Chapter Text
Veta was slumped in her chair, a flat gaze hovering over her cup as she only half heard Mark's voice. The boy was seated on her cot, hardly five feet away, animatedly gesturing with his hands.
Ten minutes ago, he'd let himself in and woke her, as he usually does. A cup of coffee and a protein bar waiting at her desk. By the time she'd ambled to the chair, he'd had her cot made up, and folded the sweater she'd slept in. Hair still tangled, yawning, and rubbing her eyes while booting the laptop, Veta's morning had taken a sharp turn after grabbing for her blinking commpad.
It was just four words - but they were his.
-- I miss you too...//
'I miss you too.'
The thrum of her heart was still heavy in her ears, as the small device sat loosely in her hand. The short text ushering in a flood of memories. Of rigid professionalism that'd gradually permitted some shy smiles and awkward laughter. Of conversations that grew longer, friendlier...often later. Months - years, as they'd passed, had seen jokes, and arguments, and sass that'd stopped feeling uncharacteristic after a while, learning it, like many other quirks, had simply always been there.
After Osman had finally seen fit to take her training wheels off, Veta saw Fred less and less. They'd kept up as best they were able, but between conflicting schedules and new stresses, that had become a nuisance. Specifically the constant reminders of having to be mindful of the language passed over Waypoint's monitored comms. How anyone managed to carry out private business in the UNSC was beyond her - maybe they just stopped caring. Or maybe they just stopped.
It was in their constant separation and distance, that she'd really begun to noticed it. The impact of his absence was in everything.
The first gap had hardly stretched a couple months, and yet when they'd reunited it had been like coming home. Seeing Fred's warm smile every day, settling back into knowing glances, and passing concerns. Those little touches, more purposeful than not. His laughter swept away her loneliness. But there'd been something different there, just on the end of each sentence, or gesture. Veta got the sense that Fred always seemed just on the edge of...what? A confession? Maybe he wasn't hiding anything. Could be he just didn't know the words to say. Veta swallowed hard as the dull pain of longing crept up through her chest. It wasn't his fault. She didn't know the words either.
Fast forward to the creeping uncertainty she'd felt before their last, long, goodbye, almost five months ago now. It'd been that pressing loom of the unknown that'd urged her beyond her nerves; to take a chance.
Veta glanced to the top of the desk. For all it had mattered. It'd been just another goodbye. 'Always saying goodbye,' she thought. 'It's all we ever do, isn't it? Just bottle up, and say goodbye...'
That last farewell had ended in a warm embrace. She could hear him exhaling long and slow.
"Don't go disappearing on me," he'd whispered. Veta felt her frown deepen.
The memory could have been beautiful, but it felt sullied in the drag of hindsight. He'd hardly been gone an hour, when she'd sent the first comm text. She felt a fool. It hadn't been a friendly sentiment, or well wishes of good luck. It was a request for a copy of their last operation's supply manifest. So impersonal, it could have been automated. Fred had followed up, of course, professional as ever, but not without an uncharacteristic delay. The marginal pause could have been anything, really. But later on, Veta had obsessed over the thought that her cold demeanor may have sent an entirely different sort of message in it's subtext - that their intimate experiences were an infractional shame better kept as secrets. She'd wanted to reach back out to Fred after that, to say anything to fill the silence. A harmless 'hello' would have been fine, but her reproach had kept her from it, and the hours of sleep lost in the following weeks had reminded her of that shame every day since. He had asked- told her not to disappear. Whispered it in a voice almost too soft to be his.
To know now, that he'd been just waiting for her-
"Mom."
Blinking quickly, Veta turned to find Mark staring at her, his eyes wide in question.
"-yeah, no no, that's, uh," she stammered, scrunching up her brows and nose, frowning at Mark's confused expression.
"I'm so sorry, Mark, I'm just still waking up, I think. One of those mornings, you know?" Veta managed, carefully softening her tone. "Thank you though, for breakfast. Maybe you could swing by later? We can pick this back up to the part before I went stargazing?" she said, smiling quickly and hoping to assuage his concern.
Veta truly valued the easy familiarity Mark shared with her these days. Ash had proven to be something of a mommy's boy fairly early on, though it had been Olivia who'd first begun opening up to her. With Mark though. It'd been a hard road with him, and she knew she had only herself to blame for their difficult start.
Mark stretched his arms and stood. "I'd like that, yeah," he nodded, giving her a lopsided smirk. "Oh - and, Ash has the commpad today, so if you need us for anything, you can expect a bunch of smiley faces and exclamation points," he rolled out his shoulders. "We'll just be at the gym and the track for a few hours."
Veta nodded, but her smile gradually began to falter when Mark wasn't making to leave, looking bothered just beneath the surface. She waited patiently as he gathered himself, careful never to rush him from his thoughts as he stepped toward her.
"Maybe," his voice pitched slightly. "Maybe we could talk to Housing again, and see about getting you reassigned to our bunk? There's plenty of space for another bed, and it's kinda- I mean, we don't-" his eyes searched everywhere in the room, avoiding her gaze as he shifted weight from one foot to the other. "It just feels like we sleep better when we're all together, doesn't it? I know you need a workspace, so maybe they'll let you keep this room as an office?"
Veta remained neutral, though not without difficulty. "Maybe. Can't hurt to ask again, right? Just be prepared for another denial though, okay?" She raised an index finger as his mouth opened, silencing him. "And nobody is sleeping on the floor, Mark, we've discussed it. We're just here for a short time, and I'm right across the hall. You guys just let yourselves in anyway." Veta smirked, cocking an eyebrow up at him.
Mark finally faced her properly and slowly nodded. His thin smile not reaching his eyes.
With a quick wave Mark made to leave, stopping in the doorway and turning back to point an accusing finger at her, though disarmed by his softened expression.
"Please don't forget to eat." He was gone before she could quip back at him.
Breathing out a small laugh, Veta turned toward her computer, intent to get some work done, before letting her eyes linger on the commpad. She couldn't stop herself, one hand already reaching for it. A few minutes slipped away, as she read Fred's message again and again, lips just barely forming the words as she whispered it back to herself. There was just no helping it. The smile that grew widely over her lips, cheeks warming, as she imagined it - softer, closer, lower - in that rich baritone of his voice. What she wouldn't give to hear him say it.
Undeniably, the thought was wonderful, but...
Veta slumped in her chair. 'is this realistic?'. Turning the commpad over, the glaring pyramid of ONI's deeply stamped sigil stared back, cold and empty.
Letting the small device drop to the desk, Veta tiredly reached for her laptop.
-----
Forty minutes slunk by with little of value getting done, as Veta alternated between past-due reports, considering a hundred unused responses to Fred, and mediating a less than diplomatic conversation between two other teams of agents. Rolling her eyes as they sniped at one another over Waypoint.
'Like sea birds fighting over an old chip.'
Normally, she'd have muted them and avoided being drawn into clownish discourse with people she hardly knew, but the distraction was oddly helpful as she avoided yet another glance toward the commpad. If only there were drawers on the desk.
All things considered, the abject nonsense occurring between the immature operatives had been a perfect diversion to ward away the morning's events, when she remembered she had to review the Gammas homework as well. Veta laughed quietly. Their curricula wasn't quite 'homework', but referring to it as such seemed to help restore a little normality to the teens.
It felt odd to consider how much older they were now - Mark and Olivia soon to turn eighteen, with Ash, a year younger.
The three often fluctuated between a picture of military professionalism one minute, and exhaustively childish the next. Predicting their moods was impossible, and filling in all the developmental gaps they've missed was a never ending task.
Veta parsed through a few files, collecting their assignments into neatly organized tabs. The first time she'd been instructed to manage the Gamma's education had been an eye opening experience. Having expected little more than gross propaganda, the sophisticated depth of their lessons had been jarring - astrophysics, genetics, calculus, history of places and people and events she'd never heard of, never mind the complex military stratagem and tactical theory. Her first immediate concern had been in feeling too under educated to properly manage and review their work. A wound to her pride to be certain, but also to her ethics.
She'd never let herself forget about the assumptions she'd made of them, presuming Spartans as little more than thugs and trigger pullers. In an effort to address both concerns, she'd made a habit of joining them for their studies, finding the exercises both educational, and excellent opportunities for bonding. They enjoyed the lessons. At times, reminding her when she'd tiredly forget to issue new assignments. Well, mostly it was Ash who'd remind her, but it never escaped her notice how eagerly Mark and Olivia deferred to him for direction; a hold over from a different time. Another piece of history they'd slowly and carefully been sharing with her.
Veta puffed out a single, brassy, laugh. The formality and richness of Fred's comms should have tipped her off that the kids wouldn't be scribbling in colouring books, not with him curating their lessons. It was that dictional elegance that made his last message all the more impactful.
'I miss you too...,' she rolled it over in her mind yet again. Short. Blunt. Emotional.
She chewed lightly at the inside of her lip. There was just no way it'd been the first thing he'd thought to send. Fred didn't rush into anything, but it had been what he'd decided on, and that was what mattered. That he thought it mattered.
Leaning back as far as the small chair would allow, Veta stared into the drab ceiling. Fingers toying at her sleeves.
It was still strange, that not four years earlier she'd still been on Gao, virtually living a separate life - never having left the planet's surface, no idea what ONI was. No Ferrets, no Blue Team. No Fred.
Turning her head, she looked to the drab beige blanket over her cot. When she'd walked in the room yesterday, the colour had immediately reminded her of the worn old couch left behind in her small apartment.
She and Cirilo had put a lot of hours into that bedraggled old thing. He'd be over frequently, and most nights would be innocent enough - movies, dinner, work usually, but sometimes they'd just sit there and have long conversations. They'd talk into the night and early hours. She'd let him dim the lights, but never turn them off - never off. She hadn't been ready for that yet. She'd offer fragments of memories that felt barbed when spoken, and he'd never interrupt. Not Cirilo. He'd always just sit and listen, answering only if asked.
A smirk pulled at her lips - never mind that he'd also been an unabashed flirt and a cheeky asshole, but one of her most trusted friends all the same. He'd helped her bear the weight of those horrible memories. Never making assumptions. Never demanding. Never cooing or pitying.
Folding him in had been frightening, and maybe even a little ill-advised, professionally, but the risk had yielded an invaluable relationship. Moreover, it had actually improved their professional chemistry, learning to map and navigate each other's thoughts and intentions. Their vulnerabilities.
Rubbing an arm over her eyes, Veta sunk back and let it rest there against her brow.
Admittedly, as time had passed, she found herself thinking back to Cirilo and her life on Gao less and less. There was a sort of shame to it all, allowing her past to recede.
She shook her head. 'You're not forgotten. I promise.'
How could she ever forget? Cirilo had died terribly in those caves, along with the rest of her investigational team. People - friends - that she'd known for years.
Gao's bloody finale had been merciless and terrifying, setting into motion some of the most unbelievable events of her life up through that point. Moments she still had a difficult time believing they'd happened. Looking back it all, she'd always been rubbing shoulders with violence. With loss, and fear. In reality, Gao had taken everything from her. Family, friends, a childhood and a lifetime of trust.
She would give Cirilo the proper mourning that he deserved. Some day. When she figured out how.
Veta rocked forward and let her feet sit flat on the floor, her laptop now darkened in stand by, while the commpad chirped incessantly. Standing, she grabbed the small device and muted it before dropping it again.
Her distaste for wandering the decks of these sprawling facilities be damned, she needed to clear her head.
Carding a hand back through her hair, Veta straightened her clothing and stepped out into the hallway with no destination in mind.