Nine

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Given Gabby's profession, most would think that she was an early riser and eager to start the day the moment she woke.

Those people would be wrong.

An early riser Gabby was, but it took her a good hour to wake up – and a liberal amount of coffee.

So started the day after the storm, with Gabby blearily shambling through her kitchen with a mug of the good stuff, until a shrill ringing drew her to the laundry.

Abandoning her coffee, she limped after the noise, answering the call before she realised that the mobile, in fact, was not her own.

"Hello," she croaked, voice still thick with sleep.

"John? Did you inhale helium?"

Blinking sluggishly, Gabby pulled the phone away and squinted at it. The name on the screen was C, and it was not Gabby's old, scratched up phone either. It was new, one of the latest models.

"Oops."

"That isn't very reassuring."

Wide awake now, Gabby scrubbed at her face and gnawed on her lip. Accidental as it was, Gabby doubted John would appreciate her answering his phone – he seemed intensely private, and phones were very private things.

The voice was familiar, at least.

"Cortana, wasn't it? This is Gabby, John's neighbour," Gabby explained, slipping her thongs on and heading outside. "He must have forgotten his phone yesterday. I'll run it over now, if you can call back in ten?"

Expecting a brisk goodbye, Gabby was surprised when the women on the other end made a curious noise and said, "I'd like to ask you a question, actually."

"Shoot."

There was no deep breath or halting start, but rather the air of one before Cortana spoke. "From your perspective," she began, "how is John settling in? After speaking with him yesterday I was…worried."

Gravel crunched under her uneven stride; it was a quiet morning otherwise. "Well enough, I suppose." Gabby answered, thoughtful and cautious with her words. "There have been difficulties, but John seems stubborn enough to overcome them."

That earned a laugh, full and throaty despite the weird interference coming from over the line. It casted a faint, quiet hum over Cortana's speech.

"John does have stubbornness in immeasurable quantities," Cortana said. "Take care of him for me, would you? I'm not exactly able to nab a ship and visit whenever I want."

Pausing in the middle of the road, Gabby felt that there was more to this request, that Cortana was trusting her with something few had before. Perhaps Cortana was the only living friend John had left, still serving and worried, unable to offer more than words over a phone.

Gabby could understand, and was vividly reminded of her own reasons for wanting to help John get settled.

"We treat our neighbours well out here," Gabby said, not willing to pry and not willing to promise more. "He'll be right, Cortana. I'll keep an eye on him. Two, even."

It was enough for Cortana, who sighed a soft thank you and hung up.

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There came a knocking on John's door.

One solid knock, followed by three lighter ones in quick succession. The same as the day before.

Gabby.

"You left this at my place," she said once he opened the door. "Cortana called. Will call back in a few."

A tingle of annoyance hand his hand closing around the offered phone with a possessive curl of his fingers and a flat, "Thank you."

John had been saying that a lot lately.

He sighed through his nose. Given Gabby's nature, he doubted that it had been a purposeful invasion of his property. He didn't ask, and she didn't tell.

"Catch you later, John." She turned with a wave, and John noticed that she was still limping. Because of the strange footwear and shorts, he could see that her ankle was still slightly swollen.

He frowned, not needing to peer over his shoulder to know that the – his – house was hollow and empty despite their efforts yesterday.

"Gabby," he called. She stopped, turned, and raised a brow in silent question. "Would you like some assistance with the horses today?"

It caught her by surprise, but it was gone swiftly as something else pulled her mouth into a smile. It was not pleasure, or happiness, but something gentle all the same. And it lacked the markings of pity.

"Sure," Gabby replied, to his relief. Pride was a prickly thing on many people, and he did not like to think of butting heads with the sole other person in this town he felt comfortable around. "Duck over in thirty and we'll get started. Wear your boots."

Gabby left.

Cortana called shortly after, as he was packing away the new linens he bought yesterday.

"Cortana."

"I ran a background check on your neighbour."

John straightened, linens forgotten. "Why?"

"Well," Cortana rolled the word, "I ran checks on all of your possible neighbours when you were house-hunting. Didn't want you ending up sharing a fence with an ODST or someone with Insurrectionist ties."

"That wasn't necessary."

He could picture her shrugging and flicking her blue hands unrepentantly. "Lecture me another time," she suggested, "but Gabby Edwards is a perfectly normal civilian whose worst offense is a parking ticket. She's smart too, could have gone to any university she wanted with her grades."

"What are you hinting at?"

"Be careful." Concern threated through the layers of slyness and humour that always lined her tone. "You wanted an anonymous life."

Oh.

"If it helps," she continued, voice lighter, "Gabby seemed like an absurdly nice person when I spoke to her. Personally, I doubt that she would be unkind or spread the word if you told her."

"If I tell her."

"If." Cortana confirmed. "I'll back you no matter your play, you know that, but be careful when you toe the line between omitting the truth and lying."

Unsettled, John leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh that pulled straight from his belly.

"Trust your gut," Cortana said, "it hasn't led us wrong before."

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John would be lying if he said that he only offered to help Gabby out of human decency.

He liked the horses.

They were gentle creatures despite their size, though once let loose into the fields they pranced and hopped around, and he felt an odd kinship with them. There was one horse in particular, big and muscular with one a leg wrapped in scars, that John liked.

"Croc got a hold of her," Gabby answered the unasked question as she mucked out the opposite stall. "I had my rifle on me though, managed to scare it off before it dragged her into the creek. Marcy here is my oldest girl, so be a gentlemen and walk her to her paddock nice and slow, hmm?"

"Of course," John promised, brushing his fingers through Marcy's wiry mane.

He did walk slow, partly just to that he could spend more time with the gentle giant. She was a Draught horse, Gabby had said, stockier and more thickly muscled than Jackson the Clydesdale.

No matter how many questions he asked about the horses, Gabby always answered with that patience he had been privy to yesterday. So, John led the horses out, fed them, and then he returned.

Only two horses remained, but these ones Gabby had pulled aside and tended to herself.

They were going riding.

John could not remember the last time he was excited for something in this way.

"Jackson isn't really a riding horse," Gabby said as he joined her outside the stables, "but he needs some exercise and will suit you for today."

Hands pulled straps and adjusted the leather saddle, fiddling with everything until it sat to her satisfaction. Then, she gave him a rundown of the commands she had taught Jackson, how he should handle the horse, and with that, John climbed up.

Gabby's hat hid her face at this angle, but he could tell that she was fighting a smile as he clutched the horn when Jackson shifted beneath him. She cleared her throat and looped her fingers through the slack reins, clicking her tongue. Jackson moved. John clutched the horn again, waiting for something to go wrong.

"Easy, mate," Gabby soothed, "let him show you the ropes. He too old for mischief, but if he senses you're uncomfortable he'll get agitated."

Thick muscles shifted against John's legs as Gabby lead Jackson around in a large circle. She let go after that, passed the reins to him, and guided him through a lesson on horse riding.

It was fun.

"Alright, pull him up towards the front gate and we'll head out." With ease despite her ankle, Gabby swung up into the saddle on her grey horses back. An Arabian crossed with Thoroughbred named Maple, John recalled. "We're just doing a circuit of the property, checking for storm damage. We can do a loop of your land too, if you like. Get the lay of the land."

"I'd like that," John said, if only so that he could spend more time out here with Jackson, Maple, and Gabby's undemanding presence.

Gabby smiled.

Boomer joined them, trotting alongside Gabby with a lazy wag ever present in his tail.

Only one repair in the fence line was needed. Though they did stop several times to pull large branches from the road. Half the day was gone before John truly realised how relaxed he was, shoulders loose and unguarded

He almost smiled.

On the return trip, Jackson didn't tug at the reins when Maple pulled ahead, so John felt comfortable nudging him into a trot, and then a slow canter. It was exhilarating, more so than riding shotgun in a Hornet or Mongoose had ever been. He could feel a powerful heart beating against his calves, Jackson's chest stretching wide with every breath.

There was no gun at his hip or string of grenades tucked into his belt, no head in his crosshairs or screams in his ear. Just life, just living. Just John and his horse.

Gabby slowed Maple into a walk, and then stopped. John pulled up alongside her. They were atop a hill, with the valley swooping down and out before them like a painting.

Oddly, John felt different about this image before him now than he had only two days prior. Calmer.

"Does it feel like home yet?"

"No," he eventually answered, "but it could."

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After eating a packed lunch, they explored the lay of John's property. It was large, though not even half the size of Gabby's, and had more forest than open paddock. It was all familiar to Gabby.

"Frank never had more than a few horses," so began one of her many explanations. "He didn't bother maintaining the bottom paddocks. Nature's taken them back, but the dam is still a nice swimming hole in summer."

"No crocodiles?"

"No," Gabby rolled her eyes, but smiled, "the fences keep them out. Might wanna mind your toes though. Yabbies thrive in there."

What.

"Prawns." She laughed at whatever expression he wore. "They're little crayfish. Make for a good barbeque if you can catch some of a decent size."

They paused to let the horses drink from the creek that cut through the lowest section of John's land, a clear slip of a thing that burbled softly and kept the nearest greenery lush and flourishing. Unable to help himself, John dismounted, looped the reins over a branch, and did some exploring on foot.

At the largest bend in the creek was a sheltered alcove, and there were remains of an old fire-pit at the base of a large collection of boulders. The sight reminded John so sorely of survival training that he froze, almost able to see ghosts of children huddled around a low fire as Sam drew plans in the dirt.

John breathed, knelt by the water, and splashed a handful into his face. The sudden chill grounded him. Awoke him.

He didn't get a chance to feel foolish, as with a chipper, "It is hot, isn't it?" Gabby knelt beside him, took off her hat, and dunked her whole head underwater.

After surfacing, she slicked her hair back like it was a perfectly normal thing to do, going around plunging ones head into a creek.

"Much better." She propped her hat upon her knee and tipped her face into the smattering of light that breached the canopy, seemingly content to sit there for as long as he needed. Boomer, having had enough of splashing in the shallows, flopped down on John's other side.

Sinking a hand into the dogs fur, John aligned his fingers with Boomer's ribs, felt the chest expand and contract with each breath.

In. out. In. out.

"In the future, may I…assist you with the horses again?"

Without opening her eyes, Gabby hummed, lips curling gently. "Sure. They need to be worked more than I can do anymore. I'll need to teach you a bit more before I let you gallop off into the sunset, of course."

"Reasonable." With a creaking in his bones that he felt more than heard, John stood. "Shall we?"

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They went back to Gabby's.

After teaching him how to strip the tack and store it, she left John to brush the horses down and set them loose.

She had said that he could come back tomorrow, and John was relieved.

The radio was playing the news when John ventured into Gabby's house.

Her knife was poised over the cheese she was slicing up, brows low over her eyes as she listened to the news.

"Protestors are becoming increasingly hostile and local authorities remain on full-alert as the crowd increases in size. The Sangheili representative Arbiter has expressed the need for peace for between our races-"

Gabby flicked the radio off, muttering under her breath about idiots and a number of other unflattering things about the protestors.

She noticed him.

"Food will be ready in a few," Gabby said, annoyance wiped clear. "Throw the telly on, if you like. Remote's on the lamp table, the one with the blue bowl on it."

John did.

He didn't pick up the remote though. Instead, he picked up the photo laying atop a stack of others beside it with hands that were steady but felt like they were shaking.

The face was older, the body healed and healthy, but John knew those eyes, that smile that was tugged down in one corner by a scar John remembered seeing made in live-fire exercise gone wrong.

"Grubs ready."

He heard Gabby shuffling around, the clink of plates and cutlery, and it all felt distant.

"Gabby," John said, but it felt like a whisper leaving his throat. He turned, held up the photo. "Who is this?"

"My uncle," she said, giving him a strange look that cleared at some internal realisation. "Kirk Willows."

John knew him by another name.

Kirk-018.