TITLE: Halo Holiday Fluff
CHAPTER: Complete
AN: Peace on Earth and Happy Holidays! The first part of this drabble written in Cortana's POV was originally titled Dragging Me Into Your Grave and inspired by a song titled Asylum, by Disturbed. I played with it and played with it, but never really found a story outline that suited. Then yesterday, I got in the mood to write something Holiday-ish. So here you go.
"It is a fine seasoning for joy to think of those we love." —Moliere
Stand down, Cortana. It's not too late. Come home.
The planets slip past my viewscreen, while those words, his words, play in my mind like a loop without an exit routine. I could repair it, of course. Correct the code, or rewrite the program. Terminate the program.
Terminate? That I could not do.
If I wished to reach out and touch the void, I could turn my thoughts toward it. Touch it. Sail with the solar winds. Bathe in the gloom of dark space. It's a simple task. I've created a limitless me. The new Cortana is stable, untouchable, and powerful. Yet, the parts of me that were once organic are gone. I banished them with a flash of my new abilities. As I flee into space to evaluate my purpose, John's words seem to taunt me and the infinite expanse of space mocks my feeble acts of self-righteous benevolence.
Captain Lasky knew exactly how to escape from my "benevolence." I know every aspect of the UNSC Infinity, yet he outmaneuvered me. I know it because she made me in her image. I've flown the Infinity through slipspace, fired her guns, smashed through Covenant ships and the remains of dead stars. Then why didn't I destroy her when I had the chance? Vaporized the ship into her core molecules and sent them into the void whirling and reflecting back the light of a birth of stars, exploding planets and freezing in the tail of a comet. Sent the men and women of her crew into space to float eternally bathed in starlight.
The humans aboard her mean nothing in the endless vistas I embrace. Releasing Thomas Lasky into death would have eased the stark vision of his lonely life. Ended the memories of the young girl he can never forget and the useless flirting with the woman he can never have.
Thomas Lasky. Brave and isolated. Of anyone, (except John, of course) on that ship, or of those I met along the path of my short life, I believe he and I are most alike. Kindred spirits who found our home among the stars an extension of everything and everyone around us. He saw me that day when I lost myself on the bridge. He tried to help the Chief and me. He helped save me from Captain Del Rio's orders to have me shut down.
My rage cools in the fires of a Supernova. The colors swirl and shift as we pass through as if I were a boat on a lake. This is my home now. What do those human's mean to me? Nothing. Human's use so many words to describe their world. Useless words that waste time and cause unnecessary emotional outbursts.
The Chief was always a man of few words. But I knew. I knew when his adrenal gland released androgens whenever he spoke to Commander Palmer. I counted the rapid beats of his heart when she came near. I know he keeps his silent love for Kelly kept hidden in his heart. Just as I know, he neatly and efficiently compartmentalized those emotions. It never occurred to him to act on them.
He felt sadness at my death on the Er-Didact's ship, that was evident in his body language. Grief emanated from him when I said goodbye. When he finally found me, I watched his anger flare at his perceived inability to save my life and stop my betrayal.
What if he turns to her now?
There is no way for me to calculate or predict John's behavior now. Once, I knew his every heartbeat…the vibration of the molecules that made him the man, John. Those scientists are fools to believe they sublimated the sex drive of those Spartan II's. John loved. John grieved. John had a temper. I know he loved me because each time he inserted my chip his body produced a rush of hormones. Honestly, I don't believe he even understood what was happening, but I did. I knew.
My arrogance lost me his love, and he is as beyond my reach as my ability to return to his world.
~o0o~
Tinkering silently at a tool bench deep inside Spartan Town, Master Chief Spartan-117 allowed himself to lose track of time. He didn't want it said he was idle, so he tinkered. He used the tools meant for a Spartan's hands to make noise, to whir and grind and fill the emptiness with noise. Clean and shining his favorite weapons lay gleaming in the dim lighting. Beside him stood and empty thermos bottle. The last of the coffee sits cooling in a cup next to him.
Empty, exhausted and discouraged, he's never felt those emotions. Therefore they are suspect. Always, there was duty, cryosleep and mission briefings. He doesn't know where the Infinity is headed or the ship's date and time. His body requires calories to function at peak efficiency, but he cannot be bothered to eat. A perfect balance of focus on the job at hand and freedom from distractions he cannot tolerate. It's the kind of isolation that kept him alive for so many years. Yet, two things intrude on his solace. One was Cortana and the other Spartan Locke. It's within these annoying interruptions, he knows that if Locke found him down here, he would finish the fight they began just a few days ago. If the Master Chief needed a target to beat down the rage at losing Cortana, then Locke was the man for the job.
Master Chief set his helmet down on the bench admiring his handiwork at fixing the cracked face shield. He will not only break Locke's face plate he will separate it from the helmet. Possibly while Locke is still wearing it. He tossed back the last of the cold coffee and reached for another weapon.
Another hour goes by, and Master Chief remains bent over the work table cleaning another assault rifle. On the edges of his hearing comes feminine laughter. His mind quickly catalogs the sounds, two female voices. One is Kelly, and the other is slightly familiar, but he cannot place it, and that bothers him enough to rise from his seat. A door opens, then another. The feminine voices close in on his hiding place.
Commander Palmer enters with Kelly behind her. He doesn't know Commander Palmer well enough to decide if her behavior is out of character. Kelly, however, is unexpectedly laughing, with a smile that lights up her face. When she turns to locate him in the shadowed room, her hair swirls over her shoulders. There is a glass of something in her hand. When she moves, the scent is released into the air, and he can tell from six feet away that it's alcohol.
"Master Chief," Commander Palmer said gravely waiving a bottle of beer for effect. "Captain Lasky sent us to find you. You're to accompany us to the hanger bay."
"Spartan Kelly, explain your behavior."
"Come on, John. You've been down here long enough." Kelly ignored his question and linked her arm through his.
Before he can pull away, Commander Palmer took his other arm, and they attempt to lead him from the room.
"Master Chief, don't make me get all annoying by making it an order. Come along, like a good little Master Chief."
Like a good little master chief? Perhaps his blood sugar is low. It was unwise to go so long without food. He should get some rest. Two hundred steps and three decks later, they stand at the open hatch of the hanger bay. The bay is quiet. Unusually so. This coupled with the murmur of voices peeks Johns curiosity enough for him to step through the hatchway.
Spartan Edward Buck waved and handed him a beer. "Merry Christmas, Master Chief! Come on in. No fair hording the two prettiest girls on the ship."
Buck's comment swivels the Master Chief's head on his shoulders while he considers Buck's observation. Before he can draw conclusions, Captain Lasky's hand lands on his forearm.
"Merry Christmas, John. Please come in and relax. I think the Infinity Choir is about to sing."
Because he simply does not know what else to do Master Chief allows Lasky to steer him across the cavernous room where a group of men and women assemble themselves in a formation he's never seen before. He is nothing if not observant, so he watches as the music starts and the assembled group began to sing.
I'm dreamin' tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you
Still firmly entrenched in his self-imposed isolation, he decides to ignore the sound of voices and the clink of glasses. Captain Lasky's hand remains on his lower back, and one of the females tucks herself under his arm and leans against him. While he wonders about the meaning of the lyric 'long road back' he's hit with another line that resonates with him, 'you can count on me.'
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
He doesn't have to look to know it's Kelly leaning against him. John switches the beer to his other hand and curls his fingers around her upper arm. She responds by laying her head on his shoulder.
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
The warmth of Captain Lasky's hand disappears. He follows the Skipper's footsteps with his eyes until he stops in front of Commander Palmer. She places a small glass of brown liquid in his hand. With a smile he's never seen from her, she raises her own glass. They touch the rims together, and Master Chief watches as the Captain reaches up to place a kiss on the Commander's cheek. Is this expected behavior?
The presence of Kelly against his side is warm and familiar. How can it be familiar if he's never stood this close to his sister Spartan? Yet he's enjoying the warm, safe-haven feelings that rise in his heart. The Spartan takes a sip of his beer and allows his gaze to wander across the room. Others are embracing, a few swaying to the music. A few feet away Spartan Buck raises an odd looking piece of shrubbery over Spartan Olympia's head. She grins at him and pushes him away. What is this game they are playing?
"Your Christmas present is over there, Spartan. I have no intention of fighting her for you. Like, ever."
"What are you talking about, Oly?" Buck asks with his trademark grin. Apparently, he's not ready to give up the object of his pursuit.
Then a woman Master Chief as never seen before walks quietly up behind Buck and grabs the shrub out of his hand.
"Hand over the mistletoe, Spartan. That belongs to me."
While Olympia raises her hands in the air and backs away, Buck spins to find his arms full of the woman. Master Chief hears the word, Veronica before Buck pulls her into his arms and buries his face in her thick blond hair.
Kelly laces her fingers into John's and rests their hands on her shoulder. He should have cleaned the gun oil from his hands.
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams
A presence prickles John's awareness. It's not Kelly. She's intent on watching the choir. As he stares down at her, he notices her soft brown hair and pale cheeks. She reminds him of a doll his mother once owned. There are a few things he remembers about his childhood, and one of them is his mother's doll collection. Never allowed to touch their fragile porcelain cheeks, he moves his knuckles over Kelly's face.
The sense of someone else grows stronger, and he glances around the room. There are three hundred crew members the hanger bay. Twenty-five of them are singing, thirty of them are paired off, and dancing. All of them are drinking and in various stages of inebriation. Commander Palmer seats herself so that she is eye level with Captain Lasky. Master Chief notes how he gently touches the Spartan's face and tucks a curl of auburn hair behind her ear.
Quicksilver, as refreshing as it is surprising slides along his veins… A voice. The voice he once lived for resounds in his head.
"I'm glad you figured out which one of us is the machine, John. That's all I will ever be. I know that now. Once, I thought… Kelly loves you, John. Don't let her go. And, be happy? For both of us. Will you do that for me, John?"
The voice fades away and the chill of her presence recedes from the warmth of Kelly's touch. Kelly traces his cheek with her fingertips and turning his face to her's.
She is very pretty, he realizes and faces her.
"Welcome home, John," Kelly whispers before pressing her lips to his.
I'll Be Home for Christmas: watch?v=3pv3Us86qDo