Downtime [Master Chief|John-117]
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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.
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