Chapter Seven - Helljumper
"Of course Sully's a spook," he muttered, sipping his coffee. God, it was good fucking coffee. Nothing like that brown paste the UNSC tried to pass off as caffeine. He'd have to buy a big bag of it before heading back to Infinity.
"ONI forgave the massive breach in security he created when he hacked into those Spartan files at CAMS—on the condition that he work for them, of course," April added, dipping a chunk of her blueberry muffin into her coffee. "I'm surprised you haven't talked to him at all."
"He did send me a few messages about a month or two after Circinius-IV was glassed, asking how I was doing." He shifted in his seat, which was unusually comfortable. He was used to the bony captain's chair and stainless steel mess hall seats, not plush leather stools. Maybe he'd buy a few chairs, too.
"And?"
"I never responded," he said, feeling a pool of regret collect in his chest. "I wanted to forget about all of it, to move on. And after I got over that, I was too ashamed about ignoring his messages to reach out to him. Now that the war's over though, I wouldn't mind seeing him again." Sully had been his only other real friend to speak of besides Chyler at CAMS. Orenski had always been polite, but she'd also been the squad leader. There wasn't any room for a personal relationship there. He was glad that had changed now, at least.
"Better late than never," April agreed, humming as she drank her coffee. They had the coffee shop mostly to themselves, due to the habit of waking up at dawn that had been drilled into them their whole lives.
"So what are you doing on Mars?"
She shot him a sly look at his clumsy change of topic, but thankfully humoured him and answered the question. "Training ODSTs. I did a few tours myself as one, but when I got married I promised Lana I'd calm down, so now I just train the bastards. The UNSC set up a small base there until Reach becomes un-glassed, and the shitty climate is good for training. Nothing fancy, but the pay is nice and the work is mostly non-lethal."
"Sounds like a good gig," he agreed. "What about your wife?"
"She's an engineer—designs cryo-pods for civilian cruiseships. She did a few for the UNSC, but she said they were too boring and dull, so she sticks with the more classy civilian ones."
He laughed. "Navy isn't exactly known for its style. She must have to fly all over the place for that, though."
"Yeah, lots of flying. She gets to see all the tourist-y planets where they take the ships. Sandy beaches and peach coolers—hard knock life for her." April smiled before downing her coffee, then frowned at the empty cup. "I have to get some of this stuff. Even groundside bases have shit coffee."
"You're happy, though?" he asked, watching her break apart the rest of her muffin. Rip off and eat the top, then mop up the last drops of her coffee with the bottom. The old habit made him smile.
"Wish I saw her more, but yeah, I'm pretty happy. Life's good and boring most of the time, which is perfectly fine with me." She looked up from her muffin. "What about you, Tom?"
He shrugged. "Life's… interesting. Infinity keeps me on my toes a lot. Don't think I'll marry though; like I said, I'm too busy."
"What about that Spartan of yours?" April asked, inspecting a piece of blueberry from her breakfast.
He frowned at the words your Spartan. She wasn't his Spartan—Sarah wasn't anyone's Spartan. "Not much to say. She seemed interested, but now she's… not."
"Probably just scared," she offered, and he laughed at that. She raised a confused brow and he hurried to explain.
"I don't think Palmer knows what scared is. The last time she got injured they found her lying next to an elite with its head caved in and stabbed with its own knife."
April raised a brow. "Love and war are two different things, Lasky. Being fearless in battle doesn't make you brave everywhere else."
"Doesn't help my situation much, though, does it?"
"How interested was she, exactly?"
His face flushed a bright pink, and her grin widened. "Oh yeah? That kind of interested, huh?"
"We didn't sleep together," he insisted.
"Just a bit of harmless second base then," she said dryly. "My point is—if she was that interested and walked away… you, uh, didn't say anything stupid, did you?"
"No," he said immediately. "I mean... I don't think I did."
"Well, you either said something stupid—which I can fully understand—or she wasn't ready and got spooked—or maybe she was scared of frat regs? No? Didn't think so. It's just—I know it was hard for me at first, when I was dropping groundside in a metal coffin and woke up every morning thinking I might die in a few hours. You see how easily you lose people and it freaks you out."
He frowned, wondering if Orenski was right. She had been acting differently right after that elite had stabbed her…. No. Don't hope, and definitely don't assume.
"Have you tried talking to her?"
"Yeah. It didn't really end well though," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't even be trying anyway. The captain of a UNSC flagship and the commander of the Spartan-IVs should really not be sleeping together."
"But you love her," she said, and he flinched at the word. It had been a long time since he'd heard the L word said out loud.
"I… I don't know."
"Your answer isn't a no," she continued. "So at the very least you care about her."
"Of course I do," he insisted.
"Then why not? Life's too short. And you guys aren't in the same branch or chain of command. It's still not ideal, but… you could work around the technical stuff if you really want to try."
"What if it doesn't work out? What if—" What if one of us dies? was what he tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat. "What if something bad happens?"
"Then die a blue-balled old man and just be her friend," April said calmly. "I know... it won't be easy, but you can both make it work somehow, if you try."
"I suppose," he said doubtfully, standing up from his stool. "I just have to get her to talk to me first."
"Well, where is she?"
He stared at her. "I didn't mean now."
"Why not? Stewing over it won't do you any good." April stood up as well, stretching her arms above her head.
"It's—" He struggled to find a reason. Well, a logical reason, anyway. "I just... think I'll hold off for now."
Orenski looked him over. "You always did think too much, Lasky."
"So I've been told."
They exited the tiny cafe—after he purchased a bag of coffee grounds—and April cupped her hands to her eyes, glaring at the cloudy sky.
"It's gonna rain again," she said, sounding resigned.
"How much leave time do you have?"
"Only forty-eight hours. I should head back to my room anyway; there's still some stuff I need to get before heading back to Mars."
"No time for that celebration beer then," he teased.
"You're just stalling for time now, Captain. Go find your Spartan lady and make the most out of the months you've got. No crewmen to bother you while you screw each other silly," she shot back, grinning at his flushed cheeks.
"Not funny."
"Oh, I think it is." She looked back at him, her expression sobering. "I'm glad I got to see you, Tom. I didn't know what to expect, but… I'm glad I saw you. It's so weird now—after Corbulo, everything felt like a dream for a while, but now having aliens around is normal and the war's finally over. Odd to remember it, since it still feels like some fantasy when I think about it."
"I know what you mean." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the tags that somehow always managed to follow him wherever he went. He palmed the smooth oval of the chip of Hunter's armour he'd been given so many years ago, by the very first Spartan he'd ever met. "I saw him again, you know."
"Who?"
"The Master Chief."
April went still. "I heard he died."
"It's still kind of classified, but he's definitely alive."
"How... how is he?" she asked hesitantly, as if unsure the question was appropriate.
He inspected the dog tags of his brother and Chyler that accompanied the stone on the chain. "Spartan-IVs aren't like the originals. Most of the IVs were ODSTs before they joined, which means most of them are jackass lunatics. Great soldiers, but impulsive and emotional. Chief, though... he just always looks calm. Really calm, and even more quiet, like he's listening for something." He looked up at April. "I don't know how he is. He lost the AI he'd worked with inside his head for the entire Halo campaign, which... I'm glad I don't have to know what that feels like. I could see that it hurt him, but he just seemed to shrug it off and move on. Hood gave him some assignment or another, and now he's left Infinity. I hope wherever he went, he's got better luck there."
"I had thought they were robots for a long time, even after they took off their helmets. They were always freakishly serene," Orenski mused, her voice solemn and her eyes far away, seeing something else.
"I think it's just a defence mechanism. I doubt anyone's ever walked up to them and asked them how they were feeling. Chief looked shocked that I even went looking for him for something else besides a mission debriefing."
"Must get lonely," she said, looking mournful. "With everyone so afraid of you."
"He seems to enjoy his job enough, though I doubt they know anything else besides fighting." He stopped that line of thought; grieving over the loss of a normal life for so many children was a pointless exercise, and he already had enough on his plate to worry about. "Well," he continued, trying to lighten the mood. "Thanks for the pep-talk. Hopefully I'll find something more cheerful to discuss next time we see each other."
Orenski laughed, grateful for the break in the somber mood. "I hope it works out for you, Tom. You look like you could use a dose of TLC."
He raised a brow. "I'll take that as a compliment. Message me when you get back to Mars, so I know you've made it back okay."
"Sure thing mom," she teased, then squeezed him in another warm, tight hug. "See you around, cadet."
"You too, sir."
Oh yes, she could get used to this.
She slid lower into the large tub, the hot water coming up to her chin. Sarah had found a hotel with a bathtub and bed large enough to accommodate Spartan height, and she spent the whole day doing a whole lot of nothing. The first night she'd been too grateful to be sleeping in a real bed with downy pillows to do much besides pass out, but the next morning she'd taken full advantage of room service bringing her breakfast and then spending the afternoon taking a bath. She didn't do the pamper thing often, but it felt nice to feel like a girl once and a while. She'd shaved her legs and bikini line, added scented soaps to the water, and sank down into the bubbles with a glass of wine and some music.
She'd made sure no one would bother her for a minimum of twenty-four hours, briefing her Spartans and advising them not to contact her unless one of them was dying, otherwise she would quickly fix their state of mortality. That, and not to get too drunk or pick up anything nasty, be it in the form of a cold or venereal disease. And her comm hadn't gone off yet, so maybe they'd actually take her advice and keep to themselves. She knew the temptation to go get hammered and screw someone in the men's room was strong, since she'd done that a few times herself in her ODST days, but the weight of command left her wanting to do something a lot less remorseful than getting shitfaced. All she needed was a vibrator to go with her current collection of bath water and wine and her day would be perfect.
Following that enticing train of thought, she eyed the shower head. Well, maybe she didn't need to go buy a fancy vibrator, since the jet spray would work well enough—and there was the added bonus of not having to get up and order one. She stood up briefly and reached for the head, putting her glass of wine down on the floor next to the tub, and looked down at the settings.
She turned it on, testing each setting against her hand until she found one she liked, and sat back down, shifting into a more comfortable position. Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back, trying to empty her brain and focus on how warm the water was, the small fire the wine had set up in her belly, and the fact that she had absolutely no responsibilities today. She let out a warm sigh, settling into the curves of the bathtub, and let the showerhead go to work. Yes, she thought, a wave of contentment washing over her, this was perfect. And so long overdo.
Just as things started to get good, her ears registered the blaring sound of her phone, which was buzzing angrily on the bathmat next to her.
"Oh, fuck you," she muttered, reluctantly retracting the spray and turning it off, letting it fall limp into the water. She reached a soapy hand down to the comm next to the tub and brought it up to her face, glaring at the damp screen. If it was one of her Spartans….
It was Lasky.
No, her mind groaned, and she clicked the phone on to mute. Immediately her brain filled with thoughts of him, his smile and the creases on his forehead and his brown eyes, which only turned her on more. A lot more. A lot more than should ever be appropriate for her to feel about her stupid, nice CO.
She let it go to voicemail, putting the phone back down. She watched the screen to see if he'd leave a message, but he simply hung up. Probably a good thing, since she really didn't want to hear his voice right now. His light, sexy voice….
She sighed and leaned back, rubbing her brow. The simple thought of him completely ruined her previously excellent mood, replaced with shame and guilt and a whole lotta unwanted sexual tension, and there was no way in hell she could continue making love to the shower now, not with Tom on the brain. He would not be her personal fantasy, not if she could help it.
Sitting there for a few more minutes to confirm that there was no way she could relax again, she pulled the plug with her toe and stood up, grabbing a towel and stepping out of the tub, letting out a string of expletives as she dried off. Swearing didn't even have the cathartic effect it normally did, which only made her more angry.
Now what the fuck was she supposed to do? Her whole body was locked up and tense now, undoing the multiple therapeutic measures she'd taken to relax. It had taken hours to achieve it, and a look at one stupid name on a screen had fucked it all up.
Why the hell had he even called? It obviously wasn't an emergency, or he'd be leaving a voicemail and calling her again. And he'd been pretty clear on the state of their personal relationship last time she'd talked to him, so it couldn't be for a friendly chat.
She looked at her phone. Maybe she should call him back, ask him what the hell he wanted. Or she could ignore it and stop being a lovesick little girl. The second option sounded better, and the previous thoughts of getting really drunk immediately became more appealing.
She towelled off and shoved into a pair of sweats, moving into the main area of her hotel room. She looked at the television, then the laptop on the desk, and then the datapad she'd thrown on the couch. Sarah needed something loud and bright to distract herself with.
She moved over to the TV and fiddled with the remote, trying to find a movie to watch. She could watch a horror flick, movies she usually hated because of how stupid everyone acted in them, to take her mind off him. Something explosive and fast and preferably violent. No comedies, and definitely no romance.
She clicked on a random movie from the suspense category and sank into the couch, rubbing a smaller towel through her hair as the movie began. This would kill at least two hours, and by then she hoped to have settled down.
Sarah forced herself to watch the entire thing, sitting ramrod straight on the cushions and only giving the screen her peripheral attention. It was a long, miserable hour and forty-five minutes of her life, and she found herself more upset by the end of the movie than she had at the beginning. She'd chewed her lip until it had become a chapped mess, and her hair hung limp and damp in her face, but she was too absorbed in being annoyed to notice her usual pet peeve of hair in her eyes.
The longer she sat, the more she thought about him. About how awful she'd been to Tom, about how she'd messed up the closest, most valuable friendship she'd ever had, about how fucking stupid she'd been for even kissing him in the first place… and about how much she wanted to do it again. The lack of relief from her personal session in the tub was not helping matters either, only adding to the ball of stress rooted firmly in her stomach, a heavy lead weight that made her feel mildly nauseated.
She needed to do something. Something physical, something demanding, to get her mind off of it. She didn't know how Tom could just sit and worry—a few hours of sitting still left her ready to explode.
Running was too simple, too boring. She should return to the Infinity, back to Spartan Town, and run lone wolf sims in the War Games. Crank up the difficulty, make the terrain and weather impossible, disable the use of equipment… yes, that sounded good. Better than sitting around or giving in to the growing temptation to get extremely drunk and do something idiotic.
Running from your problems again. Very brave, Spartan. And your problem happens to barely come up to your collarbone and owns a pair of duckling pyjama pants.
She whipped a pillow across the room, hard enough to slam into the opposite wall, before it thudded uselessly to the ground. Sarah stood up and stomped back into the bathroom, glaring at her phone still on the floor and feeling her lips pull back in a snarl.
"Fuck you, Tom!" she shouted at the comm, feeling her fists shake at her sides. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I can't have one day of peace, one fucking day, without you trying to shove your way in and complicate everything!" Her voice reached a dangerous level, but it felt good to shout. She couldn't very well get angry with him in person for being a bitch to him.
Sarah swiped it up from the ground, slackening her grip on it when the phone screeched and clicked in her hand from the strain. She finally realised what that big ball in her stomach was. It wasn't worry, or anger, or tension. It was fear.
What the fuck was wrong with her? Scared of Lasky? What the hell could he do to her? He was too fucking nice to do anything mean—he didn't possess a mean bone in his body.
Or maybe that's what you're scared of? Someone being nice to you for once, and not just to sleep with you?
She glared at her phone, unable to bear thinking in circles anymore. She was a Spartan. She didn't cower at death; she certainly wouldn't be afraid of the thought of talking to her captain. Not my captain. He isn't anyone's, he's just a cap—stop thinking.
She would call him. She would call him and ask him what the fuck he wanted. Get into a fight with him, make him angry, so that he would just stop talking to her once and for all and she could ignore him and get on with life.
She clicked his name and brought the phone to her ear, ignoring the slight tremor in her fingers. She'd give him a goddamn earful for doing this to her. She was a doubtful mess of guilt and longing, like some fawning idiot waiting for approval and love from—
"Sarah?" Oh god.
"You called me?" she asked, her voice strained.
"Yeah. I just wanted to talk to you. In person. I just didn't know where to find you."
"My location's in the ship's logs." He sounded so… so much like himself. Hopeful and cautious and warm. She wondered what he looked like right now—did he look worried? Happy that she called back? Afraid that she'd be exactly what she always was—a giant bitch? Your Spartans are right. You make people hate you when the going gets rough, cut them out and leave them hanging while you run.
"I didn't want to impose or make you think I was following you."
Her eyes stung at his reply. God, why the hell did he have to be so nice to her? She didn't deserve his warmth, now more than ever before. The thought of hurting him again made her chest tighten hard enough to take her breath away, and with difficulty she swallowed the caustic comment on the tip of her tongue. Tom was too good for that, even if being nice to him would only make things worse.
"I'm at the Broadford Grand Hotel, the big building on Grand." For the first time in years she heard her voice shake, unnaturally human and weak. Nothing like a Spartan or ODST should sound. She sounded frail and uncertain and scared. Helljumper, Helljumper, where you been?
"I'll be at the pub across the street. I'd like to talk, if you—I just need to talk to you."
She felt herself being pushed towards a very high cliff, and a wave of dizziness came over her. She grabbed the sink, trying to steady herself. She was going to have to make a difficult decision soon, one she didn't know if she was ready to make. No, scratch that; she never wanted to make that decision. She just wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before, when they'd been friends and she could ignore the warm feeling in her stomach she felt whenever he looked at her. Now it was slowly spreading through her body, making Tom impossible to just be friends with. Why? Why the fuck did I ever kiss you? Why can't we just forget everything and go back to the good old days?
"Sarah?" His voice sounded hesitant and unsure, and it snapped her back to reality. Maybe he was freaking out just as much as she was, except he was a lot better at handling it. Or acting like he wasn't having a meltdown.
"I'll be there," she said quickly, then panicked and pressed the CALL END button. She couldn't talk anymore—she had to move, to do something besides standing there listening to his quiet voice. She realised she hadn't asked the time to meet him, but that didn't matter. She would just wait there for him—it was the least she could do. Wait and worry and pray to god he was going to say something like we need to be more professional with each other, no matter how much her gut screamed at her that it was going to be the exact opposite.
Feet first into hell and back again!
AN: Getting into the good stuff finally! Stay tuned for another dose of angsty smut from your local service provider!
