Chapter 9: Warmth

[15 September, 2551]

[UNSC All Under Heaven]

[22:48 Hours]

What to make of this? Every time he thought he had a handle on the universe, it up and reversed its elliptical trajectory, becoming once again, unfathomable. David found himself wishing, not for the first time, that Celsius was still alive. Celsius could figure this out; towards the end, before her rampancy made her existence untenable, she had the knowledge of the ancients and the empathy of a humanitarian. Celsius could explain why whatever powers-that-be had decided to throw him this beautiful, incredible, reality-altering curveball.

He had seen, out of the corner of his eye, Claire turn towards him. Before he could think to react, she had stood up on the tips of her toes, and he felt her lips- warm, soft, full- press to his stubble, brush the corner of his mouth. She lingered there for a moment that seemed to span an eternity or two, and then slowly pulled away.

"Sorry." He heard her murmur.

"Yeah." His voice sounded hollow in his own ears. He found that he couldn't bring himself to move.

Ridiculous, this was. He had lost his life and his childhood in two lightning quick strokes. He had given up everything he was, to become something more- and less- than Human. He had fought in battles the likes of which most men would never dream of, faced down his own death more times than he could remember, and doled death out as one would platitudes or compliments. Only once in those twenty years did he ever hesitate, ever freeze up. Once was enough.

And now here he was, frozen and afraid to move, for fear that doing so might shatter the unreality of this moment. He wondered briefly if he really was high on painkillers, and that this was all a fever dream. It was even possible- anything seemed possible now- that he was lying dead in the basement garage of the ONI Site on Angelus, and this was the afterlife Lee had spoken of in his final moments. If it was- and he had wound up in the same afterlife as Claire- then he must have done something right in his short, single-minded life.

He took in a deep breath, smelling the cold, sterile air from the ship's vents, the faint medicinal tang that had followed him from the med bay, and Claire's scent, fainter and solider than both. It was imprinted indelibly on his memory of her, a sensory indicator that his friend, the woman he trusted and needed, was still alive. And if she was still alive, then so was he.

But if this was a dream…

One way to find out.

He turned towards her, brought her face to his, and kissed her like he had wanted to on that long ago night on Agricola.

This time, she didn't shy away.

She was surprised at how soft his lips were, warm and dry and firm against hers.

What should have surprised her more was that she was kissing him back. However, she didn't dwell too long on that; whether out of nervousness or habit, he had pursed his lips together. She pressed her lower lip to his upper, nudging them apart gently, and soon their mouths were parting and clinging in a sweet, simple rhythm, she leading, he following.

His hand had left her cheek as he drew his good arm around her shoulders. She pressed closer to him, favoring his right on account of his slung left arm, and was astonished to discover how warm he was. Heat radiated through the thin material of his shirt, warming her fingertips as she touched his chest. Her memories of him had been cold- frigid planet-side excursions, cold alloy body armor, cold demeanor in the course of their first encounters. This physical warmth overrode all of that. She could even feel his heart beating, a steady thump beneath her palm that was somehow incredibly comforting in its regularity.

Then her mouth was opening with his, and she felt his tongue, warm and moist and pliant, tentatively touch hers. Some small part of her mind balked at his forwardness, his presumption.

The rest of her kind of liked it.

She moved her tongue with his, testing the waters. The low, reverberating growl she felt rumble in his chest told her the waters were warm.

She had wanted to let him know, somehow, what he meant to her.

But this wasn't the way she'd imagined using her tongue.

But if he was enjoying it- and, God, she was too…

Hell with it…it's just a kiss…

Then David pushed her against the window's edge and broke the kiss as he looked to his left.

"Whah-?"

"Shhh." He pressed his finger to her lips, cocking his head to listen. She shut up and opened her ears.

Nothing. Just the oh-so-faint thrumming of the ship around them.

He dropped his jaw, straining his ears to catch the slight scrape of boot sole on metal he thought he had heard. He counted to five.

Still nothing.

David relaxed slightly, turning back to face Claire. "Thought I heard something." He murmured.

"Old habit?" Her voice was soft, a little faint. Her hands were still planted firmly on his chest.

"Like you read about." His voice sounded a little faint too, now that he thought about it. His heart was hammering as if he'd just sprinted a kilometer uphill.

His finger was still pressed to her mouth. He drew it away slowly, tugging at her lower lip gently. She parted her lips, exposing small, white, perfect teeth, as she kept her eyes on his. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

"Guess you missed me a lot, eh?"

Smooth, Davy Boy. Smooth as a Needler's topside.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

She scowled briefly. "Yeah, David, I missed you." Her expression softened. "And I am incredibly happy to see you. I just didn't know how to articulate that, so…"

"So you went with your gut."

"Something like that." She bit her lower lip. "Sorry."

His throat tightened. "Are you?"

She looked at him fully. "You mean, am I sorry we kissed?"

The heat in his cheeks told him he was blushing. Incredible; today is just a day for firsts. "Something like that."

She leaned into him slightly, her fingertips tracing the divot of his breastbone in the center of his chest. "Maybe I should be…but no, I'm not sorry we kissed."

"Good." He murmured softly, and then leaned in towards her.

The second kiss was briefer, but more comfortable, and her mouth felt almost unbearably soft and full against his. When they parted for air, both breathing more heavily than either cared to admit, his lips tingled with the pressure from hers.

"It's late, big guy. Don't you think we should get you back to the med-bay?"

The med bay was the last place he wanted to be right now. Where he wanted to be was in Claire's arms, which were now moving up and down his torso as she rubbed his good shoulder, his back. He groaned softly as she dug her fingertips into his tense muscle.

"Hmm?"

Focus. "I'm not going back to the med-bay."

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "Where are you going then?"

"Anywhere but the med bay." He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, then traced the curve of her jaw with one fingertip. She closed her eyes and sighed, a warm sound that sent shivers up his spine.

"Did Captain Rios set you up with personal quarters?"

"Yeah. An ensign came by this afternoon."

"I'll take you there then. If you want."

"I do. So long as you have nothing pressing to attend to." He cupped her face in his hand, rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

She smiled, held his hand to her face, then turned and kissed his palm. "Nothing I can't ignore."

"Lead the way, then."

He slipped his arm around her shoulders, then thought better of it. They had met no one so far, but it would be best not to arouse suspicion, just in the off-chance they did come across someone.

Someone…As they walked away, he thought he heard it again: the faint scrape of Marine-issue boots against the sheet alloy of the ship. He half turned his head, looking out of his peripheries, but saw nothing.

Just hearing things.

But his gut told him otherwise.

His officer quarters were set at the far back of a long corridor, well away from through-traffic. Claire opened the hatch, and they both tried to step in at the same time.

They stared at each other comically and laughed, the sound echoing in the tight confines of the corridor.

"And here I thought you were a gentleman, David."

"Forgive me. I guess I'm still a little tired." He grinned sheepishly.

She smiled. "That's alright."

Their bodies were wedged close in the hatch frame. David's good hand had drifted to her hip. He could scarcely remember where or how it had gotten there. Her hand came up to his shoulder, almost iridescent blue eyes locking onto his, and once more their lips met.

Claire. I have to be dreaming.

No. The heat of her mouth on his, the taste of her saliva lingering on his tongue, the pressure and warmth and solidity and overwhelming RIGHTNESS of her body touching his- that was all blissfully, wonderfully real.

This, he thought, must be how people can get lost in a moment.

But David wasn't lost. He knew exactly where he was: officer's quarters aboard a UNSC frigate, kissing a fellow officer and soldier. A lifetime of adherence to military protocol demanded he cease and desist immediately.

This newer, rebellious feeling that had been percolating in him since he'd discovered Claire was still alive told the other to shut up.

Both voices fought for dominance as he closed the hatch behind him and let Claire lead him to his bunk. She eased him onto his back and stood above him, stroking his hair, a small, sweet smile on her lips.

He smiled back. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I've just…never seen you like this."

"Guess I'm full of surprises."

She trailed her fingertips down his cheek, across his shoulder and over his arm to squeeze his hand. "Guess so."

Silence settled over the next few seconds.

"Claire?"

"Yes?"

"You can stay awhile. If you want."

"I would." She brought his hand up and kissed his fingertips.

She glanced around the room, and it occurred to him that she was looking for a chair. There was none. She glanced back at David.

He shifted over so she could sit down.

She sat down awkwardly, balancing on the edge of the bunk. It was a general issue cot made for a standard sized human, not a two hundred centimeter, one hundred kilogram cyborg. There was next to no room left, and thus her position was such that she was facing partly away from him.

"This isn't great." She said quietly.

"Here, let me sit up-"

"Scooch."

"Hm?!"

She was already moving to lie down beside him. He shifted over as much as he could, resting on his good arm so she'd have space. There was maybe a hair's breadth of space between them. "You sure about this?" He murmured.

"What? We're on top of the covers, fully clothed, no wine or mood music. Just two soldiers sharing a bunk. Get your mind out of the gutter." She blushed as the words left her mouth.

His mind wasn't in the gutter, but his hand was elsewhere, fingers sifting through her hair as he rubbed her cheek with his thumb. She sighed that warm, shiver-inducing sigh and closed her eyes. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and for a moment David was stunned, shaken by her beauty. He leaned in tentatively, brushing his lips against hers, then carefully drew her lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently.

The low moan that echoed in her throat was enough to make him lose his breath. She drew her arm around his waist, pressing closer to him, and he closed his eyes as the warmth of her kiss inundated his mouth.

And so it went.

Lips parting and clinging, but never separating, hands caressing and exploring, guided by gentle hums of approval from each others' throats, the Spartan and the Helljumper had reached a kind of tide pool amidst the slipstream of existence, where they could pretend, for a moment, that ordinary life was possible. Their jacket's were gone, discarded somewhere, and Claire had slipped her hand under the thin material of his shirt, rubbing his hip and lower back. He did the same, trailing his fingertips across the soft, warm skin of her belly and feeling her tremble in response, before rubbing her back slowly.

"Good?" He murmured, his voice faint.

"Good…" was her whispered response.

He bowed his head and pressed his lips to her neck. Her body stirred, arched slightly as she tilted head back. He nipped her throat, gently. Claire moaned softly in response, so he nipped again, harder.

She hissed in what sounded like low pain. "Cuidado, David…"

He flushed. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

Like I said, Davy Boy: Smooth as a Needler's topside.

SHUT UP.

"Claire, did I hurt you?"

She rubbed her neck. "I think you just gave me a hickey."

The term was foreign to him as if she'd been speaking in the Elite's tongue. "A what?!"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"If you want to bite, try here…" And with that she shrugged the strap of her sleeveless undershirt off, exposing her shoulder to him.

David instantly forgot about the hickey or whatever it was.

Claire was almost certain that her best friend had just given her a hickey, and she was equally certain that she didn't care right now. She felt warm, and comfortable, and safe in his embrace, and for as much as that last bite had hurt, she didn't want him to stop.

He kissed her shoulder almost reverently, then nipped her bare skin, very, very carefully this time, and licked the spot he bit. She trembled and whimpered softly in bliss. She began to do the same, sinking her small, even teeth into his skin and following with the tip of her tongue. He growled softly, warm breath tickling her ear, and that made it all the more enjoyable.

Gradually their mouths rejoined, exchanging soft, slow kisses that grew fewer and farther between. Claire made small, sleepy noises, and then buried her face in his neck, nuzzling him like a puppy would. He carefully shifted onto his back, and she laid her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat reverberate against her cheek. Then there was his warm, dry kiss on her forehead, and she found she suddenly couldn't keep her eyes open.

Sleep came easy to her now, warm and relaxed and-

(Home)

-secure in his arms.

Home.

[16 September, 2551]

[Personal Officer's Quarters, UNSC All Under Heaven]

[04:35 Hours]

He awoke slowly, lazily, stretching his tired muscles and groaning softly. Claire, still asleep next to him, murmured unintelligibly and snuggled closer to his side. He settled down and looped his arm around her shoulders, brushing her hair out of her face. Her cheeks were flushed with the heaviness of sleep, her lips curled even now in a ghost of a smile.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He kissed her forehead and settled back into a comfortable position. No sense in rising now. May as well go back to sl-

Davy Boy.

His head jerked up.

Keller was standing at the foot of the bunk. His eyes were wide and shining, lips drawn back from yellowish crisscrossed teeth in a wide, lunatic grin. As David watched, he raised his left arm.

Cradled in his crooked fingers was a pistol.

David had enough time to recognize the pistol as an "I" model of the Misriah 6-series, remember that it was fully automatic and could empty its twenty round mag in the space of two point five seconds, and figured that he could probably shield Claire from the first dozen before they started going through him, before Keller pulled the trigger.

The sharp, repetitive booms, deafeningly loud in the cramped quarters, ushered him straight into eternity.

David's eyes jerked open. He half-rose, left hand outstretched as if to ward off Keller's bullets.

The room was empty. No Keller at the foot of the bed, hand outstretched and gun blazing. No smell of burnt cordite. No bullet holes in either he or Claire.

Well, no new ones at least.

It was just a dream.

He lay back, heart pounding and mouth dry. His dreams were never that vivid. Nor was he prone to nightmares. More often than not, when he did sleep (which up till now, had been relatively rare, even by Spartan standards), it was a hard, dreamless slumber, devoid of the complexities of the real world, or the alternate realities of dreamscape.

Now this. Keller gunning him and Claire down in bed.

Speaking of…

Claire snuggled sleepily against his chest, nestled in the crook of his right arm. Her cheeks were flushed with the heaviness of sleep, her mouth curled with the ghost of a soft, carefree smile.

She was without a doubt the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

How could he have even entertained the thought that last night had been a dream?

Something in regards to the fact that it was the last thing in the galaxy I expected to happen.

You're a cyborg supersoldier fighting against a conglomerate of extraterrestrial zealots bent on humanity's utter annihilation. And you think a girl kissing you is unreal?

That was different. All this- his life- that was just par for the course. There wasn't anything to question about that.

This wasn't so cut-and-dry.

He scrubbed his face with his free hand irritably. His stubble was growing into a full on beard. He'd need to shave it or trim it into something respectable. On top of that, fierce pangs of hunger in his stomach competed unsuccessfully with the hot anvil hanging from his left shoulder-

Oh, wait.

He stared incredulously at his left hand, moved it this way and that, and clenched it into a fist. Every movement felt like a hundred knives slitting into his skin, but the damn thing worked again. His arm must have slipped out of its sling while he and Claire slept.

One less thing to worry about.

He lay back, tried to relax, doze even, but couldn't. Keller's machine pistol was still booming in his ears. He was just a step below full combat mode. He found he was holding his breath, straining to listen for movement, the scrape of boots on metal.

Still nothing. Just the gentle thrumming of the ship around them, mixed in with Claire's even gentler breathing.

Moving carefully, he eased his arm out from under her side, eased her head onto the pillow, and got up off the bed. After a moment's deliberation he drew the covers to her shoulders.

Standing feet apart in the center of the cramped quarters, he placed his palms to the floor, fingers interlaced, then slowly raised his torso and extended his arms towards the ceiling, fingertips straining and very nearly touching the cool metal above. He shifted, touching both of his feet in turn, then lowered himself into a sprinter's start, gritting his teeth as the pressure on his bad arm sent hot bursts of pain from palm to shoulder blade.

Stretching like this, he got his blood flowing and muscles warmed. From there he put himself through his paces: easy calisthenics, one armed push-ups (no rest for the left), a selection of yoga poses, and some martial arts exercises.

Muscles and coordination: responsive. Reflexes and respiration: normal. The arm was hurting like a sonofabitch, but it was otherwise fully functional.

He did this every time he came out of the infirmary. Just to make sure everything was as it should be.

By the time he finished, he had killed the better part of half an hour, which was what he was aiming for. Yet Claire slept on, unperturbed, curled into a small ball on the bunk. He wondered how many people got to see her like this: relaxed and vulnerable. Probably very few.

He wiped his face with a towel and sat on the edge of the bunk, stroking her shoulder as he watched the minutes tick by on the wall mounted clock. He knew what he had to do.

Just a few minutes more.

[16 September, 2551]

[UNSC All Under Heaven]

[05:05 Hours]

"Claire."

She was floating in that hazy state between asleep and awake. Her name was called twice more before she realized what it was.

"Uhhhh?..." She half rose. When had she gotten under the covers?

"It's five of five."

She yawned. "Okay," then plopped back onto the mattress, quickly falling back asleep.

"Day shift swaps at six."

"I've got an hour…" She murmured sleepily. She could feel his hand stroking her shoulder. She arched beneath his touch, stretching lazily.

"Claire. It's gonna look odd if you're seen walking out of my quarters, wearing the same clothes you were last night."

Last night…oh shit. She bolted upright in bed, looking around wildly. David sat on the edge of the bunk, looking at her intently. His face was flushed and his hair was a mess.

God, he looked good.

Distracted, she swung her feet to the floor. When had she taken off her boots? She yanked them on and laced them hurriedly, mind racing. "Five of five, the night watch would still be on station. Hallways should be relatively clear- dammit, where's my jacket."

"Here" David handed her the uniform jacket.

"Thank you." She zipped up the jacket and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out and rearranging her ponytail before smoothing her jacket and trousers. "How do I look?"

David tapped the side of his neck. She felt along hers and discovered a tender spot. "Is that-?"

"Yeah, it is. Sorry again."

"It's alright, it's alright." She turned up the collar of her jacket, figuring it would do until she got back to her quarters. She should have some dermal salve that would erase the-

(hickey)

-bruise easily enough. If that didn't work, she could probably bum some good old fashioned cover-up from Katy- although the blonde-haired Sergeant would be tickled pink by the mystery as to how she got the-

(hickey from David)

-bruise from whomever she'd necked with.

"Alright, I've gotta go. I- oh shit."

"What?"

"Your arm! Is it alright?"

He shrugged off the sling and raised his left arm, flexed his finger joints at her. "Better than before."

"Gracias a Dios." She murmured. Even in her vague panic, she couldn't help but feel a vague sense of relief. "I've gotta go. God, if anyone found out about this…"

"That's not going to happen."

"Yeah, you're right." She opened the hatch, then turned and looked back. "And- thank you for waking me, David." She smiled crookedly. "You always have my back."

He smiled back. "Thanks for staying."

She nodded, then left his quarters, closing the hatch as quietly as she could behind her.

Walking down the corridor, she assessed herself: clothes intact, nothing worse than a- oh fuck it, it's a hickey- on her neck. No one but Doc Rosen had seen her and David together. All in all this could have ended a lot worse.

She turned the corner, lost in thought, and almost bumped into someone. "Excuse-" The words died on her lips.

Keller towered over her. He was dressed in black. His hair was in disarray. His eyes were wide and shining with an almost animal hunger, pupils pinpricks set in the red-streaked white. A sick, leering grin full of yellowish crisscrossed teeth was plastered on his face.

He had been waiting for her.

She took two steps back, eyes on his, a mouse facing the yawning maw of a python. Her heart had stopped.

He didn't pursue her as she turned tail and all but ran down the opposite corridor.