Disclaimer: I don't own Halo or anything about it. Except my OC(s). Because I can.

Please do review! This is my first non-TMNT fanfiction story. Thank you to my three reviewers so far! Do note: this isn't going to be very impressive. It's more of me just finding and stretching my Halo fanfiction wings. And with that, here is the last chapter!

Chapter 3: Slipspace

John woke the instant his team began moving around. He swung his leg over the bunk and eyed the cast.

"You're not supposed to be walking." Kelly wandered over, her arms showing the bruises from yesterday's fighting.

"I'm not," John pointed out, voice husky with sleep. He'd slept better than he had for a long time.

Kelly merely raised an eyebrow. "You were thinking about it."

John shrugged in defeat. "I could always work on practicing walking on one leg in case the other gets blown off."

Kelly nodded thoughtfully. "True, true. Hungry?" She was switching the topic, but John felt his stomach remind him that he had just gone through a lot on a little food. Spartan metabolisms were… fast.

"Yeah. What are our options?"

"I can carry you into the mess hall or we could order in." Because the Spartans were supposed to keep their human side as covert as possible – not knowing if a green demon was human helped maintain the myth that Spartans never died, only went MIA – they were usually allowed to order food be brought to them, like patients in the hospital. It was something they usually did, not enjoying the glares and occasionally barb from the soldiers.

"Let's order in. And I'll challenge you to a game of chess while we wait."

Kelly nodded and went to the communications unit near the door, ordered four Spartan meals – the kitchen staff knew to bring enough to feed eight or ten people – and brought the chess set from the closet over. The Spartans always kept something on hand to entertain themselves in case of injury, and for this ride, Admiral Hood had presented them with a fairly amusing chess set.

John chose to be the Covenant and set up his Grunt pawns, Jackal knights and rooks, and Elite bishops. Hunters completed the set as king and queen. He wondered briefly why Prophets were missing, not to mention Engineers and Brutes, but then realized that few people had encountered any of those particular species. Kelly set up her UNSC side, the king and queen being Spartans.

They played quickly; the game was not an accurate representation of the war because Kelly won. Her queen Spartan took the king Hunter while her bishops and single knight – ODSTs – kept him fenced in. She had left her king under the guard of a troop of pawns, Marines. John had captured her rooks, the ONI technicians, quickly.

Just then, their food arrived. James rolled the trolley in from the corridor and parked it in front of John. They ate in comfortable silence; anyone who could have watched would have said they were eating and leaving, but it was just habit.

They polished off the trolley and Linda put it back in the corridor for someone to find and take back to the kitchen. John watched as referee as Linda, Kelly, and James sparred in various combinations. Kelly would take on James and Linda, and then Linda and Kelly would attack James. It was fast-paced and John made mental notes the entire time.

He could already predict what each of his Spartans would do. James loved to tackle Kelly to the ground, since she couldn't use her speed then – and Kelly enjoyed rolling around on the ground like a pair of kids again. Linda would let them have their fun and, depending on her team, wait until her teammate was on bottom, and yank the aggressor off them. If James and Kelly were on a team, Kelly would distract Linda until James could come up behind and force her to her knees.

They played several bouts before they were interrupted. Once again, Kate just walked in – and stopped dead.

Kelly was laughing, trying to cry mercy but unable to as James tickled her; Linda was holding Kelly's legs down, sitting on her calves, while James sat on her chest and used his knees and feet to keep her arms down. Kelly was very ticklish, and they used that to their advantage.

The trio looked up, as did John, and instantly went from happy-go-lucky children to serious Spartan soldiers. Kate blinked at the transformation; Linda and James rose and Kelly sprang to her feet. John did not stand, and she quickly noticed why as his ankle's cast came into view.

Kate cleared her throat. It felt like she had interrupted and witnessed some sort of secret ritual. The Spartans were calm and collected as they faced her. Kelly offered John a hand and he rose, balancing easily on his uninjured foot.

"Ma'am," he greeted, tilting his head. "Can we help you?"

Kate breathed in to calm herself and nodded. "I have the video from yesterday and thought you might enjoy seeing it before we send it to news stations for distribution."

John nodded and, without seeming to give a signal, the Spartans joined her by the door, waiting for her to lead the way. She didn't miss a warning glare from John to Kelly, however, when the woman began to bend over, probably to pick him up, though she looked dainty compared to him.

Kelly huffed almost silently, glaring at John, and slung moved under his injured side. Damn men and their pride, Kelly thought to herself as she and John made their way out of the garage. It was an awkward position but Kelly knew they made it look effortless, like everything else.

"It's just down here." Kate led them to an auditorium, empty save for the film crew. They waved in greeting to the Spartans as the large men and women took their seats. Kelly deposited John in the front row, where he liked to sit, and sat next to him. James sat on his other side and Linda occupied Kelly's free side.

"This is what we're planning to send out to raise morale and, hopefully, get more soldiers to sign up. We're seeing too many losses," Kate began. A screen fell from the ceiling, bouncing once before it straightened.

John watched intently. It opened with the seal of the UNSC and a gloomy song. The insignia faded and went to the aftermath of a battle – John recognized the still shots he and the Spartans had made in the room onboard the ship. It looked real, though; buildings burned in the distance and the dead Marines and ODSTs littering the ground looked like they were starting to decay. The gloomy song turned slowly into something of an anthem, as if mourning the lost soldiers.

They switched to live action slowly, watching soldiers collapse in battle. Then, suddenly, a cymbal crash – and the tune changed to lively. It made John think of a charge of horses as the booming bass drums rumbled. He noticed why instantly; two Spartans charged on scene. The cameras zoomed in on one faceplate and John recognized Kelly for an instant.

There was an Elite roar, which made all of the Spartans nervous instantly. It had sounded very real. But they noticed right away what it was; a computer-generated Elite - not that anyone who hadn't been on the film would know – charged into the camera's view. John watched himself on the screen prime a grenade – it had been fake, but looked real enough – and toss it. It stuck to the Elite and the tall alien screamed in surprise, warbling in distress as it clawed at the grenade stuck to its armor. It detonated and the scene faded into an even more recognizable district.

The camera followed John from behind as he crept around a corner on Victoria. John held his breath, knowing what came next. To the camera, he froze – an Elite bellowed… and he sprang forward. He was out of the camera for a second before it caught up to find him emptying his rifle – it roared unrealistically – into the Elite. It brandished an energy sword and leapt for him, but the rifle brought it down and it died with a warble.

The other two Elites charged and the camera followed them. John shot one with his pistol several times and it died with a round through its skull, but John was already moving as the other one reached him and tried to bash at his head with its plasma pistol. They locked together in hand-to-hand, John seemingly not so scary when faced with a taller opponent. They grappled and the camera swung – which showed John what he had missed as he and Elite went toe-to-toe. The Hunters had watched for a moment and, upon realizing he would probably kill this final Elite, raised their fuel rod guns to fire upon the pair.

John saw that the only thing that had saved him from being skewered by fuel rod plasma was that he had luckily moved so that the Elite – and its shields – was between him and the Hunters. They flew through the air, still holding onto each other, when the Hunters shot at them. John watched himself roll until he was sitting on the Elite and punch his hand through its head – the camera zooming in on the blow.

He moved, and the camera whirred desperately as it tried to follow. It missed the flash of plasma that had vaporized the Elite, trying to track John as the Spartan paused, facing off the force.

The music changed slightly to something ominous as the camera zoomed on his faceplate. John imagined anyone watching would think he was smirking behind his visor, like the Hunters, Wraith, and everything else was nothing too special.

The camera panned back out just as John was thrown through the air by a Hunter shot, into a store. It watched as he jumped back out and tossed the two grenades, and then lost him as it followed the grenades into the Grunts. They blew up, splattering the streets with their bluish blood. One of the Hunters charged and the camera followed it as it ran for the alleyway John had ducked into.

Two grenades came soaring out and John realized that he had hit the Hunter about to sneak up on him; that was why the grenade had bounced back. The camera tracked him as he rolled away from the grenade and then jumped at the Hunter. The camera froze for a moment, rotating the scene so it was quite clear that John was actually attacking the Hunter. Then it snapped back into motion and showed John coming up under the gun, punching the Hunter, and ducking around it.

The Hunter detonated, splashing the camera – which had gotten a little too close – with its orange blood. Something wiped across the screen and John realized the technicians had anticipated such an occurrence and built in miniature lens wipers.

It focused back on him as he engaged the Hunter, using his rifle this time. There was a thunderous roar – John realized they had gotten someone to yell and had deepened it to sound like it was the Spartan yelling – as he dove forward, attacking his Hunter hand-to-hand as he had the last one. It followed as he shot it with his pistol and it teetered for a moment before crashing to the ground.

The image got a little fuzzy as plasma detonated nearby; it showed John swerving out of the way of the Wraith's plasma mortar and then leap onto the tank and pull the hatch off without seeming to pound at it. He shot into the interior and then there was silence; the background music stopped.

John slid off the tank as whirled, facing something off-screen. The camera followed his movement to find the children coming from the store. Now the music was soft, endearing, and almost lulling. The children walked up to the Spartan. Someone had obviously done some voice editing because John didn't sound nearly so gruff as he spoke to the younglings. They also cut the baby from the video.

They cut almost immediately to seeing Kelly getting piled upon by children. The camera followed them through the streets, making sure to get close-ups of each child's face. They loaded up onto the Pelican and the music was triumphant. Some thoughtful technician had edited out the children calling out the Spartan's names; instead, several children's voices yelled, "Thank you!"

The scene faded as the Spartans moved away and the Pelican rose. Words appeared in the black.

They are here to protect… There was a shot of Kelly hunched over the children, John looking out as though guarding the children. They are here to win… James was battling hand-to-hand with an Elite in this shot; it snarled at him, both frozen in mid-air. They are here for humanity… The Spartans – three of them – were lined up, seeming to look of into the distance, with smart salutes in their green armor. Kate had shot this still in the studio, John remembered. They are Spartans. There was a line-up of several Spartans in MJOLNIR armor; John recognized all of his teammates and his heart thudded in his chest. This picture had been taken before he had lost any of his comrades to the mythical MIA list; they had been about to go on their first mission and Dr. Halsey had insisted on this picture. They were saluting smartly, facing the camera this time.

The seal of the UNCS played again; this time, there were a pair of Spartans, facing slightly to the side as though on the lookout for attackers, on either side.

John didn't like it. He and his team didn't want special recognition. This film had completely disregarded the hundreds of dead Marines and ODSTs and pilots that had made it possible for them to make it to the surface and back. In fact, it portrayed them as weak, as though the Spartans were the only force able to stand up to the Covenant.

He could tell that Kelly and James felt the same; they were sitting stiffly, glaring holes into the seal still on the screen. John glanced at Linda and noticed she, too, was unhappy with the result.

"What do you think?" Kate beamed, bouncing back to the podium. John glanced at his teammates; they nodded to him.

He stood, saluted, and said, "We do not appreciate it."

Kate blinked, her mouth opening and closing for a moment. "Why?" she sputtered.

John shook his head slightly. "It portrays us as humanity's last hope. We are merely soldiers during our duty. There are hundreds of troops dead on Victoria, but you have portrayed us as being invincible. We aren't." John motioned to his leg. "The more human soldiers deserve much more applause than we."

Kate blinked at him, glanced to the side of the auditorium, and then back. John followed her gaze and saw Admiral Hood leaning against the door, smirking. John instantly straightened to attention; his Spartans rose fluidly and snapped salutes in unison. "Sir!"

"At ease, Spartans." They relaxed. "Master Chief." John straightened a tad. "I am glad you pointed that out. I agree with you – but Mrs. Ubrood has the final word." All five soldiers – Admiral and Spartan alike – turned to look at the woman who gaped like a fish out of water.

"Well… I s-suppose we could do something with the little footage of the regular troops we have…"

"See to it," Admiral Hood ordered. "Spartans, if you would follow me." The Admiral marched out of the door; the Spartans quickly caught up, Kelly making sure John didn't rest any weight on his ankle.

"I appreciate your support, Master Chief." Admiral Hood didn't seem fazed to be speaking to someone who towered over him. "You have our thanks for evacuating those children as well. They are safely on Earth now."

Kelly answered before John could, and there was audible relief in her voice. "Thank you, sir. We are glad."

"We will be in Slipspace for at least another week. You may want to go into cryo." It was a delicate hint, but John took it immediately.

"We will, sir, as soon as the doctors get this cast off me," John allowed. They always went into cryo in their suits in case they had to be rapidly unfrozen for battle. It saved quite a few minutes of preparation, though they woke with frost burn.

"Very good, s-… Spartan." The Admiral cleared his throat. "I hope you recover quickly."

"We're making sure he obeys the doctor," Kelly told the Admiral with a small grin. Admiral Hood smiled slightly and dismissed them; they trooped back to their garage.

John sat on his bunk and noticed the dip in the solid steel from when he had sat down in his armor just after the battle. It wasn't too bad, perhaps five degrees, but it would be a pain for someone to fix.

The Spartans spoke quietly for a few hours, comparing battles on Victoria before the topic swung to memories of their training. They had little else to do while they waited for John to be pronounced well enough to walk again. John tried to talk them into going into cryo without him, but they responded that he would surely hurt himself if they weren't there to watch out for him.

That instigated a discussion of who was the worst when it came to obeying doctors – and John lost that argument. Kelly and Linda pointed out that he had tried to go back into battle with a cracked vertebra and ended up immobilized for a week while doctors repaired the damage. James recounted the time when John had snapped his tibia and ignored the doctor's warnings not to go into cryo; they had had to re-break it when he thawed out in order to straighten it.

John surrendered under the assault and suggested they go to the gym. Each Spartan was eager for something other than talking. It wasn't something they did often, as they rarely got to see their fellows anymore. John knew James and Linda would be sent off as soon as they left Slipspace, probably to another ship each. Kelly wasn't reassigned just yet.

James took care to make sure John didn't put weight on his ankle this time; Kelly kept glancing at them to make sure. They got to the garage quickly and found it mostly empty. They immediately went to the highest gravity section, closest to the spinning core that generated their artificial gravity on the ship.

James deposited John on the bench press and loaded it with four hundred pounds – a good starting weight. John pressed several sets, James hovering just in case he needed help. Kelly went to the punching bag and let loose; it split upon the fifth punch.

"They make these things more delicate every year," Kelly muttered in disgust as she went to find a broom.

Linda was working on the dumbbells in her own little world; John noticed she had taken to staring off into space regularly, and it was becoming more frequent.

A troop of Marines came in, laughing and punching at each other. They spotted the Spartans working out – one whistled appreciatively as they added up the weights Linda was crunching and John was pressing.

John ignored them; they didn't usually bother each other, the Marines and Spartans. However, this time, there seemed to be something the Marines wanted, because they approached John as a flock. James alerted him to the approaching group silently; John placed the bar back on its stand and sat up, finding the Marines gathered around the end of the bench like a group of kids.

"You have to be the Spartans. No one else uses this area. Are you the Master Chief?" one of them asked.

"Yes," John answered. The Marines saluted; John returned it without standing, but they didn't mind, probably seeing the cast on his ankle.

"I'm Private Tolero," the Marine who spoke said, introducing himself. "You guys saved my ass on Victoria. I just wanted to thank you."

John nodded, looking closely at the Marine. "You were the one with the hole in your side."

"Yes, sir," he chuckled. "A Grunt hit me."

"Petty Officer Spartan-087 was responsible for carrying you out, Private," John told him. Kelly heard her name – or Spartan designation, at least - and walked over, broom and dust pan in hand.

"Sir?" Kelly asked, looking at the Marines.

Private Tolero extended his hand. "I was the sorry sot you carried out at the beginning of the battle," he explained. Kelly shook his hand gingerly, aware that she could easily break it without realizing it.

"I'm glad you're all patched up," Kelly told him. He nodded and saluted again; the Spartans returned it quickly. The Marines moved back into the normal gravity area and began working out. John lay back down and pressed the weights thoughtfully.

There was another commotion; a strutting group of ODSTs wandered in, lazily talking amongst themselves. They spotted the Marines and waved; then they spotted the Spartans. John sensed trouble immediately.

Sure enough, the ODSTs marched over and John was forced to put his weights up to speak to them.

"I'm guessing you're the freaks." The ODST who spoke was sneering slightly; John was used to it, but he felt the tension in the room rise immediately. Kelly, James, and Linda, all having heard the comment, stopped what they were doing, turning to the group of ODSTs. The Marines paused, not having heard but feeling the tension in the air.

"We are the Spartans," John allowed in a low voice.

The ODST waved the technicality away. "Whatever. I suppose you're right proud of yourselves, rescuing those kiddies."

Kelly stiffened; John shot her a warning look and turned back to the mouthy ODST.

"We are glad that fourteen more futures were saved," he said carefully. He wasn't in the mood for any confrontation. "No matter who did it."

"You think you're all that and shit," another ODST sneered, growling. "You'd be nothing without your armor and freakiness."

John shrugged. "You are welcome to believe that." He didn't know if these ODSTs were ranked above him – they were in fatigues – so he kept his voice civil and calm.

Kelly was fuming, he knew. James was probably watching the scene calmly, and Linda was ignoring them.

"You don't even have names," another ODST smirked. His buddies grinned and sneered. "You're just disposable soldiers to throw at the Covenant. And if you die, oh well, there's another one down."

Kelly took a step forward; John shook his head at her, locking eyes for a moment. Kelly's frustration showed plainly to him, though he knew no one but a Spartan or Dr. Halsey could read it. He warned her with a look only she could read and she stepped back again, though it was hesitant.

John turned back to the ODSTs. "Our names are not important. We are all fighting for the same cause, and we do not die." Technically, we just go missing, John reminded himself with an internal sigh. It felt like betraying his brothers and sister who had actually died.

"Bullshit," an ODST laughed. "I watched one of you freaks get torn in half by a Brute. There's no way anything could survive that, robot or not."

John quickly thought back; he frowned. He hadn't been given many details of his fellow Spartans' deaths. While he was thinking, he saw a blur; his mind registered Kelly attacking the ODSTs. "Stand down!" he barked. It was too late; the ODST who had insulted their comrade was down, arm broken in two places. Kelly stood next to him, breathing normally as though she hadn't just attacked the man.

The ODST realized he was hurt and yelled in pain, holding his arm carefully. The other ODSTs stared for a moment and then registered that a Spartan had attacked; they turned towards the aggressor.

"Bitch!" They swarmed to attack; James and Linda waded in with Kelly. John sat on his bench and watched; he knew his Spartans could handle themselves. With quick taps and nerve-attacks, each ODST was knocked to their asses by a Spartan. It over in a matter of seconds. The Marines, who had run over to interfere, stopped and watched.

"Now." John let his voice deepen in anger; James, Linda, and Kelly stood behind him as he rose, carefully not resting weight on his bad ankle. The ODSTs stared at him, dazed. "We will forget this attack on our comrade. Next time you pick a fight, I suggest remembering that we freaks can easily crush you." Mostly, John was sad – he didn't like remembering that most of those MIAs on his list of teammates were actually KIAs. But he was also angry, that a soldier could attack another soldier so viciously.

"I suggest you take your comrade to the medical bay," he continued, nodding to the ODST with the broken arm. Said man had collapsed and fainted, probably from the pain. The ODSTs slowly got up, weaving with dizziness; the Marines helped them, though it was clear they didn't want to. The Spartans had become so used to fighting the tougher Covenant that they had probably caused some damage to the humans.

They gathered their fallen comrade and hustled out, muttering amongst themselves. John sat back down and went back to pressing the weights like nothing had happened; Linda and James drifted away, sensing that Kelly wanted to talk to him.

"John, how can you just let them do that?" Kelly muttered, standing over him. John looked up and met her eyes, pausing with the weights just over his chest.

"They don't know any better," he answered quietly. "We aren't approachable, Kelly. We're not supposed to be. They're jealous that we took their spot as the stars of the UNSC."

"Still," she huffed. "They have no reason to attack us… Or any of our comrades."

John agreed silently. "Attacking them did no one any good," he reprimanded.

Kelly smirked dangerously. "It needed to be done."

"You put another soldier out of commission. What if we are called to battle again?" John reminded her.

"Then he can be safely in the med bay." Kelly wasn't budging; she was stubborn that way.

"We're not children, Kelly. We can afford to let them insult us and not react. Remember, we have no dignity for their insults to shred," he reminded her with a small smirk. Kelly grinned more openly in response.

"I've seen you look at yourself in the mirror," she teased. "You have enough vanity for all of us."

John rolled his eyes and went back to pressing the weights silently.

"You can't refute my argument 'cause you know I'm right," Kelly snickered as she leaned against the wall, watching him.

"Keeping myself clean-shaven is not vanity," he finally said. "You might want to try it."

Kelly blinked in surprise; it was rare that John – ever-serious stick-in-the-mud John – cracked a joke. She peered at him. "Why are you in a good mood?"

John shrugged. "Be a good Spartan and load fifty more pounds on here," he ordered, putting the bar back on its support. She did so quickly and he resumed pressing the weights.

Kelly watched John carefully. He wasn't very emotional – he faced everything stoically, so far as she knew. She could remember each and every joke he had ever told, rare as they were. She, on the other hand, knew that to suppress her emotions meant slowing herself down. Maybe it was just how John was.

Kelly also knew that John blamed himself for a lot of things out of his control, especially the deaths of their fellow Spartans.

"It isn't your fault they died," she murmured. John paused momentarily and then resumed his workout without responding. Kelly tried again. "Come on, John. You can't protect us, and we're not some slack-jawed Helljumper."

"I send them on missions and they die, Kelly. And we can't even let them die," he reminded her. "They have to be MIA."

"When I die, I don't want to be mourned," she said. John glanced at her. "I want people to think, 'That Kelly; she was a Spartan. She was amazing and faster than anyone who ever lived.' Not, 'Spartan-087 has gone out of commission' or 'Spartan-087 is missing but presumed alive.'"

"Having a mid-life crisis?" James asked, joining them. Linda drifted over.

"Something like that," Kelly huffed. She scowled at the floor.

They all caught the sound of the door to the gym opening and John sat up to see who was coming in now. He stood immediately, saluting as the Admiral walked over to them. Kelly straightened and did the same; James and Linda snapped to attention and saluted.

"Which one of you broke the Helljumper's arm?" Admiral Hood asked, not giving them permission to stand at ease.

Kelly stepped forward and renewed her salute. "I did, sir."

The officer watched her, obviously waiting for more. An apology or explanation, John guessed. But Kelly was silent.

"And why did you do it?" he finally asked.

"Sir, the ODST was insulting my comrades."

John nearly smacked Kelly upside the head; she didn't sound contrite at all.

"I see." The Admiral's voice was monotone. "Master Chief."

John stepped forward. "Sir?"

"Take your team into cryo. I don't need more repeats of this incident." Admiral Hood turned to Kelly. "You are lucky that I am not court-martialing you, Spartan-087."

"Yes, sir," Kelly said. John caught the growl in her voice, but the Admiral didn't. He dismissed them; John led the way out, waving James off when the other Spartan tried to keep him from walking on his injured ankle. It had been almost two days, after all. Maybe. Internal clocks were useless in Slipspace.

"Prepare for cryo," he ordered his team. They glanced at him, saluted, and peeled off for the garage. He headed for the medical bay where the doctor removed his cast.

He then returned to the garage to find his Spartans dressed in their armor already. John hurried into his, sealed his helmet, and led the way to the cryo bay. The technicians there were obviously expecting them; they already had four tubes ready to accept them. John lay in his and watched as the clear cover slowly closed over him. He opened his helmet's vents to let the gases in that would put him into a deep sleep.

His last image was of Kelly, telling him that she didn't want to be mourned. Her eyes had been misty when she had told him, and he knew it was on every Spartan's mind. They had served all their life, and now, they couldn't even take a break when they died. It seemed unfair, John knew, but he also understood that the illusion helped the troops believe that they might just win the war.

He was proud of his Spartans; they served even after death, something few others could claim. And while they lived, they were symbols of hope and power. Every child on the unglassed colonies idolized the Spartans, he had been told; plastic MJOLNIR armor made in all sizes flew off the shelves and helped fund the war effort. Surgical alterations to increase one's height were all the rage for those who could afford it. John was content with his lot in life. He would fight until his luck ran out, and then he would serve again.