Maybe he should have been shaken by this. The Chief knows that he's not a good judge of how a person should respond to horrible situations. All he can go on is the people around him, and maybe he'd be closer to understanding them had it upset him a little more. He's spent the last couple of hours powering around the habitat deck, making sure Arcade's people didn't do anything to his armor. The tech team assured him it was fine, but he doesn't trust a diagnostic until he's put it through its paces once again. He started in the training room, quickly grew dissatisfied with it, and he's finally gravitated back to the slice of Reach.

Maybe it should have upset him, but it didn't. He felt anger, frustration even, but they won and he's safely locked any feelings back down where they can't get in his way. He's okay now. His body is fine, his equipment is working, and they won. Mission accomplished. Everything should be fine by that metric, the only one he was taught that mattered. If he were with his team, it would be fine. But the rest of the Legionnaires aren't Spartans, they don't work the same way, and he doesn't know what to do for them.

Wash in particular.

The Chief didn't expect to see Wash here. He hopes it's a good sign. He knows it might not be. He slows, makes a quick swiping gesture across the lower part of his faceplate, not even really thinking about it, and closes the gap at a walk. Smooth gravel crunches under heavy boots.

Then the Chief sits, like a small mountain settling to face the water.

"You're up," he observes.