He'd never been good at the whole birthday thing.

After all, it wasn't as if he had much of a scope of reference when it came to them - Mendez hadn't exactly been the paternal type, and their birthdays had often gone unnoticed. Looking back on the number of birthdays that had come and gone through the course of their relationship, John wondered briefly why he hadn't just broken down and asked Adrian every time what he'd wanted. Maybe it was out of stubborn pride, or maybe it was out of something akin to embarrassment at the fact that he'd have been all but admitting to not understanding such a simple, seemingly universal concept.

He'd given his share of bad presents, he wagered. Simple and generic cards, a few ordered items that had always garnered him the same gentle, bemused tone of voice that he'd come to associate with Adrian's adoration of his tendency to be somewhat awkward in social situations. A few military teddy bears that still held places in Adrian's quarters, but that he wagered must have been embarrassing to receive. Adrian would never refuse anything from him, nor would he ever look down on it - but all the same, John couldn't help but feel like he was somehow missing the mark with his gifts and his attempts to show his affections on the other mans' birthday.

So this year, he'd finally broken down, and found himself some recommendations from the unlikely sources of the IVs. And while no small number had joked with him about strippers and lap dances, the ones that had stuck out to him were the simple ones.

Dinner with their loved ones.

A nice back rub and a good bottle of liquor.

Time spent with their loved ones and no one else.

It still felt odd to dress down, after so long in armor, but the sight of him dressed in a simple A-shirt and BDU pants always seemed to make Adrian smile more. It was a pleasant change, he wagered, for the other man to see him trying to return to something akin to normalcy. Besides, while others in the hallways may have paused to stare briefly at his scars, their glances were fleeting, and Adrian certainly never minded them. If anything, the redhead seemed to enjoy sitting beside him, occasionally tracing slightly calloused fingertips over the strange linear patterns that the augmentations had left him. And in the end, he was beginning to find that the discomfort of their stares paled in comparison to the simple joy of Adrian's delighted smiles and attentions.

The Chief paused briefly outside the door to Adrian's quarters, shifting the bag and bottle he was carrying briefly in his arms before plucking a card from the bag and tucking it between the door and the doorframe carefully. After ensuring it was snugly in place and unlikely to fall, the Chief continued on his way, shifting the bottle of whiskey he carried into his free hand as he balanced their dinner in it's bag, purchased at one of the restaurants on the recreational decks that he'd heard Adrian mention enjoying once, in the other hand. It wouldn't do to drop anything, and John was enough of a perfectionist not to want the impromptu surprise spoiled in any way.

Yoink! John-117 and Adrian Fii

What's worse than giving a whole unit of superhuman super expensive teenage soldiers unsanctioned energy drinks?

'Sneaking' them COFFEE laced energy drinks right in front of someone telling you not to

"Fuckin just pick em up and start throwin em at yah!" - Fii and Nox

It was his own fault, really. 

ONI psych had begun recommending brief stints of leave for them all, much to the dismay of the powers that be. He'd managed to dodge it for longer than he really should have - between himself and command always able to find some mission, op, or battlefield that required his presence or attentions, some function or reason to keep moving and active - until at last Personnel had finally put their foot down and that was that. 

Cycled off active duty status, regulated to off-duty leave. 

It wasn't even shore leave, not that he was interested in that sort of thing. The idea of spending his afternoons on some bright sandy beach or his evenings in a crowded casino or bar of some kind were the closest thing to horror that he'd ever really felt - too many people, too much noise, and above all nothing to occupy his mind or keep his thoughts from wandering the dark roads of memory to the things he'd seen, the things he'd done over the years. If anyone knew his age, they'd scoff and say he was too young to feel so old, but if they knew the truth they'd sing a far different tune. 

He listened to the officer drone on and on, about what was expected of him during his stay aboard the UNSC Trafalgar, listening only for key words instead of the entire lecture delivered as if he were some sort of inexperienced rube straight out of boot. Maintain his PT standards, rise for morning colors, but aside from that, rest and relax, and above all else, stay out of his MJOLNIR per orders from-

It all bled together, and while the rest didn't phase him, the prospect of being stuck without that second skin stung more than he'd like to admit. Alone without his fellows, on a ship full of Marines and ODSTs, the last thing he wanted was to be stuck without his armor, vulnerable and unarmed. 

"Chief?" 

"Hm?" 

"I said you're dismissed." 

"Yes, sir." John-117 straightened immediately, rendering a proper salute before he took a single step back, a precise about-face, and took his leave of the ONI attache's office, catching up the bag he'd set down at his side in a single graceful motion on his way. Once in the halls, he resisted the urge to heave a sigh, painfully aware that such a break in decorum would both not go over well, and be visible without the protective gold polarization of his visor hiding his face from the world. If it weren't for his scarred features and hands, his black uniform with its distinctly different cut and style compared to the rest, he'd have looked like any other young soldier who'd just gotten a tongue lashing, not a man who was supposed to be relaxing. 

There was no real way to ever prepare one's self for the Covenant. 

Damien's breath came in harsh, panting gasps as he ran for all he was worth for the nearest shell of a building, boots crunching over broken glass as he darted through what looked like it had once been offices of some sort, a professional environment of some kind, tearing towards the stairwell as he sought higher ground. 

Forty-five minutes into a combat drop, three UNSC vessels in orbit and the ODSTs were the first on the ground as ever. They'd held the lines until the Marines had managed to secure evac zones for civilians, before pressing further into the cities in an attempt to route the Covenant where they could, locate survivors and escort them to safety if possible, and secure any high priority targets away from Covenant control. 

"Spooky, you in position yet!?" The gruff voice of his commander sounded over his comms, and Reaper momentarily wondered why the hell the man thought that it was appropriate to check in what felt like every five minutes on his scout sniper during the first hour of a combat drop. 

"Runnin my ass up these stairs, Lieutenant - you'll know when I'm there!!" He rasped back, cutting off his comms just in time to keep the other man from nearing him trip halfway up the stairs, his M6D clattering partially down the stairwell as a burst of obscenities escaped him.