A small desk lamp provided the only light in Veta's sparse quarters, where she sat in an uncomfortable chair, studying the brushed steel coating on the walls. Exhaustion painted every inch of her, as her eyes slightly squinted. Few environments managed to be less stimulating than the lifeless grey walls of a UNSC refit anchor. Had she the spare energy to be boisterous and ungrateful about it, there'd already be three complaint memorandums waiting for Osman for sneer at.
She and the Ferrets had arrived on the UNSC BARBARUS not more than eight hours ago, and already these damn walls felt agonizingly familiar.
'How anyone can live this way...', she thought, hoping there'd never come a time when she could understand.
Osman's last directive had been cut and dry, noting a four day layover. All very banal and clerical, which wasn't out of the ordinary, except that that had been it. No additional orders attached, no prep specs or intel to pour over. Just...'get yourself cleaned up.'
Decidedly out of character.
Post-operative maintenance and resupply was the official order; just basic needs that could guarantee at least a tolerated presence of ONI personnel on most docks. Veta pressed her fingertips tight to her aching eyes and leaned back in her chair - the barely hushed conversations and suspicious glances were always a tiring conclusion to any mission, and she envied the Spartan's superhuman ability to seemingly not give a damn. For her, there'd never be any room to lower her guard in a pressurized can filled with people who saw her as no less an enemy than any garden variety insurgent.
If this was her boss's take on rest and relaxation, well...she clicked her tongue.
Fortunately, the indentured servitude of infinite paperwork offered the perfect excuse to hole up in her quarters and avoid the thrills of navigating waves of hanging, ignorant, condescension. Comforting too, that the Gammas were posted in a room just across the narrow hall beyond her door. It never escaped her notice that the teens usually avoided wandering when staged like this, save for emerging to eat, exercise, or invade her space; she liked to think they were isolating in solidarity. The antisocial tactic certainly sent a message. That optimism was misplaced though, she knew, and frowned against the truth. That this type of behaviour just felt more natural for them. Terminal outcasts.
Her heavy gaze rested on the commpad laying face down, inches away.
Sometimes, during long stretches between ops, Ash asks her about things he dreams of, and what they might mean. Or Mark, letting himself in to her quarters at any hour he feels appropriate, bringing her water and granola bars, berating her for skipping meals. She smiled as she thought of sitting cross-legged on the floor, telling old detective tales to Olivia, who'd be so engaged in the stories, her mouth would run dry as it hung open.
She was no stranger to keeping her own space, and often faced the negative social consequences of being sternly self-reliant, '"that bitch" mostly', she thought, exhaling sharply from her nose, and shaking her head.
This felt different though. The kind of wholesale distrust she'd been exposed to since putting on the ONI greys just never let up. Even now, she couldn't tide off frustration for the collective attitude of a boat full of strangers. None of these people were hurting her feelings - it was more the cumulative, unrelenting, nature of it all. It was tiring. They were supposed to be on the same team, weren't they?
Spartans endure the extremity of otherness their entire lives, and yet, here are these kids looking beyond their scars to let her in. Child soldiers calling her Mom. Trusting her enough now to occasionally reveal their vulnerabilities; never demanding for reciprocation. It wasn't a trade. They wanted her to know them.
She laid her head back, each blink a little slower than the last, 'and they aren't the only ones...'
A notification beeped from her laptop only to be ignored while she reached for her commpad. Yawning deeply, she scrolled through old messages in Waypoint until coming upon a conversation chain from an unlisted account. The brightness of the small screen was uncomfortable for her dry, reddened, eyes, as she watched the text cursor blink impatiently.
It was near on five months since they'd last spoken - well, written - and it had hardly been a sentimental affair. All business, absent of any personality. The small keyboard sat ready, waiting.
The channel was deeply encrypted; assured for their eyes only. She bit her lip.
"I can hear you now, 'Inspector, this isn't very professional'...", she said aloud, lowering her voice comically, "...no, but you wouldn't be able to resist a smile, would you?"
With a small laugh to herself, she let her heavy eyes close, dropping the commpad to her chest.
Another notification chirped off from the laptop, somewhere far away from her now.
"I do miss your handsome smile...".
Veta groaned deeply, rubbing at her eyes and stiffened neck, kicking an empty coffee cup off the desk as she dragged her leg from the surface. Leaning forward in the creaking chair, her shoulders jumped slightly at the sudden sound of things clattering to the floor.
"What...", she mumbled out, opening one hazy eye to survey the room from between her fingers, 'the UNSC tub. Right.', "...augh."
Slumping back, she sighed and ran a hand through her tangled hair. It wasn't the first time she'd fallen asleep at a desk, but on their prowler she had a halfway decent chair and a humidifier - luxury by comparison.
As she bent to retrieve her fallen key cards and commpad, she noticed the small notification light blinking insistently - the laptop chimed in. Datapads were scattered everywhere.'What, no ringing phone, or barking dog?'.
She was up now, and resolved to handle at least some of the mess, leaning back with the commpad in hand and turning it on.
Fortunately, she was seated.
-I do miss your handsome smile. /
Timestamped a little over two hours ago; marked as 'read'.
There was no response.
All the lingering fog of sleep vanished in an instant, as her chest and stomach started tightening. Determined to restrain her anxiousness, she fought to temper the rising emotions and switched into analytical-mode - it was possible she may have accidentally activated a speech-to-text function on the device while handling it in an overdrawn state.
"Okay...", she said slowly, trying to ignore the heat on her face, gathering an even breath. There wasn't any chance of taking the words back at this point, and ultimately she didn't feel so bothered by having said it; it was true anyways, albeit overtly forward, and, encrypted or not, sent over an official comm line. Moreover, it was the abruptness of such a considerably intimate expression, and the glaring absence of any response that was making her nervous.
When she considered the last time she'd actually seen Fred, he'd been as endearing and friendly as always. Even a little nervous and awkward, actually, as they'd shared an unexpected moment of quiet closeness before parting ways. Her heart fluttered as she thought back on that impassioned embrace - mutual and comforting. The gentleness and warmth of his touch...the way her hands had fit in his...the sound of his heart beating as she pressed an ear to his chest. The emotionally charged moment had been intoxicating. The memory alone took her breath away even now, and it certainly hadn't escaped exploitation from a few enchanting dreams.
She kneaded the hem of her sweater, as warmth bloomed now around her collar. It was no well kept secret that they'd been growing ever closer over the last few years, and pushing the envelope with him now and then really wasn't off brand. She enjoyed discovering his buttons, just as equally as eventually pushing them. He'd often return her confident snark with good natured humor, if not with a bit of sass - another unexpected and keenly charming trait. They'd even argued once; she smiled as she remembered him defusing the whole event by telling a stupid joke and botching the punchline. It'd been the first time she'd heard him really, truly, laugh. The joyful, unrefined, beauty of it had given her butterflies in her stomach. Still did.
After their heated parting however, there'd been silence. Maybe nothing had needed saying - maybe they both knew. Regardless, a pang of discomfort - guilt, perhaps - hung heavy in her chest, as she scrolled the conversation up to those two, flat, messages above. It had been four days after, and she'd broken the silence with little more than a curt request for some documentation copies. He'd forwarded the files, and - looking back on it now - she'd never even sent a 'thanks'. Her brow furrowed. What if he assumed she'd regretted the intimacy - what if he regretted it?
She puffed out a dejected breath, leaning her head on one propped up fist. It seemed entirely possible she was reading way too deeply in the margins. Fred was definitely becoming...something different to her now, but he was also still an overall professional person. Surely, he was just caught up in the demanding business of being a Spartan somewhere, and he'd snap back a snide quip about her decorum some time later.
No big deal.
Except, it still felt like it might be.
In the grand scope of things it was a minor misstep, but he was a man whose entire life has been spent as a proper soldier. Would he re-evaluate and backpedal? Had he already? It was probably the appropriate thing to do.
Frustrated, she leaned back, the chair fractionally reclined. The relationship she'd built with Fred had become so uniquely important. All the right elements were there - they engaged well, personally and professionally. He was encouraging, capable, rolled well with a punch - literally and figuratively. Undeniably attractive; that gorgeous face got her into this mess.
'More than that', her hands gripping together. They seemed to understand each other's strengths, and equally, the limitations. Healthy boundaries were implicitly respected. They had come together, met with their distinct flaws, apparent to each other's open criticisms, and yet...drew closer still. He's never pushed except in matters of duty, to which he seemed to carry a lot of genuine confidence in her.
She stared, unmoving, into the dim light of the room, as her heart beat steady now.
He was supportive, and understanding. Patient.
He felt like...
..."healing...", she whispered aloud.
All the swirling worry was fading, as her stomach slowly unknotted. This wasn't some teenage crush that would crumble under the weight of a misstep, or hint of imperfection. They were two complicated people, being exposed to the other's disastrous complexity, and yet, choosing not to flee.
It would be fantastic, and maybe even a little childish, to think he could be "the one". She wasn't even certain she believed in that kind of dogma, but could - if only for a moment - understand why it was so appealing to people.
So, maybe it was okay if he knew for sure how beautiful she thought his smile was. Maybe, next time, she'd tell him how it made her feel to see it; maybe, she'd show him.
'Maybe.'
A yawn interrupted her own smile, as she was quickly reminded how tired she still was. Turning out the desk lamp, and curling up under the blankets of her cot, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling an honest sense of ease for the first time since stepping foot on the BARBARUS.
Somehow, even potentially light years away, he still had her back.
In the dark of the room, the small light of her commpad would quietly blink alone until she woke.
-I miss you too.../