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Who isn’t still in New Alexandria? she thought sardonically, but didn’t dare speak the words aloud. That wasn’t something she was keen on voicing.

Not after the hell of the last two weeks.

Even had Artemis been out of hearing range, she would have heard Taggart’s last question. That was thanks to the fact that her hearing was enhanced, as part of her augmentations. But— She hadn’t walked all that far away, and in fact had only just left the room as the query reached her ears. And it was something else that threw her off her rhythm.

What did that mean?

“I’m not sure I’m following. They didn’t teach me what, exactly?” Further testament to just how different Spartans were to baseline soldiers. Not just physically, not just mentally, but socially.

It was no wonder a lot of people ostracized them. They just didn’t fit in. They couldn’t fit in. Even if they tried.

Without waiting around for a response — as she’d hear it anyway — she ambled into the main room of the base, and settled down to finish doing up her hair. It wasn’t always necessary to style it even semi-elaborately. But she found that plaits, buns, and braids kept it beneath her helmet better than simple ponytails did. Testament to how long and thick her hair was— not that she would ever dream of cutting it, as it was somewhat sacred to her, to wear it well beyond regulation length.

When her hair was tied back, she stowed the brush back in her bunk room, deeper inside the base, before sprawling across Jun’s back, while the sniper was doing pushups. He didn’t even grunt at the added weight, merely chuckled quietly and continued his workout. Hell, Spartans didn’t need to keep in shape, not really, but it helped give them something to focus on. 

It helped drown out their thoughts. The miasma of death and destruction that surrounded them, tempered and all but dissipated.

It was relaxation, to a degree.

The Spartan’s confusion definitely humoured the ODST. The little smirk continued as Taggart set about trying to locate a hair dryer, almost chuckling to herself at Artemis’s cluelessness. For all of the reverence these Spartans had surrounding them, they certainly were socially inept.  Nice to see we still beat them in at least one aspect. In a less stressful time, Taggart would have taken it upon herself to try and teach Artemis a thing or two about the intricacies of what was considered ‘normal’ human social interaction- because clearly ONI had skipped that part of the child-raising process, and now they had clueless super soldiers, who could plan, carry out, and execute a military coup single-handedly, but couldn’t understand why nudity among strangers was taboo.  This will never fail to make me laugh. Shifting a few items aside, Bec was able to easily locate the one hairdryer NOBLE seemed to own. It was near unused- though that made sense, most of them had helmet hair or close shaves. Oh well, now it would finally have one more user. Promptly making her way to the vanity, Taggart plugged the appliance in, and set about ensuring her hair was dry so that she could brush it, and feel... somewhat human again. The quick glance in the mirror showed her more of a soggy rat than a person. Hopefully some serious drying would fix that. With practiced ease, the ODST ran the hairdryer through her thick, chocolate locks, bringing back the slight wave that gave it so much volume. A little bit of self-care went a long way for her, especially after spending so much time in the field with no real opportunity for such niceties. Honestly, even the task of blow-drying and brushing hair felt like a privilege to the Sergeant. As moisture within her mop became scarce, Bec’s hair began to return to its natural, somewhat fluffy state, framing her face nicely, and helping her seem a bit more... Well. Normal. Satisfied that she now looked somewhat human, she returned to the pile of armour she had peeled off earlier, set it out to dry very quickly, and picked up the two halves of her BDU. The dust had dissipated somewhat in the shower, but it would definitely need a machine wash. Thankfully, the amenities had such devices available, of which Taggart made quick use of. Both washing, and drying. Unfortunately, she would have to wait for her boots to dry normally, which meant she was padding around in her socks for the meantime. Something she was certain would draw a laugh from NOBLE. Finally dressed in her freshly cleaned BDU, Taggart made her way quietly back to the main area to join the rest of the team. It was strange seeing Spartans out of armor. They really were that big- and now without her own armor, Bec felt tiny amongst these giants. It was daunting to say the least. Enough to have her take up a single chair in the corner, silently adopting a similar pose to that of which she had held for the majority of the Pelican ride, except this time it was more of pure exhaustion than discomfort. She was tired. Very tired. And it showed. “So... How is everyone holding up?”

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“I did knock, and proceeded to wait for exactly three minutes for you to respond. I then took what I deemed appropriate and necessary action when I was met with silence.”

That was a bit of a… stiff answer. In all honesty, though, giving rundowns on her actions was something that she was all too used to. Ingrained habits died fucking hard. Especially ones that had been drilled into your head repeatedly.

Arching an eyebrow for a brief moment, Artemis shook her head. There were times when she would never understand non-Spartan personnel.

This was one of those times.

The redness in Taggart’s face at the situation made sense to a degree. The ODST was clearly embarrassed at having been startled in a vulnerable state. However, the fact that it was very red was what puzzled the Lieutenant. What did it mean? What had triggered such a response? It was damned impossible for her to discern— and she tended to be good at reading people.

Must be one of those civilian things, I guess. I don’t know.

Some more pieces clicked into place at the next comment.

That was something she’d overheard before, in locker rooms, as she’d passed by. Soldiers teasing one another as they dressed or undressed, perhaps unintentionally a towel having slipped and allowing one soldier to view another’s glutes. It was usually a teasing jibe — therefore, nothing to be worried about.

As to why it was directed at her, specifically, she couldn’t really say.

“I’m not sure I understand.” she admitted, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. She then decided to offer the poor Helljumper an out from the situation. She didn’t want Taggart feeling any more uncomfortable or put off than she might have already been. “…Anyway. I’ll be out in the main room.” 

As the ODST listened, her arms came up to cross themselves against her generous chest. Redness maintained its presence across her cheeks, as it became clear that this situation was genuinely her fault. She’d spaced out again, and not heard the Spartan give her the actual courtesy of knocking and waiting. “Right... Sorry. I think... A part of me is still in New Alexandria.” There was a heaviness to her tone. Eye contact broken, gaze diverted to the floor. Once again looking pathetically small next to the Spartan. Perhaps it would have been better for her to stay in those ruins, where she belonged- with the rest of her squad, and... Well. Follow them. People had always told her that it was hard to be the one who survives. She’d never believed them. Until now. The weight of being the sole survivor of her fireteam was crushing. Absolutely smothering. Suffocating. There was no way in hell that weight was going to lift even remotely for as long has she remained on Reach. There were just too many memories. Though that’s all she had now. Memories. No armor, no dog tags, no reminders. Not even four neatly folded UNSC flags. No coffins. No funerals. No bagpipes and twenty-one gun salutes. Just pulverized ash scattered across the remains of a metropolitan area. Their deaths wouldn’t be officially recorded for quite a while. Their families wouldn’t even know. No ODST in dress blues knocking on their door to inform them of their loss. Nothing. Just dust and echoes.  Taggart would honor them, though. The only way she knew how. Vengeance. Violence. Retribution. Retaliation. Even if that meant marching into the Covenant homeworld itself, all alone, with just her knife. She would fucking massacre them. See how they like a taste of their own medicine. Honestly, the mere thought of violence against an alien actually managed to inject a little bit of life into the shock trooper. Enough so that she was able to lift her gaze, quizzically, as Artemis tried to explain that she didn’t understand. “You... Don’t? They didn’t teach you any of... That?” Now there was an amusing thought. Imbued with amazing tactical, militaristic, killing abilities, yet couldn’t understand why it was embarrassing to get caught with your pants down. It was almost enough to draw a laugh, but instead got one of Bec’s patented smirks, and a small shake of the head. As Artemis left the room, the trooper began to dry herself properly. She would be joining them shortly.

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Artemis waited patiently for three minutes — precisely — before figuring that something wasn’t right.

Either Taggart had spaced out, or she’d fallen over, or something otherwise untoward might have occurred to her. Or perhaps she wasn’t even paying attention. It was hard to tell, sometimes. Either way, though, it was concerning.

And since the Spartans had invited Taggart into their base, there was some level of responsibility, there. They’d rescued here, included her into their conversation. Keeping an eye out for her in their peripherals— both literally, and metaphorically. So if something had happened to her…

Something told Artemis that if she called out again, she would get no response.

So of course, she went for the next logical option. The door wasn’t locked — she could tell at first tug at the handle — and even it it had been, she would have been able to pick it open. It wasn’t like she was intruding, as she tugged at the handle enough for the door to slide all the way open. Not really— at least, not as far as the Spartan was aware.

She then stepped into the shower room, the door still slightly ajar, and took in her surroundings. As far as she could tell, Taggart wasn’t in any obvious, noticeable distress. But it could be a quiet thing. It could be missed.

“ODST?” she questioned, pitching her voice slightly lower than her usual speaking volume. “You good, soldier?”

The Spartan’s query cut through the white noise of empty thoughts like a knife through butter- but with the crack of a rifle round. Enough to startle the ODST out of her daze, and have her instinctively reaching for a sidearm- that no longer existed, as she whipped around to face Artemis. Forgetting for just a brief moment, that she was completely naked. ”Shit, Spartan! Ever heard of knocking?!” The stab of adrenaline had her usual colourful personality at full flare for what seemed like the first time in ages. It quickly subsided however, giving way to a far more embarrassed approach as the realisation sunk in: She was standing before a stranger, completely naked in the shower.  Well shit, there goes all modesty with this team. Bec’s face shifted to a deep shade of red, obscuring her freckles entirely. This was arguably the most embarrassing thing to have happened to her in recent years. Sure, she’d suffered some ribbing during her Marine Corps and Academy years, but this most definitely topped those lists. Still, Artemis didn’t seem all too phased about it. There was hardly any sign that the super soldier thought much of the fact that Bec’s curvaceous figure was on full display. It was... different. Bec considered it for a moment, wondering why. If she had come across one of her own- or they had come across her, there’d be all kinds of well-meaning mock-disgust. Eventually the ODST chalked it up to it being just one of those strange Spartan behaviours she had heard about.  ”Getting a good peek?” The question was layered with a healthy amount of jest. Honestly, at this point, despite being red in the face, the Sergeant wasn’t about to scramble to cover up. Artemis had already seen everything, and frankly, to try and hide anything after that fact seemed... Well, pointless. That being said, it was as good a time as any to get out from under the water, especially now that select lacerations had de-clotted themselves, and were now oozing liquid red once more.  Quickly shutting off the shower, Taggart moved over to the towel rack, barely looking at the Spartan as she did, and began to gently towel herself dry, applying more careful application where needed around her injuries. Up next was a date with a medkit- and maybe facing a hazing from the rest of NOBLE as a result of Arty’s intrusion.  Maybe. 

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“Don’t mention it.”

Artemis didn’t see much need in being thanked. But she wasn’t going to be rude and dismiss Taggart outright; nor was she going to ignore her. A polite, casual response was all that was needed.

Once her hair was dry, she hung her towel over the back of one of six wooden chairs that were parked haphazardly around a large table — which was still laid out with maps, battle plans, and data — and set to brushing her thick waves. She listened with half an ear to Emile and Jun’s conversation; the other half of her attention was focused on listening for either Carter or Taggart’s entry into the room. Depending on whomever strolled in first.

Five minutes passed, and it was the Commander who entered, freshly showered like the other Spartans, only clad completely in his bodysuit. Apparently, he’d not felt the need to dress more casually. Or, was too on edge to change, but relaxed enough to not completely gear up in his full armour set.

Emile, being Emile, cackled and began heckling Carter for his choice in attire. Smirking, yet tuning him out, Artemis continued brushing her hair, weaving it into a plait as she did so. And at the same time, still listening for the Helljumper.

When nearly twenty minutes in total slid by, however, she wondered if something had gone wrong.

Rising to her feet and setting her brush aside — nevermind her half-done hair — she padded out to the shower block door. She paused for a moment, head cocked to one side; before rapping her knuckles against the metal.

“Hey— You alright in there?”

Lost in thought, Taggart didn’t even notice the Spartan’s arrival. Her mind had wandered once again, back to New Alexandria. Back to her squad. Her family. The people she had last seen running for any form of cover they could find as the tower dropped on their position. The people she would never properly get to say goodbye to. Now it wasn’t just the water running down her face. No. Taggart was simply just not there. Far too out of it to even register the Spartan’s enquiry. Was she about to break down? Not like she did in the Pelican, no. For the first time since rescue, Bec was somewhat holding it together, even if it was at the cost of her spatial awareness, and, well, general bodily function. It was almost like she was frozen, standing under the steaming hot water, swaying slightly as she stared blankly. She didn’t even notice the several lacerations that had began to de-clot with the prolonged exposure to the shower’s water.  She needed this though, a chance for her mind to get through it all. Taggart was at least able to register that she was slowly starting to handle these... episodes better. Granted it had only been a few hours in a coherent state, but the difference a few breakdowns made was astronomical. Funny, how processing trauma, instead of bottling it up, was a good thing for one’s mind. It didn’t make it hurt any less, though. 

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“I figured that would be a given.”

That was an attempt at a joke. Or at the very least, an attempt at levity. Humour was far from Artemis’ strong suit, but… she did her best, whenever she felt a situation might have needed it. 

Normally, her sense of humour was dry sarcasm and teasing. Anything else just tended to fly over her head.

“Oh, and don’t mind the mess. Leaving our plating out and about where we can grab it in a moment’s notice is easier than stacking it. Don’t ask me how it works; hell, I don’t even get it, and I practice it regularly. But yeah. MJOLNIR plates are a tripping hazard.”

The Spartans didn’t stumble over their gear, because they could recall where it was. Because their spatial awareness was excellent, and their object permanence never failed them.

That, and having stellar balance and coordination helped.

“It’s generally off to one side, but, you know…” She waved a hand, trailing off. She was sure Taggart might have understood her point. Watch your step, and you’ll be good.

Her strides were graceful, flowing, as she walked. She may have looked as though she were about to burst into a lope or a run at any given second; truth be told, she was tense, and her fight or flight instincts were sort of… running in the background. Not able to easily be turned off.

There was none of her predator’s surety in her movements. Not at that point in time.

Artemis gestured to the fairly low-slung, boxy set of buildings squatting on the grass just ahead of them. There was no movement outside; normally, such an area might have had one or two non-Spartan personnel roaming about. But they were all long gone; either dead, fighting elsewhere on the planet, or staying at the UNSC outpost a few klicks away. Out here, the Spartans were on their own.

The only things outside the base were a scant handful of vehicles: a half-busted Mongoose, a pair of M12 Hogs, and one battered Falcon. 

As she passed by, she couldn’t help but give Charlie 2′s tail fin a pat— an echo of one of her first actions upon arrival at this outpost, so many weeks ago. The Falcon may have seen better days, but it still flew… and could once again prove useful in any future battles.

As they entered the base, low chatter could be heard. Jun was lying on the floor clad in standard issue fatigues, engaged in a set of ab crunches, and conversing with Emile, who, like Artemis, was wearing his bodysuit stripped to the waist — minus a tank top, however — fidgeting with a curved purple… brick… in his hands, as he perched on the edge of a ratty couch.

The attempt at humour would have normally brought a small smile to Taggart’s face, but on the back of her private outburst, it was hard to articulate such an emotion amongst what was surely her mind going through a large reset of everything. Instead, she just quietly followed Artemis, acknowledging the Spartan’s information dump with a small nod.  Right now, all she had on her mind was a hot shower, and a chance to unwind in a relaxing environment. Though that didn’t necessarily mean the tactical part of her brain, that had been drilled into her over years of training, had switched off. She noted the vehicles at their disposal, factoring in the D77 behind them as well. Not exactly something fit to mount a counterattack with, but good to know they had something at their disposal.  As they entered the demountable trailer, Bec took a quick look around, seeing the Spartans out of armor was an interesting experience- definitely not something many could claim they had seen. It wasn’t exactly home, but it felt an awful lot like it. That was definitely something of a comfort to the ODST. Then she spotted the sign for the showers, and made a beeline, heeding the redhead’s words as she avoided the piles of Mjolnir armor scattered across the building’s steel floor. “Thank you, Artemis.” Shutting the small door behind her, Bec entered the shower in her full suit- well, minus the helmet, that was well beyond operational use. The rest? Had to be cleaned and prepared for another fight. Turning to face the taps, the ODST leaned her M90 against the shower wall, before engaging the water supply to a comfortably warm temperature, and let it flow over her, washing away the ash, dust, and blood. A disgusting brown began to pour off of her as the fresh water washed away the remnants of New Alexandria, revealing the steely gunmetal finish of the trademark ODST armor hidden beneath.  With the satisfaction that her armor was reasonably cleaned, Taggart began to remove the suit, piece by piece, discarding it in a large pile just outside her shower cubicle, then proceeded to peel off the undersuit entirely, and dump that in a big wet pile as well. Her attention then turned to washing herself. Making use of the scant hygiene supplies left by the previous user, she set to work scrubbing her face, washing her hair, and gently cleaning any lacerations or injuries that needed it. She would take a first aid kit to those once she was dry. It felt... Amazing. The comforting warmth like a strong hug from a loved one, the freshness of the steam. It was... Ethereal. Especially to someone who had spent three days trapped in the ruins. She was in the shower for easily a good fifteen minutes. Definitely enough time to draw suspicion from anyone paying attention.

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“Not gonna lie, I wish there was better than MREs. But y’know. All shit sucks during deployment, and we gotta eat what we gotta eat.” Emile shrugged a shoulder. It was basically his way of saying, he could understand part of the reason why Taggart might not have been keen on food. And continuing to make conversation, before he left.

“But hey, I won’t push. Just, I dunno, hang in there?”

He was definitely no good at being compassionate towards others. Not in that kind of way. His compassion was mercy, was feeling sorry for others in plight. That was about as far as it extended.

It wasn’t that the assault specialist was heartless, as such. He just never often thought about anything outside of the mission, outside of Noble Team.

Only, the situation was somewhat different, and thus, he was doing his best to show concern.

Two and a half hours later, and it was Artemis coming out to the Pelican, to talk to Taggart. Towelling her still-damp copper hair — which was well beyond regulation length, where it sat just at the base of her shoulder blades — and dressed in her bodysuit stripped halfway to the waist, white tank top covering an otherwise bare torso, she padded on bare feet to where the grey-green bird perched with its still down ramp.

As she was walking on soundless footsteps, she gave a low whistle to give the Helljumper a heads up of her approach. Better she didn’t startle the other woman. It wouldn’t have been nice.

Can’t help that I move like a ghost. It’s my nature. It’s what I was trained to do. Can’t have anyone knowing whether I’m coming or going; it would ruin the stealth aspect.

Even when she was off-duty, old habits died hard.

“You can come and join us, if you’d like.” she said quietly, stepping into the Pelican’s blood tray. “I can’t imagine how tired you might be, and how grimy.”

Her lack of armour might have made her seem more real, more human and less intimidating… save for the fact that her ocean-coloured eyes still bore a piercing air to them. That was another habit that never seemed to go away. Staring unnervingly was just… her default state. Not something she happened to do on purpose.

“Nobody’s going to mind the intrusion.”

Even as she spoke, she was still rubbing her wavy locks with the towel. Multi-tasking was easy.

Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion hidden by the layer of caked grime on her face. It was painfully apparent that Emile was not used to this sort of thing. This kind of conversation. Yet he continued to try his best. She could applaud him for that much, but otherwise it felt just a little... off? Again, probably because comfort wasn’t something an assault specialist would be used to delivering. Didn’t make it any less nice of him though. In fact, it was the nicest thing anyone had done since the building fell. As the Spartan team left with their fallen comrade, Taggart slowly stood to her feet, hand grasping the bulkhead that surrounded her seat for stability, and began stumbling her way to the rear of the dropship’s bay. Her leg had definitely worsened during the flight- well, either that or the adrenaline that she had been running on for the last few days had finally worn off and the pain was now actually registering with her addled brain. She stood at the rear of the blood tray, trying her best to stand on her own two feet with no support, and watched as the armoured super soldiers carried their fallen comrade away. Another sharp breath was drawn, and her right hand snapped up to her brow line in a practiced, and crisp salute, which the ODST held for several minutes, until the Spartans were out of sight. It was the closest she would get to honouring any of the fallen. Theirs or hers. The next two hours were all downhill from there. The Pelican’s flight crew had shut the cockpit door out of respect, allowing Taggart to have the space to grieve alone, and as appreciative of this as she was, the isolation made it all to easy for her to permit herself to finally break down, and let her emotions run free.  ------- The sharp whistle rang out, immediately catching Taggart’s attention, causing the overtired trooper to lift her head slowly off of the deck in search of the source of the noise. One of the Spartans must have been returning for her. How long had she been laying on the floor in a crumpled heap, swirling in her own pain? Long enough, apparently. Bec debated getting up, but what was the point.  Very quickly, the source of the whistle identified itself as the voice of Artemis allowed Bec’s blurry vision to hone in on her almost unrecognisable form. The Spartan had ditched her armour, and was looking... Well, if Taggart had to admit it, rather attractive. If she weren’t just recovering from what one might describe as a manic episode, she may have tried to give Arty her chatter number. Not right now though. Right now, Bec barely wanted to look at the Spartan, after all, it would allow the super soldier to see the tear tracks that had cut through the dirt down Taggart’s freckled cheeks, the mess that her hair was, and the fact that she had clearly had her face in her hands a lot in the last few hours. It was most definitely not a proud moment- or a way that Bec would ever wish anyone to see her in. She felt pathetic.  Though a hot shower would be nice. Finally, a small, almost whispery voice responded. “Okay.” Slowly, the ODST began to pick herself up, stepping shakily to her feet, grabbed her M90, and turned to face Artemis once more.  Wow, okay she’s pretty for a literal death machine. Even through an ocean of heavy, swirling emotions, it was easy for Taggart to take note of Arty’s beauty, especially now that the armour was gone, and the natural musculature was on display. The only downside is seeing such a well trained physique made Taggart feel just a little inadequate in her food-loving figure. Nevermind that right now however, there was a shower waiting, and every fibre of the Sergeant was crying out for it in desperate need. “You lead the way.” Her headspace really was a mess.

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Artemis paused as the offer sank in, tilting her head a fraction to one side. That was… odd. As she wasn’t the commanding officer — and since he was currently half out of commission — she’d no idea what to say. She was also quite certain that Carter would have been taken aback by it, too— that just wasn’t ever something Spartans heard directed at them. Not in reference to anything non battlefield-related, especially.

It took her a moment to formulate a response.

“I… If anything comes up, one of us will let you know.” That seemed like the most sensible reply, at least. Something polite, and not a dismissal, but not a direct yes, either. Just something neutral.

Her gaze dropped away, as she saw Jun moving to scoop up the discarded helmets, and across the aisle, Emile moving to crouch beside Kat’s body. Before he could lift her up, she gently pressed her gauntleted hand against the Commander’s eyes. Still better he didn’t see her any more than was necessary. None of them needed him freaking out — or worse flipping out — on them. Not since none of them would have been able to do a damned thing about it.

The one person who could bring him down from such episodes was dead.

And Artemis? Was essentially second in command, now. She knew nothing of how to take charge that kind of a situation.

Hence, she was doing all she could to prevent any meltdowns from even occurring.

Emile and Jun understood her without exchanging any words; they were all on the same page. As much as they were verbally sniping at one another, that had been lowkey. They were keeping behaved, and keeping an eye on their incredibly volatile commanding officer.

“Carter? I’m going to need you to trust me, now, okay? Listen to my voice— and trust that I won’t let you trip up or smack into anything. Your other senses will take over in about a minute or so, but it’ll still be tricky for you to figure out where you’re going.” Artemis’ voice was soft, gentle; tempered with understanding and concern. “Sergeant Taggart’s staying in the Pelican. I’m going to guide you back into the base, and Emile and Jun are gonna be right behind us.”

Thankfully, the Commander didn’t question why. Just acquiesced silently. Too tired, too wrung out to protest, most likely.

“I trust you, Six.”

“If you’re hungry, one of us can bring you out somethin’ to eat while you wait.” Emile offered quietly, as Artemis rose, an arm wrapped around Carter’s side as she helped guide him out the back of the Pelican. His skull-etched visor swung in Taggart’s direction. “We got plenty of MREs spare, and it might give you some energy or somethin’.”

Seeing Artemis struggle to formulate a response at the ODST’s offer once again, spurred even more questions within Taggart. It was almost like no one had ever offered them such an offer before. Though, given the nature of their work, it was entirely possible this was the case. Regardless, as the Spartan finally responded, Bec reassured that she had meant her words with a small nod.  Truthfully, the offer stemmed from a combination need to be useful and prove why it was worth keeping her around, but mostly so that Taggart could get some form of closure herself. She may not have known the Spartan, but it wouldn’t have been a hard task for her to imagine the fallen solider as one of her squadmates, doomed to never receive a proper burial. Just folded flags and letters to next of kin- that Bec would have to write.   Fuck.  The sheer thought of having to write multiple letters to the loved ones of each of her squad members was enough to drop Taggart back into a somewhat disassociative state as her mind was once more bombarded with memories of her fallen comrades. The only upside to it all was that she wouldn’t be faced with the sight of coffins wrapped in flags, and have to live with people seeing her break down in public.  She barely heard, or even registered the Spartans’ movements about the cabin space as she sat, staring blankly at the floor, only truly snapping back- and even then so, barely, as Emile spoke to her, offering food. Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she could stomach anything with the presence of such demons in her head. Everything inside of her felt off- sickly almost. Food wouldn’t help. Especially not Type-K.  “I’m okay. Thanks.”

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There was a ripple of silence as the Spartans individually translated and digested that particular lot of information. Mother is German. That explained the discrepancy in language, and perhaps even accent: Taggart was bilingual. Something that all of them could relate to, as a matter of fact, except for Emile.

Well, Artemis was more multilingual than bilingual, but her knowledge of Hungarian and English was greater than the few French words she spoke. Courtesy of one of her siblings.

At this point in time, I don’t even recall who it was. It was so long ago.

“Uh-huh. See, if someone like me’s telling you that you should probably stop hitting it— I mean, I’m only making a suggestion, but…” Emile spread his palms upwards. “Give it another go in ten minutes after puttin’ it aside, is my best advice.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the day where Emile-A239 gives someone a suggestion, and phrases it politely at that.” Jun looked mildly surprised. “Are we living in a parallel universe now, or something?”

The assault specialist merely waved him off. “Ah, screw you. Maybe I just feel… I dunno, like being nice. For once.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Carter stated, snorting with disbelief. “Hell, I can recall, the last time someone tried to be polite to you, first, you told them to—” He paused, frowning, and seemed to relax as he realized there was nothing wrong with the Pelican’s engines gradually changing pitch.

It was hard to miss just how flighty Spartans could get.

It was also hard to miss the fact that they could communicate without words. Without sound, sign, or signal. True, some Marine fireteams had such an ability, but never to the extent, nor with the same level of invisibility the Spartans seemed to possess. At times, some whispered they must have been telepathic. Which might as well have been true.

Case in point: The moment Carter relaxed, it was a silent communication for them to relax, too. Knowing that the Pelican was coming in for descent as per standard operating procedure, and not the fact that they might have been coming under fire. Knowing that there was no rush to disembark — not while Colonel Holland was out of contact, and there was no pending firefight awaiting them.

For a brief moment, Artemis turned her head, locked eyes with Jun. He gave her a tiny jerk of his chin, which she returned, before glancing away. The gesture was then repeated with Emile — even despite the helmet, she knew his gaze was on her — before the lone wolf directed her gaze towards Taggart.

“If you need to use hygiene facilities, you’re free to come into our base. But— You’ll need to wait a couple of hours, first.”

The conversation brought the smile back to Taggart’s face as she followed the Spartan’s advice, letting the pack fall to the floor with a thud, and kicking it under her seat with the heel of her armoured boot. It was truly humorous to see these super soldiers smack-talk one another just like any other team of Marines or Troopers. It made them seem more... Human. At least to this ODST. The sensation of the Pelican’s descent, unlike the Spartans, went unnoticed by Taggart. It was controlled, steady, and... well, slow. Nothing like the chaotic rush of a SOIEV punching through a planet’s atmosphere at terminal velocity. Honestly, if Carter’s pause hadn’t drawn her attention to it, Bec wouldn’t have noticed they were landing until wheels hit the deck.  As Artemis spoke, Taggart made an effort to ensure her attention was completely focused on the Spartan’s words. A challenge, sure, since every time she locked eyes with Artemis, the ODST found herself captivated by the super soldier’s piercing gaze- but she would manage, after all, the information being relayed was important. Mission-critical, as it were.  You’ll need to wait a couple of hours, first. Her face fell as her mind connected the dots. The Staff Sergeant briefly glanced at the body in the aisle, then up to Jun, and then back to Artemis. Oh. Right. Private service. Completely understandable. Hell, if that were one of Bec’s squad, she would want it the same way. Not that any of them would get actual funerals. Just names added to a memorial somewhere.  Sure. She could wait a few hours. Covered in the pulverised remains of New Alexandria’s high-rises, bloody, tired, and sore? Sure. But none of that compares to the pain that NOBLE Team was about to endure. Burying a teammate was like burying a friend- a family member. It always hit hard, no matter how hard one tried not to show it.  “Of course. If there’s anything I can do. Do not hesitate to ask.” Her voice was, quiet, clear, full of resolve, and just a pang of pity. Her accent gone, and her English back at the helm of her vocal chords. This was a very sensitive moment that this Pelican’s passengers shared, and Bec dare not fuck it up with her own emotions.  Even for the best of the best, saying goodbye was still hard. 

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“It’s pretty obvious that you’re ten degrees of fucked up.” Emile declared with a shake of his head. “One glance at your file and we could all tell. You’re a walking clusterfuck of Spook bullshit, I’m sorry to say.”

Artemis huffed, leaning back in her seat. Her eyes briefly flicked towards the ceiling as she rolled them, but there was a flare of amusement in their depths. “I hate that you’re so accurate with that statement.” True, it was a bit of an understatement, but it wasn’t incorrect in the slightest.

How could it have been?

Her file was dripping with black ink, pages stained with the ghosts she’d left in her wake. The things she’d seen and done, the people she’d killed… It was no wonder she was set apart from her fellow Spartans.

They weren’t assassins. They weren’t grim reapers.

Not like she was.

At Taggart’s sudden outburst of a different language, three heads shifted to her direction, just briefly. It was apparent none of them had expected her to fall silent again, followed by exasperated sentences in… what sounded like German?

“…That’s not your standard Eridian accent.” Emile mused, helmet cocked to one side. “Also, not gonna lie, I don’t think chucking a comm unit out the Pelican is gonna help make it work. You have to smooth talk it. Threatening only makes shit lock up even more.”

“Why are you like this?” Carter questioned in exasperation.

The assault specialist shrugged his shoulders. “I’unno. But it’s true. Sweet talk whatever shit you’re workin’ on, and guarantee you it’s gonna start… y’know, doing whatever the hell it’s meant to be doing.”

The scowl continued. Bec didn’t even look up from her work as the Spartans spoke. Sure, it was a bit rude- but she definitely was not ignoring them, she was just incredibly frustrated at that very moment. At what? The radio pack? Well. Possibly. More than likely she was projecting her frustration at herself onto the pack. A coping mechanism that had seated itself deep within the ODST’s subconscious many years ago. Emile’s curiosity to her accent drew a very swift and short response as the Sergeant maintained her focus on the troublesome device. It almost always came as a surprise to those who were witnessing it for the first time, but Taggart was actually bilingual thanks to her estranged Section 3 employee of a Mother.  “Mutter ist Deutsche.“ Bec wasn’t exactly the closest with her Mother, and had not seen her in person since she joined the Marine Corps when she was 18, and as a result, the German dialect and accent had made itself a rare occurence within Taggart’s speech, but during times of high stress, it revealed itself quite jarringly to those around her. “Du arbeitest besser, du stück scheiße.” She struck the side of the pack a few times with the heel of her palm, hoping in vain that it would move some internal component that would give it the life she so desperately wanted it to have- and to prove her next point to Emile. “Gewalt ist immer die antwort. Wenn es nicht funktioniert, verwenden sie nicht genug davon.” She had yet to realise that she hadn’t switched back to English. Her mind was far too fixated on the comm pack, which she was about to declare deceased. Hyperfixation is a bitch.

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“I do make shit go “boom” in a very artistic way.” Emile stated, perhaps a little too proudly. “Shit yeah, I’m gonna take credit for that.” He may have had a bit of a large ego, but at that point in time, he was definitely still joking. He was never in it for the glory; he was only in it for the thrill of the explosion, for the thrill of the kill.

In fact, in all honesty, he generally preferred to stay out of the limelight. As it was with most Spartans. Oh, sure, some of them showed off. But when it came to awards, ceremonies, that kind of shit?

They were nowhere to be seen.

They were given new ranks privately, quietly. They honoured that sort of thing among their own. Not as far as they could help it.

Most Spartan-IIIs didn’t even get that at all. The Spartan-IIs were lucky enough  — or unlucky, depending on how you viewed it — to get promotions. They weren’t even looking for the damned things, either.

And actual Spartan officers were incredibly rare.

“…That was a joke, right?” Artemis questioned, and for a moment her gaze flicked among her teammates. She was seeking reassurance for them, questioning that she’d judged that statement correctly. Another thing that rendered her an outlier on the team.

“Geez, kid, you sure have been away from other soldiers for way too long.” Emile mused, and his eyebrows were furrowed. “I mean, either that, or you have a busted-ass sense of humour.”

The aborted movement the lone wolf made was halfway between a flinch and a grimace. Too bad her honesty wouldn’t allow her to permit any other response save for the fact that he’d hit the nail on the head. If she were a better liar, if she liked lying, well… She would have dodged, or changed the subject. Maybe even deflected.

So much for not making it more obvious that I’m the odd duckling in this group.

“It’s definitely a mix of both.” she admitted, sounding almost sheepish about the fact. “Being deployed as a solo operative for the better part of your career does some… weird shit to your head.”

The smile across Taggart's face maintained as Emile spoke. Making things go boom was probably one of the highlights of the job. Light fuse, run away. Then of course observe from a safe distance, because boy are explosions an underrated form of artwork.  The smile dropped as Artemis’s question brought the conversation to a standstill. That was it. Exactly what Bec had feared. The humour had been missed. The mood? Ruined. Tense. Back to square one. Using Emile’s retort as cover-fire, the ODST disengaged herself from the conversation, and returned her attention back to bringing her recently acquired comms pack online. Easier to just focus on that then try and dig herself out of a hole that she may very well just dig deeper. You don’t have to get deployed solo for this war to do weird shit to your head. As if in protest of simply having anything work right, the comms pack began to spit out error codes. Something wasn’t firing correctly. A quick reboot failed to solve the issue, and it was beginning to wear Taggart’s already stretched patience very, very thin. If this thing didn’t work in the next few attempts, she was going to throw it from the Pelican whilst they were in flight. “Arbeit du stück scheiße!“ Her voice was low, but packed full of frustration as the device, once more, sent an error message. Emotion had definitely taken over, as both her accent and language had slipped back to that of her Mother’s. Taggart had yet to notice, but it was quite a stark difference to her usual speaking voice when she wasn’t about to punch a radio pack right in the heat sink. “Ich werfe dich vom Rücken des Pelikans. Also hilf mir.“

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“Oooh, the inter-branch rivalry rears its head.” Emile sniped, and it was unmistakable that he had caught onto the joke and was following along. “I was waitin’ for that.”

None of them had missed the angry jeers that Helljumpers threw their way. None of them missed the jealous stares that tracked their every stem. None of them had missed the way some Helljumpers treated them.

It wasn’t all Helljumpers. Some treated the Spartans with respect. Others with indifference. Others still seemed to worship the very ground the Spartans walked on.

But it was no secret that a good lot of the Helljumpers did not like Spartans. The rivalry, one-sided as it was, was a long one. And the beginning was shrouded in mystery. Jorge had seemed to know, but he’d never spoken a single word about it; evidently, it was not something he wanted his younger comrades to be privy to.

Fortunately, Bec seemed to be one of those ones who acted with a mixture of respect and indifference. More the former than the latter; and it was safe to say it made it a lot easier to be crowded in the back of a Pelican with her.

The fact that she treated them as any other soldier helped the conversation, as awkward as it was at times.

Hence why Artemis offered up, “I mean, I’d ask if you wanted one, too. But, uh, you’re a bit… Well, I don’t want to say fragile, but compared to me? Physically, you are. And I don’t wanna break something by mistake.”

The shrug that accompanied her words was almost sheepish.

“It’s not that I don’t trust or know my own strength, because I do. But, y’know, gotta get rough and dig in a bit to work out any knots you might have, and that’s where it’d be too dicey for me to try on you. Sorry.”

The smirk that appeared on Taggart’s face was unmissable as Emile returned fire. Truthfully, the rivalry didn’t mean shit to her. Spartans were literally built to be better soldiers. As long as they performed their tasks to that level, she was happy to fight alongside them. Hell, she could care less who she fought alongside across the board, as long as they were capable and confident. Spartan, ODST, Marine- hell, even militia or civilian police agencies. She really didn’t mind. Just as long as they didn’t get her shot.  “Well, hey. Can you blame me? Stealing all the glory like that?” To say she was ecstatic that the humour had been well received was an understatement. Her energy had performed a complete 180. Where had she pulled this sudden burst of functionality from? Who knew. Not her. That’s for sure. But it was nice, and she was going to roll with it. It made her seem less... Dead inside. As Artemis spoke, Bec listened. Considering the Spartan’s point. It was true, that with the enhanced strengths of the super soldiers, it was a possibility that a massage could indeed prove to be a wounding experience, but as the aches continued, so did the need for some form of relief.  “To be honest, that sounds like a good time. It might just fix my back too.” Chances are it was the sleep depravation and the concussion that had yet to be attended to, but Taggart was on a high, and very much running on no filter. There was a conscious effort to ensure her words sounded joking, and in no way serious, but the fear that this would not be received properly by present company was ever lingering. In all honesty, she just really wanted someone to crack her back.  It would probably sound like popping bubble wrap.

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“Beware, ODST contains sass.” Emile joked, apparently immensely delighted by Taggart’s burst of snark. “This chick gets me — can we keep her?”

“No.” Carter groused, overlapping with Jun’s emphatic, “Yes.” All it served to do was cause the assault specialist to snicker, and Carter to sigh with utter chagrin.

“I vote yes, that’s three against one.” And, yes, Artemis was definitely smirking, at that point in time. The spark of mischief had returned, along with it, and was more obvious than before. “Also, what was that you said back at Visegrád about, and I quote, we don’t leave people behind? Can’t renege on your words.”

“Fuck off.”

This time, it was Taggart whom Artemis turned her attention to, whom she addressed as she spoke. “There you go. Unofficially, you are kept by Noble Team. Don’t blame me, blame Emile. You can leave any time you want, of course— nothing is keeping you here.” Hell, it didn’t even particularly mean anything. Not really… not as far as she was aware, at least.

It was just words. It was a joke, of sorts.

Maybe it meant that NOBLE would keep an eye out for Taggart in particular. Maybe it meant they would try to have her deployed alongside them. Or maybe it meant nothing at all.

Either way, well… The Helljumper could take comfort in them, even if it was only for a short while.

The silence drifted down again, like an intangible mist.

Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, when it came to Spartans. They weren’t particularly social, and tended to get lost in their own thoughts. Or thoughts on whatever mission might have lay ahead. And although Noble Team were more talkative than most, they had equally as many moments of quiet.

Not forgetting, either, the current situation.

So of course the lapses in conversation were going to be very frequent, and with a slightly heavy air to them.

The thing with silences was, it was almost always more conversation that broke it. Either that, or the sounds of a nearby battle, or perhaps a beeping commlink. When it was just a singular sound that broke the silence, that was when things became a little different.

Case in point: Apparently, Artemis hadn’t even realized that she’d switched from running her fingers through Carter’s hair, to massaging the back of his neck, until the Commander moaned into her knee guards.

The silence stretched — snapped — broke.

“….Carter, what in the actual fuck was that?” Jun questioned, borderline incredulous.

“She got rid of a kink in my neck, sue me.”

The smile across Taggart’s grime-caked face was unmissable. Finally. Undeniable proof that would shut her anxieties up, and allow her to be a little more... Well. Herself. The ODST unfolded herself, sitting in a slightly more relaxed position, finally joining the conversation fully. It was certainly something she never expected. To say she was shocked by Emile’s comment was an understatement. It took her completely by surprise. Was she about to get pseudo-adopted into a Spartan Fireteam? It certainly seemed that way, especially with three-to-one in favour. Though, as much as she knew it was most likely just banter, the Sergeant took comfort in the fact that she was making a good impression on her new companions. Well, most of them. There was the tiniest hint of a giggle as Artemis goaded her Squad Leader. Carter’s frustration was incredibly amusing to the Helljumper. It reminded her of the more familiar team dynamics she was actually familiar with. Frankly, it was almost as if Emile had single-handedly shifted the mood entirely with his remark.  As Artemis spoke, explaining the results of the vote, Bec couldn’t help but feel her cheeks reddening again as she took in the details of the Spartan’s facial features. Thank Christ for the thick layer of dirt and dust that currently adorned the ODST’s freckled face. “It’s nice to know someone has my back. Can’t say I'm thrilled about it being a bunch of Spartans, though.” The jest in her voice was laid on thick, giving as much opportunity as she could for the team to acknowledge that she was, in fact, not serious. Sure, there was intense rivalry between Spartans and ODSTs, and under any other circumstances, this ‘keeping’ would never take place. But, the planet was burning, there were few survivors, and Bec had no one else to turn to. Besides, these guys seemed alright. As the silence set back in, Taggart quietly removed the comms pack that she had looted earlier from her back, setting it down at her feet, and commencing to tinker with it, and hopefully power it up for a quick test. The Pelican had ample long-range communication capability, but it wouldn’t hurt to have something extra, just in case. She was only a few steps in to powering the bulky device up before the silence was shattered by Carter. The sergeant froze, rotating her head slowly to look at the Spartan officer with a mixture of unease and confusion. Then Jun spoke for her. Indeed, what the fuck was that? As Carter answered, the look of unease on Bec’s face turned to envy, and her body quickly began to remind her just how badly she needed a good, full-body massage. It was enough to have her mumbling to herself as she continued her work. “God, I wish that were me...”

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:Ah. You find it grounding. Different for everyone, I suppose.: It was safe to say that Jun was ever the personality analyst. Not that it needed to be his job when it came to fellow soldiers, at least, not all the time. But old habits died hard. And he was excellent at reading people.

It made him for a rather scary poker companion.

The silence seemed to stretch, for just a few moments. For any normal human being, it might not have seemed that long at all. For tired, agitated Spartans, it was simultaneously an eternity and not even five minutes. Such was the way they viewed the world, the way their brains operated.

Case in point, lulls in conversation wasn’t as much a bother to them as it might have been for anyone else. Save if they were pressed for time and looking for an answer in an urgent manner. And as such, when not necessary, they spoke in their own time, as well as on their own terms.

And of course, Jun was the first to speak up.

“Tyumen, New Harmony. Beautiful planet, lot of cold areas. Not nearly half as temperate as the majority of Reach is.”

For the first time in awhile, Emile stirred, deciding to join in on the conversation. “Huh. So that explains your stupid-ass accent and the fact that you were one of those kids who could hardly speak a lick of English.”

“Emile,” the sniper hissed, venomous, “I swear, sometimes, you are begging to be offlined to an ONI black site. We do not speak of when we were younger. Not in those terms.”

“If I wasn’t so damned tired I’d kick his ass from here to Sundown.” Carter growled, voice still half-muffled by Artemis’ knee guards. “Having a conversational attitude is fine, but lock it down, Warrant Officer. Jun’s right; you crossed a line.”

“You guys are so fuckin’ boring, sometimes.” Emile leaned back in his seat, helmet tipping downwards and arms crossing over his chest almost sulkily. At least he seemed ready enough to acquiesce. Most of the time, he did back down, even if it didn’t appear that way.

Artemis was the only one who appeared to be remotely amused by the conversation. Though her mouth was still set in a grim line, there was little that could smother the faint spark of humour in her eyes. “It’s no wonder he’s the assault specialist and demolitions expert. He’d rather blow shit up than keep his mouth shut.”

“Six, do not make me regret Holland placing me on the team.” Carter groaned, but it sounded exasperated in a fond way, rather than anything genuine. Which was absolutely a far cry as compared to his attitude on her taking the old Noble Six’s place, so many weeks ago now.

Rolling his eyes, Jun steered the topic back to safer waters. “Jackass over there hails from Eridanus II, which explains why he’s such a prick. Everyone from Eridanus II has their wires crossed in one way or another from birth.” The venom in his tone was feigned, now; long-suffering and joking, not at all genuine.

          Grounding. Sure. Something like that. The droning of silence           gave the mind too much time to wander, so having a conversation           to have to pay attention to was a godsend. Especially with fresh           trauma still weighing heavily. Smiling in response, properly this           time, not just a half-baked attempt, Bec signed in return, despite           finally deciding to speak, as if to honor the one-on-one element.           Something like that I suppose. It helps keep my mind off of...           Her hands lingered for a moment as her face fell slightly.           Other things.           The smile resumed as Jun spoke of his home planet, but fell           completely the moment Emile interjected. For super soldiers, they           sure did a good job of reminding Taggart of her early days in the           Marine Corps- at each other’s throats constantly, tired, overworked.           It was certainly not something she expected, and it most certainly           kept her mind from wandering back to more painful topics. She           was grateful for that much.            Resuming her quiet observation, the ODST shifted slightly in her           seat, taking to resting her chin on her hands as she watched           intently, trying her best to work out the social dynamics of the           group of incredibly unusual individuals before her. Clearly Emile           had issues with authority, and very regularly butted heads with           other squad members. Anger issues too- well, probably. Most           likely. Explains the Assault Specialist classification.            Jun’s comment of Eridanus II caused Bec’s brown to furrow           ever so slightly as she took a moment to discern whether or           not the Spartan was being serious, or just having a laugh.           Taggart herself, while raised on Reach, was born on Eridanus II.           She wasn't too sure if she should be proud, or offended. Proud           because ODSTs have a reputation for being unhinged, but           offended because this genetic experiment of a soldier was           calling her ‘weird’, albeit inadvertently. Erring on the side of           caution, and not wanting to start conflict with the one social           member of the team, Bec decided to play along.           “Well that explains a lot about me.”

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Jun’s eyes narrowed briefly, as he watched Taggart raising her hands to speak in Sign. Fortunately, all Spartans were trained in UEG Base Sign Language, as well as their own, private sign language, and he understood what she was saying. On top of that, he was also able to respond in kind, out of respect.  

:Ah. I understand. I don’t have to continue talking, if you don’t want. Up to you, of course.:

He was definitely the most keen on helping the ODST feel included. Perhaps it was due to how much Jorge had rubbed off on him. He had admired the big man a great deal, and it seemed that Jorge’s habit of taking people under his wing was infectious. Well. Mostly. Some people just weren’t quite so keen on acting in a welcoming manner to fellow soldiers.

Namely Emile.

Although, at that point in time, it was quite apparent that the marksman was the only one keen on holding conversation. At least, save from the sparse words that Artemis had spoken more to herself than anyone else.

“Sometimes I forget you’re from Reach. You’re less…”

“Obvious about it than Jorge was?” Artemis snorted, giving an aborted shake of her head. “Yeah. Although in his defense, he was born and had the opportunity to be trained here; had more time to get to know the planet. I was last here… what, fifteen years ago? Something like that.”

“Good point.” Jun conceded. “I don’t think any of us remember our home planets very well. Too long ago. Too much shit happening between now and then.”

For the first time, the Commander chose that moment to speak up, to converse with someone outside of Noble Team. Something he hadn’t done since that damned bunker, and that was saying something, for him — he’d been too numb and withdrawn to even attempt to comfort the civilians who’d been in there with them. Completely out of left field; if the circumstances had been marginally different, he certainly would have.

After all, he was the most personable of NOBLE outside of Jorge.

“It’s the trauma.” he muttered, barely above the rumbling of the dropship’s engines. “Makes everything hard to remember.”

“…Wow, you’re just a ball of sunshine, huh?” Jun questioned snarkily, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Take a breath, boss.”

“He does need to loosen up a bit,” Artemis agreed, gauntleted hand never ceasing in its movements through her Commander’s short hair, “On the other hand, I get where both of you are coming from. Don’t think any one of us in here doesn’t, to be honest. It’s been a shitty fuckin’ campaign.”

          Eyebrows raised slightly as she read Jun’s response. So they did understand.           Handy. Heh. The tiniest smile re-emerged on the young trooper’s face as she           began to sign a response to the Spartan.           No, it’s okay. It helps.           It really did. While not exactly a proper conversation, it was at least giving Bec           something to focus on beyond her own self-hatred, and for that, she was very           appreciative. Even more so for the conversation to continue with her just watching.            It was incredibly fascinating for the ODST to see these revered super soldiers           cut loose ever so slightly. To see a Spartan without their helmet was quite a           rare sight- even more so to see them bantering the way this squad did. They           were usually so stoic and silent. Speak when spoken to- or otherwise absolutely           necessary. Though, these Spartans could be a different type to the ones from           ONI’s propaganda. Taggart made a note to ask her mother- if they ever made           it out alive, that was.           It’s the trauma.           The Helljumper’s gaze fell to the floor once again, looking at nothing in particular.           Carter had a point. All the horrors of war made memory a very fickle thing.           Memories of a homeworld? Distant. Almost non-existent. Then again, the           Taggart family had relocated to Reach when Bec was very young. In hindsight,           it was a lifesaving move.            As the conversation hung ever so slightly with Artemis’s statement, a question           finally came to the Sergeant’s head that she was confident enough to ask. It was           a simple, non-invasive one, that hopefully would keep the conversation going just           enough that the uncomfortably loud silence of Pelican turbines didn’t encroach on           the ODST’s mental stability again. Softly, possibly too softly for some, Taggart           spoke up for the first time since boarding the dropship.           “So... Where are you from, then?”

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“Don’t talk a lot, do you?” Jun cocked his head to one side. There seemed to be the ghost of a smirk lingering at one corner of his mouth. “I can respect that. Don’t think they’re making it easier, either; not that the situation can be helped.” He was definitely indicating his morose, sullen teammates. He clearly wasn’t blaming them for their attitudes, either; just mentioning without stating officially that the losses were hitting them particularly hard.

None of the Spartans seemed to notice as the Pelican hit a rough patch of air and bounced, the passenger hold vibrating, deck shivering beneath their boots. And that wasn’t even testament to how out of it they all were. It just… barely even registered to them on a normal day. For one, they almost didn’t feel it at all through their armour plating; for seconds, minor turbulence wasn’t something they even needed to brace for.

Such small disturbances were well beyond a Spartan’s line of thinking. Veteran Marines might not have cared, either; but given the way the war was going, there weren’t an awful lot of them left.

Only Emile reacted, and it was a small response at that. Just a shuffle in his jump seat, and a dissatisfied grunt.

Silence filled the cabin once more. The only sound that could be heard at all was the roar of the Pelican’s engines. And even that background noise; something so common, so familiar, that the only time it mattered was when a Pelican was your salvation… or your potential tomb.

Some fifteen minutes passed before the silence was broken.

There was a quiet hiss of helmet seals, inaudible to anyone but the Spartan’s over the roar of the engines, as Artemis took her own helmet off, placing it up on a weapons rack above her head. Shaking loose her hair from its pony tail, she rolled her neck out, sighing wearily. Apparently, she was quite keen on decompressing at that point in time, as well.

“Never thought I’d live to see my hometown burn.” she mused. “Not like that. Hell, I never thought I’d see Reach again at all.”

          The Spartan’s comment was somewhat amusing to the ODST.           She did talk- in fact, she talked a lot. Just not when processing           three days of literal hell, the death of one’s entire squad, and the           destruction of the most beautiful city on the planet.             The tiniest hint of a smile appeared, and a small huff that, to the           trained eye, could be perceived as that of the tiniest laugh. She           would talk eventually. Then they wouldn’t be able to shut her up           short of knocking her out. But right now, noise seemed like the           one thing she shouldn’t be making. Instead, another idea sprang           forth.            Brows furrowed as she weighed her options, taking into           consideration that Jun might not understand what she was about           to do, but ultimately, Bec decided it was worth a try, and unfolded           her arms to bring her hands up in plain view, before signing her           response to the marksman’s quip.           I do, just not right now.           It wasn’t uncommon for people to speak another language. As it           was Taggart was mildly fluent in German, thanks to her Mother,           but the Sergeant was also quite proficient in sign language.           Something a good few ODSTs considered to be a far more           articulate form of silent communication than just the standard           hand signals. That and it meant hearing damage didn’t remove           someone from the conversation. Taggart was unsure if the           Spartans would understand, but it was worth a shot.            Ending her signing with a small shrug, movement to her left           caught her attention. The Spartan that had dug her out of the           rubble had just removed their helmet. Brilliant ginger hair, fair           skin, freckles, and piercing eyes. Taggart was very grateful in           that moment that her face was covered by a thick layer of dust,           dirt, and blood. Quickly looking away from the copper-headed           Spartan, the Helljumper resumed resting her chin on her knees,           staring intently at nothing in particular- as if hiding the blush that           no one could see. She really didn’t expect a Spartan to be so...           Pretty.            The super soldier’s words however, drew Taggart back to the           conversation. Was this the part where they all tried to compare           who had the hardest backstory? Or was that strictly just a Marine           Corps thing? Regardless, it had Bec watching from behind her           knees. She really didn’t have a response for a statement like that.           Just a sympathetic nod of agreement. 

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“Jun-A266. Noble Team.” The marksman indicated himself. He was clearly the most amicable Spartan… normally second only to Jorge. “Or what’s left of it, anyway. Hell of a planetary campaign, eh?” His pale blue eyes were narrowed a fraction, scrutinizing — not out of anything other than force of habit.

Emile fell into his customary, characteristic quiet. There were times when he was more talkative; but more often than not, he said very little. At least, when they were off the field. On the field, and he was something of a different story.

The skull etched onto his visor seemed almost menacing in the low light of the Pelican’s hold, and while it wasn’t his particular aim at that point in time, it never ceased in being effective. Ironic how he wore death upon his face, like a beacon, and yet death had claimed Jorge and Kat before him, instead.

Artemis said nothing, as well; she could be considered the quietest of all the Spartans, and the one most unused to social situations. Add to that, but she was far more focused on keeping Carter distracted. The rest of the moment didn’t matter. It was as though she were simply in her own little world, her own bubble, and to be honest, that was perfectly fine by her.

She was no good at small talk, anyway.

Not outside of her fellow Spartans, at least. And none of them were particularly keen on talking any longer.

As for Carter, the Commander was deathly silent. Deathly still, too, were it not for his gauntleted fingers flexing against the base of one of the seats he had a tight grip on. That was pretty much the only indicator that he was even still alive. That, and the fact that he’d been moving only moments ago, and he was utterly uninjured.

Well, physically, at least. Mentally and emotionally was a different story.

          There were so many questions Bec wanted to ask, but right           now was most definitely not the time. Not with a body between           them, and what she could only read as an incredibly fragile           mental state from several of the Spartans present.            She fixed Jun with weak smile, and nodded softly in agreeance,           before shifting her gaze away from the Spartan’s own inquisitive           one. He had definitely noticed just how much Taggart was           showing her lack of age right now. Or maybe that her body           language screamed ‘I don't want to to be here’.            Or what’s left of it anyway...           Wasn’t there supposed to be six members to a Spartan fireteam?            The Sergeant’s gaze slowly shifted to the body, then back to Jun’s,           before surveying the rest of the squad for a quick headcount. Shock           very much apparent in her expression.            Oh...           Her mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but quickly           shut again for fear that making any noise would send the other           Spartans into a rage of sorts. To her, they were foreign,           unpredictable, and right now, volatile.                                She dare not piss them off.           Instead, her eyes met Jun’s once more. Tired blue hues carrying           as much sympathy as they could muster, as if trying to convey           her condolences in a nonverbal format. This body between them           wasn’t their first casualty. 

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“You’re sorry?” Emile echoed in disbelief, as he wandered into view while slinging his AR to his back. “What did I miss? Spartans die just like any other soldier does. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“Lay off, Emile. It’s called respect. Now I get why Jorge butted heads with you so much.” Jun entered the clearing slowly, still cradling his own MA37 in his arms. Not quite the type of hold where you’d be ready to snap your gun up at any given second… Something more analogous to how one would hold a gun while at parade rest. “She feels sorry because she gets it. Kat was one of our own, and we lost her. So, thankyou…?” The way the sniper left the sentence hanging indicated it was due to the fact that he was searching for a name.

“Wow, he really is a dick, huh.” Artemis muttered, more to Jun than to the whole team. Didn’t matter if Four could hear her as well; that was her point.

She nodded her gratitude to the Helljumper, clambering into the Pelican and pointedly tipping her visor towards the exit. Anything she could do to avoid looking at the ghost of her best friend… Aside, she had to focus on ensuring that Carter wasn’t going to look at all, once he embarked.

That had been the agreed-upon plan. Although they all dealt with their grief differently, they all knew how the team would fall apart even more than it already was if they didn’t do their damnedest to help keep Carter in line. Which included, but was not limited to, not allowing him to look at the body for longer than was necessary. Keeping his focus elsewhere, as much as was possible.

Emile scoffed, leaping into the blood tray and skirting their departed comrade’s corpse with ease. The assault specialist said nothing more, instead choosing to settle down a few seats down from the Helljumper, on the same side. Leaning forward, he braced his forearms over his thighs, skull-etched visor angled towards the opposite wall.

It was only a few moments later that Artemis settled herself into the middle of the row of seats on the opposite side; Jun joined her and sat beside her, the marksman dumping his helmet between his boots and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

As for their Commander, the moment he heaved his armoured bulk into the rear of the Pelican and moved to sit down, Artemis rose back up to her feet. They wound up arranged in such a way that Carter was sprawled across half the seats, half across her lap, and she’d removed his helmet and placed it beside Jun’s, gauntleted fingers combing his hair with his face pressed down near her armoured knees. Meanwhile, Jun leaned sideways and banged against the rear of the cockpit partition; a moment later and the ramp closed as the Pelican began to lift off the ground.

          “Taggart, Rebecca. 105th ODST.”           Her voice was low, respectful, but very much beaten down. Emile’s words           had definitely cut far deeper than she’d care to admit. Clearly there was a lot           more going on here than she knew, and staying out of it was the best course           of action. After all, a Spartan was dead right in front of her. That isn’t supposed           to happen. Well, if one believes the propaganda, that is.           As the super soldiers moved about the tray, Bec took the time to remove           her helmet, unleashing a mess of dark brown hair that had been left           unattended for days. She quickly brushed it away from her face with           little care. It wasn’t a priority right now. She surveyed the helmet briefly,           taking in the damage, and appreciating just how much it had saved her           head. The fact that she would have to get rid of it almost pained her.            As Emile and Artemis entered the craft, Taggart could feel the mood drop as the           Spartans positioned themselves around their fallen comrades. She felt like she           was intruding. Like she shouldn’t have been there. Quickly stowing her           destroyed helmet under her seat, the young ODST drew her knees up to           her chest, and attempted to minimise the space of which she consumed,           almost wishing she  could just phase through the hull of the dropship,           into another realm.           She could really only compare the mood to an instance of parental figures           having a disagreement in front of their child. Except there was also a dead           person in the room. It was times like these that reminded Taggart, that despite           her rank and position, she was still quite young- and if any of these Spartans           looked at her right now- with her knees to her chest, they’d definitely see it.           The arrival of, who she assumed was, their squad leader, brought about the           Pelican’s ascent, and a surprisingly strange display of what Bec could only           describe as ‘Spartan Group Dynamics’. Regardless, there was no comment           from the Helljumper. Instead, she leaned into the bulkhead that framed her           seat, and let out as quiet a sigh as she could manage, as the fatigue was           setting back in now that she knew she was safe.            This was going to be a long flight.