disclaimer: I don't own Halo. If I did, Miranda Keyes would still be alive and Johnson would still be talking about how he could have been your daddy.
Author's note: I just fixed up that little part about Miranda's mom now that's its official. Hehe.
The Chief stood in the makeshift room designated for him at Crow's Nest, the UNSC base of operations in Voi. It wasn't much. A chair and scraggly desk were in the corner; remnants of someone's office in the now defunct water treatment facility. A bunch of large blankets were laid out neatly on the floor because the standard cots weren't big enough for him. Even though he knew there probably wouldn't be time for sleep, he was grateful for it though; his first chance to sit down and think about recent events, the most recent being his plunge into the African jungle and right into a firefight.
John sighed and took off his helmet, setting it on the desk. He was tired of fighting. Soon this war would be over one way or another, and the recent truce with the Arbiter might serve to help humanity win it. It made things more difficult however, it was no longer Humans against Covenant, and John thought it made things more complicated. Humans and Separatists, would have to grudgingly put aside their differences as they fought a common enemy. He raised his arm up to scratch his head and winced as pain lanced up his back. His whole body ached from his fall. Even his MJOLNIR armor was beaten; he wondered vaguely how his previous version of armor would have handled the fall... not particularly well. He concluded he'd have to take it off to examine it and his body.
Soon, most of his upper armor was off and the black body suit was pulled down, exposing his torso. John examined his back in the hastlily put up mirror leaning against the paint-chipped wall.. He had requested for the mirror instead of being examined by the medics at the base. The Chief felt that their attention should be focused on the wounded soldiers there instead of him. Now gazing at his half-naked self in the cracked looking glass, he saw the huge angry bruises that marred his pale skin, easy to see even in the dim light of the room. There was nothing he could do about them, though. No sign of internal beeding existed, as far as he could tell, and there were no open wounds. There was nothing to do except wait for them to heal...if he lived long enough for it happen.
Commander Miranda Keyes walked down the halls of Crow's Nest, having just spent the last thirty minutes in the medbay checking up on each soldier that was injured. Today was not necessessarily a good day; an encounter with two Brute packs killed five men, and wounded double that number. It was hard, looking in their eyes and seeing the defeat. Hopefully, now that the Chief was back, morale would raise again and they could hope to another day. A small smile tugged at her lips. The Masterchief. Just when they needed him the most he comes falling from the sky to help them out. They barely had time to brief him on everything. She suggested that he see the medics, but he adamantly refused.
Pulled out of her thoughts, the CO found herself outside of the door of the Spartan and rapped on the metal door. If he wouldn't be seen by the medics, he would be seen by her; she would make it an order this time. It wouldn't do well for morale if he collapsed mid-battle.
The door opened and she suddenly became face to face with a ghostly-white, well toned chest.
The Chief instantly stood at attention and saluted her.
Miranda took in everything she was seeing. This was about the fourth time she had seen the Masterchief without his helmet, much less his armor. She remembered, she counted. Seeing a Spartan without armor was like seeing a Hunter without it's bond brother. Her eyes flitted up his muscular chest to his face, the face that put character to an otherwise unidentifiable soldier and hero. Some, both UNSC and civilians alike, wondered if the Spartans were even human. Her green eyes met his brown ones. She continued to stare at him, completely unaware of time.
John shifted slightly in the doorway. "Ma'am?" he spoke uneasily.
His deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Miranda suddenly noticed he was still saluting her and blushed slightly. "Oh. At ease, Chief."
He relaxed slightly, the only sign of ease being the removal of his salute. "Do you need me?"
"I'm checking up on you. Making sure you're up to speed on everything and getting proper medical attention." She looked pointedly at the mirror in the corner, knowing of his self-suggested alternative to the medics. "Which clearly I know you are not."
She saw his face harden slightly. "I'm fine," came his rock-hard voice.
Miranda knew he wasn't and sighed. The man was almost as stubborn as she was. "Stand aside, Chief. If you won't be seen by the medics, you'll at least be seen by me. I won't have my soldiers not fighting at the best of their abilities." She winced inwardly as she realized her wording. My soldiers? Since when was the Chief hers?
The Masterchief turned in the doorway to make room for her to pass. He wasn't about to refuse a direct order from the Commander. She made her way to the desk that held a cache of medical supplies. John gave a rare smile. The woman was as determined and headstrong as her father, something he admired in both of them. And both of them, he noted, treated him as an equal. The chain of command was always present, but they never hesitated to ask his advice on a situation, or check up on him. They treated him as a human with feelings and emotions, a respect that few in the UNSC bestowed upon him and his fellow Spartans.
"Chief."
He closed the door and made the few steps across the room to her. She stood next to the desk, unbuttoning her gray uniform jacket, revealing a standard-issue black tank underneath. The outer jacket was then uncerimoniously draped across the chair. It was strange to see her without much clothing, but it served to remind him that not even the Commander was immune to the humidity of the African jungle.
"I've checked myself for injuries, Ma'am, and I am fit for battle," he told her.
"Not gonna work on me this time, Chief. We need you at your best."
"I am."
She pointed to a set of red welts on his ribs. They looked fresh "Those won't slow you down?" she asked him, allowing a hint of annoyance to seep into her voice.
"No, ma'am," he said confidantly. It was a blatant lie, they hurt like hell everytime he twisted or bent down, and he had a Brute Chieftan to thank for it.
She looked at him skeptically. "Let's not wait to find out," she told him and proceeded to examine his chest.
Miranda scrutinized the Chief's torso, which wasn't exactly hard for her to do. When the Chief was fully encased in his armor, she only came up to his bicep. Now that part of his armor was removed, she guessed the top of her head would have tickled his chin. A chin she knew probably had not been shaved since they had left Earth chasing Regret.
What she saw amazed her. His whole torso was covered in scars and bruises. Some were fairly recent, others old. A pale pink gash was healing on his shoulder; she remembered that he told her it was from a plasma sword. Older scars marred his sallow skin as well. She saw a small, round scar probably made from a bullet, smooth plasma burn marks from Covenant weapons, and white, faded lines from the surgery of his augmentation. She noted the Chief's perfect physique, from his chiseled muscles to the freckles that were sprinkled across his pallid shoulders and arms.
"Ma'am, It's not necessary that you-"
She looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes. "Yes it is. You were practically a fireball that fell out of the sky. Don't tell me you're fine."
Defeated, John remained quiet as the Commander surveyed his wounds. It wasn't necessary for her to concern herself with his safety. He felt oddly strange. He'd been examined by doctors hundreds of times and some of them women, but this was different somehow. The doctors' touch was precise and methodical, cold and distant; Miranda's was the exact opposite. Her hands were soft and warm, lingering on his skin for longer than necessary.
"Hurt anywhere?" she asked, her fingers poking and prodding.
"No."
She gently pressed in the welts on his ribs. "Here?"
He exhaled slowly. "Not...much," he said through gritted teeth.
"At least they're not broken."
John watched her. Her green eyes held genuine concern, and her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She resembled her father slightly, more alike in personality than looks, but they had the same eyes. He decided that she was an attractive woman, though he didn't have much experience with judging beauty. The only women in the Chief's life that had any profound impact were Dr. Halsey, his fellow spartans, Cortana, if you counted her, and of course, the Commander. It was interesting to note that Cortana was almost an exact physical copy of a younger Dr. Halsey and John thought that Miranda looked similar to them somehow.
As if feeling his gaze, she looked up and caught him staring at her. Her stern expression from earlier softened and she smiled.
"You know, Chief, I haven't seen your face in a while."
He never really thought about it, but the only time he took of his helmet was when he was quite confidant that the area was secure.
"I've always try to remember what you look like," she said wistfully and went back to examining him. She paused and he saw her eyes widen slightly and cheeks flush when her head snapped up. "Not that I constantly imagine what you look like."
The Chief found himself chuckling slightly at her embarrassment. Odd. She was the only commanding officer that he felt comfortable with.
"It's fine. Johnson makes comments about it as well."
Miranda laughed. "Johnson told me that the reason you never take off your helmet is because your face was so horribly disfigured."
John laughed along with her, knowing the cantankerous seargent would say something to that extent, aslo noting that this was the first time he laughed in a while.
"I don't think it is." In fact, she admitted to herself, she thought his ruggish features were appealing, if not handsome, from his strong jaw to brown hair. "Maybe you never take it off because you don't want all the ladies after you," she joked.
He frowned slightly. "I doubt that, Ma'am. Plain and simple, my helmet protects my head."
"I was joking, Chief, and please, you can call me Miranda right now. No need for formalities."
The Masterchief looked at her strangely, almost worried even. "You're on duty."
He never called his superior officers by their first names, yet with her... On the bridge she was Commander Keyes. On the battlefield she was 'Ma'am'. When it was just her in his thoughts, she was Miranda. Cortana, never missing a beat with her sharp wit, had even commented once when he had called the Commander by her first name. The AI never forgot especially since she had access to every change his body made. Her noting of the jump in his heartrate whenever he locked eyes with the Commander, much to his chagrin, was a constant reminder.
She arched an eyebrow. "But I can still give you orders."
"Was that an order?" he asked.
"Do I have to make it one?" she countered, the same determination she inherited from her father flashing in her eyes.
John smiled. "No." Now he really had no choice but to comply with her wishes, however awkward they made him feel, but deep down, he didn't mind calling her Miranda. There had always been something about her that nagged at the back of his mind. A familiarity of a sort.
"Good," Miranda said, and went back to checking for wounds.
He grunted in pain.
"Oh, sorry." Her hand hovered over a small gash on his abdomen. It was fairly recent, surrounded by a maroon bruise, but it wasn't bleeding. Miranda lifted her eyes to meet the Chief's own and raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine, huh?"
John silently cursed at himself. This obviously was not that bad a wound, insignificant compared to other injuries he'd recieved in the past. Hell, he'd just fallen two kilometers out of the sky. He'd learned to ignore pain on the battlefield. There was no time for weakness. So why did this one scratch stick out above all the rest? For reasons unknown to him, he was painfully aware of Miranda's fingertips on his skin. It threw off his self-control.
"I'll be fine. It's just a scratch." He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the tingling sensations on his skin caused by Miranda's hands.
Miranda looked skeptical but didn't argue with him. "I'll at least put a bandage on it so it won't get infected." One of her hands grabbed a plain bandage from the box. "Although I'm sure after today, you're bound to get ten more cuts."
"I told you, Maám,-"
"Miranda," she reminded him. "I'm not on the bridge giving orders, or in a hall full of soldiers. Right now, I'm just plain Miranda."
He looked at her for a moment. "Miranda...I'm fine."
She sighed. Why did he always have to play the role of the hero? She had to admit that he fit the role perfectly.
"Fine? You're always fine, Chief. That's the fourth time you've said that. You don't always have to play the role of the tough hero. You of all people in the UNSC should be the last person to say that." Her voice raised slightly and she felt mildly embarrassed. Why was she so concerned for his safety? It frustrated her that he always shut out everything.
John was silent. He didn't know what to say. She was one of the few people who cared about his well being, he could tell, otherwise she wouldn't be here fretting over a small cut.
Miranda bit her lip. "Nevermind. If you say you're fine...then I believe you." She removed her hand from his stomach, but the Chief's hand shot out and stopped it.
She looked at his hand holding her own, then up at his eyes.
"I'm sure the bandage will be fine," he whispered, not quite sure why he impulsively grabbed her hand.
"Okay," she whispered too, though she didn't know why.
He released her hand and she put the bandage on.
"Let me check your back. Johnson said you landed hard."
John didn't want to let her see his back and hesitated.
She met his eye. "Something you don't want me to see?"
"It's not as bad as it looks." he said rather quickly.
Miranda sighed again. "Can I look?"
He turned around and heard her gasp.
"Chief..." Her hands tentatively reached out and touched the bruises. They were monstrous, about the length of her forearms, a dull purplish in color, and probably hurt like hell. She felt him wince under her fingers.
"They're just bruises." He caught her look and gave a small smile. "You can't put bandages on them."
It was her turn to be silent. "Very well. I suppose there isn't much else I can do, except kiss the boo-boos."
"Boo boos?" John asked, slightly confused.
The Commander laughed. She figured that Spartans probably didn't use that term very often.
"When I was younger and I got hurt, my father would put a band aid on and kiss the 'boo boo" to make it feel better, as if that alone would heal my wound."
MIranda had a sad, far off look in her eyes and John knew she was thinking of her father. He felt a pang of sorrow. It was indirectly his fault that she no longer had a father.
"I just wish I had spent more time with him." She met his gaze again. "War can keep a family apart, and he was the only family I had left. My mother," she paused. "Left me with Dad when I was six. He's really the one who raised me..." her voice trailed off, and she looked away, deep in thought.
John stayed quiet, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything.
"But...enough about me, Chief," she smiled awkwardly, pushing her brunette hair out of her eyes. "Anymore boo-boos?"
He grinned. "No, Ma'am."
"I'd say you were one big boo-boo. My father told me to watch out for guys like you: the strong and silent type that always go looking for trouble."
He shook his head. "Trouble usually finds me."
"Ma'am?" Sargeant Johnson's voice crackled over the base intercom. "Incoming message from Lord Hood. Wants to know the news on our newest Tenant at Crow's Nest." he said, referring to the Masterchief.
Miranda arched an eyebrow at John. "So what do I tell him? You refused to be seen by the medics and lied to your commanding officer about your health."
The Chief stood up straighter. "I'm one hundred percent fit for battle."
"Are you? Or is it because you have to be?" she asked quietly. It seemed like the burden of the War was placed on his shoulders alone. He never complained, he just continued to fight, battle after battle. There was so much she didn't know about him.
"Ma'am?"
She ignored him, deep in thought again. Who kisses the boo-boos for the Spartans, she wondered. Leaning into him, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his stubbled cheek. "Now you're one hundred percent."
He looked at her oddly, his body stiff from the foreign gesture, then relaxed as he understood. She had kissed his boo-boo.
Miranda handed him a can of biofoam from the table. "Suit up, then meet me in the Ops center when you're done," she told him, and grabbed her jacket from the chair.
John watched her leave and smiled. "Yes, Ma'am."
It wasn't until after the door shut that he realized his body didnt hurt as much as it did earlier.