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Sarge stared at the door and tried not to think about the silly purple panda bear in his left hand. It wasn’t like flowers were easy to find, at least not proper flower arrangements with something other than random weeds that grew in the cracks of the city streets and occasional abandoned flower pot. And real sweets were rare enough that he decided that they should be part of the picnic basket, not the first gift. He shifted, uncomfortable in the dark gray suit jacket and slacks. It had been a long time since he had worn civvies, and the movement against his skin along with random seams that rubbed in weird places was annoying him.
At least the shirt was red. Everything looked better in red. And the black leather hiking boots weren’t too bad.
Everything was ready. Carolina was happily ‘babysitting’ Theta, surprisingly. Delta liked him, and the black bags under her eyes said more than her words that she wasn’t sleeping well at night, anyway. Of course, she thought he was going to be with Agent Washington, discussing what the UNSC was ‘going to do with them,’ with officials from that worthy organization.
He had promptly given that job to Simmons. He almost hated to admit it, but both Grif and his second in command had benefited from their time with the New Republic. And, as he explained when Wash and Simmons had both protested rather vehemently, he had the right combination of calm reason, logical misdirection, and brilliant ass-kissing skills to deal with the brass, while Sarge would likely shove his foot down his throat by shoving his boot up someone’s ass. And Simmons was always looking for more responsibility. Well, dealing with Command was part of that. Wash had reluctantly agreed, although neither had looked very happy about it.
Donut had produced a wonderful picnic of bread, cheese, strawberries, dark chocolate and champagne. The bread was fresh baked, but the cheese was freeze dried. A person couldn’t be too picky, though. The war was over, but some food was still being rationed, dairy and meat especially.
The dark chocolate was from Donut’s private stash. He had been relieved to find out his light red morale officer hadn’t told the rest of the gang about this. That was, until he asked where the strawberries had come from.
“Oh, Chuckie was able to get Katie to sneak some from the hydroponics garden,” Donut had replied cheerfully. Sarge had managed to get “Damn-” out before he continued. “Oh, that’s right! She said you are to meet them at Chuckie’s shop! Apparently, he used to run a department store.”
“God damn it, Donut, this was supposed to be a secret!” Sarge had exploded, even as he was very careful to not upset the picnic basket.
“Oh, it is! I swore them to secrecy,” Donut said, nodding emphatically. Sarge had just grunted, tempted to keep ranting, but followed his directions to the better part of town.
Better was relative. Basically, it meant the holes in the roofs had been sealed, the walls had been patched, and a new coat of paint had been thrown on. They were trying to match people up with equivalent property to what they lost when the Armonia reactor went off. Surprisingly, records showed the Palomo family had owned one of the largest retail centers in the city. Now the teal lieutenant, along with his new girlfriend, were trying to make a go at it in the private sector, much to the motor pool’s relief.
He had shown up in full armor. He knew it wasn’t appropriate for a date, but his dress uniform was back at Crash Site Bravo, and was probably too dressy for a picnic, anyway. The couple had fixed that, making sure the ‘war hero’ was dressed to impress.
While he had been changing, Smith, Bitters, Matthews, and Sugars had shown up. Sarge had growled low in his throat when he saw them all smiling and giggling. He was sure this was hell, delivered by God, mad he hadn’t yet somehow gotten Grif killed. But Smith had clippers and a drop cloth, and a steady hand, and Sarge had to admit he did good work looking in the mirror at his fresh shave and new buzzcut. Bitters had snuck the bottle of champagne from his boss’s office, assuring him she wouldn’t mind. Sugars, Jenson’s fellow squadmate under Simmons, had shoved the panda into his hands, and Matthews brought a three inch foam mat. Something about the area he was going to being very rocky. At which point, Palomo pulled out a camera and snapped a quick picture, telling him his date would want it later. Then they grinned and scattered as Sarge lost his cool completely, cursing loud enough to shake the walls.
He grumbled a thank you to them all as he left.
She deserved this. She wasn’t made for all the death she had dealt with, and she shouldn’t be treated like a casual bed partner. She had class. She was brilliant. She was creative. She could be creatively violent when she needed to. And her eyes made his tummy do flip flops. She deserved to be courted, and that’s just what he was going to do. Tugging at his collar one more time, and raised his hand to knock.
The door opened before he could, and he almost dropped the stuffed animal. He did drop his jaw. Emily was standing there, a huge grin on her face, a red halter dress with a flared skirt hugging her torso. She had done something to her short curly brown hair to make it even more bouncy, and already impossibly long lashes had gotten longer, framing those sparkling lavender eyes, and her light amber skin seemed to glow.
It probably didn’t, but even years later, he would always remember that it did.
It was a good thing that she talked a lot, because he forgot for a second. “You’re early! How wonderful! Is that for me?” Sarge held out the stuffed animal, and she grabbed it up and cuddled it to her chest. Lucky panda. “It’s just the cutest!” She held it out at arms’ length, an eyebrow raised, turning and twisting it. “Buuut, it could use a few improvements.” Sarge shook his head and chuckled.
"Improvements, eh?" He held out his elbow, and she wrapped her arm through it, still examining the teddy bear.
“For starters, a robot arm. Actually, it’s a robot leg that just happens to be in the front…” He just smiled as he led her to the jeep.
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A few hours later, they were clear of the city, far enough away that the light pollution couldn’t ruin their view of the stars once the sun went down. The ground was indeed rocky, but the mat took care of that, and a slight breeze made up for the lack of shade. Sarge had already removed his jacket, undid the top button of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves, and the two of them were making small talk between bite sized pieces. The sun was setting, painting the sky in reds and oranges and pinks. Currently, they were stretched out on their sides, propped up on their elbows facing each other. Occasionally he would reach out and pull a curl straight just to watch it bounce back up, the backs of his fingers stroking down her cheek as he did.
Emily couldn’t remember a more peaceful, wonderful dinner.
She had laughed as Sarge had described the meddling of the mostly former lieutenants, but she had to admit, he did look amazing. With his sleeves rolled up, she could see the snake crest tattoo, the mark of his squad, on his forearm. With his collar open, she could see the start of the scar that stretched from the center of his chest down to his left hip. His more-salt-than-pepper hair was so short, it showed off the beautiful shape of his head. And she didn’t know if she’d ever get over the contrast of his hazel eyes and sable of his skin. And that mouth. And the voice, and the drawl. She was more than willing to just melt into him.
If only the man would quit dragging his feet.
“So, what do you think?” She was actually caught off guard and daydreaming. He was waiting on her answer, and she had to rewind and listen in her head to him again. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but he let her. He had gotten used to her mentally multi-tasking. Not everyone could give her that, but he did it sometimes, too, which is probably why he understood. It was a give and take. And right now, she wanted to take-- Oops, no, concentrate.
He had asked about what she thought he could do as ex-military. In truth, if there was ever someone who needed to be a soldier, it was Sarge. Why would he consider not being military? Because he was talking about staying on Chorus.
“Well, I guess you could always join the security force. Oh, and there’s a group that’s getting ready to go start rounding up any stray livestock and seeing if there’s anybody in the far settlements still alive. I’m sure they’d welcome having you with them, in case things get strange.” Emily smiled her bright happyplace smile, and popped another piece of cheese in her mouth.
“Are you going with them? Because I’m not just carrying boxes around the whole planet if that’s what they need,” he replied, a mock frown on his face. She loved watching his face. He had spent so much time in a helmet, he didn’t realize how expressive his face was.
“Well, no, I’m nee…. I mean, I still have work to do here,” she replied cheerily, but she wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t been the only doctor left alive, just the most knowledgeable. As far as the bureaucracy of getting the hospital up and running, there were others far more interested in doing that. “Why stay on Chorus? I mean, if you can, that would be great, but won't the UNSC want you to track down Hargrove?”
“Don’t know. Wash and Simmons are meeting them tonight,” he replied, taking a bite out of a strawberry. Juice instantly began running down his chin, and she reached out quickly to wipe it away with her thumb.
“Oh? Am I making you miss your meeting? I’m sure you’re very interested in what they have to say,” she said quickly, licking the juice off her thumb in one long lick. Sarge focused in on the movement, and it took a second to process what she had said.
“No, just…” he grunted, coughed, then pulled himself together. “I mean, they could force us to leave tomorrow. Or throw us in prison until we co-operate. So no,” he said slowly, “right now, I’m right where I need to be.”
“Oh, AJ, they aren’t going to throw you in jail, don't be silly,” Emily said, using the abbreviation she liked for his given names. She felt her lips twitch down, and forced them back into her happy grin. “Can they do that?”
“Well, probably. We aren’t going to give them up, and they aren’t going to just let us walk away with them,” he drawled, referring to the AI fragments gifted to them by Church. It wasn’t just a sore spot to them. It was non-negotiable. The armor, the fragments, the weapons. They weren’t giving any of it up, not after what Church sacrificed for them. But the UNSC was making demands, and they had a big army behind them to enforce them, and the aid Chorus desperately needed to get the locals behind them. Nobody was happy, but Chorus didn’t have the resources to go to war with them, especially over nine people and their robots. Besides, already one of the former leaders of the Feds had showed up, trying to challenge Kimball for her position. And while one of the temples Tucker had activated had done a damn good job of getting the radiation out of the atmosphere, it was still in the ground water and land surrounding Armonia. They didn’t need a struggle on three fronts.
If push came to shove, Chorus’ heroes would leave the planet to save it one more time. And they’d do it with sad smiles and steel spines. Emily was dreading when that day came. She didn’t want to lose any more friends.
She didn’t want to lose AJ. But she didn't know if she could bring herself to leave Chorus now. Or if she would even be allowed to go with him even if she could.
They may only have tonight.
He was lifting the last strawberry to his lips. She made a little sound, not quite whining, and opened her mouth. “Sorry,” he said, holding it out to her. She leaned in and took a bite, letting her lips close on his fingertips. He didn’t move, but she was sure she saw his Adam’s Apple bob. She slowly backed up, licking her lips, and it bobbed again. She reached for, and found, a piece of chocolate. She held it up close to his mouth, balancing it on one finger. He took a deep breath, and, not breaking eye contact, took the whole piece, and half her finger into his mouth. The feeling of his lips on her as he pulled back had her shivering. “Em-”
She covered his lips with a finger. They’d had this discussion before, about his wish to make their first time perfect. It was so sweet, thoughtful, and old fashioned, she wanted to cry sometimes. Happy tears, of course. “There’s no more perfect a time than now. Look around,” she said, gesturing to the sky. “Or don’t. Just look at me. I like you looking at me. Anyway, if we don’t have tomorrow, then, if it isn’t tonight, it may never happen. And I really, really, really want it to happen.”
He nodded slowly, and she took her finger off his lips. “It’s been awhile, and I might be just a little rusty,” he confessed, looking a little embarrassed, a blush staining his cheeks. She smiled, a small, real smile.
“Me too,” she said. “We’ll figure it out. We have all night.” She leaned forward, and he met her halfway, pulling her over to him. He chuckled and she giggled as they smushed one of the containers of food between them. He picked it up and put it one the ground behind him. By the time he turned around, she was very much in his personal space.
It wasn’t their first kiss, or even their fifth. But, as they say, practice makes perfect, and so does feeling. And as they wrapped their arms around each other, it felt like the first time all over again.
A few hours later, they were wrapped up in the blanket chest to chest, the remains of picnic packed in the jeep, along with his shirt and her dress. The suit jacket and pants were rolled up like a pillow under Sarge’s head, while Emily rested her head on his shoulder. They were both smiling big, dopey grins, looking at each other, the moon and stars reflecting in their eyes, even as they fought to keep them open.
Eventually, Sarge’s eyes closed completely, and his breathing became more regular. “Where ever you go, I’m going, too. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she whispered, even as her own eyes closed. She felt him squeeze her a little and kiss her forehead. She smiled as sleep claimed them both for the night.