Chapter Ten

It was late afternoon. John and I were both in the small half-bath in his room. He was shaving, and I was changing my ostomy bag.

We'd just returned from the mission to the surface. It had yielded no artifacts, but we'd found an entire room of scrawled history on the top floor. It was amazing, and I couldn't wait to get the scans from Dr. Rivera so I could read them all.

But I would be glad if I never had to see Dr. Russell again. He'd spent the whole trip being snooty and uppity and holier-than-thou.

I could probably ask to be kept separate from him. ONI didn't like me - they didn't like anyone, not even their own agents - but I was one of their most valuable assets for the time being. Might as well milk it, right?

But that could wait. I had other concerns, and if I was going to ask something big of ONI I wanted it to count.

Which led me to the topic I wanted to press and avoid with John.

"I've been thinking," I finally said.

John tilted his head towards me slightly; he was listening, and a little concerned at the rasp in my voice. But he'd felt my trepidation a while ago, and had been patiently waiting for me to share my thoughts.

With the bond I could literally share what I was thinking but I wanted to talk through it, to make sure the slapdash plan I had was cohesive and sensible.

I sniffed a bit. "I-I've been feeling so angry. And I can't seem to stop it."

John slid the razor along his jawline and down the side of his neck.

"But maybe I can focus it," I continued. "Bad things happen when I get mad, John."

I looked down at my hands and coughed a bit.

"I-I was thinking I could turn the anger into determination," I admitted quietly.

"For what?" John flicked his razor and resumed shaving.

I pulled out a seal and started warming it up with my hands. "I was thinking...a-about-about the SPARTANs."

He paused for the briefest of moments. If we hadn't had the bond, I wouldn't have noticed.

My gaze fell. "I… I know you don't want to leave the UNSC. But what if you did, someday? Or someone from NOBLE? Or eve-even another II? It's… It isn't right to force them into service."

"So what are you going to do?" he asked evenly.

I pressed the seal onto the skin around my stoma and made sure it stuck. "W-well, I was going to talk to Captain Keyes about it. I'm sure he'd help. Maybe we could talk to Admiral Cole?"

John was silent. Thoughtful. He kept shaving.

I pulled a wafer out and started widening the center to fit my stoma.

"Admiral Cole would green-light it. So would CINCONI."

"'CINCONI'?" I parroted raspily.

John flicked his razor again. "Commander in Chief of ONI. Admiral Parangosky. She's shrewd, but she's moral."

I grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped my nose. "Do you think I could talk to her?"

"Admiral Cole could."

I pressed the wafer onto my stoma and pressed it down, making sure it was sealed on fully.

Then I tapped my foot a few times. "So I'll go through Keyes to go through Cole to talk to Parangosky."

"You're going to have to talk to both of them. HIGHCOM has representatives from every branch and ONI, except for SPARTAN Ops," John explained.

"Sounds fun." My voice was dry. And somewhat raw.

He shot me a smirk.

I pulled out a clear ostomy bag and pressed it into the wafer, making sure it clicked on. My eyes were down, checking everything, even as I spoke. "I really want to do this. E-even if you'll never do it, you deserve a choice. You all do."

John kept shaving. But he sent me his conflicted gratefulness.

When I was certain the bag was on correctly and securely, I pulled my undersuit back up my body and threaded the bag through the small hole in the front of the suit. Then I rolled the bottom of the bag up, the small thin funnel, and clipped it.

I grabbed my bag cover and pulled it on. It was light blue with a cartoon narwhal on the front.

John was about halfway done shaving. He had his undersuit pulled down to his waist to keep it free of shaving cream, and I appreciated the view.

My arms wrapped around his abdomen from behind. I laid my head down on the warm skin of his back and closed my eyes.

He reached back with his left hand and tapped my shoulder twice with two fingers.

It was a symbol we'd recently come up with; he didn't like expressing much of anything aloud. Especially affection.

And I didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

So we'd come up with that. It was our secret way to say we loved each other.

I smiled and tapped his stomach twice.

We stayed like that until he finished shaving. He was looking down on his fingers; a large puff of shaving cream had accidentally shot out of the bottle and landed there.

He briefly contemplated what to do with it.

Then he turned on me, shaving cream on his fingers, and took an intentionally slow swipe at my face. Well, slow for him.

"No!" I ducked further into the bathroom with a laugh.

He advanced, cream-laden hand up and ready to smear it on my face.

I held my hand out and called the bottle of shaving cream into my hands. I held it in front of me, my finger over the button.

"What now?" I smirked.

He returned the expression.

Then he rushed forward and scooped me up with his left arm. He tossed me effortlessly over his shoulder and walked out into the room. In the rush I'd dropped the shaving cream on the floor.

"John!" I giggled breathlessly. "Come on, that's not fair."

He slid me off of his shoulder and onto the bed. I tried to sit up.

He pinned me with his forearm. "Not yet."

There was a devilish smirk on his lips. It, and our position, stirred something in me. When I met his eyes I knew he knew.

The smirk widened.

"Oh, no!" I held my hands up, but it was too late.

He smeared the shaving cream onto my cheek.

"John!" My laugh transformed into a cough.

He released me, pulling his suit back up to his neck and threading his arms into the sleeves.

There was a victorious grin on his face. "Got you."

"Psh, whatever. I let you win." I stuck my tongue out in a childish way.

He turned, shaking his head with a laugh on his lips, to pick the bottle of shaving cream off of the floor.

I hid from the bond as best as I could and crept up behind him. Of course, he probably heard me anyway. I could barely fathom how advanced his hearing was.

But, if he had heard me, he played like he didn't.

I waited until he'd bent down to pick the bottle up. Then I sprung.

I cupped his face to mine, sharing the shaving cream he'd so kindly given to me.

He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me beneath him. His forearm, latched around my abdomen, was the only thing keeping me off of the floor.

He straightened up, still holding me to him with a smug air, and set the shaving cream on the counter.

I craned my neck to look up at him. My lip was pouted. "Not fair."

He smirked down at me. "And?"

I put my toes on the floor and leaned into him with a smirk of my own. "And you look like Santa Claus."

He grabbed a hand towel with an amused huff and passed it down to me. At the same time he released his hold on me.

I wiped my cheek off with the corner of the cloth. "Thanks. Here."

He took it from my outstretched hand and cleaned his own cheek.

"Did you let me do that?" I asked. When he looked away I grinned. "Be honest."

"Maybe," he conceded.

I laughed through my nose. "I love you."

"I love you."

Something caught in my throat again. I let out an abrupt cough, followed by a series of more subdued ones.

"You should see someone." John frowned.

I waved him off. "It's just allergies. Who knows what's in the air down there?"

It had been a while since I'd been on a completely natural planet. And Reach's ecosystem in some places, Hévíz among them, was still rich with flora.

John didn't like it. He'd never dealt with anyone in less than perfect health; every day with me was something new it seemed.

This time it was allergies. Or a common cold, but I refused to entertain the idea that I was sick. I was so done with being sick.

John wrapped his arms around my waist. "You should lay down."

"I'm okay," I insisted.

He shot me a look.

I shrunk a bit. "Really."

He sent me an emotion that perfectly conveyed how a deadpan look felt.

A sigh deflated me. "Okay. But only if you lay down with me."

He nodded.

"And only if we get to watch Phantom of the Opera."

He paused. "Are you sure?"

"I promise I won't get mad," I offered.

"You can't promise that."

"I promise I won't act on my anger?"

He relented. "Alright."

"Right." I bit my lip to control the smile. "I'll get it set up."

I walked over to the desk and grabbed my comm while he sat down on the bed. I scrolled through my downloaded files, most of them were songs, until I found the copy of Phantom that Ellen had gifted to me for a welcome home gift.

She really did get me.

After I sent the movie into the holoprojector on John's desk, I turned to see him holding something out to me. One of his massive grey shirts.

I cocked my head in confusion.

"We're off duty," he explained. "This is more comfortable than your suit."

I smiled a bit and accepted his shirt. "Thank you."

While the beginning of Phantom played, a flash-forward scene with an aged Viscount Raoul, I pulled my undersuit off. I was careful to thread the ostomy bag through the hole, and not rip it off.

Then I pulled John's shirt on. My suit was hung over the back of the desk chair.

When I walked up to the bed John stood up. He insisted on sleeping closest to the edge, where he could protect me 'just in case something happens'.

I climbed in and curled my legs up to myself; I was too hot for the bedspread, but too cold for the air around me.

John sat back down and wrapped his right arm around me. I leaned into him and closed my eyes, listening to his breathing and the grand overture marking the true beginning of the Phantom's story.

I was tired and I wanted to lay down. But laying down made it hard to breathe. It was an annoying, but familiar, predicament.

I held my leg up absently. "Are your arms longer?"

John looked down at me, then at my outstretched leg.

"I don't know," he admitted.

A lazy hum rasped from deep in my chest. "I wouldn't be surprised."

He wouldn't either. I wasn't short - I wasn't! - but I wasn't tall either. And he was a giant.

I was tired. I felt icky. But with John's arm around me, his body against mine, I felt so safe.

I pushed myself lethargically up to kiss John's jawline. I fell a bit short of my target and kissed his neck instead.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

A coughing fit made me double over. There was something - probably mucus - clogging up my throat. It rasped when I took a blessed, deep breath.

John helped me sit back up. "One more and you're going to the infirmary."

"I'm fine, John, I-" A sneeze seized my body.

And dissolved it.

I reappeared in the middle of the room, on the ground.

I blinked a bit and tried to process what had happened, but my lethargic brain was slow to catch up.

Sneezing made me teleport now?

John was there, helping me stand. "We're going to the med bay."

I sniffed. "But I'm-"

He overwhelmed me with his insistence. And he was right, I was clearly sick. But I didn't want to leave the room.

He wrapped his left hand around mine, through his sleeve that had flopped over my hand, and pulled me towards the door. "Come on."

"I gotta put clothes on," I mumbled, tugging halfheartedly against him.

He paused by the door and released me, waiting for me to get dressed.

I grabbed some of my underwear and sweatpants from the locker. I pulled them on, under John's shirt, and then some socks.

He handed me my boots. I pulled them on with a small, "Thanks."

He rested his hand on my head, rubbing his thumb up and down in a comforting manner. Then he took my hand in his and started towards the door.

I trudged out of the room after him.

John's shirt was falling off of my shoulder, but I couldn't bring myself to care; the lights were too bright out in the hallway and they hurt.

It was always so dim in John's room. He didn't need the light, and I didn't care for it, so we never turned it too bright. The regular ship lights were abnormally intense for my sore eyes.

The shuttle stop was, as usual, busy. It wasn't a rush though, thank goodness.

I sniffed heavily again. That made me sneeze.

I teleported right in between two close SPARTANs. It was an uncomfortable squeeze.

"Ah!" I cried. "Sor- I'm sorry."

One of them looked down at me with an irritated expression. The other was just bewildered.

I apologized again and walked over to John. A cough shook my body.

I grabbed his hand just in time for a shuttle to pull up. A few passengers climbed out, and the rush to get a good seat began.

John and I, miraculously, found two seats beside each other near the back.

My nose was pretty blocked up; I couldn't breathe out of my right nostril. So I was breathing through my mouth as I leaned against John's arm.

There was a thick rasp in my throat and a bit in my chest. I could hear it when I breathed, so I knew John could hear it. And even if he couldn't, he could certainly feel it through the bond.

He was worried.

I closed my eyes and pushed his worry down. "It's just a cold. I'll live."

But he was still uncomfortable. SPARTANs didn't get sick; he hadn't dealt with a sick person in years. And the sound of the blockage in my throat…

I showed him how calm I was about the situation; I was just a bit annoyed that my nose was stopped up.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He didn't like this situation, but he was resigned to it.

The shuttle came to a halt. My eyes opened, but it wasn't our stop.

A few of the people on the shuttle were looking at me strangely, with a plethora of emotions from mild concern to disgust. I briefly wondered why.

Then I remembered that most of the occupants of the tram were SPARTANs; they could hear my labored breaths for sure. Even the IVs.

I let out a soft hum and closed my eyes again. I wasn't sleepy, per se, but I was tired. I just wanted to sit there, where I could breathe relatively easily.

We stopped again. John pulled me up and steadied me when I swayed. "Let's go."

I sniffed again, though it didn't clear my nose as well as I'd hoped it would, and trailed behind him. We were in the civilian areas. The crowd was largely scientists in white coats with datapads.

I followed John into a crisp white waiting room. He led me up to the desk.

A pale man smiled up at me. "How can I help you?"

"I-I need to see someone about my allergies."

John cleared his throat behind me.

"Or a cold," I relented.

"Can I get your name?"

I nodded. "Tawny Olivia Clark."

He typed something on the computer in front of him. "Alright, ma'am, someone will be right with you. Take a seat."

"Thanks." I sniffed again.

John and I sat in two chairs on the far wall. In the regular sized chair he looked even bigger than normal.

I rested my arm on the armrest between us and leaned against his arm. Then I just rested in our bond, all but zoned out.

There was a headache blossoming behind my eyes, and I was trying to ignore it.

The door into the office slid open and a nurse stepped out. "Winthrop Devine?"

A middle-aged man pushed himself up and limped into the office. The door hissed shut.

I coughed again. Something almost sharp dug at the inside of my throat. I gasped a bit in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

John glanced quickly down at me.

I flushed red. "I'm okay."

He just wrapped his arm around me.

oOOOOo

Author's Note: Tawny has a shit immune system, I just haven't had a chance to showcase it. She also doesn't like admitting she's sick. Also! I put my hair in curls and that's why this update is late. Sry. It wasn't even worth it; I think I pulled half my damn head out in the process of getting the hair in the curlers

But anyway I love you guys!