Fred-104 headcanons 💙 How He Falls in Love
Honestly, how he falls in love depends a lot of who the person is.
If it is a Spartan II, he probably fell in love while both were in training, the oldest, deepest kind of affection. Forged during training and buried for years.
Back then, love was dangerous. It could get you or someone else punished, distracted, or worse. So he locked it down. It became something quieter, like loyalty sharpened into something too powerful to name.
When they meet again years later, after countless battles and losses, that buried spark hits harder than ever. They’ve both seen too much, lost too many. The walls are still there, but thinner now.
He wouldn’t confess right away. It would take shared missions, quiet debriefings, a moment of exhaustion where one of them says, "You’ve changed." and the other replies, "So have you."
For Fred, this relationship feels inevitable. It’s not passion, it’s gravity. A bond that survived indoctrination, augmentation, and war.
With a Spartan III things already start to get different. They are younger and his feeling would depend on what company the Spartan comes from.
For exemple, to Fred, the Gammas are kids.
Even if they’re technically adults by the time of Halo 5 era, he can’t see them that way, they were children soldiers years after his war already broke the galaxy.
His relationship with them would be paternal or brotherly. He’d train them, mentor them, scold them, even comfort them, but always as a guardian figure.
He sees pieces of his own lost childhood in them, especially because of their psychological augmentations (the aggression dampeners and emotional regulators).
Watching the Gammas struggle with those conditions probably brings out both compassion and guilt, he’d blame himself (and ONI) for letting another generation go through what the IIs endured. To him, their failure to stop the covenant made more children go through what he did.
He doesn't regret being a Spartan, he knows any other Spartan also doesn't, but the weight of knowing that he wasn't enough eats him alive. Even as good as he is hidding it.
If a Gamma developed feelings for him, he’d gently but firmly shut it down. Not with cruelty, just quiet respect and care. He’d probably say something like:
"You don’t want that from me. You deserve better than what this life makes of people like us."
For him, they’re protégés, not partners. He wants to see them survive, not get tangled in his emotional gravity.
The Betas hit him in a more complicated place. They’re still younger but closer to his generation in mindset, disciplined, scarred, and shaped by brutal attrition.
He probably starts off treating them the same way as the Gammas: protective, detached, quietly grieving what ONI did to them.
But over time, if one Beta Spartan sticks close, maybe someone steady, competent, and emotionally resilient, his instinctive protectiveness could evolve into mutual trust, then something deeper
Fred’s respect grows when he sees that they don’t just survive; they adapt. Beta Company Spartans were hardened by impossible missions, that endurance would earn his admiration.
He’d still hesitate to cross the line. He’d feel it’s wrong, "They’re too young." "They’ve already lost enough."
But if enough time passes (post-war era, when everyone’s older and out from ONI’s grasp), he might let that wall slip. It would be slow, cautious, earned.
Even then, the dynamic would stay rooted in mentorship and mutual trust. There’s tenderness, yes, but also shared trauma, they understand each other’s ghosts.
Alpha company is the most likely generation for him to build feelings on.
They are closest in age and experience to the IIs, and were the first wave, the ones who bore the worst of the casualties, and the ones most shaped by the same brutal conditioning Fred lived through.
When he looks at an Alpha, he doesn’t see a "younger generation" he sees a peer who survived the same kind of impossible odds.
There’s respect first, always. He recognizes the strength it took to live through training and deployment with almost no survival rate.
If they serve together, what draws him in is quiet understanding. There’s no need to explain the nightmares, the weight of command, the guilt of survival. They both just… get it.
He’d be gentler with them emotionally than he ever was with his own Spartan-II peers, because he knows what it’s like to be used and discarded by ONI. There’s a sense of solidarity there.
Romance would come from that, from long silences, shared battlefields, debriefs that linger into personal confessions.
The relationship would be mature, steady, and built on respect before attraction. Once he accepts it, it becomes a rare, deeply stabilizing bond for him.
Spartan-IVs feel strangely human for Fred. They weren’t taken as children, they chose this. They have memories of normal lives, relationships, laughter.
That difference fascinates him. It also throws him off balance, they can talk about things he’s never experienced.
Early on, he probably treats them like another soldier: respectful, composed, mission-focused. But it’s easier to talk to them than to most Spartans, they’re used to expressing emotions.
The first time they flirt or tease him lightly, he freezes up. Not because he’s uncomfortable,b because he doesn’t know how to respond. But he learns. Slowly.
If they’re patient with him, he opens up bit by bit. Their emotional fluency helps him express feelings he’s always buried.
With them, Fred starts to feel human again. They pull him out of the armor, metaphorically and literally, and teach him what a relationship outside the battlefield looks like.
If they're a regular soldier, (marine, ODST, pilot, etc.), He approaches this kind of relationship with measured caution. They’re not augmented. He could easily hurt them, but they also understand war, duty, and loss. That mutual understanding matters a lot to him.
He’s protective, but he doesn’t underestimate them. They’ve seen death too, they know the cost of the job.
The respect is mutual: they admire him for what he’s done, but he admires them for doing it without enhancements.
He’s less afraid of hurting them physically than he would be with a civilian, but still acutely aware of the difference in strength. He’s careful with every touch.
On missions, he’s composed and professional, but the moment they’re both off-duty, there’s a quiet ease between them. They speak the same language of exhaustion and endurance.
He’d never promise "forever." He knows what war does to promises. But what he can give, his loyalty, his protection, his honesty, he gives completely.
Now a civilian... This is where Fred is the most conflicted, and the most humanly afraid.
Falling for a civilian feels almost wrong to him at first. He’s a weapon. They’re soft, unarmored, and fragile. He could break them without meaning to.
He’d avoid acting on it for a long time, maybe years. The idea of holding their hand feels dangerous, not because of rules, but because he didn't even know hands could be this smoth and soft.
He watches them live, freely, without training or orders, and he’s both mesmerized and guilty. They are everything he is not. He doesn't deserve that softness.
If they confess first, he’d hesitate. He’d probably say something like, "You don’t understand what I am."
But if they persist, not recklessly, but with quiet certainty, he’ll try. And when he does, it changes him.
With a civilian, he discovers gentleness. Terrified of accidently hurting them.
It’s the most improbable relationship, but the one
Fred’s feelings always come second to duty, at least, that’s what he tells himself.
But once he accepts that love isn’t a distraction, it becomes his reason to fight smarter, survive longer, and live better.
His love isn’t fiery or dramatic. It’s steady, wordless, unwavering. The kind that lasts decades because it was never about impulse, it was about choice.