Master Chief the Babysitter

A/N: This short story takes place during 'Other Worlds Than These'. For those of you who have not read it you will likely be lost as far as where this story is taking place and who some of the characters are. However, I still encourage you to read it as you do not have to be familiar with my other works to be able to enjoy it.

There will be about three to four chapters roughly a thousand words long and I will update about once a week. I have had this idea for a while and given the somber tone of 'The Gyre Widens' I wanted something a little more lighthearted to work on. As always please review.

(Space/Time Anomaly) The Calla, Mid-World

The Master Chief had plans for the day. Not big ones, but they were plans, and he was a man who liked making and executing them. With Cortana gone, her official business in town to buy supplies and more clothes that would actually fit him, her unofficial business to talk with the people who inhabited this post-apocalyptic alternate reality they had somehow found themselves in (the only good thing resulting from their arrival as far as the Chief was concerned being that Cortana was alive and now had a physical body). She was to talk to them, not to convince them to make a stand against the periodic raiders who were known as Wolves, but to gather information. Given the Spartan's silent and rather intimidating nature, even without his armor, it was no surprise that he had not joined her.

No, his plan for the day was to meet up with Roland and examine what weapons the villagers had, some of them being guns and rifles, and see which ones, if any, could be used.

But this plan was ultimately dashed by a short, but intimidating woman. A woman on a mission, and John had spent enough time with strong women to know that it was best to get out of their way. Except there was no sidestepping Zalia Jaffords determination, for right now it was directed at him.

"Cry pardon sai," she said apologetically, though her voice was that of a commander directing his troops, and in a way John was under her command. He was after all staying in her house, and Cortana had a long talk with him about what was expected by guests. She continued, "But with all the kids out to the four corners of the Calla, my brain dead husband out in the field, and Andy nowhere in sight…" John grimaced, a slight facial expression none but Cortana would have noticed. He did not like Andy the Messenger Robot, whose other functions included babysitting the Calla children and telling horoscopes, mostly because he reminded John too much of a more primitive Guilty Spark.

John shook his head, "I'm not really qualified."

"Sai," Zalia said pleadingly. "Grandpere needs his medicine, and Rosalita is the only one in the Calla who has it. Gods and the Man Jesus know Tian wouldn't go get it himself. He'd rather just let the old coot die." John glanced over at the Grandpere, who was currently sleeping in his rocking chair, hair so grey it had turned white, and wrinkles so heavy that it looked as if his face was melting, drool hanging down from his mouth. The man looked as if he would die any day, but as John looked back at Zalia, the infant Aaron in her arms, he knew that he had only one answer to give, even if he did give it reluctantly.

"Okay."

"Thankee sai," Zalia breathed gratefully, handing the baby over to him, John taking Aaron as gently as he could. Zalia leaned over and kissed Aaron on the cheek. "Momma will be back in a little bit," she said, and then she was gone, out the door so fast that John could have easily mistaken her for Kelly. John held the baby out at arm's length, as if he was holding biohazardous material. He and the child stared at each other, green eyes conflicting with blue ones the color of faded jeans.

Then Aaron began to cry.

…

John did not panic, not at first. That would come much later, but the look on his face if you had the eye to read it could only be described as bewildering uncertainty. As the child wailed, a screeching sound as annoying and ten times more painful than the frantic yelps of Grunts as they ran away from the Chief's constant onslaught of lead and death, John wracked his memory about what to do.

The child continued to cry, his face turning an interesting shade of red, dulling John's thinking as he tried to muscle his mind through the numbing sobs. At last the idea struck him. He had seen Zalia comforting Aaron before, pulling him close to her and rubbing his back while gently rocking him. It was certainly out of John's comfort zone, but at this point he was willing to try anything to get the child to stop.

Slowly he brought the baby to him, awkwardly positioning his arms for an embraced, but just as Aaron touched John's chest he began to scream louder, so loud that John was genuinely afraid that his ear drums might burst. With practiced speed he moved the infant back to arms length, but rather than calm Aaron down the sudden movement had seemed to frighten him, his screams now reaching a pitch so high that John could swear that he heard dogs barking in the distance.

His head began to ached. He went to rub his temple, remembered that he had been holding Aaron in both arms, and like a whip his hand was back again to support him less Aaron fall to the floor.

He looked around the living room, seeing Grandpere still slumped over in his chair, eyes half open, a fly entering and exiting his mouth with each snore, the trail of drool now reaching his shoulders. John could only look, the constant wails having now killed all thought. Thankfully his ultra perceptive eyes picked up on an object that triggered his memory. He walked over to the crib, placing Aaron down gently though not as gently as his mother would have done, and then bent over to pick up the pacifier.

It had been carved out of oak, plastic and rubber being beyond what the people of the Calla could make, such knowledge having been lost after the fall of the Old People. It was sanded down to a smooth finish, and John rubbed his thumb over it to make sure there were no splinters. Satisfied he walked over to the crib, waited for him to open his mouth for a fresh sob, then threw the pacifier in as a mason would throw mortar onto brick or stone.

Aaron's tears stopped almost immediately, the child making a cooing sound as he began to suck on his binky, his eyes already becoming heavy with sleep as his head rested on the soft mattress of the crib.

John let out a sigh. Finally, he thought. Just like filling in a hole. He turned around and began to walk away. He could not go with Roland as he had planned, but there were other things to do, like recalibrate his armor, again, or clean his pistol, again. The Master Chief, however, did not make it halfway across the room before a familiar sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

Aaron's pacifier popped out of his mouth, and he began to cry again.