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REUNION
A rush of cold rippled through her skin, and Veta Lopis opened her eyes.
Her eyelids felt so heavy. It took her a while to get out of the haze, to register where she was. She took a few deep breaths. Slight pain. The brightness of the room and the strong chemical scent that burned through her nose gave it away; infirmary, perhaps medbay.
Her head spun, Veta groaned.
The white room was empty, except for the machines bleeping.
She tried to move but ended up sinking into the mattress, exhausted. Rolling her head to the side, her half-lidded eyes stumbled upon a shelf holding a flask of water, prescription bottles, a biodegradable cup (probably for the water) and a little paper crane, sitting right there on the edge closest to her. Veta’s gaze froze for a second on the construct, made of some yellowish cellulose sheet, folded with the utmost care and expertise; the gears inside her head whirred until she made the connection. She gasped.
Memories of the Silent Joe flooded her senses.
Memories of heavy rain and a few hours shared in quiet comfort, without pretenses.
That had been over three years ago, right?
It was hard to keep track of time while one was jumping constantly between planets.
Ignoring the pain, Veta pushed herself up with an elbow and scanned the room.
Narrow, crowded with apparatuses. The bed was huge, too big for her, for any regular person. Hurriedly, Veta tried to grab the IV and only then noticed the heavy compression bandage that wrapped the entirety of her right arm, from wrist to shoulder and neck, and the blue hospital gown that covered most of it. The bandage was hard, like a cast, but flexible. Her arm was loose.
She inspected the prescriptions. Nutrition and painkillers.
She sighed and stretched to grab the IV bag, seeing that it couldn’t be pulled off.
With great effort, she managed to move her legs -numb, heavy like bricks- to the side of the tall medical bed, and sit straighter, cradling the bag and her wounded arm on her lap. There was another bandage on her right leg, she could barely feel anything there as well.
She calculated the odds: jumping from that height could end up in another injury.
So, Veta decided to roll on her belly and slip down to the floor, the soles of her feet prickled at the feel of the cold metal grating. Some days, being small was an advantage, some days it just wasn’t. Slowly, the former Inspector made her way to the sliding door, using the bed to support her weight until she gathered the strength to stand on her own, although a bit wobbly.
The automatic door opened to show her the cold corridor outside.
A metal bench was the only furniture to be seen left and right, and the man lying on it, on his back with an arm crossed above his eyes, impossible to miss. He was so big that he didn’t fit on the length of the bench.
Veta’s shoulders dropped in relief.
Fred.
She smiled a little. The IV bag cradled against her chest squeaked when she held it tighter; of course, such a minimum noise was still loud enough to kick a Spartan back into the world of the living. Fred gasped, pulling the arm away from his face and sat up, stiff, staring at her petite, hulking form and her blue hospital gown, her disheveled mohawk-like hair.
There were bruises on the right side of her face, a few nicks of plasma burns.
But her vivacious hazel eyes were the same, perhaps even warmer.
“Lopis.” the Spartan confirmed, blinking the sleep away.
His whole posture shifted from startled alert to comfortable awareness. Even the dark-green fatigues he was wearing seemed to deflate along with him.
“Did you sleep on that bench?” she asked, her voice raspy, dry.
She shouldn’t be so surprised.
“Why are you out of bed?”
“I shot first.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Yes, I slept on the bench. Why are you out of bed? Do you need anything?”
“I just woke up.” she confessed. Veta cleared her throat again, parched. “How’s everyone?”
“I’m not sure you’re fit to stand on that leg.”
“I’m standing.”
“Lopis…”
His tone held a warning. A protective warning.
She dismissed it partially, her heart ached with a need she couldn’t suppress:
“Three years and this is how you greet me, Fred?” she complained.
Whatever he meant to reply died inside his throat. Veta pushed away from the doorframe and walked slowly across the corridor, towards him. Despair painted the Spartan’s handsome features like a work of art. Especially, when the injured leg failed to hold her weight and she faltered on her step; Fred scurried off the bench with feline grace, lightning-fast, dropping to one knee to catch her before the Inspector collapsed to the cold floor.
She fell face-first against his shoulder. Veta immediately wrapped her healthy arm around his waist, leaning onto him. Her fingers clutched the heavy-duty fabric, trembling.
For a few seconds, there was only silence.
Well, maybe agitated heartbeats and shivering breaths, but mostly silence.
The gentle, helpful hold turned into a close hug when the Spartan closed both arms around her and pressed her small frame against his chest, keeping Veta in the space between his spread knees. He was warm, and she felt so cold. She quivered.
“Three years.” Fred whispered, in return. “I was starting to miss you, Inspector.”
She chuckled, still hiding her face on his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re alive too.” Veta commented.
She closed her eyes for a moment to revel in the clean scent of standard issue soap and man. It was a scent that, some time ago, had triggered her darkest fears, but not since she could pin it to this man in particular. Not since they had been honest with one another, since they had shared the comfort of an intimacy like they never knew before. But that was ages ago, a rainy night in the backseat of a car. The last time they were in each other’s presence, work had the priority: she handed him vital information and then fired a few shots over his head from atop a steep ledge. Although back then the Lieutenant wore his MJOLNIR, it was easy to see how stunned he was. How confused.
They met again, months later, at some ancient construct called Ark.
It had been the right time to blow her cover, Veta knew they wouldn’t have a chance like that in a million years. When the battle broke out and Blue Team deployed, Veta and her Spartan III were tasked to guard Castor, the leader of the faction they were infiltrated into.
And no matter how much she disliked them, the UNSC was shorthanded.
She did what she saw fit.
Images of the plasma grenade in her hand flashed through the back of her mind.
Fred’s voice, so deep and low, pulled her back: “I like the haircut.”
“It’s all the rage with the Keeper’s fashion.” Veta quipped, amused.
She cleared her throat again. Maybe she could return to the room and drink some water.
Not without some effort, Veta pushed back a little and sat her meager weight on Fred’s thigh, uncaring about prying eyes. While she rearranged the bandaged arm and the squishy bag on her lap, her free hand trailed up to his shoulder, rubbing with her fingers instead of clutching to his clothes. Comforting warmth sat on the small of her back, as Fred held her steady.
“Where is everyone?” she asked again, worried. “Are they okay?”
He already knew who she meant. “Kids are mostly fine. Mark was surprisingly unharmed, all things considered. Ash and ‘Livi should be out of medical in a couple of days, minor injuries. It's all fine.” the Spartan paused, the ghost of a frown twisted his features. His voice dragged with tension. “We were more worried about you, honestly. I swear my soul left my body when I saw you priming that sticky and sneaking behind the target. You had to know you wouldn’t be able to clear the blast zone before-”
“Is Castor dead?” Veta cut him off quickly, serious.
Fred clenched his jaw, uneasy.
“Hard to keep standing with half of your head blown off. Yes.”
“Then it was worth it.”
“Lopis…” he started, again, with that protective warning tone.
“It was worth it and I’m alive.” she looked down at her arm. “I guess some of the plasma hit me. Fun stuff.”
The Spartan huffed through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t start over. It wasn’t fun for him to break through hordes of Jiralhanae when he saw her flying through the air, with the right side of her SPI in flames. It wasn’t fun to jump into that deep ravine and try to find her, under piles of rubble that had rained over with the explosion. It was definitely not fun to drag her out by the wrist and rip off melting parts of her armor at knife-point, knowing in the back of his mind that it could be too late to save her. It wasn’t fun to see firsthand the blood and the burnt skin, the plasma liquefying her flesh and heading to the bone below.
He spent four whole cannisters of biofoam on the wounds, to stabilize her.
Lost one of his favorite knives by sticking it into the forehead of a Sangheili that casually saw them down there, too.
The only thing Fred was grateful for was that the Inspector had passed out due to shock and wasn’t aware of the intense pain she had to be experiencing. Olivia, Mark, Ash, Kelly, even Linda, all of them kept asking him what had happened. Damon, constantly speaking into his ear, kept telling him that his own vitals were off range, that he had to calm down.
Calm down. Sure.
If Lopis only knew how much fun that was.
He appealed to discipline instead of getting angry at her. She was alive.
“The structure was crumbling.” Fred started. “Castor was dead, his forces were disbanding; it was either get out or get crushed. And I wasn’t going to leave you there.”
Veta cleared her throat again, their eyes met.
“Thank you, Fred.” she muttered, squeezing his shoulder. “For everything.”
“Your intel gave us the upper hand.” he tried to dismiss it, looking away.
“You saved my life.”
The Spartan pressed his lips in a thin line, feeling cornered. No, it wasn’t a bad feeling, he just knew that corridor wasn’t the best place to unwind and act upon his emotions. Those intense hazel eyes were still dead-set on his face and his cheeks were burning. He was dying to hug her again, to hold her close, brush his lips on her forehead, on her temple, on her cheek and finally to find her mouth, to find her natural human scent under the chemical burn of the disinfectant and the biofoam. He wanted to kiss her, so bad. So damn bad.
He had waited three years, holding on to a flimsy hope.
“Anytime.” Fred managed to blurt out.
Veta was about to say something else but her voice came out as a croak and, again, she had to clear her throat. Her nose wrinkled in anger.
“I saw a flask of water in there, can you…?”
“Absolutely.”
Fred didn’t hesitate, sliding the other hand under her knees to pick her up.
Once inside the room, the Spartan put her down on the edge of the tall medical bed and then poured some water in the biodegradable cup, with due diligence. Veta drank her fill, in silence, occasionally looking up to him. There was nowhere for him to sit down, not even a tiny stool. The sliding door was closed, they were alone.
There was this… electricity, in the air. She felt it.
And he was aware enough to catch a hint of it, too.
The cup returned to the shelf and Veta pointed out at the little paper crane.
“I regret to inform you that my skill with those hasn’t improved at all in three years.”
Fred smiled a little. “There’s other simpler shapes, if you want to keep trying.”
“… I would like to, yes.”
She could read the tension and indecision in his posture. He had always been so transparent with everything, even when he tried his best to turn into that perfect Spartan Lieutenant everyone looked up to. What were they waiting for, really? Veta tried not to lay it all on Fred, it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t properly recognize the cues or read the room in this particular situation. A Spartan was in their element in a battlefield crawling with enemies, but this was a different kind of battle altogether.
Maybe he had changed his mind about them?
Well, it had been three years.
She would never blame him for what had been taken away from him, either.
And even when the Inspector didn’t know very well how to approach the issue herself, either, she did take matters in her hands. She was a woman of action, so, action it is. Again, with great effort, Veta managed to pull her feet back onto the bed and push herself to stand.
“What are you…?”
She sighed. “Give me your hand, please.”
“Lopis, you’re going to hurt yourself again.”
Yet, Fred didn’t resist. He stretched his hand quickly, she held on and stood, with care.
Stood on the bed, now towering a full head over him, in her blue hospital gown.
With their fingers still intertwined, he turned up to meet her gaze. Then Veta rested her hands on his shoulders, to steady herself, and merely a second later both of her hands were on his face, her fingers so cold. He didn’t recoil, she considered it a win. His blue-green eyes fluttered close immediately, his broad shoulders dropped. Fred stepped even closer to the medical bed, wrapped his arms around her waist and without any more hesitation, buried his nose on her chest. A little bit surprised, Veta obeyed her own instincts and closed her arms around him, running her fingers through the back of his head.
The relief was instant, for both; this was what they really wanted.
The true proximity they deserved.
She felt him trembling under her touch, his breath labored, almost desperate.
He realized how much weight she had lost in her years undercover. It worried him, but to have her in his arms again was undoubtedly a blessing. It wouldn’t take the silver off his hair, but it did wash away a lot of accumulated tension.
Three years of longing. Three years of wondering.
Every second spent in that embrace broke a little more the dam of their restrained emotions. It didn’t take much, in fact, for Fred to nuzzle his way to her neck and kiss her cold skin. Then kiss her throat. The curve of her jaw, right under the ear. Each inch she gave in, turning her head down and bending over to meet him, he kissed a little further. Her chin. Her cheek. And finally, her lips. The dam shattered. Veta slid her hands back to cup his warm face, their ragged breaths mixed, their mouths opened to find one another and devour. She moaned low against the kiss, heartbeat pounding loud in her ears, the strength of those monumental arms trapping her against his body. There was no pain, only bliss and relief, only emotion.
“Fred…” she mumbled, caught in a flurry of kisses with no end in sight.
His response was a vague grunt, enough to make her shudder.
The Spartan pushed, nearly standing on his toes to reach further, deeper. Few times in his life Fred had to stretch this far to get something he wanted, his body reacted by mere instinct looking for the warmth and the softness it had missed for three long years. A childish part of him didn’t want to miss her ever again, but this was their life and desires such as these had no room within the ranks. At least, they could steal time and share it.
They could steal this moment, and each other’s breaths.
Veta broke apart for air, but she didn’t wander too far from the target. Her soft lips grazed his cheek and the bridge of his nose, his brow, his forehead. Fred sighed again and melted against her, digging into the flesh of her backside. He didn’t realize he was squeezing her butt; the Inspector was amused (and aroused) enough to avoid making a comment. It wasn’t uncomfortable, no, a part of her just wished that the situation was more accommodating. She went back to attack his mouth, this time more determined, and he responded in kind making a bold move with his tongue that was amazingly well-received by Veta. She doubled it up, sliding her tiny, cold fingers under the collar of his shirt to trace down his back.
He was up to every challenge: one of those big hands slipped between the folds of the hospital gown, going up her spine, drawing a blazing trail to her fragile shoulder blades.
Veta bent lower, coming undone in his hold. He groaned again.
So many things to try, so little time. So many eyes.
There were a few more seconds of undivided attention, until it was time to appeal to common sense and back away for good. With their foreheads resting together and her now warm fingers gently rubbing his skin, Fred tilted his head up a bit to leave another kiss on her cheek. He felt her smile, her skin tensing under his lips. Satisfied warmth exploded in his chest.
The sensations increased tenfold with the heat transferring from one body to the other.
Neither found the strength to open their eyes, yet. It was easier not to come back to the crude reality of the time they didn’t really have.
“Don’t do that to me ever again, alright?” Fred said, very low. It wasn’t as much a threat as it was a plea. Veta was the wildest, most independent soul he’d ever met, and it was precisely her freedom what brought him so much joy. He knew that trying to stop her was a mistake, but he had to voice it out at once or he would choke on the words: “I’m not used to… needing someone, the way I need you.”
It would be awful if she truly disappeared.
Veta swallowed hard, catching her breath. “Same.”
“I don’t know what I'm…”
“It’s okay.” she silenced him with another short kiss. “We will figure it out, Fred. I promise.”
-o-o-o-o-o-
Out in the corridor, from the far end near the elevators and unnoticed in general, the Master Chief had been watching the events. More precisely, since that moment when his brother skidded down to one knee, to catch the small woman before she fell. A slight smirk pulled on the corner of his mouth. That ONI agent had no idea how many days Fred spent roaming around the room, or how many times he pulled rank on people to get information, or how far out of his way he had gone to get everyone more shore leave.
Kelly and Linda were right. She was important to him.
The core of Blue Team didn’t need the time off, although for the time being they had no new assignments in sight. John knew that the Gammas would be fine, that the woman herself (Veta Lopis was her name) would recover as well. But he understood, to a point, why his second in command would want to stay and make sure that everything would be alright. Fred himself was unharmed, physically at least.
John knew that, whatever his brother's wound was, it was far deeper than anyone could see.
People liked to think that Spartans didn’t feel anything. People would be wrong.
The Chief let out a deep sigh and lowered his steel-blue gaze, staring for a moment inside his half-empty cup of coffee. Considering things. Possibilities. When he looked up, again, Fred was picking up Lopis and carrying her back into the room.
The intimacy of the whole act confused John, to an extent.
It made him think about things he didn’t want to fall back into, that chapter was over.
The shadow of a pain he didn’t want to feel bloomed in his chest. So, instead of wasting time, the Spartan decided to get back to being useful and resumed his way through the corridor, to the mess hall. The discomfort receded once he realized that he felt quite happy for Fred, the one that carried his heart on his sleeve.
He couldn’t wait to formally meet this mysterious miss Lopis, then.
THE END