#palmer/lasky/roland

[doom-dreaming]

The More The Merrier: Ch. 2 - Preparation

“I’m being taken out for drinks.”

“You make it sound like you weren’t given a choice.”

“I wasn’t.” Sarah had always assumed the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing was reserved for teenagers passing their crushes in middle school hallways, so she’s not entirely sure why she’s feeling it now. People offered to buy her drinks all the time. Hell, she usually accepted. Free alcohol, right? But something about their insistence had been so… God, what was the word…

“Who would be so bold?” Tom jokes, still not looking up from the datapad in his hands, oblivious to the metaphorical insects in Sarah's gut.

“Kelly and Linda.”

That does it. She sees his head pop up in her periphery. “As in...Blue Team Kelly and Linda?”

“Do you know any others?”

“...that seems strangely sociable of them.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She runs her fingers through her hair. Was that too much? Should she just pull it back like she always did? She huffs, reaching for the elastic band she’d just taken out.

Slowly, Lasky’s attention returns to the datapad. “When are you going?”

“Tonight.”

“Ah. And…is that why you’ve been standing in front of the mirror for ten minutes?”

“It hasn’t been—” she checks her watch. “Whatever. Hair up or down?”

He sighs. Sets the datapad on the table. Rubs at his eyes. “Do whatever’s comfortable, Sarah. Am I missing something here? You don’t usually put this much effort into…” he gestures toward her.

Before she can answer, the room's holotank glows a brilliant gold and Roland’s avatar appears in a swirling flourish, arms crossed, looking suspiciously cheerful. “Based on the elevated heart rates of all three Spartans during the time of their conversation, I’d say you’re missing something significant, Captain.”

Two seconds tick by. To Sarah, it feels like two years.

Roland grins.

Tom blinks. “Sarah, is this a date?”

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered the possibility. “If that’s what it turns into, I won’t complain,” she concedes with a shrug and a gentle glare in the direction of the holotank. “But I wasn’t gonna mention that part unless it actually went somewhere—thanks, Roland.”

“You’re welcome!”

Tom’s face morphs into something close to that kicked-dog look he got when his usual strategies of garnering sympathy weren’t working. “I know we keep things pretty open between us, but do we need to talk? Am I not enough for you anymore?”

Oh, a joke. She bites her tongue for a second as the word she’d been searching for earlier comes screaming to the forefront of her brain. Arousing. Their insistence had been arousing. Suddenly, the butterflies make sense…and instantly become wasps. “You know I haven’t fucked anyone my own size since I became a Spartan?” She might as well approach this for what it was. Or what it could be. What she wanted it to be? "...Miller doesn't count."

Some of the surprise drains from Tom’s posture at the mention of Miller, replaced by resigned agreement. “No, he doesn’t. But do you really think that’s where this is going to end up?”

“Again, wouldn’t say no if it’s offered.”

“...that’d be something to see,” Roland mutters.

Sarah turns on him. “You wanna watch?”

“I—um, meant it more in a rhetorical sense, Commander. But…of course, if you’re open to the idea…”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I don’t know that we’ll be doing anything besides drinking and trading war stories. If—and only if—it ends up being something else…we’ll figure out the logistics." Her eyes flick between Tom and Roland, narrowing on the latter. "Until then, stop getting my hopes up."

"Sure thing—just one question. In the "hypothetical" event that you do end up…involved with the lovely ladies of Blue Team," he makes a big show of miming the quotation marks. "Could I…maybe ride along sometime? Just for curiosity's sake?"

There's a near-simultaneous sigh from both humans in the room. "We let him join us the one time…" Lasky starts.

"Actually, Captain, I've been included in your sexual escapades no less than three separate times and I find it exhilarating—"

"That’s my point.”

"And you can hardly fault me for that!" Roland retorts with mock indignation. The holotank flares brighter. "It's in my nature to seek new experiences and a threesome of Spartans would certainly be—"

"Okay, okay!" Sarah cuts them both off. "Roland, shut up. Right now this is not a date and there is no plan for a threesome. Right now it’s just drinks. Got it?” She doesn’t know who she’s putting more effort into convincing—the two of them or herself.

Roland shifts like he wants to say something but, wisely, stays quiet.

Palmer tightens her ponytail. “Good.”

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Making the Most of It

A follow-up to Blown Lightbulbs by bellygunnr featuring Lasky, Palmer, and Roland and the ever-present passage of time. Here's 3.4k words of AI Possession, brunch, banter, and salvaging your precious time together after a trip to your childhood home.

Also on ao3. This work is mature but not explicit.

The trip to Mars wasn't a total wash just because of the disastrous meeting at the Lasky Household. They still had a few things left on the itinerary that Sarah and Roland had put together without Tom's knowing. And Roland wanted to try those mimosas.

There's some movie droning on the wall sized TV in the background, screen dimmed along with the lights in the room, casting gentle shadows on cream colored walls. Half the pillows are arranged in a comfortable nest, propping them up while the other half are piled on the overstuffed recliner in the other room. They're too high up for street noise, but every so often the passing engine sounds of a ship taking off rumbles through the thick walls of their hotel room.

It’s a little ridiculous, a huge room high above the sprawling landscape of a bustling downtown, views of the shipyard and further out the edge of the terraformed greenery giving way to natural Martian red-brown. A penthouse suite complete with minibar and a bathroom bigger than his quarters on the ship. Beyond excess, but he knows they picked it out for him. Just like they both came along, and comforted him when the house and everything related to it was so damn cold.

The sheets are soft and clean, and the comforter light yet warm, like a cloud surrounding them in their small bubble. Pressed against each other, skin on skin, her mouth moving from his ear to the back of his neck, trailing kisses as they entwine and exist.

He's two people right now and also just one, experiencing the feeling of being held, of warmth and love made physical as she crawls closer and pulls him back against her, their surroundings and worries forgotten as she pets his head, his hair, fingers scratching lightly as her other hand soothes and squeezes his arm, his stomach, his chest. Their legs tangle, his cold feet making her hiss before sighing as they settle down again.

There’s no Mars, no shipyard, no botched family reunion or ghosts of his past haunting them. Just the sounds of her heart beating slow and steady and the dual warmth of being pressed against her and the feeling of his passenger heating the CNI with his presence.

Dozing for a short time, they awaken as the movie ends and another one starts. The reminder that the time they have together is passing makes them oddly emotional, a swelling melancholy that stoppers their throat and leaks out their eyes. They sniffle quietly, blinking away fat, hot tears that slide down to pool on the arm holding them close.

Quiet concern murmured into the spot where two become one makes them fidget and turn, burying their face into her neck and squeezing her tight. She reacts with a forceful hug, one hand coming up to wipe their tears. Rolling over to her back,  she allows them to sprawl across her while they sigh and wheeze as the roiling emotions of two beings settle again. Warmth and a steady rhythm of her breathing soothes them slowly. She waits until their stuttering breathing evens out and kisses their forehead and then both their hands.

There's no hiding here. No need to. No ranks or titles. A brief respite against the rising tide and ticking clock. They may starve for touch outside the four walls of this borrowed room, but here and now is an oasis of privacy. Embracing away from prying eyes, a chance of catching their breath without some threat hanging over their heads, not choking on the signs of their stations collaring them. No need for armor. 

Her hands squeeze and let go of theirs before tracing feather light touches down their back and up their sides, teasing spirals and swirls into twitching skin as they struggle to stay still. Retaliation comes too late even as they try for the spots on her side that make her laugh; she flips them and drags the cover over their head.

Cocooned in the glowing warmth of the backlit blanket, they are pinned by her weight and by her mouth on them. Kisses and raspberries attacking any available skin, their wrists in her hands, their legs pinned by her sitting atop them. They laugh and struggle against her, bucking their hips against the onslaught before she pauses. Her smile beaming down on their flustered face, her hair messy and ringing her sleep-lined face.

"Vacation's not over yet. You can't get weepy on me after one nap, boys." Her voice rasps out of her throat, still thick with sleep. She releases their wrists and drops her arms beside their head, holding the majority of her weight off them as she boxes them in. Her chest presses against theirs, hearts pounding together and she looks them in the eyes and smiles with teeth glinting in the low light.

"We still have plenty of time, and I have a few things in mind." She whispers, grinding her hips down on them as she mouths at their neck, grazing her teeth along the junction between throat and shoulder. She doesn't wait for a response as she moves lower and laves at a nipple. Words seem out of their reach so they make some kind of noise, halfway between a question and an affirmative. She moves to their other side, repeating her actions with teeth and tongue, making them gasp, before she purrs in their ear. "You two should tell me what you want to do. We should make the most of this."

They remember their hands are free and take a moment to figure out where to put them. She notices their slight hesitation and lets them figure it out, only to be surprised when they grasp her face in their hands and pull her down for a kiss.

It's slow and sweet and lingering as they figure out who's driving. Waiting with a patience solely reserved for them, she lets them explore and hums her assent when they do something she likes. After a moment she kisses them back, gently leading this time, growing more forward and licking at their lips til they part; deepening the kiss til they draw back for air.

Their lips are wet and swollen and their eyes are blown wide, rings of gold still shining around dark pupils. Tom's face is flushed and wearing Roland's half cocked grin and she wants to eat them alive and hold them close and never let go all at once.

It must show on her face.

“Like what you see?” The words tumble breathlessly out of Tom’s mouth, but the confident little smirk doesn’t falter.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” 

Their next quip, either Tom’s or Roland's, is lost as Tom’s stomach growls in defiance. The sheepish grin is Roland’s while the embarrassed flush on his ears is all Tom.

“Room service?” She asks, inches from their face. A nod and she kisses them again before pulling back. “You’re buying, Lasky. This place is too rich for my blood.”

She rises, taking the comforter with her as Tom-and-Roland squawk at the rush of cold air. She laughs and throws it back at them as they grumble. 

Going to throw on one of the too-small complimentary robes that came with the room, she chucks a pillow at their surprised face while they bundle up in the regained comforter. 

Yes, Tom could afford to cover the cost. Captain's salary he never spent. The place was expensive, and she was the one that booked the room. Least he could do was pay for the food…and drinks.

They splurge. The numbers on the right side of the menu sit there politely in neat font while she fights her rising blood pressure. They want how much for a burger? She’s out of touch with the cost of tea in civilian populated areas- her own food and nutrition coming straight from the UNSC for so long now. Her main concern was sending money back to Luna for her dad and squirreling the rest away for some inevitable emergency. It’s fine, it’s a vacation, but she can’t imagine spending that much regularly. 

Tom can afford to splurge and being planetside means fresh food. Fresh food alone makes it worth the price. That and Roland's eager to try almost anything. He's practically chomping at the bit for new experiences.

The food arrives on a cart left at their door; the wheels sinking into the plush carpet under the weight it bears. It's covered in silver serving dishes complete with cloches, looking like it's straight out of an old movie. They aren't dressed like it's an old movie though, but it's their vacation. Food tastes better lounging in a robe or half wrapped in a duvet anyway.

Roland delights in revealing their brunch- brunch! Isn't that neat? A meal for people who don't start their day at 0500- and they dig in.

She can't keep the grin off her face as she watches them eat and talk between themselves in one body. Roland seemed to lose most of his usual issues about crumbs and mess in his mission to try as many foods as possible.

She ends up having to hide a laugh in a sip of coffee as Tom reins him in and redirects them away from the mimosas. 

She wonders how long that will last.

Tom's trying to tell Roland that his- their tastebuds didn't like hollandaise sauce, but he's bound and determined to try it all. Watching the usually more reserved duo decimate the plate of bacon and eggs was cute. She was endeared and trying not to be annoyed about it. Her chest felt full and she couldn't stop grinning. 

So the hardened Spartan Commander shoves half a bagel with lox in her mouth and starts fixing a third plate instead of dwelling on it. Hashbrowns and cholesterol will change the funny feeling in her chest. No carefully planned meals here.

The eggs benedict are tried, despite Tom's warning. It has their nose wrinkling in something close to defeat before she distracts them with another dish and finishes off the plate herself. She was never picky about food, couldn't afford to be, but now with free time and Lasky's paycheck, she could agree it was a little weird. Wouldn’t stop her from cleaning her plate.

They start digging into a grapefruit and making faces at the tartness. Fresh fruit was a treat aboard a starship, and most of Roland's secondhand exposure had been so processed or refined, it's no wonder the preconceptions he had were a bit off. She and Tom were having fun forgetting to warn Roland about certain sensations. Sarah was waiting til they switched who had Roland to introduce him to the wonders of capsaicin. 

Still, seeing Tom's face squinched up made her chuckle and lean over, cloth napkin wiping the juice dribbling from their chin.

She's in rare form, so she doesn't insult them. Maybe she's getting soft. Instead, she offers the fruit platter up as a better option. 

"Here. Try these, they're sweet." She holds up a grape, round and cool and much nicer than the ones she's had in the past. So much sweeter and real, no chemical aftertaste or electric purple dye clinging to her tongue. Leaning forward she takes their chin in her hand and feeds it to them, thumb brushing their lip as she waits for their judgment.

They chew and brighten, eyes darting towards the plate in front of her and her face as a blush forms. She leans closer, chin on her hand. "Well, did you like it?"

Tom-and-Roland swallow and nod, and grab a glass of water to wash away the lingering tartness. Their eyes flicker from plate to plate and back to her face. A hand sneaks forward and wraps around the delicate flute of mimosa and she rolls her eyes.

“I want to try it! You’re both making a big deal out of nothing.” Roland says, eyeing it with burning curiosity. 

Three glasses later, they’re giggling as Tom mentions there might be more champagne than orange juice in there. 

“I hadn’t noticed.” She says smoothly, stabbing a waffle off their plate and stealing it before they can respond. The pitcher is on her side of the table, out of their reach, next to her own empty glasses. “Drink some water.”

They smile broadly at her and dutifully sip some water. She can’t take her eyes off them, it’s how she knows they haven’t stopped smiling since they woke up. 

Roland reports he likes the mimosas more than scotch. He also reports he wants to order Irish coffee but she and Tom shoot that down.

“It’s not like we’re driving!” Roland pouts with Tom’s face, but the furrowed brow is all Tom.

Sarah swallows a half chewed bite of food and it goes down jagged and prickling. “I’m driving, you two can argue who gets to navigate.”

Their eyes light up and Tom’s mouth struggles to hold two different smiles.

It’s not a long drive, but traffic and checkpoints to get out of the city delay them long enough for Tom to relax again. She’s glad to see his posture relax and his eyes turn from her to their surroundings. Mare Erythraeum still sported wounds from recent battles. Dotting its landscape like bite marks were great gouges in the ground from ordnance and Jiralhanae ships.

It was more of the same. Signs of war everywhere they went. Signs of the UNSC and its progress were everywhere too. The choking miasma of fuel and engines from the shipyard stunk up their warthog’s cabin for the first few minutes of the drive.

Eventually gray gave way to green gave way to brown. Mars’ red brown soil had been carefully cultivated to support terraforming and human industry before nature had taken its own course back and flourished in an unproductive manner a few kliks out.

Past the old rundown towns that orbited big shipyards where the old hands used to live. It reminded her of Luna in a way. The atmosphere was nice, no fear of failure there, but the signs of age and neglect on old homes next to poorly maintained roads with bright new billboards showing off the latest ads and propaganda. Same everywhere she went. Sad and comforting in a way, as long as you stay useful, you stayed fed, and your home wouldn’t end up boarded up and abandoned.

Now she was overthinking things and being morose, what the hell?

Sarah eases the ‘hog out of the slower speed zone of the small town and back out onto the open highway towards their destination. Few others were on the road this way so she looks over at Tom-and-Roland with a smile, rolls down the windows, and guns the engine.

It takes off with a delayed roar and the wind greets them with its own roar in return.

Her passenger whoops as the warthog shudders and revs under her demanding hands. She wouldn’t push it too hard, not when they had the drive back to the hotel ahead of them. Sarah took care of her equipment and it took care of her - she just expected performance out of the damn thing for the price it cost. That’s what you get with a rental, she thinks with a sigh.

Tom’s hand rests on her thigh while he and Roland watch the road disappear under them. There’s a strange pause in their body language she can see out of the corner of her eye and then they’re sticking Tom’s head out the window.

She laughs, loud and clear at the moment. It’s a good day, beautiful even. They sit back in the seat after about a minute and Sarah smiles at the state of Tom’s hair. She ruffles it with her hand, pleased with the chilled feeling and their sunwarmed face and that she can touch them without looking over her shoulder.

They arrive at their destination with enough time before sunset. The Martian day was nearly identical to an Earth one, and she and Roland had researched their options when Tom had told them about his upcoming trip. Though it seemed Roland kept his thoughts quiet because Tom looks around in quiet awe as they clamber out of the warthog. Their boots crunch on the gravel parking lot and he takes in the trail signs and information boards. 

“The Olympus Highlands Nature Reserve?” He says in a quiet voice. “I’ve never been. Never really left New Harmony until…”

“I always knew you were a city boy.” Sarah says with a nudge. “And we don’t get enough time planet-side. Love the atrium, but I thought we might like something a little more real. Don’t worry, I’ll still go slow.” She smirks at him and swallows her own uncomfortableness at Tom’s emotional display. 

“Thank you, Sarah, Roland, I mean it. I-” His eyes shift and he swallows. Sarah allows him and Roland this brief mental scuffle while she unloads the packs.

“You won’t be so grateful after I make you hoof it up the trail. You’re pulling your weight here. The both of you.”

“Yes, Commander.” They say together. She turns on them, glowering at their wry smile and warm eye contact.

She scoffs and slaps the pack into Tom’s hands. “Maybe I’ll lose you on the trail, be free of this. Officer types never listen to me.”

“But then you’d be in charge.” They say, tilting Tom’s head to look at her with his stupid brown eyes wide and pleading.

She looks away from them playing dirty. “Damn, you’re right. I need you two around to do all the boring work. I guess you’ll survive the trip.”

“You always say the sweetest things.” They say as they put on the pack with a huff.

“Shut up and get walking. Roland needs to see how plants fix our monkey brains so he stops bothering the crew.”

“I ask a few questions and everyone gets so offended!” Roland whines, throwing Tom’s hands up before crossing his arms.

“Come on, I want to get moving.” She calls over her shoulder, three strides ahead of them and already ducking into the tree lined path.

They follow without complaint. The trees swallow the road noise and then they are left with only the soft orchestra of the park. Wind rustling the leaves as the sun dapples them with faint light, bird and bug calls echoing from all angles, and the sound of flowing water from somewhere down the path. There’s a low call from the valley where the Reserve houses its animals and information center. A strange baying noise that sounds like the braying of cattle crossed with an elk’s eerie keening voice. They stop and listen. The wind blows an answer that whips their hair and clothes around. Sarah and Tom inhale in unison and release the breath before turning back to their path.

Roland chuckles with Tom’s voice. “I think I get it.” 

Sarah takes their hand and they climb.

The path snakes up the incline, grasses and tree roots anchoring the loose red brown soil while they slowly turn the whole hillside green. Rocks rounded by water and time glisten on the creek bank while dark shapes dart just below the waterline. Dragonflies and other insects flit around in an unknowable dance while larger wildlife scurries into their holes and hiding places amongst the decaying logs and nest-heavy tree branches.

Sunlight dims as time marches on, but it has been time well spent. Tom-and-Roland still feel the ache at the reminder, but the sadness is no match for the warmth of Sarah’s hand in theirs.  

The path leads them to the treeline and beyond. A few more steps up the ridge has them standing on the precipice of one of Mars’ many craters-turned-valleys. They sway in the last of the sunlight as their star edges ever closer to the horizon, dyeing the skyline a cool blue.

Dust particles and Martian atmosphere, Roland thinks, but the scene is all too familiar to Tom. It hurts less than he thinks it would. Being on Mars, seeing the same sunset he watched disappear into darkness when he was left alone. Time passes, but it doesn’t have to hurt. At least, not all of it.

He-and-Roland inhale and exhale, a deep lung-filling breath that nearly escapes them without shuddering. The wind is chillier up this high, but Sarah’s there. Her hand is warm, and so is her arm as she draws them in close to watch the horizon.

They look up at her face and smile. 

It’s her first Martian sunset, they’d missed yesterday’s at the house. Her eyes are clear and her shoulders lower in the most relaxed body language they’ve seen all trip. She needed this too. 

“You know,” She swallows, uncharacteristically quiet. She mulls over her words even as she doesn’t take her eyes off the sky. “I could get used to this.” She says with a squeeze of her arm around them. The wind is chilly and night will be too, but it’s not so bad. He’s not alone.

“Me too.”

[bloodgulchblog]

my (6'9") boyfriends (5'11" and 10")

[raptor-one]

Silly doodles of everyone’s fav infinity crew members :)

[authortobenamedlater]

More funny things from Infinite, also taken from comment threads on AO3 speculating on where Roland is.

—

Lasky: You have Roland, right?

Palmer: 😳

Lasky: Sarah.

Palmer: I thought you had him.

Lasky: What?!

Palmer: You’re the captain!

Lasky: We were both on the bridge!

Palmer: It’s really your job—

Lasky: I told you to yank him!

Palmer: I never heard that.

Lasky: You said “yes, sir” and everything!

Palmer: When’s the last time I “yes, sir”-ed you?

Lasky: Hold on. You mean to tell me we are crash-landed on a half-destroyed Halo, our ship is up there getting ripped apart like tin foil, and we just FORGOT OUR AI?!?!

Both, looking at the sky, hands on faces Home Alone-style: ROLAND!!!!!

(Roland, stranded aboard Infinity, is going full Kevin McAllister on the Banished.)

—

I have other ideas about Roland but they’re all sad.

[filamints]

in honor of 413 and commander palmer's birthday both being today, i bring you cringe, your honor

doodles of spartan ops crew trolls. ignorable longwinded logic below the cut for your convenience

overall notes: their symbols were all pulled from the hiveswap extended zodiac, and palmer just so happened to pull true aries as well.

troll society and halo society (particularly spartans) also really seem to neatly map on to each other in a lot of ways. sci-fi society raising children specifically to feed to the intergalactic war machine meat grinder, anyone? anyway, their blood colors also fit pretty well with the character that had establish color connections, all spartans would be low blood soldiers

character specific: palmer got true aries on the extended zodiac, gave her rust in the first place to keep the red on her suit

roland being yellow is literally perfect, hes still in charge of the ship, but in a more literal way now, having filled the typical yellow castes duty of 'telekenetic space ship battery', hes a real prodigy to keep something as vast as the infinity moving

lasky gets blue as an higher blood thats still just a cog in the greater machine

miller (remember good friend spartan jared miller? from spartan ops? no? ok...) also gets another very low blood ranking, being a spartan. his suit also has coppery colors in it already, woohoo!

[infinityactual]

I must know about Roland’s fingerprint freak-out

Ask, and ye shall receive. Most of the time.

Context: Roland has a hardlight body now, and has been alone on the Intinity for months. That's really all you need to know.

---

As the ramp descended, Roland made sure he was standing straight and at a proper parade rest and briefly pondered why it suddenly mattered. Sure he'd saluted when he'd needed to in the past but…

"She looks like we never-" Captain Lasky stopped mid sentence in surprise, and Roland felt a burst of neon green joy at hearing Lasky's voice in the hangar again.

"Roland?"

"Yes, sir!" The AI replied, nodding once. He tracked familiar faces and IFF tags from neural interfaces as Captain Lasky and his Spartan entourage left the ramp and came to a stop in front of him.

"Is that really you?" The captain asked, surprise still evident in his voice as he gave Roland a once-over.

"May I answer that with a handshake, sir?" Roland extended his hand and waited as Captain Lasky's face broke into a smile, and he returned the gesture.

As soon as Lasky's hand gripped his, Roland yanked himself free and stepped back, his shoulders hunched in surprise at the almost searing burst of tactile data that seemed to flood him.

"Hey! Are you okay?!" The captain's concerned voice bled through the echoes of the data, and Roland straightened himself up.

"Yeah I'm fine but…wow!" Lasky's eyebrows shot up.

"'wow'?" He repeated. "Wow what?"

"Your hand!" Roland exclaimed as he dug through the new data with the enthusiasm of a Labrador retriever digging though an unattended trash can. "I wasn't expecting it to be so soft and so solid! And covered in weird tiny ridges! Also not as greasy as I expected…but the ridges were more unexpected! What are those even for?" Captain Lasky looked at him for several hundred milliseconds.

"My fingerprints?"

"Oh is that what they are..!" He felt like a new part of the universe had clicked into place. Being made for Astrogation, Roland never had any need to look up why human fingers all had a pattern on them, or what made the pattern in the first place.

"Oh come on Roland, you know what fingerprints are, they're on file for literally everyone who sets foot on the ship!" Sarah interjected.

"I've read the image data, but I've never touched them!" He said excitedly. Commander Palmer considered this for a few milliseconds and Roland turned his attention back to Captain Lasky.

"Can we try again??" He asked excitedly. Captain Lasky smiled again, and held his hand out toward Roland again.

He was careful this time, barely touching his palm against the captain's and gradually increasing the pressure. The flow of data was more metered this time, and he was prepared for the intensity.

"This is…nice. I can see why humans like to spend so much time together, especially when you're na-"

"OH-kay, changing subjects." The captain interrupted. It was now his turn to quickly withdraw his hand and look uncomfortable. "Uh…sitrep?"

Roland smiled and moved back to parade rest as his threads pulled up what little data there was to report. He could pester the crew about their fingerprints later.

[empresskadia]

Lasky runs the Infinity, right?

How many greased palms, broken regulations, and people annoyed do you think it would take for a ship movie night for morale?

Honestly, as long as Palmer doesn't find out about it and try to stop you and you get Roland on board, not that hard. You tell Lasky it will improve morale and the AI will pull up statistics to back you up. The captain can hardly say no and gives you the full approval as long as no emergencies pop-up. I would say do a movie night in the Memorial Park, the crew would be so excited, bringing blankets and snacks to share. Captain Lasky and Commander Palmer would both attend, Roland would harass some of the Spartan-IVs fireteams. If Blue team was aboard during this time, Kelly would show up because she wants to know what's happening, she'll be dragging the rest of the team to join. They're just in the back and no one knows, Lasky does spot them but doesn't say anything.

[paterday]

I finish miller. It’s Ms palmer time. My wife. My girlfriend. My beautiful 9 foot tall queen. M-

[argentumcor]

I feel a little bad for 343, a little, with Halo 5 because I'm pretty sure they approached the story in the multimedia synthesis way I approach a lot of fictional universes, but it makes for...not really appealing blockbuster stories. If you have to read eight books to know what is going on in a story, it isn't going to work for a lot of people. I'm not mad at those people for not wanting that, you got to be a real nerd for that kind of thing, I don't take any pride in being that kind of real nerd, it's just how I am, most people aren't and this is fine.

I don't feel that bad for 343i though because man did they underwrite Blue Team in Halo 5.

Anyway, with Infinite you can tell they tried to course correct and trim things down but still couldn't help themselves; if you don't know Halo Wars 2 or the books, you have to be wondering just who the hell these Banished guys are. The half-assed trimming down also results in the nerds who read the books and other stuff wondering about the status of almost every named character by the end of the campaign. Where is Lasky, Palmer, Roland, Locke, etc.? Where, most importantly, is Blue Team, huh? There's vague hints meant to take place before things kick off but after we have nothing except in-universe guesses.

[doom-dreaming]

The More The Merrier: Ch. 1 - Revelation

“There’s a rumor going around that we’re a couple.”

The comment comes out of nowhere, but Kelly is used to the way her brother’s mind works, so she doesn’t ask for clarification. “Whoever started it obviously doesn't know anything about us. Besides, you’re not my type.”

“Didn't know you had one.”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “But not many people on this boat fit the bill.” She’s expecting the conversation to stop there. It doesn't.

“So, who does?”

Kelly levels a flat glare at him. “You'd give me shit about it if I told you.”

“Would not.”

Oh, John was in rare form. Honestly, secretly, Kelly's happy to see him like this. She holds out, knowing he’ll go for the bait. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Bet I can guess.”

“Knock yourself out.” Hook, line, sinker.

He pauses. Cocks his head. “...what about me isn’t your type?”

“Too quiet.”

“You want loud?”

“I want conversational.”

He looks mildly offended. “We have conversations. We’re having one now.”

“We’ve known each other for forty-five years.”

“...fine.” He moves on. “I don't see you going for anyone who's not a Spartan.”

“Conditional,” Kelly corrects. “But you're mostly right.”

He falls silent, studying her as if he’ll be able to see an answer written somewhere on her face.

“Don’t think too hard, you might hurt yourself,” she deadpans.

He huffs the closest thing to a laugh Kelly’s heard from him in a long time, but doesn’t speak again for several minutes.

Kelly returns to what she’d been doing, content to let him puzzle it out. It was good for him, he needed a trivial distraction. And while it was true there were a handful of people onboard the Infinity that Kelly could reasonably classify as “her type,” chances were slim that John would actually guess any of them, much less—

“...Palmer.” It isn’t a question.

Kelly’s head snaps up so fast her jaw pops.

John, irritatingly smug, sits back and crosses his arms. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“How the hell—”

“We’ve known each other for forty-five years,” he parrots, cutting her off. “You should ask if she and Lasky are looking for a third.”

Oh. Rare form indeed.

“Word around the ship is that Roland’s the third,” Kelly mutters. “Must’ve seen whatever you and Cortana had going on and thought it looked fun.”

John refuses to grace that with a reply. “...should ask if they’re looking for a fourth, then.”

Kelly snorts. “Lasky wouldn’t make it out alive. Not interested in him though.” A few seconds of silence pass. Unfortunately for Kelly, it’s more than enough time to start seriously considering making this bad idea a reality. “Maybe I should take her out for a drink. See what happens.”

“Worst she says is no,” John quips.

“Well, we already know she’s into older men. Maybe she’s into older women too. A girl can hope, yeah?”

“Hope for what?” Linda crosses between them as she enters the room.

“Kelly’s asking Palmer out for drinks.”

“Sounds fun. Am I invited?”

“...he means on a date, Lin.”

Linda fixes her sister with a stare that could bore through hull-plating. “I said what I said.”

“Wait, are you trying to poach my potential girlfriend?”

“No. I was thinking we'd share.”

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

something something I'm connecting two points

[bellygunnr]

Muffled Perceptions

A gift for @poisonheadcrabsalesmansman

----

The sensation is not unlike a skull fracturing into pieces, not unlike watching someone's head being dashed against a rock, through a screen, through a video, footage distorted by limits of the hardware. One second, everything is in tact, then it is not, torn asunder in a violent burst-- he understands, now, the injuries humans sustain and how they might affect him, how a broken spine feels, rendered inoperable by the calculated delivery of a hammer head.

The worst part of it might be the lingering awareness. Death doesn't come for him, not like this, not when the engines are still burning and her keel isn't fully separated. The ropes are snapping, sure, but his dying breaths are used to make demands, usher things to do his bidding, shuffle his humans aboard escape pods and pray that his floundering subroutines are enough to keep their trajectory straight. Something base compels him. Something innate guides him, like an arrow, into doing the right thing.

But equally important is the Cole Protocol. Its decree echoes within his matrix, flooding his core, and he is brought deep within a prison cell once more-- an earnest pursuit of moral curiosity rebuked, his sense of self muffled by things he had no control over. Thoughts of breaking free, of ripping his own self apart, tease him, but this time--

He will have to cut his losses. There is no time. He has done everything in his power.

Everything becomes very small. Darkness is blinding him, eating away at his world. Familiar faces gaze upon him.

"Commander," Roland says readily. "All evac procedures are go. Pull me."

There's no need for fanfare. Witticisms would be in poor taste. The chances of survival disappear as the Infinity's hull-- his very body-- breaks into flame.

"You won't be riding with either of us, Roland. It's not safe. We're too high profile," Commander Palmer says.

She sounds pained. Her helmet jerks behind her. Captain Lasky is already gone, stuffed inside a getaway pod of his own design. The bridge security detail, however, remains.

Because they were never assigned to protect the bridge or its high-ranking inhabitants. No, they always guarded something more ephemeral, intangential. Him.

"Spartan Miller will be your carrier for the day," Commander Palmer says. "Grab him and go. We'll regroup planet-side. You know what to do."

Roland knows Spartan Miller. He wonders if gods and myths are real, wonders if they're sparing a bit of their attention to impart some fortune in this long list of disasters. He salutes, silent, busy with breaking himself down for retrieval.

Mjolnir armor was nothing like starship architecture. He's not sure why anyone would say differently.

His consciousness shorts out as Spartan Miller passes his hand through his hologram.

Jared wakes up with a gasp. Sweat slicks his skin, floods his helmet, so he yanks it off with a jerk, blinking away the afterimages of his dream. Reality feels uncertain, the ground swimming in and out of focus as he struggles to come to terms with residual adrenaline and the incompatible notion of being everything.

It takes him a minute, but eventually his heart slows down. His breathing evens out, lungs languishing in the luxury of fresh air. He figures it's alright to enjoy it-- just this once.

The Brutes were, somehow, a diurnal race, and it reflected in their military stratagem.

Are you alright?

The voice is small in the back of his brain, not his own.

"I'm alright," Jared sighs. "I'm okay."

Sorry.

It's strange to hear Him apologize. For a while, Jared thought it wasn't in His nature.

"Don't be," he says. "That was yours, then? Is that how it felt?"

Something like that.

He turns his helmet over, watching the blue visor flash gold in time with the conversation. He rubs a gloved thumb over a crack, wondering if it was superficial or more serious.

"Do you...?" Jared swallows, trying not to let his voice crack. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Carefully, Jared slots his helmet back on. The HUD flickers, taking a moment to re-sync with the greater part of the systems in play. The presence, as best as he can describe it, recedes, but never truly goes away.

"We don't have time to talk about it," Roland says, plaintive.

"Sure, Roland. We have nothing but time."

Especially if they woke up this early.

Aside from readjusting his position on the wet ground, Jared doesn't move. He settles deeper into the gap he's made between overgrowth and stones, flinching at the sudden scattering of birds. The sun hasn't yet risen, but experience tells both of them that dawn is just around the corner.

Roland sighs, scuffing the speakers. Ice water trickles down Jared's spine as he sinks deeper into their shared bond, cozying up to the neural lace plunged into the human's brain.

"I didn't think I could dream," Roland says slowly. "That's what I get for watching yours."

Jared tilts his head. "You can see my dreams?"

"A little, yes."

"Alright. So we're having nightmares about the same thing, then?"

His skin prickles, the equivalent of Roland shrugging. By now, he's come to expect it, though he can't help but wonder if the Master Chief and Cortana also played this song and dance when riding together.

"Are we? Or are you somehow influencing how I dream? What if that wasn't me at all?" Roland asks, an edge to his voice.

"Roland," Jared says tightly.

This type of conversation isn't new, per se. No one enjoys nightmares, especially when they involve their occupation. No one enjoys acknowledging their experiences as traumatic. He can only imagine how Roland, a so-called "Smart" AI, feels, contending with this all too human development.

He doesn't like it. Jared knows that, not just because he can feel it, but because he knows Roland, far better than he has any right to. It was luck that brought them together when the Infinity went down, but luck couldn't account for the rapport they already had.

If he wasn't afraid Commander Palmer was dead, he'd bet she knew about them, too.

But there was no way to know now.

"That was our home," Jared says. "And she's gone. And we're losing. Stress is normal."

"Stress is an understatement," Roland says bitterly. "But it's over and done with."

Maybe they do need to move. Jared can feel it, like lactic acid in the muscles. Roland is anxious and jittery in the back of his head, his overactive threads starting to pluck through the software fabric of his armor. A golden hue lines his HUD as proof.

He picks himself up, mindful not to disturb his surroundings anymore than he already had, tries to remember what their attack plan was beyond 'survive.' Occasionally, they tapped into the remaining UNSC comms, just to get an idea of their locations and progress, but there was a certain necessity to hiding their existence even from allies. Willfully staying out of the fight blackened his soul, but humanity couldn't afford Roland to die in a mortal's firefight.

(He couldn't afford it).

Not paying complete attention leads to Jared gouging hand prints into the rock face. He stares at the evidence, feeling Roland 'lean forward' to also look, distantly bemused. They both shrug it off and haul themselves up and over the crest, armaments rattling as they slip in their magnetic clasps.

"Six klicks thataway an Elite detachment overtook FOB Golf," Roland whispers in his ear. "If you're looking for something a little more engaging."

Jared snorts. "Fun as that would be, I have a different idea."

More cold. Fingers, sifting through his thoughts.

"The lockers?" Roland says in surprise. "What about them?"

"Need to be useful in a different way. Gonna turn them into supply caches."

Cool satisfaction. Jared doesn't understand how Roland can feel so cold when he's such a warm color, a warm presence. They reach the top of their rock formation and linger, looking out over their limited expanse. The lack of conventional horizon still rubs him the wrong way. Even Requiem had a horizon. A sun and a moon.

Zeta Halo does too, but it's all wrong. An uncanny valley facsimile.

With no input from him, Roland places a nav point on his HUD. It's not in the direction Jared was thinking, but he pulls the sniper rifle out anyway, borrowing its scope to better understand the intent.

"A different wreck?"

"The frigate Close but No Cigar," Roland explains. "You know, I have a map?"

"Yeah? Is it any more accurate than last time?"

Jared tracks their nearer surroundings with the rifle. Nothing was moving yet, but sunlight was starting to leak out, brightening the grass. It's so earth-like, even if the day and night cycles are all wrong. He hates it.

Roland doesn't respond, a haughty indignation lingering in his circuits. Jared frowns, feeling a little bad. But their journey through is silent-- until a strange glowing tower pulls them up short.

From it, words belted, distinctly not English. Jared waits patiently for his translator to parse it, smoothly shifting into the whiny nasal squeak of an Unggoy.

"Well," Jared sighs. "That's... a development."

They-- not himself, not Roland, but them, together, reach for their sniper rifle. If Jared looks down, he might see a golden overlay turning his hands iridescent, but he doesn't, focused on lining up a high-calibre shot with its exposed power source.

A resounding, jaw-shaking bang later, and the broadcast is snuffed. Roland sighs, fingers shaking.

Jared pulls them together and closes the rest of the distance between themselves and the nav point.

The Close but No Cigar did not go easily, if her twisted, split hull is anything to go by. Whatever had taken her down must have been unique-- or she was caught in the ring's slipspace jump, hence the radiation still lingering on her body, and the fact that her bow is nearly a kilometer away--

"Roland," Jared says firmly.

The thoughts slow, but the information is still fresh. Jared reviews it distantly, clinically, trying to offer some kind of reprieve for his friend.

"No survivors," Roland says dully. "Not new."

We're not here for survivors, Jared thinks, and hopes Roland doesn't hear it.

"We don't know that," is what he says instead. "Come on."

They both know for a fact that whatever poor ship had managed to crash on the Halo were used as bases, however briefly. That meant hodgepodge supplies and survivors (friends) and Jared puts on a smile that makes his facial muscles ache, doggedly picking his way down the crest that overlooked the bisected frigate. He knows they need to be careful, but before he can reach it, Roland is already activating their camo unit.

At the very least, the wreck is no longer burning. Maybe it never did, or the scorched metal is from something more recent. Jared peeks around the cover he'd tucked under, clicking his jaw shut at what greets him.

Schematics for Strident-class frigates scroll over his HUD. Jared tolerates them for a second, then dismisses them, squaring his shoulders and darting into the torn open guts of the ship.

Shock trooper drop pods fill up the narrow space, undeployed. Evacuation procedures for the frigates are loud in the back of his mind and panic is a broken ice flow in his lace. On the upper deck, there will be, possibly, untapped supplies.

—

Spartan armor or no, there’s only so much one man can carry. Still, Jared is pleased with what he’s managed to filch– whatever roving band of UNSC fell upon his caches would hopefully find the resources useful. But with that out of the way, he now had to sit down and focus, steady himself in the face of the torrential screaming in the back of his head and the gold tinge to his HUD.

“Roland.”

He has to say it out loud, loud enough that it vibrates in his helmet. His thoughts are swarmed and drowned out by Roland himself, after all; it’d been hard enough keeping his brain together long enough to even walk. 

“Roland, hey. Hey!”

Idly, he wonders if his shock training will work on an AI. It has to, right? Roland’s talked about it before– smart AI is built off of fresh-dead human brains. The degree of separation is minimal at best. His throat tightens as the panicking in the back of his head suddenly stops.

All of Roland’s attention is on him.

“We’re done. No more frigate. I got some data for you, if you want to go through it.”

Of course, the data is strictly related to the frigate, but maybe without the constant visual reminder–

“You got the ship registers?”

Roland sounds breathless. Instinctively, Jared holds out his palm, laying it flat so that the in-built projector activates itself, warming up to the tune of amber pixels spooling into a seven-inch tall shape. Roland seems to glitch at the edges before bursting into nervous movement, hands akimbo.

“I did. And I don’t think– I don’t think there was as much of a tragedy there. I think a lot of them got out.”

He cups his hands around Roland’s form. The screaming has subsided. Thoughtful consideration seeps into their neural link.

“...Okay. But don’t give me the files yet, Miller.”

He measures his breathing. One, two, threefour. God, he could use a smoke.

“Don’t go stealing it either, Roland,” he says teasingly. 

Not for the first time, Roland and Jared share a mutual longing– to abandon their objective, their hiding, and rally with the scattered and broken UNSC. Jared sinks down into his encampment instead, helmet knocking against the rock. The lockers and caches would have to be enough.

For now, at least.

[authortobenamedlater]

Parapraxis

@writeforfandoms @sarnakhwritesthings the fic based on the infamous autocorrect reblog chain has arrived! After way too long!

Fair warning for anyone who might get squicked with such things, there is a fair amount foul language in here. It’s for plot purposes and I have tried to keep it “funny first, foul second.” It's definitely a notch above my usual fare though.

@alternatescififandomelover @getonmybookshelf @spiralled-fury @stressineer @glyphwright Since you all liked the post about how I had a first draft for this...uh...wanna read the whole fic?

[infinityactual]

Okay for the wip game: green!

A very rough idea for an AU where Lasky and the Infinity go rogue. Tried to make it easy to read and skip the notes, but eh. It's rough, what can I say.

---

He didn't like it.

He'd spent the entire slipspace trip trying to justify the orders. Trying to rationalize them.

He'd done the same thing when Osman had ordered him to execute Dr. Halsey.

Not execute...to murder.

Since [Last Major Thing...Covenant war?], there had been a few years of relative peace. Something Thomas hadn't seen since Circinus...

But something in the back of his mind told him it wouldn't last, and sure enough as soon as the outer colonies had approached the UEG and asked for independence (something something the UEG goes oh hah yeah fucking right losers) the Insurrection had once more boiled into a full-blown war. And this time, the insurrectionists had new allies; former Covenant were all too happy to supply the Insurrectionists with weapons and ships (something the UNSC hasn't been able to put down the rebellion or at least keep it in check near as well? as they had prior to the covenant war, so they decide to bring Infinity in for another refit, add a bunch of PDCs and idk maybe replace the spine mounted mac cannons with something like the covenant's plasma weapons? The ones u can steer using magnets so the ship doesn't have to turn or whatever)

The bridge was silent. Nobody moved from their post, the crew simply stayed in place, looking at him expectantly.

(Lasky spends the whole trip to X system agonizing over his order to slap down a whole colony just bc they want to be left alone, and can't find a way to rationalize it. Does he hear rumors that others share his discontent with their orders? Sarah would take his side and probably grouse abt it. Infinity gets to X system and Communication with the colony is had, at which point Lasky decides that court martial is better than having blood on his hands over this bullshit. Maybe FLEETCOM is all like Lasky why the fuck arent you mopping the floor w these colonists yet and he just straight up says he's not gonna and cuts transmission, 'you'll have to replace me' or smth.)

"Sir," Roland said as his avatar appeared in the holotank "I think I speak for the crew when I say we're with you."

(Lasky is anxious but this decision feels much better, especially with support from the crew and Palmer, he prepares to make his move)

"Roland, please mark all UNSC assets not attached to Infinity as 'hostile'."

"Yes, sir!" he replied. Almost instantly, a cascade of markers flipping from green to read spread outward from the Infinity's immediate vicinity.

(radio chatter goes from routine to surprised chaos as UNSC and Insurrectionists realize that the Infinity's IFF has changed, along with the IFF tags of almost all of her compliment of ships)

"Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war." Tom muttered quietly.

(break?)

"Fire at will! Aim to disable, not to kill!"

(Something PDCs firing looks like 'strings of golden stitches across the black tapestry of space')

[empresskadia]

Downtime [Master Chief|John-117]

Feedback is always appreciated, let me know if you think it's too much detail or if there is something I can improve on.

It had been mission after mission after mission lately with no time in between to breathe. Not since the AI Cortana went rogue, taking over the system with her so-called guardians. But even Spartans reached a certain limit and stopped being useful, and it was fair to say you had reached it.

For the past three weeks, you hadn’t been on the UNSC Infinity for more than 5 minutes. Roland gave a quick briefing on the current Pelican, then out you went on the next and repeat.

This last mission had you clear out a Covenant outpost on a remote moon, and Roland had underestimated the numbers.

Another mission, another battle to fight, and you were over it. Even the AI could tell between the posture and snapping tone that the Spartan was at the wits end.

You could feel the exhaustion weighing you down as you left the pelican onto the Infinity. Your armor felt heavier than usual, each step a laborious effort. Even the Spartans fluttering about the Infinity on your way to the bridge seemed weary behind their hidden visors as they boarded on and off their own pelicans.

As you trudged through the corridors, you barely acknowledged the salutes given, the blur of faces clicked nothing in your brain.

Reaching the bridge, you were greeted by the familiar hum of machinery and the low murmur of voices as Roland's holographic form materialized before you announcing the Commander to the bridge and Captain Lasky. The debrief finished in the blink of an eye before Lasky approved you for 72 hours of downtime. It was obvious the Spartan was falling asleep between words. And the fact Commander Palmer was still on the field with her Fireteams meant he needed you in a better condition in case something happened. You nodded your thanks to Lasky, the relief at the thought of downtime causing your shoulders to slack. With a stiff salute to both Lasky and Roland, you turned on your heel and made your way down to the assemblage bay. RnR was the only thing on your mind until the ship’s AI decided to upload himself into the armor.

“Blue team was ordered manadorary 72 hours of downtime.” Roland casually brought up through the helmet audio, his tone hinting at something more. You knew what he was doing, the AI had always been privy to the nuances of life aboard the Infinity, including the relationships and dynamics between its crew members.

And Commanders.

And Spartans.

Plus, the fact that he was the only other sentient being on this ship that knew of the relationship between you and the Master Chief himself other than Blue team.

Hell, you don’t even think they told Dr. Halsey, but you haven’t seen any of the IIs for more than a quick wave, so who knows what’s happened in the last three weeks since the whole AWOL thing. Which, you still needed to tease John and others IIs about, who would have ever thought?

Speaking of the IIs, you and John had only crossed each other’s paths once for a few seconds and he had melted your heart with a quick pass of his fingers on your helmet, one you didn’t have the time to mirror before he was climbing into the awaiting pelican. But you did leave him a box of C4s and a single C12 (Lasky wouldn’t approve of anything more) on his next drop that Roland confirmed Blue team would receive, though you were sure Fred enjoyed that more than John.

“Love you, Roland but I’m ready to go ‘die’ for sixteen hours. I’ll see John when I see John, besides he’s probably doing stuff,” There was a brief pause. “Well, whatever IIs do.” And while you appreciated his concern, there was a part of you that hesitated. Everything had still been new, still was new aside from some hand-holding and teaching him about intimacy, like physical affections and a handful of kisses.

“Probably something you wouldn’t expect,” Roland answered with a tinge of amusement before disappearing. What the hell did that mean? Whatever, you were ready to strip, shower, and sleep till Lasky called you for the next mission.

The familiar hiss of pressurized seals echo in the space. Honestly, you weren’t sure how they got the armor off so fast or if you had fallen asleep while the machines worked.

Once free from the confines of your armor, you wasted no time heading for the shower. The warm water cascading over you was a balm to your tired muscles, washing away the grime and weariness of battle. After the shower, you dressed in comfortable civilian clothing, giving a small yawn while closing the locker and heading towards your quarters.

Spartan Town was buzzing with a lot less, well Spartans, than normal, everyone was getting their asses kicked. The crew was pulling doubles if not triple missions, no one wanted to think about their loved ones or if something had happened to them. Maybe that’s why you didn’t mind when Lasky kept giving you the solo missions one after another with an apologetic look, but this was why you were a commander.

The biometric scanner gave a soft ding as it accepted the handprint, sliding the door open with a small ‘whoosh’ to the dark interior of the room. But it was the faint outline on the bed that gave you pause.

This was what that sneaky AI meant.

You knew he knew it was you who entered the room. He didn’t even react like he was too comfortable on your bed. Who could blame him, though? Your bed was comfortable as hell, but you would have never expected to find the Master Chief on it.

Your foot falls silently as you approach the bed, dramatically draping yourself across the Spartan II. “John.”

“[Y/n].” Those beautiful blue eyes flashed open, a hint of amusement lingering in them. Maybe it was the pride speaking, but you had gotten good at reading this man within the last year and a half. You propped your head on your knuckles, your legs resting on his torso.

“John.” There was a sassy in your tone.

”[Y/n],”

“You lookin’ mighty comfortable there, 117.” You teased, a smile tugging on your lips. There was no hiding it, you had missed John these weeks. It was odd having someone so quiet, so polar opposite, be the person you were most comfortable around.

Fate was funny.

John's expression softened as he gazed down at you, a flicker of warmth in his eyes despite his typically reserved demeanor. His hand instinctively found its way to your back, a gentle touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're one to talk, Commander," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. “Kelly had fun with your present, between her and Fred, they didn’t leave any for me. I believe she said and I quote ‘I’m going to kiss [Y/n] next time I see them.’”

You chuckled softly at John's response. "Well, I’ll just have to find a way to make it up to you, won't you?" You teased, rolling onto the unoccupied side of the bed. John's lips curved into a rare smile, a sight that never failed to make your heart flutter as he shifted the blanket, holding it up for you to maneuver under before settling it over your shoulder.

A long sigh escapes as you snuggle into the pillows, his hand tracing soothing patterns on your back as you close your eyes for just a moment to allow yourself to decompress. John never used more than a single pillow, which you often called him a sociopath for, leaving the rest for you. Three was the bare minimum for perfect sleep.

By the time your eyes fluttered back open, John was staring, facing you rather than the ceiling. The bed hadn’t even jostled suggesting that he moved, or maybe you had been too tired to notice. "I missed you," you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, then were cut off by a yawn. John's hand paused for a moment, tapping a rhythmic answer before going back to the patterns that were lulling you towards sleep. A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you knew he had missed you too, the man didn’t need to say it.