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

[Mason, I.]

Mason looked back at Stone and looked down at his watch then back up at Stone, “you got it Stone, I’ll catch you in about five mikes.” He headed to the second squad berthing area at a brisk pace. He began shifting his upper armor readying it to be detached. Before he was even within the berthing area he had his forearm and upper arm plates off. He set them next to his footlocker and punched in the code.

He took a second glance at his watch, two minutes had already passed. It seemed to Mason that throughout his entire military experience that one thing was an absolute undeniable truth; time will always move faster when you’re running late for chow.

Within another minute his armor and equipment was secured in the footlocker and he was well on his way to the chow hall. Luckily it wasn’t too far away from the berthing areas of first platoon. He came up to the entrance, finding that there was still a bit of a line. He spotted the back of Stone’s head and began making his way over to him. Another sergeant that Mason was unfamiliar with stepped out in front of him. “Hey Sergeant,” the man said - by the sound of his voice and the look of his face he was quite a bit younger than Mason; possibly pretty new to being a sergeant as well. “You can wait in the back of the line like everyone else.”

Mason didn’t feel like having patience at the moment and was about force the marine out of his way when two hands suddenly clasped the man by the shoulders, from behind him. The sergeant looked instantly surprised and confused as he was shoved face first into the wall. The man behind the sergeant was a staff sergeant - he was a staffer in the chow hall that Mason saw regularly. The staff sergeant smiled at Mason and motioned for him to pass. As Mason walked passed and towards Stone, he could hear chow hall sergeant giving the other a tongue lashing, “he’s clearly just got back from mission, you fucking moron,” the staff sergeant said noting that Mason was a bit ragged. “And even if he wasn’t just busting ass, I don’t suggest anyone go pissing of any of them oscar boys.”

“Hey Stone,” Mason said as he stopped beside him.

[Stone, T.]

Stone nodded with a rare smile at Mason's acceptance of his offer, and continued on his way to the chow hall. It didn't take him long to get there -- partly because it wasn't that far away and mostly because he almost jogged the whole way there. The clock was ticking down seemingly faster than he could keep track of, and he wasn't about to miss a chance to stuff himself full when he was running on an empty stomach. Especially not after the shit he had just gone through in the last couple hours.

The doors to the chow hall parted to admit him and he stepped inside. There weren't that many people left inside, unsurprisingly, and most of them seemed to be finishing up their meals. There was a small crowd standing in the chow line, but it wasn't anything to be concerned about. He'd have enough time to be served, and the chow staff wouldn't close the hall until all personnel had finished their meals and vacated it.

The Sergeant entered the line and glanced at the OD green watch he had around his wrist. Three minutes had already passed since he'd encountered Mason, and he hoped the NCO wouldn't take too long to get out of his armor. The sound of footsteps behind him garnered his attention, thinking it was Mason, only for him to frown when he realized it was just a couple of other Marines whom he didn't recognize.

The line moved up and a couple more minutes passed before a bit of commotion occurred behind him. Stone glanced over his shoulder just as a staff sergeant hurriedly passed him by, and his steely blue eyes were met with the sight of Mason trying to get around a much younger looking sergeant. He sighed and was about to get involved when he watched the staff sergeant that had passed him by grab the Marine by his shoulders and slam him against the wall. The slightest hint of an amused grin creased his lips and he waved as Mason came to his side. "I was beginnin' ta think ya had fergotten," he said jokingly. "That guy a friend of yers?"

[Durant, M.]

Shortly after Private Wilkas had left Durant's office, did he make his preparations to go pay Gunnery Sergeant Cruz a visit and inform him of his demotion to staff sergeant. If he were to be honest with himself, he wasn't looking forward to the meeting. Since he had replaced the previous lieutenant of the platoon months ago, he'd never had to deal with such a situation before. He didn't like feeling helplessly lost, but unfortunately he did.

The biggest issue on his mind was how to break the news. Should he be straight forward about it or hint at it? Should he sound angry or nonchalant about it? There were far too many thoughts swimming around in his head, and he simply wished for them to stop so that he could think clearly. However, no matter how hard be tried to relax and just focus, his mind still ran rampant.

Michael exhaled a heavy sigh and frowned. This wasn't going to be easy. Not by any stretch. It's just another part of the job, he thought, shaking his head. Someone had to do it, and in this case it was his responsibility to. So, handle it he would.

The Lieutenant stood up from his chair and started towards the door. There was no point in putting this off any longer, and he knew it had to be done. So, he opened the door and exited his quarters. The trip to Cruz's own quarters was brief, as the room was essentially next door to his. Michael raised his fist and knocked on the door three times.

His signature knock, it would seem.

"Enter," came the muffled voice of Cruz from behind the door. Durant pressed his index finger to the keypad beside the door and it disappeared into the wall, revealing his platoon sergeant's personal office and quarters. The Lieutenant stepped inside and immediately spotted Cruz sitting at his desk, his eyes mysteriously red.

Almost as if he'd been crying. This took the Swede by surprise, and he stood there staring at the man for a moment before snapping to his senses and clearing his throat. "Gunny, we need to talk," Durant said, deciding that was the best way to ease his way into the subject.

[Mason, I.]

“Who,” Mason asked, not certain if Stone was talking about the cook or the other marine, “if you’re talking about the cook; he is now.” He glanced back to see the chow sergeant heading back into the kitchen. Mason switched his attention back to the food. It looked decent enough for eating, though it also appeared that it had been sitting on heating plates for quite some time - not surprising considering they got there last-minute.

Mason scanned the assorted foods. It appeared that turkey and chili were the main entrés. Luckily chili had a nice tendency to get better the longer it cooked. Mason grabbed a tray and was in midst of grabbing a bowl when he looked up to see the chow sergeant standing on the other side of the counter. He had a grin on his face and he was holding two plates. Mason’s eyes widened at the sight of what was on the plates: a juicy slab of steak with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy.

“These were meant to go to a some brass, but their naps must’ve run long,” he said handing the plates to Mason and Stone. For a moment Mason wasn't sure what to say. “Wow, thanks a lot. I definitely owe you one.” Mason noticed the look of salivating dogs emanating from just about every onlooker. “Don’t you guys worry about it. I’d give every single one of you oscar marines steak and potatoes if I could - it just so happens that you’re the first ones I've seen since you got back from mission.”

[Stone, T.]

Stone chuckled. In truth he had been referring to the Marine that had blocked Mason from proceeding further through the line, but the Sergeant's response told him all he needed to know. He nodded in response and turned to scrutinize the selection of food that was available. All of it looked no where near as scrumptious as it had probably been hours ago, having been stuck on heating plates to keep from going cold. But food was food and Stone was starving.

When it was his and Mason's turn to be served, Stone was just about to grab a tray and begin picking what he wanted when his eyes fell upon the two plates of steaming hot steak and potatoes. Thomas's eyes darted from the plate of gourmet food to the cook, uncertain of what he should do, and totally at a loss for words. A rare occurrence, to be sure.

The cook explained to the two Oscar Company NCOs that the plates had been intended for the brass, but he'd taken the liberty of handing the food off to them since it seemed the officers weren't going to show up. Stone grinned from ear to ear and took hold of the plate almost greedily, half-expecting the officers the plates were intended for to come waltzing in at that very second to claim their food.

"Thank ya, Staff Sarn't," Stone said, still grinning. "After the evenin' we've had, you've probably just made us the happiest damn sergeants in the Corps."

The cook laughed. "Like I said, I'm happy to do this kind of stuff for you Oscar boys. So, you're welcome."

The grin on Stone's face almost appeared to grow wider. "Well, if ya feel guilty 'bout it later, ya can always give us the officer's names. We'd be happy ta tell 'em how their meal tasted."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sergeant," the Staff Sergeant said, chuckling.

Thomas turned around with the plate in hand and scanned the chow hall for a place to sit. Fortunately one of the benefits of arriving late was an almost endless selection of spots to be seated at. He picked a table towards the back of the room, where the exit doors were, and started on his way over there after grabbing a knife and fork.

As he made his way to the table, Stone could feel the eyes of the room's occupants upon him and Mason. He didn't care, though. Hell, he didn't even feel bad about it. None of them, not a single one of them, had just come back from a mission. Especially not one that had gone as horribly as theirs. So he was perfectly content with being given special treatment by the cooks in the galley, and having a nice, hot meal to chow down on.

And chow down he would. No sooner did he arrive at the table did he take a seat and grab the knife and fork on his plate. Steam from the food wafted up into his face, and the pleasant smell of seasonings filled his nostrils. He stabbed the fork into the steak and placed the sharp end of the knife down onto the juicy slab of meat and started cutting. Ooh, Stone thought gleefully, medium rare. Just the way I like it.

"Y'know, Mason," Stone began, glancing at his fellow squad leader, "I could seriously get used ta this. I might jus' have ta git that cook's name 'n remember 'im."

[Cruz, J.]

Before the words left Durants mouth, Cruz knew what he was going to say. This wasn't his first time pulling a stunt like this. Most people knew it wouldn't be the last either. Before the LT could say another word, Cruz broke a huge grin and pulled a bottle of scotch from the bottom drawer of his desk. "Before you say anything else Lieutenant, lemme just say something first. I've been saving this bottle of Scotch for this day. The day I FINALLY get a transfer out of this unit." Cruz laughed heartily and fully for the first time since he could remember.

To him it didn't matter what was going to happen, he knew he was in shit. The most he could do is accept the consequences and make a few jokes about the situation. He was certain that he was getting on the Lieutenant's nerves or at the very least made him wonder even more about his sanity. Cruz left the bottle of scotch on the desk unopened. Truthfully he didn't have it out for the reason he gave. it was sitting there for when Killinger arrived. So he could have a few drinks while recounting all of the details of why Cruz had acted the way he did.

There was a heavy layer of dust on the bottle of Ben Nevis Single Cask Highland Single Malt, signifying that it had been untouched for several years, minus the fresh prints where Cruz's fingers had been. The bottle signified that the liquor inside was aged 77 years before being bottled. Inside the drawer next to where the bottle was, sat a set of four glasses. all of which were pristine as if they had been washed several minutes beforehand. In fact those were the only things inside the desk drawer that Cruz kept clean.

"So what are ya gonna say LT?"

[Mason, I.]

“You know it,” Mason replied with a grin, he sat down across from Stone. He looked down at the steaming steak and potatoes - they looked divine. He took a knife and fork to the steak and began to cut into it, the steak was tender enough to slice with the dullest of knives. He cut off a bite size chunk and brought it up to his mouth. The heat of the steak wafted into his nostrils first and added delight to its scent. The first thing his palette picked up on was the juice - warm and flavorful. His teeth sank into the tender medium rare meat causing more juice to instantly flood his mouth. The flavor indicated that these steaks had been marinating in a blissful mix of sauces and seasoning for at least an entire day. Mason breathed in deeply as he finished the first bite, he knew this was going to be the best meal he had in weeks.

He decided to test the mashed potatoes and took a scoop onto his fork and dipped it into the rich brown gravy. Again, the steam from the heat rose to his nose, “this is what I call aromatherapy,” he said with a grin reminiscent of a salivating wolf staring at the rear end of fleeing prey. He noticed lumps in the mashed potatoes, it could only mean clumps formed in a mix of instant potatoes or, seldom these days, legitimate potatoes. He shoved the scoop into his mouth and felt as though he could pass out from the pleasurable surprise in his mouth. Not only were they real mashed potatoes, but he could tell the cooks had generously enriched them with butter and sour cream. The gravy denoted the rich tones of beef flavors; most likely made from the grease of the steaks (the best way to make gravy). He was wrong about it being the best meal in weeks - it was the going to be the best meal he had in years.

He looked from his plate to Stone. “These are real fucking potatoes and the gravy is made from the steak grease. I know whose meals we’re eating,” he said suddenly having a strong hunch. These types of meals weren’t made for anyone on a company level; usually a company commander and platoon leaders ate what the enlisted ate or at most would get a steak that was just taken out of a freezer. These steaks were seasoned and prepped far in advance. Mason went over the chow schedule in his head - it rotated through companies going two at a time with Oscar going last alongside Foxtrot. Foxtrot was HHC so there were a few more O-1s, 2s, and 3s going around but nothing worth getting this type of meal. That left battalion CO, XO, and Sergeant Major. The cook specified officers, so the disqualified the E-9 and Mason knew for a fact he tended to switch between barbeque pork ribs, bratwursts, and beer - literally getting his fill on pisswater alone some nights.

“These meals belong to Lieutenant Colonel Harrison and Major Killinger,” Mason said half surprised, “I only hope I’m eating Killinger’s.”

[Stone, T.]

The first bite he took from the steak in front of him was so good, he almost couldn't quite describe it. As his teeth drove into the meat, the juices oozed out onto his tongue, and the seasonings that came with it intensified its deliciousness a hundred fold. He hadn't tasted food this good in years, and the last time had been from a civilian establishment.

The unwritten rule usually was that military food was no where near as good as food one could find in a restaurant. Over the years he truly believed the cooks aboard military ships and installations couldn't make anything that could make him salivates at the mouth just by looking at it. Boy, had he been wrong.

He was definitely envious of officers now. Not that it mattered at the moment, as he took another bite of the steak that was clearly fixed for someone of importance. Someone who couldn't be bothered to eat the shit that the military shoveled in the enlisted's direction. He simply sat back and enjoyed the taste, swirling the juices around his mouth in pure ecstasy of it.

He looked up when Mason mentioned the potatoes were real. Stone had almost forgotten about them, and now that he knew they weren't the artificial crap that he was used to eating, he took his fork and scooped up a mound of the mashed goods before filling his mouth with it.

The taste was practically just as euphoric as the steak, and he smiled in surprise at it. He couldn't believe the fortune he had somehow earned. He was eating a meal made for champions. While he didn't particularly care for Durant and his religious views, he imagined that this was the stuff the gods offered to their followers in the afterlife.

It sure tasted heavenly.

Stone paused for a second at Mason's epiphany and looked up at him. The thought entered his mind that perhaps it was wrong that they were eating the meals prepared for their superiors in the battalion's chain of command. But the next words that left Mason's lips, coupled with him taking another bite out of his food, erased that terrible thought from his mind. "It'll be okay," Stone said reassuringly. "There'll be other meals for 'em ta eat."

Stone worked on devouring the mashed potatoes, dipping them in a liberal amount of the brown gravy that Mason had oh-so-expertly pointed out was made from the grease of the steak in front of them, when another thought crossed his mind. One that had been the entire reason he'd offered the man to have chow with him. He'd almost forgotten considering the unusual circumstances they were experiencing (and enjoying the hell out of) at the moment. "So, Mason," Stone began, looking up at the NCO, "Ya looked pretty glum earlier in the hangar, 'n right before we nearly got our asses blown ta bits on the Templar. Mind tellin' me what that was about?"

[Durant, M.]

Durant was taken aback slightly by Cruz's assumption that he was being transferred out of the unit. He hadn't expected the outburst for the SNCO, nor his startling elation at that fact. Michael's brain wracked to try and think of someway to respond to him. Honestly, he felt grossly unprepared for this.

For once he was totally out of his element, and he was not at all enjoying it. He liked knowing what to do, and being able to take immediate action as a result. When in combat, everything seemed to come to him much easier. But back aboard ship? He usually felt overwhelmed by everything, including the sheer monotony of shipboard life.

Michael cleared his throat and took a step forward after the Gunny asked what he was going to say. The question partly sounded like a challenge, and he always had to respond to a challenge. "I was going to inform you that I am not at all pleased with your actions in the hangar, nor finding out about it from the battalion XO himself. I was going to tell you that I spoke to him personally in his office, and that he has decided to NJP both you and Sergeant Willowby."

The anger and annoyance in his voice became more readily apparent as he spoke. Was he angry at Cruz? Hell yeah he was. Though, he was more annoyed with his actions at the present moment. "Now I am going to tell you that you won't need to open that bottle, Staff Sergeant."

He glared at the SNCO, waiting to see what his next move would be. It was like playing a chess game, and Cruz in this moment was the opponent. He'd just knocked out his pawns and was shooting for the queen. Would he take her out, he didn't know. Only Cruz could provide him with an answer to that.

[Mason, I.]

“Noticed that?” Mason asked slightly surprised. He took another bite of he steak and chewed on it slowly, savoring the flavor as well as stalling to think. He wasn’t certain of whether or not he should tell Stone what really happened. He swallowed his bite and cleared his throat, “I’m not quite sure what to make of it.” He wasn’t sure how to even start explaining what happened.

The vision that he had of his father and son were still crystal clear in his head. He had been replaying it in his mind every night, attempting to decipher whether or not there was any reason that he would have such a vision. He wasn’t absolutely certain it was a hallucination - something in the back of his head told him it was some sort of legitimate paranormal occurrence.

“I may have just been exhausted, but that certainly isn’t like me,” Mason said before taking a scoop of his potatoes. This was the first time he was eating since his awakening from cryosleep, but that wasn’t abnormal in the least. While he was a vet with twenty years worth of combat experience, he didn’t feel that he was nearly old enough to start going senile and seeing things.

He sighed, "maybe I'm going crazy, but I think I may have seen something... strange."

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone took another bite out of his steak, which was by now half-devoured, as he listened to Mason and noted his look of surprise at his observant nature. After having been an NCO for as long as he had been, paying attention to even the most minute detail had become a part of his nature. It was what kept him alive in the field, and kept him aware of his surroundings outside of it. Hell, if the situation were to ever arise, he could very likely pick out an IP in a Marine's uniform from across the room.

With that, the sudden change in Mason's demeanor did not go unnoticed by his grizzled peer. Stone arched his brow, both out of curiousity and in moderate surprise. He and Mason had known each other and worked together for three years, and he couldn't recall a single instance where the sergeant had ever been this flustered. By his own observation, Mason had always been clear and concise whenever he spoke, and usually tended to be rather blunt (while still maintaining a level of tact that took years to achieve). Watching him stutter over his words and seemingly second guess himself was something new that Stone hadn't before seen in his friend.

Whatever it was that had been bothering the man must have been serious -- and, more than likely -- deeply repressed. This both concerned and intrigued the grizzled NCO, and so he set down his fork and leaned in closer as Mason continued to struggle with his explanation. He frowned and sighed when the man tried to dismiss it.

"Quit beatin' 'round the bush," Stone growled, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. He leaned back and looked Mason in the eyes. "I've known ya fer three years, Mason. I ain't no expert or nothin', but let me be the judge on if yer crazy or not."

The tension brooding in Mason was rather obvious to Stone. It oozed from every one of the sergeant's orifices, and he felt like he needed to say something to ease the tension in his friend and hopefully make the process of venting whatever was on his mind a far less complicated process. "'Cuz lemme tell ya somethin'; ya can ask my shrink, I'm certifiably batshit insane. Hell, half this platoon wouldn't pass a psyche eval. 'Specially the El-Tee. That man 'n his Valhalla shit makes me wonder why he ain't locked up in a crazy house." He chuckled and displayed his rare, trademark toothy grin.

[Cruz, J.]

(Once again I apologize for the short posts, but fricking hangovers man)

Cruz only half listened to what Durant had to say. He couldn't help but get a sick pleasure out of watching the officer be put out of his element. To not know what to say or do. Throwing the man for a loop was all the satisfaction and then some that the veteran thought it would be. He could also tell in Durant's voice that he was getting irritated. Another sign that he had done his "job" correctly. It was an unwritten rule of all Platoon sergeants to annoy the ever living fuck out of of their platoon commanders.

"Well that's the most disappointing and depressing thing I've heard all day" Cruz said still retaining his smile and happy attitude, "Staff Sergeant eh? Well that means the Rear Admiral owes me a thousand Credits and Stone owes me three hundred. Cha-Ching"

Despite Durant not understanding that it was a joke about him being transfered, Cruz left the dusty bottle of alcohol on his desk with the set of glasses. He didn't know if Killinger was coming, but in case the man did they would all need a drink for the tale that would be told.

[Durant, M.]

For once, Durant didn't know how to respond. He glared at Cruz with a blank expression as he wracked his brain in hopes of coming up with something meaningful to say. Truthfully, the situation was far more complicated than he originally anticipated, and he hadn't been expecting the reaction he'd received from the now-Staff Sergeant.

It was moments like these that reminded him how woefully inexperienced he was with these types of things. Humble as he was, he didn't enjoy admitting that he was ignorant to how things like these went. All the training and hundreds of hours of instruction at OCS had not prepared him for moments like these.

Then again, there hadn't been anyone quite like Cruz at OCS.

After standing there for what felt like hours without being able to come up with anything particularly witty to say, Durant decided to approach things differently. It seemed there were deeper issues that belied this discussion, and a simple reprimand was not going to correct anything. So, he opted to use a useful tool in his tool box.

He was going to turn this into a counseling session.

With that in mind, he approached the Staff Sergeant with renewed vigor and grabbed a chair and pulled it up so that he could sit across from Cruz. Michael rounded the chair and plopped down in it, locking eyes with the grizzled Marine. He took a moment to deliberate over how he wanted to start, then leaned forward and clasped his hands together, fingers interlocked.

"So, you bet on your rank, huh?" he asked, his voice calm and level. He waited for a response and then paused for effect. For just a second his eyes shifted to the bottle of alcohol still sitting atop Cruz's desk. "Staff Sergeant, I've known you since I arrived here months ago. Now we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you've always shown me respect and I'd like to think I've come to know you fairly well. I've heard nothing but good things about you from the people I've spoken to, and that includes fellow officers."

Michael leaned back a bit, the chair he was sitting on creaking somewhat in protest. He kept his eyes locked with Cruz's, and his expression showed genuine concern. "So I find myself confused by your sudden outburst that has landed you in this position. I've never known you to blatantly disrespect a superior officer, let alone assault one. So, what's wrong? Are you experiencing trouble in your personal life?"

[Cruz, J.]

This time it was Cruz's turn to be caught off guard. He wasn't expecting Durant to turn this into a counseling session, but he couldn't help but feel a little grateful that it had. "Yup, bet on me rank all the time," Cruz responded before plopping down in his desk chair. Listening to the Lieutenant, Cruz blew the dust off the bottle of alcohol before pulling the cork out with an audible pop. The delicious aroma wafted up his nostrils causing him to cough slightly as he poured two glasses.

Cruz locked eyes with Durant as he slid a glass over to him, "I expect you know of the planet that was glassed one year ago today and I'm pretty sure that you don't know about the events aboard the predecessor to the Vengeance. So a little history about Oscar Company is due. One year ago today, we were stationed aboard the UNSC Bad Wolf. It was given the name because Oscar Company was and still is a type of misfit outfit, which I'm sure you've noticed. But we still got out missions done with minimal casualties. One day we received a distress call from a planet named Gallifrey saying that they believed there was a Covenant ship in the area. The UNSC didn't seem to care since they were in the process of abandoning the colony anyway." Cruz paused to take a drink before continuing.

"We arrived in orbit around the planet and didn't see anything on the scanners or through any of the view ports. We were in constant radio contact with the few ground forces coordinating the departures. Everything seemed fine. Then an explosion ripped through a part of the hull followed by reports of weapon fire. We all thought it was just a mutiny until one of the reports said it was the Covenant using human weaponry. Captain Flannigan ordered us to keep the bridge secure while McArthur initiated the Cole Protocol. By the time the Covvies reached the bridge it was almost half done with. We had to hold out for quite a while. How long it was, nobody that survived has an accurate guess. We all agree that it felt like an eternity.

Once we managed to repel and kill most of the enemies, we took a casualty count. Most of the old Oscar company was killed. Including your predecessor, First Lieutenant Stanley. It wasn't long after that we started receiving radio traffic from the ground about an invasion and even glassing in some areas. I watched from the main view port in the bridge as my home planet glowed with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns as it was glassed." Pausing again, Cruz downed his glass before wiping several tears from his face, "my wife was on that planet. She was helping with the emergency evacuation when the ship she was on was shot in half once it reached space. Bodies were shot out of the ship with the leaking atmosphere.

One of them was her. I stood there frozen in place as she slowly floated toward us. McArthur and Flannigan were busy trying to get emergency power back on so we could limp back to friendly space. However the UNSC Tullamore Dew arrived mere seconds later. We thought it was another Marine ship, but it turned out to be ONI. Section II told us that everything that had happened was never to be repeated to anyone outside of our unit. So we were sworn to secrecy about the attack on the Bad Wolf and when McArthur was told to name this ship. He went with the Vengeance. Partly because he; like most of the survivors of the original Oscar Company; wanted revenge for what happened to us, but also partly because he wants revenge for humanity. There were few survivors from our company; Davis, Faust, Mason, Stone, Flannigan, McArthur, and myself are the only survivors. I still say a part of me died that day, watching Gallifrey get glassed." Cruz poured another glass and downed it in one gulp.

"I don't know if you've experienced this or not LT, but there are certain things a man can forgive himself for. Standing there helpless as the woman you love and swore to protect floated by is not one of those things. I don't know what I could have done, if anything, to help. But there must have been a way to save her. There's always that sliver of a chance and I would have taken it in a heartbeat."

[Killinger, J.]

(OOC: Nice Doctor Who reference with Gallifrey!)

John had gotten the now Staff Sergeants message, and knew the Marines intent was to either apologize or lash out again for demoting him. John was well within his rights to court martial the veteran NCO but his instincts screamed against it. Not only was Cruz honorable, in a sense, but he was good. Cruz's ability was needed in the UNSC and not a fast food joint. The decision was rather easy, and he explained to Durant in a minimal way.

The Major had served on Marathon Cruisers in the past, but a soft liking towards the Vengeance biased his opinion in favor for her. It was rather easy to navigate the dozens of decks the vessel had, and it was a mere tram car ride to get to Cruz's office. John noticed the door was still open and heard a pair of Marines conversing inside. He withdrew silently and let them finishing, not eavesdropping into the conversation.

Once their was a break, John decided to make his appearance. He stood at the door frame, but did not enter. "You requested me-" John said, and made a split second decision to use the Marines last name - not rank. "Cruz?" He said, nodding at Durant who was present in the room.