janitorscloset | [meme] RvB & Halo AU Meme

[I will, I just need a tiny bit of guidance. Any opinions on when or where?]

[I guess it depends on how far you want to mash up universes. You still going with him being part of PFL? How did a II end up there? Uhhh maybe we can them coming across one another again on the Hopeful during the Gamma's augmentation procedures right before things go to hell? We could say that's where he ended up after he got shot and or maybe he's there for treatment of his wounds afterwards and he recognizes Kurt since he's just in regular UNSC BDU's. Or if you want to nix the whole PFL stuff and go full on Halo transplant, maybe he's with Blue Team when they hit Onyx? Or we could set it before Kurt is shanghai'd when they're both bb!Spartans. Kurt was in Green team but we have no idea who his squad mates are that I can recall so maybe Maine was on his team?]

((Well one of those options sings beyond all belief to me. Mashing up enough to allow Maine to be both PFL and SPARTAN because yes this would be nice. Not like IIs didn't get around. Look at Jorge.))

Normally they wouldn't go this far for medical issues. But the placement in UNSC space, the fact that the MoI doesn't have the medical facilities for this sort of thing wasn't surprising. The pressures of time and who knew what else drove them to it, and so it was that a man who had long since forgotten what name he had been born under but who had come to be known as Agent Maine of Project Freelancer ended up on one of the most important symbols of the war. The UNSC Hopeful, and were Maine conscious for the approach he would have allowed himself to muse on how, despite the praise it received, the thing was uglier than all hell. It might be something he would have a chance to think up later, but for now he was up and moving. Up and moving after the damage done to him, after the surgery, and after recovery.

But not recovery that had moved him back to the MoI. No, somewhere between being dropped off, by Pelican no doubt, and waking he had been left alone. No PFL operatives of any measure, whether it was medical staff or even one of his teammates watching for him to wake up. Instead the place felt... abandoned? No, quiet. Like the ship and everyone on it were holding their collective breaths. There was something about it, though, that made him rub at old, old scars at his wrists. The silence was unnerving, frustrating. Freelancer had gotten him used to noise. A lot of noise. Laughter over pranks, stupid jokes, empty threats. So many noises and here all there was was... he didn't even know how to put it.

Recovery, he had always thought, was better when there was exercise. Not too much strain, but there had to be something or he was just letting himself waste away. The Director would hardly approve of such a thing, and while pleasing the man wasn't high on his priority list, the man had given him something to work toward again.

Fatigues feel weird after so long in the Freelancer armor--clearly meant to mimic the armor his former brothers and sisters wore--but since they are the only thing to hand, Maine grabs them and hauls them on. Freelancer gray and black, not standard UNSC issue, but they're good enough. Better than that, unlike most Freelancer fatigues, there wasn't a short sleeve to be seen. Whoever thought of that touch had his appreciation. He spared himself a few seconds to grumble in annoyance over the fact that his recovery time meant he hadn't shaved his head in a while and there was a fuzz starting to show, but that too was put aside in annoyance. Dressed and ready to get out of the too small room (because few people thought to account for someone of his size), Maine let himself into the hall, ready to glare at anyone who dared to question him until they backed down.

It was time to just move.

It had been more than two decades since the man formerly known as Kurt-051 had seen another Spartan-II. He’d been carefully hidden away and out of sight working on ONI’s latest crop of expendable Spartans. But neither hell nor high water was going to keep him from attending to his Spartans during this pivotal moment in their lives.

Compared to the terrible augmentations Kurt and his fellow II’s had gone through, the improvements made to the Spartan-III augmentation procedures had seen a much better success rate and fewer rejections or failures. Still, Kurt insisted on being there with his Spartans because he was one of the few people who knew what these kids were going through and he felt a sense of responsibility towards each and every one of them. Especially Gamma thanks to the uncertain new variables thrown into the mix. Not many people knew about the dangerous cocktail that had been added to Gamma Company’s augmentation regime, it was so far beyond top secret it might as well not officially exist much like Kurt Ambrose. He was breaking just as many rules and regulations as Catherine Halsey had thirty-five years ago when she’d implemented her Spartan-II program.

All of his Spartans had survived but the victory was tinged with bittersweet regret. He’d found himself drawn to the very same observation deck he’d found himself in before. It was quiet here with nothing but the star-dotted blankness of space stretching out before him and his own disquiet thoughts to keep him company. Theoretically, this part of the station was supposed to be on complete lockdown with just the bare minimal of a skeleton crew and medical teams working on Gamma Company. Admiral Jeromi was not happy about having his hospital ship hijacked and had made his thoughts on it pointedly clear on the subject.

All of the UNSC personnel too wounded to be safely transferred had been quarantined on a separate part of the ship so that ONI could sneak the three hundred plus Spartan-III candidates onto the Hopeful like thieves in the night and they were scheduled to sneak out just as quietly once Gamma was able to be transferred back to Onyx for their final assessments and dispensation. Yet somehow, Maine found himself wandering into places he had no business being.

The lack of personnel would be the first clue that something was amiss. For a hospital ship that could hold thousands of souls, this part of the ship was as empty and eerily quiet as a tomb. In the silence, the pneumatic hiss of air cycling when the bulkhead doors leading out to the observation deck sounded louder than normal and instantly drew the Spartan out of his ruminations.

He turned, expecting perhaps to find Tom or Lucy there but instead, he found himself facing a ghost from the past. It had been more than twenty years since he’d seen Matt but he would recognize the face of his former brother anywhere. Kurt had gotten very good at wearing a poker face thanks to the fact he hadn’t worn his MJOLRNIR in years but even he couldn’t help the momentary look of surprise that flashed across his face when he found himself face to face with the other Spartan.

"Matt...?" The man had a lieutenant commander's gold oak-leaf insignia pinned to his uniform and the appropriate amount of service badges but that was definitely Kurt-051 staring back at Maine. He was older and tanned thanks to the amount of time he spent outdoors rather than the near pallid coloring most II's got because of the amount of time they spent in their armor.

Going into places he wasn't welcome wasn't uncommon. Freelancer did it a lot, saying it was against the Insurrection at times. Maine was made to be what he was because of them. Sure they didn't get used against the rebels often seeing as the Covenant were a thing, but basically most places he went and wasn't supposed to go to were human in construct. His armor, his team, or his stature usually for him through the doors. Perhaps it was the fact that he was built LIKE a SPARTAN that got him past the no doubt prowling ONI presence. Or, at least, he has to assume there is an ONI presence once he heard the voice.

It was an impossible voice, out of the furthest parts of the past. His mind marks it as Kurt, or Kurt like. Kurt whose name had shown up on the MIA rosters. SPARTANS never died they said. Maine didn't believe in that. He knew them before they were legends. Had been one of them until not too long after the augmentation process. Most things that went wrong from the augments went wrong immediately. For Matt it had been later. Hearing issues, a minor tremor in his hands that wouldn't affect a fist fight but was far from useful in a SPARTAN and might well be disastrous in true Mjolnir armor, it all meant he was a late washout. But he still knew there was a difference between a discard like him that ONI had not kept for direct opts but had rather foisted off on another program as a sort of... doubled up test subject, and what he saw in front of him.

Truth be told seeing Kurt, older and more worn and alive, put him on edge. Not because he thought Lurt would hurt him. They were brothers once. No, his concern was that if a 'dead' SPARTAN was around, this was somewhere he didn't belong.

Still he moved forward. And, seeing the rank on his uniform, he threw off a crisper salute than he ever offered the Director. One e hadn't used since... if memory serves, not since the last time he saw the Chief, which was long and longer ago.

"Long time, sir," he spoke, not commenting on his apparent health. In fact he didn't comment on much, partially because the moment he opened his mouth to speak he hurt. Perhaps the fact that he could at all, even if only in a low grumble, was to be considered a miracle of the Hopeful. Too many bullets to the throat. Speaking should be impossible, not just agonizing.

All of original Spartan-II’s remembered their brothers and sisters who’d washed out of the program for all manner of horrific reasons. In a way, the ones who had died had gotten off lucky. Others were crippled for life or in the rare cases such as Serin or Matt, they were still capable of serving in a military capacity if not as a Spartan.

John had taken each loss as a personal failure and Kurt’s heart had ached for John because as team leader, he’d understood that responsibility all too well. It was that same empathy that had made Kurt-051 such an unusual Spartan and in the end, had lead him to the place he was now. Who better to train children than the one Spartan who never quite managed to suppress his emotions and embrace the coldness that others like Linda took to so well?

Bright hazel eyes looked the other man over watchfully and the emotion in them gave him away even if Kurt managed to school his expression into something more neutral. He was happy to see Maine even if military protocol dictated he not show it.

He crispy returned the salute even as the corners of his lips twitched with a repressed smile. “You as well, Matt,” It felt odd, having another II salute him. Kurt had become more comfortable with the role of an officer over the years but it was strange to realize he outranked the people he’d trained with for years.

Automatically, his gaze seemed to focus in on Maine’s throat thanks to the fact that the poor man sounded like he was trying to garble broken glass. “You’re injured?” Was that why he was on the Hopeful? Kurt had no idea why else another II would be here. Not that he was supposed to be here that was. But trust a II to find their way into places they didn’t belong.

Standing on formality with a brother was hard to do, and given the way Kurt had completely forgone his rank--Maine wasn't even sure if his rank was displayed on the uniform with how much of a non factor it was in Pfl--it was pushing impossible. Maine slipped into a more comfortable stance and nodded at the question.

"Be dead if not for augments," he says, more a prediction than a certainty. The words stung going down but he powered on. He hadn't seen a SPARTAN in forever, and PFL didn't foster the tightness SPARTAN had. "Multiple gsw to throat. Should be dead."

Doesn't need to say that Kurt should be as well. Not his place to question. Even if he is more intrigued than he has been in... well, ever.

"Anyone know?" he asks instead, gesturing to Kurt in general. "John might not appreciate being outranked by a Green Team."

Their team before everything.

Honestly, even if he had, the other man was so surprised to see him, he might not have noticed anyway. He didn't know what had happened to Matt. Didn't know how he ended up in yet another government paramilitary operation.

"I suppose we ought to send Catherine Halsey a thank you card for making us so durable." Yeah, like that was going to happen. Thanks to more than twenty years outside of the Spartan program, Kurt had started to pick up some decided non-Spartan habits such as thinking for himself. He now looked back on what Halsey had done and felt a complicated mixture of emotions for the woman who had changed their lives so much. He understood her motivations and a part of him would always be grateful she'd given them the opportunity to reach their fullest potential but he could also see the flaws in her methods. The senseless waste of lives and the outrageously high rate of failure in her augmentation procedures.

When Maine asked him if anyone knew about the fact that a supposedly dead Spartan-II was still alive and kicking, his expression shuttered once more.

"Walk with me?" He suggested in lieu of an answer. They both knew Maine shouldn't be in this part of the ship but Kurt also knew that if anyone saw him in his company that no one would think twice. And this way, Kurt knew he could control just what all Maine saw or was exposed to. He would lead him away from the medical bays they'd taken care of for Gamma and therefore keep the secret of the Spartan-III's safe.

He could only pray Ackerson never found out the cordon had been broken or that Maine had accidentally stumbled into the middle of one of ONI's dirtiest secrets. He knew Ackerson, knew how ruthlessly pragmatic the man could be and he didn't hold out much hope for Matt if Ackerson discovered he'd been even this close to Project CHRYSANTHEMUM.

That was the evasive kind of answer Maine was used to from the Counselor and Florida. Which meant if he was lucky his old brother wouldn't kill him. Wouldn't that be something. No doubt whatever subdivisions of ONI were behind their respective projects would get into a little shouting match over that, but Maine didn't doubt Kurt would win. Next to an unaugmented human Maine was hard to touch. Next to his brothers and sisters, even his hand to hand wouldn't hold up.

"Need better security perimeter," he huffs as he follows. Not right that he got through. He wonders if this will just be walking him back to his room and locking him in until the Director and Niner came to collect him.

Doesn't mean he doesn't want to hear more. From Kurt. About pretty much anything.

"Any clue how the others are doing?"

Freelancer spends too much time cut off from the war.

Kurt had to learn how to be evasive as a matter of necessity because such things did not come naturally to a Spartan. But he’d been exposed to ONI and Ackerson’s methodology long enough to pick up a few things. And while he had no intention of trying to silence Matt for real, he didn’t know what might happen if someone else saw him in this part of the Hopeful.

“I agree, you never should have gotten this far.” The other Spartan quietly agreed once they’d gotten a safer distance from the observation deck and the medical bays beyond where Gamma Company was still recovering. Kurt finally settled for an empty exam room since it was probably as private as they were going to get on the station and gestured for his brother to follow him inside.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions but unfortunately, I’m under orders and the less you know the better.” The unspoken implication of the safer it would be for him went unsaid but he knew Maine would be able to read between the lines. After all, the other could clearly see the officer’s rank and the name badge on his uniform that read Ambrose instead of a Spartan tag.

“Be to be honest, I haven’t been another II since I was pulled off the lines. I try and follow the missions that get declassified but you know how it is.” That wasn’t strictly a lie. Kurt hadn’t seen another Spartan-II in two decades. Spartan-III’s though were not officially recognized by any branch of service. A few years before, the curtain had been drawn back somewhat now that the UNSC officially chose to finally recognize the II’s as the heroes they were. Kurt’s personal office back on Onyx held numerous clippings about the escapades of his brothers and sisters.

In a way, he felt a vicarious sort of pride by following their larger than life stories because it was more than his III’s would ever get. They were doomed to remain in the shadows as one of ONI’s dark secrets unacknowledged or praised.

"Still, it's nice to see our brothers and sisters finally getting the recognition they deserve even if it has become something of a publicity stunt to try and keep morale from slipping any further."

"SPARTANS never die," Maine practically spits in disgust. Loathes the very idea of it. Worse, hates how it is mocked by Freelancers. How they would 'never leave one of their own behind.'

Someone tell Georgia.

Mostly Maine still found himself jealous of his brothers and sisters. They fought the war that mattered while he... did what? Stole tech from a rich asshole who hoarded Covenant weapon tech rather than passing it to the UNSC to improve humanity. It was for people like that, greed like that, which SPARTANS died. Would they be sick to know it? To know Maine worked for that?

"They fight. As long as one of you is out there doing something there is hope."

Truth be told he hadn't realized how jaded he was about the program until he was in this room with Kurt. Surprise.

“They’re just missing in action, yeah, I got the byline too.” It was one of ONI’s and the UNSC’s more outrageous decisions as far as the II’s were concerned. Sure, it might help build up morale amongst the troops but Spartans absolutely could die and had died throughout the course of the war. So to pretend like their sacrifice never happened was…upsetting to say the least.

But then, Kurt had hundreds of dead Spartan’s souls weighing his own soul down. Two entire classes decimated in two campaigns, all that potential wasted and spent and at the end of the day, he had no idea if it had been worth it or not. Tactically, perhaps it made sense but there was a part of him that knew he’d failed each and every one of the Spartans he’d trained when they fell in the line of duty.

“I’m just glad to see you’re still alive, Matt. Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal, it’s good to see a familiar face after so long.” Kurt admitted with a genuine smile and reached out to clasp Maine on the shoulder. Few in Project Freelancer would have dared take such liberties with the man. In truth, few Spartan-II’s would have either because they’d been trained to be a reserved sort of bunch but Kurt had always been peculiar in that way. The emotional programming meant to boil and distill their personalities in focused, unflappable killing machines had never quite stuck with the other Spartan.

Even now, more than two decades later after being exposed to the worst of ONI’s black politics, Kurt still cared about his fellow Spartans. Perhaps too much because that deep sense of caring had driven him to do the unthinkable.

"Matt," Maine repeats, processing the word. Name. His name. One he hadn't heard in so long that hearing it now felt... very very strange. "Haven't been called that in a while."

The Project never used names, which was probably for the best. There wasn't a real good way to explain away the fact that he didn't have one. A first name and a number. Now he had a state. Neither of them were really him, though, or so he thought. Freelancer wasn't a family like SPARTAN had been, and SPARTAN hadn't kept him because he hadn't been good enough. The welcome, though, almost outweighs the pain of the conversation.

"Expect it should have been longer," he admits as he leans back against a counter, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as he thinks. "Lucky ended up here."

Anywhere else might not have been able to save him, much less his voice. And here he was, talking with Kurt, touched briefly by a man he used to look up to as a team leader. Could have been a friend. "Wonder if I would count as dead."

An inscrutable expression flashed through the other man's eyes when Maine said that. Much like Maine, he'd been given a new name, a new identity when he'd been kidnapped into ONI's black bag. At least they had allowed him to keep the only name he remembered. It had been hard enough to adjust his sense of identity a second time in a non-Spartan environment, he couldn't even imagine what it was like for Matt who'd been retired from the program and swept off to somewhere undisclosed and secretive. "What are they calling you these days? I'll try and remember to call you by the right name if someone sees us."

Kurt said with a self-abashed looking smile, the same smile he'd offered Matt countless times over the years of training back on Reach. He'd been tapped by Mendez almost from the start as potential leadership material nearly from the start. Green Team might not have racked up as many wins as Blue Team did during training but they had certainly given John and his team a run for their money every step of the way.

"Indeed, I'm not sure why our paths crossed again out here in the middle of nowhere but I'm glad it did. I'm really happy to see you and know you're still alive and in the fight." A part of Kurt dispassionately pointed out that what were the chances of him coming across an old Spartan out here in the ass end of the universe? Could this be some test of ONI's set up to test his loyalty to the program? To see if he would let his guard down just because he came across a former brother? It wasn't beyond realm of possibility but that paranoid whisper automatically warred with the knee-jerk inclination to dismiss it as preposterous. Because the Spartan-II program remained crystallized in his memory as something pure and unchangeable like a memory trapped in amber. They were still his brothers and sisters even to this day.

"Like you said, Spartans are hard to kill. Even when they write us off as dead, we somehow manage to find a way of stirring up trouble." Matt may have been washed out of the program but that didn't change the fact that he was still a Spartan in Kurt's eyes.

At least Maine didn't need to worry about this being an elaborate loyalty test. No way the man had the pull for such a thing. Being read in just enough to understand what Maine was meant one thing. The rest of this was luck. And, perhaps, some leftover pull of Halsey that made sure that even her mom-active weapons got the best medical treatment available in an emergency.

His name, though? Maine considered Kurt for a long moment at he request. Would his name be classified information for the project? This had never been addressed. No one could have foreseen him meeting another SPARTAN while with Freelancer. And he had to wonder if whatever ONI thing Kurt had going on would know of Freelancer.

"Maine," he allows after a long moment of looking at Kurt. Apparaising. Wondering. It hadn't taken long in freelancer to learn trust could never be the same there as it was with his brothers and sisters. He had seen from the start that they weren't meant to be a team. Not really.

"Callsign is Maine. Before that was just a rank."

As much use giving him a name as it was giving one to a weapon. He was just a designation and a new test.

"Not another good medpost for my injury anywhere near. Lot of repair work. Might not have a voice if lesser place."

The observation made him scoff. Director needed to keep his pet SPARTAN functional. No one else could handle the physical wear and tear. They were just people. They weren't family, not like Kurt. And not one of them knew what he was or where the scars came from. Though from the looks she shot him, Maine thought Connie had a suspicion. Back when people used to share stories about their pasts, heavily edited no doubt, she had admitted to being posted with a unit that worked, very briefly, with a SPARTAN team. And when armor had been assigned she had given him a look and said he would look good in a darker, more olive tone. A SPARTAN sort of color. He had just returned that he liked green but white would do and never addressed his size in the armor.

Unfortunately, with the nest of vipers he worked with, such things were not unheard of. Especially since Ackerson had never particularly cared for the Spartan-II program and Kurt wasn’t one hundred percent certain the man even cared about the III’s despite his insistence on spearheading the project. How else could the man sacrifice three hundred brave souls at a time without so much as blinking an eye or questioning the price of their sacrifice? Or the amount of time and resources put into training them for entire classes of Spartan-III’s to be used and discarded like pawns on a chess board.

Kurt tried to avoid thinking about those things because they felt borderline treasonous in his mind but they nibbled at the back of his head at night when he lay in his bunk staring up at the ceiling. Those were the questions that plagued him and robbed him of his sleep at night; questions that drove him to do the most immoral of things in the name of the greater good.

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of recognition on the other II’s face when Maine admitted his callsign. Kurt had never heard of Project Freelancer. But why should he? He spent most of his time sequestered on Onyx, cut off from the war and news of any new magic bullet projects that had been thought up in hopes of ending the war now that Catherine Halsey’s Spartans were nearly spent in numbers.

“That sounds like it should be easy enough to remember. I’m Kurt Ambrose now, the rank is genuine and no, John has no idea a member of Green Team technically outranks him. And sadly, he will never know because I am for all intents and purposes, missing in action.” He trusted that Maine would be able to read between the lines. The new name, the faked death and the fact that he was on this remote, half-emptied med station practically screamed ONI and all manner of gag orders he couldn’t discuss.

“Jeromi runs the finest medical operation I’ve seen in the entire war, you’re definitely in the best of hands. And I’m glad they were able to able to save your voice, Maine.” They both knew that sort of injury could have been career ending otherwise. But what did you do with an ex-Spartan who had been injured so much they could no longer fight on the line? Kurt had heard rumors some of the wash-outs had ended up in ONI as data analysts and strategists.

But he didn't think that was the kind of life Matt would want. Not after he'd had a taste of the real action. Kurt knew that from first-hand experience.

"Always outdoing John in your own ways," Maine chuckles. "Doubt your gut did this."

His voice. Maine's fingers touched the no doubt ugly scarring of his throat. That had been saved. But more importantly, he was given a chance at another moment with a brother. Too bad he didn't have a good excuse to be out there. All that training at strategy and everything that went with it, Maine had passed. All SPARTANS had. Maine hadn't been overly gifted though. Comparatively he was daft when it came to planning. Everyone had their specialties. Linda shot like no one. Kelly was the fastest person alive. And Maine? Even for a SPARTAN he was durable. Perhaps it was that the Director wanted. As for Maine? All he wanted was to live up to the title he never got to properly carry. He hadn't even been in long enough for the armor.

"Correct me if I'm wrong... before you went MIA, did you get a chance at the armor?"

Maine had always been jealous of that. Even with the neural interfaces his side effects had kept him from ever getting that part of the experience. Never got to run a real mission with the team. It was... frustrating. All his hard work and he was just another soldier before the Director.

"Eh, I'd like to claim we're all a bit old for the whole Green team versus Blue team rivalries but it might be nice to one day meet up with the infamous Master Chief and have him salute me. But I also think it would be the single most surreal moment of my life at the same time, you know?"

It would invariably change things between him and his fellow II's. He wouldn't just be another Spartan, he'd be an officer and that always changed the dynamic of a relationship between soldiers. He was just glad he and Maine could still speak freely here despite the trappings of rank or military protocol.

When the other asked him about his MJOLNIR, Kurt couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. "I did, and it was unlike anything we ever imagined." It broke his heart that he couldn't outfit his III's with that same quality of armor. But they had to make do with the much more inferior SPI armor instead because MJOLNIR cost more than a battleship.

"I might have quietly acquired it when I took up my current post. Not that I can exactly go around kitted up in full MJOLNIR armor, of course. Truthfully, I haven't worn it in close to two decades but I still like to tinker with it and figure out how it works." He didn't mention he took that data and used it to help improve each new generation of SPI armor. Kurt could understand that frustration and the knowledge you weren't serving to your fullest potential. A part of him longed to be out there in the fray with his brothers and sisters but he also knew that he was the best person to train his Spartans and that without him at the helm, who knew what sort of cold-blooded ONI spook Ackerson would dredge up to train his Spartans.

"Call me if it happens. Or take a picture. Green needs the motivation," Maine chuckles. He loves it. The image makes him feel good. Bette than good.

Mjolnir. The very idea made him jealous. What the Freelancers offered... Part of Maine almost wanted to find someone worth following, someone like Kurt. But instead he shakes it off. Service is service and he was made to serve. Not like he knew anything else. Halsey had made sure of that. And in the end fighting the war was all he had. Had been doing it so long now.

"Hope someone gets to making something similar for normal soldiers. Saw too many die before."

Freelancer armor was a poor imitation with how York had been hurt. How he had hurt York.

That drew an honest to god bark of laughter from the other Spartan. Because it was a hilarious mental image and Maine of course was only perpetuating the inter-team rivalry Kurt had claimed they were supposed to be better than. "I'll be sure to work on that. Make sure I have a good comm frequency for you so I can forward all photographic proof your way."

There was more to that statement than was what was at face value. It was more than just a jesting boast, he wanted to have a way of contacting Matt again rather than letting him drift right back out of his life again. It was probably breaking no less than sixteen regulations and opsec but honestly, this one conversation with Matt had him feeling better than he'd felt in months. His morale was instantly boosted with the knowledge that another brother was still alive out there and still carrying on the fight.

"I sincerely hope that myself, Matt. I've seen too many of my soldier's lives wasted because they had inferior gear when it came to fighting toe to toe with the damned Covies. The problem is, no one can match Halsey's quality of tech without a price tag that would make your head spin. I heard rumors people have been trying to come up with their own cheaper versions of the suit but there's no way they're going to be able to reach the same ballpark as MJOLNIR." He'd been speaking about their own attempts to improve the SPI armor but had unknowingly also referenced Freelancer's attempt to clone Catherine Halsey's technology.

Agai. Maine rubs his neck.

"Nothing could compare," Maine admits with another pained utterance. Perhaps the undersuit could be mimicked. But full armor? Hardly. There were just some things that couldn't be done. Director Church did not compare to Halsey. The Counselor was well aware that Maine felt that way too. No reason to compare but the Director seemed to. Maine avoided it. "The Doctor is brilliant. She gave us everything."

A sentiment he once heard Washington echo about the Director. Maine didn't explain how he was wrong.

As for the contact request, Maine was certain it would be forbidden.

"Would if I could, Kurt. Don't have one."

Perhaps that would say all he needed to say about his own presence. Even foot soldiers got to contact home. ONI ops were the ones that were... harder to touch. Except there could be ways, couldn't there?

"Unless..."

Maine smirked to himself. There were ways to piggyback signals, and even out on the Hopeful there would be ways to set up a comm message. Not even remotely real time, but like old fashioned letters. Niner already smuggled everything else for Freelancer. Why not a letter to what family Maine could get at.

"You are up for putting those bar to use. We've rigged more complex things."

“I know, which is unfortunate because if would save a lot of lives if we could mass produce a cheaper version of MJOLNIR. But who knows, there’s probably a dozen different projects working on that very thing right now. Maybe some revolutionary tech is around the corner. I know it’s not a popular sentiment but I’m all for reverse engineering Covenant tech and figuring out how to improve our current gear myself.”

That level of pragmatism had been bred into all the Spartans. The Covenant had a deep religious aversion to using human tech while the Spartans had no such compunctions about stealing and using the generally superior tech for the good of the mission and beyond. Kurt had implemented elements of the Elite’s active camouflage into the III’s SPI armor and it had proven to be one of the best decisions they’d ever made in the program.

Maine’s smirk and the gleam in the other man’s eyes caught Kurt’s attention and he cocked an eyebrow at his ex-squadmate. “What did you have in mind exactly, Maine?”

He didn’t make mention of the fact that technically, as ranking officer on Onyx, he had access to some of the most high tech communications gear available in the UNSC including a Slipspace Beacon of which there were only a handful in the entire galaxy. Why did Onyx have one? He honestly had no idea because that fell into the murky, secretive Zone 67. “I think between the two of us, we can figure something out.”

"Stranded here until whatever you are here for let's up enough for my CO to send my ride," Maine shrugs. "Why not have fun?"

Freelancer fun could be drinking or destruction. Not a SPARTAN idea of a good time. He wanted to have fun that was productive. Which would mean the less than legitimate requisition of some means to stay in touch. And surely Kurt, who was always so much less serious than Matt had been, would appreciate the moment for letting loose. Kurt had been the one who often told Matt to loosen up.

"Or rank make you serious?"

They were serious because they were old. Old and supposedly dead or useless or something else.

He needs something. A good memory. Something to make him feel young again before he has to go and lose this last connection.

Kurt had the grace to look slightly chagrined at that. “Ah, well, we’ll be shipping out by 0300 so things will return to normal here soon enough.” It was probably more than he should have offered up but honestly, if Matt wanted to figure out what was going on, short of him drugging him or locking him up somewhere, he was obviously capable of getting around their security measures.

So long as he didn’t see Gamma though, opsec was still being maintained as far as Kurt was concerned and there was no reason to feed the information of the breach up the chain of command just yet. He just needed to keep his brother out of trouble for the next nine hours or so. “I suppose it depends on what your idea of ‘fun’ entails these days. You’ve been hanging out with the rank and file, should I be worried about you having picked up any bad habits, Matt?”

Like Kurt had any room to talk? He’d been infamous for being friendly with their DI’s and the enlisted personnel back on the base during training. He’s nearly been caught a few times breaking curfew because he’d been hanging out in the enlisted barracks as well.

Of course, as base commander, these days Kurt couldn’t be seen hanging out with the enlisted playing poker or getting into mischief. So yes, in a lot of ways, rank had forced him to become more serious.

“I’m sure we can figure out something to pass the time without endangering both our military careers."

Bad habits? The very idea of bad habits makes Maine chuckle. Kurt had not been like the other SPARTANS when they were young, but looking back Matt knew he wasn't either. In a way Kurt had been unlucky. Too social by half lumped in with two of the least communicative SPARTANS in the program. Matt had never been interested in much past the training, and now...

Freelancers were about their down time. Maine had taken up playing poker so he wouldn't get forced into strip poker. The latter meant too much showing off of his augmentation scars and he had gotten enough prying from normal enlisted men to deal with the far nosier Freelancers. He had worked to make sure his shower schedule didn't line up with anyone else. There was also the spree of pranks played by his coworkers and the ever insane list of bets that Florida maintained.

Maine had been forced to adapt, and perhaps learn to have fun.

"Not worried about mine," Matt shrugs. The Director had a use for him. "But if you don't want to make sure we can stay in touch, can we at least find some playing cards."

Probably shouldn't get an officer in trouble.

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Enter Matt-020

I'm so sorry, RL kicked my ass this weekend. And forgive my tldr Kurt has a lot of FEELS

Re: I'm so sorry, RL kicked my ass this weekend. And forgive my tldr Kurt has a lot of FEELS

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Sorry, been sick lately and it's wrecking me hardcore.

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