Chapter One

(Edited: 4/14/2017)

I like my life just fine. It isn't an overly exciting prospect, getting up every morning. Going to work, finishing up assignments, heading home…going through all those check points.

It's a common living, maybe a bit mundane—but nothing special. I follow the same day-by-day trend. Dawn comes with a large hairy dog on my feet, I wiggle out from under said dog, and then I stumble to the bathroom to brush my teeth—whilst avoiding being tripped by that same dog (with little success).

My big lovable mutt, Clover, named for those eerily bright green eyes she likes to penetrate me with, jumps up off the bed in pursuit as I rush to get ready for work. I wouldn't call myself a dog person, realistically I have only owned her for about a year; I haven't reached the point of keeping an obsessive dog themed photo album, or blogging about her quite yet.

Once I had finally left my mom's house and moved into a proper apartment after graduating with a college degree, my mom had stubbornly insisted that I get a dog, or I'd be 'lonely'.

She said that, or a man. So the dog thing kinda happened.

It isn't like I am hugely against being in a relationship, I just feel that a boyfriend and such commitments would take away from my goals. One day I'm going to get promoted, maybe publish an article on the front page. It's a start. Then I can have all the things my mom said we could never have when I was growing up…and probably start a family once life was stable.

I knew what I wanted from an early age, and I sought to keep myself on the right path. That meant no boyfriends, no drama, and no early kids. I had witnessed girls in high school get pregnant, and I have a friend named Emily who had also gotten herself into that situation. She, and those other women, had to put their lives, their dreams, whatever goals they had, on hold. Even when they insisted that they would go to school again after the baby was born, it mostly never happened.

That frightened me. Emily seems like a happy mother, and she had regularly sent me pictures in college before we had a falling out…but I didn't want that, I don't want that.

At least not yet.

My mom raised me alone, and told me regularly how hard it was as a single mother. Her stories, her ideas, her love and values set my own roots and ideals into concrete. She couldn't afford college for me, working double-time as a waitress and a hotel clerk, and I wouldn't have asked her to pay my way. Mom worked hard for me, and I have to work hard for myself, and for my hard work throughout high school I received grants that saw me through to college.

In high school I was the president of my student council and listed in the yearbook as 'most-likely-to-succeed', and was eagerly befriended by girls who practically begged me to help them finish papers so they could graduate on time. Once I was in college I was a workaholic, and turned in my assignments early just to save time, and when I wasn't studying I was writing, which was work in itself.

I never seem to have enough time. Working hard, working up to any goal…it is almost an addiction. I worked, and I work now like I drink coffee, which is enough to probably be considered unhealthy.

While other students in college were partying with their friends, hosting book clubs, going to frat parties or working through their complicated relationships, I had set apart specific call times with my mom (so she would know I was still alive), kept a strict schedule that correlated with classes, and studied every one of my subjects with as much dedication I could muster.

And believe me, I mustered a lot of it. Dedication I mean.

And now I'm in the process of getting ready for work with a dog that doesn't know a 'down' from a 'heel.'

"Clover, down!" I walk-hop into the bathroom with my big dumb sweet dog trying to knock me over with her flag like tail. Clover is being overly insistent that she has to receive a satisfactory amount of attention to keep her from barking up a storm in my absence. This event usually results in my neighbors leaving angry messages for me at work.

Which I don't appreciate. Not to mention it's immature, (don't these people work?) and, seriously, am I the only dog person on the block?

Have I even established that I'm a dog person yet? I'm not sure as I nearly choke on my toothbrush, sending white fluff flying into my mirror as Clover decides to try jumping onto my back randomly.

My toothbrush clatters into the sink and I move to retrieve it, wiping foamy toothpaste off onto the back of my hand.

After I rinse out my mouth I smile toothily into the mirror, still trying to determine if I have gotten rid of the coffee and tea stains I've accumulated over the years. Not quite…

I sigh, at the small brown mark on my front tooth. It isn't that noticeable, I think. Maybe a little, ugh, of course no amount of pandering to my perfectionist mindset will persuade me otherwise.

Once I'm done self-evaluating myself, as most women seem to do on a whim nowadays, I brush my wild hair down, dress, and head downstairs with my faithful dog companion in tow, holding onto the banister of the stairs to ensure I don't flop down the rest of the way thanks to Clover's pushy nose that is now practically lodged up my butt.

I basically jog to the kitchen to get a head start, and I hear the clicking clacking of Clover's nails on the wood floor in close pursuit, and I know that she's hoping it's a hash brown or bacon sort of morning.

It's neither one of those, because I forgot to go grocery shopping again and after a few minutes of searching the fridge, I'm faced with an English muffin on a large clean white plate. It looks very unfulfilling, small even for a muffin, but it's what I have. I slip some butter between the slit I cut and press down with the knife so the butter melts faster. I can hear Clover's soft whines from under the table when she realizes she isn't getting her way.

I push the muffin into my mouth, jumping up from the table, uncertain as to why I sat down to begin with, and run to get my shoes. Clover usually hides them under the hollow of the stairs or on the loveseat. I think she is playing a game, or she's smarter than I think and notices I don't tend to leave the house without them.

She isn't successful in prolonging my stay, and I find them under the stairs in clear sight. Clover tries to grab them from me but I hold them up, clicking my tongue at her, "No."

And then I'm off—out the door, and heading down the street. I immediately set off towards the Lacoste café to grab a quick coffee before work. The café is delightfully old fashioned, and the walls are covered in floral and architectural paintings from around the world. It's usually pretty busy, filled with chatter, so not the best place to perfect work assignments, but the coffee is definitely worth the wait in line.

When I enter the building, the door's bell sounds off to announce my entrance. As I wait in line I inhale the smoky sweet scent of the coffee beans being grinded. I swear I can get the caffeine effect just by scent alone. In front of me an old women is busy typing a message away in her communicator, and being nosy, I can't help but stare out over her shoulder.

I notice it is the newest model of Ugo, and my own phone suddenly feels heavy in my pocket. Like old Earth heavy, with the flip screen. Ugo is the top provider of communication devices and even entertainment media in the world right now. They just set up a deal with the UEF military even to supply their technology to soldiers.

I could probably afford a new phone but it would take some saving, and I already need to buy a new washing machine. I don't find much pleasure in washing my clothes down the street at the coin laundry.

Mom tells me that these days, everything costs more. The economy is in shambles. I don't understand it, well, I'm no economist but it's like the after effects of the war are lingering still, even after so much time. I guess time doesn't heal all wounds.

My mind wanders as it tends to do far too often, and I don't realize I am up in line until a young girlish voice says, "Move up, please."

I blush on an impulse and tilt my chin down and some hair falls over one brow, a habit from when I was a shy child. I correct my posture and step up the counter and I order my usual—an iced caramel latte, whipped cream, and a shot of expresso.

Soon I'm walking to the tram with my beverage to grab a seat before the cars fill up. I'm surprised when I find one, several actually. It's odd, because Mondays are usually havoc on the tram system. Hugging the seat with the shared effort of my legs and butt squeezing the cushion under me, I sip my drink quickly before the motion causes it to spill in excess all over my skirt.

It's not as crowded today, why is that? It's too quiet. More aware of my surroundings I look up, holding firmly onto my drink as the tram begins to shuffle off, and I see why that is the case.

I see him sitting across the aisle, leaning onto a side window, staring down at the data pad in his meaty grip. He notices my gaze, powerfully aware as most of his kind seems to be, and I give him a gentle smile, making sure to keep my mouth closed. In his culture, or so I heard from somewhere, certain smiles have different meanings. I don't know exactly what a full-teeth smile will do, so better safe than sorry.

The ape like man, impossibly large, but probably an on-average size for his species, gives me a look I can't decipher, and tucks his chin again to continue reading whatever it is on his device.

I excuse his awkward reaction by distracting myself in my drink, licking the whipped cream off the top. I love a morning coffee, but I just hope it doesn't make me have to pee before I get to work. Coffee has a way of doing that to people, and I don't have time to be sidelined. Not today.

I still have plenty of time, but it's a new day. New boss. New changes. I once again, am not entirely sure if that is a good thing, but I try to remain positive. It's all I can do.

Ugh, I should not be drinking coffee right now.

I am beginning to feel the caffeine's effect on my psyche, and I'm regretting that expresso shot. My fingernails click away on the moist plastic cup.

Coffee is usually a feel good drink, but combined with my already growing anxiety, it is a mistake in the making.

My office buddy, and overall best friend, Leanne Drexler, messaged me over the weekend that our boss had been replaced on short notice. I don't tend to enjoy changes to my daily schedule so I freak out more than the average person. Leanne tells me I need to relax, but it feels like an impossible task to me.

I flex my shoulders, feeling the tension settling in. Yeah, caffeine is making me extra twitchy today.

He's couldn't be worse than Rob Leeson. That guy was such a sleaze. One day I had water splash onto my shirt from a faulty water dispensary. He had been more than happy to assist by getting up into my chest with too few napkins, pushing past Leanne who had already been ready to help me out. In the workplace I'm not sure any guy is supposed to get that close to a woman's chest, much less put his hands all over it. I'm sure that could fall under sexual harassment, but I never pushed it. I couldn't sideline my goals, and it was harmless, though a bit aggravating to recall.

Several times I had to break off conversations and make excuses because I was certain that he was going to try and ask me out. I didn't want to jeopardize my workplace environment when I rejected him, and nothing outside or inside that man was attractive to me.

When I think about it, he was probably the reason I never seemed to profit from my hard work. He wanted to keep me a cute and smiley front-desk secretary instead of the published community figure that I wanted to be. I feel like an intern somedays, underpaid and underappreciated. Which wholly puts my lifetime goals into question.

Bastard.

I suck hard through the straw of my iced coffee and blink at the ugly sucking sound it makes, suddenly aware that my coffee supply is dwindling to just ice. I can feel the alien man staring at me, and I blush involuntarily again.

Get it together.

Fifteen minutes go by, give or take, and I'm walking down the tram's sidewalk towards my work in the distance. As I walk along I think about the only other occupant of my car…well aisle, on the tram. There had been another car attached with an open doorway, but that side had been stocked full, my section however, had consisted of only me and the man.

The jiralhanae man.

Were people still so intimidated by them? We had lived together for well over two hundred years now on our own home planet of Earth, and people are still afraid to just sit in the same tram car together. The war had happened long ago…but when I remember the war vids I had seen in history class, I suppose I could imagine why they are still so afraid.

More than one person had to be excused from my tenth grade class because of the amount of gore shown. It had been psychologically sickening to watch. One girl had even thrown up in the hallway before it was halfway over. Me being the self-righteous protector of the student body, had to take it up to the school board, horrified by the graphic warfare we were forced to watch. The principal and the board had insisted, however, that it was necessary that we understand the past, no matter how dark and unpleasant it was, to preserve our own future.

The fanatical religion that caused the war had died out long ago, so just how long would it take people to get past this? Someone could argue that because I hadn't lived during the war, that I could never understand what it had been like, with all those billions of lives lost. They're probably right, but I was raised to be fair and pleasant. I just can't feel indifferent to other people, or to other races.

It goes against my values as a person, and what I was raised to believe. Mom had never knew her own mother, having been raised in the foster care system, perhaps that was why she had no tragic family history to coincide with. She raised me to believe that everyone should be treated with respect, and that we are all on this big blue ball of a planet together, for better or for worst.

As an optimistic I also have to believe that everything will be alright, that we can all coexist. I have to try.

And hopefully the same can be said of whoever is going to be replacing my boss. Optimism!

No matter my opposition to my doubts, though, the anxiety is back again, and I try to get past it as I stroll by a trash canister, chucking my empty cup into the recycle section. I try and straighten up as I walk, flattening the crinkles in my gray plaid skirt, while making sure the buttons of my red top are in place.

I have to look professional, organized. Ready for a new day. I straighten the purse strap on my shoulder, and I brighten my face with a smile.

New boss. New opportunities. I've got this.

In my earlier hesitation I don't hear the approaching footsteps until they're right on me. I turn my head, and then my body to one side to allow the jiralhanae man to pass. He tilts his head towards me a bit as he walks by, gives me a look, and then he smiles through his pale scruffy beard.

He's so much taller than me, than any human man even. Big shoulders, arms with muscles rippling underneath, his arms and legs like tree trunks. His features are just as big.

I stare, unblinking, at his large smile. His teeth are slightly yellow, and as I stare at his massive pointed canines. An image of a snarling tiger fills my brain.

I remember to breathe again when he has already passed me by, all too aware that I probably looked like an exceedingly stupid deer in headlights. Ugh, I probably came off as quite rude too. I just can't win.

I walk, remembering to step over the huge pothole that no one has filled yet in my path (one of these days that will kill me) and I silently berate myself as I make the rest of the way to my workplace.

I continue on my way at a brisker pace. I like to arrive at least twenty minutes before work so I can get an early start on my day and pop into Leanne's cubicle for a quick social before the work haul.

I pass many people on my way, just the usual thick slough of city life. Distracted as I usually get on the way to work, I watch a few pigeons land between two parked cars to fight over a french fry.

I continue across the street and find myself alone on this line of sidewalk, and before I move past a wide alleyway, I hear it. A long threatening hissing sound. With a twist of movement my purse strap slips down my arm as I tilt on my heels. I catch the strap as I spin in place to see what had made the sound. Not the smartest decision, but like I said before, I'm more of a deer-in-headlights sort of girl.

Leaning against a garbage canister sits a ragged looking kig-yar. He shows me his dagger sharp teeth, in a menacing looking grimace. His wild yellow eyes express something that feels utterly malevolent as they burn into mine. The natural, and attractive feathers that most of his kind wear proudly are tattered and untidy on his head; the feathers ruffled and displaced. His teeth are chipped, a few brown and rotting. He's a few feet away, but his breath is still detectable.

It doesn't smell nice. It's like rotting with a tinge of sour. I think I may even throw up if I don't relocate myself pronto.

I resume walking, quickly, trying to create distance between us as fast as possible, not because of his dead breath but because of that scary smile, which probably wasn't a smile at all, but what do I know? I really need to check my references.

I try and ease out calm, even breaths as I continue on my way. Am I acting racist, having had two panic attacks over two different aliens in one day? I hope not. I don't mean to. I'm lost in my thoughts, so I don't feel the heavy pressure on my back until it sends me crashing to the ground.

I fall hard onto one shoulder, and there's pain as it connects with hard stone, and I choke out a gasp as the air is knocked out of me. There's a sudden scraping sound of my bag against the sidewalk and a sudden burning pain lights up in my arm as I reflexively reach for it. My fingers twitch, there's pain. I can feel warm blood running down my wrist, staining my hand.

"Vai Took, Human." I look up from the clawed feathery hand digging into my skin, and into the crazy kig-yar's mad yellow eyes, "Vaitook!"

What is he saying?

He shoves me over, onto my back, and I feel his clawed fingers fidgeting at the black purse strap trapped under my shoulder. So that's his motive. I'm faintly aware of the sounds of shouts and cries of alarm all around me, but I can't turn away from my assaulter. I can smell his breath and I choke back nausea as he closes in on my face, repeating those alien words again. Drool runs down his jowls and I blink as wetness drops onto my cheek, and I'm much too afraid to feel disgusted.

I'm terrified that he's going to tear my throat out. He looks crazy enough to be capable of biting into me like some sort of rabid beast. I can't move, I don't try to move away, or shield myself. I'm petrified, and I can't will my body to move. Why can't I move? I can't even toss my bag at him, hoping he will just take it and go away.

But I don't have to, because suddenly, inexplicably, he is gone, and there is only the terrible stinging sensation where his claws had been digging into my arm. I clasp a hand there, feeling warm blood sinking into the spaces between my fingers. There is movement above me, and shadows dance the ground. I look up and see clawed feet hanging over me, kicking furiously.

The kig-yar who had tried to mug me and possibly cause some further damage was hanging freely in the air. I gaze up with wide eyes, sucking in air with fast uneven breaths. Unbelieving.

Somehow I'm meeting my third alien today. All in one morning.

He's tall, pretty close to the jiralhanae's height, broad shouldered, but sleeker, and more slender than burly. His legs look strong, but are backwards looking—and his weight is planted on two large toes. He wears what looks like a short black robe with a dark brown hem. There are long slits on the sides that probably allow his uniquely shaped legs freer movement. Overlapping cloth, a thin armor, bronze in color, covers him in many places, from a helm like head to sock like coverings on his rounded toes.

There's something distinctly knightly about him. He looks as if he had traveled from some sort of distant era…like some ancient alien warrior. He's almost dashing with that armor on—alien or not—wearing something no human man today would be caught wearing dead outside of a history convention…and he saved me.

He saved me.

I watch, wordlessly, still on my back, as the kig-yar kicks his legs about madly trying to escape his captor. I hear clapping footsteps, and I can see human men in blue and white police attire approach from both sides, all humans, with stun pistols out.

The alien, the sangheili, flexes his arm, muscles rippling fluid under his mocha brown skin, and the kig-yar spasms and splutters out saliva, hissing between his teeth, arms flailing to try and detach the large four-fingered hand from around his neck. I can see a muscle in the sangheili's arm spasm slightly again and I know he is increasing his grip.

Suddenly the sangheili makes a low rumbling growl and the other alien drops from his grip. Air slips from my lips in a sigh. I had been holding my breath, almost certain he had meant to kill the other alien. The now freed, and gasping kig-yar, is promptly seized up by officers, and lets out a screeching yowl as one of them shocks him in the side with a stunner. I watch as they cuff him and yank the now weakly struggling alien away to a lit cruiser.

"He attacked the female." I can't help but turn to stare. His voice, the sangheili's, is a rich baritone, warm, exotic even with a pleasing accent. I don't understand how he can form words so beautifully with his four mandibles, but somehow it works. I hold onto his words, breathless, only half aware of the human hands reaching for me, asking if I'm okay.

Suddenly he crouches before me, his large legs keeping everyone else at bay, and the officers step aside to make room for him. He's a giant compared to the human men, but he outright towers over me. I look up, gaze into his face, and I can see rows of fearsome fangs on his four mandibles, but I don't linger here, nor do I feel fear at the sight of them. Instead I'm lost in his bright almond shaped eyes, deep brown. Like chocolate covered coffee beans.

Ok, I may need to get off the coffee eventually.

"Female..." He pauses as if thinking, "Err—miss, you are safe now." He is speaking to me and I feel like I have forgotten how to talk, staring up at him like some lost child, "Can you stand?" He asks me.

I only slip out of my daze when he reaches out to me with slender, but huge, nail-less fingers. He could easily wrap them around my head, they're so large. How are all these aliens so much bigger than we are? I blink rapidly, fingers playing over my shoulder nervously, but I manage to stand. He seems satisfied, and the hand retreats, as does the rest of him.

He breaks out of his crouch and stands straight up, towering over me even as I gain my feet. I'm left with my eyes connecting to his chest, and I stare at the girl trapped in the reflection of his bronze chest plate. I barely recognize the woman as being me. She looks so lost, her hair is a mess, and her blouse is torn—he had even pulled a few buttons.

I can't go to work like this.

It's like a switch flips off in me and suddenly I'm moving to gather my purse, dropping it twice in my confusion before finding my grip, and I'm walking away, towards the building in the distance, and my cubicle, and Leanne, and my new boss who is going to see me on time.

Don't panic, there's still time. Oh please let there still be time. What time is it?

"Wait, miss!" I hear a human man yell out but it's like I'm in a daze. I only stop at a wobbly stumble when a shadow eclipses me and I see my reflection again, this time the girl's eyes are doe-wide, and she has this dumb confused look on her face.

"Female." The sangheili rumbles again. Why can't a man's voice always sound this good? "Your people must attend to you. You're hurt. Your face is bleeding."

My fingers play over my cheeks and up, and I can feel a wetness and sudden burning above my right brow. Of course, the little fucker also cut up my face.

My frustration breaks my silence, "I have to go. I need to get to work." My words slur together, I feel dazed, anxious. Stupid coffee.

What time is it? I can't be late, not today…

"Miss, please, we need you to wait here." A man wearing a crisp police uniform, his black hair brushed over his ears steps up to me, "You're going to have to fill out a report. A medical team is on the way."

I feel my rapid chest breaths falling in defeat as I gain lucidity, as if I'm a balloon that is losing air. This wasn't how my day was supposed to be. I had it all planned out, it just isn't fair. I can't miss today. A new boss, who is going to think I don't care about my job enough to even show up! I feel the pain in my arm increasing where the kig-yar had cut me, but that doesn't contend much with the headache that is growing as I stumble away.

My morning sails by in flickers of memory, and I remember the fangs of the jiralhanae, the blazing eyes of the kig-yar, the stench of rotting breath, wicked teeth, grasping hands. I see a panicked face in a distorted mirror. My heart is a thunder beat in my ears. I gasp. I don't see anything, I'm in a blind panic, but I feel something like warm leather. I feel the sangheili's fingers as he gently grasps me by my shoulders, holding me still as I hear a siren sound off behind me and human faces peering around him. They're speaking but I can't hear them. It's like their voices are bouncing off an invisible bubble around me, and I can only feel the vibrations.

I can't breathe.

My world is moving in quick transitions from one scene to another. I can see faces fading past me in the lights of the ambulance, voices speaking calmly over a beeping monitor. I am made to lie back. My back presses onto a cool sheet, a cushion is forced under my neck. An oxygen mask is pushed over my mouth and nose. I tremble as my skin tightens around the stick of a needle in my arm. A breathy sigh slips out. There's a cold sensation, as the fluid from the needle runs under my skin in an icy stream.

What's happening to me?

The bright lights are dim, fuzzy haloes, and I try and blink a few times to clear them away, but my eyelids are heavy. Colors are too saturated, and shadows flicker in the corners of my vision. I'm slipping, free falling out of my own body, and my breath outraces my heartbeat.

I feel weighted down, and then time stops altogether, and everything, all sensation, and my whole world, disappears as I hit an impenetrable darkness.

AN: I wrote this randomly, experimenting with present tense mostly, but it went somewhere. Honestly, I'm only half sure where I'm going with this…so not sure how long this story will be, but it's definitely going to be romantic with maybe a future smut scene. Definitely an AU too, not that confidant about overall Halo facts yet, so lots of entitlement here.

Pairing because…I really enjoy alien x human pairings, but with the human as exclusively female. Not enough of that on this archive…we girls need a little alien love too you know! ^_^

Review if you like and tell me what you think. Not sure how long an update will take, but feedback will certainly help. Thanks for reading!