[B-Deck] "Team Time"

[Stone, T.]

0845 Hours, May 19, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
Aboard UNSC Vengeance in orbit of Sigma Octanus IV,
Sigma Octanus System

Sergeant Stone walked down the busy passageway, paying little mind to the swabbies that were moving to and fro. He was on his way back to his squad's berth from the Head. Shortly after chow he'd decided to get a shower to wash off the sweat from the morning's PT session. It had been particularly more demanding than previous sessions because this time he'd had everyone lifting ammo cans filled to the brim with ammunition.

"Weight training," he called it. Corporal Davis had unsurprisingly performed just fine, seemingly unphased by the weight of the cans. Furby and Avery had struggled a bit more than Stone would have preferred, but it wasn't something that demanded his concern. Even he had to admit they were pretty damn heavy.

Stone reached First Squad's berthing room and stepped through the threshold of the door. He could see his rack at the far end of the narrow room, and started on his way towards it. The Lieutenant had effectively placed the platoon on standby while he headed down below to fetch the unit's replacements. According to him First Squad was due for some new people alongside the other two squads.

Good. They sure needed it after the ass kicking they'd received back when they had boarded the Templar. Hell, even before that they had needed replacements. The battle of Hydra III had been a costly one, and it was an engagement that Stone wouldn't soon forget. Fortunately, his fire team leaders had proven their mettle several times over the course of both engagements. He was impressed with Davis especially.

With that thought in mind, Stone glanced to his left and spotted the Corporal standing in the claustrophobically tight confines of his team's berthing room, apparently lecturing his Marines on something that he couldn't quite hear. Not that he was really paying much attention to it. Davis seemed to notice Furby's eyes trail off and he glanced behind him, most likely to see what had distracted the PFC.

Stone nodded curtly at Davis and then resumed walking towards his own compartment. He glanced into second team's compartment and noticed Corporal Faust lying in her rack, her Marines conversing amongst themselves and on their Chatters. Stone chuckled. He remembered what it was like being a junior enlisted Marine stuck in the barracks with nothing to do. The boredom could sometimes be unbearable.

Which, incidentally, made him remember what he used to do the pass the time back then. Something that would probably cause him to commit murder should anyone try the same antics upon him. Marines were generally docile creatures when by themselves; but put them in a group of their peers and leave them to their own devices, and havoc could quickly ensue.

He wasn't about to have one of those days.

The Sergeant cleared his throat. The sound echoed through the room, much louder than he had anticipated it to be. Oh well, he thought, mentally shrugging. "Marines, listen up," he began, watching as everyone poke their heads out from their compartments to look at him. "We're on standby 'til whatever time the El-Tee decides ta give us somethin' ta do. Now, y'all can go have team time or sit around 'n bullshit. I don't care what ya do. But I'm only gon' say this once: don't bother me unless ya need me fer somethin' I deem important. Clear?"

His lips curled into a smile as they all acknowledged the message behind his words. He nodded at them and pivoted on his heel, making his way to the back of the room. As soon as he entered the small compartment that was meant to be his room aboard ship, he closed the curtains that marked the entrance to his room and plopped down on his bed.

He planned on taking a short power nap until the Lieutenant arrived with his squad's FNGs.

[Davis, E.]

Davis was just in the middle of covering possible training with Furby and Avery, somewhat relieved that Faust was back and he didn't have to be responsible for her people as well. Thankfully they had been ice cubes most of the time Faust had been recovering, but even still, it was a good piece of experience. I would make his five before another year at this pace, he just knew it. Not that it was his goal, but it was certainly on his radar. There was little he wanted to start before he had his new people, and he also needed Wilkas here. She had been spending her time around them, and, as Davis had expected, was coming along much better now that she wasn't just floating along.

With Stone bursting in with his announcement, Davis was kind of thrown off his initial momentum. With Stone storming in and out like a solar flare, Davis just had to laugh. He didn't know how Stone did it, but he was always collected, gruff, and unaffected by the world around him. He wasn't like other squad leaders, but that was some of his charm. And fear. Almost everyone, including Davis, were scared of the old man on some level. Davis was willing to bet that even the LT was easily put off by Stone.

"Ok, so, with that hanging in the balance, we still need to figure things out," Davis said. "We've got plenty of scheduled stuff with the Platoon and Squad, but I'd like to have some stuff ready for us when they are done with us. Once we get our new guy to replace Porter, we're going to have to get him up to speed. We're going to need some MOUT practice, but what else do you guys want to cover. Either individual skills or something for the team. And no, power napping is not on the list of accepted training courses. Now is your shot to have a voice in what you do. You don't speak now, you are stuck with what I decide."

Davis looked back out into the common area for Wilkas. She was getting around much better, but he had expected her to be here by now. She wasn't required to be, but he had made his expectations of her very clear. He was starting to feel his temperature rise at the fact she wasn't here yet. He glanced at his watch. She had another five before he sent someone after her, and if that had to be the case, she would not enjoy her life when she finally did make it here.

[Faust, M.]

Faust sighed heavily on her bed, not only was she bored but her stomach burned from where the plasma had seared her skin and burnt her flesh. Her marines, those that survived the battle and the subsequent escape hovered around her, doing things. To be honest she wasn't really paying too much attention, she was lost in deep thought and in a characteristic foul mood. 

Even though Faust had sustained a severe wound, it failed to mellow her personality, if anything she became more bad tempered, if such a thing was possible. The Medical staff still prevented her from performing her favourite PT activities, less she injure herself again.

Such a thing did little to improve her mood.

"Got it Sarge." Faust grumbled with a thick German accent, she rolled onto her side in her bunk sighing quietly. She could not wait to get to grips with the Covenant once more, Faust desired revenge for the lives that where lost, for the wounds she sustained and for the simple fact that Faust happened to be in a foul mood. She closed her eyes trying to shut out the voices of her fellow marines, while attempting to ignore the voices in her own head.

She wanted to be alone, just she, herself and the numerous angry thoughts that filled her mind like swarms of hostile bees whose hive some fool decided to throw a rock into.

The boredom for Faust long since became unbearable, yet there was little she could do to prevent it from happening. She tried to get some rest, at least while Faust pretend to be asleep she wouldn't get into a foul mood with someone and punch one of her marines. She felt weakened by her injury, other marines died while she had lain screaming or unconscious. 

Faust was most displeased with her performance, she sulked like a scolded cat, like all cats in a grumpy mood Faust possessed sharp claws which she wasn't afraid to use. 

She kept to herself, she hated having nothing to do. Half the training she couldn't do because the Doctors where afraid that it would disrupt her healing or risk causing infection. Like Faust would allow herself to be brought low by some jumped up bacteria. The wait was killing her, the restraints on what she could do was killing her, the boredom was killing her. All of this added up to make one very, very unhappy Faust. 

[Mason, I.]

“You got it from here, Rio.” Mason said as he looked at the contents of his small hygiene bag. Inside lay a small bundle of Rocky Patel Vudu robusto cigars, a titanium cigar cutter and a pack of wooden matches. The Rocky Patel brand was hard to come by nowadays as fine leaf tobacco production had gone down since the war against the Covenant began. These specific ones were among Mason’s preferred cigars - he had been holding onto them for quite some time. He, of course, had others stashed away in his cedar woodhumidor that was tucked away in his footlocker. He also had a bottle of fine bourbon stowed in there, but someone else was providing the accompanying drinks today.

He lifted the contents to his nose and took a whiff; the scent was a mouthwatering earthy tone of wood and tobacco with a hint of rich soil. He could smell all this while the cigars were still wrapped in cellophane, he couldn’t wait to take a whiff of one when it was unwrapped. His mind was starting to fill with the anticipation of the initial light and the puffs to follow. He hoped Sergeant Stone had something as equally delicious to match the grade of the cigars. Usually, he would have a Vudu with a darker, heavier flavored brand of whiskey or bourbon but he also found the partnership of lighter flavors intriguing as well. The cigar, itself, was a maduro, or dark, cigar that had among the heaviest flavors found in a cigar - it was not made for new smokers in mind; only veteran palettes could appreciate it.

“Roger that, Sergeant,” Rio replied with a wide grin. Mason chuckled and glanced around at the marines as he made his way to first squad’s area. Most of them were sitting around in groups chatting about something seemingly important. Mason wasn't really worried about them doing any further training today, they would be preparing to receive their new marines today. He decided Rio could take charge of the “in processing” this time around, the team leader could hardly wait. “This is gonna be good,” Rio kept saying over the prior few days leading up to the arrival of their new marines.

Mason figured he’d give his squad a break for a couple of days, anyways. It had been eighteen days since the previous mission - which was an outright disaster. Mason gave his squad two days R&R. Afterwards, their training began by analyzing the mission with the help of their helmet cams. They then took that information and discussed each minute of the mission for the next four days. After that, Mason’s infamous close quarters combat training began. They did that for the remaining ten days; everyday, non-stop.

Mason arrived at Stone’s room and entered without so much as knocking, “wake up hot shot,” Mason said with a chuckle. He proceeded to sit in a chair next to a small round table. He pulled out the contents of his hygiene bag and set them on the table. “This is the first moment I've had to relax since our steak dinners and I’m not going to waste it, and neither are you,” he said with a grin.

[Stone, T.]

The noise that carried on outside of the Sergeant's compartment did little to disturb him. Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and he placed his utility cover over his face, he was out like a light, on his way to sleeping like a newborn baby. That deep, deep sleep that almost seemed impossible to wake up from.

Only this time that didn't seem to be the case. Just a few seconds after he fell into his slumber, the dreams began. The dark void behind his eyelids was replaced by the frigid air of Harvest, the ground blanketed by snow. A bone chilling wind brushed against his body, sending a shiver up his spine.

He looked down at his body. He was almost knee deep in snow, wearing winter fatigues under a set of body armor that hadn't been used by the UNSC in over fourteen years. In his hands was an MA5B assault rifle with a full magazine of ammo.

Stone looked around, and instantly recognized where he was. The destroyed remnants of his home town of Gladsheim, just a mere three blocks away from the old timey diner that his family often frequented when he was a child. The city had once been home to thousands of people, and hundreds more in the outlying areas. Now, it was nothing but ruins, plagued with death and robbed of its former glory.

"Stone," an all too familiar voice called from nearby, "Your squad's point. The Sir wants us to secure Dyson Avenue. Apparently the company needs a new CP."

The Sergeant, sixteen years younger, glanced back at the man who had issued the orders. Gunnery Sergeant Michael Ward was only a few meters behind him, crouched down behind an abandoned car half buried in snow. Ward had been his mentor --the man whom had shaped him into the NCO he was present day -- and his best friend.

"Roger that, Gunny," Stone replied, his voice far less gruff. "I'll lock it down like yer sister's virginity."

Ward chuckled. "You'll have to do a better job than that, Sergeant," he replied. "My sister lost that a long time ago."

"'Cuz I won't around ta protect it."

He shot the Staff NCO a boyish grin and then turned around, making his way over to where his squad was holed up. The entire platoon had taken shelter in the remains of a hotel lobby. Most of his men were asleep when he arrived. A handful were awake and chatting quietly amongst themselves. Among them was Corporal Estrada, his assistant squad lead and first fire team's leader.

"Git everyone awake," Stone ordered the man. "We got work ta do."

"Aye, Sergeant," the Corporal smartly replied, his voice thickly accented.

Estrada marched off and systematically woke everyone up that was asleep. In just a couple minutes Stone's squad was formed up in front of him. From there he briefed them on their mission, and conducted a hasty PCI of his men. Once he was satisfied they were prepared and their weapons were ready, he ordered Estrada's team on point and commanded them to move out.

Stone traveled behind Estrada's last man, and his team led the squad out of the hotel and down the street, sticking to the left side while everyone kept their eyes peeled for contacts. The last couple weeks had put them through hell, as the Covenant dominated most of the area. It seemed for every inch that they gained, they had another ten miles of Covenant held territory to go through.

It was depressing to think about when he could vividly remember a time when these streets weren't a war zone, and he didn't have to worry about getting ambushed at every corner. The Covenant had destroyed his home world; reduced it to a shell of its former self. Even if the UNSC did retake it, there was no way that it would ever be habitable again.

At least not in his lifetime, anyway.

Estrada's team broke left into an alleyway, taking a short cut to their objective that he knew all too well from his days roaming these streets. The rest of the squad, and much further back, the platoon, followed in their wake. It was a dangerous and twisted version of follow the leader, and Stone began to wonder whether or not he should have taken the point. He knew it wasn't recommended, but part of him felt like he would have felt better had he gone that route.

Fortunately, the team managed to make it to the end of the alley without incident, and the rest of the platoon fell in line behind them. For the remainder of the journey, there wasn't a peep from the Covenant. Not a single sign of them anywhere.

It was beginning to make Thomas nervous. He didn't like not knowing where the enemy was and if they were watching them. In some ways he enjoyed firefights much better. At least in those situations he knew exactly where the enemy were and could accordingly respond. At least, most of the time.

First Squad entered the objective area and began to fan out, assuming positions where there was ample cover, and where they could best establish fields of fire. Even if there weren't any Covenant around, that didn't mean they could just relax and ignore SOP. Common sense was a must to have when dealing with the squid-heads.

Stone looked around and did a quick headcount of his men. He was just about to bark an order when he heard it. The loud crack of a rifle going off. Except, it didn't sound like any weapon that any of his men possessed. No. It sounded alien.

Before his mind could register what was happening, he was on the ground. Confusion set in, and he looked around at his men as they suddenly ducked behind cover and scanned the area. Some of them were shouting. Someone had been hit by a sniper.

Panic set in, and he looked over at Corporal Estrada. "Estrada, who's hit?" he asked in a worried tone. The world suddenly started to spin, and he couldn't quite figure out why. He tried to sit up.

"Just stay down, Sarge!" his team leader shouted. "Stay down!"

Estrada sounded worried, and that worried him even more. Stone tried to get up again, but he still didn't move. "Why can't I get up?!" he asked the man.

Estrada shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. But when he spoke, it wasn't his voice that he heard.

"Wake up hot shot."

Stone's eyes shot open suddenly and he ripped the cover from off his face, the darkness replaced by blinding illumination from the overhead lights. He squinted his eyes and quickly sat up, his hand instinctively falling to his side where his sidearm should have been. It wasn't there, and he wasn't on Harvest anymore. He blinked. He was back aboard the Vengeance, where he remembered he had just gone to sleep to get a power nap.

He looked at Mason groggily. The man was seated at the round table he had in his room, with a small hygiene bag set out in front of him. Thomas shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the grogginess. He was just about to reach over to where he normally stowed his cigarettes when his nostrils detected the pleasant aroma of fresh cigars. A smile slowly crept its way onto his unusually pale face. "What time is it?"

[Furby, J.]

PFC Furby sat on his rack looking up at Corporal Davis as he went over the list of possible training events that First Team could potentially run through. He listened to the man's spiel with only moderate interest. Since the platoon had returned from their botched last operation, the Corporal seemed to have gained a hard-on for training.

Not that he was opposed to getting in some practice time with his weapon, or working with his fire team. He enjoyed those things simply because they improved his skills and the camaraderie of the team, and there was the added benefit of getting out of the berthing areas for awhile. But there came a point where it became excessive, and the Corporal's obsession was bordering on that very thin line. At least in his own personal opinion. He couldn't speak for Avery, who seemed to be eating the shit up and enjoying every second of it.

Sergeant Stone's interruption was one that Furby was glad for. While everyone else was distracted, he turned his head to look at Avery. "You hear the El-Tee in Third Platoon got half his platoon killed in the simulators yesterday?"

"What?" Avery inquired, seemingly caught off guard by his question.

"Yeah," Furby said, nodding his head for effect, "A buddy of mine in that platoon told me about it. Said he walked the whole damn platoon into an ambush. Literally half their platoon got schwacked and the boot motherfucker froze up. The platoon sergeant had to take over just to unfuck the situation. They barely completed their mission because of it."

Avery shook his head, almost in disbelief. "Fucking officers, bro. Glad ours ain't a retard."

Furby nodded in agreement. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, the El-Tee's crazy, but so far he's proved to not be a thumb sucking idiot."

Before Avery could reply, Corporal Davis resumed his speech. Furby listened closely to the remainder of what he had to say, and chuckled when he mentioned that power napping was not an accepted form of training. "Well, damn, Corporal... I was really hoping to sharpen my napping skills."

The look the Corporal gave him told him his sarcasm wasn't appreciated. "Oh, right," he said, "Serious moment. Got it."

To Furby's relief, Avery jumped in before things could get ugly. "I'd personally like to sharpen up on my hand-to-hand skills, Corporal," the automatic rifleman said. "Also, some time logged in the sims with my weapon would be pretty killer."

Furby rolled his eyes. Avery's love for the M247 General Purpose Machine Gun far surpassed a mere love of his job. The man practically worshipped the weapon, and Furby wouldn't have been surprised if he talked to it before going to sleep at night whenever they were deployed groundside. In fact, ever since Porter had kicked the bucket, the man had seemed to become even more eccentric.

Then again, the two of them had been pretty close friends. And it wasn't like Porter's death hadn't shaken the rest of the team. Hell, sometimes even he missed the guy. He'd been one hell of a conversationalist; always telling everybody about the killer parties he'd gone to before he'd enlisted with the Marines.

A thought came to Furby. "I have to agree with Avery on his second suggestion. Some team time in the sim wouldn't be a bad idea. I could use some time sending rounds down range with my BR. Y'know? I'm trying to improve my shot groupings on targets at the maximum effective range of my rifle."

He couldn't just end things on that note. He just had to be a smartass for... well, for the sake of just being one. "And I guess hand-to-hand training wouldn't be too bad of a thing, so long as you ladies don't get pissed off when I kick your asses at it."

[Wilkas, G.]

So the reason why Wilkas had yet to arrive happened to be in the form of the Platoon Sargent Cruz, J. He happened to be a great distraction, was it love? Well Wilkas did not know yet but it helped to relieve the stress, tension and frustration of the past few days. Grace leaned forward and kissed him on the lips for a second. "We should really get a move on otherwise we will be late." She whispered, the two marines had found a secluded corner for a bit of private conversation which rapidly escalated into something more than just talking. 
Grace felt the metal of the wall press into her back, Cruz had an arm wrapped around her pulling her close to him.

Well Cruz and Wilkas happened to be a secret thing that the platoon as of yet did not really know about, mostly because Wilkas and Cruz met up in secret, that and they made sure to leave at different times to remove any suspicion formed by their platoon mates. Wilkas was happy that she had found Cruz, she felt comforted by the thought of having someone who watched out for her. Well watched out for her more than the other members of her platoon. 
She found herself reluctant however for the rest of her platoon to find out about them, Wilkas was afraid that their relationship would not be allowed. 

"Do you think that we should tell them about us?" Grace inquired standing on her toes to put her head over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them once more. Wilkas was glad that she could move around without the need for her crutches any more, at least she would no longer have to see the Butcher who mascaraed himself as a Doctor. It would be simpler not to mention much less painful to be killed rather than have to face that Doctor again.  

She waited for Cruz to reply, part of her wanting to move away and meet up with the rest of her platoon but a greater part of her longed to continue this moment. The pair rarely got any time to simply just talk in private, what with their different schedules and all of the various tasks that the pair of them had to completed. Yet they some how managed to find a way for it to work. 
Where there was a will, there always happened to be a way for it to work. Grace just didn't know what she would do if anything was to ever happened to Cruz. 

[Davis, E.]

"Ladies, huh," Davis said with a glower. It wasn't Stone like, but it was getting there. Needed more practice. Then, a wry smile turned up the edges of his mouth and a glint hit his eyes. He glanced over at Avery, who got a very worried look on his face. Davis looked back to Furby with a shark like grin and stepped backwards out of the room. Furby was allowed to pound his chest when he had proved there was hair there. Right now, he was about to find out the hard way just how wrong he was, and Davis was going to do it the legal way.

"Faust, Skip," Davis called out to the other team leaders from the hallway. "First team is headed down to the gym to brush up on hand to hand. We got room for more if you think your jarheads can keep up. Major bragging rights on the line if you think you can tangle with first."

Davis snapped to a quick parade rest when Sergeant Mason walked in, relaxing again when he heard the conversation strike up with Sergeant Stone. It would make his like a lot easier when he could just tell his squad leader where he took the squad. He could also tell him to make sure Wilkas got herself back down there before she had to fight Faust. Even wounded, Davis wasn't sure he wanted to tangle with the hot-headed brooding kraut. He looked back at his room where Furby and Avery were standing, waiting to hear the response that he was.

"And if you two fail me, you will not be happy with your trip to the infirmary. No one beats first, and if you can't uphold that, you'll have to go somewhere else."

[Faust, M.]

Faust raised her head, opening her eyes, they blazed with a silent fury that screamed, this better but worth my time or you do not want to know what will happen. She got off of her bunk and met the other fireteam leaders out in the hallway. Initially it seemed almost that Faust approved of the training suggestion, the tell tale glimmer of delight flickered to life in those cold, killer eyes of her's. Yet the glimmer rapidly faded when she remembered the strict instructions, no hard physical training, so she wouldn't let herself get hit. "Sure it is your funeral after all." Faust grumbled, apparently getting up on the grumpy side of her bed. 

Faust excelled at hand to hand combat, it was her preferred way to fight anyone, up close and personal. She may well have been one of the best hand to hand fighters in the platoon, if not the division, though the latter largely was her own opinion. One which Faust was more than happy to reinforce with fact. 

Even injured Faust would be one tough nail to go down, she never previously had been one to reveal her pain so her injury must have been agonising if it made her cry out. 

The fact that she had screamed in agony for so long made Faust feel ashamed of her actions, other marines had fought while she lay screaming from her injuries. She was grateful for her marine brothers and sisters saving her life but... Faust disliked the feeling that she felt weaker because of her injury.

This feeling wasn't helped by the fact that the Doctors kept various restrictions upon her and continued to monitor her while the injury healed. Faust possessed little trust for Doctors, usually trying to escape their clutches almost as soon as she could walk. Most medical professionals knew by now what she was like, they kept a careful eye on her or as had been the unfortunate case with her latest wound, they kept her sedated and or in one of the ice boxes.

Ice coffins for some of less fortunate marines, like all marines Michelle despised being in the freezers, they felt to coffin like to her. Besides it took a while to function properly once someone emerged from the Cryo Pods, she wouldn't be able to fight effectively for a few precious moments.

A weakness, again that Faust disliked intensely. "I will not fail." Faust growled determinedly her eyes lighting up with anger seemingly equivalent to that if Davis had just insulted her deceased mother. "You will see it when they are all beaten." It was clear that Faust hated being injured, the other dead she almost swung at one of the Doctors as he walked away. She hadn't, mostly because there happened to be the fact that she owed them for saving her life. 

Even so her temper only grew, especially with all of the fuss and special attention that came to Faust mostly from the medical staff. However all of such attention was unwelcome from her point of view, she was a normal marine, just one who happened to soon be the proud mother of a rather impressive scar. 

[Furby, J.]

The smug, sarcastic smile that was glued to the PFC's face slowly faded as he watched the gears turn in Corporal Davis's mind. The epiphany that perhaps he had taken things just a tad bit too far, and that he'd bitten off far more than he could chew, did not fully dawn on him until Davis called Corporal Faust and Third Team's leader over. He watched quietly as the Corporal invited the other two team's to take part in the hand-to-hand training, and seemed to retreat into his sleeping space some as he saw the manic, angered look on Faust's face.

Furby felt eyes on him and glanced over at Avery, whom boasted the biggest shit-eating grin he had ever seen on the man's face. Jayson couldn't help it when he saw that. He gulped.

"You've gone and done it now, bro," Avery said, the cruel amusement laden in his voice.

Furby gulped again. ""Maybe I won't have to fight Corporal Faust," he replied. He tried to sound confident, but it seemed he suddenly lacked that.

"You better hope so, man," Avery retorted. "'Cuz she's got murder in her eyes."

Furby nodded in agreement at that statement. He'd never seen her look so determined besides in combat, and having heard the scuttlebutt regarding her martial prowess of the art of boxing, he was not looking forward to going against her. His hold over Marine Corps Martial Arts wasn't bad, but he definitely hadn't used those skills outside of training in a long time. And hand-to-hand training was generally a rare thing.

Mostly because a hand-to-hand close combat situation against an Elite was generally severely one-sided. And totally not recommended under any circumstances, and especially if you valued your life. Faust wasn't excitedly a split-lipped alien freak, but to Furby she might as well have been. She was one scary bitch.

"I'm screwed," Furby muttered under his breath.

[Cruz, J.]

Meeting Wilkas was definitely the best thing that had happened to Cruz sine he joined the Corps. Yes he missed his wife, he missed her a great deal, but he would never see her again. So he had to move on and be happy while he still could. He never thought that he would have found a great woman in such a short time. One that made him want to throw regs out the airlock. Even if they were caught and Cruz was punished, he didn't care. His time with Wilkas was everything that he could have hoped for.

Cruz listened as Wilkas suggested they get moving and head to the team, but he didn't want to go. He had spent what little free time he had on thinking of ways the pair could spend more time together without suspicion of what was happening. He thought he came up with a pretty good reason. Since she was the RTO, Cruz was her immediate superior and she would bring any problems she had to him first. If she needed any guidance or just to talk about what was going on, she would go to him. They wouldn't be able to do that all the time, but it definitely guaranteed more alone time. "We don't have to go. We could head to my quarters for a "counseling session"," Cruz whispered in her ear before pulling her closer and planting a soft lingering kiss on her plush lips.

He could tell by her body language that she didn't want to leave just yet. "Sadly we can't tell anyone about us yet. Stone would be the only person that I trust other than McArthur. But the Rear Admiral would have to report us solely because he's bound by his duty to do so. I say we give it some more time before we tell them. Let you get up in rank some more, or let me lose a few more ranks." Cruz chuckled a little at the thought of losing a few more ranks. Keeping their relationship a secret didn't sit well with him, but it had to be in order for it to continue.

The Staff Sergeant always wished that the fraternization regulations were as lax as they were back when the first unisex unit was introduced. There were loopholes galore in them. If you knew where to look at least. Cruz looked into Wilkas' green eyes as he ran a few fingers through her ginger hair. Oh how he loved how soft it was. He imagined if clouds had a texture, her hair would be it. He waited for her response, happy to lose himself in her eyes.

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant happened to glance at the clock located at the corner of his desk. He stood up as he noted the time and plucked his garrison cover up off the face of the desk. In just a few minutes a Pelican full of Second Platoon's newest replacements would be arriving, and he would need to be there to greet them when they did.

That also meant fetching Staff Sergeant Cruz so that the senior NCO could accompany him down. Both of them were required to be present, and he had to make sure that was exactly what happened. So, he made for the hatch and exited his quarters. A few steps down the passageway and he was at the door to his platoon sergeant's quarters.

He wracked his fist against the door three times, which most of his platoon had come to know as his signature knock. He did it on purpose, so that if they were indecent they had time to get dressed without worrying about pissing off whoever was waiting on the other side of the door. That, and he felt it was just common courtesy.

Through the door he could hear voices. One definitely belonged to Cruz, but the other was softer. Softer and distinctly feminine. Durant thought he recognized the voice, but didn't think anything of it. At the moment his mind was focused elsewhere. He had no interest in what lie beyond the threshold of the closed door to his second-in-command's office.

"Staff Sergeant," Durant called, effectively confirming that it was indeed him whom had knocked on the door, "hurry up. We've got to double time it down below to the hangar. Our replacements should be arriving any moment."

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace listened to what Cruz had to say before returning the kiss. "That would work provided you keep a locked door and the LT doesn't grow suspicious." So what if the regulations forbade such a romantic entanglement? It wasn't like this romance was hurting anyone, provided no one discovered them well... There could be no harm in it.

Wilkas let out a nervous giggle before whispering. "Captain Wilkas and Major Cruz or private Wilkas and private Cruz?" Her green eyes glimmered with humour, exicte and perhaps something else to. She had been about to plant a long kiss on his lips when Durant knocked on the door. 

She froze, glad that there door was shut. What could they say really if it been unfortunately open? Practising mouth to mouth? Wilkas doubted that anyone would buy that story. The voice that followed the knock confirmed her fears that it was the LT outside the door, at least it wasn't the military police or a Rear Admiral. Panic filtered into her eyes. "What do we do?" Grace whispered softly.

Maybe they could try the whole counselling session however that would mean lying to Durant, something which Grace Wilkas possessed no desire to do. But they couldn't tell the truth here, he would report them and more than likely the pair of them would never see each other again.

Durant picked his moments that was for sure. They never seemed to be enough time for them to see each other, what with all the duties and such, it was worse really when they where in the platoon. Grace found it difficult to pretend that everything was fine, normal really and there had been nothing that went on between her and the platoon sergeant. Even if Durant bought their story of a counselling session he might be suspicious, trying to shake a suspicious officer off of her tail wasn't something Wilkas was very good at, she happened to be a rather poor liar.

Grace tried to lose herself in his eyes yet the fear of Durant somehow opening the door and catching the two of them so close like this... Well it spoilt the moment and she kept glancing at the door cautiously.

"Thank god you locked the door." She whispered louder than she meant to her voice more of a squeak than an actual whisper, it happened to be very un-marine like. This had all started when Grace confessed to Cruz, that she had trouble sleeping because of her dreams, well a more suitable description for them would be nightmares. But anyway, they did just start out the tales of a frightened rookie talking to a combat veteran and things escalated from there. "Good thing it is locked so the LT cannot see me do this." Grace leaned up and kissed Cruz on the lips, she couldn't resist even if there was an officer right outside the door. 

[Davis, E.]

"Sergeant Stone," Davis called from just outside the curtain, knowing the man was awake now. "First squad is heading down to the gym. If Private Wilkas shows up, would you please inform her to join us?"

He only hesitated to hear the answer before jerking his thumb towards the door. They really should march down there, but Davis didn't feel like organizing that. So he went for the old standby of sending the marines out in two and threes, leaving them free to walk like normal people. He had his fill of being responsible for formations, and this got the job done as well, and gave him a chance to talk.

After pushing everyone else out, including Skip and third team, he was left with just Faust. He was quite sure that with the impending threat of the kraut, he wouldn't have any stragglers to the gym, and he would get the chance to talk to her. She was still recovering from her wounds, but more importantly, he wanted to make sure her head was back on straight. He wasn't even going to pretend he knew how she felt. His one combat scar was a mild plasma burn. Not even close to taking a solid shot to the gut.

"Faust," Davis started when they finally left the billets, "You doing ok? I know the docs are keeping you pretty confined, but I'm just wanting to make sure your head is in the game. If you're up for it, I've got no issues with you working some hand-to-hand, but if you have to go back to the chop shop, I'm telling them you fell down the stairs. I also want to make sure you aren't going to break one of our privates. They could certainly use some fear, but we need to be back to combat ready, and that means you too. Better to sit this one out rather then hurting something worse."

He had tried to watch his tone, knowing Faust to have a hair trigger, but he was starting to edge into the area of NCO rather than concerned friend. Oh well, it was all the better he could do. The girl knew her business. It was now just a matter of making sure she didn't pull off Furby's arm and beat him with it.

[Faust, M.]

Faust stopped and faced Davis, looking at him curiously as if he had suggested something completely foreign to her. She listened to his suggestion, considered it but then when he mentioned her possibly sitting this one out or coming up with the excuse that she may have fallen down the stairs. It infuriated her.
"Davis with respect I am fine as well as more than capable for physical exercise now if you excuse me I have a work regime to catch up on." Faust's eyes where hard, clearly saying do not deny me this. 

She considered taking Davis on in the ring, but if he was worried about her hurting one of her team mates or injuring herself she could always find herself a large punching bag and take it down instead of one of her team mates. 
Assuming no one said something stupid and incurred the wrath of Faust, then she would face them in the ring just to make sure they knew their place in the Faust scheme of things. She ruled the ring, that was all the others needed to know. 

"How are you doing?" She inquired her voice tight but seemingly polite, Faust believed it only fair to ask how he was coping since he had asked about her. Truthfully Faust wasn't fine, she was in a foul mood. She did not want to talk here though, other marines might overhear. Faust happened to be a very proud marine, her pride had been severely injured when she had been. 
Screaming in pain and agony, Faust felt weakened because of the incident. She would have a big scar on her forever a medal from when she took a plasma round in the torso, making her nothing more than human, no longer a marine. 

She sighed. "Davis we will can talk more later if you want but first we have some training to do." Faust went to move on, she wanted to catch up with the others before they reached the training area. 
It would be good, she would be able to vent some of her frustration with a good work out.