making sure the ODST fans eat

"Give me a break, he's in the same armor as most of the other ones so maybe a newbie?"

"There's no such thing as a newbie Spartan."

"He's in the black and yellow, standard recruit gear."

"Isn't it black and orange?"

"Get your eyes checked!"

"Whatever, his voice is familiar."

"Ooooh do you think he's important?"

"Just grab the gear!"

-

Linking up with groups of survivors on the shattered ring of Zeta Halo is an arduous task highlighted by the tearful reunions and relief of growing numbers.

Spartan Miller tries to temper his own hope at the possibility of linking up with any of his Fireteams or familiar faces. Months of roughing it have left him battered, bruised, and with parts of his armor busted. Priorities shift faster in the field when there's no overwatch. No one for backup and no time to second guess his plans, he's done what he can to keep his people alive.

He hangs back as his ragtag group enters the UNSC encampment and are greeted by medics. Their wounded are ushered into tents and the rest of them are to report in and get fed and assigned bunks. Miller is heading over to report in when he's blinded by his HUD lighting up an overly friendly amber as his VISR nearly fizzles with the weight of the AI throwing himself into his armor.

Miller locks his legs and grabs at his helmet with a startled "What the hell?!" before a familiar voice cuts through the confusion.

"Spartan Miller! Fancy meeting you here! Strange seeing you out in the field for once." Roland drawls, sounding calm and collected despite the fact he just cannonballed a good chunk of his processes into Miller's Mjolnir without any warning.

Shock gives way to something close to fond exasperation, as if the last several months didn't exist and they were back on Infinity trading barbs over matters that weren't life and death.

"Roland!" Miller exclaims and unseals his helmet to escape from the light show and flashing warns his HUD is beaming into his augmented eyes. Tucking his RECRUIT-class helmet under one arm, he holds out his hand, palm up to let Roland project his avatar.

The little golden pilot deploys in a flurry of yellow pixels and frowns, cocking its head to side-eye Miller. "You look different."

"We meet up for the first time in months-- I find out you're alive --and that's what you have to say?"

Roland crosses his arms. "You grew your hair out."

"It's still regulation." Miller retorts. He runs a gauntlet over the growth as he frowns.

"Yes, but it's different. There's hair. On your head. You're fuzzy."

"Shaving isn't a priority right now, Roland."

"For you, maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Miller says with a bewildered squint.

"I can focus on a lot of things at once, but this? You having hair? It's… strange…distracting. I don't like it."

"There's not much I can do about it right now."

"Uh huh."

"Tell you what, you get me up to speed with everything going on around here, and maybe I do something about my upsetting amount of hair."

Roland pretends to take his time thinking it over, pursing his lips and staring up at Miller's no-longer-shaved head. "You drive a hard bargain, but fine. Deal."

-