I'm on R&R! So nice to be back to my bed...missed it more than I missed my husband honestly. Lol. I hope everything has been going well for you. I'm sorry I haven't responded to reviews, I'm going to try and get back to it but I've just been so exhausted since I got back. It was a short trip because we were just doing some backfill but man I forgot how much the desert fucking blows, place is a shithole.
I need to go over this concept more thoroughly next lecture, everyone is getting number fifteen wrong.
Cortana wearily ran a hand through her hair. Fred and Kelly had been with them for two weeks, and while she loved having them, playing hostess was difficult. Even if they didn't expect to be entertained and were perhaps the easiest houseguests possible, she still felt pressure for them to have a good time and see parts of Earth. John, of course, didn't really see the point of things like this and made almost no effort to show them around anywhere. Between a toddler and her full-time professorship, she was feeling more than a little overworked.
It was late on Friday night–the rest of the house was already asleep, Joan and Sam put to bed hours prior and the superhuman Spartan half of the household was already snoozing away while she graded midterm examinations. She ground her teeth, an annoying habit she'd recently developed, as she sifted through the lengthy and complicated exam she'd administered.
And if I'm honest with myself, I'm sure most of my students are all drunk out of their minds having a great time on a Friday. They don't give a fuck about this midterm right now.
On her fourth hour of grading, she'd finally completed the exams, she sighed and shut down her computer. She was far too revved up to sleep, so she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.
She ran her hands over the cool granite countertops, feeling more than a little anxious about life. Joan was growing faster than she and John could keep up, plowing through milestones as if they were a competition. Having Samantha, who was an extremely bright little girl in her own right, here for comparison threw the differences into sharp relief. Joan was simply more coordinated and could express herself more articulately than her may-as-well-be cousin could. In some ways, this was exciting. She couldn't help but feel overwhelming pride at the brilliant, wonderful individual her daughter was becoming. In other ways, it was nerve wracking.
Catherine stayed as far away from Earth as she possibly could, residing on an outer colony even less populated than the one Cortana resided. Cortana couldn't say that Catherine constantly messaged her about Joan; no, it was far more calculated than that, far more deliberate, as if she messaged her about just enough small-talk as to not arouse suspicion when she asked about how Joan was doing.
How is your class? How is your research going? I worked with James Greenbow when I was doing a lecture series at Andromeda Crossing University, does he still have that nervous habit where he winks every thirty seconds? Has Joan started reading yet?
Cortana quickly saw through it, she knew that Catherine wanted not only to understand but study Joan as she hit developmental milestones. The unbridled curiosity Cortana had inherited from the woman completely understood this desire. Joan was an anomaly, she was not only unique but exceptional.
That was what worried Cortana. She knew that Catherine couldn't help but view Joan as something of a science experiment, and that part of Catherine felt entitled to know about Joan. After all, she was directly responsible for both of Joan's parents, she viewed Cortana and John as her children, her life's work and greatest achievement. It was natural that she felt curiosity. It didn't mean that Cortana couldn't feel uncomfortable with the situation. She knew what the woman was capable of. She knew, in explicit detail, what had been done to John as a child not much older than Joan. She knew the part that Catherine had played in it. She couldn't resent her for it, she couldn't hate her for it, it gave her John, it gave her life and everything she held dear. But she could fear it, and fear it she did. She feared that part of Catherine, and even more, she feared that there was a part of herself capable of such things.
Seeing the broken mess that had become Naomi Sentzke last week had been unsettling. She wasn't like the other Spartans. She had periods of time where she just seemed….absent. She would stare off into space, almost as if she was lost in her own thoughts, not completely present in a room until something snapped her out of it, usually her boyfriend the surly but compassionate Russian ODST.
Seeing the very real fallout of the Spartan program, something besides the completely happy ending she and John had, unsettled her. It threw her for a loop, perhaps similar to the feeling people had when they lost their religion or learned a terrible secret.
Am I capable of such atrocities? Am I really all that different?
She shook her head, took a large gulp of her wine and felt a shiver up her spine.
This is an amazing thing about being human.
There were many things he loved about being human, and she particularly enjoyed a glass of wine when she was feeling overwhelmed.
Sometimes it ends up being more like a bottle, though.
She didn't bother corking the bottle and just took it with her to the living room. She set her glass and the bottle down on the coffee table and turned on the television. She did this mostly because she started to go a little crazy when she wasn't multitasking. She had to constantly be thinking about more than one thing at once. The ambient sound of music or a program could usually satisfy this need, but it was a need nonetheless.
She continued to drink entirely too much wine until she laid with her head spinning pressed into the couch cushion.
Catherine doesn't want to hurt Joan, she loves Joan, who couldn't love Joan?
She loves John and she still did what she did. She loves me, and she made me yet she resigned me to the cruel fate of human love and attachment, the sick game that had been the seven year AI lifespan and the resignation that John would live on without me. She loved Miranda and Keyes, in some fashion, at least, and she'd abandoned them….
Despite herself, she took another sip of wine.
Will I abandon Joan like she abandoned Miranda? I can't, I couldn't. I love her….
Cortana couldn't understand it. She couldn't understand how Catherine had made those choices. Now that she was a mother and she understood what it was like, the relationship between a mother and a child, the fact that Joan's first home had been her very body, that Joan was half her, and half John...she couldn't imagine being without her. Her dependence upon the child was overwhelming. She loved her daughter with a fierceness that couldn't be written off as biology–no, it was far more than that. It was both primal and logical, sensible and magical, tangible and completely incomprehensible. The simple joy she felt at the sound of Joan's laugh, her little voice saying "Mama" or "Papa," it unraveled her. She couldn't imagine a life without her.
When did Joan start sleeping through the night? How high can she count? Have you thought about starting her early in school? Does she play well with other children? What are her favorite bedtime stories, I'd like to get her a few books to send.
These were all normal questions had Catherine been something like a normal grandmother. In the moments Cortana could allow herself to imagine the relationship that way, it was easy.
Her favorite color is blue. She likes anything with raspberry jam. Swimming is her new favorite activity. She drinks cups of milk and coffee with John in the morning. The way her eyes crinkle up when she laughs makes my heart stop right in my chest, the way she runs around like one of the big kids on the playground scares me more than anything.
She couldn't supply her with these answers. The fact that she wanted to terrified her. She felt so lost, so nervous about raising such a wonderful, perfect soul and about messing her up. Catherine was the only thing she had even remotely like a mother. A woman who had kidnapped children and experimented upon them was her guiding maternal example.
What in the world does this woman want with my child?
She finished the bottle of wine and sluggishly walked to the guest bathroom, not wanting to wake John, and took a shower so hot it made her skin turn red and splotchy. She didn't bother to dry herself off and walked naked to her and John's room, tracking water the whole way. She tried putting on her pajamas but it was difficult for her in the dark and she didn't want to wake John. She half sat half fell onto the bed and tucked herself into bed, the sheets sticking to her still wet legs.
Keep your friends close and enemies closer. Catherine has got to be one or the other, right?
John felt uncomfortable in formalwear. Cortana told him that this hardly passed as formalwear, that it was simply "Artsy gallery chic," but it was more put together than anything he ever work. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He'd convinced Cortana that he could wear a t-shirt under his button up because button up shirts were simply uncomfortable for him, but she'd won out when it came to khakis instead of blue jeans.
John was frankly surprised at some of these photographs. There were photographs of seemingly mundane, unconnected things like mail, unwashed dishes, that somehow made sense together. The photos that really surprised John were, however, the ones of Kelly.
She had an entire wall devoted to her. Once again, he wasn't quite sure how Fred had taken the first photo of Kelly. She was walking out of a Pelican in full MJOLNIR armor, her helmet under her arm. She was bleeding from her temple but it was clearly nothing serious. There was so much chaos around her–other Spartans being rushed to medical with critical injuries, flashing lights of hangar doors opening and closing, vehicles running around, yet she remained the focal point of the photo. The thing John found strange was her expression. It was...completely blank. She looked off into the distance at nothing in particular, her eyes straight forward, ready for whatever came next but not invested in any incarnation of the future.
The next photo was of her sitting on the couch, her hair in a ponytail and wearing a Navy t-shirt. On their coffee table were objects he recognized, Fred's knife, standard issue travel logs for documenting hours spent in cryosleep (now rendered somewhat obsolete), and other odds and ends that John recognized as strangely military but simultaneously useless, like a ribbon here, a setscrew there. Her expression was soft with far less intensity than the first photo that depicted the Spartan warrior he had known, but it was still a somewhat unsettling photo.
Next was a photo, this one in black and white, morning light filtering in through their bedroom window. John felt a little embarrassed looking at the photo. Kelly was clearly naked, a sheet wrapped around her and her hair down, her legs sticking out the bottom of the bed and he couldn't help but find the picture strangely beautiful. The simplicity, the normalcy of it next to the first two photos was almost shocking, she seemed like a completely different woman.
The next photo was also in their bedroom. It was larger than the other photos and she was sitting up on the bed, topless and wearing a pair of shorts. Her stomach was large and round, surely in her last month of pregnancy, her arms cradling her stomach. He looked at her abdomen and saw a bullet wound stretched out to at least double the size it had been originally fanning itself over her side, along with a mix of lacerations stretching to accommodate her child. The surgical augmentation scars were visible on the smooth underside of her arms. The way the light was composed, it was clear that the juxtaposition of her pregnancy with her battle-worn body was the intention.
So strange.
Even though he knew Kelly was a mother, a wife, and a sister to him, the picture was strange. Even in pregnancy her body looked fit, hard, unyielding. Cortana had been all softness and femininity. It was very clear that Kelly's body hadn't been made for pregnancy.
It made John feel strange about himself, how he thought of their bodies in context of being 'made' and purpose instead of having bodily autonomy to do as one pleased. There was no other way to look at it though, their bodies had very clearly been crafted for a purpose, and that was to kill. Sure, you could say 'to protect Earth and her Colonies,' but in reality, they were made for destruction.
When John looked at the next picture, one in the hospital and Samantha nursing on Kelly's burned, skin-grafted left breast, Kelly's face one of pure adoration, he felt badly for his prior thoughts.
She wasn't made to be a mother, but she was meant to be one.
Kelly walked up behind him.
"People can't stop talking to Fred, people say his work pushes a lot of boundaries and misconceptions about the Spartan program," she glanced over at her bearded husband and John could tell she felt a lot of pride, "I'm really happy for him," she looked down and shuffled her feet awkwardly like she often did. "What do you think?"
"This is a really beautiful photo," he said after a moment.
He looked again at her scared shoulder and the baby, safe and content with her mother.
How do we live in a world with so much suffering and yet so much love?
John sighed.
I'll probably never know.
"Admiral Osman is otherwise engaged at the moment. I can direct you to Commander Grant," she looked at the older officer as he grumbled and pouted like a child.
"I've been in this Navy for thirty years and I can't get a word in with an Admiral a fraction of my age," he complained.
Naomi hated it when this happened. She looked younger than she was, so officers very often talked to her as if she had no idea what was going on, like she was some half-wit assistant who hardly understood where she was and who she worked for.
If I actually gave a crap I'd shove my foot up your ass.
"Admiral Osman has served longer than you have, she simply looks youthful," said Naomi sternly.
Naomi watched the man flinch a minuscule amount. She had learned that many found her eye contact intimidating. Mal told her that her eyes were "kinda freaky." At first it had offended her, but now she just used it to whatever advantage she could. If it made obnoxious, entitled senior officers back down then she was fine with it.
Without another word the officer turned and went to the hallway she had pointed towards. She looked at the time on her watch and sighed.
1715, time to go home.
The day had seemed to go by so slowly and now that it was finally time to leave she felt anxious.
Tonight was the last night before Vaz deployed.
This will be good for his career, he'll sew on a stripe when he gets home and he's just running recon.
This was surely the fifth time she'd told herself that today. The fact that he had volunteered was difficult for her. He had asked her if he could go.
Even though she wanted to scream and say "No never leave," she knew she couldn't. She wanted what was best for him and for the UNSC as well.
She got in her car and went to the grocery store, purposely taking her time as she picked out ingredients for his favorite dinner.
She intended to make it a nice evening. Serin was in Africa for the weekend and Naomi was excited to have the house left to her and Vaz, even though she loved Serin's company and would never dream of living anywhere else.
She pulled up the drive and put the groceries in the kitchen. Then she went up to her bedroom and stared at the top drawer. She hadn't opened that drawer for months, and pathetically enough she still didn't really want to.
No. You promised yourself months ago that this was it. You can do this.
She inhaled shakily and put her hand on the drawer pull, opening the drawer slowly.
She stared for a moment at the drawer contents. After a moment, she finally pulled out a lacy bra and matching underwear.
She didn't know why she had bought them all those months ago, but she could always feel their presence in that top drawer somehow. They were a beautiful shade of soft gray that she found appealing and they were soft. She laid them out neatly on her bed and took off her clothes.
She looked at herself in the full length mirror. Her current undergarments were no-nonsense to say the least. Her panties sat just below her bellybutton and were off white with a wide band of elastic that had seen better days. She wore a white bralette with no wire and thick straps.
She watched in the mirror as she brought her hand to her breast and pushed it upwards out of curiosity. She had never even thought about her breasts before she'd started dating Vaz. They existed and didn't really serve any purpose her entire life.
Then she realized that for Vaz, and for many men, they were an obsession. He would stare at them. He touched them. He kissed them. She was pretty sure he thought about them. She liked how it felt when he touched them just fine, but she liked his touch pretty much anywhere.
She took off the bralette and underwear and put on the delicate, lacy, grey set after removing the tags.
The panties sat far lower than she was used to, right over her hipbones. They were also a lot more….revealing, in the back, though not like the thongs she had eyed warily in the store.
The bra was even stranger. It honestly functioned more like...a tiny shelf for her breasts, pushing them up and providing cleavage she'd never had. She laughed out loud at how silly she felt.
This is a stupid article of clothing. She turned to the side and looked at her profile in the mirror, running her hand over her obliques and abdomen.
She pulled the band of the bra up a little bit, trying to get used to how it felt. She turned and looked at herself again. She pulled her hair out of its bun and shook it out and ran her hand through it a few times, pulling iit over her shoulder.
He likes my hair this way. She smiled nervously as a warm, shy feeling came over her–she could see the blush rising in her cheeks in the mirror. She felt very uncomfortable but slightly….sexy, something she'd never really understood or thought about feeling.
She kind of liked it.
She grabbed a white tank top and a pair of black workout pants–she wasn't going to take this whole thing too far, she was still Naomi and didn't want to wear anything ridiculous after work, she liked to relax.
She walked back downstairs and started cooking dinner. She liked cooking, it was logical and intuitive at the same time. There was an order, there were ingredients but sometimes she added more of one thing, a little less of another and it was fun. She went and grabbed one of the nicer bottles of wine Serin had received as a gift from the Australian prime minister.
"Ooh that is good," she sighed after taking a sip.
I suppose there need to be a few benefits to being one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
She heard the door open as she was setting the table. Vaz was still in uniform. She really liked how he looked in uniform. It was something she hadn't appreciated at all until she had retired and wasn't wearing fatigues herself, but something about how well they fit him and even how he bloused his pants just made him look sharp. Sometimes she thought he looked more like the stereotypical image of a soldier than she did. He was strong and had a big scar on his face with his neat medium-reg haircut. She was muscular, yes, but she was also gangly and honestly a little awkward looking proportionally, or at least she thought so.
"Hello my zvezda," he said dropping his backpack unceremoniously on the ground with a loud thud.
She smiled. She loved when he called her that, his star. She leaned down and kissed him softly. She could tell he was surprised because he didn't kiss her back until right before she pulled away.
"Hi," she said softly, "dinner's almost done."
He looked at her. He expected a nice evening of them watching a movie and snuggling before he left tomorrow.
She is acting different.
She walked quickly to the kitchen and he saw that she had lit some candles. This was even stranger–she didn't grow up with candles or sit down dinner or anything like that, so she usually didn't pick up on many societal norms or even pay attention to them, but she had clearly and very deliberately set up something like a dinner date for them.
He felt a little unsettled.
"Are you okay?"
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, her hair whipping over her shoulder as she turned her head. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, you're right, let me go change and I'll be down for dinner, it smells wonderful," he said softly.
She had made his favorite dinner. He hadn't felt so special since he was a kid on his birthday.
"Naomi, that was amazing, I should deploy more often if I get meals like this."
She smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, you deserve something special before it's nutrition packs and chow hall for months on end," she laughed.
"God bless the Corps," he said sarcastically.
She didn't even bother doing the dishes, she would do them...after. After he was gone.
Stop that. Enjoy tonight.
"Movie?," she smiled, feeling a little forced.
"Yeah," he agreed softly, observing her somewhat anxious tone.
They sat on the couch and she immediately wrapped her arms around him. She rested her head on his shoulder like she usually did.
She wasn't paying attention to the movie even though it seemed entertaining enough. No, she was paying attention to how he smelled and how it felt to rest her head on his chest–the place between his shoulder and chin was the perfect place for her on him, she fit perfectly and felt comforted. She wanted to remember how his hand felt in hers and how safe she felt in this moment.
She hadn't even noticed the movie had ended.
"Naomi? Are you asleep?," he whispered.
"No," she replied softly, propping herself up. She moved close to him, until their noses were touching. He smiled softly, which was always a little strange on his normally dour looking face, but she still found it wonderful. She liked his eyes, they were a hazel greenish color, they always looked different to her depending on what he was wearing. She cupped his jaw with her hand and brushed her thumb over his cheek.
She kissed him softly. This time she knew he was expecting it. She really liked how he kissed. He was tender and she could really feel just how much he loved her, which was strange to her, strange for a physical action to convey such emotion, let alone love.
She pulled away from him when she heard his breathing start to get heavier, like he had just been running and his hands started grabbing more roughly.
"Can we go upstairs?," she asked lowly.
"If that is what you would like," he said, trying to compose himself a little. She nodded and grabbed his hand as she got off the couch, taking him with her.
He went into the bathroom and started brushing his teeth. She sat down on their bed; it really was their bed, he stayed over more often than he stayed at his flat with Mal. She ran a hand through her hair and couldn't help but feel on edge. She didn't know what to do, she couldn't believe that this day had finally come, that he was going to leave tomorrow.
This is it, Naomi, your last night with him.
She knew she was putting a lot of pressure on herself, but she just wanted….she wanted something normal, something happy to think about when he was gone. Not panic and tears, not anger and long-lost fathers, something just for them.
He came back into their room with his shirt off, clad only in his boxers. He twisted at the waist to crack his back, groaning as the bones popped.
"Are you sore?," she asked, slightly concerned.
"A little, ran 10k in full gear, which I'm sure makes you laugh but I think I'm getting old," he joked.
Naomi chuckled. "Don't say that, I'm 12 years older than you!," she smiled.
"No, you work hard, I won't laugh at your pansy 10k with 80 pounds of gear," she teased him, her tone slightly devious for her.
He smirked. "You'll have to show me up sometime and I can see how it's really done."
She sat behind him and started to rub his shoulders. He groaned.
"Ahhh, Naomi," he closed his eyes and felt her rub where she knew took the brunt of his field gear. He continued to praise her to the point where she was laughing whole-heartedly at how ridiculous he was being.
"I'm the luckiest man in the world," he sighed as she dug her thumb into his lower back, working on a knot.
"And I am the luckiest woman," she said into his ear as she rested her chin on his shoulder.
He scoffed. It made her frown. He had a relatively low opinion of himself. She knew he was very conscious of the scar on his face and was bitter about how he hadn't made rank in years despite exemplary performance. Naomi knew that it wasn't his fault, cutting scores could be a bitch for Marines and despite the fact that plenty of Marines had died, it was usually the lower enlisted instead of the senior enlisted, leaving less spots to fill and more lower billets that needed manning.
"No," she protested and turned his head to her, "I really am," she said softly. She stopped rubbing his back and kissed him the soft way that she knew.
She loved his stubble–he always shaved in the morning but by the end of the day his face was scratchy again and she loved how it felt. She very intentionally deepened their kiss and he put his hand up her tank top, tracing the outline of her stomach muscles like she knew he liked. Hell, she enjoyed it.
Learning to enjoy sexual feelings and touches had been difficult. It took so much vulnerability, so many inhibitions she was forced to let go. She hadn't been trained that way. She'd been trained to block everything out, to put others first, to remain unmovable, to kill desire for duty.
She didn't have a duty anymore, and even if she had, she didn't want it. She was done with it. She'd had enough for lifetimes.
He traced up her stomach slowly and reached up to her stopped kissing her and pulled away.
"What is this?," he said asked, feeling the lacy texture of the bra. A huge smile overtook her face and she said something that she never could have imagined herself saying a few months ago:
"Take off my shirt and see."
She felt like all of her blood rushed to her head after she'd said that. She was so embarrassed at her boldness but also proud, proud of herself for trying to be even be the littlest bit seductive.
She sat up and let him pull her tank top over her head. She watched his eyes widen and she smiled. It made her feel flustered but very flattered.
"When did you get that?," he asked, finally speaking after moments of simply staring. He ran his hand over her decolletage slowly, his calloused fingertips leaving goosebumps on her skin.
"A few months ago, took me some time to work up the nerve to actually wear it," she chuckled nervously.
He shook his head incredulously.
"Woman, the things I have seen you do and you are afraid of...lace?," he laughed. She giggled but stopped when he leaned in to kiss her neck, her laugh turning into a breathy sigh.
"Mmm," she hummed pleasantly. It was strange, the feelings that she felt when he kissed her. She loved the attention, but mostly it was his intensity about everything. He kissed and touched her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered, like water after a day without or warmth after a blizzard.
She also had to admit, she enjoyed his body. She liked how rough his skin was and how it felt when his muscles flexed beneath her hands. He was strong and she liked that, she liked the ridges on his abdomen and she couldn't particularly place why.
He pulled away and looked at her, smiling slightly. He was doing that a lot this evening.
"Vasya," she said, her voice breathy and unfamiliar to her, but she felt short on breath.
"Hmm?," he hummed distractedly, his lips kissing her cheeks and neck lazily.
"I want you," she said quietly.
"You already have me," he murmured against her shoulder.
She shook her head. "No, I want to be with you."
He stopped. He pulled away from her and sat up.
"Naomi, I'll be back, we don't have to do anything because I'm leaving–"
"That's not why," she interrupted quickly. He looked at her skeptically.
"Well," she sat up and put her hands in her lap, "it is part of it, but I think that's natural. No, Vasya it's...I feel ready, I want to be close to you."
"We are already close."
She couldn't stand that expression. It was how he always looked when he felt sorry for her, when he thought of her Father and everything she'd missed out on.
I'm tired of missing out. That's not who I am anymore.
"But not as close as we could be," she leaned forward and put her hand on his chest. She watched his eyes dart down to her breasts and quickly back to her eyes, clearly trying to avoid how she looked in the lingerie.
Now or never, Naomi. Don't choke.
She swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke.
"I have shared more of myself with you than I have ever shared with anyone in my life," she exhaled shakily, willing herself to keep talking even though she was more nervous than she had ever been.
"I want to be close to you physically, but most of all," she pulled him close to her, pressing her breasts against his chest as boldly as she could muster, surprising herself with how much she actually enjoyed the sensation. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, his eyes wide and his breathing a little shallow.
"Most of all," she repeated, "I want to make a choice. I want to do something with my body for me. Not for the UNSC or humanity," she said angrily. She had his attention, he was staring at her with wide eyes, clearly shocked at what she was saying.
I don't want to scare him.
She shook her head and frowned, trying to calm herself down a little bit.
"I want to use my body to love you, and I want you to show me how much you love me," she said quietly, her voice shaking.
There. I've said it. You've tried, there's nothing else you can do.
She could feel the silence between them. Right before she was about to give up and let her shame overwhelm her completely, he spoke.
"Okay," he said quietly.
She felt surprised. She couldn't believe that he actually wanted her, despite his repeated declarations of love and acceptance, his devotion and affection, she hadn't been sure if he had viewed her that way–as an equal, as a partner, let alone as a lover.
"Really?," she asked him, her voice reflecting her slight disbelief.
He nodded. "But you need to tell me if you want me to stop. I don't want to do anything you don't want me to."
She nodded.
"I promise," she whispered, her lips close to his, "please, show me, show me how you love me," she said even more quietly. Her entire body was trembling with a strange combination of fear and excitement.
He kissed her. She felt so nervous but at the same time so excited.
She was surprised that through the entire experience, she was able to stay completely present in the moment. So many times in her life had she drifted off to somewhere far, far away. She didn't really know where she drifted to, it had just become a coping mechanism, a way to deal with the pain and suffering she'd endured her entire life. It had started as a young child and continued with her through her hastened adolescence and the surgeries that she'd endured. During intense physical exertion and gunshot wounds it became her best friend, her sanctuary outside of herself, a way to be far, far away from whatever particular hell she'd been experiencing that day.
In these times of peace, it was difficult to stop drifting. It'd been her only refuge before, and now that her life was something short of an absolute mess, she actually wanted to be present. There'd be times where she'd been staring off into space for what had felt like a few moments but she'd realize she'd been gone for an hour. Gone to where she'd never been quite sure, but it was strange, so hard to differentiate from the past and the present
This was different though. Everything was so...tactile, so real. She clutched at his arms and his back. She felt his breath on her neck and both of their hearts pounding in their chests. She didn't even need to try to be in a moment with him, she was there and it was more than she could've ever anticipated, how overwhelmingly wonderful it was to be with him. She wanted so badly to trust, she desperately wanted to believe that someone could want her for who she was instead of what she could do for them.
She couldn't doubt any more how he felt, all the months of doubt and fear felt silly now. It was absurd to think he felt anything besides pure, genuine love for her. From his kisses to the way he looked into her eyes as he moved over her, she knew that he just wanted her for who she was. She had never felt so normal yet so gloriously alive.
He ran a hand through her hair and traced lazy circles on her stomach. She had never been completely naked with him, at least not in bed or both of them naked together.
"Thank you," she said to him softly.
"You do not need to thank me for anything," he murmured against her forehead, pressing a kiss on her hairline.
"I do. Thank you for loving me for me," she inhaled shakily, "thank you for letting me love you," her voice cracked.
He watched a tear roll down her cheek. It was such a common misconception that Spartans simply didn't feel the way everyone else did, that they were somehow stunted or just plain wrong that way. He couldn't imagine a greater lie. Maybe they tried to tell themselves that and maybe the rest of the UNSC wanted to believe it, but he knew it was a falsehood. She felt things deeply with a frightening intensity. He wiped the tear from her cheek and kissed her.
"Now you have to know that I love you, can't have a doubt in that head of yours," he chuckled. She laughed softly, snuggling further into his embrace.
I'm afraid for him to leave.
Feeling fear was difficult. She had never allowed herself to feel fear. She always got rid of it, tucked it somewhere far away and did whatever she needed to do.
Now there was nowhere to hide it. She couldn't shove it in a corner and forget about it in gunfire and adrenaline. She had to deal with it. More importantly, she couldn't let him know how much it was affecting her. She needed him to go with no regrets.
She didn't want to sleep, but she knew he needed his rest. She turned off the lights and he was quickly sleeping, but not before he told her he loved her again sleepily.
She didn't sleep the whole night, she simply spent the night trying to memorize and catalogue every detail about him. She could see just as well in the darkness as she did with light so it was easy for her to see every freckle or scar.
I need this so when he is gone I will never forget a single thing about him.
That was her biggest fear, forgetting even the tiniest detail about him. He was too important for that. Her world couldn't go on if she couldn't remember his jawline, every mole, every scar and detail.
She had so much love and support from Serin and the rest of Kilo-5 but it just wasn't the same. He was her comfort, her other half and her home.
In a few short hours, his alarm went off.
She watched him snap out of bed the way only good, solid military indoctrination could produce. He started getting dressed and she watched him some extra pairs of socks. He paused.
"You folded these," he said looking at the perfectly round sock ball.
She laughed and nodded.
"I can't unfold this, it's perfect," he said in mock awe. He tucked it away carefully in his backpack as if it were something precious.
"Sometimes if I could tell Serin was feeling stressed I would go and roll her t-shirts as a joke. She was really bad at rolling shirts," she said quietly as she got up and put on some comfortable clothes. She had the day off to take Vaz to the installation for departure.
She was quiet when they loaded the car and started to drive. She could feel herself starting to feel panicked. When they got on base she realized something.
"Vasya, we didn't use any...what if I'm pregnant?," Her heart was pounding. She didn't want to be pregnant but she hadn't even thought about it.
"Dorogaya, don't worry, I just got my shot and I'm no Spartan so I should be shooting blanks, so to speak," he chuckled.
Relief flooded her and she sighed.
She was able to walk out to the ship he would depart on. There were entire families and plenty of weeping people. These people were used to saying goodbye to their loved ones when the Covenant was killing people by the millions. Even though that wasn't the case this time, this deployment should be relatively safe in comparison, they still couldn't forget. Naomi understood their anxiety.
In the past she had always felt a little strange at things like this-she had had no weeping family or pictures of loved ones. Now she was on the other side and she could fully appreciate how difficult this was. She wouldn't cry in front of him though. She would be fine, he was a Marine and Marines deployed, it's what they did.
They were getting a few looks from people and she knew it was because of her. She stuck out and it made her uncomfortable, but she wouldn't let it ruin her last moments with him.
"I'll contact you when I can, probably when we achieve our first orbit."
She nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, she was too afraid her voice would crack or something equally humiliating. She felt awkward and she felt like retreating, doing anything she could to protect herself from the hurt she knew she was about to feel.
She didn't want to kiss him in front of so many people so she settled for a stiff hug. He understood, he knew things like this made her anxious so he just held her tightly enough for the both of them.
She watched him walk to the ship. He didn't turn around and look at her. She knew that was too difficult. She walked back to the car and stared off into space for an uncertain amount of time.
Come back to me Vasya. You need to come back to me.
Don't know when next update will be, but I'm getting my groove back. :) We've got quite a bit of Naomi coming up, but I'm going to try and break it up with other characters and POVs too, like to change it up. See you guys later, please review it brightens my day. :)