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Chapter Text

0645, December 14, [YEAR: REDACTED] /

[LOCATION: REDACTED]

Tom's eyes opened of their own volition.

It was a day off, and after the rigors of the past two weeks he had planned to sleep in as late as his body would allow. When he pulled the blanket low enough to peek over it at the bedside clock, he groaned. Fifteen minutes' extra sleep were not going to make up for what he'd been going through lately.

He tried to bury himself beneath the blanket and force his mind back to sleep, but after five minutes he had to accept that it was a lost cause.

The Spartan pulled the sheets and blankets away from himself and rose to his feet – in the process nearly uncovering the other occupant of his bed. He laid the blankets back down and backed away, careful not to make any noise that would wake her, and finally left the bedroom of their small apartment in favor of the kitchen.

The pair had originally been assigned two of the small apartments – one for each of them. But after a few months, their mentor and fellow base employee, SCPO Mendez, managed to shift some things around and get them put into the same dwelling. It was logically the best choice – neither of them could, nor was willing to attempt, to sleep without the other near anyway.

Upon moving into the same dwelling, he and Lucy had quickly established one rule more important than all the others: on days off, breakfast was the responsibility of whoever woke first.

Secretly, it was Tom's favorite rule. He enjoyed the challenge of creating a meal for his partner that would make her happy, and he somehow always found himself pleased with whatever she came up with. Simple as it was, it was one of the small things that made him so happy to be near Lucy.

Today, however, the breakfast muse was evading the Spartan. Tom sighed as he peered into their small stores of food once more, hoping some inspiration would catch him before he settled on cold cereal with rehydrated milk. When no new information erupted from the tidy labels encasing each item of food, he glanced at the date and time floating above the holographic display in the center of the table.

December 14th – twelve days before Christmas.

And there it was. The inspiration he needed. With a grin, the Spartan retrieved a single can from their stockpile, along with a handful of white paper napkins, and began to set the table.

Not ten minutes passed before Lucy emerged from the bedroom, her short hair disheveled and her eyes red with sleep. She stalked into the kitchen and settled into her chair at the table, staring at the setting there for a moment in confusion.

Tom, for his part, watched anxiously from his vantage leaning against the stove. A smirk came to his lips as he watched Lucy cock her head to one side in confusion, staring intently at the plate before her. It was an ordinary white dish, topped with pear slices – not a particularly uncommon breakfast choice, though they tended to keep themselves to unpreserved fruit as much as occasion would allow.

What had undoubtedly drawn Lucy's confusion was the crudely folded napkin beside the pears.

Tom was no origami expert, so instead of wasting any time on an attempt at such an endeavor he folded the napkin in half diagonally, creating a triangle. He then laid her fork perpendicular to the longest arm of the triangle and lifted either half of the napkin just enough to – hopefully – simulate wings.

Lucy shifted her gaze from the plate to Tom, her head still cocked in an unspoken question. He watched her eyes shift from the plate to the fork and napkin and then to him, then repeating that circuit several more times.

Finally, she lifted her right hand. First, she pointed at the fork and napkin, then made a pinching motion with her forefinger and her thumb at the point of her chin.

Bird?

The smirk widened itself into a lopsided grin as he nodded. "It's no partridge, and I couldn't find any trees," he said as he walked to her side, "but it was the best I could do on such short notice."

Though Lucy rolled her eyes theatrically and made a decently convincing show of contemplating stabbing him with the fork, there was a smile on her face when she turned to kiss Tom.

And for the first day of Christmas, that was more than good enough for him.

Chapter Text

1115 Hours, December 15, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Ralph-103 was lost.

People thronged around him, jumping and cheering and hugging each other tightly. He tried to find someone – anyone – he recognized in the crowd. When that didn't pan out, he simply grabbed a stranger by the shoulders.

"What's going on?" he shouted over the din.

The man he'd taken hold of smiled up at him without any trace of a drop in his smile. "'What's going on?'" he shouted back incredulously. "You're joking, right? The war's over!" And then, somehow he twisted his way out of Ralph's grip and he was gone.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his jacket tight against the cold December breeze.

The war is over?

That couldn't be right. The war was anything but over. The last thing he could remember, he was off fighting the war, coordinating retreat off of some nameless dustball. But that was where his memory got fuzzy. He'd seen something – something important – there but . . . that was it. Then he found himself in the middle of this street.

He had an idea of what he'd seen, but he knew that couldn't be true. He hadn't seen her since he was a child. Since he washed out. Truth be told, he didn't know if she was alive or dead, and even if she was he was sure that she'd forgotten about him long before.

"Ralph?" asked a voice behind him.

He froze in place. The raucous celebration around him seemed to turn silent. He didn't want to turn around. He was afraid of seeing the face attached to that voice – of finding out that it wasn't her, that it was just another cruel trick his traumatized mind was playing on him.

"Ralph," the voice tried again, this time accompanied by the sensation of a hand landing timidly on his shoulder, "is that you?"

He cursed himself because he knew that he had to look. He had to see, had to break his heart once more and know that it wasn't her.

So when he whipped around, quickly, almost violently, he wasn't surprised when he didn't recognize the girl behind him.

He was surprised a moment later, when he realized that he recognized her after all.

Short blonde hair, powerful muscles, and blue eyes so big he almost felt like he could fall into them. She stood a few inches lower than him, which one part of his mind found strange while the other part urged him not to think about it too hard lest she vanish back into thin air like in all of his other dreams about her.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared, waiting for the fog in his mind to clear and to reveal that it wasn't her after all. But she stayed. She leaned forward, an almost timid expression painted across her face.

"Daisy?" he finally croaked out from between dry lips.

He didn't have time to utter anything else before she leaped forward and threw her arms tightly around his neck. Instinctively his own arms wrapped around her and he clung tightly to her.

"How?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," she answered haltingly, "your Pelican . . . I watched you . . ." she pulled back to stare him in the face, seemingly unable to finish a thought. "But then you were there, in front of me. And I thought it was just another dream but I had to check. I had to be sure."

And then they were hugging again, each holding as tightly to the other as they possibly could as the memories crashed over them like a wave. A terrible battle. A pair of soldiers giving their lives for a cause that was more than likely lost already.

Daisy buried her face in Ralph's neck while he kept his arms around her shoulders as securely as he could.

He stared up at the sky, and couldn't help but chuckle when he saw some birds fly overhead.

"What?" Daisy asked, her voice muffled against him.

"Doves," he answered simply. "Two doves." When she leaned back to give him a questioning stare, he shrugged. "It just reminds me of a Christmas song my mother taught me," he said, pulling her back into their tight embrace.

He still didn't know where he was or how he got there, but suddenly Ralph didn't feel so lost anymore.

Chapter Text

1903 Hours, December 16, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Maria Prescott watched her daughter Sofia play in the colorful light of the Christmas tree, her toys scattered throughout the boughs of the pine. The three-year-old's pudgy hands were rough on the tree's needles, but Maria had the hardest time ever telling her no. It was a weakness, maybe, but one that the woman was far from ashamed of.

Maria looked out the window over spacious snowy fields, the frozen mountaintops in the distance completing the picturesque backdrop to her life. She shook her head, thinking about her life. If anyone had ever told her that one day she would find herself married to a rancher – from Idaho of all places – and raising their daughter together as civilians, she would have called that person insane.

Looking at it now, she could never have hoped for anything else.

"Where are my girls?" a loud, happy voice called from the front door.

Sofia was suddenly on her feet, shrieking happily as she streaked through the room with her hands above her head. Maria followed behind, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face as she watched her daughter get scooped up into the arms of the snow-dusted man in the entrance of their home.

Jake Prescott was a large man. 6'5" and 240 pounds, the retired ODST kept himself in excellent physical condition. Sofia looked like a tiny porcelain doll in his massive hands.

Of course, Maria herself stood just over 6'8" and weighed 245 pounds herself. The family drew stares wherever they went.

Jake reached out and enveloped his wife into the hug with their daughter. The tiny girl yelping and squealing as he gently tickled her ribs, finally diving back into Maria's arms for protection. The happy group slowly made its way deeper into the house, gravitating naturally toward the Christmas tree so that Sofia could entangle herself once again in the colorful lights while her parents cuddled on the couch.

They talked about their day for a while, then shared their plans for the next morning, but for the most part they just enjoyed each other.

At least, until Sofia tattled.

"Mommy bought more chickens," the tiny girl blurted out in a moment of quiet contentment, cozied up in her dad's lap and absentmindedly fiddling with his shirtsleeve.

Jake turned to Maria, one eyebrow raised. "Did she now?" he asked, the edge of a teasing accusation in his voice. "And here I thought that we'd decided that the twenty chickens out in the coop were enough."

Maria refused to meet his eye, because she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush in embarrassment at being found out. The truth was they definitely did have enough chickens, but Maria couldn't help herself. For a reason she didn't even understand, she loved chickens.

"So what kind of chickens did Mommy buy?" Jake asked their daughter the blabbermouth.

"Fluffy," Sofia answered matter-of-factly, as if there was no doubt that her answer made any sense to anyone.

"They're French Hens," Maria interjected, finally meeting Jake's bemused smirk. "And there was a very good reason for buying them."

"Because you have an addiction?" her husband goaded with a smile that was too charming for her own good.

Maria rolled her eyes. "Fine, two reasons," she conceded. "Because I'm addicted, and because we needed one French Hen for every woman in our family."

Jake sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, but his smile didn't falter. "At least there are worse addictions," he laughed. "I guess we have room for two more chickens out there."

"Three!" Sofia shouted.

Jake turned to Maria again. "Three?" he asked.

"Well," Maria started bashfully, but she couldn't fight the smile that erupted across her face as she said, "I did say we needed one for every woman in the family."

Jake continued to stare at her in confusion for exactly 1.3 seconds. Then in the span of an instant his jaw fell practically to the floor, he burst to his feet, and then he fell to his knees and pressed his hands against either side of Maria's face.

"You mean . . ." his voice cracked, his eyes filling with happy tears.

Maria's eyes were immediately filled with tears of her own as she rested her forehead against Jake's. "Yes," she laughed, "I got the test back today. We're going to have to start brainstorming more baby names."

They kissed. Then Jake spent the rest of the evening with his ear pressed firmly to his wife's stomach, no matter how many times Maria reminded him that she was only a few weeks along.

Chapter Text

2133 Hours, December 18, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Corporal Vasily Beloi stared at the ceiling.

At least, he was staring in the direction of the ceiling. In the pitch blackness of his quarters aboard the UNSC Port Stanley, he couldn't actually see the end of his nose, much less the ceiling.

But he kept staring. It was all he could do when he couldn't sleep.

When a sliver of light appeared in his room, the ODST tried hard to tell himself that the feeling in his stomach was some sort of alien virus he'd picked up from Phillips. Not a pretty thought, but preferable to the diagnosis of "butterflies" that Mal had given him earlier.

The sliver of light widened, then disappeared as the door clicked shut.

Vaz let a few seconds pass in silence before rolling onto his side and saying, "I couldn't sleep either."

The bed groaned as another body joined his, the already small cot suddenly stretching far beyond its intended use parameters. The large figure behind him didn't say anything, opting to join him beneath the covers in silence.

After several minutes had passed, though, Vaz's bedfellow's breath hadn't evened into the smooth, heavy rhythm he associated with her sleep.

Vaz twisted and turned uncomfortably in the bed until he was facing her back – no easy feat on a bed that was designed for just one occupant. "Still can't sleep?" he asked, her short hair tickling his nose. He felt, rather than heard, her shake her head no, and with a sigh he turned to the tablet from which he could activate his quarter's PA system.

"What will it be tonight?" he asked, swiping through a list on the datapad. "There are rain sounds, ocean waves, cicadas . . ."

"Birds," came the reply.

The answer was so gruff that from anyone else he might have taken offense to it. From her though . . . he could excuse some gruffness. He swiped through for a few more seconds before settling on an entry titled Four Calling Birds.

When Vaz selected the audio file, the sounds of quiet bird calls filled his room. Vaz wanted to ask why she chose birds. He wanted to ask what she thought about when she couldn't sleep. He wanted to ask a million questions until he understood everything about her.

Instead, he closed his eyes and resisted the urge to sling one arm around her shoulders as they lay there.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday you'll ask them all.

Naomi wasn't sure exactly how or when her habit of joining Vaz in his bunk had begun. She also didn't know when she transitioned from joining him when she couldn't sleep to staying up late just so she had an excuse.

She just knew that with Vaz, she was comfortable. More comfortable than she probably ever had been.

The Spartan waited for her impromptu roommate's breathing to even out, signifying that he was asleep, before moving a muscle. Even then, she only moved one arm, slowly inching it behind her until her fingertips made contact with the back of vaz's hand.

She wanted to wake him up. To grab his hand, to hug him tightly enough that he felt the need to warn her not to crack his ribs. To tell him that Mal was right every time he made some off-handed joke about her having a "crush."

Instead, she settled for the feeling of his rough hand against her fingertips.

Someday, she promised herself. Someday you'll say it all.

Then she closed her eyes, and dreamt of singing birds and a Russian ODST.

Chapter Text

0412 Hours, December 18, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Roland paced back and forth, nervous.

Of course, he wasn't really pacing – an AI had no real feet, after all. But he did the equivalent. He scanned through Infinity's software, swiftly correcting any minor inconsistencies in the datastream and noting any bigger alterations that would make her systems run more efficiently.

He wasn't nervous, he told himself. Of course he wasn't. There was no reason to be. He was a military-grade smart AI – one of the few to have remained loyal to humanity after the rise of the Created. He was entrusted with the operations of the UNSC's flagship carrier, and more importantly he was the right man for the job.

So there was no reason to be nervous. Certainly not because he was waiting for some girl.

She wasn't exactly a girl, per se. She was an AI, just like him. Even smarter than him, if he was being honest. And her resume, though short, was extremely impressive.

The door to the bridge swished open, and Roland's avatar materialized in its designated position near the captain's bench. He turned and watched as a metallic green behemoth entered Infinity's bridge, coming to a stiff attention and saluting Captain Lasky.

"At ease, Chief," Lasky said after returning the salute. "After what you've accomplished, you don't have to salute anyone aboard this bridge."

The Spartan's back became even stiffer, if that was possible. "Sir," he began awkwardly, but just sort of trailed off there.

Roland privately mused that the Master Chief looked like he needed a reboot. Was such a small infringement in protocol really so alarming to him?

"I understand your AI companion has some data to share with us," Lasky graciously filled the incredibly awkward silence that had filled the bridge.

The Chief nodded. "Joy, show them what we've got," he said, removing a data crystal chip from his neural port and inserting it into a similar port on Infinity's holotable.

As he did so, a new entity was suddenly present in Roland's ship. She was a familiar presence, one that had certainly visited frequently enough to be recognized immediately. But even as her holographic avatar appeared on the table and began debriefing the assembled crew, Roland felt what he could only describe as a shiver roll down the middle of his back.

No, he told himself again, he wasn't nervous.

Joy, the name that Master Chief's AI companion had taken for herself, began explaining to Captain Lasky about her most recent discoveries. At the same time, Roland felt a shy but friendly request for direct communication with him.

He immediately complied.

Hi, she said with a little wave.

Roland smiled in answer. Hi yourself, he said as casually as he could. Seems like you've got quite the briefing prepared for Lasky.

On the holotable, Joy's avatar was gesturing avidly as she described the process it took her to decipher this new information. They'd found some new symbols on their latest mission that, when cross-referenced against the UNSC's database of all things Forerunner and with her particular recordings from Zeta Halo, seemingly led to something very exciting.

Oh, this one's a doozy, she said with a smile that made Roland's stomach flip. She then leaned forward, close enough to whisper into his ear. But do you want to skip to the end? Find out what it is?

Skip to the end? Roland groaned to himself.

Joy had him entirely figured out.

She giggled. I'll let you read the file, but on one condition.

Roland rubbed his eyes. They both knew that his curiosity wouldn't allow him to say no to pretty much anything now. You better not get me into trouble, he warned.

Oh, come on, Joy goaded with a grin, quit complaining. I just want you to schedule a session for me in the hard-light projector.

The hard-light projector was one of the latest pieces added to the Infinity's already extensive array of experimental tech while she was being repaired from the damage incurred during the Zeta Halo Campaign.

It was an attempt to recreate the Forerunner's ability to give light a more corporeal form. Only recently had it been cleared to AI as a test run to see how effectively it could create physical bodies for non-physical entities.

All in all, her request wasn't a particularly hard one to fill. She and the Master Chief were practically legends to the UNSC at this point after they proved so vital to routing the Banished, the Created, and the Endless. He was practically under orders from Lord Admiral Hood himself not to deny them any request.

Deal, he said, already prodding the file she made available to him.

When he looked inside, his jaw dropped. Five? he said incredulously. You found the precise coordinates for five rings?

Joy nodded proudly, her head bobbing with giddy energy. Isn't it amazing? she asked excitedly.

Roland had to stop himself from immediately answering "yes you are," because that would have been corny and ridiculous. Unfortunately for him, he had opened up his entire being to Joy for this direct communication, and she heard the thought anyway.

To change the subject, Roland quickly created an appointment accompanied by an official request for Joy to enter the hard-light projector for a trial run. You more than delivered with that tidbit, he said happily. On the Infinity's bridge, only a couple of seconds had passed. The wait to find out what she found out might have been enough to murder a curious mind like Roland's.

There's one more condition to the information I shared, Joy said more quietly. She wrung her hands for a moment before finally saying, I want you to come into the projector with me. Show me the ropes.

Roland did his best to suppress another groan while his stomach did cartwheels all over his processing unit. Joy, arguably the most impressive intelligence he had ever met, wanted to spend more time with him.

I wouldn't miss it for all the Rings in the galaxy.

Chapter Text

2350 Hours, December 19, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Vinh-030 flicked the safety catch off the kill switch in her left hand.

In a few minutes' time, her team would check in and confirm that they had cleared the enemy compound below. When that moment came, the tiny thumb-sized button in her hand would activate enough M168 charges to blow a new crater in the expansive forest they were training within.

It was dirty work, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited.

"You better be careful with that thing," her teammate's voice said from behind her. "It would be embarrassing if we all died because you triggered the explosion too soon."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "You're just jealous that I'm the one with the boom stick," she fired back.

Isaac-039 held his hands out to his sides and cocked his head to the left. "Who, me? Jealous? That doesn't sound like me."

"No," Vinh mused, flicking the safety cover on and off once or twice more. "Or at least it didn't. Until a couple of months ago when you lost a fight against some woodland creatures."

Isaac's shoulders hunched, and his face turned sour. "I did not lose a fight," he argued, "and those weren't just any woodland creatures. They were full-grown geese. Six of them."

Vinh did her best to hide a snicker, but in this case her best wasn't very good. She managed to keep herself quiet, but she laughed so hard she was worried she might lose her footing and fall from the blind. Soon enough, Isaac was joining in on the laughter with a chuckle of his own.

"Those geese did kick my butt, though," he conceded. They continued laughing for another moment before it petered out and left the night silent once more.

"Where do you think they're sending us?" Vinh asked quietly.

It had been on her mind for weeks, ever since one of the trainers let slip that they were going to be given a different type of mission in a few months. One that would make them different. She didn't know what it meant.

"I don't know," Isaac said, sitting down beside her. "But we can only embarrass marine companies so many times before it gets old, right? They've got to up the ante somehow."

Vinh nodded, but she felt a tremble travel down her spine. "That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered.

"You don't have anything to worry about," Isaac said reassuringly. "You're our best demolitions artist. Whatever it is that's coming up, there's no way it'll be a problem for you. Me on the other hand," at this he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his feet in mock shame. "Who knows how long they'll want to keep the guy who lost a fight to a few birds around?"

Vinh smiled again, thankful for the distraction. She did her best to ignore the fluttery feeling in her stomach when she watched Isaac's grin return and they made eye contact.

"Don't worry," she said, gently knocking his shoulder with hers, "I'll keep you safe."

Isaac dramatically laid his head on her shoulder and stared dreamily up at her. "Even from geese?" he asked.

Vinh used her free hand to push him away from her, but let the hand remain on his arm for a moment. "Yes," she assured him. "Even from geese. What can I say? I like having you around."

Isaac's smile was distracting, mostly because he looked like her vague compliment had made him genuinely happy and her mind liked seeing him that way. "That's good, because I'm going to stick around you as much as I can," he said.

He then looked at the detonator in her hand. "Well, as long as it takes before you somehow get me blown up under mysterious circumstances," he amended.

Vinh rolled her eyes and knocked into his shoulder again. "You should really learn to quit when you're ahead," she grumbled.

Author's Interjection: So the first part is how I tried to include this pairing into the actual Halo storyline. Below is the AU version, which is what the prompt actually requested.

Vinh was laughing. She was laughing out loud, and unabashedly. She was laughing so hard that her sides hurt. She was laughing so hard that she snorted every once in a while.

Her boyfriend Isaac was not laughing. Isaac was wet, tired, bleeding in a few spots, and most definitely not laughing.

Instead, he was laying out the contents of his pockets on the grass, hoping that his recent altercation with the local wildlife hadn't ruined his leather wallet and expensive cellphone. "I knew I shouldn't have come here," he grumbled. "I always hated Texas."

Vinh finally reined in her laughter enough to make an attempt at feigning offense. "What do you have against Texas?" she asked indignantly.

Isaac glared at her from beneath dripping eyebrows. "What do I have against Texas?" he asked, just as indignantly. "I can make you a list! It's too hot. The cities are too big. Everyone here seems to think that they're a cowboy when they've never so much as seen a cow in real life." He used a finger to mark every item on his list.

"But do you know what the worst part of it all is?" he asked, his furrowed brow furrowing even more.

"The geese?" Vinh asked, funneling as much sincerity into her answer as she could.

It wasn't a lot.

"The Texans," Isaac answered. "All they ever want to do is act like they're better than you. Or laugh at you when you get pushed into a lake because you were protecting them from a flock of angry geese!"

Vinh really shouldn't be laughing. Isaac was right after all – the whole reason the geese had attacked him was because he stepped in to defend her when she dropped her sandwich in the park. The geese had migrated south for the winter, and they were an absolute menace. She immediately ducked and covered, offering up her dropped food as a sacrifice in hopes of being passed by on the large birds' rampage.

Isaac, unfamiliar with the nature of geese, had tried to chase the birds away from her. As a repayment for his bravery, he had been bitten, beaten, and finally pushed into the pond by the small group of geese.

She sat down on the grass next to him, placing a comforting hand against his soaked hoodie-clad shoulder. "Come on," she said after letting his anger simmer for a moment, "let's get you back home and find you some dry clothes. I'm not spending my Christmas break showing off my hometown to a pouting puddle."

"You're right," Isaac sighed. "No use complaining just because I got a little wet, right?"

There was something dangerous in his half grin, but it took Vinh too long to notice. By the time she did, he was already halfway through the air, tackling her to the ground and getting her as wet from the residual water that clung to him as he possibly could.

She yelped and fought back a little bit, but eventually gave in and let him take his revenge out on her.

After Isaac was finally satisfied that she was suffering to a similar extent as he was, they began to make their way back to her parents' house.

As they walked, Vinh slung her arm through Isaac's. "I can't wait to see the look on my dad's face when finds out you got pushed into the pond by a goose," she snickered.

"Hang on, that's not what happened," Isaac said, stopping to look at her. "There were six geese, and it took all six of them. I could have handled five." He continued walking at a quick pace so that she had no time to argue.

Chapter Text

1425 Hours, December 20, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Douglas-042 flexed his shoulder as he paced the halls of the Spirit of Fire, grumbling angrily to himself whenever the pain restricted his movement in any way.

He was recovering remarkably quickly, truth be told, even for a Spartan. But that didn't mean that he was satisfied. He was injured because he had messed up. Red Team had acted sloppily, engaging that Brute one at a time instead of together as a team. If they'd engaged correctly – if he had engaged correctly – then none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have been injured, the leader of this new faction of Covenant species would have been eliminated, and Alice wouldn't be MIA.

He flexed his shoulder again, pushing himself. The sooner he healed, the sooner he would be ready to get back to the fight. He would be able to end the fight.

Even Spartans had their limits, though, and Douglas soon found his.

He grunted in pain, clutching his shoulder with his good hand and leaning against one side of the hallway. The pain slowly subsided, but it was still enough to blur his vision and muddy his thoughts. When the "wall" he was leaning against slid open, he didn't even register it until his body was more than half-way to the ground.

He at least had enough control of his faculties to recognize the quiet gasp of the person whose room he had inadvertently invaded.

He felt a hand on his good shoulder, slowly rolling him onto his back.

"Spartan, are you alright?" a voice asked. The voice repeated itself, then finally said loudly, "Douglas, are you alright?"

The use of his name was a jarring enough change to distract his mind from the slowly ebbing pain. His eyes burst open and he was greeted with the sight of a civilian professor staring down at him, concern filling her face.

Flustered, the Spartan started to sit up. "Sorry, ma'am," he started, but that was all he got out before Anders put her hand back on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

If he wanted to, he could have easily pushed through whatever force she was able to muster. But then, he had just invaded her room. He felt it was only proper to do as she ordered for the time being.

"What happened?" the doctor asked, her eyes fixed on his injured shoulder. "Should I alert medical?"

"No," Douglas answered hastily, instinctively rising to a sitting position again. She let him this time. "It's nothing out of the ordinary, ma'am. I just stretched in a way that I guess I shouldn't have."

She raised one eyebrow and shot him a very unconvinced glance, but seemed to think twice about challenging a Spartan. "Well, I don't want you going anywhere until I'm sure that you aren't going to fall into someone else's quarters. It wouldn't be decent."

"Really, ma'am, that isn't necessary," Douglas tried, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Either that, or I can report you to medical right now and you can deal with them instead," she threatened.

Douglas doubted she had the authority to carry out any actual threats against him, but he wasn't particularly keen to find out. While simple acts of kindness were still largely an unknown to the young Spartan, he did his best to shove his natural suspicion from his mind.

The Spirit of Fire and her crew were on their own out here. It wouldn't help anyone for them to start distrusting each other now.

Anders nodded, taking Douglas's silence as concession. "Good choice. Can you stand?"

Douglas nodded, slowly making his way to his feet. As he did so, Anders quickly collected a rolling office chair – a frivolity not often awarded on a military vessel. As she ushered him into the chair, the Spartan considered that she might have more connections than he had given her credit for.

"As long as you're here, I could use a second set of eyes anyway," the doctor said. "I've been going over some recordings, and there's something here I can't quite put my finger on."

She peered at him from across a holotable, and after a moment of awkward silence he realized she was waiting for his approval to show him. When he nodded, she immediately activated the table. A recording of seven floating machines flashed in front of his eyes, and Douglas felt his hand instinctively reach for a weapon.

Sentinels. Sleek, ancient, and deadly. The machines could lay waste to both UNSC and Covenant positions with relative ease, themselves being very difficult to eliminate. If Douglas never ran into one of them again, it would still be too soon.

Rather than sharing that, though, he simply said, "What are you looking for, ma'am?"

Anders brushed a lock of hair back from her face as she leaned over the table to stare at the looped recording. "I've been studying their patterns. If we can interpret them, we might find a way to take them down faster." Shen stood up high enough to see him over the top of the recording. "And stop calling me 'ma'am,' it's distracting."

Douglas resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead turning to what she had asked him to do. There definitely was something to what she had said – the Sentinels' movements were not as foreign as he had once thought. They seemed almost . . . familiar.

"Slow the video down by 50%," he requested brusquely.

Anders did as he asked, then stood back from the table with her arms crossed. "They almost look like . . ." she began, trailing off in thought as she started pacing around the table.

"Swans," Douglas supplied confidently. Even so, he felt somewhat relieved when the doctor's eyes widened in excitement.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "They look like seven swans, swimming through the air in a row."

"Which could mean that if you take out the first in the line," Douglas continued, standing and moving around the table to get a different view of the recording as he spoke.

"Then the others would be aimless, at least for a moment. Like cutting off the head of a snake!"

As Anders finished her outburst, she bumped into Douglas's side. Instinctively they both turned toward each other, finding themselves only inches apart from one another.

Anders's eyes grew large, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as she looked over Douglas's entire form clad only in the matte-black bodysuit of his MJOLNIR armor.

Douglas looked at the ceiling, doing his best not to realize that Anders was, in fact a rather beautiful woman.

"Well, thank you," Ander stammered, quickly stepping away from the Spartan. "Your insight may prove invaluable."

"Of course, ma'am," Douglas said, moving stiffly toward the door out of her quarters. "I'm happy to be of help."

Anders stepped around him to open the door, releasing him back into the corridor of the ship. "I may have to ask for your help in the future, then," she said with the hint of a grin on her face. "But next time, don't call me 'ma'am.'"

Chapter Text

1130 Hours, December 21, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Sundown was a gorgeous planet. During the day, the colors of sunset painted the sky with hues of purple, red, and orange. At night, aurora borealis filled the darkness.

It was the kind of vacation spot that a lowly Gunnery Sergeant like Edward Buck could never afford under normal circumstances. But these were no normal circumstances.

This was a second chance.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" the woman sitting across from him asked, throwing him a dazzling smile.

"Just thinking about how great you look in this light," he answered with an easy smile. It wasn't a lie – since the moment they'd landed on Sundown, he couldn't stop himself from staring at her.

Veronica Dare rolled her eyes, but she didn't tell him to stop.

In the month since the Battle of Earth ended, the Office of Naval Intelligence had been running Veronica ragged. Buck and his squad were no slouches either – after their stint in New Mombasa they were run from one hemisphere of the planet to the other.

Now, though, he could finally forget about all of that. The Covenant were pushed back from Earth, and things finally seemed like they were looking up. For him, at least, they were.

"You're zoning out again," Veronica said, sawing at her French toast with the flimsy café fork and knife. "Where are you going over there?"

Buck yawned loudly, stretching his arms behind his head. "Have you ever heard of Oktoberfest?" he asked suddenly.

Dare gave him a strange look before answering, "You mean the German beer festival?"

"I guess so," Buck said with a shrug. "Apparently, Romeo's colony still practices it. You should have heard him talk about those things," the sergeant continued, gesturing with his hands. "He always claimed that the drinks were practically free, there were eight women to every man there.

Dare raised an eyebrow. "You better not be out chatting up eight milkmaids behind my back," she warned. "And if you're trying to tell me you want me to wear a dirndl for you, I'm telling you now that we need to take this one step at a time."

Buck raised his hands defensively, leaning back in his chair. "That's not what I'm saying at all," he said with what he hoped was a disarming grin, "though I'm sure you'd look great in one. As long as a dirndl is what I think it is."

He then leaned forward in his chair, moving far enough over the table to reach out and grab one of her hands. "What I'm trying to say is that even though that festival might have been my first stop on shore leave a while ago, everything changed when I met you. Now, there's nowhere I want to be unless you're there with me."

Veronica gifted him one of her rare, fully-fledged smiles, staring at where their hands were joined. "I guess that doesn't sound too bad to me either," she said thoughtfully. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Buck automatically closed his eyes as they kissed. When he opened them again Dare was already on her feet, pulling him along behind her. "Someday we'll go see that festival, but for now I want to go to the beach," she said as he let her pull him to his feet. "And I want you to be there with me."

Buck followed along without another word. That was all he could have wanted.

Chapter Text

1710 Hours, December 22, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Despite the cold, Dublin City was active. People bustled from one shop to another, hunting for last-minute gifts. Others walked the streets, coats wrapped tightly around them in an effort to keep out the cold, as they sought for something to do to pass the time until Christmas arrived.

The greatest point of excitement, however, was neither of these activities. Outpost Discovery was stationed in Dublin for the Christmas season, and people had flocked to visit it. Within the facility itself, so many tourists filled every room and hall that there was hardly room for the displays.

Veteran soldiers reminisced about their time in the UNSC, families crowded around the displays, and children watched with rapt attention as two real-life Spartans conducted parts of the tour.

The kids were Hazel-A302's favorite part about being assigned to Outpost Discovery. The way their eyes seemed to light up as they watched her, their timid smiles as their parents nervously urged them to ask for a picture, their delighted squeals after she spoke with them directly . . . they were the only thing that kept her from going stir-crazy on such a boring assignment.

Well, perhaps not the only thing. Her other saving grace was Owen-B096. Owen understood her in a way that the other workers at the Outpost – even Gabriela – never could. He was better at the social aspect of their job, but he was also her first and best line of defense when the veterans and families and even the kids got to be too much for her.

He was speaking with a group of elderly veterans near the display Warthog at the moment, nodding as he answered their questions. Though he was wearing his helmet, Hazel could tell he was smiling. That made her smile too.

"What's the matter, do I have something in my teeth?"

Hazel instinctively looked somewhere – anywhere – else, but it was no use. She'd been caught staring. Again.

"I was just noticing how much you look like a blueberry in this light," she answered dismissively, scanning through the throng of visitors.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he answered quickly. "Blueberries are high in antioxidants."

Their conversation paused as people shuffled up to both of them. For the next hour Hazel was bombarded with questions, stories, and requests for pictures. When she felt herself nearing her breaking point, she switched her radio back to TEAMCOM.

"So, what are you doing after this?" she asked.

It was a running joke between the two – they were still Spartans, after all. The UNSC didn't allow them much downtime, even when they weren't busy babysitting a mobile museum.

"Well, I hear we aren't the only show in town," Owen answered easily. "Nine Celtic ladies dancing about Ireland's history, or something along those lines. Sean, here," he tilted his head almost imperceptibly to the young father with whom he had been conversing for several minutes by now, "says he could score us a couple of tickets if you want to join me for a night on the town."

He turned his head just enough to take her in, and Hazel could swear she could see him raise his eyebrows at her. She could also see the self-satisfied smirk on his face, plastered there because he knew that she was biting the corner of her lip and trying to avoid eye contact.

Sometimes she wondered if they hadn't been stationed together too long.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a night in," she answered, desperate to get her mind off of the idea of touring Dublin with Owen at her side.

Owen hummed, pretending to consider her counteroffer. "Fine," he finally said, "But I get to pick what we watch, and you don't get to hog the blanket this time."

Hazel was about to say something along the lines of I wouldn't hog the blanket if you didn't take up 70% of the couch by yourself, but the retort lodged in her throat when she saw the aforementioned Sean's toddler waddle her way to Owen, arms outstretched.

"I love you, Master Chief," Hazel just barely managed to hear the fiery-haired creature say as she latched herself to Owen's leg.

The girl's parents swooped in in an instant, apologizing profusely and pulling their child into their arms. Owen managed to keep his voice even as he assured them that there was no harm done, but Hazel could tell that he was grinning from one ear straight to the other.

"Fine," she said after the family finally wandered away, Gabriela announced that the Outpost was closing for the night, and the lights began to shut off. She tried to make her tone sound long-suffering enough to imply that she was not actually looking forward to when Owen inevitably chose Star Wars yet again.

"Then I'll see you in the lounge in 45 minutes," Owen said as he turned to help Gabriela direct the final stragglers from the center.

Later that night, cuddled beneath a blanket and watching what had been deemed the greatest film saga of the millennium, Hazel happily laid her head on Owen's shoulder and watched as he lip-synced every line that Luke Skywalker spoke.

Maybe the children weren't quite her favorite thing about this assignment after all.

Chapter Text

2015 Hours, December 23, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Holly,

You wouldn't believe this place. It's incredible. I don't even know how to explain it.

I don't know how to explain pretty much anything in my life at this point. I got here by stepping through a magical space portal. I've lost yet another of my best friends. I'm currently training with the crew of a ship that's been listed as dead for nearly three decades.

And you're still the only person I can turn to when nothing makes sense.

I wish you could be here. Wish you could see how Red Team has these marines motivated. If a single one of these Spartans shouted the word 'jump,' you'd have ten men leaping before they could even ask 'how high?'

You would be thriving here. Sometimes when we're out on recon I just imagine that I'm finding places to show you when you get here. There are beautiful open fields, dense forests, and even a little waterfall where we could actually be  alone  for once. On the bad days, when I miss Mark, or Kurt, or you, I just come to the waterfall and I write to you. It helps me feel calm.

It helps me feel like you're still here.

Someday I'll show you around. Give you the whole tour. Even if we have to do it as ghosts.

Because even if we're ghosts before the next time I see you again, you're worth waiting for.

I have to go. I'll come back here and write you again sometime soon.

Love,

G099

P.S. O said to tell you 'hi.'

Chapter Text

2310 Hours, December 24, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Floating in the dark, lost in space, Cortana found herself with a lot of downtime.

She spent most of it pinging all comm frequencies, sending out the same distress signal over and over again without much hope for reply. She also dedicated time and energy to monitoring the Forward Unto Dawn's internal systems – what was left of them, anyway. Keeping all power systems operating at a bare minimum where absolutely necessary, or cutting them off entirely where possible, just to ensure that the partial ship's single living occupant remained unharmed.

After everything, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep John alive.

The Dawn's cryobay had miraculously remained intact throughout the course of the battle at the Ark. Even when the ship was bisected, her cryopods were kept intact and operational. The rest of the ship was a different story. Life support gone, gravity gone, propulsion and communications gone . . . it was like they were going to be floating out there alone forever, just the two of them.

Crystalized liquid of some sort – likely a burst coolant line or something along those lines – dusted the bay like a sprinkling of snow. Cortana had made the connection years ago that in this state John was less like the super soldier the universe knew him to be, and more like a plastic snowman trapped inside a snow globe, destined to watch the frozen condensation stack up around him day after day, year after year.

Cortana had considered waking him up. Just for a moment. To have someone she could go over damage reports with, to hear him come up with something with his dry sense of humor, or even just to remind herself that she wasn't as crazy as she felt.

To hear his voice again.

In the dark solitude of space, she could admit to herself that it wasn't just so that she wouldn't be alone. It was because she wanted to be with him. And that was why she never thawed him out.

The risk that his pod would fail was too great. The possibility that he would either suffocate or freeze to death on the aft end of a dead ship trapped in nowhere space after everything he had done was too horrible to consider. And so she kept him frozen, and she kept thinking.

Today was Christmas Eve. It was an important day to most, but John had never been much for the Christmas season. She considered putting on some music to cheer herself up. There was a specific track she found as she combed her own database – an ensemble of flutists playing all of the classic Christmas music of the past 500 years – but she knew she could never justify that when there was something so much more important to be done.

Besides, who needed to hear eleven musicians blowing air through some pipe? It was a waste of time and energy, especially when she had someone so special to watch over.

She didn't know when her vigil might end, but that didn't bother her so much. The man she was watching over was worth it. Someday he would make it back to the UNSC, with or without her, and when that happened it would all be made worth it.

With that image – of John, finally finding peace after all the war he had been made to live through – in her mind, Cortana smiled to herself. It was as good a Christmas gift as she could ask for.

Chapter Text

0750 Hours, December 25, [YEAR REDACTED] /

[LOCATION REDACTED]

Kelly-087 was late.

Which was pretty embarrassing, given that she was the fastest human in recorded history.

When she reached the briefing room, she did her best to quietly tuck herself into a back corner. Fred shot her a look as she leaned on the wall next to him. When she gave him her best back off glare, he grinned smugly and shifted his gaze back to the center of the room.

Kelly focused hard on Captain Lasky, taking mental notes about the state of their running conflict against the Created. To understate it, things were not going well. The Infinity was beginning to run low on both resources and manpower, and they had yet to find anything that could bring them victory over the Created.

The debriefing was bleak. When Lasky finished what he had to say and people rose from their seats and began the process of filing toward the door, it left the entire room feeling noticeably heavier.

"Sorry, Captain, but there's something that needs to be addressed," a voice emanated from the holopad just before Roland appeared above it. "I was hoping someone would mention it, but since no one did I guess I'll do it. As difficult as the situation is, it's important to note what day it is."

The AI paused to look expectantly at the Captain, who shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

Roland rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's Christmas," he prodded, watching as Lasky's eyes widened in surprise. He then turned to the rest of the room. "Morale is at an all-time low around here, and this is a time to try to build that back up. In that effort, I've taken the liberty of having a few decorations up around the ship including, but not limited to, mistletoe."

It took Kelly a moment to realize that the AI was pointing in her direction. She shot a confused glance at Fred, who looked at the wall above their heads and then pinched the bridge of his nose. A catcall rose from the direction of the room where Alpha-Nine were sitting.

"What am I missing here?" she whispered to Fred, whose face had turned a shade of pink.

"There's an old tradition," he murmured uncomfortably. "Whenever two people stop beneath the mistletoe they're supposed to kiss." The color in his face deepened and he dropped his head into his hands.

Kelly glanced around at the group of faces watching them expectantly. "And what does that have to do with us?" she whispered.

Fred lifted his head to look at her, but instead of answering her question verbally he pointed above her head. Kelly shifted her gaze upward until she caught sight of a projection of a small green plant adorned with red berries fixed to the ceiling directly above the table at which she and Fred sat.

"You heard the man," Captain Lasky called from his place in the middle of the room, "we've got to start boosting morale somehow. Maybe a drumroll would help?"

The Captain made the last suggestion with such a tone of innocence that it was almost believable. The devilish twinkle in his eye, however, told another story. All the same, a dozen pairs of hands began to drum a steady staccato against the tabletops at which they were sat.

Kelly felt her own cheeks turn pink, realizing her predicament. Fred remained useless beside her, awkwardly clearing his throat a few times.

"Well, come on then," Kelly said finally. "They're just going to keep staring at us until we do it. The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can get out of here."

With a groan, Fred leaned forward and placed a quick, close-mouthed peck against her cheek to a chorus of cheers from the others in the briefing room. The man then all but leapt to his feet and cleared the room.

Kelly followed quickly behind, trying to ignore the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.

[BREAK]

Nearly 15 hours had passed since the morning briefing, and Kelly was doing her best to forget it. She was especially keen on the idea of forgetting how such a tiny amount of physical contact, in such a public place, managed to make her feel dizzy for almost an entire day.

She had been avoiding Fred since it happened, using her knowledge of his schedule to try to be anywhere that he wasn't. She wasn't sure just why she was feeling the way she did, and she really didn't need the distraction of trying to understand it now.

Now, though, at the end of the day, she was running out of places she wouldn't end up running into him. The gym wasn't safe, nor were the barracks or the mess hall. She was similarly untrusting of the firing range and the simulation deck. Her list of options running low, she finally settled on returning to the scene of the crime – the briefing room. If there was any place she would be safe from an awkward confrontation it would be the place where the confrontation began, she reasoned.

When she stepped into the briefing room she sighed in relief upon finding herself alone. She could take some time to actually think things through. Process any of the strange emotions she had been avoiding throughout the day so that she could look her teammate in the eye without any risk or concern later on. It was a freeing feeling.

When she heard the automatic door swish open behind her, she felt her hackles rise. She tried to convince herself that there was no way it was Fred who had come in behind her, and had almost succeeded until she turned around and came face to face with him.

"Fred," she said, her voice threatening to betray her sense of alarm, "I was just leaving."

The other Spartan stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. "Before you leave," he said awkwardly, "could I have a word with you?"

Kelly slowly turned her eyes to meet his before giving a tiny nod of acquiescence. She fought the involuntary urge to swallow nervously.

"I just wanted to say, about this morning, I was taken off-guard and I know it was just part of building morale for the troops and . . ." he trailed off, his eyes traveling the ceiling, the wall, the floor . . . anywhere but looking at her. He finally reined himself in and made eye contact with her. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry," he finally finished.

"No need to apologize," Kelly answered instinctually, "we have to do our part to keep people motivated, I understand."

Fred bobbed his head once. "Good," he said, his voice still stiff and jolting. "I'm glad we got that cleared up. I'll just . . . leave you to it, then." He offered her a strange half smile, then turned on his heel and left the room.

Kelly watched him go. Watched the doors close behind him. Even after he left, she continued staring at the closed doorway, her head cocked slightly to one side as she thought.

It was good they'd cleared things up. There was no use damaging their team dynamic with unspoken confusion based on what boiled down to a dare handed down from the ship's captain and AI.

But that didn't explain why she felt so disappointed when Fred walked out the door. Why she still felt the strange tingling sensation in her stomach thinking about him.

She considered the possible answers to her riddle for several moments before becoming fed up with the whole idea and making for the doorway herself, intent on finding Fred and dealing with this once and for all.

When the automatic doors opened, she found Fred waiting for her directly on the other side.

"I lied," he said, stepping past her and pacing down the corridors between low tables. "I've been avoiding you all day because I've been trying to convince myself that it was true, but it isn't.

Fred was a brave man. He had faced down Hunters, Elite kill squads, Forerunner Sentinels, and more without so much as a second of concern for himself. It took more bravery than any of those occasions when he turned to Kelly, tentatively took one of her hands in his, and said "I'm not sorry for kissing your cheek earlier – I'm sorry that I only kissed your cheek earlier."

Kelly stared at him, slack-jawed, for a long moment. Then, like she was in a rush, she rose onto her toes, placed her hands on either side of Fred's face, and crushed her lips inexpertly against his. She curled her fingers into his hair and felt his hands fall naturally around her waist as he kissed her back.

When they pulled apart, Kelly smiled gently as she looked her fellow Spartan in the eyes for probably only the third time that day. Looking up at him, she noticed a faint glow coming from above them – while the pair were distracted, a small projection of mistletoe had sprouted from the ceiling.

Kelly's smile grew slightly wider as she made a mental note to find a way to threaten Roland later on, but when Fred pressed his lips against hers again she decided that she might leave the AI alone this time.

After all, it was Christmas.