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Six watched the blade go through Emile’s body in slow motion, didn’t breathe as he watched Emile use the last of his strength to take down his assailants. Both of them. Two giant Zealots lay on the ground beside his body. Six let out a shuddering breath. His last team member was gone. The gun that the Pillar of Autumn now relied on to get away from Reach was unmanned.
Six turned back toward the Pelican hovering beside the platform.
“Lieutenant, get aboard,” one of the marines shouted. “We have to get out of here!”
“Negative,” Six said, voice slow and even, decision made. “I’ve got the gun. Good luck, sir.”
Captain Keyes nodded. “Good luck to you, Spartan.”
The Pelican moved away from the platform and Six broke into a sprint, racing up the catwalks to the gun. In the distance, he could see more Covenant arriving. He would not have much time to get the battlecruiser out of the sky before it opened fire on the Pillar of Autumn. His team had sacrificed too much, had sacrificed everything, to get this package off of Reach. He refused to let those sacrifices be in vain.
As he crested the gun’s platform, he was met with the sound of weak breaths rattling through fluid filled lungs.
“Emile?” he said into his radio as he climbed up into the gun’s cockpit and pulled up the controls. “You still with me?”
No response came through his helmet. And the whirring of the Onager drowned out every other sound.
Fucking hell. He’d only had this team for four weeks now and it took him by surprise how much he would be willing to give in that moment to keep the last of them alive. He refused to lie to himself, to pretend that he hadn’t watched Emile closest, hadn’t smiled whenever Emile spoke to him, hadn’t loved the way they worked together. If he had any say in the matter, he would keep Emile from dying on this planet.
First, though, he had to buy the Pillar of Autumn the window Emile had promised. The ship was waiting, still resting in the giant mechanism holding her to the dry dock. He knew every eye on that command deck would be watching the slow approach of the Covenant battlecruiser. And as much as he wanted to take it out right then, he knew it was outside of the Onager’s rage. So he busied himself with the Autumn’s secondary threat, the swarm of smaller Phantoms and Banshees, dropping them from the sky one by one until he was able to turn his attention, and his rage, on the battlecruiser. He lined up the cannon as it moved into range, targeting its glowing underbelly. It burst into purple flame that forced its way out from the epicenter, creating more explosions as it went. Slowly it too began to fall from the sky.
“Good guns, Spartan,” Keyes’ voice crackled over the radio.
With thunderous clangs, the docking rods attached to the Pillar of Autumn released and the ship’s engines roared.
“Good luck, Captain,” Six said. “Noble Six out.” He shoved the controls away and leapt from the gun to kneel at Emile’s side. He didn’t have the capability to read Emile’s bio data on his HUD, but even without it, he knew it was bad.
“Stay with me,” he said, as he unclasped Emile’s bandoliers and let them drop to the ground.
The Elite’s blade had pierced him through entirely. It was a miracle he was even still breathing. When Six’s hand accidently touched the knife’s exit point, Emile jerked beneath him and one of his hands lying limp on the ground beside him shot out to grip Six’s elbow.
“It’s okay,” Six assured. “I’m going to seal it.”
Emile’s harsh breaths were his only response.
Six pulled biofoam from his med kit and pulled the release. The sickly gray foam flooded Emile’s wound and filled the holes in his flesh and armor. The hand on his elbow gripped tighter, strong enough to feel through his body armor. Six was about to pull Emile forward to put the foam in the entry wound on his back when he saw a large group of Covenant forces moving up the beach toward them.
“Shit. We have to move.”
“Go,” Emile rasped out.
“I’m not leaving you here,” Six said. “Can you lean forward so I can…”
He cut off abruptly as Emile shook his head.
“Go,” Emile said again. His next words turned into a choke as liquid, probably blood, caught in his throat.
The Covenant were getting close. It was a couple of fire teams, a scattering of Grunts and Jackals, and lots of Elites. Trouble. Six didn’t have time to wait for Emile to cooperate. He was likely about to go into shock soon, if he wasn’t already there. So Six pulled him away from the floor of the gun platform, ignoring Emile’s cry of pain though it made his stomach twist. He applied the foam to the entry wounds, waited only long enough to confirm the wounds were sealing correctly, and set him back against the railing.
Emile grunted at the impact and his head slumped forward.
“Stay there,” Six said, pulling his gun from its place on his back. “Stay awake.”
Emile mumbled something that Six couldn’t make out. He didn’t have time to try to decipher what he was saying either, already there were ten or so Grunts working their way up the stairs to the platforms with a squad of Jackals on the beach behind them. In a split second decision, he decided he would rather try to keep the fighting as far from Emile as he could instead of trying to pick them off from where he was. With one last glance at his flagging teammate, he moved off in a dead sprint toward the Grunts. Three quick shots from Six’s weapon, one to each unhelmeted head, and the first three went down. Six leapt from the platform he stood on to another two levels down, landing behind the rest of the Grunts. They barely had time to react before they were lifeless on the ground.
Turning to face the other direction, he charged the group of Jackals moving up from the beach, pushing the battle further from Emile. He made short work of their rough formation, sparing as little attention to them as he safely could while he tried to work through how to tackle the next threat. The Elites.
He had counted only one or two Elite fireteams before, but now he could see there were at least four. They were spread out across the beach, but all of them were moving his way.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he took out the last of the Jackals.
The perimeter map on his HUD flashed multiple lights at him, the number rapidly growing as the fireteams moved in closer. They were trying to surround him, to cut him off from a tactical retreat. Another split second decision had him moving back to the stairs leading up to the dry dock structures. With this many Elites, he wanted to be able to get back to Emile if he needed to. There were enough of them that Six wasn’t confident he could keep all of their attention on him; they'd notice Emile eventually. And if they swarmed Emile’s position with Emile in the state he was in… Emile would be gone before Six had the chance to save him. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
He had nearly made it to the nearest stairway when a fifth Elite team dropped cloaking in front of him, effectively cutting off his retreat back to Emile’s position.
__________
He had taken out fifteen, maybe even twenty of them, using every last bit of strength he had. But he could feel himself flagging. His HUD was flooded with warnings, red messages of concern he couldn’t spare a moment to look at. Emile still wasn’t responding on radio and all Six could think as he was slowly overpowered was that if this was it, if this was where his life would end, he didn’t want to die down here on the sand alone.
He wanted to be beside Emile. One last time.
And yet, for all his effort, he still hadn’t been able to make his way off the beach.
Shots flew around him. He dodged, ducked, fired. Dropped another Elite.
Six more to go.
He could feel his body slowing, the effort it took to move growing more and more monumental with each passing minute.
An elite with an energy sword came up behind him. Six swung his body around, knocked him back with the side of his assault rifle. As he swung his arms back down, the fingers of his empty hand tightened around the grip of his pistol. He fired a series of rapid shots.
Five Elites left.
He turned to his left, took aim at one sprinting toward him, fired his pistol again.
But his shot went wide as he took a plasma blast to the shoulder.
He staggered back, blinked against the onslaught of red on his HUD.
Two shots hit his legs.
His shields fizzled out.
Taking aim at this second Elite with his assault rifle, he fired both weapons simultaneously.
Three more to go.
Before he could take aim again, one of the Elites reached him. The massive creature knocked him to the ground, driving the breath from his lungs. This time, his vision itself went red momentarily, as the messages on his HUD went dark.
He kicked out wildly, throwing the Elite back.
Another was on him a moment later, trying to drive an energy sword into him.
He rolled. Managed to dodge the blade and make the Elite take a step back.
Still fighting to get air in his lungs, he tried to get to his knees, but the Elite he had kicked away was back, this time also brandishing an energy sword. The third watched a few steps away, ready to step in.
Both of Six’s weapons had been knocked from his hands, pain shot through his body at every beat of his heart, and he couldn’t get his vision to focus.
He tried to dodge the blade driving down toward him.
Failed.
The sword pierced his body armor at his bicep, sliced clean into his flesh.
He growled, pulled at any last energy he had to try to survive another moment.
But he had nothing left.
The second sword swung down toward him and he braced for the end. But it fell to the sand harmlessly before it made contact. The Elite himself stumbled back and collapsed on the ground. The other elite standing above him fell a moment later, blood flying from his head.
Six had just enough time to grab one of the energy swords and raise it up before the final Elite reached him.
He killed him, took the weight of the Elite’s body as its corpse landed on top of him.
Panting on the sand, Six looked up at the platform high above. He watched Emile give him a weak salute and then the borrowed rifle fell from his hand as he sank down to the platform floor.
“Emile!” Six shouted.
No response.
“Don’t fucking do this to me,” he whispered to no one at all.
With nothing but a last surge of adrenaline and whatever meds his suit was still trying to push into him, he dragged himself out from under the Elite and staggered toward the nearest stairs. The shots to his legs that had taken out his shields must have gotten through at least some of his armor; each step sent sparks of fire radiating up into his hips.
The climb back up to Emile’s platform was agonizing. Not just from the pain, but from the time it took. He had stopped shouting Emile’s name after the fourth or fifth time he still got no response. Could only hope against hope that he would still be alive when he got up there.
In the distance, but getting closer, the orbital bombardment of this sector of Reach had already begun. It was too close for comfort to Six, he could feel the tremors in the earth from the impacts miles away.
Six stopped a moment on a heavily damaged catwalk to catch his breath and retrieve another med kit from a dead marine. It had been partially used, but something was better than nothing. The dry dock shook again. Banshees zipped around on the horizon, every now and then opening fire on whatever remaining survivors they had located. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion of a way to get himself and Emile out of danger. There were really only two ways to survive a glassing: get into space or get deep, deep underground. Since Six was unaware of any reinforced ONI tunnel systems in the area, and since he knew he did not have time to try to find some, getting into space was the only viable option.
He started moving again, climbing the stairs as fast as his legs allowed. If Emile was alive, and he sure as hell better be, traveling far was out of the question. There were Phantoms littering the beach and the shipyard that might be in flyable condition, but flying one of them right under the nose of the armada was a bad idea. So that left him with a Pelican, of which there were precious few in the area that hadn’t been taken out. The only ones that might be operable were on the far side of the dry dock.
He arrived at Emile’s side panting and failed to stifle a groan of pain as he knelt again.
“Still alive in there?” Six asked, voice wavering from exertion.
Emile’s head turned slowly toward him. “You’re hit,” he rasped. “Fuck.”
Relief washed over Six but he still said, sharper than he intended, “Why didn’t you answer me on the radio?”
“Tried. Something’s busted.”
“Ah.” That made sense. “Thanks for the save.”
Emile nodded.
The platform shook violently as another plasma charge impacted.
“Getting closer,” Emile said.
“Your suit dispensing any meds?” Six asked, popping open the marine’s med kit.
“Don’t think so. Not much is working,” Emile said between rattling breaths.
“Copy that,” Six said. He pulled a small syringe from the med kit. “Adrenaline,” he explained. “We have to get to the other side of the dry dock and we’re going to have company again soon so we have to move fast.”
The skull helmet tilted. “What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m better than you.”
Emile grunted.
“Going to have to push this through the biofoam,” Six said apologetically. He lined the needle up with the smaller exit wound in Emile’s chest and pressed in. Emile groaned as the needle punctured his wound and clenched his hands into fists as the adrenaline flooded his system.
“Done,” Six said as he tossed the syringe away.
It took a moment, but Emile’s breathing slowed, became less labored. “Where we headed, Six?” he said.
“I saw a couple Pelicans on the far side of the dock,” Six said. “If we can make it there, we can get into orbit before they start glassing this area.”
“The Covies didn’t take ‘em out?”
Six shook his head. “They’re more or less in one piece.”
“Let’s hope for more,” Emile said as he reached an arm out to Six.
Six pulled Emile to his feet, his chest tightening at the man’s groan of pain.
“I’ve got you,” Six said gently.
Emile gripped him tightly as they half ran, half dragged each other across the platform. Banshees moved on the horizon. The bombardment crept ever closer. The shipyard and the dry dock shook more and more.
Maybe with the escape of the Pillar of Autumn there wasn’t anything to draw the covenant back to this particular dock. Maybe something else had captured their attention. Either way, as they began their trek, they encountered no issues. But then the sun sank below the horizon, and with the damage their helmets had taken, they were forced to turn on their headlamps. The rubble in this area of the dry dock was bad, made only worse by the Pelican in front of them. It was in enough pieces that it was unflyable.
“Guess we try the other one,” Six said, angling them away from the wreckage.
“Banshees on your 9.” Emile hissed.
Six turned to look past him to the horizon. Sure enough, two enemy craft were rapidly approaching. Their luck couldn’t last forever, he supposed. He broke into a run, dragging Emile beside him as he took them the most direct route he could find toward the ship. They didn’t make it before the Banshees made a first pass. And Six barely got them to cover in time. As they circled around again, Six pulled Emile the last couple hundred meters to the Pelican.
This one looked operable from the outside, showing only minor cosmetic damage as far as he could tell. Didn’t really matter though. They were out of options. He loaded Emile into the Pelican’s cargo bay and tried to get him into one of the seats, but Emile just sank to the floor with a groan.
“Give ‘em hell,” he said.
Six nodded. He climbed into the cockpit and started up the engine. All the right lights flickered on, minimal damage showed on the screens. Maybe their luck hadn’t run out yet. The craft’s proximity warning flashed, but Six wasn’t worried, as long as all systems continued to cooperate. In a gun ship like this, he’d have no trouble taking out the Banshees.
As soon as they were down, Six took the craft up and set a course to leave orbit from the other side of the planet. Better to avoid as much of the Covenant armada as possible. He put out an encrypted beacon as well. The sooner he could get help to Emile, the better.
Task complete, he returned to the cargo bay.
“How you holding up?” Six asked.
“Fine,” Emile gasped from his place on the floor. “Think I gotta sleep.”
Six sank down across from him. “That’s a negative. Stay awake with me.”
There was a long pause. The sound of the pelican’s engines droned around them. It was soothing. Six felt his own eyes start to close.
“Don’t know if I can,” Emile said quietly.
“Tell me about your helmet,” Six said, choosing the most obvious topic of conversation when he looked back at Emile.
“Carved it myself. I’m pretty proud of it.”
“You should be.”
Emile let out what sounded like a shaky laugh. “Wanted to scare the shit outta the Covies. Wanted them to see me and know they were meeting death.”
Six smiled a wicked smile behind his helmet. “I’d say mission accomplished.”
“So you like it then.” He sounded almost tentative.
“I do,” Six said, and then added without thinking, “Sometimes I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”
There was a long pause. Six knew that Emile couldn’t see his eyes through the tint on his helmet’s visor, but he looked right at Emile nevertheless, waited for his response.
Finally Emile let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it. “Look Six. I’m not a good man.”
Six frowned. “Are any of us? Don’t know if Kat showed you my file, but the blacked out bits aren’t redacted because I was chivalrous.”
Emile grunted.
“It’s who we are,” Six said. “Who we were made to be.”
“Copy that. There just…” Emile paused, let his head fall back heavily against the wall of the Pelican. “We ain’t the same.”
“What do you mean?”
Emile took another shuddering breath. When he spoke again, it sounded like every word he said was taking significant effort to speak. “I saw how you treated the civilians in New Alexandria. I saw how you talked to Carter after Kat… I’m not like that. There’s not much human left in me.”
Six’s frown deepened. He had guessed that Emile was hiding something of himself behind the mask. They were killers, sometimes assassins, sent on never ending missions, frequently isolated. Six kept his own helmet on, even among allies, whenever he was in the field. He had chosen long ago to embrace the isolation. Better not to be known. Better to hide himself. But something was nagging at Six; there was something more to Emile’s mask.
Emile reached up slowly and tapped the side of his helmet. “Each scratch is a Covie life I snuffed out. Don’t stop to think when I’m killin’, just do it.”
Six nodded, though he wasn’t sure what Emile was getting at. “I saw you on the field.”
“I saw you looking.”
Six hummed. Emile’s breathing rattled. One of his hands was now resting on his chest, just above the energy sword’s exit wounds, as if the added pressure there was helping him breathe. Maybe it was. Six opened the med kits again, looked for anything he might be able to use to help him.
“I came to terms with being a monster a long time ago,” Emile said suddenly. “Wasn’t till recently I came to terms with dying.”
“You’re not going to die,” Six said firmly, trying to convince himself as much as Emile. He had seen how every breath was harder, how Emile wasn’t moving at all anymore, other than trying to breathe. “You’re not a monster either. I’ve spent most of my career killing humans, terrorists and insurrectionists. We do what we do for the greater good of humanity. Even the fucked up shit.”
“Fine,” Emile huffed. “We can be monsters together.”
Six felt the need to convince Emile otherwise, assure him that he wasn’t lost. But there was a part of him that knew Emile would never believe him. Instead, he reached up and removed his helmet, the final barrier to his face, his humanity. He didn’t want to keep hiding behind it, wanted Emile to see him, truly see him. The cold air chilled the sweat that had gathered where his hair touched his forehead. He took a deep breath before he raised his eyes to look at Emile again, but he winced at the sharp smell of ozone. That was a bad sign. Usually an indicator something was wrong with the life support. He’d have to check that out.
Emile tilted his head to the side, the scratched out skull looking right at Six. Another moment passed before Emile slowly reached up with both his hands, groaning at the pain, and his gloved fingers moved over the seals on his helmet. But he couldn’t seem to move his fingers enough to grip.
“Get this off of me,” he said after another failed try.
Six frowned. “You don’t have to take it off,” he tried to assure him. For everything the helmet meant to Emile, it was Emile’s choice to remove it or not.
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
Six grunted at the sharpness in Emile’s tone, guessed he was probably frustrated with how uncooperative his wounded body continued to be. Six could understand that. He scooted across the floor and reached for the helmet. It hissed as the airlock released, and Six lifted the helmet off of his head, placed it on the floor next to Emile’s hand.
His eyes roamed over Emile’s face for the first time, taking everything in. The dark skin on the left side of his face was marred by scars. His brown eyes were glazed over from pain and dried blood had gathered in the corners of his mouth. But despite the intensity of the past few days, past few weeks really, there was a kindness in his face that was so clear to Six. Why couldn’t Emile see it in himself?
“Still like what you see?” Emile said, eyes flicking back and forth between Six’s. His brows were drawn together in what almost looked like worry.
Six had never known him to be unsure of anything.
“Fucking beautiful.” Six said softly. He retrieved a sealed wet cloth from the marine’s med kit, tore it open, and gently removed the blood from Emile’s face. Emile’s eyes never left his.
“Do I look more human now?” The words slurred together as they came out of Emile’s mouth. That was a bad sign.
“Never thought otherwise.” Six was done removing the blood, but he stayed close, tried to keep from showing how worried he was. “Keep your eyes open.”
Emile looked confused, like he hadn’t realized he had closed them. But then his expression evened out. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his mouth to Six’s, gentle and chaste. Strange, coming from Emile.
“Thank you,” Emile said. “For trying…”
His words faded out and Six leaned in even closer. “Hmm?”
“To save me,” Emile finally said.
Six smiled. But his smile died on his face a moment later when Emile’s eyes rolled back into his skull and he slumped heavily against the wall.
Six shouted for Emile to wake up, as he searched through the med kits. But Spartans’ armor made full med kits redundant and the marine’s kit had already been used before Six ever got his hands on it.
Still shouting at Emile to wake up, he jumped to his feet to search the Pelican for medical supplies. Troop carriers were supposed to be well stocked.
But he wobbled as he stood, nearly blacking out. He remembered suddenly that his HUD system had been damaged in the fight with the Elites and he’d never checked that his internal med kit had the supplies remaining to treat his newest set of injuries. If the energy sword wound had never fully sealed… He glanced back to confirm, and sure enough, a large pool of blood covered the floor beside where he had been sitting.
“Fuck,” he said as he involuntarily sank down to his knees.
The life support warning chose that moment to sound, blaring an alarm loudly in the small craft. Six crawled back to Emile. He was still breathing, thank whatever luck they still had left. But he didn’t know how longer it would last and Six didn’t know how much longer he’d be conscious. Emile’s only real hope was that the life support in his armor was still functional, that the biofoam had sealed up the holes, and someone picked up their emergency beacon in time. He replaced and resealed Emile’s helmet to his head. There wasn’t any biofoam left, so Six didn’t expect to make it. His own body suit was gaping at his shoulder. Still, he resealed his own helmet. He sat against the wall by Emile and pulled the unconscious man toward him until his head rested on his shoulder.
It had really been too much to hope they would survive Reach anyway.
__________
Six woke to shouting and bright lights passing overhead. His head was pounding and waves of nausea poured over him, but he fought to sit up anyway. It felt like a monumental effort to move his body, like gravity was pulling too much, too strong.
“His heart rate is escalating,” someone said.
“He’s waking up,” another said.
“Bring him through here.”
He was moved around a sharp corner and he tried to use the momentum to aid him in sitting up. He had to find Emile.
“Get another strap on him.”
Hands grabbed his arms, his chest, pulled tight across his body. He groaned as pressure was put against his shoulder.
But he kept trying, kept looking past the medical personnel moving around him. He couldn’t see another gurney. Or another medical team.
He tried to turn to look over his other shoulder but hands were suddenly on his head.
“Stay still,” a sharp voice said above him. He could feel their hands slide down the outside of his helmet, reach for the seals at the base.
Six opened his mouth to ask about Emile but no sound came out. He could only stare up at the pinched face of the medic as she removed his helmet and passed it off to someone else.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “We pushed a lot of medication through your suit. Everything’s going to be okay when you wake up.”
He ignored her, tried again to ask about Emile, tried to force the words out before dark took him again.
“Don’t fight the meds,” a male voice said from somewhere near his feet.
Six ignored him as well. Tried to push through both the medication and the bone deep exhaustion. Tried to pull against the straps holding him down. Tried to fight the narrowing of his vision. But he couldn’t move at all, from the straps or whatever fucking meds they had just dosed him with, and then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. More alarms blared around him, blended in with the shouts of the medical personnel. None of them heard him whisper Emile’s name with the last of his air.
When Six woke again, he was out of his armor, wearing only a thin hospital gown and covered by a couple layers of even thinner sheets. A monitor above his head was beeping lazily and a machine to his left was pumping cold fluids into his arm. He shivered.
He had been in a number of hospitals before, when his wounds had been too severe for field treatment. Like usual, the Spartans were cared for in their own spaces, away from the other patients, even when the others were military themselves. It was better for morale if people couldn’t see humanity’s last hope actively dying.
He didn’t know where he was, but his bet was on one of the UNSC hospital ships. Though how he had gotten to one in time, he didn’t know. He looked around for some indicator or name. Most of the room was taken up by the bed and the equipment he was hooked up to, the rest of the space was occupied by a toilet and a sink. A camera in the far corner caught his eye as he sat up. He paused, waited for the nausea to hit again. It didn’t. He twisted to get a better view at the screen on the wall tracking his heart rate and blood oxygen and a dozen other things. Sure enough, the UNSC logo sat in the upper right corner. Beside it was the date. September 2nd, 2552. Three days had passed since he and Emile had left Reach.
There was a knock and then the metal door slid open with a whoosh. A tall woman in a doctor’s uniform and hair tied up in a tight bun smiled tightly at him as she walked in.
“Good morning, Spartan,” she said as the door closed behind her. She was carrying a tablet and had a uniform draped over her arm.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Six responded.
“Do you remember speaking to me yesterday?”
“No,” Six said slowly, trying to force himself to remember back. All he got for his effort was an increasing heart rate.
The doctor glanced at the monitor. “Don’t be concerned. You were still heavily sedated. It’s normal.”
“Not for me.”
She smiled. “I assure you, even as a Spartan, it is quite normal considering the amount you were given.”
Six took a deep breath, let his heart rate settle. “Why was I sedated?”
“You kept trying to fight off the medical team.”
Six ducked his head, felt his face grow warm. “I apologize, ma’am,” he said. He didn’t know if they knew why, if they had ever heard him say Emile’s name. “Was Noble Four recovered?”
The woman pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I can only pass on your request for information. ONI orders.” She gave him a sad smile.
Six’s stomach sank at that. “Understood.”
“How are you feeling?” She asked. “Any pain in your arm?”
“Minimal, ma’am.”
She set down the tablet and the uniform at the end of the bed and started unhooking everything from Six’s body. “Surgery went very well,” she said. “You have some plasma burns as well as some post surgery recovery in your left shoulder.” She touched the outside of the bandages, drew his eyes to his wound. “We had to do some basic artery repair along here. You lost a lot of blood.”
Six nodded along, but his mind was on Emile. On the amount of blood that Emile had lost, on the severity of Emile’s wound. He didn’t need the details about himself, he just wanted to know if Emile had made it.
“You will make a full recovery,” she continued. “You’ll be discharged tomorrow.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“ONI officers are here to speak with you,” she said. She picked up her tablet and returned to the doorway. “Do you need help changing?”
“No, ma’am.”
“ONI is waiting outside,” she said. The door slid open. “I’m sorry,” she said again as she stepped through.
The door closed with a click. Slowly, Six lowered his feet to the floor, expecting pain to shoot through his legs again. But mercifully, no pain came. He stood and pulled off the hospital gown, slowly stretching out the muscles under the bandages. They’d done good work, the pain was minimal, more a steady ache than anything sharp. He dressed as quickly as he could, rinsed his mouth out in the tiny sink, and opened the door.
The man waiting outside saluted Six as he exited his room and then turned to lead him down the hall.
He was debriefed by two men in a little room attached to the medical bay. One was a high ranking ONI officer, the other, a psych eval tech. This was standard procedure. Compared to a civilian, he knew he would score abnormally on the eval, but ONI was never looking for normal in their Spartans. Neither the official nor the tech flagged anything as the eval concluded.
Six asked about Emile. They ignored the question, asked him instead for a full record of everything that had transpired on Reach.
He complied. Asked about Emile again. Once again, they ignored the question, moved on to brief him on his next mission. He learned that Noble Team's actions were considered a success, but Reach has been lost. Evacuations had ceased entirely. And Six would be sent to rendezvous with his next assignment. They offered a few words of condolences for his fallen teammates, stood to leave.
Six stood as well, saluting the superior officer. But inside he was fuming, clenching his jaw tight to keep from demanding the answers he so desperately needed.
The tech exited. The door slid closed. The officer remained.
“Spartan, you have been reassigned and are expected to function solo again,” he said. “But I understand you are worried about the wellbeing of your former teammate.”
“Yes, sir,” Six confirmed.
“You may visit him in room 52, but understand this is not a sanctioned visit. Don’t do anything to jeopardize his recovery.”
“Of course, sir,” Six said, unable to keep his mouth from hanging open a bit in surprise. What did the officer think he was going to do?
The officer left without another word, leaving Six to stand in the dark room reeling from the knowledge that Emile had made it. He had lived.
Six made his way through the quiet hospital corridors to room 52. He touched the small engraved numbers on the door, smiling sadly at the irony of it. When he tapped the wall panel, the door slid open to reveal a room nearly identical to his own. Emile lay on the bed, draped in the thin sheets, asleep but breathing steadily. The monitors beeped lazily, no alarms were ringing, no indicators flashing. Emile was alive.
Alive.
Six smiled to himself, closed his eyes against the flood of emotion at the confirmation that they had both survived the nightmare of Reach.
There was no chair in the room, so Six dragged one in from elsewhere, swiped some hospital food, and sat down to keep watch over Emile.
One of the doctors came in to check on Emile after a while. He nodded respectfully to Six when he entered.
“What is his status?” Six asked.
The doctor paused his examination and looked up at Six. “He’s stable. He responded well to surgery,” he said. “He’s been asking for you.”
“Thank you,” Six said, pressed his lips together to keep the doctor from seeing his smile.
The doctor nodded again, finished his examination, and left.
Reassured, Six settled back in the chair and drifted off until the change in the monitor’s rhythm woke him.
He opened his eyes to see Emile still in the same position, lying so still that his increased heart rate was the only indicator he wasn’t still sleeping.
“Hey, Emile,” Six said softly
Emile turned toward him. “Six?”
“At your service.” He smiled.
Emile tried to sit. But he winced and sank back against the bed. “That really you?”
“Who else?”
Emile cleared his throat. “I thought you redeployed. Or died.”
“Why?” Six asked, a frown furrowing his brow.
“I asked about you,” Emile said. “Couple times. They wouldn’t tell me anything, just that your records were sealed. And I was to stop asking. Guess I assumed the worst.”
“Typical ONI bullshit.” Six said. But he was touched by Emile’s concern, couldn’t keep the smile off his lips at the thought of Emile being just as worried about him as he had been about Emile.
“So you’re good then? All patched up?” Emile pressed.
Six nodded. “Patched up enough. I’m heading back out tomorrow.”
Emile frowned down at his bandages. “Going to have all the fun without me, hm?”
Six nodded again, secretly relieved to see Emile acting so much like himself despite everything that had happened. “You’ll be back out there in no time,” he said.
“Think you could sneak me out with you? I can’t stand this place,” Emile said with a wink.
Six grunted. “And get us both arrested?”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Listen, if they haven’t sent you back out by the time you are moving around without pain, I’ll come get you myself.”
“You worry about everyone this much?” Emile asked, a little smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.
Six paused, pressed his lips together for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Just you, Emile.”
A strange expression passed over Emile’s face. One that Six couldn’t easily read.
“I got you your favorite,” Six said to cut the awkward silence. He held out a small hospital container with a jiggling red jelly inside.
Emile’s eyes moved from the jelly to Six’s face without expression. “That’s not my fucking favorite.”
Six shrugged, tried to fight back a smile. “Worth a shot. Guess you’ll have to eat this one then.” He plopped a second container down on Emile's tray, this one blue and just as jiggly.
“Hell no. Give me the red one.”
Six laughed as Emile snatched it out of his hand. He popped the spoon off the side of the container and plunged it into the jelly, took a bite. Immediately his face wrinkled. “This is disgusting.”
“Why’s it your favorite then?”
“Asshole.”
Six’s breath caught at the smile that spread across Emile’s face. Fucking beautiful.
Emile put the hospital food down. “Come here,” he said.
Without hesitation, Six set aside his own unopened food and leaned in close.
Emile’s smile grew even bigger, the scars on the side of his face pulling up. “Listen. I have this funny memory of you and me in a Pelican.”
Six nodded. “Go on.”
The strange expression returned to Emile’s face, but he pressed on. “I think I remember kissing you.”
Six nodded again.
“I think I remember you liking it.”
Six had liked it. Very much. But Emile had blacked out right after and it was unlikely he really remembered how Six had responded. But Six knew this wasn’t really about his fuzzy memories; he was testing the waters, gauging his response now. If there was one thing Six hated it was ambiguity. And the Covenant. But that was beside the point at the moment.
“You have a good memory,” Six said.
Emile’s face lit up. He curled a finger, urging him forward. Six went without protest, put his hands on the side of the hospital bed and leaned over Emile, pressed his lips to his. Emile opened his mouth with a smile, deepened the kiss. Six tasted the red jelly on his tongue and pressed in closer.
Emile groaned and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulled him even tighter to him. Six got one of his knees up on the side of the bed and reached around so he had a hand on either side of Emile’s pillow, using them to bracket Emile but also to keep his weight off of the wound on his chest. Emile was making that difficult though, kept trying to pull him closer like any air at all between them was unacceptable. He felt Emile nip his bottom lip.
“Touch my face,” Emile whispered into his mouth.
Six shifted to do so immediately, bracing his weight on his elbows to free his hands. Could only imagine how sensitive his face would be when it was never seen, much less touched. His hope was confirmed when Emile groaned as Six’s hand cupped his cheek, and then shifted down into a guttural moan as the fingers of Six’s other hand touched his neck.
Six stroked his thumb across Emile’s cheekbone. “Fucking beautiful.”
“Don’t just say things you don't mean.”
Six lifted his head a bit so he could look right into Emile’s eyes. “I mean every damn word.”
Emile hummed. Kissed Six again. Then he made a frustrated sound.
“I usually prefer this the other way around,” he said.
“Not a lot of options today,” Six answered breathlessly.
Emile pouted. Actually fucking pouted. “Yeah.”
“How far do you want to go?” Six asked, trying to bring his attention back to what they were doing now.
“As far as we can.” Emile said, then amended, “Far as you want.”
“They could come in at any moment,” Six warned.
“Fuck them. You’re deploying again, who knows when we will get a chance like this.”
Six nodded at that and shifted his leg around so that he was straddling Emile’s body. Then slowly, gently, he ground his hips down and pushed forward. Emile’s eyes went wide, glittering in the dusky ceiling lights.
“Just like that,” he said.
Six shifted a little, so he could get his hands back on Emile’s face, which Emile seemed to appreciate, his eyes rolling back. Emile didn’t hold back, genuinely seemed not to care if anyone heard him, just let his moans grow louder as Six ratcheted up the speed of his movement. Six was trying to be sensitive to Emile’s wound, to not cause any undue discomfort. But he was distracted by the tightness in his pants, regretting his choice to hop right on top without first removing them.
“Harder,” Emile pleaded, trying to push himself up into Six.
Six pulled back, ignoring Emile’s growl of frustration. “ONI told me you have to take it easy.”
Emile’s eyebrows shot up. “The fuck you do to make them say that?”
“Hell if I know.”
“You think they knew you wanted to fuck?”
Six grimaced. “I hope not. Can you imagine?”
“Naval intelligence, I suppose,” Emile said, shrugging away his surprise. “Good thing I never learned to take it slow.”
Six flashed him a wicked grin and leaned down to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’ll do all the work, understand? Don’t move.”
“Such a stickler,” Emile complained, but he did as he was told.
Six slid down his body, pressing kisses down his neck and collarbone as he went, but making sure to avoid the wound in his center. He returned his mouth to Emile’s body below his navel and kissed down to the waistband of his hospital supplied pants. He reached for the drawstring, but stopped with his hand hovering above it and glanced up. Emile was watching him, his teeth biting into the lower half of his smile. Emile gave him a nod and Six pulled his waistband down.
His cock was already hard and leaking. Six leaned in immediately to lick his tip, smiled at the way Emile’s thighs tensed. He gave no further warning as he suddenly sealed his lips over Emile’s cock and sucked down to the middle and back to the tip. Emile groaned, loud and unrestrained.
“Fuck, Six,” he hissed.
Six smiled around his cock and then dropped back down. Not quite able to reach his base, but Emile didn’t seem to mind. His hands shot out to tangle in Six’s hair. Six swallowed around his cock and Emile’s fingers tightened, a little painfully. Six moaned.
“Like that, do you?” Emile chuckled.
Six gave him a playful glare, maybe even let his teeth scrape his shaft as he sucked back up to his tip.
Emile cried out. “Again,” he said, voice hoarse.
Six pulled off with a pop. “Like that, do you?”
“Fuck off,” Emile laughed. “Get back to work.”
“Copy that.”
Six could tell that Emile, once healed up, would insist on taking control. He imagined him laying him out on the bed, railing him mercilessly from behind. And fuck, did that image do something to him. Blood rushed south and he grunted at the uncomfortable pressure of his cock against his pants.
“Take it out,” Emile said as if he could read his mind. “Let me see you.”
Six let Emile’s cock slip from his mouth and slid back so he was kneeling at the end of the bed. Emile’s eyes watched him ravenously as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out, fully hard and glistening.
“All that for me?”
Six hummed. “Of course”
Emile gave him a smug look and Six mouthed at his cock again, intending to wipe that look away. It didn’t take long before he had Emile moaning up at the ceiling again, trying to use his legs to thrust up into Six’s mouth, too distracted to remember he wasn’t supposed to be moving. Six could tell he was close, didn’t want to break his momentum, so he dropped his forearms across Emile’s thighs and leaned his weight down on them. He ignored the flare of pain in his shoulder; wouldn’t be much longer now.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Emile groaned.
Maybe he wouldn’t mind Six in control another time too. Six could think of a couple things he’d like to do to him once he was healed up. His cock twitched and he moaned around Emile.
Emile’s eyes went wide. “Cumming” he said, sounding wrecked as all hell, and pulled Six back by his hair. Six went without protest. He wouldn’t have minded Emile finishing down his throat, but he wasn’t going to force it if that’s not what Emile wanted. He shifted to take over with his hands, one hand pressed at his base, the other rapidly moving over the sensitive spot right below his tip.
Emile’s body went rigid and he cried out, shooting ropes of cum onto his chest, splattering his bandages.
Six bit back a curse at the mess as he worked Emile through it, stopping only when Emile was batting his hand away.
“Good?” Six asked.
Emile tried to sit.
“I’ve got you,” Six said, pressing down on Emile’s shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”
“No. Give me your dick.”
Six shifted his position so he could press his groin down into Emile’s hand.
Emile hummed as his fingers wrapped around him. “Been waiting to touch you. You feel so good.”
This position had Six’s face beside Emile’s again and he took full advantage, kissing him deeply and roughly as he fucked his hand until he came, moaning into Emile’s mouth.
Six lay there a moment panting into Emile’s neck. When he sat up, Emile was frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Emile shrugged. “Would have liked to have touched you more.”
Six laughed, nipped his bottom lip. “Next time, you can do whatever you want,” he said and disentangled himself from Emile, climbed off the bed.
“You’re promising a next time, then?” Emile asked, his frown replaced by his beautiful smile.
“Of course,” Six said.
“I’m holding you to that.”
Six moistened a towel in the little sink and returned to gently clean Emile off. “That means when you get back out there, be safe. Come back to me.” He met Emile’s eyes as he tucked him back away.
Emile nodded solemnly “You too.”
Six nodded back. It was starting to get a little sentimental now, though, and Six knew that made Emile uncomfortable.
“You need some space?” he asked.
“Hell no. Get your ass back in bed, man.”
Six barked out a laugh and did as asked. Slowly, he curled himself around Emile, ever careful of his wounds. “How you feeling?”
“Good, Six. That was fucking amazing.” He turned his head to press his lips to Six’s forehead.
Six smiled and nuzzled into Emile’s neck. “I aim to please.”