Work Text:
The second mission to secure supplies from a civilian depot had gone much better than his first attempt. This time John had been prepared for the onslaught of sights and sounds, the sheer number of people around him while out of his armor, and for the staring.
He even had a team specifically picked for the endeavor; the most leveled headed marines he had worked with recently made up the team that loaded into the road-approved warthog for a “grocery run”. They stuck to the plan, loaded the cart with Spartan-like efficiency, and were in and out in under half an hour. He had made it through the line despite the stares, the nervous cashier, and his marines thinking they snuck candy bars into their order without him noticing.
Exiting the structure, he relaxes as he finishes his headcount and signals the marines forward. Night is falling fast and with it, the temperature. The cart rattles against the asphalt but their groceries are secure. They make their way to the car unscathed. John won’t chalk this one up to a success until they’re back on base, but he’s pleased at how well he navigated the trip so far.
Kelly’s sitting at the wheel of the vehicle, head bobbing to the radio as she scans the parking lot and waits for them to load the supplies.
John is just about to climb in when he hears it. A strange high pitched whine, short and clipped, but repeating frequently enough he can locate the source in the hedges surrounding the store’s eastern side. It’s distinct, different from the whistling of projectiles or humming whirs of alien weapons.
It could be a trap, but unlikely. This location was chosen at random and they had been staggering the times they left the base. Plus he’s got back up.
A signal to Kelly informing her to hold position and he walks towards it - hand hovering near his concealed MK50 Sidekick.
The sound gets louder and more frantic at his approach until he kneels a few meters away, body at an angle to become a smaller target. Cocking his head he narrows in on the source. There’s movement in the undergrowth, small, clumsy. Not a threat.
A tiny, fuzzy creature about the size of his fist and covered in dirt mews at him as it waddles closer to sniff at him. It’s meowing and hissing in tandem. Its eyes are unfocused and blue, pupils akimbo as it raises its round little head to glare at him. John doesn’t know anything about cats but he’s never seen one with blue eyes, not in any of the pictures that have been shared with him. In recent months he’s found out he’s the namesake of a lot of pets; cats, dogs, and even a very stubborn tortoise. Quite a few pictures have been held up in front of his visor or face and he’s nodded dumbly at the honor.
The tiny thing must be a young kitten, too young to survive on its own, especially in a busy parking lot.
The choice is easy. John doesn’t leave anyone behind.
The kitten hisses as he cups it in gun-calloused hands, fingers gently supporting fragile bones and fur. Tentatively he pets it, scratching under its chin and it vibrates - purrs - shaking its tiny frame.
He walks back to the warthog and the look Kelly gives him is as smug as he’s seen her. Her eyebrow raises and she appears to be biting the inside of her mouth while she turns down the music.
The marines are less reserved and clamor to see what the Chief picked up. He silences them with a hand while the other one is occupied. Their newest addition mews and one marine can’t help but “aww” at the kitten before he’s elbowed by his seatmate.
Kelly, nonplussed and more pleased than she should be, side-eyes him as he slides into the passenger seat and the warthog suspension shifts. “What are you going to call it?”
“Naming it would look like we’re keeping it.” He says, petting the kitten and plucking debris from its fur. He turns and hands a marine the card preloaded with credits and nods from the kitten to the store, and three of them are out of the car nearly as fast as Kelly.
John doesn’t know the first thing about caring for a pet, and his teammates had been pestering him to learn to delegate, so this was practice he muses. The marines would get food and supplies, and he would stop watching them like a hawk while he pets the tiny creature chewing on his finger.
Kelly huffs a breath into the steering wheel, content to wait a bit longer. Her smile no longer stifled as she watches the marines sprint across the parking lot.
“Thinking about ‘Frederic’.” John replies after a moment. The kitten is falling asleep in his hands and he shifts to tuck it against his jacket.
“Oh he would hate that.” Kelly doesn’t hide her smile now, a slight upturn of her mouth with a bright spark in her eyes.
“I know.” John allows himself to slouch in the seat and watch the small ball of fur nap against him.
Being planet-side without being shot at or having the Infinity undergoing serious repairs was a rare treat, one that Thomas Lasky was hoping to enjoy. Just as soon as he was done with all the meetings you get dragged to when they make you captain and give you enough security clearance to make your head spin.
Blue Team was also present, as some of this was due to their enforced R&R. They had been assigned to the local base’s training facilities in an effort to keep them out of combat for more than a few days. Seeing them out of armor and dressed down was…something. Tom felt out of place already in the chair next to Chief and the other Spartans, but Hood had wanted one last meeting in before the week was out.
They were halfway through when Tom heard a noise. He would have written it off if he hadn’t noticed the Spartans’ body language change. There’s no surprising a Spartan-II, at least not easily, but out of armor and without the helmets to hide minute facial expressions and eye movement, Tom could tell he didn’t imagine it. This close he could see that Chief’s hands had not left the hoodie pocket of the 4XL UNSC issued jacket, and that the pocket was moving.
Sitting next to him meant that Tom got to witness a side eye aimed at him with the skin around it crinkling along with a slight twitch of his lips. That was a smile as far as Lasky was concerned, and probably the most content he’d ever seen the man. Almost happy.
Tom doesn’t see the next signal but he catches Linda’s hand passing a small object to Chief. It disappears between their hands and goes into the pouch, followed by eating noises and is that purring?
He’s staring. He can’t help it. Ship cats were one thing but the Master Chief?
“Captain Lasky, am I boring you?” Admiral Hood asks from the head of the table.
“No sir.” He responds quickly, sitting upright and peeling his eyes away from the eyes now peeking out of the pocket at him.
The meeting continues without further interruption. Tom glances over one more time to see gray fur and teeth chewing on Chief’s thumb as he keeps the kitten entertained and hidden. When it’s over, Lasky sits there in a bit of a daze, waiting for the more important people to leave while the Spartans have their own silent conversation.
Eventually he stands up and Blue Team approaches. Chief’s face gives nothing away but Kelly is smiling, Fred looks vaguely annoyed or maybe just tired, and Linda is Linda. “Captain. Would you like to meet Frederic?”
Tom looks from Chief to Fred 104 whose eyes are boring holes in the back of Chief’s head. Before he can respond, Chief pulls out a gray kitten, gangly limbs and claws splayed as it mews in the light. He cups it easily and pets it as it looks up at Tom with a wobbly stance.
“New addition to Blue Team, Chief?”
“More of a pet project.”
Tom can’t help the choked laugh that escapes him nor the smile as Kelly smacks Chief on the shoulder.
Seems like being planet-side was doing them all some good.