"What did you mean?" Izzy asked.

"What?" Greg replied, startled. He glanced over at her. They had been walking down the road that led away from the mine for ten minutes now after passing a sign that read UNSC OUTPOST 5 mi. So far, they hadn't encountered anything in the form of hostile wildlife. The closer they drew to the UNSC outpost, the better he felt.

"Sorry, that was kind of random. I was just thinking...my mind runs around a lot during these quiet times. You were talking about, well basically your dark past. I was just curious about it."

He hesitated, considering her question. "You don't think that's at least a little hypocritical?"

"What? How is that hypocritical?" she asked.

"Last night you explicitly told me not to be weird, and basically indicated you don't want things to get too personal. And yet, here you are, specifically asking me deeply personal questions." She sighed heavily. "Am I wrong?"

"No!" she replied. "Dammit, you're not wrong. You're just...sharp. You're right. It's annoying, but you're right. It's just..." she paused.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I don't know if you've picked up on it, but I have been basically courting you for the past few weeks."

"Courting me?"

"I don't know what it's called! I've been checking you out! You caught my eye and I decided to do some recon! How's that?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to embarrass you or be difficult," Greg replied, unable to keep from smiling at least a little. The idea of Izzy courting anyone was kind of funny, but he could also see what was happening. "You're trying to open up to me. I appreciate that. I like you, too, you know. And I did notice, I guess. I mean, I knew something was up. I thought you just had trouble making friends and thought I seemed like a safe bet."

"I don't-" she began, then hesitated.

"You don't what? Have trouble making friends? Really?"

She glared at him. "You are making this difficult, Greg."

He realized she had a point. "I'm sorry. There's just, you know...there's something about you that brings out my kind of playful, antagonistic side. It's not meant to disrespect you, it's more just teasing. But not like asshole teasing, but like 'we're friends and I'm just playing with you' teasing. But I'll absolutely stop if you ask me to. I'm not really into just imposing stuff on people."

She laughed. "I'd say you're too nice for your own good, but the evidence doesn't bear that out so far. But thank you. I can appreciate the differences in teasing, and I'm actually okay with it from real friends. I don't mind BSing around with my friends. I like to, actually. A lot. It's just...I haven't had the opportunity to be around someone I've felt really, genuinely comfortable around in a long time. Or at least, it feels that way."

Greg sighed. "I actually know what you mean." He paused. "So, you want to know about my past. I'm okay with that. I guess, if you're going to trust me enough to let me inside of you, it's only fair I offer some trust back."

"You know, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to let you do it again," Izzy said.

"I know."

She shot him a sly grin. "Though there is admittedly a good chance."

"Oh...well, that's good then."

She laughed. "That's your reaction to me saying there's a good chance I'll have sex with you again!? 'Well, that's good then.' Really?"

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, uh...you know, I'm not really great with stuff like this. I don't know how to handle things like compliments or stuff like that. I thought that was the appropriate reaction and would get the message across. Don't get me wrong, I'm absolutely thrilled at the thought of having sex with you again. You are amazing in bed."

She laughed louder now. "Okay, fair enough. So, you were saying?"

He sighed, his mood darkening as they walked down the middle of the road with dead, snow-capped trees surrounding them and an alien sun shining down on them, his breath foaming on the chilled air. "Where to begin? My parents...weren't supposed to be parents. I was an accident. People always ask how, what with the perfect birth control that's been around for hundreds of years. But that's the thing: Perfect birth control doesn't work perfectly if you don't have regular access to it. Which my mother didn't. So it's an age-old story of two idiots got married young because one of them got knocked up. They really didn't want me."

"So why didn't they-" she hesitated.

"Abort me? Hey, I've asked that question many times. Once to my mom's face."

"Oh my God, Greg. You asked that to your mother's face!?"

"Yeah. We were arguing about something and I was just so miserable and we got into a screaming match and my mom hit me. Started hitting me, really. She hit me several times. She was drunk. So I asked her that. It just...tumbled out, you know, because I kept thinking it. I had been thinking it all week, wondering why I'd been born when my parents so clearly didn't want me."

"...and?"

He sighed. "I didn't get a straight answer but it stopped the fight and then she was nice to me for a few weeks. But that's how the cycle of an abuser works. They kick your ass in one form or another, until they go really over the edge and lose it, then they sob and cry and apologize and beg for your forgiveness and promise it'll never, ever happen again. And then they're sunny and happy for a few weeks, a few months if you're lucky, and then they start to get angry and..." he looked at her suddenly. "Why do you want to hear this, Izzy?"

"I just...I'm sorry. I just wanted to get to know you better. I didn't realize it was this bad. We don't have to keep talking about it if you don't want to."

He heaved another sigh. "I don't know...I guess just broad strokes, then. Mom was an angry drunk, dad was pretty absent. He was either working or probably off cheating or at the bar with his friends from work. He was more a distant drunk. He'd disappear for days sometimes. We lived on a really crappy, distant colony in poverty. I grew up broke as hell. You do stupid things and develop stupid habits when you're forced to grow up in poverty. I stole things. I joined a gang. I got in fights. I sold drugs. Society sits there and creates a system that literally forces some people into poverty, and then gets all pissed off and judgmental when those same people, who are pushed to the absolute limits of desperation, do stupid, desperate things to survive...oh crap."

"What?" she asked, looking around.

He slowed to a stop. There was a bridge ahead. Or, more importantly, there had once been a bridge ahead. "That." He pointed.

"Crap," Izzy muttered.

They slowly resumed walking until they came right up to the edge of the bridge that spanned a chasm in the earth that extended away from them to the left and right. Judging from the condition of what remained of the bridge, attached to either side of the chasm, and the fact that he could see a car down there, about fifteen meters below, he'd guess that someone had crashed into a sensitive part of an old bridge in a state of severe disrepair, and it had just come apart. He looked left, then right. He couldn't see any other bridges.

He could, however, see a ladder on the opposite side, about fifty meters farther on to the right, as well as a stream cutting through the middle of the chasm, an abandoned cabin between the bridge and the ladder, and a natural path leading down on their side.

He said as much to Izzy.

"Well, we have our path cut out for us, at least," she said, and started walking. For a little bit, they moved down the natural incline, which was worryingly steep in some places and switched back on itself a few times.

Then Izzy asked: "Why did you sign up?"

He was silent for a few moments, considering his answer. Finally, he said, "Because I wanted to belong to something bigger and better than myself. Also, because I was extremely desperate. I was...in a bad place, after a run of a lot of bad luck. I felt like it was my only conceivable option left. So I signed up. I was twenty. I..." he hesitated.

"Yeah?" Izzy prompted.

"I suppose, if you want the naked truth, I signed up because I got caught in a drug bust. The Covenant was really breathing down their neck, so the UNSC were offering people deals: do a ten year haul in the military or a twenty year haul in prison."

"Huh. Yeah, I've met more than a few people who got in that way." She paused. "You really don't seem like the type. Like, it's really hard to imagine you getting caught in a drug bust."

"When I hit boot, like I said, I promised myself I was going to get away from all that. And I've been bad about a lot of things in my life, but I have been surprisingly good about sticking to my word and keeping my promises. Plus...I liked it. I thought I'd hate it, and I did hate parts of it, but once I got through the crap, really got into the rhythm of military life, I actually liked it. A lot. What about you? Why'd you join?"

"Kind of the same reason. I mean, I wasn't committing crimes." She paused. "Okay, I never got caught committing crimes, but the crimes I was committing were really minor. But I just...my life wasn't going anywhere, you know? My dad was a boxer and taught me how to do it, and I wanted that to be my life, but nothing was happening. People weren't taking me seriously and although the boxing scene had been big in our colony when he was my age, at that point, it was a dying industry, or maybe even a dead one. There were just no prospects. One day I was working as a waitress-and don't you dare smirk-and it had been a really bad day, a bad week honestly, and I was most of the way into pulling a double because my loser drugged-out co-worker had done another no-call, no-show and I was desperate for money and...some kid threw their drink all over me and something inside me just snapped."

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I mean, nothing then. It wasn't the kid's fault, it was a toddler more than anything and it really had seemed like an accident, but inside, I knew I was done. I'd intended to put in my two weeks at the end of my shift, but by the time I actually reached the end of that shift, I just said 'I quit', and handed in my apron and nametag, and walked home. I'd been thinking about the military for awhile at that point, they were recruiting hard, this was three years ago, and so yeah, the next day, I told my parents what was up, and they argued with me. But I think they just argued with me out of some kind of sense of responsibility. I mean, my mom was afraid, and my dad was cautious, but in the end, they both knew this made the most sense. Then I walked to the recruitment center and signed up. Next thing I knew, I was shipping out to boot camp."

They reached the bottom of the switchbacks and came to the valley floor. It was just as barren and lifeless down here as it was everywhere else. Well, not totally, he saw as he surveyed the area. Some of the heartier plants clung grimly to life along the muddy shores of the stream.

"Let's check the car," he said, and they headed back up towards the bridge.

The vehicle, which was a dirty white two-door, was flipped over and smashed. Greg crouched in front of it and frowned as he spied two dead bodies inside. Whoever it was must've gotten knocked out, or even trapped, and had frozen to death.

"Jeez," Izzy muttered quietly as she joined him.

"Yeah. Let's get this done," Greg murmured.

They checked around the back, where the trunk had burst open, but apparently it had been empty. Then they awkwardly reached in and pulled out the bodies after disentangling them from the seatbelts, then performed silent postmortem searches. As he checked their pockets, Greg wondered who they were, why they were here, what their circumstances might have been. He had the idea that they might have been out-of-towners, as their clothes were pretty nice. Maybe a couple in their early twenties. The woman was wearing some nice jewelry. It didn't really fit in with what he'd seen so far. God, what a nightmare.

To come 'rough it' out in the authentic wilderness, and then get caught here when all this crap started going down. Or maybe he was wrong, maybe he'd completely misread the situation. Did it really matter right now? They didn't have anything worthwhile on them, so he was kind of inclined to believe that they'd come into this situation under-prepared, and in the end he and Izzy ended up walking away none the richer.

They crossed the shallow stream and began making their way towards the cabin.

A moment later, Greg was opening the front door slowly, his pistol in hand, unsure of what he might find inside the simple structure. It was pretty small. But it was also pretty wrecked. "Whoa," he said quietly as he finished pushing the door open.

"What is it?" Izzy asked.

"It looks like the aftermath of a bad fight."

He stepped in and she joined him. There were two bodies sprawled out on the wooden floor. One had been stabbed in the gut, the other had had its neck slit open. They had both bled profusely. A table had been smashed to pieces, a couch was flipped over, a TV was destroyed. The cabinets in the kitchen were all open. Silently, Greg and Izzy performed another search. It became obvious that someone had been through here already, the place tossed, the bodies pilfered. While Izzy kept searching the cabin, Greg followed a trail of blood leading out the back door. Sure enough, he found a third body off to the right.

Whoever he'd been, he'd made it maybe twenty feet out the door, then evidently died of his wounds. Well, he'd probably have stuff on him, given that he must be the one who'd pilfered the corpses. The last man standing from the conflict. Greg moved forward and crouched by the body. He had stuff in his pockets at least: some tins of sardines and tuna, a lighter, a knife that was bent and basically useless, some basic medical supplies. Greg confiscated it all, shrugging out of his pack and loading it up.

Something shifted up ahead.

Greg looked up as he finished pulling on his backpack. His eyes widened.

"Oh...crap."

A drub was coming his way.

"Izzy..." he said quietly. Nothing. He slowly stood up and took a step back. "Izzy."

"Did you say something?" Izzy called.

Greg caught sight of movement farther off to the right, by the stream, and felt his heart stop dead for a second when he caught sight of another drub. They were definitely coming his way. One of them let out a growl and began coming faster.

"Izzy! Incoming! Drubs!" he screamed as he snatched up his pistol.

Now both of them were coming on fast.

"What?! Dammit! Where?!" she snapped, her voice muffled.

"Out the back! Stay in the cabin! Wait until they move past you! Then hit them from behind!"

"Understood!"

He kept backing up and drew aim on the nearest drub. The big ugly beast was charging for him now. He stopped for a brief second and fired. It was a good shot! The bullet punched it right in one of its eyes and apparently hit it directly in the brain. It went slack and skidded along the ground. Unfortunately, the other drub was making rapid progress. It was on his ass in no time flat. He kept firing but couldn't land a shot that mattered. One went wild, one landed in its huge body, another two went wild, and the final few shots didn't have the desired result. His sidearm was dead. He kept backing up, making it past the threshold, and grabbed for his shotgun. Izzy stepped out right as the drub rushed past, and opened fire.

Her third shot punched through the back of its big head and killed it.

Greg let out his breath in a harsh exhalation and lowered his shotgun. "Son of a bitch," he whispered. "That was too close."

"Did you one-shot that first one?" she asked, looking back.

"Yeah. Lucky shot," he replied.

"Nice. Anything else around?"

"I don't know, let's check."

They spent a minute checking the perimeter and, once they confirmed nothing else had been drawn in by the shots, spent another five minutes searching the cabin. But there was nothing left, and soon they were back on their path.

Before long, they'd found the ladder.

"You think it'll hold?" Izzy asked uncertainly as they stared up at it.

"Only one way to find out," Greg replied.

He mounted the ladder and started climbing.