Y is for Years
(Post "Price" prompt)
Ten years.
It had been ten years since she died.
He tapped the cigarette against the corner of the ashtray to shake offer the burned paper and lifted the roll and tobacco to his lips, taking a long drag and holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling it into the not-quite-dawn air.
In those ten years, the other Spartans had gotten married, though only Maria, who had retired much earlier, had produced any children. Though ONI had wanted him to do the same, both Doctor Halsey and Lord Hood pulled some strings and got them to lay off and respect his wish to remain single.
The media had been horrified. Apparently he had ruined more than a few people's prospects for fame.
An unbidden smirk twitched his lips before it faded as quickly as it had come. All of those who truly knew him understood that there was no moving on from a loss of that magnitude, and they accepted the fact that he would never be able to let her go.
He took another drag on his cigarette, watching as the sky before him slowly, slowly lightened. It was now a very deep navy, but he could still tell that the sun was rising as he leaned against the Warthog, ashtray sitting on the hood next to him. She had always wanted to go to the beach – a beach, any beach – and watch the sun rise over the sea, see the "green flash" in the water.
It was even lighter now, but still dark; even though the full moon was setting somewhere behind him, there was enough light to see by, to watch the waves swell and foam and then crash over onto the sand or previous wave, rolling up the shore for a few meters before slowing, stopping, and rolling back out again. The occasional flash of silver within the water alerted him to the presence of many small fish in the early morning sea, but his gaze was on the horizon. The navy sky was now shot through with pinks and oranges and red, and the wispy clouds in the upper atmosphere, the ones nicknamed "horse tails," only added to the ethereal effect of the beach at sunrise. It brought back memories…
"You'd look cool if you smoked," he remembered her saying.
"What?"
"Well, you just seem like one of those hardcore military types who'd smoke because you picked it up during the war. I dunno, I just think you'd look cool if you smoke."
The Spartan took another long drag on his cigarette, tapping off the ashes into the tray as the mythological green flash lit the sea for the briefest of instants before the curve of the sun spilled over the horizon, making the waves gleam orange and pink.
John stubbed out the remains of his cigarette as the sun rose fully over the horizon line, and he leaned back against the Warthog, crossing his muscular arms. The first year he had come to the beach, it was because he was seeking even a temporary solitude on her birthday. He had come to escape the silence of his home, the void that still had yet to heal, and after three years, it became a tradition for him to do so. It was only five years ago that he would smoke a cigarette at sunrise for her, despite the fact that even one could kill him.
"Happy birthday, Cortana."
Yes, I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all.
- "Need You Now," Lady Antebellum (Need You Now)
A/N: I was crying when I wrote this, but I think it came out okay.