Morgan Bailey – her new name – watched as a pair of armorers worked to prep her armor for storage. It was in another heavy steel vault, not unlike the one that had housed her Mark VI armor when she'd received it on the Cairo only a few months before. Now, with no fatigues and no dress uniform to wear, she stood in civilian clothes, what could be described business casual. Black pants and a white button up shirt, the sleeves on it rolled up to provide her some semblance of the tightness that came from rolled up fatigue sleeves.

The golden visor that she had hid behind, that had reflected all of those gazes away from her, was now staring back at her. Green eyes were turned on their owner, and she saw herself tinted gold. There was no reaching out to brush her fingers against the armored chest plate, having been repainted sometime after she'd returned and removed it. Despite having been in civilian clothes for two weeks now, they still didn't feel right, and she longed to slip back into the tech suit and feel it cover her like a second skin.

But it wasn't an option now. With no war to fight, and the abuse she had put on her body over the years catching up to her, she wanted to rest. Near constant fighting from Reach until the end of the war had taken its toll, and while she could still outdo any Marine currently serving, she'd discovered that she didn't really want to. She was still young, and her body would heal, but it would need time.

A hand in front of her caught her attention, and her eyes followed it back to the person who owned it. The Master Gunnery Sergeant that had been almost like her own personal armorer retracted his hand. "You gonna be alright leaving her here with us, Commander? We'll take good care of her, y'know."

Morgan pursed her lips slightly, before looking back to the visor as the armorer's two assistants closed the doors on the vault and it locked itself up. "Don't have much of a choice, Guns. I'm not a soldier anymore. I don't need it."

"Lotsa people gettin' out, ma'am. You're not the only one feeling it. Hell, plenty of people have been alive and this war is all they've known. Now they're going home and they ain't gonna know what to do."

Morgan turned away from the armor's vault, crossing her arms across her chest. Even out of the armor, she was a head taller than the Master Gunnery Sergeant and a little wider in the shoulders. "This war is all I've known, and I don't know what to do."

The older man shrugged as the armor was taken away. "It's gonna be tough. Always has been. Even soldiers coming back from war after a year or two deployed in the past struggled with it, but it's never been this bad." Any hint of the normally amused tone he had was gone, replaced by the musings of a tired old man. "You just gotta take it one day at a time, Commander."

Morgan grimaced, her hands grabbing at her arms to stop herself from wanting to wring them. "I'm not even a commander anymore, just a… civilian."

Master Guns frowned. "Does that mean that just because you're retired, you're not a Spartan?"

That caught her attention, and she hesitated for a moment. "No. I'm still a Spartan. I'll still do what they need me to, if they ever call for me." Her voice had started off questioning itself, but now it was hard, confident, full of conviction that if they ever called her back to the military, she would go in a heartbeat.

"Then you can use some of that Spartan toughness and tenacity to keep going, and be a good civilian too, live a life for those that don't get to."

She felt like a child again under the old man's hard look, as if she were being admonished. She didn't exactly like it, but it was helping somewhat. "That's what Hood said, to keep going for those that can't."

He nodded in response. "It might seem impossible, but last I checked, you've done the impossible. Rumors passed through the ship while we were on the Ark. One of the medics that was in the strike force with you and the Chief said that you were more or less KIA. You went cardiac, had a nasty concussion, and some messed up ribs. I saw what happened to your armor. Don't tell me that going through all you did at the end, being a civilian is too hard for you."

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "But I know how to fight, how to push pain away, that's always been what I was meant to do. To fight until I couldn't, to give the rest of you more time. I don't know how to be a civilian. I don't even know what to do."

Despite her issue with moving to civilian life, Master Guns gave her a small smile. "You'll figure it out as you go, I promise. You'll learn how to use a washing machine, a vacuum, a microwave. It'll all come to you in time. But my biggest piece of advice? Don't shut yourself away when you get out. If you hide inside wherever you end up living, you'll only make yourself a husk, not truly living your life."

His smile dropped during the last portion, and he sighed. Their time was coming to an end, and he held out his hand to her. When she grabbed it, his other hand came up, sandwiching her hand between his own two. "Be safe, don't drink and drive, don't put metal in the microwave, and don't forget to make some friends while you're out."

Morgan bit the inside of her lip, and nodded. "I'll try, and Guns? What's your name?"

The armorer's smile returned. "Name's Joe."

"Morgan, then," she returned. "Your rank is too much of a mouthful to say all the time."

"You won't have to worry about it too much more then. I'll be seeing you, Morgan." Releasing her hand, he stepped back, and gave her one last salute that she returned, before he moved past her and followed after her armor, wherever it went.

Left alone, Morgan licked her lips and contemplated all of it. There was plenty to do, and at the same time, she had no idea how to do it, but she would figure it out one way or another. Turning, she went the opposite direction that Joe, the Master Gunnery Sergeant, had gone.

The interior passed by without her realizing what most of it looked like, merely taking the turns that she remembered. It was all the same as every other base anyway. Stepping out into the mid-day sun, it did little to ease her mood, warming her skin but nothing else.

There was a ride waiting for her, a Marine in olive drab fatigues in the driver's seat of an unarmed Warthog with an armored box in the place of the gun. It was a logistics variant, capable of transporting fuel, ammunition, even double as a medical vehicle. All that was inside now was a single duffle bag filled with everything she owned. At the sound of the doors swishing open, the Marine quickly finished the cigarette he had been nursing, waving his hand through the air to try and dispel some of the smoke as she climbed up and into the passenger seat.

"Ma'am," he greeted. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, settling back into the seat and putting on the seatbelt, something she'd never really done before in her life when it came to the FAVs. "Ready, corporal."

With a nod, the corporal put the Warthog into gear and the big vehicle lurched as its engine fed power through the transmission to the wheels, but it was infinitely more gentle than any Warthog ride she had ever taken before. She still couldn't get over how hard the seats felt. They were cushioned, and there was give to them, but her armor had always made them deform far more.

Regardless of her musings as she stared through the windshield, the core of UNSC Installation Camp Fordison passed by in a mix of artificial grays and silvers. Distant mountains rolling over the landscape in a sea of green contrasted heavily, and caught her eyes when she wasn't sure what else to look at.

The only stop they made was at the exit gate to the complex, where a gate guard let them through without a second glance. It was new, she thought, not being stared at for her size or for her armor's intimidating appearance. As far as she could tell, the guard had only seen a woman in civilian clothes leaving the base. Her skin was no longer deathly pale, her bruises had healed and scars had faded with her skin's color change, and there was no uniform. She wasn't sure how she felt about it, if she was being honest with herself.

But it didn't matter all too much, and she settled in for the short ride to the airport that even now was preparing to board and transport her to her new home. The trip passed in silence, and 20 minutes later, she was stepping back onto asphalt, the Marine having already gotten out and grabbed her bag for her.

Handing it over, he stepped back and made to get back in the Warthog, waving goodbye and wishing her well, before she was alone again. People continued to walk past as if nothing had changed, not even sparing her a second glance. She was surrounded, but still well and truly alone. Swallowing, she dug into the bag and pulled out her boarding pass and the small collection of cards and documents she had, all kept in a case that protected the things inside from harm. One more last gift from Master Guns. If she couldn't have armor for her, she would have it for the things that were most important for the time being.

Shouldering the bag, she kept the case in a steely grip, careful not to squeeze too hard and bend or damage it. Inside, her boarding pass, her registration for a decommissioned transport Warthog and its key, new identification, and financial assets were kept hidden away, as well as the information on the new home that had been given to her.

All of it had been read over and memorized a dozen times, and she didn't need to look at any of it, but having it in her hands was a reinforcement, a comfort when there were no others. A frown, and she stowed all but the boarding pass away.

Stepping into the terminal, there were dozens of people in the immediate vicinity, and unknown numbers of others in line of sight. It wasn't a small terminal by any means, and air travel was still one of the primary methods to getting around the planet.

She could feel eyes on her, could feel her scars being taken in, and she suddenly felt the urge to pull the sleeves on her shirt down and cover it all up. The shirt she wore was a thin material, see through, revealing the white undershirt. It had the top button undone, but all that showed was her neck, slender but still thick enough to reveal it was heavily muscled like the rest of her body. The material all hugged her body in its own way, form fitting and a thin barrier against the rest of the world.

Forcing the feelings down, the trip to her gate was quick, long legs eating up the distance as she avoided all those that she could, keeping her distance from those she couldn't. Her boarding pass was on the counter as soon as she finished her stint in a short line, and the woman at the counter thankfully didn't try to make conversation with the Spartan. That left her to take no more than a minute to be sorted, and she was free to scurry for her transport.

Passing a small sea of chairs and people, she took the case and a small carry on out of her bag, dumping them into a scanner for airport security, who waved her through with a cursory glance at her baggage, seeing it was little more than clothes and a case of metal objects. They took the case out, spotting a throng of medals that got more than a few eyes from those waiting behind her and the men working the desk. Morgan felt the discomfort rising, and they must have caught on, because the case was closed and stowed, and she was waved through with little fanfare.

A sigh of relief, and the bag was dumped onto a baggage carousel before disappearing through a hole in the wall. That left her with the carry on bag, a black satchel that was smaller than the normal size, something that Hocus and Sugar had taken her to get after she had officially retired. A small smile came to her face as she remembered the two pilots forcing her along on a small outing.

The two had helped her with not only arranging her finances – not without having an eye watering reaction at the sum that UNSC financiers had quickly thrown together given her time in the military without pay – but also helping her learn to use her cards, helping her find clothes that not only fit but looked good on her, and showing her what it was like being a civilian. It had been a long day that left even her tired, but she would remember it always, and she hoped that one day she could repay the two women for their kindness.

Thinking about them had her missing the contact that they had brought, and though it had only been a few weeks, it felt like it had been years. Both had been reassigned not long after their outing, sent off to a land base with the Home Fleet being ripped to shreds, and only the Aegis Fate and Ode to Autumn being left, both requiring rearm and refit. She had their contact information, however, and she would contact them as soon as she had settled in.

Breaking out of her reverie, the signs on the walls had called for her flight to board, and she set her sights on the gate, where people were already stepping through, guided by a flight attendant who seemed to have a glued on smile, a face carved from a sandy ceramic. Freckles dusted her cheeks, and brown eyes looked over them with a light that didn't quite mimic the smile on her face. Morgan made her way through and avoided the eyes, feeling uncomfortable under that gaze.

She was a little too tall for the transport, nearly bumping her head on the ceiling and having to walk through the central tube with her head bowed until she made it to the seat that had been assigned to her, a window seat. Stowing her bag, she moved down to the seat, frowning at the leg room that was just a little too short for her liking. Regardless, she hunkered down and leaned against the wall, staring out at the tarmac where other transports were lining up for takeoff. They all looked the same, most of them aerodynamic wedges, a flying wing design that modern technology allowed to work flawlessly compared to older designs.

People boarded behind her, joining those already settled in, and Morgan tried not to pay attention to the man who slotted in next to her. Luckily, he seemed like he wasn't interested in conversation either.

Takeoff came quickly, with the transport taxiing, lining up, and finally rocketing down the runway before rotating and taking to the sky. It was almost nonexistent for the Spartan, having undergone plenty of takeoffs, even if most of them were from the hovering form of a Pelican, or the cockpit of a Sabre.

A three hour flight followed the take off, and Morgan spent most of it with her eyes glued to the window. Something about the landscape below had her gaze locked on, finally able to experience flight without the threat of war looming over her, without feeling as if she would be shot down at any moment. She had undergone too many crash landings in her time to want another one now or ever again.

Plains passed by, a patchwork of colors, forests and fields slipping in, cracked by the blues of rivers and the mirror surfaces of lakes. Mountains rose up to claw at the transport, but always falling short, unable to latch on to the transport and the Spartan it carried, but always close enough for Morgan to see individual trees, to see the rivers that flowed down their sides, even seeing a single smoke column, a camp site with a small fire burning in its midst. Maybe camping would be good if she ever got her bearings.

Her thoughts ran wild with the lack of anything but the constant sound of the turbofans to the rear of the transport, just barely loud enough to be heard through a sound proofed hull, but she heard them all the same.

What would she do now? She didn't need a job or income. She was set for life. How did one make friends when you weren't forced to see them? All of her friends had been in the military, had been Spartans or the few Marines that had cropped up at the end, but they had all fought together, nearly died together, it was easy to make connections like that. But civilians? How would she talk to them? None of them knew what she was, and hopefully never would. Not all of them would be former military, wouldn't understand, would gawk and stare, countless other reactions. What if they all saw her as a freak? She knew she was far above average in size, in muscular bulk, and she would seem stupid not knowing even simple things. How would she deal with all of it? It seemed harder and harder by the second to figure out how she would keep her promise to Lord Hood and to Master Guns – Joe. She needed to call him Joe. - What would she do?

She didn't have too much time to decide, as already the transport was dropping altitude, and the flight attendant announced landing would happen shortly. The ground rose up to meet them, grass gave way to urban sprawl, and a sea of buildings crowded around another airport, tarmac acting as if it was a lake in the middle of this steel forest. The sound of wheels screeching, brakes kicking in, and deceleration all came together to put the transport at another terminal, much like the first.

People stood before it was their time to disembark, a problem that had never died off in the hundreds of years since air travel had become prevalent. Morgan remained seated, more than content to get off last.

With her carry on in hand, and a few minutes later, the rest of her items, she left the terminal. Her thoughts continued to weigh on her as she pulled the key to her Warthog from the armored case. Stepping out into the light, cars were coming in and out, an endless tide as people were dropped off or picked up. Buses and vans filled the same role, with multiple people at a time. Past the road that stood between her and her vehicle was a parking lot filled with other cars, most of them looking as if they were smaller luxury vehicles, but she could see what was hers even from here.

An empty space in the parking lot showing the massive transport Warthog, dwarfing the other vehicles and taking up two parking spaces on its own, and still managing to hang its rear out into the lane that allowed cars to transit through the parking lot. It was a big vehicle, and it showed, now that she saw it next to others. This variant had been decommissioned, all sensitive gear taken out. No more blue force tracker, no more IFF receivers, transponder beacons, all of it taken back by the UNSC. It still retained its satellite uplink feed for navigation, but that was a standard on many vehicles these days, a holdover from trying to track the insurrection before the Covenant had come. There was no gun, and the normally open bed that would transport Marines was covered by a steel box, much like the logistics variant that she had rode in on her way out of Camp Fordison. Doors had been added as well, and they would swing forward on hinges that attached to the front fenders. Finally, the towing assembly had been left intact, just in case.

Making her way over, she dumped her bag into the passenger seat and walked around, slipping into the driver's seat and pushing the key into the ignition. Cranking it, she didn't pull away immediately as the vehicle roared to life, drawing more than a few eyes to the tinted windshield. She sat there for a moment, hands in her lap, and looked around.

There was no rush, she realized. No time table to keep, no strike plan that revolved around her being in a certain place at a certain time, no threat to extinction. These thoughts came to her more and more as the days went on. It almost didn't seem real, seemed like a dream, and any moment, she would wake up on Reach again. She still saw it in her mind sometimes, a flash of the Aszod Shipbreaking Yards where she had made what she thought would be her final stand.

Swallowing, she frowned and forced her hands up to the wheel. She had a drive ahead of her, at least an hour if she didn't get lost. One hand went to the navigational system in the center of the dashboard, swiping away the engine metrics and pulling up the route that she had to follow. Leaving the city she was in, the hub for the region, she would head further north, up into a small town that would be her home for the foreseeable future, if not for the rest of her life. A population of 30,000 with a small airport nestled in between two mountain groups, it would be isolated but not hidden by any means. Less people meant she would stick out. Too many was far from preferable. She would be fine with this.

She hoped.

An hour's drive in silence passed by much like all of the trees and other cars, gone by in a blur as she focused on the route and keeping herself out of her thoughts. She made one stop, not long after leaving the airport, to get water. Two bottles would last her easily enough, and she sipped at them during the trip.

Urban landscapes disappeared in the rear view mirror, and a more rural appearance took over, with her elevation increasing ever so slightly as she drove. At one point, a winding road suddenly lurched up in elevation, and she was in the new area she would call her own.

Empty roads led into a decent sized town. Homes filled the outer rim as the town flowed through the valley between two lines of mountains, greenery contrasting with the earthen tones of the materials that covered metal construction. Larger buildings in the center of the town gained several stories on the rest, but nothing near the skyscrapers of the city she had landed in, and she could see the air traffic control tower in the distance, backdropped by a bank of fog that seemed to be rolling in from the opposite end of the valley.

Cars passed her on the opposite side of the road, and others lined in behind her, some taking up positions in front of her as she tended to the Warthog and navigated it through areas it was never truly meant to go through. A possibility, but a difficult one. Eyes followed the vehicle as it passed through the town, most unused to seeing such a large vehicle outside of the broadcasts that were shown online or on television.

She ignored all of it, and after another half hour of slipping through the narrow streets of the town, Morgan felt it all slip behind her once again, taking a side road that traveled up the side of one of the mountains. Multiple houses built here were larger, intended for families in the upper middle class, rather than the smaller single story houses in the suburbs around the town. The road continued to wind and twist as it went up, until she spotted the home that was hers.

Pulling into a white concrete driveway, the Warthog settled to a stop, and the engine died. Its driver stepped out and took her first look at the place, comparing it to what the details on the place said in her notes. Two stories, four rooms, two bathrooms, a garage, plenty of space behind it, utilities, and more. The place was furnished, at least, having been included in the cost of the home. Looking around, other houses looking similar, but slightly different, were up and down the road, equally spaced as if they had been built from a template. A hundred feet sat between each house's walls, the halfway point making up the property line. One was directly across the street from her, and another of those small cars was sitting in the driveway. Nobody was outside, but that was to be expected.

The sky was starting to darken and the sun starting to set. Pursing her lips, Morgan moved around to the side and grabbed her bag out of the Warthog before shutting it and walking towards the front door. Nearly forgetting, she turned back to lock the Warthog, and made her way to the door. It was locked as well, but her notes reminded her that yet another secret lie waiting. Underneath a small stone in the corner of the walkway, where a bordered plot of soil sat untended, a key came out of a false bottom. Opening the glass screen door, she slotted the key into the lock on the sturdier main door and let herself in.

Unpacking would come later, and she simply went into the main room and put her bags down, before sitting on one of the too-soft couches, and contemplating her life.

It seemed like she sat there for an eternity, simply staring at the black screen mounted on the wall in front of her. It reflected her face, and she felt like she was staring straight through it. Who was that staring back at her? It looked so different. The armor was gone, her hair was starting to grow back the way it had been, it didn't look dead anymore. A hand came up to her face, and as her fingers pressed against skin that had gotten more sunlight than it had in years, a ring passed through the house, a deep chime that seemed to echo endlessly, and made her jump, reaching for a gun on her hip that wasn't there.

She stared at the door, broken from her reverie, and forced herself to breathe. What was that? A knock came, and a muffled voice. "Hello? Is anyone home?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed, and she stood, creeping for the door in a combat glide that had been muscle memory for so many years now. Her hand came to rest on the knob, and she swallowed, before opening it

On the opposite side of the glass door, an older woman stood, likely in her late forties. Chestnut hair fell around her shoulders, curled in such a way as to seem like it had been made like that. Aged skin was still soft and supple looking, if a little marred by wrinkles, the woman having a little more weight on her, giving her a cherubic appearance with slightly round cheeks and a round face. Blue eyes looked at Morgan, bordered by crow's feet, and the smile on her face gave way to one of minor shock as she realized she had to look up at the Spartan and see just how big she was.

She recovered quickly, her smile coming back and her eyes narrowing as she gave a little wave. "Hi! My name's Kris, I live just across the road here!" Pointing at the house that Morgan had looked at, directly across from her, the woman, Kris, went on. "I saw you walk in and I assumed that you're the one who finally bought the house. I wanted to introduce myself."

Morgan stared at her for a few seconds, before her hand went up to the door knob and opened it slowly, stepping outside. Green eyes glanced around, searching for threats that weren't there, before finally settling on the woman again. "Yes ma'am, this is my home now."

Kris' smile increased a little as she waited for Morgan to say more, but when she didn't the smile seemed to falter slightly, before she got a hold of it. Blue eyes looked over the Spartan in a heartbeat, taking it all in, when she realized that this new neighbor of hers was large, muscular, and full of scars. She had been a soldier, and the way she was talking seemed to reinforce that. Short, clipped speech was a trademark of it. Plenty had come back to the town since the war's end, and even more hadn't made it back.

"I… I see. Well, I don't wanna be a bother at all, but if you need anything while you're settling in, I'm always home. Just come and knock on the door and I'll come running." She gave a breathy little chuckle that seemed awkward more than anything, and Morgan forced a smile of her own.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind." Morgan thought for a moment, before she held her hand up, doing what the others had all done, what Stacker and Master Guns had done. "Morgan."

The little woman's light grew a bit brighter, and she took the massive hand, barely able to get her fingers around the width of it. "It's a pleasure to meet you!" White teeth showed through as her smile widened, and Kris pulled back. "Like I said, just pop over if you need anything! Good luck with the new house!"

Without much more to say, Kris backed away, taking a few steps before turning and making her way down the driveway and back to her own home. When she made it back, she looked back at Morgan's door, the door having shut and the woman having disappeared without a sound, and her smile disappeared completely as she pondered it.

Inside her home again, Morgan was still at the door, having not moved, instead watching through the peep hole as Kris went home. When the older woman shut the door to her own home behind her, Morgan finally stepped away.

That had been new, in a way. Nobody ever went out of their way to approach a Spartan unless they needed something. But she wasn't a Spartan anymore, was she? Well, she was, but not actively. Now, she was just Morgan.

Returning to her couch, the big woman sunk down into it, her thoughts wrapping around this new encounter. This woman was her neighbor. Did that mean they were friends? Was she just introducing herself to see who Morgan was? Or was she serious about needing anything and coming to her?

With a shrug, Morgan pushed it back down inside of her. She would give it the benefit of the doubt. She had to force herself to stop ripping everything apart and questioning it all as if she was under constant threats. As far as she was concerned, this woman, Kris, was her first new friend as a civilian.

A new chapter had been opened in Morgan's life, however small and short it would be before giving way to yet another.