Aaron was smiling up at the Master Chief, no doubt delighting himself in the Spartan's increasing level of discomfort. The smell had been bad enough, but the cleanup had been far worse. I will not trouble you with the horrors that John had to face while changing the baby's diaper, which he had soon discovered was little more than a swaddling rag held together precariously by pins, for the details of that particular grotesqueness would surely cause you to lie awake at night, wondering how a kind a loving God could put such terrors on the Earth. What I will tell you is that John's last shred of dignity was saved, although only momentarily, by his fast reflexes, using the diaper to block the stream of liquid that came out like a hose once the previously covered parts of Aaron's small body was exposed to fresh air. The infant had giggled as he did this, and John responded with a deep scowl.

Using two fingers he set the dirty diaper aside, which he had efficiently tied into a tight sack, ensuring that there would be no leaks. Frowning, he turned to Lia and Hedda who had spent the whole time staring at him and providing instructions when he had asked for it. "Where can I throw this away?"

The two girls blink a few times, and a part of John's mind groaned as he realized too late what they were about to say. Hedda spoke, "You don't throw it away. You wash it."

John could almost feel that last sliver of dignity wriggling itself out of his fingers. Pre-industrial society. No disposable diapers, only plenty of reusable ones. Disgusting, yes, but that is how people did it for thousands of years. The final reserve of resolve in John's considerable force of will kicked in, and he clenched his escaping dignity in a stranglehold just as it was about to slip away. No, was the only word he thought, but the singular declaration was defiant. He picked Aaron up and handed him to Hedda. "Watch him."

…

John stomped his boot down on the freshly filled in hole, the contaminated diaper a full two feet underneath the ground. Cleaning the diaper was simply more than he could bare, and so he had done the most logical thing. It would mean that the Jaffords would be one diaper short, but he was sure that he could coax Cortana into buying a new one. All he would have to do is endure another one of her lectures about how he was supposed to act in a civilized society, and he had already received plenty of those from her already.

John sighed as he placed the shovel up against the house. He was glad that she was back. More than glad, he was elated, even though he would have never used the term himself, but things had grown complicated between them. John had no way to categorize the feelings he had for her, no adequate vocabulary to draw upon. He was vaguely aware of the concept of love, and unbeknownst to him he had actually felt the emotion before towards his fellow Spartans as well as a few select others in the UNSC, but the idea of romantic love was far beyond his ability to comprehend. He cared about her deeply, he knew that much, for more deeply than he had for anyone else, even Kelly, which up until recently had been the most significant woman in his life next to Halsey, and he knew Cortana felt the same way.

The question was where to go from here. The option of some type of relationship beyond the bounds of friendship had crossed his mind. They were already sleeping in the same bed together in any case, and he was surprised at how much he enjoyed being that physically close to her on a regular basis. What he did not know was what that kind of relationship would consist of, or more specifically what they would be doing differently. Sex? Well maybe. That particular bridge was still several leagues away, and the mechanisms of that was an even greater mystery to him, the knowledge lost in some distant memory of one of Déjà's biology classes. The answer had come to him the previous night.

Cortana had kissed him.

John pushed the thought away as he reentered the house. He did not want to relive that particular disaster just now. Did not want to let the regret resurface.

The beaming smile of Lia met him, and with hands like a cobra she grabbed John's oversized hands with two of her small ones, pulling at his fingers. "Tea party," she said, and began pulling on him. "We already have everything set up, and we want you to play with us." Her feet began to dig into the floor, and Lia threw John's hand over her shoulder, tugging on his arm like a piece of rope, the Spartan remaining motionless. "Come on!" she whined.

John grunted and allowed himself to be led by the small five year old into the kitchen. What he really wanted right now was coffee, but tea would do, could possibly relieve him of his increasingly unbearable headache that was threatening to melt his brain into hot liquid goo. As he was being led he saw Aaron laying happily in his crib. As John passed him he could have sworn that he saw the baby close his right eye then open it again quickly, winking at him. He quickly dismissed it a trick of the light, or something else along those lines.

The tea set was arranged on the kitchen table where Hedda already sat, two of the seats vacant, and the rest occupied by an assortment of dolls, their hair frayed and their smiles hideously exuberant. The cups were made of cracked orange clay, and John saw to his dismay that as Hedda poured out the contents of the tea kettle that no tea was actually coming out of it, only empty air. It was all make believe, but before John could change his mind about joining the party, Lia maneuvered him to a chair and sat him down with the level of authority that only a five year old can wield.

Zalia will be coming back soon, John thought. Any minute now.

"Our guest is here," Lia said happily, scrambling up into her own seat.

"Good," Hedda said, pouring air into John's cup and setting the kettle down. It was then that John noticed three crowns sitting on the table. They had been skillfully crafted from yellow dandelions, clover, sowthistle, and a weed that looked similar to Canada thistle, forming crowns of green, yellow, and purple.

No, John thought. No, no, no, no.

She reached for the first crown and placed it on her head. "Princess Hedda." She placed the second crown on her sister's head. "Princess Lia." Hedda picked up the last crown and handed it over towards John. "And Princess Chief!"

John stared at the crown for several moments, the dignity he had so valiantly tried to maintain now all but gone. "I'm not wearing that," he said flatly.

"Yes you will," Hedda said, holding it out to him further.

John's cold blue eyes looked directly into hers. "No."

Hedda placed the crown on the table and put her hands on her hips, her face filling with singular determination that her vision for the crowning of Princess Chief would be realized. "Yes You Will."