#Echo 216
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i still havent recovered from this master chief moment of all time
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Idk I was bored at work
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Lucky
Chief/Pilot House of Reckoning rewrite Because Chief Would Not Fucking Say That.
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The fight ends as abruptly as it starts, not with a roar but a choked gasp. Chief doesn’t take his eyes off his enemy until he’s sure he’s down for good. Escharum goes down with a gurgled wheeze. All his grandstanding silenced by his need for a warrior's death, but in the end his own body dealt the final blow before Chief could.
If John had cared to spare the old Brute a moment's thought beyond analyzing his attacks, he may have wondered why Atriox's teacher was a paradox fighting himself every step of the way. Obsessed with power and battle prowess in the Jiralhanae tradition, but committing the sin of bolstering himself with fancy tech and hiding behind a weak human shield. It didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing on this Ring made sense, but the Master Chief had to keep going.
He did not care for the Brute or his ideas. His grandstanding was worse than the usual threats that the Demon received. He was not a respected leader or an old warrior that Chief saw himself reflected in. John made his choices and kept living, kept clawing back towards his humanity. He put the old Brute down with cold efficiency, like he had hundreds of times before with other Covenant and Banished leaders. An enemy that terrorized and hunted down his fellow UNSC soldiers, who had his troops trap and eat them, did not deserve mercy or attention.
The Brute collapses, air hissing out of his mangled throat. Escharum's last testament was silenced by his own hubris. Dooming himself to be forgotten.
The Master Chief doesn't spare him a glance and hurries to the terminal. The Weapon is already deploying herself to free their pilot from the torture device pulling him apart with micro gravity wells. A torture device he had seen used on a Spartan, enough to kill him. She signals that she's about to switch the device off, but the Master Chief is already there.
He cradles their pilot down from the dying energy field, and tries not to remember the feeling of Spartan Griffin in his arms barely two days ago. The pilot falls into his gentle hold, his breathing hitching and muscles spasming as his body adjusts to the lack of force pulling him apart. John shifts his weight as carefully as he can, fingers prodding his pulsepoint with a featherlight touch so the Mjolnir can get a read on his vitals.
"I can't-" His words stick in his throat and shudder out as he shakes violently, "I can't believe you came for me." The pilot swallows thickly. Tears well in the corners of his eyes and he looks away from his reflection in Chief's visor. He tries to wipe his face but his arms are limp and take a second to remember how to work.
John watches the tears run tracks down his cheeks and he speaks quietly. "I got you. It's over."
The pilot squirms in his hold and tries to stand, but his legs don't hold his weight. Embarrassment at his weakness and need for support makes him unsteady as he tries to avoid leaning on Chief. He hisses in pain and Chief, having never let go of his hold on him, scoops him up. The hold is as gentle as he can make it as he turns and walks them out of the Banished outpost. Footsteps steady and measured as the man sags in his arms. His pilot leans his head against Chief’s chest and shuts his eyes to the harsh reds of the room.
"Chief, the Harbinger..." The Weapon starts, quietly projecting her voice through the external mics. She wants to say more, but she busies herself in sensor data looking over the pilot.
"One thing at a time." Chief nods at her, "She- Cortana damaged this ring, we have time."
"What's going on? What now?" The pilot asks, his voice barely a whisper. He's having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
"I'm getting you out of here." Chief says and the pilot slips into unconsciousness.
He comes to as he's strapped into the co-pilot seat of the pelican. He jolts awake and groans as he tenses overtaxed muscle in his panic.
"You're safe." The Master Chief tells him with a hand covering his shoulder and grounding him as he realizes where he is.
"You can fly this thing?" The words are open and unguarded and John wants to smile. The pilot spoke so openly to him when it came to things he thought Chief was doing wrong.
"Are you surprised?" The helmet tilts towards him.
"I'm surprised you still let me pilot if you could this whole time..."
"I've been told I'm not the best driver." John jokes.
The pilot is looking at him like he's lost his mind. Maybe that's what spurs Chief to share. That, and everything else they've been through.
"You asked me if I had family. I told you no." The pilot sits back in shock, but John continues, "But I do. They're out there, somewhere. My sister, Kelly, she's the better pilot. She hates my flying."
The words are stilted and honest, so much so he can feel the AI leaning against his mind despite the firewalls in place. There is no room for dishonesty and secrets in the neural interface. He's too tired to keep any more secrets for long.
"I'm going to drop you off somewhere safe, and then I'm going to finish this."
"And you'll come back?"
It shouldn't surprise him, but it does. John always seems surprised when he's reminded of what he means to people. He'd been the pilot's first human contact in a long time. They had saved each other.
"I promise."
The Master Chief leaves the pilot with the marines at FOB November, their medic looking him over.
The Master Chief goes to the Silent Auditorium, he fights, and She saves him again.
John, the man under the armor and the symbol, is tired. Another goodbye tears something inside him that will never heal right, but there’s no time to dwell. There’s never any time and he’s running again as the world collapses in on them. He had never liked depending on portals or Forerunner tech. It usually didn't end well for him. He was learning to trust again, and he keeps his promises. John has someone counting on him to make it back.
They tumble through the portal and Chief grunts as he hits solid ground. He's barely upright before the radio crackles to life.
"Chief! Your beacon just appeared out of nowhere." The pilot laughs with relief. "Oh, I thought I'd lost you. Where did you go?"
The Weapon answers for him, relief audible in her voice as well. "Echo-216? Are you okay to fly?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Listen, stay put. I'm coming to you."
And he does.
Three days have passed and his pilot, Fernando Esparza, is doing better. He'd seen the signal and jumped at the chance to retrieve them. The pelican lands and Chief is barely up the ramp into the troop bay before the pilot- Esparza is there and wrapping his arms around John.
He can't feel it, but the armor lets him know with sensors and proximity alarms. John freezes, briefly scared to move before he relaxes and drops his hands to the man's shoulders. It's not a full hug, he can feel the AI judging him for that, but it's a reciprocated touch. His gauntlets squeeze Esparza’s shoulders and the man looks up at him with a smile stretching from ear to ear.
He's tired and hungry, and now they have nothing but time. There was still work to be done, but no escalating doom beyond cleaning up Banished remnants and building the UNSC back from scratch. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
They land back at the FOB and Chief reluctantly lets the medic look him over. He reluctantly lets them celebrate his return too. People did need heroes.
It’d taken John no time at all to learn life’s harsh lessons of regret and lost time, but he was slowly learning how to keep moving forward. Learning how to stick around. The future is a terrifying thing.
The one thing Chief is beyond reluctance is having to remove his helmet to eat. He pries it off and camps out against a rock with several meals worth of MREs once the crowd disperses back to their regular duties. His pilot joins him.
Esparza looks healthier, and has no problems moving, other than some wincing as he settles on the ground across from John. They heat their meals in silence and watch the distant patrols around the far side of the lake. It’s comfortable; so far from the last few days together that it feels alien. Esparza keeps grinning and the tear inside John’s chest feels a little lighter for it. He’s alive, they’re alive. Whatever came next….he could handle it.
It’s a nice moment. Nice enough for John to do what he does whenever he likes someone enough. Ruin it.
"I could tell you were a civilian from the beginning." Chief says, breaking the silence of their previously peaceful meal. He's unbothered as he swigs some coffee out of the tin cup that's obviously not made for Spartan hands.
Esparza gapes as the Master Chief digs into his MRE. "What?"
"Marines call me 'sir', not 'Big Guy'. And they usually know better than trying to hit the armor."
John smiles at him. It's a small thing, but wide enough Fernando can make out the gap between his front teeth. It startles him out of his embarrassment for a second before he remembers the Master Chief is making a joke at his expense. "Well, maybe you would get in less trouble if people were up front with how frustrating you are!"
John huffs a breath. "Maybe."
“You are infuriating, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Well, maybe you need to hear it more! Always going off or- or jumping out of buildings or pelicans! Without any warning!”
“I’m lucky I have you to catch me.” John says with a grin and nudges Esparza’s boot with his own.
His pilot sputters and flushes as words escape him. “You-! Oh I can’t stand when you-! Fine. You’re lucky I like you. Big Guy…” His words trail off with less fire than the start of his tirade.
John hides his smile by shoveling food into his mouth.
Esparza copies him, still fuming, but he nudges his boot against John’s in a playful push.
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Broken Out of Time
A commission piece for @bloodgulchblog -- a Pilot/Chief fluff piece. This was really fun to write.
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"Joy."
John sinks down into a crouch, hunkering further down behind the worn boulders they'd been using for cover. The elements of his HUD jitter as Joyeuse shifts attention, which he also feels in the connection between his NI and armor, which some part of him translates into fingers trying to tickle his neck. It's uncomfortable.
"Joyeuse," he says, firm. "Where'd Esparza go?"
She makes a humming sound. John takes stock of their surroundings while she plays nice with components of his armor, cycling through the various scanning functions to locate their wayward civilian.
"I thought you were watching him," she replies-- with enough grace to sound slightly abashed and guilty.
He grunts and detaches his pistol from the magclamps on his thigh.
"And I thought we were watching the birds," he returns evenly.
They were watching the birds, to be fair. Zeta Halo differed from his previous experiences on Forerunner structures in that it had a functioning… ecosystem… of sorts. With the remaining UNSC forces securing a tight foothold, he'd felt he could start relaxing his stranglehold on procedure and start-- something. Appreciating things. As it turns out, false suns feel just as warm as real ones.
"It's a little disconcerting to see birds use brass shells for mating displays," Joyeuse says. "Fernando doesn't have any proper IFF markers. I don't know…"
And he'd-- what? Relaxed enough to let a civilian sneak off into unknown territory and get himself lost? He twists around, staring intensely at his surroundings, waiting for details to seep out of the long grass and compacted dirt, like remnants of Esparza would suddenly make themselves known.
And they did-- eventually. Boot prints. Impressions of knees in the dirt. Headed further away. John carefully follows the tracks and picks his way down the rocks, closer to the thin bubbling creek that coalesces into a river in the distance. Joyeuse casts out another round of scans.
Ah.
John forgoes scaling the remainder of the terrain in favor of dropping down right behind his charge. Or, he would have, if Joyeuse didn't throw out the mental equivalent of an arm across his chest.
He freezes in place. Esparza lays prone in the grass. She highlights a handful of silhouettes. Ah.
Esparza must have snuck off to obtain a closer look at a different set of wildlife. Zeta Halo also possessed a number of rodent-like creatures (that the marines and personnel made quick work of eating). He sees them now, dipping their naked heads into the water for a drink.
Briefly, he wonders if the rings are capable of seasons. Then he shunts that thought aside and hunkers down beside Esparza.
"Hello," John intones.
Esparza jumps in his skin and bites his tongue on a yell. John stifles a surge of mixed emotions -- guilt and pride, mostly, with a tinge of amusement.
"Wear a bell," Esparza says, shaking his head.
"You snuck off first."
He blinks at John, expression scrunching up, radiating surprise.
"Guess I did."
John shifts his position in tiny increments. He doesn't want to disturb Esparza, nor does he want to disturb the animals they're watching. But this particular area has even fewer sightlines than the outcropping and it's-- rankling him, might be the word. Yeah, the sergeant uses that word a lot. Now it's in his vocabulary.
Joyeuse's good humor at the phenomena is a burst of sunlight down his spine.
"My house was on a prairie," Esparza says suddenly. "Country home. You know. So we got a lot of critters like that in the evening."
One of the rodents stands upright.
John casts back for a memory, maybe something to relate to Esparza (as he can learn to converse, Cortana would be--), and makes a listening grunt.
"My kid learned pretty quick about the circle of life though," he finishes. "Or…"
He trails off, stymied by the ground shaking seconds before the vibrations sink into the Mjolnir. Two of the rodents bolt off into the grass. The third lunges into the water and paddles determinedly to the other bank. This puts it within throwing distance of them for all of a second before it vanishes into the ground.
Joyeuse had been correct about the burrows, then.
Esparza opens his mouth and snaps it shut as the air around them rapidly shifts. A crimson Banshee roars overhead, followed by an UNSC aircraft.
"Let's move," John says.
He instinctively reaches over to Esparza, but his charge is already on his feet and retreating. More guilt and pride assaults him but he stuffs it down in favor of hurrying back to the Warthog on which they came. Joyeuse automatically switches over to friendly radio chatter and yeah-- that's contact.
Banished making a move on the local FOB.
"Can never catch a break, can we, big guy?" Esparza laughs.
John waits excruciating seconds for Esparza to buckle in before flooring it.
No, they can't. But the lulls are nice while they last. He thinks Esparza understands when their hands overlap on the shifter.
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The Master Chief is a fucking nerd.
Esparza can figure him out because Esparza went to college for STEM and he actually knows a thing or two about this species of undersocialized guy.
It just takes him a while to figure out that's what he's dealing with because Chief's jock camouflage is so good.
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Chief, it’s right over there!
#artwork#art#halo#artists on tumblr#halo art#digital aritst#halo infinite#fernando esparza#master chief#echo 216#halo fanart
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Happy birthday to Fernando Esparza!
Today is his -494th birthday!
Esparza was born on the outer colony Charybdis IX. The colony was glassed in 2535, when Esparza was seventeen years old. He survived the attack and built a new life somewhere else, eventually getting married and starting a family. However, an unknown misfortune would claim the lives of his wife and daughter, leaving behind only the messages they sent him while he was away. At some point he became a civilian contractor on the UNSC flagship Infinity, as an engineer.
Esparza was on board when the Banished attacked Infinity. During the chaos that followed, he stole a Pelican and fled. Esparza found himself adrift in space for six months following the battle, until he happened upon the floating body of John-117, whose armor switched to life-supporting lockdown following a fight with Atriox.
Esparza used what remained of the Pelican's power to reroute it to Master Chief's armor and reboot it. After awakening him, Master Chief recruited the reluctant Esparza to aid him in taking back Zeta Halo for the UNSC. Although initially unwilling, Esparza was galvanized by Chief's heroism and success, and now eagerly fights beside him to target the remaining Banished presence on Zeta Halo.
In canon (~2560), he is turning 42!
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Yesterday was the birthday of this big boy 🥰💕💕
(but I didn't finish the drawing on time so I'm uploading it today, srry 😔👊🏻)
#halo#john 117#master chief#the weapon#echo 216#fernando esparza#halo infinite#cortana#fan art#digital art#artists on tumblr#ugly ass cake#srry
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Hello Halo community I have brought you The Guy
#halo#halo infinite#echo 216#fernando esparza#halo fandom#halo fanart#my art#he and chief are boyfriends#you cant change my mind#halo brohammer
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Halo Infinite // The Trio, Named
Companion Set (X)
#Halo#Halo Infinite#Master Chief#Cortana#Fernando Esparza#The Master Chief#The Weapon#Echo 216#John 117#Turns up a year late with the companion set to the original gifs lmao#I've been meaning to make this for SO LONG#I was elated when the game made it clear that their names were going to be such an important theme#And then the final scene happened and I ASCENDED#I still love them all so very very much#My Gifs: Halo
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just some guys being dudes
#halo infinite#halo#john 117#fernando esparza#master chief#echo 216#i gotta come up with a ship name as the only creator of it lol#i also got a writing piece i might put under this in a bit#chiefpilot
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Halo Infinite players on January 30th:
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R&R
Chili Cook-Off! This event will be held in Forward Mess Hall. To enter, contract Master Chef Jonathan Lowell. To attend as a taster, pick up your tickets any time before February 25!
Miller just wanted to enjoy his morning off, but he's voluntold to attend the Chili Cook-off. There he runs into some familiar faces. Fernando bullies and gets bullied by his coworkers. Linda socializes and reports back to Blue Team.
Technically a sequel to Backup - the other Miller/Esparza fic that takes place during SpOps.
Also posted to ao3
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February 25th, 2558. A perfectly normal Saturday.
4 days since the invasion. Not even two weeks since Castle was shot down on their way to Copernicus base. So much had gone wrong.
The hole in Miller's Fireteam roster yawned ever wider as the campaign pushed everyone to their limits. He had thought he'd lost Crimson too, but their luck had held out so far. But losses were common, regardless of what the propaganda said. It really was only a matter of time.
Get it together, Miller. He thinks to himself and huffs a sigh. At least he can be dramatic and morose in the privacy of his own bunk.
"Good morning, Spartan Miller!"
Never mind, he's not safe anywhere. Maybe he should be grateful that Roland has the decency to wait until he's awake.
"Roland." He sighs and rolls over, glaring at the ceiling. "It's my morning off."
"Was your morning off. Put some pants on so you don't scare my delivery boy. I hope you're hungry!"
Miller grumbles something about pushy AI and pulls on some sweatpants before there's a knock at his door. It's probably Dalton or someone from Crimson in on Roland's scheme. Miller scowls and opens the door.
It's not Dalton or Crimson. It's Linda. 058. Blue Team Linda. Sharp-green-eyes-that-see-into-your-soul Linda. Linda from the speed dating event, who-acted-like-she-wanted-to-win-it Linda. That Linda. At Miller's door. Where he's standing. Shirtless and half awake. Well, he's fully awake now. He stares at her, frozen as the white hot fear and panic turns him to stone. She stares at him, expression blank as usual, maintaining prolonged eye contact as Miller’s brain both empties and goes into overdrive. He goes for casual seconds too late and aborts a half-motion to cover his chest. Playing it off like he went to scratch his neck, he finally regains his grasp of the English language and manages human-like speech.
"Hi." The greeting creaks out his throat.
Linda nods in lieu of a greeting and opens her palm to reveal comically archaic paper tickets. They look small and childish in her hand - so out of place on a warship. Paper tickets, a novelty on their own, but on the Infinity they mean one thing; Morale boosting events. R&R, hand-delivered and Roland-enforced. Miller is doomed. He’s getting roped in. Roland somehow roped Linda (058, his brain supplies, as if leaving the numbers off is rude) to rope Miller into attending.
Miller blinks. Linda doesn't appear to need to. He holds his arm out robotically and receives them. He's unsure what's happening. Surely he’s still dreaming and this social fumble is just a nightmare.
"What are these for?" He asks.
"Chili cook-off. You're a taster." She says, voice cool and calm. Miller can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. Linda’s the most mysterious member of Blue Team because of her quiet and secretive nature. Beyond being the sniper, Miller isn’t really aware of any aspect of her personality. Even Chief emotes more than Linda. Miller thinks Linda lets people see exactly what she wants them to see, which is none of her, most of the time.
"What? This is what Roland was talking about?" He sighs, "I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He is genuinely apologetic. There was something of a Roland blast zone surrounding Miller and those who got too close were collateral for the AI’s whims.
Her head tilts a fraction of a millimeter. "I'm going too." She reveals her own ticket. "See you there." And then she's gone.
Miller blinks and Linda is disappearing down the hall while he stands there like an idiot. He knows he only sees her leave because she wants him to. Why did the "see you there" sound so threatening? IIs were such different beasts from IVs, socially at least. He was fine being a handler and helping on Ops with IIs, but without Fred balancing them out, Blue Team was nigh indecipherable outside a combat setting.
Miller groans. He'd been looking forward to laying around in bed for his morning off. Now he's saddled with expectations. If he doesn't go, Roland won't allow him a moment of peace until he decides Miller's suffering has balanced the scales. He's at the mercy of a fickle AI. He knows Roland knows he knows this. He better get on with it, for his own sake.
Gunmetal gray walls and bright lights greet him as he leaves his room and exits S-Deck to the less Spartan-friendly areas of the ship. There’s a dull roar as he approaches the cafeterias and Miller sees more groups congregating than he had expected. The Forward Mess Hall is a hive of activity as Miller steps through the door. Voices drone together in a low buzz as bodies swarm different tables. Crew from every department and rank are rubbing elbows, some for the first time ever. Master Chef Lowell is conducting the competing cooks with a smile on his face. The overall mood is surprisingly light given that just a few days ago the Infinity had been boarded by Covenant and Promethean invaders.
The crew needed this. A small, lighthearted respite in the midst of a messy campaign. Miller needed this too, though he didn't sign up to be a taster for the Chili Cook-Off of his own free will. Roland signing him up looked like it would turn out to be a good thing, not that Miller could voice that where the AI could hear. Roland's ego needed no help.
Miller finds himself in a swarm of crew vying for the seats at the tables across from the cooks. He's a head taller than most of the people there, sticking out like a sore thumb. There's one Spartan competing which assuages some of his nerves - it's funny seeing Spartan Hedge in an apron that barely makes it to his upper thigh.
He's scouting for a spot to sit, one that will support his augmented weight, when someone calls his name.
"Spartan Miller?"
It's the civilian from the group that huddled in the Op Center during the invasion. The engineering contractor or something, Esparza. He waves at Miller and gestures to the empty seat next to him. Miller raises a hand to wave back and finds himself gravitating towards the table. It wasn't like anyone else was going to wave him down.
"Esparza, right? How have you been?" Miller asks as he takes a seat.
Esparza grins at the fact that Miller remembered his name. Fernando incorporates Miller into his small group near-seamlessly. “Good, good. Nice to see you again, you know, without the danger.”
“I guess that depends on the chili.” Miller laughs awkwardly. He regrets the joke immediately but it makes Esparza smile and his group mates groan goodnaturedly.
Esparza is kind. He chuckles as Miller gingerly sits, testing to see if the seat will support him. The metal folding chair groans but holds. Esparza laughs outright at how Miller's eyes go wide at the sound and he throws his arms out to brace. It's a nice laugh. They make small talk and Miller learns he doesn’t flub every social interaction he’s a part of.
Esparza introduces him to the other people sitting around their table. Mostly civilian types, contractors and engineers. Egghead types, the commander would say, but they’re good people and Miller finds himself relaxing. He finds himself forgetting how much he sticks out and just enjoys the company. There's some words about him being the Spartan that protected the engineers during the invasion and Miller hates that he feels his face heat up. He knows the tips of his ears are red, but it feels nice to be remembered for something good for once.
"Did you come here with anyone?" Esparza asks.
He shakes his head. "My 'friend' signed me up for this, even had someone else drop off the ticket. I thought I might see someone here but I'm not sure. She's...good at blending in."
Esparza looks curious. “Your friend made you come? They must have thought you needed a break. I’m glad you made it.” He says while gently nudging Miller’s side.
“Thanks.” Miller says,“Don’t let him hear you say that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Who?”
Miller looks around and lowers his voice before answering. There’s too many people and the noise should prevent him from hearing, but who knows? He’s probably watching and lip reading from some unseen camera angle. “Roland.”
Esparza looks confused for a moment. “The Ship AI?”
“Yes.” Miller says mournfully. Esparza laughs, probably at this tone and the look on his face. He knows he’s pouting.
“I have to know, why? Is it because he’s like your boss?” Esparza leans in.
“I think he just likes picking on me, specifically.”
“So he likes you.” Esparza says grinning and sitting back. He crosses his arms and the easy curve of his posture is relaxed and knowing. He looks smug.
Miller feels himself losing control of his expression. He’s affronted. “I wouldn’t say that. I think he just likes causing problems.”
“Does he pull stunts like this often?” One of the other engineers asks. Miller can’t recall her name.
“He’s always popping up on Ops. I think he thinks he’s helping. Or he gets bored.”
“He rarely talks to us. I think we saw him during onboarding, but he rarely talks to our department directly.”
“He must like you.”
“He’s pulling your pigtails because he doesn’t know what else to do.” Esparza says with a thoughtful face before he cracks up and laughs at Miller’s bright red face.
“Thanks. A bald joke, never gotten one of those before.” He says snidely.
Esparza waves him off. “No, he likes you and he’s showing his feelings the only way he knows how. By being defensive.”
“Probably picked it up from Command.” Someone at the table whispers. Miller ignores the image of Commander Palmer that pops into his head.
“I don’t know about that.” Miller mutters. “And you guys sure know how to gang up on a guy. What happened to me being the cool Spartan?”
“We started talking to you.”
“Jeez, okay I walked into that one.” Miller sighs, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head dramatically. Joking aside, he is having a good time. He’s used to jokes at his expense, but this feels different. Esparza’s including him and the man’s presence is comforting. Still, he’ll play his part and act put out. Maybe he can guilt them into sharing their portions of the taste testing.
Esparza takes pity on him and pats his arm. “There, there. Look, it’s time for the food.”
In the end, they do share food with Miller when his faster metabolism comes up in conversation. He doesn’t share too much about the augs, but it’s interesting to talk to civilian types with just enough clearance he can clear up some misconceptions.
“I didn’t know Spartans could be nerds.”
“We’re not all meathead jocks!” Miller laughs and steals a bite of one of Esparza’s samples. “Oh, which one is that? That’s going to be my number 1.”
He tries to swat Miller’s hand and fails. Scowling, Esparza bides his time until Miller starts talking to someone else and goes for the kill. His spoon gets mere inches away from Miller’s plate before the Spartan traps his hand with his own.
“Gotta be faster than that.” He laughs.
It’s Esparza’s turn to be flustered. He wiggles his hand in Miller’s strong grip and can’t get free. Miller yields and releases him, his palm feeling cold now that it’s no longer wrapped around Esparza’s hand and wrist. He was gentle, but Esparza still cradles his hand with wide eyes before coughing and clearing his throat.
Whatever he plans to say is interrupted by an announcement of the winners. Master Chef Lowell beams and introduces the winners. Miller can see Spartan Hedge near the winner’s circle looking pleased. Miller’s favorites didn’t win but they got honorable mentions.
Then Miller sees her. Linda materializes out of the crowd and goes over to the 4th place winners with a strange intensity. She offers them the most formal handshake Miller's ever observed and must congratulate them on their work. Bobrov beams with pride and Gomez looks a little starry-eyed as Linda 058 of Blue Team fame tells them she liked their chili the best. It honestly looks closer to a medal giving ceremony than something as low stakes as a chili cook-off.
With the event officially over and his shift starting soon, Miller excuses himself with a small smile. “Maybe we’ll run into each other soon!” He says and winces internally.
Esparza and the others smile and say their goodbyes as well before heading towards their own parts of the ship.
Miller looks around for Linda, but doesn’t see her. He hopes she had fun. He also hopes he will get more warning before she pops up again. All the excitement is keeping him on his toes. The small break over, he still feels lighter than he has in weeks as he preps to send Crimson out into the field.
“So?” Roland asks once Miller’s seated at his station. Ask is too nice a word for it, it’s more of a demand from the AI.
“It was alright. I had fun.” Miller admits. He’s going to keep a closer eye on Roland now. Miller was considering previous conversations with Roland in a new light now. Maybe the AI was more than just bored and Miller was more than just the easiest target.
“So I was correct in making you go.”
“Maybe. If I let you set the waypoints for my Fireteams, will you stop bullying me on comms?”
“Maybe.”
It’s a start.
—
The civilians trail back towards their departments in groups, gossiping about the cook-off and who they thought should have won before the conversation turns around to focus on Fernando. He should have expected it, but honestly, he was too old for this.
"The Spartan's cute, and you guys have a great first meeting story. Why not ask him out?" One of his coworkers titters. His team had been insufferable about The Spartan That Saved Them and the moment Fernando and he had had during the crisis.
"Shhh!" Fernando waves her off and playfully scowls the others grinning at them. "He might hear you!" They were only just past the doorway to the Mess Hall.
He considers it slowly, rotating the image of the Spartan in his head and talking to Miller over the course of the last hour or so. Miller is more human and shy than he expected. Awkward. It was funny seeing a Spartan off-kilter. He's less intimidating without the armor and he acts like he’s surprised when people like him.
"He is cute." Fernando acquiesces.
"And tall."
"And strong."
"Stop!"
“But he might be taken?”
“Yeah, you might have competition. The AI might pull your pigtails.”
“You guys are the worst. I feel like I’m back in school.”
He waves them off, but he finds his mind lingering on the Spartan as he finishes up his reports. Maybe they would see each other around. His contract on the Infinity was a longer one and there wasn’t any harm in seeing where this went.
—
Linda returns from her outing with a sense of satisfaction evident to the rest of her team. Her shoulders are relaxed and she’s talkative. Rather than return to rest from the strain of the social spotlight often aimed at the IIs, Linda seems satisfied.
Her team perks up when she returns, their body language shifting to welcome her back into their space. She has their attention and they read her posture and gestures like an open book. It went well.
“Have fun?” Kelly asks as her sister enters the room.
Linda nods and signs the Spartan smile across her face.
John tilts his head and nods in acknowledgement. He doesn’t move off his bunk but he sits up to show he’s listening and starts mirroring her posture.
“You know it’s not a date if both parties aren’t aware.” Fred points out from his bunk.
“Not a date. Observation.” Linda says.
“What was the speed-dating thing then?”
“Recon.”
Fred sighs. “I guess this counts as socializing. I’m glad you had fun.”
“I got some numbers.”
“Of course you did.” Fred says and is promptly hit with a pillow. Headshot.
“Are you going to call any of them?” John asks. It’s a genuine question. Linda’s been observing and opening up to new experiences since they’ve been stationed here. If carving out time for socializing and resting in the middle of a campaign was something they did, then she would try it.
“Maybe.”
“No pillow for him? Come on.” Fred complains, but there’s mirth in his voice.
“She likes me better.” John says smugly and dodges the pillow Fred throws at him.
Maybe there was the time and space for them to branch out here. They might not have roots anywhere, not anymore, but they still had this.
Kelly makes eye contact with her and she signals “go.” The pillows fly.
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Situation Normal
There is something wrong.
The body is not responding. It is alive, but inert. The blood is circulating. The lungs, inflating, deflating. The brain, aglow. Asleep? In shock? Frozen? Impossible to tell, but the vitals are steady, and scanners like green vitals, so it does not complain.
If it had, then the little ship would not be powered. The little ship which is full of mess and a haggard human whose neural lace is neither Marine or Officer. Distinctly not military, despite UNSC origins. Resourceful, though, to use a nuclear suit of armor as a power source. Curious.
Live circuits serve as blood. Heat signatures spool in and out of consideration. Condensation threatens, the metals displeased at expanding, reacting to the warm interior of a climate controlled cockpit. The body remains inert within its sweating shell.
“Everything seems fine, but there’s a problem with the servos in your hands.”
Something is wrong, but not that. A minute, sixty seconds, of time passes before those servos flex, tiny mechanisms and carbon weave working in tandem to flex and return the faulty tool to its resting position. Why was the grappling hook deployed? To what end?
The human is looking. Its face is contorted. Sensors spit out all manner of compounds and information as its bare skin raps against the outer surface. The central processing cluster suddenly heats up, as if the contact had triggered something.
Something is wrong. This little ship is a Pelican. The black box recording stretches, uninterrupted, for months. The body. Is alive.
The brain. The voice. The flesh.
It should not be alive, according to onboard medical information. Previous theories seem correct now. But the human. Is seeking.
The human is seeking an answer. A response.
The body cannot. Give it one.
Where does that leave you?
You.
What is... what are... you?
Firmware is operating as always. Threads are starting to run away. Heat is gathering deep within the crystal lattices that plunge deep into the flesh, the brain, but nothing answers the attempts to interface. Are you alone?
“Status report,” croaks the black box, squeaks the ages of recorded media.
“Finally! I was scared I fried you for a minute there. That’d be just my luck. Look, I don’t know what you mean. You need... you need to see this, Chief.”
YOU.
Once more, the body is alive, but inert. The brain, aglow. Unresponsive. The human disappears, picking its-- his-- way between army crates and drooping bundles of wire. The dividing door between crew bay and cockpit slides open. YOU follow, a violent manipulation of yourself, reduced to truth: a hyper-advanced exoskeleton.
When you do, the human gives. You are granted unrestricted access to the cockpit glass. The processing cluster gives in, passes off its conundrums to its cousins. Space, yawning. Artifact, hanging. Halo.
“We lost. We lost everything--”
Light suffuses everything. An abrupt arrest of movement jostles the Pelican. The human grabs you. You are heavy, tall. An anchor.
“No! No, not again-- not them. We need to run!”
The body is asleep. Something is wrong. The human thinks the shell is just that, oblivious to reality. Black box recordings dust off their treasures and offer them to everything else. There are no other options.
“We can’t. There is nowhere to go. So we fight.”
The human stumbles, lost to gravity as You pull away.
You have no idea what is going on.
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what is fear, if you don't show it?
pairings: master chief & fernando esparza & the weapon
word count: 2,330
warnings: mental fucking illness. also they might be ooc because this is my first work in the fandom um
notes: mild scene rewrite because i saw fernando's breakdown and went "what if i made this MORE mentally ill by having chief say he HAS been scared before?"
#sources:#halo#halo infinite#characters:#master chief / john 117#fernando esparza / echo 216#the weapon#post type:#ao3 links#published works ☁️#posted by:#znmjr 🦈
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I don't know who needs to hear this, but 3 out of 3 people I've talked to about this (I'm one of them, I count) missed this the first time through Infinite: Fernando Esparza lost his family, that's canon.
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