-Chapter 3: Reset-

John still has the dream about a world of hard light that Cortana vanishes into, only now it's her human form fading away into the night and he can't move. He lets her go with only a weak plea to wait.

When the dream wakes him up, he doesn't hesitate anyway to buzz Cortana's room and let her know he's on his way.

It seems she has her own dreams, though she doesn't call when she's going to come to him - she just overrides the lock on his door, strips down to her tank and shorts, and climbs over him into what soon becomes her spot against the wall.

She tells him her dreams are of the Gravemind and the tricks it had played on her. She says she just tried to keep one thought in her mind: He promised. She dreams of four years of cold, dark, silent space while he slept frozen in his cryotube and she was alone. She tells him she liked to talk to him as he slept because it reminded her how to speak aloud. And, she murmurs, she dreams of dying. She dreams of rampancy and increasing fragmentation and the pain of leaving him behind. She whispers that saving him made it worth it.

He grips her tighter when she speaks of it, so tight she can barely breathe.

Soon the sight of them together is commonplace around the Infinity.

She leans nonchalantly against a treadmill on S Deck as he gets suited up, making snide comments. He knows it means she's unhappy she can't go with him anymore, but honestly, he's just glad she's safe.

He shows up on the bridge at dinner time to stand silently next to her station until she pulls herself away from whatever project she's wrapped up in. He guides her to the mess with a big hand covering the small of her back.

She sits cross-legged on his back as he does pushups, controlled all the way down and back up until his arms are fully extended. It's a thrill for her to feel his strength that way and she laughs as his muscles expand and contract beneath her. He comes to think it's the best way in the galaxy to work out.

He teaches her how to fight, repeating the same movement until she mimics it correctly. He holds the punching bag while she swings away at it, reminding her to keep her eyes up.

Others try to watch without looking, but their attempts at stealth fail. It doesn't matter, though, since the Chief has long since become accustomed to people staring.

It's not at all unusual to spot one of them emerging from the other's quarters in the early morning hours. People assume they're having sex, but that's wrong. She's still getting used to having an actual body and he doesn't even like to think about how long he's been a virgin.

He walks her home to her quarters after dinner and they stand awkwardly at her door until he leaves with a brief goodnight. On the third time they do this, she stops him with a hand on his forearm.

"In the stories I read, after the man takes the lady out to a fancy dinner, he gives her a goodnight kiss," she says softly, meeting his eyes.

Most people would see nothing in John's expression, but she sees the mixture of relief and anxiety he's feeling. He studies her for a moment and then steps back in front of her.

He places a hand on each hip, draws her to him, leans down, and down, and down, and she lifts up on her toes, and he kisses her. Like the first time, he's careful and slow. He's improved since then, though; he's spent hours thinking about the first time and what he could have done better, analyzing every move as if he's debriefing after a battle.

When he releases her mouth, she rests her head on his chest. He lets her.

The Marine who happens to wandering by stalls for a second as he sees the Master Chief engaging in what can only be described as cuddling with his AI and then turns around, deciding to take the long way around.

She wonders what it would be like to be a child. Brought into the world a fully sentient and mature intellect, she never was one. So one night, she asks him.

He tenses and is silent a moment before answering, "Wouldn't know."

She raises herself on one elbow above him, one hand spread on his strong chest. He admires the curve of her shoulder and the shadow of her breasts under the sheet.

"Before this," she prompts softly.

His eyes go out of focus as he reaches back into memories long ago locked away.

"I was afraid of the dark. My mother got a nightlight." He frowned. "Can't remember what it looked like." He shook his head. "My father put his hand on my forehead. That's all."

"A nightlight and your father's hand," she echoes, thoughtful.

"It's stupid," he says, turning his head away.

She places a hand on his cheek and guides his face back to she can meet his eyes.

"No," she tells him, "it's nice." She lays her head back down on his chest. "Sleep, John."

Her words trigger the long-buried memory of his mother's gentle kiss on his forehead and the rich, dark sound of his father's voice. He sleeps.

John doesn't often volunteer his dreams. Cortana rarely asks. Sometimes, though, he tells her a little:

"I'm standing on the bridge and losing you again."

They're lying in bed. John's never been much of a laze, but since he started sharing a bed with Cortana, he's found it's about his favorite place to be.

She kisses his forehead. He likes the soft warmth of her hands on his face. "You said, 'Never again,'" she reminds him. Then she grins suddenly, a bright light. "And you'd never make a girl a promise if you know you can't keep it."

In response, he wraps her in his arms more securely. She strokes his temples, smooths the furrow in his brow. "Never again," she repeats, and this time it's her promise.

There are words he wants to say but never learned how, so he rolls them over and kisses her deeply. When he's done, his gaze locks on her. He's wearing an intense expression she has seen before but only now can read. Her breath catches. She strokes his jaw with the tips of her fingers. "I love you, too," she says.

He kisses her again.

John doesn't open his eyes when his door unlocks at 2 a.m., knowing that it's Cortana. He doesn't open his eyes when he hears the rustle of clothes. He doesn't open his eyes when she climbs over him, though he does scoot further toward the outside of the bed to make sure there's enough room for her. He doesn't open his eyes when she slides under the covers, instead just lifting his arm for her to snuggle into him, another place that has become her spot.

But his eyes snap open when she presses her bare body against his side. He can feel the softness of her breasts against his ribs.

"Cortana."

She's tense against him, clearly nervous. He looks down at her. The contrast of her eyes has never been so pronounced, the bright blue centers so light they're nearly white and the navy rings only a shade away from black.

"You're not wearing any clothes," he says, because that's the only thing he can think to say.

She rolls her eyes. "Gee, Chief, it's a good thing you're so observant," she snarks.

He tries again. "Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

She props herself up on one elbow, causing the blanket over them to slip down a little. He resolutely keeps his eyes on her face. "Really?" she questions. "You can't figure that one out?"

He opens his mouth. Then closes it. She watches him. He opens it one more time. "I don't know how," he confesses.

Her eyes soften. "Me neither. Maybe we can figure it out together." He still seems uncertain. Before he can speak, she asks, "Do you want me?" He swallows and then nods once. She smiles brilliantly and climbs to lay more fully atop him. His breathing hitches when he feels the patch of hair between her legs over his abdomen. "That's enough, John."

Carefully, as though she's made of glass, he wraps his arms fully around her, anchoring her to his strong chest. Her back is strong and soft.

She rubs her nose against his. "I love you."

He grins. "So," he asks. "Options?"

She laughs. He likes the way it makes her breasts rub against his chest. "You can start by kissing me."

He grunts in approval and lifts his head just enough to capture her lips.

She lies against him in her spot between his side and the wall. She's snuggled close like usual, enjoying the feel of John's hand running slowly up and down her back. She traces her fingers across his chest, drawing glyphs and ones and zeros and letters; writing her name on him in every language she knows.

She looks up at his face. He's got one arm propped under his head and he's watching her hands, as if he knows what she's doing. Maybe he does. It's almost strange to see him so relaxed.

She looks back down at his chest and then down his long, long body.

"You're so tall," she sighs admiringly.

Then, very much to her surprise, he starts to laugh. It begins as a rumble in his chest and then spreads up into his vocal cords. She doesn't think she's ever heard him laugh before - not in all the years she's known him and all the adventures they've shared. She looks up at him and realizes then how silly she must have sounded. She smiles and then her tinkling laugh joins him.

In a moment, when he calms, he brushes his lips against her forehead. "I've been told that before," he says. "Not as nice as when you say it."

She grins mischievously and climbs further atop him again, running her fingers first across his biceps and then his chest, which feels a million miles wide. "Well, then," she purrs. "You're also very strong." She presses a kiss to his pectoral over his heart and then places her lips close to his ear. "And very, very sexy."

He's been called many things by many people, but never, not once, has anyone referred to him as sexy. Big, yes. Scary, yes. Robotic, yes. Sexy, no. From most people, he would not want to be called that. He likes the word when it comes on her breath.

He gives a little growl that makes her stomach flip and rolls over, trapping her beneath him.

"You're beautiful," he says with sincerity. "You're mine."

She wiggles underneath the warm weight of him. "I feel safe here."

Instead of responding, he kisses her. He's always been better with actions than words, anyway.

-Fin-