I should be writing something else, and I'm doing this instead.
Right after the ending of Halo: Infinite, so there may be a few spoilers, probably.
NAP TIME
It seemed absurd to be considering some shut-eye barely twelve hours back into the grinder, especially after six months of blackout.
But, being realistic, what else could they do? John could read the signs of exhaustion. Even if Esparza's mood had improved with the latest victory, the man was still an ordinary civilian. He seemed quite inclined to be helpful -maybe as a coping mechanism to fight his own despair-, but two things played against his better judgment: fatigue and torture. The torture alone was a factor heavy enough to settle down the Master Chief's internal debate, something he made himself and himself alone responsible for.
The pilot needed a thorough medical scan, drugs and rest.
Esparza wasn't a Spartan and he had endured enough.
The AI pointed out an appropriate flat rock to settle down the bird, near the edge of a cliff. It seemed stable enough to sustain their weight and peer down the ledge to the FOB below in case something went awry. John had already crossed out every possible excuse he could find to deny himself this, which meant there was nothing else to do but to prepare.
Well, incorrect. If the lack of leadership hindered them, the Banished would take some time to reorganize and that sort of advantage was a gift. John was counting on some turmoil, to be honest, some internal fight over who was supposed to call the shots next. But the reality was that the enemy wasn't defeated yet, their forces still controlled most of the ring. The Spartan knew that the first thing he needed to do, aside from fortifying defenses, was try and find more UNSC survivors. Or the wreckage of the Infinity, if there was anything left to find.
So, there was a lot he should be doing.
But, then again, the Master Chief had overlooked a minor detail: he wasn't alone.
"This place looks quiet enough." Esparza commented, through the radio.
"Good. Get some rest."
"Really? It feels kind of wrong to sleep when you did all the work."
John smirked a little behind the golden faceplate.
"You'll take the next watch."
This seemed to content the pilot, he didn't protest the decision.
He wasn't alone in the fight, not anymore. The Banished weren't the only ones scrambling back to their feet: there had to be more Spartans out there, still fighting, gathering Marines and securing positions. John repeated this to himself. Not everything was lost, there was hope.
The Master Chief exited the Pelican and stood outside, under the purple starry night. If one observed close enough, it was easy to see the pattern of celestial bodies moving slowly with the spin of the ring. No heavy clouds on sight.
The vertical curve of the horizon cast a dark shadow across the firmament.
After a few minutes, he asked:
"Is he asleep?"
"He's snoring." the AI replied in his ear, the shadow of a giggle adorned her voice.
John grunted his approval.
"Want to hear the latest gossip of the Banished battle net while we wait?"
"Sure. It won't hurt."
She seemed to need constant chatter to feel relevant.
In another time, this would've been irritating, but right now he welcomed it.
The voice absent for so long was a blessing that, although it stung a little, brought him comfort. She probably could read all about it in his stats. Over the following hours, the AI recited the most important pieces of information she gathered from the enemy communications, which pretty much was what John expected: turmoil. Mentions of Spartans raiding Banished camps. Veiled admissions about heavily fortified UNSC crash-sites. Several names that sounded like minor Chieftains came up often in irate conversations, but nothing definitive. She kept track of everything with incredible passion, dedicated to her duty. On one hand, it was reassuring to John: he wasn't wasting valuable time but investing in the well-being of the pilot and ultimately, on the mission. Sometimes you just had to take a step back and observe, gather intel.
On the other hand, maybe it was a good exercise for the AI as well; getting to be useful again after six months of waiting. Idle. Alone. Confused. With nothing to do but think.
And hope for the best.
John squared his jaw. If seven years was all she had, six months of nothing probably were a good chunk of lost time for her. But the AI hadn't brought that up yet.
Was he supposed to say he was sorry, or something?
"Chief, are you okay?" her timid voice yanked him back.
"Yes. Is that everything?"
"So far. I'll keep you posted if there are any updates."
He nodded. "Alright, time to wake him up."
"Do you really want me to?"
John blinked, unfazed at first, and turned his palm up. She showed up instantly.
"I mean, his wounds are mostly fine, but Esparza looks like he could use some extra rest. Who knows when there will be another chance." she said, shrugging a little. "Besides, I can keep an eye on everything. I'll ping you if something comes up."
The AI was looking up at him with a friendly smile.
The Master Chief sighed.
"Let him sleep two more hours." he conceded, after a brief consideration. "This bird needs some repairs."
She smiled wider, tapped her heels together. "Of course, Chief. Leave it to me."
The Spartan moved into the Pelican again and found a comfortable spot near the cockpit, a cozy corner with a good view of the exit ramp. Anyone approaching would have to get in his line of sight if they wanted a proper shot at him. It would have to do. Sitting down after sixteen hours felt like heaven; his strained muscles protested in rapid succession, snapping one after another, yet the relief settled in quickly as well. John lowered the rifle, placing it across his thighs but careful to keep a finger hovering near the trigger. Just in case.
What else? Nothing. He had nothing else to do. Just close his eyes.
Drowsiness was already kicking in.
"Wake me up in four hours."
The cheerful voice chirped in his ear: "Will do!"
Thank goodness he could fall asleep anywhere, under any circumstances.
John leaned back against the titanium wall and closed his eyes. Five, four, three, two…
"Chief?"
He hummed, prompting her to keep going. Eyes still closed.
"Who do you think is going to be in charge next?"
"What's your assessment?" he mumbled.
"Why, Hellios has the best chances. He has a strong following." she commented.
"Aulus and Decimus seem popular too."
"Ugh. Yeah, I know, right? After they captured that frigate, the Unggoy can't shut up about them. They're young and new, if they pull another feat like that they might become relevant. For now, I'm keeping them in the low scores."
John remained quiet for two seconds.
"You're keeping a score?" he quipped.
"Of course. It helps me to make more accurate predictions."
"Right."
The Spartan took a deep breath and tried to relax, again, propping his head back.
"Sidonius is a strong competitor." she spoke again, after a short while. "He's got all the big words and the tough-guy attitude, you know? Promising that he will bring them the head of the Demon and avenge Escharum." the AI giggled, amused. "I could tell you where he is right now, if you want to have a word with him about his promises."
John opened his eyes. Frowned a little.
No, it wasn't the suggestion -because it was a smart suggestion, and if she had the location of a minor Chieftain then they should do something about it-. Were the previous orders not clear enough? He did say all the right words.
"That won't be necessary yet."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't think he's bragging loud enough."
Her cheerful tone sure was uplifting:
"I'll put a pin on it, just in case. Well, not a literal pin. You get what I mean."
"What time is it?"
The Master Chief didn't have to ask, one look at the corner of his display would provide any information he wanted to see. But it was a polite way to give her a hint.
"Oh-four-thirteen, standard."
"Wake me up at oh-six-hundred, then."
"Sure thing!"
Alright. He sighed and closed his eyes once more, hoping to drift away quickly.
This might as well be it. Almost there. The weight of fatigue in his bones started to lift just when the darkness behind his eyelids began to churn and clear up to a fuzzy image. Blue skies. A forest. Cool air. The sound of a stream nearby. Birds. Warmth.
Peace and quiet.
The beat of his heart slowed down a little.
"Chief, are you hungry?"
John opened his eyes. Slowly.
"No."
"Well, you're running low on sugar. Nutrition is very important."
"I know that." he tried not to sound too sharp.
"You could eat a breakfast bar or two, we gathered fresh supplies from the last FOB."
"I'll eat later. Don't worry."
"And you're dehydrated too. I mean, six months in space…"
The Master Chief frowned harder, confused.
The AI drifted off talking about little inefficiencies of the MJOLNIR Gen3's water filtering systems and why he should take advantage of the streams running across the ring when he had the chance. Fill some canteens and whatnot.
He counted the seconds. It was a long rant about design flaws.
She must've been so lonely, indeed.
John didn't realize that he was spacing out again, his body deceived into sleep-mode far too many times to forget about it by now. His eyelids were dropping on their own. Instead of the quiet forest now he had the familiar rambling of a known voice in his ear, and he unconsciously realized how much he had missed it. He wanted to mourn in peace and trust again. Fix his own mistakes. He wanted to have time, to give himself the proper time to heal and keep going.
So many wounds.
Both inside and out. So many.
So many new opportunities to start over and do it right.
"… so, hear me out: going on a mission with an empty stomach is a bad idea. I can deduce that cramps aren't fun. You have pocket compartments, maybe consider stuffing some food bars in there?"
He snapped awake again, startled.
She really had no idea how long he'd been doing this, did she?
A clean slate, the AI she would've been if they had never met.
Yeah, this is why he'd been pushing himself to stay awake and moving. Because asleep, he couldn't escape. Same routine for the last three and a half years now. He hadn't stopped once to consider how ingrained this bad behavior was into his psyche, not until…
John stood very still, unnaturally so, clutching the rifle across his lap. A hundred things went through his mind at the same time. Pieces of old conversations, images, memories.
But it didn't sting so bad, now.
"Chief?"
He should say something.
"Chief, are you listening?"
John chose silence. He didn't know how to ask for it anymore.
There was a heavy pause, the channel actually filled with tension.
Then, the AI made a strange noise: she flicked her tongue.
"Oh. You're trying to SLEEP-sleep!"
The Spartan didn't say a word.
It was naive to think he could fool her, the MJOLNIR's inner systems obviously told her that he was awake and listening -and ignoring her-. How would she take it, this time? Would she get mad at him, again? Maybe in this iteration she could read his thoughts, using the more advanced systems of his new armor. Yeah, he should just…
But her voice turned into an embarrassed whisper:
"And you need silence to sleep!" she sounded so devastated. "Why didn't you say so? I'm so sorry! I'll shut up now."
"Thank you." John quipped, in an appeasing tone.
"Oh-six-hundred!"
"Yes."
"Sleep well!" her voice was barely a murmur now.
John caught himself before replying. The channel flattened, disconnected now.
But after another short while -and several lapses in better judgment -, it was the Spartan who opened the mic again and cleared his throat:
"You can play some music while I sleep if you want." he offered.
Her end of the conversation lit up again. She was cautious:
"Really? But you need to sleep."
"Low volume, nothing too scandalous."
The AI considered the peace offering. It was a nice middle ground: something she could do aside from monitoring the Banished battle net and low background noise that would isolate him enough to sleep soundly for a few hours.
Now, John hoped her ego wasn't too bruised.
"You know, I think I have the perfect song."
Her choice of music showed up in front of his eyes, across the display:
CELLO SUITE Nº 1 IN G MAJOR - PRELUDE
JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
The Spartan listened to the slow-rising melody of the cello for a few seconds, enthralled.
In the back of his mind, awareness began to shut down piece by piece, making him drowsy.
"Johann Sebastian Bach?"
"It's a wonderful piece, isn't it? Also, the underlying frequency is low enough to help you enter the REM cycle faster. Try it."
She didn't have to tell him twice.
x:x:x:x:x
He was back in the forest, lying on his back in a nest of fragrant tall grass.
In silence. Enjoying himself.
Until Esparza's voice filtered through the haze:
"Chief—" he started, excited. "You're not going to believe this!"
John's eyes snapped open.
x:x:x:x:x
NOTES: Yes, I'm aware that I used this choice of music in another story. It's on purpose. What purpose? I don't know. The names of the Brutes mentioned here are made up. I'm sorry if the whole piece sounds uninspired, it was weird. Started out with John trying to take a nap in the middle of all the new bullshit and The Weapon setting his ear on fire because she didn't get the hint -she doesn't sleep, and has made it clear-, and at some point, it deranged into something else entirely. I don't know. It's an experiment.
Soon enough I'll be back with updates for the ongoing fics.
Swing by my Tumblr and check out the pinned post if you want to know what I've been up to this 2021, it's been quite eventful. Happy New Year, folks!
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