Three

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After showering, Gabby quickly set about throwing together a meal for two people and then some. John was huge, and so must his hunger given all that muscle. A dozen sandwiches later, Gabby gave the scraps to Boomer and set the meal out on the back porch.

The whole valley could be seen from this spot with ease. It was a comforting sight, especially with the mountains standing resolute and strong, acting as wall between Tamworth and the rest of the world. A foolish thought in this age. What good would a mountain do against a Covenant cruiser?

But still, when Gabby had kept an ear trained for the scream of the sirens, she had looked to the mountains and found comfort in their presence.

The Covenant and Flood had not strayed from their path towards Africa, but that had done little to calm the terror that had wound around her lungs like a hot wire as Gabby clutched Boomer close and watched the newsfeed, watched the death toll rise, watched as plasma melted undead and glassed a part of the last place in the universe humanity thought would be violated.

Shaking such grim thoughts form her head, Gabby covered the food and sat on the steps leading down to the garden. Scents of sweet flowers and earthy horse feed filled her lungs with the smell of home. It settled her.

Peace, Gabby reminded herself, they had peace now.

The Alliance was young but backed by the steel spines of those who refused to let war rage again. Sangheili and humans were working together. Time would heal their wounds, and they would move forward together and reforge the stars in their wake. They could do better. They would do better. Together.

Boomer's ears perked, and not a moment later Gabby heard a playful nickering. She grinned as a dapple-grey mare trotted along the fence, flicking her tail and bouncing along like she were a foal and not five years old. Maple tossed her head, making a fuss until Gabby got up and ambled over.

One day every month Gabby's farm was host to a bus full of children, courtesy of Orphans of War. In her horses and ponies, those scared and battered children found healing in its most gentle form, finding solidarity in the soft eyes of creatures that would never judge them for their pain and fear, who would not share what secrets where whispered to them with tremulous voices.

Gabby wondered if John might find a breath of that healing in her horses, or Boomer.

It was maddening that John seemed so uncertain about his place, his home, and Gabby would see to it that he was not so alone as his eyes said he believed.

A home was a sanctuary, and everyone deserved that.

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Not long later, John came knocking on her door.

He wore a clean set of the same clothes from before, the black undershirt close to bursting at the seams over his bulk. She wondered if it hurt to stand so tall and straight.

"Hello," Gabby greeted brightly.

"Hello," John said in return, slowly as if he were bemused. He stood there, stiff and unsure, so Gabby beckoned him inside.

"Shoes off and by the door," she said while ducking back into the kitchen to grab some cold drinks. "I've set us up outside. Find the place okay?"

John was subtle as he cased her house, gaze lingering for a moment over doorways and windows. Ingrained behaviour, Gabby guessed, or so untrusting that he sought out enemies behind her floral curtains.

It broke her heart a little.

But then the smallest quirk pulled at his lips, and it was the first thing even close to a smile she had seen on John all day. "Yes," he said in that deep, rumbling tone, "the mailbox was hard to miss."

Gabby held the back door open for him. "That it is."

Maple's prancing stilled at the sight of John. Gabby watched as John silently regarded the mare in return, and she found herself hoping that John asked about her horses, her farm. Not just so that it gave them something easy to talk about, but…

She was lonely up on this mountain. Not in the same manner as John, no doubt, but loneliness hurt all the same. Frank's death had left something hollow in her. He had been a good friend, a good neighbour, and had taught her so much about caring for her horses after her parents died.

And, Gabby missed having someone to talk too. She had little time for much more than running errands around town, let alone socialising.

"Grab a seat and have at it," Gabby said, biting into a sandwich so that she didn't have to think about more than shoving food down her gob. She rubbed a bare foot down Boomer's sleep-warm hide as John took a seat. He still surveyed the farm, eyes flicking between what horses could be seen and beyond. "I'm no five star chef, but I haven't had any complaints yet."

"This is fine," John said flatly, though Gabby gathered that he wasn't being rude. It seemed his default state. Stoic and flat and quietly confident that he could tackle whatever she threw at him. It wasn't a dare though, his bald confidence, but fact. Simple, truthful fact.

They ate in silence.

John polished off the small tower of sandwiches easily, and after letting the meal settle for a bit longer than necessary Gabby stood and popped her spine with a sigh. The sun was bright today, sinking a sleepy warmth into her bones that could easily drag her into a nap.

"Nice as this is, I have work to do." Gabby offered a sardonic half-grin, sweeping the crumbs into her hand and tossing them into the garden. The magpie family who roosted in the big gum tree beside her clothesline swooped down to start pecking immediately.

Gabby turned, and froze on instinct, face going slack with surprise.

Horses were skittish animals. If she were to jerk or yelp whenever one of them startled her, she would have had her head caved in by a hoof long ago. So when Gabby turned and found John had stood – so damn quietly – and was holding the plate out for her not two feet away, Gabby went still.

"Sorry," John murmured, brows doing a funny little twitch like they want to furrow.

"It's fine," Gabby said, and it was.

Being stealthy had probably saved his life a hundred times over in the war.

John still held the plate out, so Gabby took it. He looked tense, bands of muscle wound tight along the line of his shoulders, mouth pinched in the corners.

Gabby fought not to sigh. She beckoned him back inside, Boomer trotting after them, and she left the plate in the kitchen to be dealt with later.

"My truck is filthy, so yours would be a better bet for our trip to town tomorrow. Old bugger's engine is busted again anyway." Gabby tried not to think about what it would cost her if she had to get a mechanic to come out here and fix the old thing. "I can come over soon as I feed the horses. Around ten?"

After a pause, he seemed to come to a decision. "What's wrong with your truck?"

"Engine gave out in a cloud of steam few days back," she said curiously, shifting her weight to one side as she tugged her workboots on. "Fan-belt has always been tetchy, but steam is new. If," Gabby wet her lips, tasting the fruity soda she had with lunch and her own nerves, "if you were able to fix it, even enough just to get it into the mechanics, it would save me a lot of money."

Anxiety felt like dust clinging to the back of her throat. Her budget had some wriggle room, but a house call from the only mechanic in town would really punch it in the pants.

John considered this, his mouth flattened in a grim sort of determination that better belonged on a battlefield. "I'll do what I can."

Such a serious declaration. "Don't get your knickers in a twist if you can't patch it," Gabby said, remembering the quiet but loud frustration that had simmered in his eyes as John tried to figure out basic white goods. "So, chillax if things don't work out."

"What, chillax?" John repeated, brows twitching. "What?"

Biting the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing, Gabby rolled her hand through the air and explained, "Relax and chill. Chillax. Picked it up at University as a philosophy during exam block. It means chill, take a breath, relax, and try again."

Taking a chance, she flicked the back of her knuckles against his folded arms – and, wow, that forearm was solid. "Okay?"

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John did not look at where Gabby's hand brushed his arm. Only medical personal touched him, skin to skin.

"Very well, I will chillax." The word felt ridiculous in his mouth but Gabby snorted a laugh and grinned that grin that seemed to come so easily to her. He did not know whether to be annoyed or pleased that, for all of his conditioning, Gabby seemed able to read him easily as black ink on white paper. Picking out the smallest tell with ease.

But she was laughing, and she had been nothing but kind, so John decided that he was okay with it.

And…it had been a long time since John had made someone laugh. Real laughter, not forced or showy, but soft and genuine, eyes crinkled in the corners and teeth flashing as lips curled upward so easily.

Cortana would laugh with her eyes more than anything, hips tilted to one side and smirk fixed in place. Johnson would bark, sharp and short with dark eyes lighter for just a moment. Their laughter was restrained by what they were, by how their lives had shaped them. This, Gabby, was free.

It was nice.