[B-Deck] Meetings, Patch Ups, & Downtime

[Furby, J.]

Despite both Jayson and Corporal Davis's insistence, Private Wilkas remained firm in her decision to meet with the Lieutenant. The PFC couldn't quite understand her decision, and shook his head ever-so-slightly at it. From a personal point of view, if he were given a choice between chow or meeting with their butterbar lieutenant, he would choose chow every time. As his DI in boot camp had once told him, "operating on a full stomach improves combat readiness. If you skip a meal, you're a fucking fool."

"Furby, go get chow," Corporal Davis ordered. He went on to praise Furby's performance on their mission and told him he had earned the right to go to chow. Jayson simply nodded his head, his expression somewhat apathetic to the praise he was receiving.

"Aye, Corporal," he smartly responded, then turned on his heel and exited the room. As Davis had guessed, Furby knew the way to the chow hall by heart. When he had first arrived aboard the Vengeance, he had at first been overwhelmed by what seemed to be a maze of corridors and rooms. After about a month with the unit, he decided to commit some time out of his day learning the way to each of the ship's major locations. He learned routes to the infirmary, berthing areas, Heads, chow hall, ready rooms, and of course the hangars and armories. It had taken him some time, but he mastered it all pretty quickly.

Arriving at the chow hall, Furby made a beeline for the chow line. Fortunately, there weren't many people left in the area. Most of the ship's crew had already eaten, and there was still the matter that most of the Marines aboard ship were in cryo. So, he only had to wait in line for a couple minutes before he reached the serving area.

Jayson grabbed a tray and asked the swabbies behind the serving stands to pile on the grub. By the time he walked away and found himself a seat at one of the many tables located around the chow hall, his tray was packed to the brim with all the food one could hope for. Today's chow hall special was Salisbury steak, and he had mashed potatoes and gravy, French fries, and a small helping of green beans to back it up.

As Furby started to dig in to his meal, he heard a pair of voices coming from the table behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, curious to see who it was, and noticed they were a pair of Marines from the battalion's H&S Company. He was just about to tune them out and continue eating, when he overheard something that caught his attention.

"You hear what happened down in the hangar?" the one Marine asked his companion.

"No. What?"

The other Marine chuckled. "Scuttlebutt says the Battalion XO, Major Killinger, kicked some E-6's ass in O-Company."

"Really? Cuz I heard that the Major got an ass woopin' and he had to be rushed to the infirmary. One of the aviation boys down there told me he even got punched in the dick," the other guy said.

Furby put down his fork, which had a piece of steak attached to it, and turned so that he could see the two Marines. "Hey, you POG motherfuckers, don't you have something better to do than spread scuttlebutt? Like work on giving everyone their combat bonuses, or whatever the Hell it is you guys do for a livin'?"

The Marine on the right turned around. The rank pin on his collar denoted him as a Lance Corporal. "Who the hell do you think you are, PFC?"

"A grunt from O-Company. Got a problem?" Furby stood up from his seat, his eyes fixed upon the Marine from H&S Company.

The Lance Corporal paused for a moment, as if debating what to do, then shook his head. The look on his face was priceless. "No, PFC. No problem."

"Then shut up and eat your damn food," Furby retorted, then sat back down and continued to eat his meal.

[Wilkas, G.]

"Thank you Corporal... I owe you one". Grace said to Davis before entering awkwardly pressing the button with a hand that held a crutch happened to be unsurprisingly vert difficult. The door shut behind her leaving her alone, with the LT. Her mouth felt dry, she swallowed uncomfortably. She lent a crutch against her body, saluting Durant before returning that hand to holding crutches. 

"Private Wilkas reporting as ordered, sir," she declared hating how her voice did not sound confident, more like a frightened squeak.

She remained standing as best she could, Wilkas wasn't about to try and sit down any place without instruction from Durant. Especially since this was his office and she did not want to dig herself any deeper into a hole with him. 

Wilkas heart beat faster in her chest, she expected at any moment that he would chew her out for what had happened on the operation. She doubted that anything she could say would defend herself from him. 

If Grace felt any hunger at all, it vanished in Durant's office. In a way she was glad that she hadn't eaten, her stomach felt full of butterflies and any food might had brought them up in the office. That would be a great way to begin a talk with the LT, vomit in his office. 

Like she hadn't done enough of that on mission today, Grace thought bitterly remembering being on the bridge. As if summoned by memory the stench flickered to life in her nose and she took a deep breath clearing it.

Her eyes scanned the office nervously, taking it in, they didn't rest on anything. This was the first that Wilkas had been alone with Durant since she first joined the platoon, which in all honest wasn't that long ago. 

At least she no longer happened to be the untested rookie. Now she was the rookie who had a habit of proving unreliable, she remembered her panic attack and being pinned down by the Covenant during their first engagement with them.

Just them, Grace remembered the dogtag that she picked up from a fallen marine, the one she stared at far too long. The guy had barely been older that she was. If, when Durant finished speaking with her Grace would hand him the dogtag since he would know what to do with them. 

She just first had to survive whatever he had to say. 

[Durant, M.]

To say that Lieutenant Durant had been expecting Private Wilkas to enter his room with crutches would be totally inaccurate. He was genuinely taken by surprise when his eyes fell upon the slender, young Marine as she struggled to make her way into the office. Despite the obvious handicap presented by the crutches - to his surprise - she managed to snap off a salute.

"Private Wilkas reporting as ordered, sir," he sounded off. Michael stood up from his seat and returned her salute, rather impressed that she had even attempted it given the circumstances and her condition. He returned to his seat and looked up at her for a moment, expecting her to move towards one of the seats near her.

When she didn't, he realized that she was waiting for him to give her permission to be seated. A warm smile curled his lips, and he leaned forward and grabbed a chair next to him and rolled it in front of him. He spun the seat around so that it was facing Private Wilkas. ""Please, take a seat," he said warmly.

A part of him sensed that she was nervous. Perhaps fearing the worst considering the problems he had with her earlier in the day. While yes, she did panic and inadvertently endanger the lives of every man and woman in his platoon, she had more than made up for it later on. Wilkas had shown her mettle during the ambush, and in the events proceeding it. Her anxiety and nervousness was perfectly normal for someone whom had never experienced combat before, and being painfully aware of what her CSV had to say about her, she hadn't joined the military and the war effort by choice.

Now, as hard as it was for him to grasp why anyone wouldn't want the honor of serving in the military, and to experience the glory of battle, he did try to see things from her point of view. Her file had said she had been in university prior to receiving her draft notice, and had been kickedout for whatever reason. Perhaps, though he was sure Wilkas didn't see it that way, that her being conscripted was a blessing in disguise. So far she had proved to be a capable RTO, if not a bit rough around the edges.

Nothing a bit of training can't fix, the Lieutenant thought. He grinned at the thought, and then snapped back to reality. Right. He had something he needed to do. "Private," the Lieutenant began, looking her in the eyes. "I gotta say, you were off to a rough start earlier today. You endangered the members of my platoon with that panic attack, and thank the Gods that we weren't ambushed at that time. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure about you. Unsure of whether or not I wanted you in my platoon."

He paused to let those words settle in the air. While he waited, he scrutinized the young woman in front of him closely, gauging her reaction. He had a feeling she had feared hearing those words, and likely thought he had ordered her here to reprimand her. To make her feel terrible about herself and her actions.

That was far from the case.

"However," he finally said, sensing the tension in the air. "You proved that I was being far too unfair in my judgment of you, and far too quick as well. While you had needed some prodding from Sergeant Stone when we were ambushed, you reacted to the situation and engaged the enemy. And you continued to fight in the subsequent engagements without needing to be told to, and you stuck by me the entire time."

His smile widened. "You did a good job, today. You fought hard and you survived to talk about and remember it. All I ask is that you learn from your mistakes, and don't repeat them. Finally, I have already put in a request for your combat action ribbon. Congratulations, you are now a battle-tested Marine. You've earned that award, so when you receive it, wear it proud... in the proper uniform, of course."

He chuckled and then leaned back in his seat. "Now, is there anything you'd like to say? Are there any questions you'd like me to answer?"

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace sat carefully down on the chair that Durant offered her, she turned around to face him. "Thank you sir". She forced herself to keep his eye contact as he spoke, it wasn't things that she wanted to hear. When paused after his sentence, Wilkas feared that he may be planning to kick her out of the platoon. She didn't want that, yet if Durant did and wrote a report explaining why Wilkas highly doubted that any other marine platoon out there would want her in their platoon. So far the conversation was progressing exactly as she feared it might. She couldn't exactly hope to defend herself from the truth.

When he spoke again she let out her breath that she hadn't realised that she had been unconsciously holding. Private Wilkas was stunned, caught off guard by the sudden change of the conversation, Durant thought she had done a good job. At first Grace kept quiet to stunned to speak, but she realised that she would have to say something, anything in reply to the LT. 

"Thank you sir," she stammered. "I won't let you down." Grace aimed to keep that promise. 

Just then she remembered one thing, fumbling in her pocket she produced a dog tag, one that she picked up off of a fallen marine during the operation. As if summoned by the dog tag, his fallen body appeared in her mind, the glassy eyes vacant, staring at nothing. "I picked this up off one of the Marines that we found on the mission, sir." Grace shook her head to disperse the image and held it out for Durant to take. 

He would be better able than she was to ensure that the fallen where remembered and that their family, if they had any family left knew that they had fallen. That mission had been the first time that Wilkas actually experienced the horror of war, it left her very reluctant to experience it again.

Yet somehow in this war, she doubted that she would never experience war's horror again. 

She knew that she needed to come clean and tell Durant the truth, taking a deep breath she forced herself to look into his eyes as she spoke. "Sir... It pains me to admit it but... on my medical record it states I am prone to panic attacks." Wilkas left out the part where on the file it said 'particularly in claustrophobic environments'. She somehow didn't desire for the LT to bite her head off with various angry, strong words because he either didn't know or because she failed to tell him this before. Not like the UNSC would care anyway, as long as their numbers were kept up anyone could be drafted. 

Maybe the UNSC would get lucky and find some born soldiers, as this was not so in Grace's case.

[Durant, M.]

Private Wilkas's demeanor showed change as the topic shifted away from her mistakes and towards her accomplishments, and the praise that Durant was giving her. She seemed taken aback -- surprised, more accurately -- by his words and compliments. It was obvious that she had expected the worst to come of their meeting in his office. Not that he could quite blame her. With all that had happened, he would have been particularly worried were he in her boots too.

"Thank you, sir," the Private finally stammered out. Durant's lips curled into a soft smile. "I won't let you down."

Durant nodded curtly at his RTO. "I know you won't, Wilkas." The words sounded more paternal than he had intended as they escaped his lips. Despite that, he did not cease smiling at the young, slender woman in front of him. "And I will most certainly hold you to that."

Suddenly, Wilkas's demeanor again shifted. Her eyes lost their focus and her expression was blank, her emotions muted. After a moment of her staring blankly towards him, Wilkas fished into her pocket and pulled out a pair of metal dogtags. Michael arched his brow at her curiously, wanting to examine them and wondering where she got them and who they belonged to.

She informed him that she found him on a Marine from the Templar. It took a moment for the words to register, but then he nodded and carefully removed the dogtags from her grasp. "I'll make sure the family is notified, Private," Durant said softly. "He will be remembered."

What came out of the Private's mouth next took him by surprise. He stared at her for a minute, unsure of what to say or how to respond. It was true that he had seen that in her medical records, and truthfully had forgotten about it. He had so many CSVs to keep track of and remember that it was sometimes easy to forget minor details in an individual's file.

"I'm aware of what's in your CSV, Wilkas," Mike said. Technically that was a half-truth. He had read it, but most of her file was fuzzy to him. "All I can ask of you is that you try to keep a lid on it. Because those panic attacks, were they to come at an inconvenient time, could potentially cost other Marines their lives. So, you must learn to overcome them."

[Wilkas, G.]

Durant's silence after her confession caused Grace to shuffle uncomfortably and to avoid his gaze. She felt rather self concious as he just stared at her. Wilkas began to regret telling him about her panic attacks, but it was better that he found out now rather than in the middle of a fire fight or some other stressful situation. 

Better in his office than out in the field, right?

His reply, however made Grace unwilling to answer. She could not lie to an officer, but at the same time she found it difficult to control her panic attacks. In the end there was only one thing she could say to him. 

"Sir, I cannot promise you that they won't happen again; all I can promise you is that I will do my best to prevent them from happening out in the field." There that was the best she could do. It wasn't like she had much choice in the matter when she panicked, given the choice she would rather keep breathing than find it impossible to breath any air in.

She would just have to do her best to keep a lid on things, a task easier said then done, especially when plasma bolts rip overhead. Damn those things, they make one terrifying sound.

"Is there anything else sir, or would you like me to leave so that you may return to your duties?" Grace winced after asking the question, it felt rather rude. Too late now to take it back, if it was rude or out of place then she would offer an apology to Durant. 

Assuming, of course, he had not grown tired of Wilkas and decided to boot her out of the platoon, though that wouldn't be the end of her service. The UNSC would simply find her another platoon that needed an RTO.

She shifted in the uncomfortable silence. Grace silently thanked her refusal to eat anything because she felt at the moment with all the tension in the air that she would be sick. Though the other marines in her platoon would inevitably find the idea of a private being sick in an officer's office to be most amusing. Somehow, for some reason Grace doubted that Durant himself would share their amusement. 

Now that would get her on an officer's bad books if she emptied her stomach in their office. 

((OOC: Sorry I had a better, larger post but my internet played up and I lost it....))

[Durant, M.]

It seemed that despite his every effort to ensure that Wilkas felt comfortable in his presence, they were for naught. The young RTO still seemed tense, a fact that was proven correct by the rigid tone in her voice as she assured him that she would try her best not to allow herself to succumb to panic in the field. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he simply nodded his head.

An uneasy silence fell between them, and Michael noted that Wilkas seemed to avert eye contact with him. He wasn't sure what thoughts were running through her mind, but something told him right now she would have rather been anywhere else than here in his office. Her next words further confirmed his theory, and he resisted the urge to chuckle at them.

She was definitely in a hurry to vacate the area.

"Private," Durant began, offerin her a kind smile, "I don't want you to think that I am at all doubtful of your abilities. Quite the contrary, actually. You have the makings of being a fine Marine -- a fine warrior. You may not see it, but I do. I understand you aren't used to all of this, and I'm certain you feel woefully out of your element; but, in time those feelings will pass. Before I dismiss you from my office, I want you to think about something."

The Lieutenant paused to choose his next words very carefully, and to let what he had just said settle in Wilkas's mind. He had an idea of what he wanted to say, but the challenge being presented to him was putting those thoughts to words, and voicing them in a coherent and impactful way. The impact of his words would be directly effected by how he chose to voice them to the young RTO.

After a moment's thought, he believed he had what he wanted to say prepared. He looked Wilkas in the eye as he spoke, his expression neutral; soft. "I harbor no ill feelings towards you, nor do I think any lesser of you for what happened on our mission. While I cannot empathize with what you must have been feeling earlier today, I do understand that it is a natural reaction to what most would consider the horrors of war. So, whatever discontent you feel I may have towards you, is not there. I am confident in you and your abilities, and I am far from disappointed. You're a little rough around the edges, but take a look around. So are half the Marines under my command. With time and more experience, you'll learn to cope with the things you see, and life will become much easier for you. I can assure you of that. So, what I am trying to say is, I haven't made any judgments about you. So ask yourself, what judgments have you made on yourself and your own actions, and why do you think I am trying to vindicate you?"

Durant's lips very slowly curled into a smile, and he reclined in his chair. "Think about it," he said, and then swiveled his chair towards his desk. "Anyway, I have a mountain of paperwork to get to and some other things to take care of, so you're dismissed if there is nothing else you wish to talk about."

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace listened intently to what Durant had to say to her, in a way he felt almost fatherly and she was the daughter who just wanted to escape a lecture. Never the less since he hadn't dismissed her she could hardly run out of his office. On second thought she couldn't run out of his office any way, not with crutches on. By the time she got out of the door if he wanted to he could have already caught her. 

"T... Thank you sir," She stammered a bit surprised by his compliments but also the faith he seemed to have placed in her. Wilkas hoped that she would not disappoint him.

She wasn't sure if he wanted an answer to his questions there and then, or if they were rhetorical. Grace moved her lips in preperation to say something when Durant said, "Think about it," before dismissing her. 

Grace believed that his questions had been purely rhetorical ones where she needed to think and come to a conclusion herself. One question wasn't rhetorical however and that was whether she had anything else that she wished to talk about. 
There wasn't really, except that she lost her rifle and radio pack during the mission. But... Compared to the loss of a warship well she felt largely certain that chasing up after her missing gear, that probably no longer existed would not be high on anyone's to do list. 

"I'll let you get back to your work," she said to Durant with a thin smile, before she struggled to stand up, clambering ungracefully out of the chair and standing up using the crutches. Grace felt as ungainly as a new born baby Giraffe on these things still.

Next time she ended up getting one of her legs or ankles injured she intended to demand a wheel chair instead. At least they appeared easier to move around it. Exceptions being when stairs were encountered. Then there would be a problem.

She moved towards the entrance to the office, her pace was far slower than the one she would have preferred, yet there happened to be preciously little that Wilkas could do about that. She wobbled unsteadily on her crutches, feeling more and more like a Giraffe baby. 

Surely there had to be an easier or better way to move around on crutches, like get someone to carry you around for you?

Though that would be highly embarrassing. 

[Davis, E.]

Davis had waited in the hall, pouring over a notebook he kept to keep track of things he was responsible for. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach, though he did his best to ignore it. Making sure he was ready for the next day kept his mind preoccupied, and knowing he would have responsibility for Wilkas now made him add many things to his list. He knew nothing about radios or extra gear for an RTO. Learning about being an RTO was something he would need. Teaching her how to navigate the ship on her own would be an important piece too. He had needed almost a month to learn his way around.

Davis smirked to himself remembering his first encounter with the LT. He was still a PFC and had a chip on his shoulders. He had done everything he could to prove he was worth having in the unit. In reality, he was going to be there regardless, but green troopers always had crazy ideas. He was sure Wilkas was expecting something similar. Like it or not, Davis had to admit that Durant knew what he was doing and was a pretty decent officer. Time could change that though.

Looking over his notes again, he started to form a list of things to do. He needed to double check gear to make sure it would be ready to go again, a quick room inspection would be good, and some range time would be great if they could get it. A team had to work together or they would be worthless, and the best way to learn to work together was to do just that. He also had Faust's people to take care of, making each task a little longer. Which reminded him he needed to check on her after he woke up.

The sound of the door opening grabbed his attention, and he looked towards the LT's quarters to make sure it was in fact Wilkas. He waited for her to make it out in one piece before moving. He wasn't about to walk for her, but he didn't need her crashing into a wall or down a flight of stairs. That and her combined mental and physical state couldn't be good. No one was after their first run in with the Covenant.

"You ready Private?" he asked, stepping forward to make himself more obvious. "Didn't want you to have to wander around. I would assume you have a room assigned."

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace honestly hadn't been expecting to see Davis waiting for her outside of the LT's office. She blinked in surprise, before finally answering him. "Yes Corporal. And no, I don't know if I have a room assigned to me." Truth be told ever since she ended up aboard this ship for her it had been cryo tube time. Nothing like a nice frozen bed in which to be frozen in and sleep through space. The ship was a maze to her and she honestly did not feel like wandering around it until Wilkas found where ever she was supposed to be. 

"I thought only officers get their own rooms the rest of us would have a barracks or something." She looked at him. "You know like in boot camp?" Of course that had the added advantage of a Marine Drill Instructor alarm clock, not just any alarm clock either, but a Russian Marine Drill Instructor alarm clock, now no one enjoys it when a Drill wakes you up at four in the morning in the middle of a pouring rain for several hours of PT.

Hopefully that wouldn't be a to common of an occurrence here, it certainly wouldn't be for a while considering that she was well... Only supposed to perform light duties. Though she always believed that it would be impossible to escape those drills, she was certain they would think of some form of PT for her. 

"So... If I am meant to have a room of my own I guess I am meant to know it right? Well... If I do, I don't," she rambled slightly, still feeling a bit surprised that Davis had been outside of the office. More than likely he had been waiting for her which was fine, but... Why?

Then she remembered how she had found herself conscripted into the first squad, with the exception of when the war came around she followed Durant like a shadow.

What was it with her and getting drafted or conscripted into things?

Never a volunteer job for her, Grace had never been one of life's volunteers yet after hearing the stories of how Military Police dragged in those draftees who tried to run to avoid being drafted... Wilkas made certain that she was there early.

No sense getting the seven shades kicked out of you before the Drills had a chance to do it themselves. Wilkas remembered thinking that boot camp had been hell, actual war where the enemy shot back, that was far worse. 

[Davis, E.]

"You have one," Davis said with a smirk, "But I bet they never told you before you got stuffed in the freezer. Come on Private, we'll find your room. All your non-essential things are there. Any memories from home you stuck in a duffle, your civies, etc., etc. Someone must have just grabbed it and tossed it in on the way by, or all your extra gear is still down in in-processing storage. If those shitheads left it down there..."

Davis let his sentence trail off before looking to his left for Wilkas. He realized he had quickly outpaced her during his talking. Stopping and waiting for her, he mulled over what was going to happen. If they hadn't sent her gear up to her berth, he was going to have to go down there and get it. No way Wilkas could do it on crutches. And it wasn't right that she should have to anyway. Time to flex some of that NCO status and chew on people that weren't his. With any luck, he'd piss of some Gunny who assigned some NJP. He loved NJP time.

Leading the way (more slowly this time) Davis made his way through the second platoon berthing area. Stopping at a terminal in the hall, he ran a quick search for her name and berthing assignment. It came up, and he turned another corner, sure she had no idea where they were. It didn't look all that different from anywhere else in the ship, and only the door numbers indicated anything different from one room to the next.

"So, here we are Private," Davis said softly. "And you let me know if you need anything. I'm around the corner, second door on the left. Let's see if those REMFs got your stuff right."

[Wilkas, G.]

"I have one?" Wilkas echoed feeling a bit bemused, God how much she hated being green. "Oh yeah that will be cool if my stuff is there. Also no more freezer tubes for a while even the bunks back at boot where better than those." Grace despised being cryo frozen which made her have something in common with just about anyone who spent any time in one of those tubes. "I hope it is not in storage. It might take a while to get if it is."

Grace hurried to catch up with Davis, it was very difficult to move with crutches on. She could not wait to get back to regular old walking around, at least then she could keeo up and sometimes even outpace her fellow marines.

She caught up with him, feeling a little breathless and exhausted but the exhaustion problem came from the fact that she hadn't eaten and the combat. Wilkas honestly by now felt completely lost. "If I ever go missing for any length of time send a search party I am probably lost." Grace flashed him a smile, she had been only half joking. They paused by a terminal while Davis checked for her berth Grace herself attempted to not feel as exhausted. She failed but perhaps, maybe she might just be able to collapse on her bed or any bed for that matter and sleep. 

Soon they moved on once more, Grace struggling to keep pace with Davis. Finally they arrived at her berth, she took a couple of deep breaths and stood unsteadily on her crutches. "Thanks and I'll make a note of that Corporal, yes let us see." Balancing on one crutch she opened the door with her hand before grabbing hold once more of the other crutch. "I really appreciate this." 

Her room did indeed contain her stuff, a small miracle. Wilkas entered the room unsteadily, collapsing more than sitting onto the bed as soon as she neared it. "Seems like all is present, Corporal." Wilkas mumbled through a yawn, right now the mattress felt like it had been made by the angels themselves. Though it probably was as unmoving as armour plate, right now Grace could not have asked for a better bed in which to sleep on. 

However, for her she could not fall asleep mostly because Corporal Davis stood outside the room. It would be rude of her to sleep before he left. She propped her crutches against the side of her bed before offering him an invite. "You can come if you would like Corporal?"

[Davis, E.]

"Thanks Private, but I'm good," Davis said with a half smile. "Unless you start baking cookies or something. Get some sleep. You've had a full day. Hopefully we'll get some chow before we head back to the freezers."

Davis shut the door behind himself, turning straight for his room. His stomach rumbled a complaint, but he didn't pay it any mind. He needed some sleep, since he hadn't eaten, and with any luck, he could get a few more orders of business out of the way before they put him back in Cryo. He was running over his notes again when he pushed the door open to his own berth. No one else was there, which was plenty to his liking.

Stripping off the salt stained uniform, Davis quickly changed into PT's to get some sleep. He would make a run to supply to garner a few FM's in the morning if he had time before they were returned to Cryo. He would have loved a good round or two with some of his "friends" from the Navy side if he had time to find them and inflict more bruises, but as he slid into his rack, the call of his dreams was loud in his ear.

Double checking his clock to make sure the alarm was set for four hours, Davis ran through his list one more time as his eyes closed. Sort out Porter's old gear to storage, get some material on radio's and what is required for an RTO, check in on Faust, cycle out her people's gear as needed, and try and requisition some range time. There was no way he could get them all done before the call came for Cryo, but he was going to try. Eating was at the top of that list though. It was his last conscious thought.

His back settled against the mattress, his spine sighing in relief from the relaxation, as he lay there in the pitch dark. The memories of the day aboard the Templar tried to creep back in, but he quickly pushed them out. It didn't take much for the tired mind to shut down as the body already had. It took five deep breaths before he was asleep, and nothing shy of a full blown alarm would be able to wake him before his alarm told him it was time to be an NCO again.

[Wilkas, G.]

With the door shut, Grace finally found herself completely alone. Quietly, she changed into her PT's before lying down on her bed to try and get some sleep. Yet her mind wished to replay everything that had happened during the day, she sighed and rolled over trying to focus her mind on the object of sleep. She failed. Wilkas it seemed had to watch an replay of what had occurred during the operation.

Wilkas wondered if there would be time for her to write home, even if she did not say much she could at least tell her parents that by some small miracle that she had survived her first actual combat mission. Though she might not be able to say that she was in combat; Grace knew that war censorship would be harsh, but necessary to keep morale up on the home front.

Finally, Grace fell into a shallow slumber, rolling and tossing in her sleep as she dreamed. In her dream, Grace was running through the streets of Moscow in the depths of winter, snow flakes fluttered to the ground like thousands of tiny paratroopers. In the distance she could hear the roar of gunfire, the crackle of flames and the sharp whine of plasma weapons. She sprinted round a corner, bringing her assault rifle up, ready to fire. She lowered it a moment later, finding only Marine bodies lying in the ruins of a park.

Wilkas heard distant screaming, it was agonised as if the person screaming had been horribly injured. At first the scream had been Faust's but then it changed to the individual cries for each of the members in her platoon. She sprinted towards the sound of the screaming, it kept getting louder and louder until it seemed like her entire platoon had been injured. Suddenly Grace stumbled, falling face first into the snow, behind her she heard the sound of an alien, an Elite. She rolled over to face it, shuffling backwards searching for her dropped assault rifle.

The Elite held a sword, it's armour covered red with fresh human blood. It raised the sword, before bringing it down.

Now it was Wilkas' turn to scream.

Grace sat bolt upright, clasping a hand over her mouth as she realised that she had screamed out in sheer terror as she woke up. She was plastered in cold sweat, the sheets sticking to her. Her hands shook uncontrolably. In her mind she kept telling herself that it was all right, she was safe here, it had been just a nightmare.

[Cruz, J.]

Cruz sat at his desk looking over the report he wrote for McArthur regarding the similarities of the Templar and the Bad Wolf. Detailed in the report was also the similarities of the Covenant tactics. Tears welled at the corner of the man's eyes as he set the report down yet again. Every time he started to read it, and even while he was writing it, the memories flooded his mind. Memories of exactly one year to the day that the Bad Wolf had fallen to the same type of attack the the Templar succumbed to.

He forced the memories from his mind as he picked the report back up and continued to read it. Very few people from the Orion were left, Cruz and McArthur being two of them and the nature of the attack led ONI Section II to want the knowledge of the attack as well as anything pertaining to it to be either destroyed or confined to paper for easy disposal. The report was to be forwarded to McArthur for his review, then to the ONI agent on the ship for his review, and finally to Section II themselves for whatever they decided to do with it.

Cruz didn't regret what he and Willowby had done in the Pelican, but he knew that his emotions had gotten the better of him. Therefore he at least owed it to Killinger to explain the situation and apologize to him. Even if he didn't want to. Pulling up the unit's contact list on his terminal, Cruz sent Killinger a message requesting that he come to his quarters regarding what had happened.

About 10 minutes later a knock on the door tore his attention away from his newest attempt at finishing his review of the report, "Enter." Cruz said as he rubbed the tears away from his eyes. As the door slid open, Lieutenant Durant entered the door frame. If there was anyone behind him, Cruz couldn't tell due to the LT blocking the view past the door.

(Killinger if you wish to accompany Durant, you're more than welcome to.)