[B-Deck] "Team Time"

[Furby, J.]

Furby smiled politely at Private Ward as he nervously stammered out his first name. The boot took his hand and shook it once, then retracted his hand almost as if he were afraid that this was some kind of trick. Jayson's brow arched out of curiosity.

Did he think he was trying to play mind games with him or something? Given the less than stellar welcome from Avery, he was sure Ward was on edge. It was painfully obvious that the kid had been expecting a far better reception than he had received.

In that respect, Furby would have been nervous too were he in Ward's shoes. Which, once upon a time not too long ago, he had been. It wasn't difficult for him to dredge up the memories of those terrible, terrible days.

The truth was being a boot sucked. Most people felt inclined to treat you like you were lower than dirt, and there were plenty of people that didn't even care to learn your name. The logic being that whenever combat was to roll around, that boot would most likely end up getting killed. So, essentially, it wasn't worth learning a boot's name until after they've proven that they can survive the perils of battle against the Covenant War Machine.

Personally, Jay saw no sense in the logic. If people spent more time teaching the boot the things he or she needed to know to survive instead of treating them like shit, they probably would have a better chance of coming out of combat alive. It was one of the many things that made him hate the military life. Being a grunt was already a shitty job; the people just happened to make it shittier.

"Pleasure to meet ya, Jonny," Jay responded with a genuinely warm smile. "Welcome to First Team."

Furby heard a groan that originated from Avery's general direction. Sure enough, when he looked over to where the man was laying, he saw the lance corporal shaking his head profusely. "Why the hell are you babyin' that limp dick, Furby?"

Jayson scowled at him. "Hey, Avery, lay off," he shot back. "You don't need to be such a prick."

Again, Avery shook his head and mumbled something under his breath that Furby didn't quite catch. "Whatever, man," he said.

Furby nodded at him and smiled, realizing he had just persuaded the man to back off. It was probably just a temporary parlay of hostilities, but it was a small victory in his book. He turned his focus back to Ward. "Get your things squared away and if you need any help, lemme know. Don't be afraid to ask questions, man. If you ever find yourself in a situation where you don't know what you're doing, ask somebody for help."

That was advice that he wished someone would have given him when he had been a boot. "Oh," he added, "And never, ever volunteer yourself for anything. I learned that shit the hard way."

[McMillan, J.]

Jim kept quiet, standing in the corner away from the others, as the lift ascended. He replayed the incident with Stringer in his mind, solemnly resolving to deal with it at some point in the near future. The Marine had failed to listen to his warning, and even threatened him to an extent, though the former didn't bother him as much as the latter.

The elevator came to a halt and the steel double doors parted. Mac followed Durant out from the back of the group, silently taking in everything he said and committing the locations of interest the man pointed out to memory. In truth, he wasn't all that concerned about getting lost aboard the Vengeance. While obviously different to some degree, most Navy ships were designed very similarly, and his time aboard the Hopeful would definitely be useful here. If he could navigate the Hopeful successfully, then he could figure out how to navigate the Vengeance without very much difficulty.

When the group arrived at the area billeted to Second Platoon, the Lieutenant turned to Mac and pointed to the room directly to his left. Apparently that was the room in which he would be inhabiting whilst aboard the ship. The most interesting part to him was that he would be sharing the room with a private.

Back when he had been doing his OJT on the Hopeful, he'd been billeted to a room with a fellow NCO. As far as he knew, that was the norm upon Navy ships and on planetside postings. The idea of sharing space with someone of a much lower rank than himself was unheard of to him, but he had no qualms with it. Mac simply nodded and watched as the Lieutenant led the others further down the hall, leaving him outside his new billet.

Turning to the door, he raised his fist up and pounded it against the door thrice. He waited. When no one answered through the door, he mashed the button on the keypad and the door rose into the ceiling, allowing him passage into the room.

The room was bigger than he had originally anticipated. To his immediate right was an entertainment center with shutter doors that presumably concealed a vid screen. That alone was surprising to Mac, as he didn't recall having such accommodations in his berth on the Hopeful. In front of him, against the far wall, was a desk with a computer console atop it. It was likely connected to the extranet, and again McMillan found himself in awe. These were amenities that he simply hadn't been expecting.

On the left side of the room against the wall was a bed that looked to have been lived in. He instantly surmised that it belonged to his new roommate, whom seemed to be absent for the moment. Opposite of that side of the room, along the right wall, was another bed. There appeared to be some type of curtain device that could be deployed around it when privacy was needed. That was perhaps the only thing that he'd seen so far that his previous room had had. Mac marched over to his bed and placed his seabag on top of it. He looked around and noticed his footlocker had already been brought up.

"Time to start unpacking, I guess," he mumbled under his breath.

[Ward, J.]

Jon wasn't yet quite sure what to make of PFC Furby. After the hostile welcome he'd received from Lance Corporal Avery, he wasn't sure whether the man's kindness was genuine or not. In all likelihood Furby could have been messing with his head, putting him at ease with him only to let him have it when he least expected it.

One of his drill instructors during boot camp had played that trick on him, and he'd foolishly played right into it. It had been a rough day and the platoon had just returned to the squad bay from doing some MCMAP training. To his own surprise, he'd handled himself exceptionally well during the hand-to-hand combat drills, and thus he'd received the notice of said DI.

The DI told him for doing so well during practice, he was going to give him a reprieve and let him rest some. So, without thinking too much of it and being particularly exhausted, he made his way over to his rack and collapsed in it. Unfortunately, that had been a big mistake.

The platoon's Kill Hat, Sergeant Steele, was on him in the blink of an eye. Ward had dashed out of the rack, hitting his head on the one above him as he stood up, and snapped to attention. When he informed Sergeant Steele of what Staff Sergeant Chapman had told him, the DI called the Staff Sergeant over.

Staff Sergeant Chapman, as a result, ordered Ward onto the quarterdeck and together he and Steele IT'd him for half an hour. So, with those memories still being relatively fresh in his mind, he was weary of it happening again here.

However, when Furby smiled at him and spoke to him with respect, he began to lower his guard. The PFC welcomed him to the team and immediately chastised Lance Corporal Avery for treating Jon so harshly. Unable to help himself, Ward smiled back and said, "Thanks."

With that out of the way, he moved over to his footlocker and punched in the ten digit code to unlock it before raising the lid up so that he could start unpacking his belongings. Jon rummaged through the footlocker and retrieved all of his neatly folded camouflage uniforms and his skivvies.

Then he made his way over to the open drawer and began placing them inside it. He started by placing his skivvie shorts in the far left corner of the drawer, then placed his shirts directly behind them. Beside those he laid out several pairs of olive drab boot socks and then started placing his uniforms inside. He set down his digital woodland canniest first, and then his deserts and Arctic cammies. The grey cross-branch fatigues were the last ones to be placed inside the drawer before he closed it.

With that out of the way, and after listening to what Furby had to say to him, he made a trip back over to his footlocker and started picking up his armor sets so that he could stow them away in the closet. After all of his armor was stowed, he moved on to his dress uniform and finally his footwear and covers. Once he'd finished stowing away all of his stuff, he made one final trip over to the footlocker to shut it.

Before he closed the lid and locked it, he spotted something lining the inside of the lid. A two-dee picture of his fiancé that had been taken just shortly after he'd returned to Saint Rose from boot camp. Its counterpart, with both his fiancé and him in it, was kept taped on the inside of one of helmets. A smile momentarily graced his lips as he stared at the beautiful brunette that smiled back at him in the picture.

Jon had promised her before he left for Sigma Octanus to join O-Company that as soon as he returned from deployment, they would get married. The next time he got a chance he needed to ask someone when that was supposed to be so that he could send a letter to his wife and set an exact date for the wedding. Charlene was his high school sweetheart, and the woman of his dreams. He wanted nothing more than to be with her for the rest of his life.

Snapping out of his trance-like state, Jon shut the footlocker and re-engaged the locks. Three metallic clicks sounded, meaning the footlocker was now sealed and could only be opened by inputting the proper code. With a satisfied nod, Jon stood up and turned to face PFC Furby.

"So, Jay," he started, stepping over to his rack. "What now?"

[Flannigan, S.]

"Yeah, I will handle some pissant O-2 who thinks he gets to play god with my troopers," Flannigan said with a grin. "Try and put one of my officers in a bad spot. I think the lad'll be surprised when he learns what a bad spot is."

Flannigan was on a roll now, with the thought of LTJG Leiberman squarely in his sights. He moved on to the final topic, rising from his chair. The tips of his ears had turned red from his blood. He could feel it, but rather than care, he let it fuel him.

"Last thing Lieutenant," he said, his voice starting to rise. "If I ever, and I say again, EVER, find out about disciplinary action in my company through scuttlebutt again, you will be relieved of command! I don't care if the blessed Mother Mary herself comes down and puts the datapad in your hands, I will be told about the situation before any action is taken. The Major will be dealt with on his own terms, but you, Lieutenant, if you want to last in Oscar, you better remember who the fuck is in charge! The next time, you won't get a cordial visit!"

Flannigan was now almost on top of the Lieutenant, towering over the seated man. Spit flew from his mouth as he made his threats, and he was satisfied he had made his point. He spun around and threw the door open. He stormed out five hard steps and reached back for the door, almost closing it. He stuck his head back in with one more thought.

"And I expected to hear about your infirmary boys within the hour!"

With that he slammed the door and headed off in search of his next target.

[Faust, M.]

Faust stalked through the corridors back towards where her unit happened to be. She was in another foul mood but felt better as she had managed to escape the foul clutches of the medical staff. At least for the moment Faust was free of them. She walked back in and there seemed to be a hive of activity, plus the unwelcome presence of fresh faces.
Replacements, great. "What is going on here?" She inquired stalking forward her eyes sparkling with slight annoyance though most of it had been reserved for the medical staff. Michelle despised doctors, nurses, the beds, the food, basically anything to do with the hospitals. 

She surprised Robin with her arrival, who appeared rather startled by Faust returning so soon. "Er... Replacements we got new marine,." she answered the unamused corporal nervously. Robin had slowly adjust to Faust's aggressive nature and general foul mood, she came to Oscar Company in a foul mood, she probably would leave it in a foul mood. "Replacements? Great..." She did not sound amused by the prospect of having new people in her fire team regardless if they where combat veterans or not. Okay time for her fresh meat speech. "First squad, second team fall in!" She barked, she wanted to personally see them all before she started. 

She waited for the new individuals to arrive in front of her and fall in with Robin. Faust knew that Robin had heard this speech several times, but it never hurt to repeat it again. Faust had a well rehearsed speech, a pretty good one, a Michelle style speech, so there would be the inclusion of threats. There where no cowards, deserters and shirkers in her fire team. Faust would only expect the best from them, anything less and there would be trouble. She enforced harsh discipline, if it came to it she had no qualms in kicking people out of her fire team.  
Especially if they where a threat to morale, a threat to the unit, spread defeatist talk or were just counter productive. 

Michelle looked distinctly unamused by all the new faces, Faust never liked getting to know new people. It did take her a while to adjust to the platoon when she came to Oscar Company, Faust enjoyed the same faces, replacements upset her because more often than not they got themselves killed. Not getting to know them saved herself from pain when the rookies went and kicked the bucket with help of the Covenant. 
Originally she had never been like this, however very few of the marines present would know anything about that. Michelle never made much point in talking about her former marine comrades, most of who where dead or forced to leave the UNSC due to crippling injuries. New people, fresh faces, in her fire team. Great, now she had no option other than to mould these so called marines into a respectable force. Failing that get new people in who could actually soldier. 

[Durant, M.]

It was almost surprising at how things could go from good to bad in the matter of a few seconds. The phenomena was exponentially more common on the battlefield than off of it, but occasionally it did occur. It was rarely something to be expected.

So when Captain Flannigan lost his mind on the unsuspecting junior officer that was Durant, it had completely thrown him for a loop.

The Captain had just been reaffirming that the situation that had transpired regarding Lieutenant Lieberman and his apparent douchebaggery would be promptly taken care of when his attitude did a one-eighty. Michael was certain he could see steam blowing out of his superior's ears, and his face turned a bright crimson. The startling visage of his commanding officer becoming that angry with him was nothing less than frightening. In fact, for a brief moment, he almost believed the man was going to hit him.

Durant opened his mouth to reply, only to slam it shut as the Irishman stood up from his chair and closed the distance between them. Flannigan was practically on top of him, and the Lieutenant could feel the spit hit his face as the officer screamed at him. What the hell just happened?! Durant thought, his mind still reeling by the sudden shift from a cordial visit to the unholiest of reprimands ever.

"Sir, I -" he tried to stammer out a rebuttle, only to stop as Flannigan about-faced and stormed his way over to the door. He thought for a second that that was the end of it, and was just about to exhale a sigh of relief when the Irishman whipped around in the doorway, determined to give him one last ounce of venomous rage. He basically ordered Durant to find out what was going on down in the infirmary within an hour or there would be grim consequences.

The thought of another reprimand was all the motivation he needed to do exactly as he was told with no argument. Personally, he didn't feel that he was entirely in the wrong given the circumstances. Honestly, he had assumed that the Major had already ran things by Flannigan when he asked to speak with him privately a few weeks ago. Now he knew that wasn't the case, but that didn't convince the Lieutenant that his CO's anger was wholly misplaced. In his mind, he should have gone to the Major with his gripes about being left out of the loop.

On the flip side, however, he knew that he should have at least said something to Flannigan about the meeting after the fact to make sure he had been aware that it had transpired. So, from that perspective, he could see why the Captain might have been a tad perturbed with him.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Aye, sir," Michael replied smartly, despite not being sure that the hotheaded Irishman had heard him. Flannigan had disappeared a second ago, and considering the man's surprisingly quick pace, he could have already been halfway down the corridor by the time he'd acknowledged his not-so-subtle order.

[Furby, J.]

Jayson watched as Jonny started to unpack his belongings. The kid took his clothes and undergarments out from his footlocker and smartly organized them in the drawer that the PFC had indicated for him to stow away his things. A small grin splayed across his lips as he saw how Ward organized his clothes, making them easily accessible to him should he ever need to quickly throw an outfit together, genuinely impressed with how quickly the boot caught on to what he was saying. Normally it was pretty common for him -- or anyone, for that matter -- to have to repeat themselves when telling a boot what to do and how to do what he had been told to do.

That didn't seem to be the case for Porter's replacement, and that brought Furby some small amount of solace. If Ward was that much of a quick learner then that would make everyone's lives much easier, and it would probably be a fact that would leave Corporal Davis impressed. Which, by no means, was that an easy thing to accomplish. Davis was usually pretty easy to get along with, but also annoyingly stern when he felt the need to be. Impressing him was difficult, and few people managed to do it.

Although, despite that, Jayson was fairly certain that the Corporal would approve of Private Ward and at least display a modicum of respect when in his presence. Davis may have been many things, but a total dick was not one of them. He had his moments of dickishness every now and then (usually when trying to garner the attention of Sergeant Stone), but they were usually few and far between. That's partially the reason why Furby didn't mind the man as his team leader. Davis was a pretty solid Marine and a decent NCO. He knew how to lead the team in combat and tried his hardest to ensure that everyone returned home in one piece (and not in a zip-up bag).

Furby was brought out of his thoughts by the voice of Ward, whom had finished getting his belongings unpacked and put up. The PFC happened to notice the photograph that the Private had been staring at before he closed the footlocker and locked it. "Wait around, I guess," he replied honestly. "I don't know where Corporal Davis is or when he'll be back, so just chill until he gets here."

With momentary hesitation, he pondered whether or not to ask the boot about the picture. Obviously whoever was in the picture meant a great deal to the man, and Furby was willing to bet credits that the woman wasn't a relative of his. He shrugged a second later, deciding that it couldn't hurt to ask a simple question. If Ward didn't want to answer, he wouldn't.

"That was a pretty girl in that picture you've got," he commented with a friendly smile. "She your girlfriend or something?"

[McMillan, J.]

Mac perched himself along the edge of his new rack, reveling in the knowledge that he had nothing left to unpack. The process had taken him a bit longer to accomplish because he'd taken the time to not only unpack his things, but inventory each individual item in his possession. His medical bag had taken the longest to inventory out of all the gear he had.

Technically, he'd already inventoried it on the way up to the Vengeance, but double-checking never hurt anybody. Organization was key for a corpsman. It had been drilled into him by his NCOs during his year long stint aboard the Hopeful. "Always make sure you have all the tools you need even if you don't need them right this second," one of his Petty Officers had said. "At any moment somebody could be wheeled in here needing morphine caps or whatever, and if you don't have what you need, you have to rely on others to provide what you should have had on you."

It was a lesson that stuck with him. There had been times where others had been missing vital equipment that was needed to render immediate aid to somebody under their care, and they had to go around asking people for the supplies that their patient needed because of their lack of organization and preparedness. Jim never encountered such a problem personally. Not once did he report for duty without all the materials he required to do his job. He couldn't wrap his head around how his colleagues could leave their berth without the supplies necessary to get their job done.

Just like he could not understand people like Corporal Stringer, whom seemed to disregard the regulations in place to ensure the good order and discipline of humanity's fighting forces. While he may not have presently broken any rules, he was walking on the dangerous path that would lead him there. The overt flirtatiousness he exuded to a junior Marine that was assigned to the same unit as himself was a dangerous trait to possess. Were it to escalate beyond mere flirtation, he'd been in for a world of trouble.

Mac expelled that thought from his mind as he leaned back against the bed and debated what to do next. His roommate wasn't present at the moment and he had not the faintest clue when she would show up, so it wasn't like he could devote a small portion of his time introducing himself to her. Not that he was all that concerned or disappointed by that fact. Jim didn't have any qualms with avoiding social interaction with other people.

Not that he was antisocial, but he found over the years that he had a nasty habit of saying the wrong thing or putting people off by his outward persona. Life was much easier when all he had to do was keep to himself and ensure he fulfilled the responsibilities of his station. Occasionally he felt the sting of loneliness when left with nothing to preoccupy his overactive mind, but normally he kept those feelings sufficiently suppressed and out of his awareness.

In short, he was perfectly content with being a loner.

Jim sighed and turned his head towards the digital clock perched precariously upon the bedside nightstand. According to the clock and his own calculations, it wouldn't be long before the ship's chow halls started to admit people for lunch. That realization spurned a growl from his empty stomach, so he decided that perhaps he would venture over to the nearest mess to grab a bite to eat before returning to the berth to see if his new roommate had returned or not. Sooner or later, he would have to introduce himself to her. What better time than after a nice, hearty meal?

[Deleted]

Dirk took note that Sergeant Stone said that he and another Lance Corporal were to be assigned to second team under Corporal Faust. Now all Baldwin had to do was wait for her to arrive. In the meantime Dirk decided to wait where he was against the wall. Careful not to lean on it, bad posture leads to poor first impressions.

Not long after a blonde woman came through the door in a hurry. Dirk could see she was a Corporal and took an educated guess that she was Faust. The Corporal seemed to be in a bad mood and so Baldwin decided that this encounter may end up more difficult than he would have liked. She is going to try to make an impression of a strong leader and that she is not someone to be messed with, most likely, if that is Corporal Faust.

Sure enough as soon as Dirk questioned whether or not this woman was Corporal Faust, she ordered his team to fall in. Without missing a beat Baldwin did just that and fell in as quickly as possible. Dirk stood there and knew that he was being judged but he too that time to evaluate the posture and appearance of Corporal Faust. She stands with confidence, she also seems to be in a really sour mood.

[Davis, E.]

((This is a joint post between Davis, Wilkas, and Cruz))

Cruz sat at his desk looking over the consoling paperwork that he had recently finished writing up for Wilkas' most recent visit. The man wast overly happy that the replacements cut into the meeting. However he didn't have a choice about going or not. It was a responsibility that came with his position and right now his position was really getting on his nerves.

Pouring himself a small glass of scotch left over from the meeting with Durant and Killinger, Cruz's plan was just to calm down a little bit before he brought the paperwork to Wilkas. In the comments section Cruz wrote "Session was interrupted by the arrival of the replacements. Did not have time to write the report at the time." Before he could sign it there was a knock at his door. "Enter" Cruz half shouted across the room as he signed the papers. Davis hurriedly opened the door, allowing Wilkas to enter first.

"Gunny," he started, catching the title too late. "Staff Sergeant, we have an issue. Seems a certain Private doesn't seem to understand insubordination."

Cruz let out a frustrated sigh upon hearing Davis' words. "Before you start let me stop you for a moment," Cruz said as he topped off his glass of scotch.
Cruz swung around in his chair to look at the pair in front of him. A small look of shock crossed over his face at whom he saw with Davis.

"Could you elaborate a bit more Corporal?" Cruz asked as he set his still full glass of scotch down so he could give his undivided attention to the situation.

"Private Wilkas seems to think that lawful orders get obeyed on her schedule," Davis said, trying to keep his stance and tone professional. He could hear the strain creeping into his voice though. "She was late to training, which she claims was because she was having a counseling session with you. She couldn't produce a copy of the counseling form. She's served her punishment for being late. She refuses to serve any punishment for being a lippy snide... marine when I actually tried to find out what was going on. She's working on a half our of remedial training right now plus the time I have to spend to do this. She's pretty sure you'll tell me I'm out of line, so, here we are Staff Sergeant."

While Davis never would have said it, the feelings of betrayal ran hard on him. He had offered Wilkas a chance to be a part of his family, defunct and deranged as it was. It was all he could do to stay professional and not just commence with wall to wall counseling.

Cruz sat patiently and listened to the explanation that Davis provided. This was something he was afraid would happen. Having their secret relations seemed to make Wilkas think that she was above protocol and that Cruz would have her back.

"We did have a counseling session today that was unexpectedly interrupted, Corporal. Due to the interruption I did not have the necessary time to fill out the paperwork; which I did complete mere moments ago. The session was delving into some of her frustrations and pent up anger, so I can understand to an extent where she would be a bit ... snippy. However there is a point where the snippyness would have to stop and the professional standards that we as Marines are held to. No, I will not tell you that you were in the wrong Davis. Quite the contrary, you were doing your job and doing it well."

Cruz pondered his next thoughts as he grabbed the recently completed counseling form. "I have an idea for the punishment that should be bestowed upon Private Wilkas. However since she doesn't fully know exactly what kind of man and leader you are, why don't you tell us what you're punishment for this would be?" Cruz said as he handed Davis the filled in counseling form.

Wilkas kept quiet wisely for a while, biting her lower lip as they talked about her seemingly like she wasn't there. It wasn't just those reasons which Cruz mentioned, but he did not know about some of the others reasons, well more like reason yet so for that Grace could hardly blame him.
Under her breath she mumbled something about it not just being that. It was pretty difficult to hear exactly what she said, but there was no insult in there, her eyes glittered with a mixture of frustration, annoyance and oddly enough guilt.

"There's flutter kicks to start with," Davis said quickly. "And Private Wilkas seems to think she's capable of taking on any kind of physical punishment I can dish out, due to her training. I was intending to put that theory to the test."

Davis heard Wilkas grumble and cast her a sideways look.

"Speak up Private," Davis snapped. "Here's your chance at salvation from big bad Davis who was so out of line. If the Staff Sergeant can't hear you, he can't save you."

She shot Davis a glare which on Faust would have chilled most men to the bone but on Wilkas just made her appear more a rebellious teenager. "I am not sure if it will help me or any of you if I tell you something which neither of you know and..." She fell silent, hoping they would leave it at that.

Cruz sat back and watched the short one sided verbal altercation that was happening between Davis and Wilkas. The staff sergeant understood what Davis had meant by calling her insubordinate. He was about to agree with the punishment that Davis had thought up when Wilkas trailed off with her statement. "Private, if this is something that is going to affect your performance in this company and that could have an adverse effect on your fellow Marines, we need to know." Cruz said in a voice reminiscent of a psychologist.

"I..." Her voice choked and she closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She opened them but looked down at her hands. "I... I.. Was PWOP... I.. And well I wanted to... But I couldn't so I'm not." Grace sighed quietly, her eyes filled with a weary sadness. "I'm just... Upset by it and I did not mean to behave in such a manner but frustrations just spilt over too much for me to handle... I apologize for it."

Cruz sat stunned with his mouth slightly agape. This was something that he would have never expected her to keep from him. He just couldn't recover from the shock. It was a full two minutes before he was able to close his mouth. Davis froze, his mind trying to swim through the bomb that had just been dropped on it. His hatred and wrath were firmly abated, replaced by a gut punch he had never expected. He opened his mouth on three different occasions but no words managed to come out.

"Wilkas," Davis finally said. "This is what I meant when I said you had a family here. I don't expect you to trust me outright, but we're all in this together."

"I thought you would all be mad at me... So I kept quiet about it." She sounded like she was on the verge of breaking down and crying.

This wasn't in the team leader's manual. Davis really just wanted to reach out and give her a hug, but that seemed entirely inappropriate for a Corporal. She looked on the verge of tears and Davis could only imagine how she had felt.

"Wilkas, we're still humans," he said softly. "Think skinned assholes, yes, but we're still human."

There was only one right thing to do here. Not by regulations, but by being a person who could understand another.

"Staff Sergeant," he said softly, "I think there has been enough punishment. Wilkas, I hope you will actually trust me as your team leader. If you can't, I'll be happy to find you someone you can. You can't float along alone here, and you don't have to. If there isn't anything else you need me for Staff Sergeant, I have a team that I need to check on."

"My mother would be so mad at me right now." Grace muttered her cheeks wet from tears that she didn't even know had started. "I... I just... I don't.." Wilkas shook her head and whispered. "Never mind.." This partly felt like she was a troublesome teenager who had been caught by her parents with a boyfriend that they disliked. Only this was worse as it was with the UNSC who had plenty of books to throw at her.

"Go ahead and get back to your team Corporal. Private I'm going to need to speak with you about this a little more," Cruz said, trying to regain some of his composure. "Davis," Cruz said, stopping the man as he was about to step through his door, "this stays between the three of us until I have a chance to speak with the Lieutenant on this matter. You tracking?"

"Understood," Davis said with a nod. He ducked out the door into the passageway to leave the two marines alone. He shook his head one more time before heading back to the billets.

Grace alone now that Davis had gone, had run out of things to say. She couldn't lift her head to face Cruz, so she just starred at her hands which her clasped together as if they held the answers she longed for.
What could she say? What could she do? Honesty here would only cause her more trouble, more suffering both for her and someone else. There was no good choice, no easy decision here which someone could declare as the right thing to do. She tried not to cry too much, well aware that she was a soldier not a teenage girl who's boyfriend just broke up with her.

Cruz waited about thirty seconds after Davis left before he closed and locked his door. He wasn't mad or upset. He was just numb. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he walked up to Wilkas and pulled her into a strong yet comforting embrace. Wilkas wrapped her arms around him and buried her head into his shoulder, sobbing silently. She could not think of the words to tell him. Grace felt more and more that she wasn't cut out to be a soldier let alone a marine. War wasn't the profession for her yet she possessed no choice in the matter. Fight or someone would yell at you and make you fight. If only she had been a civilian then this would not have mattered, well too her parents it would have been a great deal. However if... When other higher ranking marines found out... She could not even bear the thought of what they might do.