fort Whitepeaks, Viery Territory Highlands, Epsoz continent, Reach [Epsilon Eridani II]

Every spartan took part in running drills - every soldier did, when stationed off the battlefront. The regular infantry and marines usually jogged as platoons, while more elite forces like commandos and shock troopers usually did so as fire teams.

Spartans were known for running alone. Emile and Jun usually jogged as a pair, leaving at the crack of dawn; Jorge would wait until he'd eaten breakfast, while Carter more often ran in the early afternoon, to clear his head after spending too long planning exercises and compiling performance reports.

Six timed her course to begin at sunset and returned long after dusk.

Kat always tried to be out and back before dawn, leaving as early as 0500 or even 0400 hours some days. The darkness helped wake her up, keeping her on her toes and watching the shadows at all times.

Even in a noncombat zone, there's no such thing as too careful. Plainclothes insurrectionists, disgruntled shock troopers, cloaked Covenant spec-ops teams… plenty of things out there that might want to chance taking down an unarmored spartan.

It always paid to be alert. In this particular case, Kat's ears picked up the distinct sound of footfalls behind her at close to a hundred meters out. She'd been running at a quick jog, meaning that the pursuer had either short-cut or kept a grueling pace to catch up with her.

Fast. Not sprinting, either, and no one under six-foot-five has enough leg length to keep pace with a jogging spartan at less than a dead sprint. Especially when that spartan is me.

The footfalls drew nearer, and Kat got a better picture from the sound as they approached. Definitely a spartan, average weight, breathing pattern sounds relatively masculine… as much as that's a real indicator, anyway.

"You're up early, Commander!" Kat called out, not slowing her pace.

"I'm in high spirits this morning," he shot back. "Kind of excited to be heading back to the battlefront, if you believe it."

That sounds like bait.

"I am too," she said, as Carter pulled up beside her. "Tired of getting soft on hot showers and cooked food."

"Hah! Yeah, I'll remember that part of this fondly," Carter replied, his breath quickening as the ground began to slope upwards under them. "You feel ready? To roll back out and kill?"

Ahh, so that's what this is.

"Ready as I'll get," Kat grunted. "Mom."

"Really? Real mature of you."

"You're the one," she hissed back, "who inserted himself into my morning schedule for a last minute checkup. Don't you have my medical reports?"

"Medical reports ain't bad, I guess," Carter replied evenly - or as evenly as he could, while running. "I wanted to hear it from you."

A twinge of annoyance mixed with embarrassment washed over her, then, and she huffed. "I'm about ninety-five percent, Commander. I'm ready to roll back out."

"Only ninety-five?"

"It's war, Commander." The grassy hill crested and began to slope down again; with the horizon no longer truncated, the vista of Reach's highlands in the glimmer of pre-dawn glow was a sight to behold.

"I don't follow."

"I can't know I'm completely combat ready, can I?" Kat's expression was hard. "Not until I've actually been back in combat."

"I -" a grunt, and a sharp breath. "I see."

"Are you winded, Commander?"

"Shut up."

"Hah! Look at this! The legendary Noble One can't keep pace with his own scout!" Kat laughed. "Don't worry, old man, we're almost home."

"Really, Kat? Really?" Carter was clearly struggling to stay abreast. "They don't call you the fastest runner in the third series for nothing, you know!"

Kat only laughed harder, speeding up. "Race you home, Commander!"

X-X-X

Jorge had a habit of making his way around the base's living areas in the evening. He would claim he walked to clear his head, but the fact of the matter was that he was informally checking in on the other members - the younger, twitchier, and slightly more unstable members - of his little family.

Judging by the rhythmic noises and occasional faint giggling coming from Jun's room, both the sniper and his boyfriend were in high spirits. Jorge certainly wasn't interested in disturbing that, so he moved on quickly.

"Commander?"

"Hmm?" Carter looked up from the training report. "Just call me Carter, Jorge. You know we're not on duty."

It wasn't quite that easy, for Jorge. The SPARTAN-II program had been absolutely brutal about drilling military discipline into the children that would become humanity's mightiest heroes. The warmth of a human heart had been taken from him by force, and while he'd sunk a great deal of work into regaining it since, the old habits still showed through from time to time.

"Anyway, need something?"

"No," Jorge replied, smiling. "Just making the rounds."

"All right. Well, my door's always open." There was an abrupt pinging from his desk's embedded computer. "Unless I get a phone call, it seems. Talk later."

Carter pressed the key to pick up the call. Jorge just nodded and turned, tapping the door with his knuckle to let the Commander know he was leaving.

Kat's door was closed, and there was no light shining from under it. Jorge gently pressed his ear against the wood, and after a few seconds, he heard the quiet but distinct sound of deep, regular breaths.

That's good. She's been pushing herself awfully hard to recover, maybe to the point of counter-productivity. Seems a bit more relaxed these days, though. Maybe Six's rock-solid mellow is rubbing off on her. Jorge stopped by the last door on his check-up. And speaking of Six…

But the door was ajar, the room empty. Jorge took the opportunity to give it a quick look-around, but the room was just as spartan as its occupant. There was the standard armor rack, as seen in the other spartans’ rooms, currently displaying a well-kept kit of slightly modified mkV-B in Six's green and grey; lying on the floor, by the head of the bunk, was a shiny new Battle Rifle with the magazine loaded and the safety on; and the only other detail was a small bottle of eye drops on the bedside table, labeled 'ocular lubricant: electronic prosthetics grade'.

Carter kept a chain of dog tags from soldiers he'd lost - previous members of Noble Team - as well as a photograph of the landscape from his homeworld of Biko, as it looked before the glassing. Jun had his odd pile of beat-up paper notebooks, which he never let anyone see the pages of. Emile had his duffel bag full of trophies from slain Covenant forces; blatantly against regulations, although Carter seemed content to let him get away with it. Kat had her stash of customized electronics and non-standard technician tools. Even Jorge himself was known to indulge in reading old-school paper novels, although he never kept more than one at a time, reselling them onwards once he finished reading them.

Yet, Six's room lacked any kind of personal touch about it. Barely-customized armor, a favorite weapon, and medicine for a battle scar. Not one single thing to indicate a life, or interests, beyond war.

Well, enough snooping. She's not in her room. Where else, then, might I find her?

Jorge idly trailed his way through the halls, absent-mindedly checking the rec rooms. He didn't expect to see Six in any of them; she barely showed interest in civilian games or the like as a group activity, and never at all on her own. Still, he checked for completeness' sake.

Next was the firing range. While there was no one-eyed spartan to be found, there were two guns - a DMR and an M6G - left in their discard holsters, their magazines empty and their barrels still warm, with several loose cartridge casings lying on the floor. The targets weren't up, so Jorge couldn't get a picture of the accuracy.

And last is the spartan gym. If she ain't there, she's outside the building, and if she wants her space that badly I'm inclined to give it.

The lights in the gym were on, however, and Jorge's sharp ears easily picked out the sounds of rapid breathing and shifting metal. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but the tiny twitch in Six's neck informed him that she was aware of his entry regardless.

Six was busy curling handweights. Or, what were handweights to their kind. Regular infantrymen would need to be careful benching the eighty-kilo barbells, but a spartan could lift them on the bicep of one arm with moderate exertion.

Jorge studied Six for a moment, noting the sweat-drenched exercise clothes and the slight shaking of her shoulders. She'd clearly been going at the workout for a long time.

"Your form's off," he grunted. Six stiffened, straightening her back a little before lifting again, but her hands shook anyway. "Still."

The other Spartan huffed, and actually growled as she tried to control the next lift, but she didn't quite manage to stabilize the movement - it was still not centered, not stable enough.

"Put them down, spartan."

Six didn't go for another lift, but didn't move to put the weights down either, letting them hang from her hands. "Why?"

"You're pushing too hard. If you can't hold form anymore, you'll hurt yourself." Slowly, Jorge walked forward. "You've been recovering for more than a year, right? Don't waste all that effort on the eve of returning to battle."

There was a soft sound, a mix of a disappointed sigh and a growl of disgust. Six swayed, swinging her body forward, then back - and her hands released the barbells. They landed a few feet away from her, making a dull thunk on the shock-absorbent floor padding.

"Something bothering you, Six?"

The other spartan turned, quickly, her face a mask of neutrality - but her eyes alit with fire. "Yes," she hissed.

"Want to talk about it?" Jorge kept his hands visible, moving slowly and deliberately as he picked up the handweights and put them back on their reinforced rack. They were too light for his taste, but that didn't mean much; Jorge was a muscle-bound colossus even by the standards of his series-two siblings. "Just an offer. Don't feel like you have to."

Six pushed herself up on her toes, then rocked back - springing her feet as if trying to pace without moving. "Frustration," she murmured.

"What's got you frustrated?" Jorge sat down on the heavy-set steel bench by the door.

"It is frustration that bothers me."

"I don't follow."

"How did you do it?" Six broke into an actual pacing pattern, aimlessly walking the same three meters of floor. "Not - not you specifically, Noble Five, but the series-two spartans as a group."

"What do you mean?" The massive man's voice was calm. "My brothers and sisters were unique in many ways."

"Taciturn and unshakeable. Unwavering under pressure," Six answered. "Well known for it. They cannot all have been like me, so how did the others sustain it?"

Jorge had spent a lot of time handling the more difficult members of Noble Team, and he knew how to pick the important words out of a confusing reply. "Like you?"

Six looked up quickly, as if surprised at being caught, but eventually she continued. "I know not the cause, but… as long as I remember… since I was a very young child, I was distant, unfeeling, indifferent." Her voice was quiet. "It was useful, simple, to feel nothing, and go through life as if only an observer. I felt little sense of loss when my parents moved us away from earth, for I had kept no friends - and I did not mourn, later, when they died at the hands of the Covenant. I felt only mild trepidation before augments, and it was easy to keep a clear head under fire on Pegasi Delta. On black operations, I felt no empathy when executing human targets. It was easy to be calm when l was always cold."

"That explains some of your whole… stone-face thing, at least," Jorge grunted. It was no secret that Six had been one of the many left hands of ONI, playing the role of enforcer and assassin for their ends. Even those who weren't inclined to gain prohibited access to her duty file could see it, in her posture and her soft walk, and in her battlefield conduct and proficiencies. "I didn't realize you were a Torpedo survivor."

"Just so," Six replied, nodding. "But that had to change. To usefully serve Noble Team, I had to be trusted, and bonds of camaraderie must run both ways… but now I have lost my stability. And I know not how to rebuild it."

Jorge put a hand to his chin, leaning forward slightly. He didn't reply immediately, and Six soon started springing in place again, obviously trying to discharge nervous energy.

"That's rough, Six. If you're after a fast-acting trick, there isn't one," he said at last. "We S-2's… it wasn’t training as much as tempering. In a furnace of duty, on an anvil of pain. We had to harden our hearts with the rest of ourselves, so that we wouldn't die… and to this day I am still shaking that off."

Six exhaled sharply through her nose; not a snort, but a noise of displeasure nonetheless. "You are softer than the rest of us," she commented.

"Glad somebody's noticed." Jorge smiled. "Six, do you trust yourself to keep a tight lid in combat?"

Six's eyes narrowed briefly, and she nodded. "I… think so."

"Not sure?"

"I grew agitated during our last training game. I was frustrated with my lack of efficacy." She shook her head vigorously, ruffling her short hair. "Ultimately it did not strategically interfere, and had no impact on how carefully I operated, though there was a nominal detriment to my accuracy -"

Jorge laughed softly. "It's the Commander that takes reports from us, Six, not me," he said. "You seem to think you're good to fight. So, unless I see evidence to say that's wrong, I think you are too. You played well on that game, Six, so try not to go too hard on yourself for not winning every match."

Six looked away, nodding, although a troubled furrow persisted on her brow.

"Don't overthink it. If you can hold an even keel on duty, it's all right to get messy when you're off."

The other spartan looked away. She didn't seem calm, and Jorge wasn't entirely sure she had even noticed his follow-up, but the self-destructive agitation appeared to have loosened its grip on her mind.

"Thank you, Five," she murmured.

"Thank me by calling me by name, for once."

"Thank you, Jorge."

"No problem. Teammates have to hang together, right?" Standing up, he tapped her shoulder in a pathetic imitation of a punch - a real blow would have thrown her straight into a wall, and probably damaged the wall more than the spartan. "You can always talk to me. I don't mind listening. Might try Kat, too. She seems to have an ear for you."

Six blinked as she followed Jorge out of the gym, then frowned, slowly, thinking through the expression to convey quizzicality. "I do not think so," she replied, her tone perfectly measured once more. "Catherine appears to wish me… kept at arm's length, I think the phrase is."

"She tell you that herself?"

Six shook her head, her frown persisting. "I may have misinterpreted the signals."

Or Kat's lying to herself as well as you. "Don't worry about it, Six," he continued cheerily. "Talking out battle stress is part of being a team. Kat won't mind it, I guarantee. She likes you well enough, whether or not she wants your… thing to bring you any closer together."

Six nodded. "If you are sure."

"I usually am."

"Oh, and - Five? Jorge, that is."

"What's up?"

"What is the field of vision like on the mark four G-variant helmet?"

Talk about a sharp subject change. But she gets like that, when she decides there's no more to say about something.

"You thinking of switching to the grenadier?" Jorge stroked his mustache. "Wider visor than the mark five A- or B-variants, so a few extra degrees of horizontal arc. Better peripheral vision. You lose a little up-and-down, though, mostly down."

"Is it in any way a problem?"

"Not for me." He shrugged. "I've heard some spartans complain it makes for a disadvantage in CQC, but… I don't know. Grappling has always been more about body awareness than sight lines, to me."

"Mmhm." Six nodded, apparently approving. "I may try it out. I… like the thought of a wider arc."

"Well, I for one can certainly recommend it."

"Good enough for a series-two…" Six stopped in her tracks, and Jorge realized that they'd made it back to Noble Team's dorms; she was standing outside her bedroom door. "High praise, indeed."

Jorge's smile was crooked. "I don't know. We've yet to see if it's good enough for a hyper-lethal vector."

Six blinked, then nodded. "Indeed. Good night, Jorge."

"Night, Six. Sleep well."

X-X-X