Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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“All right Chief” Laskey said at the end of the Master Chiefs final ‘shift,' his tone was melancholy. disappointed to see such a hero retire so soon, “it was an honuor serving with you. make sure those ONI spooks treat you right.”
Chief stood there, still in shock from the news he had known was coming– but not anticipating for it to happen so soon. You see, the typical age for mandatory military retirement is 62. He was only 49. Of course, retirement was different for him, considering he was a spartan but he was expecting to serve much much longer than this. What was even more strange, was that even though the Covenant, the Flood, Cortana, and the Banished were all defeated, they still had the threat of insurrectionists looming over the UNSC’s head. Why not let him help? They clearly need every man they've got, and Chief fully expected to die before he could retire.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard The Master Chief fought, ONI kept defeating him with the power of bureaucracy. He wasn't even able to get a proper explanation, and it bothered him. It frustrated him. It angered him.

All Chief could do now was do what he was trained to: follow orders. He raised his hand to his forehead in order to salute Captain Lasky, replying, “yes sir,” before turning and making his way to the power armour technician in order to remove his plating. Next was his undersuit. He was given some basic clothing and told to change in his quarters as he's packing his things. As he walked, the halls felt… darker. Each footstep echoed a little louder as his brain failed to process what was truly happening. He hated it.

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Chief didn't have many possessions; in fact, he didn't have anything the military hadn't already given him. He had a bunch of gifts from a few marines and commanders, and they were very useful gifts like pots and pans– or even just money, but he was still clueless as to what his future was going to look like.
All of this felt like one big snag. One large problem where for the first time since Chief was a child, he had no idea how to solve. Once he had finished getting dressed and packed, he exited his quarters to find an ONI agent waiting for him.
“John -117, please come with me.” the agent with dark hair and a suit said. He followed them to a transport ship, which took them to a space station he was unable to recognise. Chief was disheartened knowing this was the beginning of the end…

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Now inside a room he considered too small, he was faced with what he assumed to be an opposition.
“Hello John, I’m Agent Morse, this is Agent Playfair, Agent Affine, and Agent Block. I'm sure you know why you're here.” one of the suited men grumbled as he began to pull up some files. Chief didn't reply to him. He didn't see any reason why he should, and to be quite frank, he didn't really want to respond to this man. This led to one mighty uncomfortable silence… at least for the ONI agents.
“Well, in case it's not clear, you're here to discuss the terms of your retirement.” Agent Morse spoke once more in a professional manner. All the others in the room gathered file after file… this looked like it was going to be a long process…
“The terms of my retirement?” Chief asked, a little puzzled. Was this some sort of negotiation? He didn't know how any of this worked, how was that fair? Well, he knew life wasn't fair, and he had fought unbalanced battles before. He just needed to find his edge– if he even got the chance.
“To put it simply, John,” Agent Affine piped up, “you have many choices to make. We’re here to help you through that process.” She smiled as if she and the Master Chief were close friends, trying to make the beginnings of this ambiguous and difficult process a little more hidden.
All Affine got in response from Chief was a deadpan stare.
“... should we get started..?” Agent Playfair spoke with a nervous chuckle. Once again only getting minimal response from Chief in the form of a subtle nod.
“Well, for starters, because you have been in service for 35 years and haven't touched a penny, your military savings account has accumulated a sum of $32,765,452.88 in your time with the UNSC,” Agent Block began, “you may be subject to income tax upon withdrawal, but it'll be minimal considering your service record. Taxation also depends on where you choose to live.”
“... What?” Chief huffed under his breath, looking down at his scarred hands in thought. He had never spent any money before and he barely knew what taxes were. He had heard some marines complain about it occasionally, but he never really paid any attention…
Block heard him and blinked a few times, he was a little nervous how the rest of this meeting would go if the Master Chief was already confused, “Umm– Taxes are a charge upon a person's money and / or property imposed by a planet's government for social services like paving roads, public buildings, possibly healthcare or education– you get the idea.”
John looked up upon hearing Agent Block’s explanation, feeling extremely out of his element, “Thank you, but how exactly do you give the government money?”
“Oh, it depends on the planet, but typically it starts with you calculating how much you owe, then you file them online– you can look up how on your planets chatter net, I'm sure they have something to help newcomers out– then sometime later you will get your tax return; which is where you get a refund if you gave too much, and a reprimand if you pay too little.” Agent Block seemed to really like his tax talk…
“Wait,” the chief said, his voice dry and emotionless, still trying to make sense of it all, “you get returns on your taxes?”
“Yes,” Block nodded.
Chief then followed up, “So the government knows how much you owe..?”
“Yes.” Block nodded with a sigh, already knowing what Chief is going to say next.
“Then wouldn't calculating your own taxes be a waste of your– and the government's time?” the Master Chief asked.
“It is,” Block sighed, “and some governments have government-prepared tax returns. But most believe that the automated system encourages tax evasion, so most stick with the more inefficient system.”
Chief had never heard of tax evasion, but he nodded along, just wanting this meeting to be over already.
“I'm just telling you all this to be thorough,” Agent Block hummed with sympathy, “if this is all too confusing, you can hire an accountant who can handle your finances for you.”
Agent Block then handed Chief a card with his information on it, “if you ever need a hand in picking one, just give me a shout.”
That small rectangular piece of cardstock made John so grateful. It was such a strange feeling– especially in this environment– but it made him feel less alone. Like he had a team backing him up, ready to support him whenever he needed it. Only this wasn't a battlefield; This was civilian life. And he didn't have a team; only one agent willing to help him navigate this hellscape of red tape.
Maybe this group of agents was less like an opposition, and more like a team he had to learn how to work with, no matter how short the mission was.
There was a pause before Agent Playfare softly spoke, “Because of your association with the spartan program, I'm afraid we'll have to give you a new identity. You will be permitted to keep your first name.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. chief couldn't remember his last name, a part of him hoped they'd tell him. But of course, it would be catastrophic if he found his biological family. Oni would never allow it.
“You will be given a new social security number, birth certificate, passport, health card, and last name. Licenses' will need to be earned through your planetary or regional government,” Playfare calmly stated, pulling up some pages and neatly sorting them in front of her, “all you have to do is choose a last name, and we’ll do the rest. We have a list of five candidates. You could be John Wilson, John Pierce, John Smith, John Jones, or John Downes.”
Chief couldn't be bothered with thinking too hard about it, “the last one. John Downes.”
Having a last name felt weird. He was so used to John-117 that the idea of having something after that was almost unnerving. He worried he'd mess up in public, introducing his last name as his modified service number rather than what he had chosen just now.
Downes… that was his last name. He couldn't forget it.
“While Agent Playfare is processing that, let's discuss properties,” Agent Morse huffed.
“Properties..?” Chief asked, hoping he'd get clarification.
Morse's eyes shifted upwards in exasperation, “You have to live somewhere, Mr. Downes.”
Mr. Downes… it felt so weird to be called that. And the prospect of owning a home was daunting, was he really going to get all of this over within one meeting?

Apparently, he was. John and Agent Morse discussed planets first, then locations. On the equator, close to the equator, far from the equator, on the planet's pole; His answer to all of this was “I don't care,” and that was honest the truth. He was trained to survive in any environment so it didn't matter where he lived. Morse ended up choosing for him, a temperate part of the planet with a reasonable amount of seasons. Chief could always move if he didn't like it.
Next, they had to discuss the properties themselves. Agent Morse showed John a whole slurry of apartments, suburban homes, and even countryside quarter sections.
After much arguing and discussion John eventually settled on a beautiful quarter section with an even better view— of course, it didn’t mean much to Chief. He just wanted to be away from society. On the property was a large modern style log cabin. It was 2,300 square feet, and the agent yapped on and on about how nice the home was. Fully furnished, nice views, close enough to society but not annoyingly so, nice neighbours, yada yada. John didn’t give a shit.
The property was 6 million. He didn’t really understand how much that was but he decided to pay in full. Dealing with a mortgage would be too much for him.
Chief didn’t really want a house on the property for some reason, but the agent refused to let him make a purchase without one… he tried to find the simplest house, but all of the homes on this planet Agent Morse showed him were outrageously fancy. To add icing on the cake, none of the houses had a brutalistic style that he apparently enjoyed.
Once the paperwork was all finished, it was time for the final nail in the coffin.

“Now!” Agent Affine clapped as she said this, causing chief to subtly flinch from the startle. It wasn't noticeable, though, “shall we begin with the pension plan?” She didn't wait for an answer before continuing, “luckily for you, we have taken the liberty of processing all of your paperwork for you in advance. All that you have to do now is fill out your Pension benefit option statement form.”
Pulling out a three page document, Affine handed it to him with a pen, “on the first page, there will be all your personal information; if you could please fill that out using all of the information we’ve gone over in this meeting; double check if it's correct. Next– on the second page– you will have the choice of Immediate annuity, annual allowance, deferred annuity, and transfer value. There are short descriptions on the page.”
It took John a moment, but he decided to fill out the annual allowance box. Affine then waited for him to finish the rest of the form before she instructed him to flip to the third page, “you see, this page is where your banking information goes. Just fill it out and double check it again please.”
feeling lost and overwhelmed. He felt like he was making all these critical decisions way too fast, and that he would regret it in the near future. The room felt like it was closing in on him. He had no control. The anxiety was as strong as ever but he was good at hiding it. He used the same strategy he always has. Acknowledge it and push it away. It's not needed right now– or ever.
Once the document was filled out, John handed it back to Agent Affine. She immediately filed it before saying, “you will receive your first pension and personalised retirement package within 45 earth calendar days. You will receive every next payment on the third last banking day of each earth month”
Before John could reply, Agent Playfair spoke. Her voice was so soft he almost missed it, “you’ll be attending therapy– by the way…”
“What?” he replied, his voice subtly hinting towards unhappiness to inform her he heard perfectly well.
“To monitor and aid your transition into civilian life, it is required of you to speak to a therapist.” As she said this, the other agents were glaring at her like she had said something she shouldn't have, “the sessions will begin a month after you arrive in your new home.”
He stifled a sigh as he frowned. Of course ONI would do something like this whether he wanted it or not. Knowing them, they probably paid this person to report back to them personally. He didn't need therapy anyway (bro totally does).
“Is that all?” John asked, trying desperately to keep his passive tone.
“Yes, Mr. Downes. That is all,” Agent Playfair nodded, “there is a transport ship waiting for you in docking bay one. It is a two day journey. Thank you for your time.”
Rising from the chair, John gave all the Agents a curt nod before exiting the room. He was on autopilot, looking for the next objective and right now, that was finding docking bay one.

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The agents waited a solid ten minutes before talking amongst themselves. They couldn't take any chances with John’s augmented hearing.
“Playfair, he's smarter than you think. He's onto us,” Affine stated, crossing her arms.
“I am fully aware of that Spartans' mental capabilities… I simply don't see the reason why our experiment must remain a secret to him…” she replied, perfectly collected.
“I second Playfair. Whether or not the master chief knows shouldn't affect the results.” Agent Block agreed.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again..?” Groaned Agent Morse.
“He's one of the nine spartans left,” Affine said, “Spartan IV’s are relatively easy to manufacture and are capable soldiers. The Spartan II’s have done enough.”
“That still doesn't justify keeping all of this a secret.” block protested.
Affine sighed, “If Chief knew we were doing research on all of the spartan II’s and how soldiers like them might possibly reintegrate into society, there's a high likelihood he’ll go looking for them. It's too early for that.”
Playfair shook her head, changing the subject, “One of his neighbors is reporting to us?”
“The therapist too,” Block added.
Affine suddenly stood, running her hand through her hair with a worried expression, “Shit, I forgot to give him the bribe money…”
“Don't call it that!” Block exclaimed.
“That's what it is– so he keeps his mouth shut about how they were raised,” Agent Morse Chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“He'll probably keep quiet about it anyway…” playfair suggested, tidying up all the papers.
“I'll add it to the retirement package…” Affine said as she slumped, grabbing her things from the table, “god… I hope this works out…”

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On the transport ship, John sat very still. The many hours he had spent in that room mentally drained him more than he'd like to admit. He felt tired and hollow inside, like they had stripped him of his identity. Nothing remained but his name.
Whoever was behind this forced retirement was either stupid or cruel.

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Chapter Text

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“Hello, John. My name is Cassy. How are you?” John's mandatory therapist said with a soft and professional smile.
“... Fine,” he replied, brows furrowed. He didn't want to be here…He was just following orders.
“Mh…” She hummed, unconvinced, “well, some things you should know: everything we say here is strictly confidential– however, I have a duty to warn. That means in the event I think you’re a danger to yourself or others, I will have to involve someone with authority. Another thing; I already know about your past. I was informed by the office of naval intelligence and was sworn to secrecy”
John grunted in acknowledgement, not really engaging.
“How about we spend the first session getting to know one another? “ Cassy asked with a soft smile, “why don't you tell me about your first month in your home?”
“Uneventful,” He simply stated.
There was a long pause after that. John clearly wasn't going to be cooperative– at least, to Cassie's standards; so she had to get creative, “Maybe uneventful from your perspective… How about we look at it like a quick briefing? Tell me all the details about this first month as if I'm your CO.”
The chief's expression remained unchanged, his body unmoved, “But you’re not.”
“Humour me,” Cassy sighed.
Chief sat back, contemplating whether or not he should comply. She had no right to know anything, however this was mandatory for a reason…
Witholding a huff he finally spoke, “… My first week in the house I talked to Agent Block and set up all the accounts I needed. I hired a money manager to aid me in making further finatal decisions and read many documents on how payments work on this planet.”
“Have you reached out to the community? You know, have you met your neighbours?” Cassy asked.
“I have four neighbours. Mark Dodd, Percilla Carter, as well as Grace and Ben D'Amore,” John replied.
“so … have you met them?” She pressed.
“Yes,” John confirmed.
Cassy smiled before following up with, “Why don't you tell me a little bit about them?”

This question got John thinking…

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When John first arrived on the property four weeks ago, he did a quick sweep of the whole house, he checked every room and every floor in order to guarantee it was secure. Once that was done, John… waited. The house felt empty; cold and without purpose. He felt like a husk of his former self, some vital part of him was left behind on a battlefield somewhere, or perhaps in his armour. The house was so quiet his thoughts felt like a sledgehammer being bashed against his brain.
Why was this happening to him? Why now?
His brows furrowed in frustration as he attempted to conjure up any kind of explanation. Anything to ease his troubled mind. There was a buzzing in the back of his skull, a tightness in his chest–

*knock, knock, knock*

Chief would never admit it, but the sudden knock made him jump. He just got here, who on earth would be visiting already? Reluctantly, he made his way over to the door. The visitor looked pleased when it opened. Pale skin, ink black hair that shined in the light, average civilian build, and a grin that hid ulterior motives.
“Oh! Uh– hey!” The man, now nervous, smiled, “I heard you were arriving today– well, I didn't actually hear, I just saw and thought I'd pop on by to introduce myself but I didn't actually know you were coming beforehand… you know?”
Chief just stood there, grunting in acknowledgement as the man fidgeted with his sleeve. He talked too much…
“Well, uh, I'm Mark. Mark Dodd. But don't worry about calling me by my last name, Mark will do.” Mark chuckled, extending his hand.
There were a few uncomfortable moments of silence before John begrudgingly returned the gesture, “John… Downes.”
“You've got an awfully strong grip there Mr. Downes– or John– whatever you prefer. I just wanted to be the first to introduce you to the neighbourhood! I moved here a few months earlier myself so I can help you out when it comes to what to expect on this planet," Mark rambled, “Speaking of things to expect, check your mail regularly. Mrs. Carter sends out weekly updates– for whatever reason– but she expects a reply.”
“Thanks for the warning,” John stoically retourted, his face deadpan.
Mark smiled further, “You're welcome! And welcome to the neighbourhood! Sorry I didn't bring you a welcoming gift, I just HAD to say hi, you know?”
“Mh…” John hummed as he stood by the door, barely listening as Mark continued talking on and on. Something about him bothered John… Though he couldn't pinpoint what.

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Once Mark had finally stopped talking and headed on his annoyingly merry way, John had a moment to himself. He knew this state of self pity and confusion were doing him no favors. In an attempt to clear his mind, he stepped out back. Out in the chilled air, John looked around the property's tall grass and forest. The house was on the elevated quarter of the 160 acres, so from the patio he could see most of it. His mind drifted as he watched the shimmering leaves sway in the wind; the shock of going from a highly active and chaotic environment to a completely still one was immense. He thought about blue team and his other 71 brothers and sisters in arms. How only 30 of them made it out unscathed, how 33 left in caskets. He wondered what happened to those 12 who weren't so lucky… Their handlers promised they'd be put to good use, but he’d never actually heard from them since…

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After a couple days of suffering alone with nothing to do, there was another knock at the door. John preyed it wasn't Mark.
To his pleasant surprise, it wasn't. As John approached the front entrance, he looked through the windows to see who it was. A couple. Man and woman. The man was relatively tall and looked strong for a civilian, he had well kept dark brown hair, tan skin, and had kind eyes. The woman was shorter but not abnormally so; she had light hair, bordering between red and strawberry blonde, tied up in a loose bun. She looked friendly…
Opening the door, both of them looked taken aback. They had been talking to one another as John approached so neither saw in advance what a unit of a man he was. They stared at him for a few moments before the woman got it together, extending something up to john.
“Hi. We heard you had just arrived in the neighbourhood and thought we’d bring you a welcoming gift,” she smiled, her face void of any judgement.
John took the ceramic dish from her and carefully observed the tin foil covering it. asking, “what is it?”
“It's a chicken casserole, let me know if you like it or not,” she replied, “I can always make you something different.”
John had never seen a casserole. He was curious to look under the tinfoil but figured now would not be appropriate, “... Thank you.”
“Im Grace, this is my husband Ben,” she said as she gestured over to the man who was hiding his nervousness remarkably well, “we can go if you're still settling in.”
“-- Actually,” John piped up, admittedly a little embarrassed, “What am I supposed to do with a casserole..?”
Grace looked surprised by that question, though, the culture around food nowadays with so many new exotic ingredients made it impossible to know every recipe, even the traditional ones, “you cook it in your oven.”
Chief felt the embarrassment continue to well up inside him like an overinflated balloon. It was uncomfortable and it took more effort than he would've liked to push it down, “Could you show me..?”
“... You don't know how to work your oven..?” Ben huffed, raising a brow.
“... No," John stated as he moved aside, awkwardly inviting them in.
Grace and Ben exchanged glances before they reluctantly stepped into their troglodyte of a neighbour's home.
“I don't believe we ever caught your name,” Grace said with a smile, hoping to warm things up with their cold neighbour.
“John o–” Chief had to stop himself from including his service number. The ONI spooks wouldn't be too happy if he did… thinking about it only made him peeved, “just, John.”
“It's nice to meet you” Ben politely said as he took the casserole to put into the fridge while John and Grace got to addressing the oven.
She probed through the basic knowledge, trying to figure out how much he knew. When she discovered dear John knew jack shit, Grace really began to worry for this man… Did he seriously go through life never learning how to work an oven? How has this dude made it so far??? She wondered what else he didn't know while teaching him basically everything he needed to know.
He was a fast learner, absorbing the simple information in no time and thanking her. That's when Grace noticed her husband had been awfully quiet. More So than usual. When she turned to him to ask what the matter was, she noticed his furrowed brows. Though difficult to understand for most, she recognised that this wasn't frustration, but instead confusion and perhaps even worry.
“What is it?” She asked, her tone hinted to her concern.
“Um…” Ben hesitated, “John, when did you move in..?”
The question made John's heckles raise in defence, had he done something wrong? “A couple days ago. Why?”
“You haven't gone to the market yet..?” Ben replied, Grace's brows furrowed as she moved to the side of her husband. John watched her face change from confusion to bewilderment. He assumed it was because of the barren shelves.
Chief stated his excuse, “I've been busy.”
“Then clear your schedule” Grace retourted, “I'll stop by here tomorrow and we’ll go to the farmers market. Make a list of everything you need.”
Welp, John couldn't argue with that, he knew how to follow orders, “What time?”
“Noon?” she asked as she and Ben got their shoes back on.
John nodded. His voice as it always was, “Sure. noon.”

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John didn't sleep much that night and it only added to his ever growing vexation. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what changed. He used to sleep soundly, falling unconscious at will and in any environment. Now he was lucky if he even got a few hours.
He stubbornly lay there as dawn came, little strands of light began leaking through the curtains and painted the walls with a golden hue. That's when John decided to do something else with his time rather than pretend to sleep.
It was five in the morning. Seven hours until noon. He entertained the idea of going on a walk, exploring the property, and getting the smallest amount of exercise.
He hated feeling like he was wasting time. Wasting precious time he could be using to help others, complete a *real* objective.
He felt like something bad was going to happen…

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Come noon, Grace was at the door. She was smiling at him, basket in hand, mouthing ‘hi!’ He stepped back to let her in as she asked, “Do you have your list?”
Chief nodded and quickly moved to the kitchen, grabbing the small piece of paper before they both stepped outside. It was nice out, temperate compared to the extremes he's seen. It was… nice.
“Will Ben not be joining us?” John asked as they began walking down the expansive driveway.
“No,” Grace began, “he's got some woodworking projects he’s excited to finish.”
As the two began to walk to the farmers market, they began chatting. John was as quiet as usual but that didn't stop Grace from continuing her quest to break the ice. He learned that Grace worked as a traditional seamstress as well as working hard through pre-med school; all at the age of 29. She talked about how she was scared to turn 30, but was excited to see what the future would bring. Her husband, Ben, was a carpenter. It was his special interest and it brought him a lot of joy. Ben had trouble expressing his emotions, Grace explained, and that she could tell John was the same. It was pretty evident that Grace was an open book. Not afraid of connection or accidentally oversharing. She was authentic and kind and as it turned out, Her and Ben had always been lovers. They met in middle school where she was the only one who would stand up for him when the other kids would be cruel. They began dating in high school and continued their relationship into adulthood. They got married when she was 23 and when Ben was 22. It was sweet, but John felt like this was useless information… it brought no tactical value, It held no importance. Is this what civilian life was all about? Doing anything with the little power you held to avoid the monotony of it all?
“So what do you do for work?” Grace suddenly asked John, catching him off guard.
It took a moment, but he eventually replied “... I'm retired.”
“Oh? For how long?” She followed up, soft smile on her face, small tilt to her head.
“A couple days now,” John replied, silently mourning the loss of his position. He's been so exasperated since he's gotten here. Did anybody care he could still be of use?
Grace looked at him with sympathy, “A big move and you're transitioning out of the workplace? That must be rough. I'm sorry to hear that.”
He sighed, trying to comfort himself while reassuring her, “Things change… we just have to adapt.”

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At the farmers market, John was immediately overwhelmed with the sounds, sights and smells. With his augmented senses, he could hear everything. The faintest of movements, the loudest of laughs. He could see the shifting of every body within the crowd– however the smell was quite nice.
Fresh vegetables, sweet honey, brewing soups, and beverages; a far cry from the metallic and dirty smells of war. It was peaceful. No gunshots… no screams or cries… not the slightest hint to war– yet he felt anxious. Anything could happen within a second. A skillfully placed and timed device, an insurrectionist deciding to send a message, a covenant ship waiting to reveal itself, a guardian, or the banished–
“Are you okay?” Grace asked, startling him, “you seem apprehensive…”
“I'm fine,” John replied, looking around at all the shops and people he towered over. He definitely stuck out like a sore thumb… “I just… don't like crowds…”
He could see the worry in her smile, the way she noticed the subtleties no other could, “we’ll be quick then. Show me your list, I can help you find everything.”
When he handed her the piece of paper, she swiftly read through it, subtly shaking her head, “is there something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing at all, follow me,” Grace softly spoke as she began walking. It didn't seem too crowded for her. They could walk with relative ease, but there were too many civilians for him to keep track of.
They went from vendor to vendor getting things from her list and his. Grace explained that the market was open every weekend throughout the year and that the options sometimes change depending on the season-- like how berries were mainly sold in the spring and summer. All of this was news to John. In fact, when he was making his list, he was clueless as to what he should put on it. He didn't know what he needed…
“So you're the new neighbour?” a snobby voice said behind John while he and Grace were waiting.
He turned to see an old woman staring at him with a judgemental expression. She looked wealthy from the luxurious– yet tacky– clothing.
“Hey Percilla,” Grace greeted, keeping her voice friendly.
“That's Mrs. Carter,” the old woman sternly corrected, “don't you have any respect?”
“Oh– right, sorry Mrs. Carter. My mistake…” poor Grace said as she shook her head.
“That's right. It is your mistake," Priscilla huffed, looking at John now, “you, what's your name?”
“John Downes,” Chief said once more. At this rate he’ll have no trouble telling others his full name.
“Well, Mr. Downes. I would like to have you over for tea. Dress… formal,” she crowed, "I shall send you more details through the mail.”
“Thank you… Mrs. Carter.” John replied, wondering if he even had formal attire.
“At least someone knows how to be respectful.” Percilla grumbled as she walked away.
Chief was rather taken aback by Mrs. Carter's bad attitude. That wouldn't have flown in the military, so why was Grace putting up with her?
Maybe he should go full drill sergeant and knock Percilla's ego down a few pegs– but then again… she was just an old lady…
“Percilla was a lovely lady until her husband died…” Grace finally said.
“That's not an excuse for her poor behavior…” John pointed out.
“Yes, but it gives us an excuse to treat her with a little more kindness… She's grieving," Grace commented, “and everyone grieves in a different way.”
Wasn't that the truth… he'd seen how each spartan reacted to the deaths of their friends. Of course, they were all taught how to move their feelings aside for the sake of the mission. But he's seen the rage, the sadness, the bitter hate, and the quiet anguish that followed. He wished he knew back then what to say– anything to help both himself and his siblings…
The rest of their time at the market was a little more quiet. He helped Grace carry her stuff back to her house and was surprised to hear that half of it was for him. She joked around, saying that he couldn't live off of “potato, meat, and green vegetable”. (verbatim of what was on his list)
“Give me a call if you ever need help preparing a dish,” she smiled.
He nodded, holding the two bags in one hand, appreciating her generosity.

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Back home, with everything in the fridge because he wasn't taking any chances, he sat and contemplated his day. From his first impressions, Mark was… weird. He gave John bad vibes and he knew to always stick with his gut. Grace and Ben were quite nice– though he didn't talk to Ben enough to get a solid grasp on his character. Then there was Percilla. She was blunt and rude but according to Grace he should cut her some slack… Maybe he should go to tea with her… It's not like he had anything better to do.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“John?” the therapist asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Mh?” he hummed, looking around at Cassie's office, a little disoriented.
“Your neighbours,” she reminded, “do you have anything to share?”
He sighed, thinking about whether or not he wanted to answer honestly, “... No. Nothing worth noting…”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Chapter Text

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

September: Percilla’s house, one week after John's first meeting with Cassy.

John stood at the front entrance waiting for Percilla to open the door. With Grace and Ben’s help he was able to find a dress shirt and a pair of dress pants that fit. He could hear her quiet shuffles to the door, and as expected, there she was, eyeing him with that very same judgemental expression from before.
“I said dress formally. Not business casual,” she crowed.
“I'm sorry ma’am, but I don’t happen to have my dress uniform,” he replied as if it mattered.
Her expression immediately shifted. *Shit,* was he not supposed to say that? Maybe ONI didn't want him talking about his previous life at all? It was rather absent-minded of the agents to leave out a cover story– wasn't that their job?
“My husband was in the military,” the old woman solemnly said, her bony fingers caressed the brooch on her blouse.
John didn't know how to reply to that. All the people he's met *were* in the military, so he'd never had to deal with a civilian relative before. It was best not to say anything.
Eventually Mrs. Carter snapped out of her daze and stepped aside, “please come in, we have much to discuss”
Chief didn't dare comment as he stepped inside, observing the lavish interior, searching for possible exits out of habit. He was guided to the living room by Mrs Carter and sat across the coffee table from her. There were all sorts of interesting sights and smells in front of him. Mainly finger sandwiches– not that he knew what they were, biscuits, some kind of crumpet, coffee, tea, cream, sugar, honey. All unnecessarily luxurious from his point of view.
“Fix yourself a cup of something, and tell me about yourself,” Percilla said as she poured herself a cup of tea, “what do you do for work?”
John wasn't hungry or thirsty at the moment so he refrained from picking at the display. Instead, he waited for a long time, contemplating whether this was a trap or not. He was taught from a young age to never disclose any information to anyone he didn't trust; so he stuck with the basics, “I’m retired.”
“Retired?” She eyeballed him, getting a rough estimate of his age and experience through his appearance and scars, “how old are you?”
He didn't actually know the number off the top of his head– John was born March 7, 2511… it was *probably* still in the year 2560– to be completely honest, he had lost track of time since he moved here…
“49…” John said slowly, still partially thinking about his answer.
“49?” she pulled her head back in confusion, and disgust, “you must've been discharged then… dishonorably considering they didn't let you keep your uniform…”
The mere idea of being dishonourably discharged made him cringe, but there was nothing he was allowed to say to defend himself. Though she was extremely incorrect, he remained silent, letting the idea solidify in her head. There were too many unknown variables for John to safely say anything.
The next hour or so consisted of relatively the same thing, Percilla would ask questions and make accusatory statements; John merely continued his stoic demeanor. She called him rude, and disgraceful, ranting about how nobody in this neighbourhood knew how to properly act. All of this annoyed Chief, he soon realised she only invited him over to find problems and nitpick; she only wanted to make incorrect assumptions she could spread.
It got to a point where he sighed and interrupted one of her scoldings, “This is a waste of time.”
“Excuse me?” she hissed.
John stood and turned to leave, “have a good day, ma’am.”
“You dare leave so abruptly? Where are your manners?!” she harshly spat, but by then he was already at the door.

He walked straight home, which was quite a ways, but he didn't mind the mild exercise. His mind was still reeling, subconscious begging to correct her and explain the entire situation, but his hands were tied. He made a note to keep interactions with that woman to a minimum. He couldn't stand her.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At home, John sat down on his couch and took a deep breath, rubbing his face with his hands. He’d been trying to stay busy in order to keep his existential thoughts at bay, but now it's all he could think about. It was suffocating. He was lonely.
It seemed that every other day now he was wondering why. Why him? Why now? Why were they doing this? He felt like this was another training exercise from his youth, was there some kind of objective he had to complete and a catch he had to overcome. Perhaps if he held out long enough, someone would come to get him. Someone would take him back to the familiarity of the battlefield.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

October: The D'Amore’s house.

This time of year, the leaves had changed into a beautiful array of yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. The D’Amore’s introduced him to his very first ‘scary’ movie with a few more of their family friends. Apparently it was a ritual in their family that they did leading up to an earth holiday known as ‘Halloween’. It became somewhat of a routine. Every Saturday Grace invited John over for dinner. He would chat with the couple and they would all get to know eachother better. Most of the time there were others, sometimes it was just him. They talked about Priscilla and the disinformation she spread about john to the couple, they learned that chief was in the military but he made sure to keep stories brief and vague. Ben would gush about wood types and the perfect stains, talking about his recent projects with great detail and passion. Grace was a renaissance woman, a well rounded individual with many practical skills. she sewed, she cooked, she wrote; hell, she even had experience in mechanical engineering.
Tonight was no different. Chief had come to learn that bringing something to a visit was polite, so he immediately began living by that rule. Though he wasn't the most expressive or approachable, he wanted to let Grace and Ben know he appreciated their hospitality and kindness.
“I hope you don't mind me asking,” Grace began as they all sat at the dinner table, “but how did you get your scars?”
“Most are from training, few from active combat,” he said honestly. It had been a game changer once the UNSC created Mjolnir Power Armour. Oh how he missed his armour… He had been careful to almost never let his energy shields break on the field.
“That must’ve been some pretty intense training,” Ben commented.
“I survived because of it,” John replied.
It was rather quiet after that moment, though they had all come to appreciate the silence. It was no longer awkward, rather a sign they were comfortable in each other's presence.
“I'm not going to pretend I know what it's like,” Grace finally said, “to fight in a war… I can't imagine the loss and hardship you've had to face. Thank you for your service–”
“– Don't thank me…” Chief interrupted, “I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.”
Grace's brows furrowed– but he could tell she wasn't mad. She was saddened by his comment and trying to figure out how to process it. Ben's expression was hard to read as always, but the chief would learn with time.
Slowly the conversation got onto other topics, but John could tell Grace either felt sympathy for him, or pitty. Either way, he didn't want it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After supper, Ben went outdoors to continue one of his projects while John helped clean up with Grace.
“He’s awfully quiet,” John commented about Ben, he didn't see it as a bad thing– he, too, was quiet.
“He’s a good listener,” Grace replied with a loving smile, “and he’s quite the romantic, he's just shy.”
“Shy?” John asked, again hoping for clarity.
She handed him a porcelain dish to dry before speaking, “some people struggle in social situations more than others. Either he’s too nervous to speak or he feels he has nothing to say.”
John paused for a moment before asking, “Why do you think that is?”
“... genetics; probably some influence from his upbringing,” Grace shrugged, “his parents weren't exactly in the picture…”
John's parents weren't ‘in the picture’ either, but he turned out fine. He became the soldier the UNSC needed and he accepted the responsibility that came along with it. sure, he didn't talk much, but that wasn't because he was nervous.
“My parents were strict,” Grace said as she continued washing the dishes with John, “but that just meant they loved me.”
John tilted his head slightly, not understanding the correlation.
Grace noticed and explained to the best of her ability, “they wanted to protect me from the world. They were scared of the people I'd meet and the danger I'd inevitably put myself in. but to live life is to accept the danger it brings.”
“I see…” He hummed, he must've lived a good life then, ever since he was 14 he’s been on the field. Even before then, he was put in dangerous situations.
“How was your upbringing?” she suddenly asked, putting John on the spot, “-- if it's something you want to share.”
He internally panicked, trying to find a truth that didn’t give too much away, “Structured.”
Grace didn't pry.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

November:

As the weeks went by, the air grew crisp, the leaves had fallen and the sky grew more cloudy by the day. John was feeling something both painfully familiar and ghostly foreign. It was an ache in his chest. He knew it was something he had felt before, he just couldn’t remember…
It hurt bad, and he wanted it to stop. Maybe he was just missing something… maybe it was his tags. ONI had taken them in his transition out of duty and he was bothered he hadn't gotten them back. Like his armour, he felt naked without them. He had reached out to ONI in regards to getting his dog tags back, but they didn't reply right away. It wasn't necessarily important; he just felt like it would be a good reminder. Something to store under his shirt or in his closet, something to give him delusional hope that they might need him in the future.

At first, ONI resisted, asking questions until he got tired of answering them, but he persisted. He was desperate for his tags, and he would do almost anything to get them.
They were important identifiers in the case of a gruesome injury or death and they stored important medical information like blood type… Not only that, but to him, dog tags were a way to remember and honor the soldiers that came before– and fought alongside– him.

Finally, ONI relented; only under one condition: don't let anyone read them. John immediately understood why. They wanted to keep the spartan project under wraps, plus it was in his best interest to keep a low profile– or, as low as he could make. He was a larger-than-usual scarred up man who was going to stand out wherever he went.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day his tags arrived was an eventful one. He got a verification message that his package was in the local post office so he began his trek there.

Getting his envelope from the post office was relatively painless. He was excited to get home and open it, however on his long walk back home, he came across Ben who was sitting on the trail. His right shoe was off and his foot looked bent and swollen. He looked like he was in pain.
“Status,” Chief said out of habit.
Ben glanced back with a brief mixture of embarrassment and confusion, “Oh– I just… I just sprained my ankle.”
Chief had dealt with many field injuries before so he took a quick glance, “looks more dislocated to me…” often with an injury like this the ankle was broken, “Can you move your foot or your toes?”
Ben strained, hissing with pain as he moved. Nothing *seemed* broken, but Chief resisted the urge to relocate it here.
He helped Ben to his feet– or, well, foot– And let Ben lean against him like a crunch. It would've been faster to just carry Ben, but he had learnt from the marines that doing so tarnishes one's ego.
“Aren't you cold?” Ben asked as he limped at John's side.
John had noticed the cooling of the temperature, but he was yet to buy a winter coat. He wasn't able to find one that had met his standards– since he walked everywhere– and he was afraid he'd have to make a compromise, “I'll live.”
They went on a couple klicks before Ben spoke again, “Thank you… for helping me… I was afraid no one was going to show up– living in a rural area, and all…”
That was probably the most John had ever heard Ben talk– when it wasn't about wood. He honestly had no idea how to reply.
“Don't mention it,” Chief gruffly said, walking Ben's pace.
They walked a little while longer, making small talk and even enjoying eachothers dry humour before they made it back to Ben's house.
The moment Grace could see the two she ran over. It was obvious she had been crying. She slammed into Ben, embracing him into a tight hug; John made sure to keep him stabilized.
“Where have you been?!” She cried, “I called you, and you didn't pick up, I called everyone I knew and they didn't know where you were, I was about to call the authorities!”
Her ramble confused Chief. Had Ben been missing for an abnormal amount of time? It's not like it has been days, his wound looked pretty fresh when john stumbled upon him.
Ben softly mumbled apologies as he hugged Grace back with his free arm. John felt awkward, like he wasn't supposed to be there.
“Um…” John began, not wanting to ruin the moment, but also wanting to get the hell out of there, “you should probably take Ben to the hospital.”
Grace looked at John before scanning her husband's form, grimacing when she saw Ben's twisted and inflamed foot, “Goodness… How are you not screaming in pain? John, could you please help him to the car?”
With a nod, he did just that, and soon enough he was alone again. It made sense, his assistance wasn't needed anymore, and he personally didn't feel like visiting a civilian hospital; so why did he feel so lonely?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Finally, home, John sat on his couch in the same spot he always did. He pulled out the envelope and opened it with care. Inside were his tags; just as he remembered them. He held the thin sheets of metal carefully in his hands, his thumb tracing over the engraved characters.
It didn't make him feel any better…
He missed Blue Team… and the constant action he faced on the field…
Everything felt so empty now… No AI in his head, no armour surrounded his skin, no direction or objective.
He missed being a soldier.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

December:

Apparently, this month had much significance in the neighbourhood. People decorated their houses in festive apparel and celebrated the first snowfall of the month. He saw less of Percilla as the days grew darker and colder, and honestly, he wanted to disappear himself. All these people were so happy and cheerful, as if humanity had not faced near extinction. He could remember the horrors like it was yesterday– most notably the flood. Out of all the foes he’s faced, the flood greatly frightened him. John had watched it infect a marine once, all he could do was shoot it down before it became a threat, but the visual and the screaming stuck with him. He remembered what the flood had done to capitan Keys, how it probed through his mind, searching for important information, yearning to spread its blight further through the universe.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was an Ache that lingered in his torso. Sometimes it didn't hurt at all, other times he couldn't get out of bed in the morning.
John rationalised the behavior because of the temperatures. It was cold, and he had delayed getting a coat for far too long, so there was no point in getting up… right? The temperatures were not too bad, only a couple degrees below freezing, but it was still cold.
He was glad to have mild winters. He remembered how cold it got on some other planets, especially from his training.
A part of him missed the time he and the other spartans were thrown into different environments, told to figure it out and complete an objective with minimal equipment. It made him resourceful, it made him strong.
John wondered if moving here had made him weak. He wondered if he was getting too comfortable; if he would be ready for when disaster struck.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The days went by and the people of the community were as active as ever. His meeting with cassy, on the other hand, gave him no solace. Cassy noticed his mood; the more times she visited, the more she learned how to read him.
He hated it.
In this month's meeting, she told him about seasonal depression. How the lack of sun and warmth took a toll on the mental state, and how she suspected his psyche wasn't in a good spot to begin with.
She gave him the same old spiel she always did; stay clean, fed, and hydrated; stay active, connected, and mindful; all good advice, but John didn't want to follow it. He was exhausted and he didn't know if he'd ever recover.
Most nights now, John spent time on the back porch, watching the snowfall in the dark and feeling the cold air on his skin. It made him feel nostalgic for something he never had, if only he could figure it out…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The days passed in a strange paradoxical way. Too fast and excruciatingly slow. He had only been doing the bare minimum for survival, trying to force himself to be productive but to no avail.
There was a knock at the door.
He knew who it probably was. He had missed his weekly visit with the D’Amores without any notice. And like the good people they were, they were probably checking up on him…
He ran his hands through his hair to make himself look less disheveled, but there was nothing he could do to get the tired look out of his eyes.
At the door, it was just Ben, standing in the cold holding a bag, “... Hey, mind if I come in?”
“What's going on?” John innocently asked, moving out of the way to invite the man in.
“We missed you at the get-together for the holidays,” Ben simply stated, “we hosted it early so it would work with everyone's schedule but we didn't hear from you.”
John averted his eyes, “sorry, I haven't been checking my messages recently.”
“No worries,” Ben hummed with a shrug, lifting the bag up to John, “Grace is busy at the moment, so I figured I'd drop this off on my way to the mill.”
“Oh,” John hummed, hesitantly taking the bag. *Thats* why everyone was in such a good mood. It was the holiday season… he felt a little embarrassed he didn't catch on sooner, “Thank you. What's in it?”
“Grace and I got you a coat, she embroidered a few begonias on the sleeve.” Ben replied, “I also snuck in some leftovers from the party.”
John let there be silence, he felt bad he hadn't gotten anything for Grace or Ben. This gesture was so nice he actually felt a little sick.
Finally, Ben broke the silence, looking John in the eye. His tone was soft with a hint of concern, “how have you been these last couple of weeks?”
The question made John's stomach drop, “I’m… okay.”
Ben's brows furrowed and he thought for a moment, “well– you’re always welcome to come over if you need to talk.”
*Talk…* It seemed all anyone ever did was talk. He wanted to do something. Achieve. Work.
Words only got you so far.
John nodded and thanked Ben once more before he left.
Putting the bag on the counter before sorting the contents into their proper spots, he folded the bag so it wasn't crinkled when he returned it. Then he examined the coat on the counter top. The seams were nice, the insulation thick; the couple must've gone to the city. It was of phenomenal quality.
John took the sleeve Grace embroidered and ran his finger over the orange flowers– or begonias, as Ben had said. The stitching was clean and it felt soft, the orange a happy colour that stood out in his muted world.
It reminded him of his suit’s visor, The Arbiter's eyes, and the fresh oranges he used to eat as a child.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

January:

It was the new year! Chief didn't care.
The civilians seemed excited though. Grace and Ben hosted another dinner party, this time he attended. It was as loud as always, so he hid with Ben, chatting about life and the lessons they've learned.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

His meetings with Cassy were getting him nowhere. She would ask the odd question and he’d barely reply, but for the most part they just sat there in silence. He didn't dare bring up his feelings of discontent or the aching in his chest, it was something he had to handle on his own.
To keep himself occupied in the meantime, John had picked up landscaping. In the warm months he made plans to plant seeds, mow grass, and make trails through the woods of his property. All in order to prevent his mind from wandering.
He would chop and gather fallen wood, moving it to a dry corner so whenever Ben visited he could take whatever he needed. The logs that were too rotten went into the compost.
He thought about starting a vegetable garden to become self-sustainable. The thought brought him a small amount of joy.
John liked chopping wood. It was a little bit of exercise to keep him in shape– but it wasn't nearly enough. For the past few months he'd been trying to do whatever he could to continue his weight training, but he was never able to get that ache he could in UNSC gyms.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Today, because he had nothing better to do, he was out in the fresh fallen snow. He was doing the menial chores he could out back, shoveling his patio, cutting the odd log; he wondered if he should build a fire pit and host a get-together like how Grace and Ben had done once when the weather was nicer.
Unfortunately, no amount of work he did could keep all his thoughts at bay. A part of him wondered what the Arbiter was doing right about now. The sangheili had expressed a desire to unite the species of the universe and John wondered how far along Thel was in his mission. Perhaps Chief could join him; it’d beat whatever he was doing here…
He kept the thought of diplomacy in mind, but put a pin in it when he heard a faint noise out front. John kept his axe in hand as he walked around the house, curious as to what was making a ruckus. At first he thought it was an animal until he saw a silhouette of a person.
His brows furrowed, it couldn’t have been Ben, he didn't recognise their form… unless…
“OH– uhh– uhh– Hey! Um– John, was it?” It was Mark. He stood with his hands fidgeting behind his back and a guilty smile on his face.
“What are you doing?” John bluntly asked.
“Better question, what are you going to do with that axe?” Mark nervously chucked.
John's brows furrowed, he couldn't tell if Mark was making a joke or not, “chopping wood.”
“Well–” Mark fumbled his words, “I just, uh, stopped by to… to… I just stopped by. Saying hi and all.”
John noticed some of the things out front were out of place, “what were you searching for?”
“What? Me? Searching? I would never!” marck exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically. He paused for a moment before he continued, “... do you get in person mail delivered here?”
That's what it was; mail. That's what this asshat was searching for. Chief knew it was a criminal offence to go through another's mail without permission, and it felt like an insult to John that Mark would just admit it so openly.
“Get off my property,” John stated, voice stern and unforgiving.
Mark resisted, nervously laughing once more, “Come on, let's talk about this! I just want to… to get to know you better! That's it!”
John could now tell Mark was horrible lying on the spot. John thought his trust in Mark had already hit rock bottom, but now he found he actively distrusted the man.
He was so peeved, he raised his voice, “get the *hell* off my property right now.”
That seemed to get through to mark; whether it was his words, his hostile tone, or tense body language that did it, John didn't know. But with his tail tucked between his legs, Mark left without another word.

Soon after the Mark incident, John got back to chopping logs with renewed vigor. Slicing through them like softened butter.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

February:

The Didact had taken the Composer. Chief had just gotten onto the 350th level, B deck to find Dr. Sandra. He needed to evacuate the station. He needed to get everyone to safety.
He knew he wouldn't save them on time.
He put Cortana into the station's interface so she could tap into the flight deck, but something was wrong. She couldn't access it. They only had moments left.
He couldn't breathe. He stood there helpless as personnel panicked around him, watching Cortana make failed attempt after failed attempt. He couldn't save them on time. Before he even got a chance to act, he saw the Didact's weapon power up. He felt sick knowing what was going to happen. His organs tied in knots. The station's defence systems weren’t responding. He was scared. He couldn't breathe.
It fired. All he could hear were the screams of the scientists around him. He saw their flesh peel back, revealing already charred muscle that was turning to ash. By the time their knees hit the ground most of their flesh was gone… their bones already beginning to incinerate, breaking upon impact with the floor.
His suit protected him– or the librarian he had met earlier. It seized up, forcing him unconscious as it entered survival mode, his shields flickered as his vision went black.

Gasping for breath, John shot up, looking around in a panic. He wasn't on the station… where was he? He felt the soft fabric that surrounded him.
It was dark, but as he came to his senses, he realised he was in his empty room. It was just a dream… He took another deep breath, letting himself calm down for a few moments. He gently felt each individual fiber of the duvet cover; his hands subtly trembling.
John doesn't remember being that… *affected* by those events. He remembers the piles of ash he saw when he first awoke, the horror and disappointment he felt, but he acknowledged it and pushed it aside like he had always done. Why was it coming back now? And why that memory in particular? He’s seen worse.
Standing, John wobbled a bit before leaving his room. He shuffled through the quiet halls and entered the dark living room. He liked the open layout of the living space. It made it easy to see threats in the kitchen, dining room, and living room all at once. It was dark with the hum of appliances, his augmented hearing making it deafeningly loud. He was used to it, but there was a part of him that begged to unplug everything. Let him live in complete silence.
As he poured himself a glass of water, he noticed the time; 2:54 AM. It annoyed him that civilians used AM and PM, military clocks made more sense…
He sat at the table, taking sips of water, feeling buzzing in his limbs; a tightness in his chest. It was clear to John he was anxious. Something inside him had changed. He felt more unstable than before.
There was a lump in his throat, and he could feel that dreadful stinging in his nose as his eyes welled with tears. It took everything in him to push his feelings down. He wiped the water from his eyes before it had a chance to fall and took deep trembling breaths in hopes of clearing the tension in his body.
He was struggling to remember all the missions he’s gone on, the hate and injustice he's faced. He was never taught to question orders. He didn't have to with the covenant. But early in his career, he wasn't fighting the covenant. He was designed to be an unstoppable force against other humans. He was designed to destroy all insurrectionist activity. Any and all colonies who wanted independence from the UEG.
When he began suppressing his emotions is where his memory gets foggy. After losing so many brothers and sisters in arms, he learned to push the grief away. It was easier. It made him more efficient.
Maybe it was something worth bringing up to Cassy? No. she would tell ONI and any chance of getting back in the field would be eliminated.

By this point, the buzzing from the appliances was becoming overwhelming. John had to get out of the house.
He slid his shoes on and stepped out into the freezing night air. He hadn't put on a coat, he hoped the low temperatures would sooth his panicked body.
The cold air was uncomfortable in his lungs, but in some weird way, he liked it. It was comforting to see his own breath in front of him, illuminated by the moon. It reminded him that he was alive– and possibly still human. What sickened him, on the other hand, was the reminder that it had been months in civilian life with no end in sight. He was bred for combat and built for war. Not whatever this was.
He thought about his tags, hidden in the closet as per orders. The realisation that all the paperwork he did was real and likely permanent hurt.

Maybe he wasn't actually needed anymore…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

March:

The air grew warmer and the snow slowly began to melt away. With the ground thawing, John could now begin doing some actual labour.
He made a plan in his head on how he would build this fire pit and make sure it was safe before reluctantly scrapping that plan to do some actual research on this planet's fire codes…
Better safe than sorry.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

While researching for the little fire pit, he noticed the date on the computer's calendar. 2561/03/16… he turned 50 a little less than a week ago… weird. But that was just how long ago he was born. Cryo sleep halts the aging process so you can't really look at someone and tell how old they are anymore. It's standard procedure that every time a ship jumped into slipspace, all non-essential personnel were put into cryo sleep. John knew he was somewhat younger physically– however it would be impossible to tell by how much.
He didn't spend much time contemplating it, it was just another thing to acknowledge and push away… John began to wonder how well that strategy worked. He thought he had dealt with all the traumatic things he had seen, however, judging from all the nightmares he'd been having, that clearly wasn't the case. He refused to talk to anyone about it. He didn't trust Cassy and he wouldn't dare put that burden on anyone else.
He missed Cortana. Some days he felt like her presence would be comforting, her chip in his neural interface, some second voice in his mind he could talk to, someone to help organise his thoughts. But she was gone, and he couldn't help but wonder what went wrong…
He blamed himself for it– her descent into madness. If he could change the past he would've done anything in his power to keep her safe and operating as she should.
When he talked to The Arbiter about it on Sanghelios, he told John a piece of wisdom that the spartan then repeated to Echo-216.

We all fail. We all make mistakes.

He chewed on that, brows furrowed, gaze downturned.
It didn't make him feel better then, and it certainly didn't make him feel any better now.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

John stood in the spring air letting the scent of thawing ice and new life fill his lungs. It was time to build this fire pit. He walked the whole property looking for rocks, carrying the ones he thought suitable.
As John built that fire pit piece by piece with his own two hands, He actually found himself enjoying the process. He didn't have many hobbies while working for the UNSC. John recognised that he was a tool made by ONI and nothing more, so he usually stuck to training, weapons cleaning, and mulling over past missions wondering what he could've done better. But the slow building of this small pit, stone by stone, just the way he wanted, was oddly satisfying. It made him feel useful, like he was actually achieving something.
This must be what Ben feels when he creates things out of wood. John made a mental note to ask about it next time they met– which would be pretty soon since this fire pit was coming along nicely.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few weeks after the fire pit was built to John's standards, he invited the D'Amores over. It was nice hosting once more after attending so many of their get-togethers…
He had gone to the market earlier to pick up some ingredients for dinner. Now all he had to do was not burn anything; if he followed the recipe to the letter, he should be okay.
The reason why he didn't hunt down and butcher an animal to roast over the fire like he would have preferred, is because he figured it would be unsightly and inappropriate to do in front of civilians.

John spent a good amount of time in the kitchen just trying to figure out what the recipe needed and how he should go about cooking it. He had read the recipe two times over before even getting the pans out. He has cooked before, but nothing this… elaborate. It was steak with mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables; simple, right? Wrong. Things happened quicker in real life than they did in the recipes. More often than not he found himself being blared at by a timer while in the middle of tending to something else. It was annoying, and it was stressful. He got it done though, just in time for the D’Amores.
He told them they could let themselves in when they arrived.

“Something smells good!” Grace hollered, “we brought wine!”
“Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells,” John dryly said as he pulled the vegetables out of the oven.
“What's the plan?” Ben asked as he took off his shoes.
“Eat here before relocating to the fire pit out back?” John offered.
“sure! “ Grace smiled before a look of realization came across her face, “OH! I also bought stuff for s'mores!”
… s’mores? John didn't let his confusion show, but he’s never heard of s’mores before. He was a little sceptical, a little hesitant, but he decided he’d figure out what they were soon enough.
In the meantime, John plated the food and moved it to the dining table. Grace offered to help but he refused. It was only three dishes anyway; he could take trips.
They sat down and talked and ate, that's when John asked Ben about his job. He’d been practicing what to say in his head all day.
“When I was working on the fire pit, I found the work rather rewarding… Is that how you feel when you work with wood?” he asked.
“Yes, actually,” Ben gruffly replied, “I've loved carpentry ever since I was small. Got into it young because it brought me a lot of joy.”
John nodded, feeling the long pause in conversation take root. He was unsure how to continue. He hadn't practiced what to say next. He wanted to ask Ben to show him the ropes one day, but it was so far out of his comfort zone, so he refrained from speaking.
Grace picked up the conversation from there, complementing John's cooking and asking how his day was. She shared some wisdom on cooking, how recipes need to be altered depending on humidity and atmospheric pressure, and how one should pay attention to what planet or region recipes come from. When asked further, she shared some stories about cooking disasters from her youth.
You see– Grace grew up on this planet. Ben did not. Grace had a great relationship with her family. Ben… did not. He came to this planet because it was in the middle of nowhere far away from his family. According to him and Grace, there was a mutual estrangement. They disowned each other– if you will. He’s cut them off completely.
Ben never actually said why he hated his family so much, but it was clear to John that it wasn't good.
It brought up strange and complicated feelings about his own family that he didn't feel like addressing. Every time the echoes of familial relations brushed his mind, his heart ached. He missed something he never had.

They finished up dinner. The couple helped clean despite John's protests, and they all went out back as a group. It was a misty evening, cool and damp. It seemed to touch everything; the grass covered in dew, the wood– despite being sheltered– was moist.
“I got this!” Grace said, rolling up her sleeves as she stared at the pre-stacked logs in the pit.
“... Are you sure?” John asked, almost certain he could get the fire started faster.
“Yeah!” she smiled, “the logs are a little damp so it might take me a couple minutes– and it might be a little smoky, but I got it!”
John reluctantly nodded and turned to Ben, who tossed him a piece of wood.
“What's this for?” John asked, following and sitting beside Ben, who handed him a very sharp carving knife. The handle was sturdy and comfortable in the hand, but it clearly wasn't designed for stabbing. It was made for controlled shaving motions. The blade was small, almost comically compared to the large blades John was used to. He had actually never seen a knife like this before…
“I'm going to show you the basics. Maybe you will like carving as much as I do," Ben hummed, as if he had read John's mind from earlier.
It was uncanny how well that worked out.

As Grace set up the fire, John and Ben talked. John was taught the basics of whittling wood and carving. Ben went on to tell John what types of wood were best and where to get a blade of his own.

The trio talked for hours into the night, played a few games, and John discovered what s’mores were. He didn't find the appeal of them. They were sickly sweet with hardly any nutritional value, but he maintained a stoic face.

Eventually, John asked about Mark, the incident a few months earlier still fresh in his mind. Grace expressed her concern for the man, as she had seen him snooping around their property too… It seemed he was now giving everyone the creeps.

Everything wrapped up as the fire dwindled to barely glowing coals and John helped the D’Amores pack up.
When they started walking around front to where the couple had parked their car, Ben turned to john, “hey, I'm thinking of building a shed sometime soon if you’d like to join me,”
John didn't have anything better to do, and he thought he might enjoy exploring what avenues carpentry had to offer, “sure.”
“Great “ Ben gave his version of a smile, “I'll send you a message.”

John waved as their car pulled away, a hollow, empty feeling taking hold of the joy that once was. Everything was quiet once more. Quieter than it ever has been.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

To summarize April to June (because I totally don't have writer's block or diploma exams in four days as of writing this), John and Ben sunk in the time to build a shed together. With Ben's guidance, it was a piece of cake. Despite John's desire to create nothing more than a functional structure, Ben insisted they make it interesting to the eye with carvings in the wood.
As they worked, they grew closer as friends, and eventually began opening up to one another. John never told Ben what he had gone through, but Ben was more intelligent than he led on.
Ben could tell that John was an honest man, despite his undiscussed traumas. He had a strong moral compass and cared greatly for the physical well being of others. John was the kind of person Ben knew he could trust with his life. John was the brother Ben never had.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

July:

Things were beginning to mellow out, routine was building and John found comfort in the familiarity. He had been trying to keep his hair to regulation standard, however, he hadn’t faced himself in the mirror for a long time…
To him, the shorter the better; it meant he could wait a longer amount of time before the next haircut; Only it had been a couple months too long. Now his hair was uncomfortably long and… he didn't know how to feel… (a few inches. The horror.)
As he stood there, running his hand over the patchy grey stubble on his cheeks and chin, he noticed the patches of grey near the tips of his ears. They were small, and they shouldn't have bothered him, but they did. He was a spartan for god’s sake. He was still in his prime! They were designed to live maybe 200 years if not killed in battle, and he was only 50! Only a quarter of a way through his life and he was beginning to grey? How did that make sense?
He shook his head, getting back to the matters at hand. He needed a haircut…
With a disgruntled sigh, he looked for the razer.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Later that day, he had an appointment with Cassy. He was beginning to get good at shutting her out, but he could tell she was beginning to get frustrated.
“John–” Cassy began with a defeated sigh once they settled, “it's been almost a year now and yet you still won't open up to me. I can't help you if you don't want to be helped.”
“I don't need your help” he bluntly said; his voice monotone and face void of any emotion.
“Why do you think that?” she asked, once again trying to dissect him. He recognised it now.
His response was immediate, “I don't need to give you a reason.”
“But could you?” she was pleading now, “please?”
“Why?” he asked in return. He knew whatever he said would be reported back to ONI. Though they gave him the opportunity to help others and aid them in winning the war by modifying him, John knew his words would be cataloged and saved for when they'd be the most convenient. He knew what they were capable of.
Cassy didn't reply. She shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how to avoid answer the question.
“This isn't about me. It's about you,” she retorted, “how’s the D’Amores? I hear you're awfully close.”
“What do you mean?” John's brows furrowed. He didn't like this. He hadn't told her any of that.
“You know,” Cassy shrugged with a hum, “a close family friend… how did that happen?”
“Who told you that?” John demanded.
She let out a nervous chuckle, shifting once more, “you d–”
“I didn't,” he huffed.
She paused, her eyes averting as she kept her calm demeanor, “...Didn’t you..?”
It was silence after that moment, both knew she was caught, and that's all John wanted.

She ended the appointment soon after that.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

August:

Surprisingly, the only interesting thing that happened this month was on a day like any other. John was sitting at home reading when there was a knock at the door.
He finished his page and went to answer it.
“Grace, Ben, it's nice to see you,” he said with a soft smile, noticing the pickle jar in Grace's hands.
With an embarrassed and amused look on her face she chuckled, “oh boy…”
Ben snickered.
“... come inside, what seems to be the issue?”
“Hopefully this'll be a quick visit,” Ben replied, refusing John's invitation.
Grace nodded, “yes– you see, nobody can open this jar.”
“*no one*?” John sceptically asked.
“We’ve been going door to door. It's become a game now, I swear," Grace laughed.
“Hand it over,” John hummed as he extended his hand. Grace obliged and handed the jar over, turning to Ben for a little chat to save John the embarrassment.
*pop*
Just as soon as he had gotten it, John opened the jar with ease.
“NO,” Grace gasped as she slowly turned to face John, her eyes wide with shock. Even Ben had the smallest hint of surprise on his face.
John let out a huff of amusement as he slowly presented Grace with the now open pickle jar.
“I can believe it,” she said as she examined the lid, then the jar, looking for any kind of explanation, “thank you, John.”
“Don’t mention it,” He replied, “is that all?”
“Yes, and thanks again,” Grace cheerfully said as she and Ben left.

John noted how Ben wasn't needed for that interaction, but by this point he knew the couple was inseparable. He heard Grace once describe Ben as an “emotional support husband”... or was it an “emotionally supportive husband”...
Finding the two endearing, he shook his head with another amused huff before getting back to his book.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

September:

They were on a covenant ship. Sam had just shoved John out of the way, taking the plasma shot meant for him. Sam hit the ground, prone. The team dealt with the sangheili quickly. Sam was okay, but the damage to his armour was irreparable.
The mission went as planned, the charges were placed, until Sam opted to stay behind. Rather than retreat with his team, he chose to manually detonate the explosives, ensuring the mission's success and sacrificing himself.
He was the first of John's siblings-in-arms to die since augmentation; and that shook John to his core.
John's mind changed the story every time it came back to haunt him. Scorned flesh pleading for help, the plasma shot taking sam out right away, the mission failing and sam's sacrifice being for nothing, it being John who stayed behind instead of him.
Every time he had one of these nightmares, John woke in a cold sweat. Half the time he was crying.
He sat up, rubbed his face, and got out of bed. It has become a routine now. Every nightmare he had led to him sitting in his dark kitchen, shivering hands gripping a glass of water. John chopped the shaking up as a lack of exercise. He was no longer working himself to the bone– despite his efforts– and his body was restless because of it.
This wasn't the real cause, of course. Though his body was struggling to get accustomed to the slower motions of this life, he was also traumatised. John was miserable, but he was too stubborn to see or accept it.
John sulked for a while in the early hours until he decided he was going to be productive. So, he started checking the community messages.
There was the weekly update from Percilla he always ignored, and something that caught his eye. ‘Family get together 09/05’. It was from Grace and Ben.
The details of the message hinted towards close family coming together to catch up, so why was he invited?
John decided to write back, asking if they might have sent the message to him by accident, but later that day he got a response clarifying that there was no accident.

They wanted him to attend because they considered him family.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day of the party, John arrived at the D’Amores property and walked around back as the letter instructed. There was a decent amount of people there, all from Grace's side of the family. They were mingling with one another and he had met most of them already, so there weren't too many staring eyes.
He was greeted by a very ecstatic Grace with a hug he didn't reciprocate. They exchanged a few words and he handed her the yellow flowers he had brought to satisfy the ‘never-show-up-empty-handed’ rule.
Grace happily took them and ventured inside to put them in a vase.

About half way through the gathering, Grace stood beside Ben and awkwardly tapped a glass with a fork. It was obvious she's never done something like that before.
“Though I could have shared this in a little announcement card, I couldn't give up a good excuse to get the family together.” Grace smiled as she continued, looking a little flustered as shes not used to all eyes on her, “as some of you know, Ben and I have had issued with fertility in the past, but I am so happy to announce that *finally* we are pregnant!”
The party erupted into sounds of excitement and congratulations. John just stood there, confused. He didn't understand the idea of a pregnancy announcement, that's the same thing as broadcasting to your friends and family that you’ve been having a lot of unprotected sex. How embarrassing. John internally shrugged to himself, to each their own, and it's still nice to visit with the couple– even if they are pretty busy answering invasive questions from dear Memaw.
John stood off to the side, exchanging in the odd conversation with whoever initiated. He considered what it meant to be a part of the D’Amores family. How he had no biological ties yet they still considered him one of their own. He wondered if he felt the same way… if he, too, considered them family.

Time went on and people slowly started leaving; John considered leaving too, until Grace approached.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, standing beside him with a wide but tired smile.
“Congratulations. I am… excited for you,” John simply said, not wanting to say much about a topic he knew little about.
“Thank you,” she replied, thinking for a moment before happily explaining, “We don't know the sex of the baby yet, so we’re going to have to think of baby names for both boys and girls.”
He spoke before he even had a chance to register what he said, “Sam?”
And as he stood there in shock and horror at what he just said, Grace considered the name.
“Sam… Samuel or Samantha... I like it!” she smiled.
John felt a knot in his stomach. The ache in his chest. It hurt more than ever.
“Are you considering any other names?” he asked.
“Oh, we were thinking mainly of gender neutral names like Sierra or Lillian.” she shrugged (actual names I considered lol).
“Those are good too,” John hummed, “Lillian would suffice.”
“Ben and I will have to discuss it for a while longer” she replied, gesturing for John to follow, “but anyways, we’re starting a game of uno if you care to join.”
“I'm afraid I have never played uno,” he admitted as he reluctantly followed her.
“What?!” she exclaimed “You've never played??? Well, we’re gonna have to change that!”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

For the rest of the night, he played uno with the remaining group. He watched over-dramatic betrayals and hilarious moments unfold.
He actually found himself enjoying the moment, how strange.
Maybe he was beginning to feel like he belonged.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ