AN: After reading New Blood I was hooked (no pun intended) on Buck's character, as well as his and Dare's lovely romance. Sad not to see them interacting in Halo 5 (among other various complaints I have about that game, but I won't get into that), so I wanted to try my hand at them. This'll be a few chapters most likely depending on how far I take this. No spoilers for H5 to worry about in here, but there will be for New Blood.

Happy reading!

A Sea of Gold

Fire and hot metal and sweat. That's what he smelled. Dreams don't usually have a smell to them, but the image of the Coffin was never complete without the tang of uncertain death and boiling atmo.

ODSTs were gamblers by trade, paid out in the simple steel of bullets and the high they got from jumping ship. Whoever accused a Helljumper of not being good at poker, no matter how true that may actually be, was a fucking idiot. It didn't matter if you were good at a card game or not. This kind of gambling—gambling with your own soul—was far more dangerous and complex.

And hell, a lot more fun.

Didn't mean he didn't have nightmares about it, though.

He always woke up winded when he had those dreams. His stomach was in his throat, like he was looking down over the ledge of a Pelican before dropping, gasping for breath. He cursed, feeling the fabric of the sheets curled around his fingers. Third pair of linens he'd torn up. The lodge staff was gonna start getting suspicious.

Spartans didn't need Coffins any more—the armour was enough. Better, actually, than regular ODST pods. More control, less uncertainty. That didn't stop the dreams.

Veronica was awake instantly. She slept like a kitten; always awake in a blink if there was a simple change in the wind. ONI sleeping with one eye open and all that.

"Ed?" Already stone-cold awake, but her voice was soft. She moved toward him and the smell of her hair combatted the the metal taste still left in his mouth.

"S'alright," he whispered, but eagerly curled into her embrace the moment she opened her arms. She pulled him back down onto the bed, and scooted up close to him.

"You're eating up all your leave pay by ruining the sheets," she teased, combing her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and let her soothe him. She didn't ask about the dream—didn't have to. He had them often enough that she knew without asking.

"Better the sheets than you."

She sighed at the comment but didn't argue further, which was just as well; they'd sort that out later. For now he'd just enjoy how damn nice it felt to snuggle up next to her.

They exchanged a few choice kisses, and he fell asleep easily after that, wrapped up in the smell and heat of her. She always had a way of knocking him out cold and draining his mind of the nitty-gritty thoughts that usually kept him up at night. He only hoped he had the same effect on her.

It was funny. Before his Big Change, Veronica always got up before him, usually by at least an hour. It was a sweet deal—she made sure there was food and coffee laid out for the both of them when he finally managed to drag his ass out of bed in the morning. Now though, with his juiced-up nervous system and hormone glands, he needed only a fraction of the sleep he used to. It could be infuriating sometimes—sleep was a lovely oblivion for Helljumpers—but now he had the rare and specific pleasure of seeing Veronica sleeping peacefully when he woke up in the morning.

It was the cold colour of early dawn when he woke, casting pink-purple light into their room. She'd booked them a place in Acidalia like she'd promised him when he'd still been going through Spartan basic. It was in the north-eastern hemisphere of Mars, meaning it was cold, mountainous, and boarded the sea. Most importantly, it afforded a great deal of space and privacy.

He watched her sleep as he slipped on sweat pants. Her blonde hair spilled out over the pillows, for once not pulled back in the tight bun she always constrained it in. Feathered, fair lashes twinkled in the dim light, crescents on her cheeks that added to the glowing-skin effect. It was a lovely, simple image. He allowed himself a smile as headed into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker.

He had to use precise, simple movements. Coordinated to a near-painful degree, but gentle enough not to accidentally destroy whatever he was touching, and managed to spoon out coffee grounds and turn the percolator on. This was good. He was finally getting the hang of regular things. He hadn't smashed the coffee pot, or slammed his head into the doorframe (which didn't actually hurt, but the poor wood usually suffered some damage), or put a hole in the counter. He'd cleared from basic training with flying colours, and the techs had all made sure the Spartans weren't a threat to regular folks, but he still had accidents. Worst was he hadn't quite gotten over the fact that his arms were several centimetres longer than they had been for the thirty-odd years he'd been a functioning adult. Old habits die hard, especially when those habits helped his body move around properly.

The collateral effects of the Big Change hadn't fully been realised until he'd been cleared for shore leave, away from weapons and ships and armour and other Spartans. The expected, obvious changes in strength and sensory clarity felt even more strange in a civilian setting. After spending so many weeks around other Spartans, everyone else looked so damn small. It felt like he was one of his childhood army men shoved haphazardly into his younger sister's dollhouse, forced to mingle among dainty toys and use furniture that was far too small for him.

He'd never felt more alive, or more afraid. The lightest of touches could result in massive damage if he wasn't paying attention or being careful. Him and Veronica hadn't ventured any further than some tender kissing for that specific reason. Which annoyed the hell out of him—they hadn't spent solid alone time together in months, and it wasn't like they could just wait around until he sorted out his reflexes for more delicate matters. But every time he thought about taking it any further, the image of poor Wakahisa's head hanging onto his neck by a few strings of skin filled up his brain.

A Spartan, the closest thing humanity had to physical gods, had his head torn clear off—by another Spartan. It had been on purpose, sure, but Buck couldn't shake the fear it brought on. If he overcompensated in the field, it just meant a Covie died a little more gruesomely than normal. No big deal, really.

But Veronica? A regular person, one that made his blood heat up with a single stray look, wouldn't stand a goddamn chance. One wrong move and—well, he didn't want to think about it. So he'd stick to the coffee machine for now and slowly graduate up to more complex things like sex later.

To be fair, the doctors had given them a small overview of how this would affect their personal lives, but it was more along the lines of "just take it easy for a while until you get used to your own body again". Sad truth was, no Spartan before them ever had to worry about a civvie life outside of work, so the docs really didn't know how Spartans properly operated outside of military contexts.

Which meant a nice pair of blue balls for him until he figured it out by himself.

The one piece of advice that had stuck with him was to be in control of the task at hand. Simple psych stuff to build up his confidence and make him feel more sure of mundane actions and movements. So he got out the fixings for breakfast and let out a small whoop when he managed to crack a few eggs in a pan and not send bits of eggshell flying everywhere.

He was halfway through making breakfast—scrambled eggs and actual real bacon, a commodity that made his mouth tingle at the smell—when Veronica slipped quietly into the kitchen.

Well, not quiet for him. He'd heard her change in breathing the moment she woke up, the sound of clothes being put on, and the soft patter of bare feet on hardwood. Noises he'd never noticed before. But she still had that spook-like, fluid way of moving that sometimes made her look like a shadow.

"I think I like this new arrangement," she said behind him, sizing up what was sure to be the oddly domestic scene of a Spartan super-soldier making a nice home-cooked meal. "You waking up and making breakfast."

He felt small hands slip over the bare skin of his waist and her chin come to rest under his shoulder blades. "Good morning," she murmured, and he felt the soft vibration of her voice in his back.

He shut off the burners and turned around to greet her. "Sleep well?" He let his hands rest on her hips, grinning at how she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

"Mhm, yes." Her face upturned to reach for a kiss. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach him, and he bent down to meet her half-way. She smelled really good, and the sight of her skin flushed from sleep and wearing only a tank and tights made it hard to resist.

However, he was not expecting the exquisite attack she launched with her mouth almost immediately upon contact, diving straight into a searing kiss that made his head spin.

So that's how it's gonna be.

Her arms did their best to circle his neck, and his hands pulled her closer. She felt even better now with his new amped-up senses, something he hadn't thought possible—his nerves were fine-tuned, and hellishly sensitive when his blood was pumping. Or maybe it was just better mental acuity, but whatever it was, it left him breathless and hot. Everything was so much more focused.

He pulled her against him, grabbing her thighs and picking her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, and he switched their positions, planting her on the counter of the small kitchenette. Veronica pressed flush against him and sighed into his mouth. Maybe he was getting the hang of this.

Dare let go of him only long enough to tug at her tank top, which fell to the floor. His hands soon sought out her breasts, and she broke off their kiss to smooth her lips along his neck.

At least this hadn't changed. In all the things he'd had to get used to again, the chemistry between them was as solid and continuous as ever.

He reached for her pants—God, she was wearing tights—and yanked them down over her hips. She was smooshed against him from the forceful tugging, but she brooked no complaint from the rough handling, so he didn't stop.

He'd gotten the pants down past her thighs when he felt, yet again, the familiar rip of soft fabric beneath his hands.

"Shit." It felt like ice being dumped into his veins as he looked down at the damage. A shredded waistband and, to his horror, white marks and the beginning of bruises on her skin where his fingers had been. He'd thought he'd been gentle with her.

"Ed—" He could hear it in her voice; a resigned frustration. She knew it was over. She wasn't giving up easily though. She kissed him again, and he almost responded in kind. He sure as hell wanted it.

"I can't, I..." Crimson splotches filled his mind. Wakahisa's body and God, all the blood on the gurney...

He felt her grab ahold of his head between her hands to force him to look at her. "It's okay. Just an accident. I trust you, Gunny. And I can buy new pants."

Gunny. Nickname tactics. Damn, it was hard to say no to her. "I'm sorry, I can't." He shook his head as best he could trapped in her fingers. "I can't hurt you. You're bruised—"

She huffed out a breath and slackened her grip. "What can I do, Buck? To help?"

"I don't know." That was the truth. He didn't know a damn thing of how to go about this. "It's—you're so delicate now—"

"Don't kid yourself," she interrupted, eyes narrowing. "I'm a hell of a lot tougher than I look."

Course he knew that. She was tougher than anyone he'd had the pleasure of meeting. "Not tough enough to withstand a Spartan, though."

"Watch me."

"Veronica, I could kill you." The smell of cooling half-cooked bacon came to his attention in the background. There goes breakfast. Oh well. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry anymore.

"You made food," she observed. "And coffee. I can see you didn't break anything."

"I was completely focused on doing that, though."

"You don't focus when we sleep together?"

He let out a short laugh. "Not that kind of way. You get me so hot I can't think straight. It's different than cooking eggs."

She blew out a breath and put a hand to his chest. He moved away and she let her feet fully touch the ground again, hopping off the counter and pulling up her ruined tights. The crestfallen look on her face did a lot to kill the mood. And you're responsible for that.

"There has to be a way," he said, almost pleading. "How the hell does Romeo do it? He sleeps with anything that moves, and becoming a Spartan hasn't slowed him down."

He remembered the talking-to Agu had gotten from his superiors when his escapades had earned the ire of the locals of every place he stopped in—apparently a strange Spartan sleeping with every eligible bachelorette in town didn't go down well with people.

Point was—how in the hell did Romeo manage to sleep around so much he got a dressing down from their CO, and he couldn't even manage first base without damaging something?

"That's because Romeo doesn't give a damn. I mean sure, he doesn't want to crush the girl he's sleeping with, but he isn't a worry-wort." She smiled and brushed a hand over his hair again, which had fallen into his eyes. "You need a haircut, by the way. Your bed-head is out of control."

"I'm a worry-wort? Says the spook?" He shoved a hand through his hair, feeling it stand up on end in every direction, which earned a soft laugh from Veronica. "And leave my hair out of this."

"Yes. I've never seen an ODST fret as much as you do." She gave him a slow, parting kiss and moved away. "Let's have something to eat. Then we can sort this out." She gave him a once-over that instantly set off a spark in his blood again. The fact that her tank top was still on the kitchen floor didn't do much to calm him down, either. "I can't wait forever. And what the Spartan Program did for your ass is a gift from God."

He looked behind him on reflex. "You didn't like my ass before?"

She laughed. "It was perfectly fine before. But now it's moved into 'horribly distracting' territory."

Yeah, they had to figure this out, and quick.

They did some sight-seeing. They both decided that getting out and doing something together might help, or at the very least not leave them sitting around painfully unsatisfied with nothing else to do. Him and Veronica grabbed a proper take-out breakfast and coffee and then went to go survey what Acidalia had to offer.

There were lots of things to see and do in such a large tourist area; festivals, malls, monuments, to name a few. All of them seemed like a good idea to kill time, but he set his eyes on the shore the moment he realised there was a place where they could rent a boat.

He hadn't been out at sea in years. This particular sea on Mars happened to be freshwater and not salt, but the tang of the open ocean was still dearly familiar to him. And Veronica had once mentioned it'd be nice if he could teach her how to fish sometime. He didn't know how much of that was her just humouring his enthusiasm, but he'd never known her to say things she didn't mean. For a spook, she was a fairly sharp straight-shooter.

So he pulled her towards the renting docks and forked over the credits it cost to rent one and all the extra fishing equipment and signed whatever insurance waivers were needed to satisfy the manager. He was given an odd look by the cashier, but he simply dismissed that as just surprise. Doubtful a Spartan often rented out a boat to drift around the water for an hour or two.

Nonetheless the man retrieved their boat and brought it around to the docks. The slight wave to the wooden boards as it moved with the current gave him a rather painful spike of nostalgia, making him wonder if this was a good idea after all.

Veronica grabbed his arm and stared down at the boat. "It looks nice," she said, sounding doubtful. She used him as an anchor to stay standing—the waves were a bit choppy.

It was a pontoon boat with enough room for four. It looked well-made enough, and he confirmed the weight capacity with the cashier. Didn't want to sink it with just his reinforced weight alone.

"You said in the waiver you knew how to handle this—"

"I did. But you can give us a rundown if it'll settle your nerves." He could only imagine the potential damage an unwitting civilian could inflict on and with one of these. "It's been a while, anyway."

The man grunted and went on to showcase the basics of how to operate the motor and the wheel, pointing out the controls. "There's onboard software to help if you're in trouble or don't know what to do. If the weather starts to turn, it'll override and bring you back immediately. Then of course there's the first aid and the life jackets..." They both listened to the safety spiel and got in once the man seemed satisfied he could leave them to their own devices, and took off to help others.

Buck hopped in and immediately felt his feet shift to adjust for the motion of the current. Must be like riding bike; even after all this time and so many surgeries to amp up his bones, his body still remembered how to move on the water.

Veronica, on the other hand, frowned deeply as he helped her into the boat. She was suspicious of the rocky movements and wobbled as she hopped onto the deck.

"Navy woman can't handle a boat?" he poked, strapping into a life jacket and watching her do the same.

She leveled a look at him. "Very capable, thank you. I just prefer my boats to be more stable."

"The rocking builds character," he assured her.

"And a bit of sea-sickness," she added uncertainly, sitting down on one of the seats and looking over the side. "Water seems a bit rough."

He got the boat started up and steered them out far enough from shore that they'd get a good depth below. He didn't plan on keeping what they caught unless it looked particularly tasty, but it'd be nice to fish for some bigger game once they covered the basics.

"Ready to be a real old-school squid?" he asked, killing the motor. They were still in eye-shot of the docks, but now they were in full lull of the current. The buoys beat a familiar drum at the pontoon's sides, and he let the sound of water splashing against the boat sink into his bones.

"I doubt much of the Navy actually spent a great deal of time fishing when they were just boats," she said, grinning at him. "But I'm ready to see Gunny the Fisherman in action." She grabbed one of the rods and held it almost like a weapon, looking at it uncertainly. "Let's see how this works out."