Chapter 21: Hell's Kitchen
Chapter 21: Hell's Kitchen
"So how long have you been in New York?" Jack asked, his voice and wide blue eyes full of curiosity.
"Just today," John replied. They were sitting on a park bench, the wood seat protesting John's weight with a loud creak. The air was warm, the sky clear blue, marked every now and then with thin streaks of clouds like brush strokes from an artist who was not yet sure what the empty canvas would eventually be transformed into.
"Why did you come here?" Jack asked, scooting closer to John. The Master Chief felt a momentary wave of discomfort from the close proximity, but the anxiety came and went.
"Vacation," John answered truthfully. He scanned the area in front of him for Cortana, the crowd of people milling around the park obstructing his vision, silently wishing that Jake had picked a more secluded spot to have lunch.
"From what?" Jack asked, and John turned his attention to him.
"Work."
Jack snorted out of his nose, and action John interpreted as laughter, "I mean what do you do?"
John glanced at Jake who just shook his head, a fresh cigarette in between two of his fingers, as if to say that the Chief was on his own, "I'm in the Navy."
"What do you do in the Navy?"
"I'm a Master Chief Petty Officer."
"What are those?"
"It's a rank."
"Oh," Jack said. "So you order people around?"
"Yes."
"And you're on ships a lot?"
"Yes."
"Do you like it?"
John raised an eyebrow, "Like what?"
"Being on ships," Jack replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"No," John said flatly. Internally he grimaced. The least he could do was try to sound more friendly.
"Why?"
"Because I don't feel like I'm in control."
"Why?"
"Because someone else is in control of the ship and I'm not, and if it is destroyed, there is nothing I can do about it."
"Why?"
"Because," John started, trying to come up with an answer. "Just because."
"So why are you in the Navy then if you don't like being on ships?" Jack asked, now only a few inches away from John.
"Because I was drafted," John said, again truthfully.
"Drafted?" Jack said, a confused look crossing his face, looking John up and down. "But you're old."
John coughed. Sure he felt old, at least he had while he was still alive, but no one had actually ever called him old before. Well except for Del Rio, but he had been hostile towards the Master Chief from the start, and maybe Eddie, but he was a special case. "Jack," Jake said, and it was with some concern that John noticed a fatherly tone enter his voice. "That's not really polite."
"Sorry," Jack said, his head tilting down slightly. The change in mood did not last long though, and he had just brought his head up and opened his mouth to ask John another question when Cortana appeared out of the midst of the crowd, a wicker basket hanging by the handle on one of her arms and swinging like a pendulum as she walked, and John found himself staring at her as she walked. The way her hips moved, her legs showing hints of skin underneath her skirt as she took each step, the way her lips curved into a smile as she looked at him, the way her brea…
Stop that, John scolded himself. You've seen everything already. It was true, he had seen everything, had known her with more emotional and physical intimacy than anyone else, and more than that he had enjoyed it, and more important than even that, she had as well. But these feelings, no John could no accurately describe them as feelings, these physical reactions without her even touching him, without her explaining clearly what she wanted, was something he was not accustomed to.
Mercifully Cortana ended her walk, but followed it up with the cruelty of a smile that sent John's heart racing. "I don't suppose you've ever had a picnic before?"
John gave a smirk, and Cortana felt a similar sensation to the one he was feeling flutter across her chest. "Do field rations count?"
Cortana rolled her eyes and began to unpack the basket. "We've got lemonade, but I know you don't like stuff that's sweet so I brought water too. Ham, roast beef, and tuna sandwiches."
"Tooter," Jake said with a smile.
Cortana returned it, "Yes, tooter as Roland would say." The flutter in her chest died, replaced with an ache. She suppressed the feeling and continued, "I've even got this mustard that me and Jake think is pretty good. I know you haven't really had anything spicy so you might want to go easy on it. Jack what would you like?" She turned only to find that Jack was no longer there, had left before Cortana had even gotten to the table, and not even John had noticed his absence. John looked around, quickly finding small indentations in the grass caused by his son's shoes, and followed the foot tracks to the base of a tree, and in the tree, at the very top, sat Jack looking out at the New York City skyline. "Jack get down from there," Cortana called up.
"He does that," Jake said to John with a sigh. "He does that a lot."
Jack stood up on the top most branch that was still thick enough to support his weight, his head just poking up above the leaves, the ground over a dozen feet below him. "I think I can see the Empire State from here."
"Jonathan," Cortana called up again, and John felt his back automatically become more rigid at the authoritative tone she used.
"Alright," Jack said with a moan. He crouched down and grabbed the branch below him with one hand, letting his feet slip off of it until he was dangling. He swung a few times before letting go, crashing to the earth and landing neatly on both feet.
Cortana did not exactly go on a tirade, but it was a proper scolding, all about reminding Jack of how many times she had told him not to do that, and although the boy did say he was sorry a number of times, John got the sense that he had said similar sentiments many times before. It was then that John discovered one vast difference between him and his son. Jack did not like following orders.
…
The meal was good, peaceful, and John found himself enjoying the steady tide of conversation flowing between the three people he sat with, entering in his own comments when anyone, mostly Jack with his endless question, spoke to him directly. He had marveled at how much his son ate, wolfing down sandwiches in a steady blur and finishing only when they were all gone. High metabolism, John had thought, watching as Jack gulped down the remainder of his lemonade.
"Jack," Cortana began. "I was thinking that you and Jake could go see a movie together."
Jack glanced at Jake and then back at his mom. Before he could open his mouth Jake interceded, sensing what Cortana was planning, "We could go to dinner after words. Make a night of it."
"Can we get Chinese?" Jack asked hopefully. He loved Chinese, although they did not get to have it often.
"It would be a bit of a hike," Jake began, thinking about the hike from the theatres in Turtle Bay to China Town in Lower Manhattan. A quick pleading look from Cortana, however, settled his mind. "But I guess we could take the subway."
"Neat," Jack said, standing up. He directed his next question at his mom. "What are you going to do?"
"I think I'm going to spend a bit of time with John," Cortana said, and underneath the table John felt her hand slide across his leg. He slid his own hand down there as well, holding hers before it could venture any further upwards.
…
The further he and Cortana walked into Hell's Kitchen, the more John grew to dislike it. It was far from being the run down cesspool of crime it had once been in decades past, but it was still crime ridden enough (and John could sense it, like a foul stench in the air) and run down enough that he began to worry. Cortana seemed to sense his discomfort and reached for his hand as they walked the few blocks from Central Park to Tenth Avenue and Forty-Ninth Street where their apartment was at. "It's not that bad," she said quietly to him. "We're mostly left alone."
"Mostly?" John asked with a touch of concern.
"It's New York," Cortana replied. "Twentieth century New York. There is only so much you can expect."
The apartment building itself sat on the corner of the block, nineteen stories in all, and abandoned building with a foreclosure sign hanging by one corner sitting next to it, the residential homeless being its only tenants. One of them sat on the stairs leading up to the building, the smashed out windows and crumbling bricks giving John a brief sensation of being back in Fedic in mid-world. The man sat slumped over, apparently sleeping, a thin trail of saliva hanging from his mouth and a brown back clutched tightly in his right hand, the outlines of liquor bottle showing. It was a short climb, at least to John, up to where the apartment was, Cortana explaining to him that the elevator was almost always out of order, the landlord always giving vague and unfulfilled promises of getting it fixed. During the climb they came across a man banging on a door, shouting obscenities, his Irish accent slurred. He stopped when he noticed Cortana, and he gave a cruel smile.
"Cor," he said, stumbling towards her. He gave a glance towards John, "I didn't know you were dating. Should have told me something."
"There is a reason I didn't tell you Pat," Cortana said, moving to stand between John and him.
Pat's eyes were unfocused, but from what John could tell they were staring at him, "I don't recognize him. Should know better than bringin' strangers here, never know what might happen. Could've least had da decency to go with one of the guys in the neighborhood. Been teasing us long enough."
John's fists were beginning to clench, but Cortana took another step towards Pat, her arms crossed, "By a guy from the neighborhood I assume you mean one of your friends."
"You know the old sayin. Share and share alike," the cruel smile never leaving, the man stumbling a few more feet towards her. "I know the boss has taken an interest in ya. Been askin me to keep an eye out. Ya knows, in case of trouble." He pointed a finger at Cortana, "And don't ya be talkin bad about da boss like ya do little lady. If it wasn't for him givin the go ahead you're boy Jake would have never become a cop. I guess he said aye because he likes watchin your firm little ass walkin down the…" John was just about to intervene. He was not going to kill him, would have avoided serious injury if he could help it, but Pat would have certainly have had a few days worth of recovery he would have had to do. Instead Cortana took one step forward, seizing Pat by the wrist and twisting it hard, his hand bending at an unnatural angle towards his head. Pat fell to his knees, the pain and drunk stupor overloading his senses.
"Apologize," Cortana said, twisting his wrist a bit harder for emphasis.
"Let go you Dutchie, cloggy bitch. Ahhh!" He gave another sqeal of pain as Cortana pressed harder. "Fine, I apologize."
"Not to me," Cortana said, nodding over to John. "To him."
Pat looked bewildered, his pain momentarily forgotten, but a sharp dagger into his wrist quickly reminded him of his predicament. "I'm sorry. In the name of Jesus, Joseph, and Holy Mary I'm sorry."
"Good," Cortana said, releasing his wrist, Pat bending over and massaging it. She walked towards the stairs, giving John a gentle nudge on the arm as she went. John gave one last brief glance at Pat before continuing onwards.
Pat pulled himself up to his feet and stumbled towards the stairway, making his way downwards with clumsy steps, fishing into his pocket as he did. He pulled out a business card, and had to stop his decent so that he could focus his vision in order to read it. There was the image of a storm cloud with a thunderbolt passing through it, and below it were the words…
NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS
A DIPOLAR TECHNOLOGY COMPANY
Selena Padick
259-1919
He stuffed the card back into his pocket and continued marching down the stairs. He had been instructed to report any new developments in the Toren family to the boss, but had also been ordered to report any incident that seemed particularly out of the ordinary to North Central itself.
His vision doubled and he attempted to regain his balance by leaning on the banister.
North Central, he had never met any of them personally, and the little he knew about the company stemmed from their involvement with government contracts during World War II, all of which were heavily publicized. They were people that even the boss seemed to fear, and that was enough to make Pat wary of them. He shook his head, attempting to regain some focus. A slut like Cortana bringing a man into her apartment was not news warranting a call to North Central, but he did need to make a report to the boss. His stomach lurched, and Pat's mouth was left with the taste of acid as he continued to make his way out of the building.
…
"I'm fine," Cortana said, intercepting John's question as he resumed walking beside her. She glanced over at him, instantly hurt by the concern in his eyes. She had not wanted the day to go like this, did not want John to see just how bad the neighborhood could be. In truth it usually was not that bad, but Cortana knew that the incident with Pat had left a permanent impression on John.
John looked at the walls, graffiti written here and there, the banister covered in a thin layer of dust, "You deserve better than this."
"What do you want me to do?" Cortana asked. "We've had no contact with Tet, no contact with the writer, no contact with you for the last seven years. We've been doing the best we can with what we have." John's head tilted downward imperceptivity, but it was just enough for Cortana to take notice. She touched his arm gently with her hand, "I know it's not your fault you haven't been here."
"It is," John said. "I made the choice. I made the decision."
"To save us," Cortana said quietly. "To save me, to save Jake, to save our son." Her hand slid down his arm and wrapped around his hand, "How could I blame you for a decision like that?" There was silence for a while, John not answering her rhetorical query, the sound of their shared footsteps up the stairs the only noise until Cortana began speaking again, "How long?"
John jaw became rigid, but he forced the answer out, "Three months."
Cortana closed her eyes. She prepared herself for this, but what she had not prepared herself for was the answer to the next question she asked, "And when will you be able to come back again?"
"I will be able to physically manifest myself in this world after twenty-three years."
A lead weight struck the bottom of Cortana's stomach. Twenty-three years. She would biologically be in her fifties by then. The thought of having to wait that long seemed inconceivable. John seemed to sense this and quickly added, "But it won't take me that long. I've found a way to make me human again."
The lead weight raised itself out of the deepest bits of her stomach, and Cortana felt hope rush in on the wings of chariots to replace it. "How?" she asked, and John told her, told her every detail about his plan. When he was finished she asked, "Are you sure it will work?"
John nodded, "Yes. The White told me it would."
"The White?" Cortana asked, and John nodded again in confirmation. "But Gan never changes his mind."
"He did for you," John replied.
Cortana bit her lip, they were now standing right outside her apartment, and even though not even a half hour ago she could not wait to get him inside, now the myriad of questions was thick enough to stall her own desires. "Gan's voice. I've only noticed it now that Jack has gotten older, but they have the same voice. The White sounds a bit older but it is the same."
"I know," John said. "I don't want to think about it."
Cortana silently agreed with him. The ramifications of any conclusion reached from this revelation was more than she was willing to deal with. The lock on the door turned as she twisted the key, leading John into the apartment. She gave him the brief tour, stepping into the middle of the room as John closed the door and locked it behind them. She pointed to her left, "That's the kitchen and dining room." She pointed to her right, "That's the living room." She pointed ahead of them, "And straight down that hallway leads to the bedroom. The door on the right is Jack and Jake's room, the one on the left is the bathroom. I think the shower might be big enough for you, but you might be a bit cramped. At the very end is our bedroom." She called it their bedroom naturally, even though they had yet to decide on John's living arrangements. "It's not much," she said, turning to face John. "But it's ours." She stopped, suddenly getting a full view of John's condition, a condition he had spent the better part of the day attempting to control. She did not need to be interfaced with his armor to note that his pulse was up, his breathing elevated, and his heart rate spinning wildly out of control. All she needed was the look from his eyes.
John closed the distance between the two of them in a rush, wrapping his arms around her, one hand placed on the back of her head, and pulling her into a fierce kiss. Cortana became dimly aware that her feet had left the floor, her senses rendered useless except for the feeling of his body on hers and his mouth on top of hers. When her lungs screamed for air and her mind filled with sparkling static Cortana pulled away from him, realizing for the first time that she had wrapped her legs around his waist as he held her in the air. "Where…" her voice was shaky as her entire body sent her brain signals as to what exactly it wanted John to do to her. "Where did that…" the question died as John began to kiss her again, and Cortana felt a hard thud as he pressed her up against the wall.