The Seraph's Broken Wings
By: Sinead

Chapter Three

Author's Note: Fluff chapter! Yeay! Fluffy! We get back to the plot after this one, and this explains some things, so you might want to read it all the way through. And yes, I know, John is a little OOC, but deal with it. He's been stressing with Willow for two-and-a-half years, and so his personality must have changed even the slightest bit while helping her. So humor me and read this, 'kay? Thanks!

John had continually looked in upon his sleeping daughter as they traveled from what had been America's capitol to Boston. Miranda had watched his face each time, seeing his still-incredulous expression as he studied the small infant. Sighing, he sat back again, then glanced at Phaedra, and finally looked at Miranda, seeing that she had been watching him with a smile the entire time. Aidon was asleep beside her, his head upon her lap while her hand rested upon his shoulder. "She's fine."

Phaedra sneezed, and John jumped to look at her, seeing her shift slightly before sighing, never once opening her eyes. He heard the once-Vice-Admiral's kind chuckle, and rubbed at his face. "I don't know what to do . . ."

"That's all right. I'll help you."

John looked at his hands, large and formidable. "How will we do this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everything about this assignment is strange. I don't know how to lead a civilian life. I don't know how to do civilian things. I'm military. Always have been. I don't remember much from before I was conscripted into the Spartan program." His gaze came up to meet hers. "I still don't even know how to really act around any female who isn't Spartan, Spartan-material, or in the military."

Keyes smiled, her face sad. "I know. Don't think I haven't seen it."

"Tell me what to do."

"I can't. You have to learn how to do things on your own."

"I don't understand."

She shook her head. "No worries." Sighing, the younger woman shrugged. "What about the sleeping situation?"

John cleared his throat, causing Keyes to laugh. "I know you've had it hard with the last one, but don't worry about it. You sleep where you want to. I've already been to the house, and it's large enough so that you can hide from whoever you don't want to see." Smiling, the woman relaxed just that bit further into her seat. "And it doesn't matter to me. This is an assignment of sorts for me, too. I'm retired from being a Vice-Admiral, but not from the military in general."

John let his sigh blow forth almost silently, seeing that the woman he would be sharing a house and a life with . . . she shared his sorrow. She didn't reach out, didn't move to touch him, didn't do anything to push at his boundaries, but he saw her compassion and sympathy in her gaze.

It was then that he knew that it might be easier than he had first thought.

The phone dialed instantly, and John gently shifted Phaedra in his arms, still trying to soothe her. The line picked up, and Willow's groggy voice snapped, "No, I'm not letting you–"

"It's John."

Her sigh was deep and profound. "ONI wants to relocate us, but we're fighting it." She paused. "Phaedra?"

"Not a happy child. And Keyes–"

"Miranda. You live with her, and you don't have to be formal about it. C'mon, John, you've called me Willow for the longest time. Can't you learn to be as informal with her?"

He winced. ". . . Miranda, then. She's out with her son, getting him some new clothing."

A wail broke out on the other end, an unearthly howl that caused Willow to turn the receiver away and roar out, "Sibilee!"

The howl stopped instantly.

John laughed silently, hearing Willow sigh and come back to their conversation. "Sib annoys Yukae within an inch of her life, and when she retaliates . . . he gets noisy about it."

"They're twins. So help me with this little bundle of problems."

"Checked her diaper?"

"Yes. Twice."

"Tried feeding her?"

"She didn't want it."

"Burped her?"

"Before she took her nap."

A contemplative silence filled Willow's end, ending with, "Try walking with her. You know how to do that."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Call me back. Either way, call me back."

"I will. Thank you."

Her chuckle was soft. "No, John, I'll always be thanking you. You've always helped me fix my own problems."

They each signed off, and John looked at the fussing infant. "Little one, you seem to be more trouble than you are truly worth." Walking from room to room, he calmed his mind, trying not to react to her complaining. Stopping, sighing, he looked at her, seeing the young beauty apparent in her face, waiting for age to unfold it. And his voice was gentle. "You're going to be beautiful and fierce. Just like your mother. Please, it'll be all right, don't cry . . ."

She continued, and John shifted her so that she was in a slightly different angle, and sighed, jiggling her slightly, remembering how Willow had taught him to do, how to calm children. He couldn't make the same soothing noises, his voice hardened to a gruff gravelly tone from years of battle and screaming battle commands, but he tried. Eventually, he found himself in Miranda's room, and stopped. After two weeks, he was completely unpacked, his room neat and tidy, but hers . . .

There were still boxes in the corners. Anything that had been unpacked was where it should be, not one ounce of clutter lining a level surface, but . . . it was empty. She only unpacked the vital things.

He would have left the room to walk around some more, but . . .

Miranda didn't call out that she was home as she hefted her sleeping son into the house. Both of them were exhausted by all the tramping around to different stores to buy clothing, and she needed to put him to his bed and take a nap of her own before she unpacked the car.

Aidon was tucked in, shifting only slightly as he was laid in bed, and the raven-haired woman was curious as to why the house was so silent. John was still here, because his car was in the garage, the baby's traveling bag and gear still by the door in case of need . . . He wasn't in his room on the first floor . . .

She shook her head, walking up the stairs into the master bedroom, which John had insisted that she have.

And stopped, smiling at the sight of the hulking man completely unconscious on one side of her large bed, breathing deeply. Phaedra was lying upon his chest, as asleep as he was, her breathing lighter and quicker. Miranda walked closer, and leaned over John, resting her hands upon his shoulders so as not to have him jump to complete wakefulness. His eyes opened in a flash, but he blinked a few times, remembering where he was. The woman whispered, "Your shoes are still on."

He winced, remembering belatedly her pet peeve, and was about to move when she shook her head, indicating Phaedra. "She's out for the count, Chief. I wouldn't move if I were you."

"But . . ."

"I'll take care of the shoes, you stay put."

"But I can't let you do that . . ."

"You can, and will." She smiled. "Besides. We live together, right? We're supposed to help each other. I'm taking a nap after I get those . . ." She sniffed. "Ugh. I hope that they don't stink." Shaking her head, she move to the end of the bed, pulling the boots off with ease. "I'm starting to wonder how Cortana survived you."

John felt a slow smile reach across his face at the mention of the hibernating AI. Miranda looked to his face, then crawled into the bed beside him, resting her head upon her arm and reaching over to trace the line of Phaedra's cheek. "I miss Willow."

The Master Chief felt the smile fade. "I do too. She knows what to do with children. I'm hopeless." Miranda looked at him, and he sighed, looking away. "And . . . you can call me John. Not everyone has to call me by my rank."

"As long as you call me Miranda, and not Keyes."

Protocol screamed at him for that, but he suppressed it. This was a new situation. And new situations called for new tactics and strategies. Nodding, he replied, "I can do that."

"Thank you."

He rested his hand upon his face, still trying to adjust to this new life. A smaller hand rested over his own, pulling herself closer so her body rested snugly against his side. He looked at Miranda, seeing her solemn eyes.

And knew that things would get better.

"Hey. Wake up."

John snapped into full consciousness, reflex causing him to sit up as he did so. And wince as he looked to Miranda. Both of them had come to the conclusion that sleeping in separate rooms while making neighbors think that they were a married couple . . . well . . . it didn't work out so well. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up, but I wanted to run something by you."

Shaking his head, relaxing his pose, he moved so that she could look at him easier. "All right; what is it?"

"They're talking."

"Who?"

"The neighbors."

He frowned. "Why?"

She held up her left hand, then indicated his. "The lack of ring, methinks?"

"Ah."

And it hit him completely, causing him to groan and hold his head on his hands. "Come out and say it straight next time." Rubbing at hair that he knew he should allow to grow out to a civilian length, but couldn't stand it while it did so, he sighed. "What are you suggesting?"

"I . . ."

His hand had gone up as he leapt out of the bed, silencing her. A combat knife was in his hands as he stalked out of the room, checking the children's rooms. Something had made a noise out here, and it wasn't Aidon. It was bigger, heavier, and wore boots. Miranda stood at the door to their room, watching as he had gone from listening to her as an equal, then instantaneously switching into battle mode without batting an eye or faltering.

Not needing the light, John whirled, pinning the intruder and resting the edge of the knife against the back of the Elite's neck. "Who are you."

"Leader. Get off. We have to talk."

John stood with a massive sigh. "Never sneak in here unless you want to die."

He flicked a light on, motioning for Miranda that it was all right, and she was beside him. The Elite didn't hesitate in opening the conversation. "I'm the only one allowed to meet with you face-to-face at this time. They wanted secure information to pass between our groups, and I was the one who volunteered." He gave an indication of a shrug, then set into the message. "Arbiter was given back his full birth-name. As you know, his family name was reinstated by the Council when he applied for his marriage with Willow. But now the High Council have finally allowed him to call himself by the name he was given at birth."

"Took them long enough," John growled softly. "What is it?"

"Torilian."

"What does it mean?" Miranda asked. "It must mean something serious and important if he's only gotten it back now."

"Smart woman you are," Leader commented, clicking his mandible in appreciative humor. "It comes from the words 'torril' and 'ilian,' respectively meaning 'warrior's soul' and 'freedom,' roughly translating into 'forever fly free, warrior.' It is a good name."

"It means something serious."

"It does. He will never be broken. The Prophet that had overseen the birthings of that day had a vision, and he immediately went to Arbiter's family, telling them of harsh trials that would happen to their child, warning them just before he was born."

"A . . . Prophet?"

"Not all Prophets are overzealous."

John sighed. "What has this to do with anything?"

"That Prophet came back. He's at ONI, and has seen the Arbiter already. He is old, but still strong." Leader stretched his shoulder. "And he has foreseen something horrible happening. Arbiter sent me to tell you, as he cannot come himself."

"What's he planning?"

"If anything happens to him and to Willow, then I would bring the twins and the other two of the triplets here, to you, and you would have full permission to explain everything that you could. Since Arbiter is now of a higher rank than I am, I insisted that he order me to do so. He complied."

"What else brings you here?" Miranda asked.

Leader held out a medium-sized box. "I'm bringing these to you. Willow and Arbiter insisted."

John took the box, opening it to reveal pictures. The first one he saw was of Willow before she gave birth, smiling tiredly, Arbiter and John turning towards the camera. Miranda chuckled. "I remember taking that one." She moved it out of the way, seeing the better picture of the two. "And I remember this one. That's a good picture of you, John."

Leader melted into the shadows again. "I'll be back whenever you need something to go to them, or if they need to give you something. Farewell."

"John–"

"I can't! It's . . . you know how much of a breach of protocol it is!"

"We're not in the public's eye anymore."

Pacing silently, John turned the situation over in his head again. "So this all comes down to the matter of a ring."

"More than that, and you know it."

Making a noise of agreement, the man stopped pacing, turning towards the woman sitting upon the bed. Their whispered argument wasn't enough to wake either of the children. He sighed, sitting beside her. "So you would do this out of necessity." He saw the gold ring she still wore upon her left hand, then shook his head. "And I know that you're not looking forward to marrying again. You don't want to worry about losing another husband."

"I can deal with it."

John stood and paced again. Sometimes, sitting still did nothing for his mind. He had to move. His mind whirled. "But what would . . ." Stopping, he looked at Miranda. "Wait. The UNSC will be expecting this. They knew that something like this would happen."

"Definitely."

"And?"

She shrugged. "And what, John? Things aren't what they had been before. I can't raise Aidon on my own, and I don't think that you want to raise Phaedra on your own." Her eyes pleaded with him.

He sagged, sitting before her on the floor, all procedure put on the back burner. He didn't have to be all military-type with Miranda. She was right. He couldn't be the perfect military-man and raise a daughter. She needed a gentle touch, a careful hand . . . not rules set in stone. And she needed a mother. Or would need one, when times changed. "Miranda, why didn't you just tell me that you wanted a bedmate? That would have shut me up at the very beginning."

Snorting, laughing incredulously, she looked at him. "That's not exactly what I had expected you to say."

The Master Chief shrugged. "Sometimes Willow needed to hear something of humanity from someone who wasn't treated as one. Two years of helping her live and keeping her spirits relatively fine . . . well . . . it's changed me."

"I can tell."

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"You think I'd want to? I didn't want you to leave. And you would have."

"Not true. I've more sense and honor than that."

Miranda smiled, nodding. "Yeah, you do." Leaning forward, she brushed the slightly-longer hair askew on his forehead, seeing how a few strands would clump together and stand straight up. Smiling wider, she thought it was attractive around his unexpressive face, showing a younger side of him that she wouldn't have seen before. "How old are you, really?"

He sighed. "Almost forty-five. Why?"

"Oh. I was only wondering."

"Uh-huh. Your age?"

"Thirty-four."

He rubbed at his face, then stood, hearing the first cries of Phaedra demanding another feeding. He stood without another word and walked into the infant's room, telling her that he was coming, calming her that slight bit with the familiarity of his voice. Picking her up and walking to the kitchen, he heard Miranda follow him, then stop behind him, gripping his shirt in her hands and resting her forehead against his back while he heated the bottle. Once it was done, he turned slowly, holding Phaedra in one arm, the bottle in that hand, and with his free arm he encircled her shoulders, holding the woman to his side and leading her back to the room. In silence they sat together, John feeding the little one, burping her expertly after a month of doing so, and then let her drift off to sleep again. Once she was back in her crib, and John was back in the room, he looked at Miranda, and she watched him back, seeing how he didn't even seem to blink. Finally her voice came. "Are you all right?"

"Not really."

"What is it?"

"Phaedra . . . she needs a mother."

"Aidon needs a father."

He pulled her into a firm embrace, and felt her trembling with her tears. His voice was as soft as it would ever get as he spoke to her. "It's been almost three years since you lost your husband."

"Tomorrow's the anniversary of the day he died."

"I know."

"I don't want to be alone again."

"That, too, I know. And you're not. Not while I'm here, Miranda."

Her teary midnight gaze moved slowly up until they were watching each other again. He pulled her into another embrace, whispering, "Let's try to make this work. Just you and me and the kids. There has to be a way to raise 'em right, and . . . I don't know how else to put it. Both need a married mother and father. You know that. I know that." He sighed. "So let's try to make it work. We'll go in tomorrow for the papers."

She nodded against his shoulder, whispering, "Thank you."

The Spartan closed his eyes, replying in the same tone, "We'll make this work. I know we will. Somehow. There'll be a way."

"You never lose, John. Either there'll be a way, or you'll make one."

He murmured something hardly appropriate, and Miranda blinked, rubbing at her eyes before looking back up at him. "Tell me that you didn't just say what I think you said."

"Oh, I did."

"You're starting to sound a lot like Arbiter."

"Is that good?"

"That's fantastic."

She giggled, suddenly too tired to care, and felt as he lifted her to the head of her bed, asking softly, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"How about every night? And how about all that 'staying with me' implies."

He responded the way she had hoped he would.

The phone ringing awoke John the next morning, and, growling, he reached out from under warm covers to pick it up, his voice raspy from sleep. "Hello?"

"'S me."

"Willow, what time is it?"

"Five-a.m. I know, I know, you shouldn't be up at this time, but I figure that I should warn you that–"

"Today's the anniversary of Miranda's husband's death. I know. We do happen to talk once in a while."

A short pause. "That's almost sarcastic. You never use sarcasm."

"I'm learning how to. It's coming in handy."

"Hah. So how are things going?"

"Phaedra's getting closer to a full night's sleeping routine. From what Miranda says, that's not entirely normal until the child is beyond their first eighteen months."

"Yeah. That's what I figured, too. Pandora and baby John are the same. They're months ahead of where they should be, mentally. It's almost like Kay and Sib, how quickly they're progressing."

"Odd."

"It's from your side, I swear. That and their temper–"

"That's yours."

"So what were you two talking about?"

"Hardly any of your business, Willow."

"Marriage."

Growling softly, he sighed. "How'd'ja guess?"

"Instinct. And you're slipping back into speech that you used as a kid, aren't you."

"Oddly enough, yes." He stretched, the muscles between his shoulders rippling and bunching then releasing easily. "What did you want to know?"

"Are you two going to marry?"

"It's the easiest thing to do. And when we do get married . . . she wants to adopt Phaedra."

"I was going to suggest that. Are you adopting Aidon?"

"Hold on, here. You don't mind her adopting your daughter?"

"Did you mind it when Arbiter adopted Dor and John?"

"No."

"There's your answer."

Miranda rolled over with a sigh, leaning into John's warm side. "Who're you on the phone with?"

An evil snicker erupted into the Master Chief's ear, accompanied with, "Ah. That explains why you were quieter than usual. You were busy last night."

The woman in the bed beside John sighed, laughing, overhearing the voice and taking the phone from the man she was going to marry. "'Morning, Willow. You never told me what a fun guy John was in bed. I'm insulted that you wouldn't want to share some secrets."

His indignant splutter gave Willow and Miranda a good laugh, and he finally stood, snarling, "I'm taking a shower." He glared partially at Miranda. "And don't join me. I'm capable of–"

Phaedra wailed.

"Of what, dear?" the ex-Vice-Admiral asked sweetly.

"Taking care of my daughter, that's what." He pulled jeans on, then walked to Phaedra's room.

Miranda smiled, leaning back in the bed. "We're going to marry. And–"

"Adopt Phaedra. Be the mother to her that I can't be. You'll raise her well," the solemn, smooth voice of the Sergeant-Major cut in. "Send the papers to me and I'll sign them. You need a daughter, and he needs a son. Don't worry about anything."

"Willow, you're too much."

"I know."

"Why are you insisting on this?"

"John insisted that Arbiter adopt our children. Said that it was best for the family. And I'm doing the same, because you need the best for your family, too."

Miranda sighed. "Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish that we had a choice about moving away."

"I know."

Silence, broken only by a soft, soothing murmuring. Miranda told Willow to be quiet for a moment longer, and, wrapping a robe around herself, she walked over to Phaedra's door, turning the volume up so the woman in old Washington DC could hear how the father of her children soothed the eldest. And when he looked through the door, he smiled, pulling Miranda into an embrace, feeling her hold the phone up to his ear, listening as Willow sniffled on the other end.

And his words were gentle. "I'll always love you, Willow. In a way that's safe for you and me and Miranda and . . . Torilian. Arbiter. Nothing is greater to me than your willingness to carry the triplets– and to let me raise one. She's wonderful. Beautiful. Like you. Strong." His breath caught in his throat once, but he suppressed it. "I'll always take good care of her. I'll never let her down."

"Thank you," came the whispered reply. "Thank you. I needed to hear you speak to her."

"I know you did. Willow?"

"Yeah, John?"

"I can't wait to see the other two again. Whenever that may be." He drew in a massive breath, holding it as if he could hold the tears back. "Because I'll need to see how my children are doing every once in a while. I'll need to love them, to show them that I love them."

"You . . . sap!" she replied, laughing and crying all at once. "You completely soppy old man!" Her laugh was sad, now. "I'll remember that. Don't worry. We'll see each other soon."

"Yeah, Willow. Soon."