It’s high time I crank out some shorts with my OC and Chief cause why not~ I apologize in advance~
Warnings: Minor mentions of harassment
Intro~ Infinity is celebrating as what remains of the covenant continues to dwindle, but Catherine’s mind is far more distracted with matters of the heart.
Catherine's hair gleamed in the lights around her, the rec hall's bar ablaze with life after their most recent victory. Yet another covenant group had fallen, thanks to the efforts of the Spartan fireteams.
Horace had clapped her on the back and bought her a beer for hauling himself and the rest of his marines out of a troublesome situation, and her best friend would have done so for the rest of Blue Team had they been present for the celebration, but they had already escaped to their respective quarters before the festivities could begin aboard the Infinity. Today's win had been a big one, and the celebration to follow was only fitting.
But despite the joyous occasion, Catherine couldn't bring herself to feel particularly elated. She played with a small flame between her fingers, something she had begun doing when she needed to fidget.
Ever since the pyro had been placed in Blue Team's care, it had been a struggle to connect with the Spartans. Dr. Halsey hadn't been successful in making more soldiers like her, but she was far too advanced to place on any human squad, so placing her under the Master Chief's command had been the best she could do. However, this led to her newest predicament. Her undeniable attraction to the UNSC hero.
"Try not to light the place on fire, yeah?" Horace said, bumping her shoulder with his own. Catherine rolled her eyes at her friend, nodding as she swept her short, scarlet hair behind her ear.
"I think it's time I turn in for the night," she said. "Thanks for the drink."
Horace raised an eyebrow on his tanned face. "You think I'm about to let you skip out on a party? One in your honor might I add?"
"The rest of Blue Team didn't even show up," she argued. "And you and I both know sooner, or later Cassandra is going to drag you off somewhere more private." A broad grin overtook her face as she glanced towards her friend's fiancé who was actively dropping a shot of tequila into her glass of coke before kicking back her head to swallow the concoction.
"Maybe, but I'm still here. And it appears my best friend doesn't have nearly enough alcohol in her system. We've probably got another hour before Cass starts puking her guts up and asks me to carry her to her room," Horace said with a suggestive grin, and Catherine couldn't help but chuckle.
"Alright Garcia, drown my heartache in booze," the redhead relented.
"Now that's what I'm talking about."
She couldn't walk straight, could hardly stand for that matter. "Damnit Horace," she muttered as she tried to navigate the room. He had left her to play pool with Thorne and Hoya some time ago, and she had a sneaking suspicion that He and Cassandra had already left for the night.
Even drunk she'd managed to beat the Spartans, which had led to them treating her to a few more shots. She supposed it would be best not to inform them she'd used her analysis enhancements to plan the trajectory of her plays.
She was now regretting the last few drinks, however, as she couldn't quite decipher where she was.
"Well, hello lovely." Catherine jolted at the unexpected voice as an arm draped over her shoulders and a younger marine whose breath smelled like he's had a few too many beers, causing Catherine's nose to wrinkle.
"Get your hands off me before I cook your ass," she seethed, lighting a flame in her palm. The flame, however, flickered just as drunkenly as Catherine's consciousness, before snuffing out entirely.
She may as well have been floating until a green armored hand landed on her shoulder.
Catherine's eyes traveled to the familiar hand before her blood ran cold, and her eyes widened. The look of horror on the offending marines face went completely unnoticed by her as she felt a familiar warmth bloom throughout her body, accompanied by a chill running up her spine. It was an effort not to shiver in reaction to the contact.
"Move."
The marine wasted no time in stumbling away from the pyro, his face white as a sheet. He didn't stop stumbling over himself until he had rounded the corner into the maze of the Infinity.
Catherine was slowly spun around until her vibrant green eyes met a gold visor. "Chief," the word left her lips slowly as she struggled to move her mouth. "What're you...doing..." she trailed off, her vision struggling to focus as she saw double. Two Master Chiefs? Now that was quite a concept. However, with her luck, she probably didn't have a chance with either of them.
"You're drunk," his gravelly voice stated, and Catherine swallowed thickly.
"No," she said, and she could practically feel his gaze burning into her from behind the visor.
"No?" he asked, his tone almost daring her to argue further.
"Just had a few drinks," she murmured, her knees becoming less and less steady by the second. His hand on her shoulder seemed to weigh more than it should have.
"A few too many." His helmet provided the perfect emotionless mask, and Catherine scrunched her features in disapproval.
"I can handle a few shots," she said, yanking out of her grip. To her surprise, she met little resistance as he let go of her, and seconds later she was sprawled on her ass on the cool metal floor.
"Tone down the attitude, firebug." She hated it when he called her that. It made her feel like she really was just a small, insignificant insect that he could stomp out in seconds.
"Don't call me that," she grumbled as she hobbled to her feet. Dear God, why did she always come off as such an ass to this poor man? Deep down, she knew it was the only way she knew how to hide the simmering attraction.
The Chief stared at her wordlessly for a moment before what sounded like a deep sigh echoed from his helmet speakers. "Where's your room?" he asked, bracing one of his large, gloved hands on her torso as she teetered a bit, worried she would fall again. Catherine ignored the warmth that seeped into the material of her fatigues where his hand rested.
"Two floors up." He wasn't planning to walk her back, was he? His quarters were on the S Deck, which was in the opposite direction.
Without a single verbal cue, he pulled her in the direction of the elevator, keeping a firm grip on her torso to steady her. Part of her wished he'd slid his hand down a bit and grip her hip the way he was-
Catherine shook her head furiously. Now was not the time to let her alcohol-muddled mind fly speed down that particular path and off into the sunset.
"This is my stop," she said as they reached their destination. She watched nervously as his helmeted head tilted towards her. Was he going to reprimand her? Tell her she shouldn’t be out getting wasted late into the night? He shifted, almost awkwardly, his armor plates clinking together softly as they shifted against the skintight bodysuit.
What she'd give to see that bodysuit without the armor plating-No. Absolutely not. Those were dangerous grounds to be treading on. Catherine swallowed thickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the slight increase in her body temperature.
His grip tightened on her for a moment before painstakingly, he drew his hand away. There was something about his taught shoulders and stiff posture that made Catherine almost wonder if he was worried about leaving her alone.
"Be more careful next time," he said crisply, before turning on his heel and leaving her standing there, completely dumbfounded. It wasn't until after she had hobbled into her dorm and slid beneath the covers of her cot that she had replayed the scene in her head, her face burning a color that rivaled her hair. This Spartan....he was going to be the death of her!
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[ @catherinedaly ] 0028. 02/12/2018. 09:31AM. Il Parco.
Her teeth have been firmly grit together since the buzz of her phone on the bedside table had woken her up that morning. She can feel the headache setting in, jaw stiff and rage simmering but relentless, the occasional twitch of her lip synchronised with spikes of anger as her mind dissects Damiano’s scathing criticisms. Her opinion is that his cruelty is not what she deserves -- a bullet in the shoulder of their greatest enemy should have been rewarded with praise; putting the Capulet boss out of action for a while should have warranted some sort of appreciation. Grace exhales sharply, breath misting in the winter air, fingers clasped around a knife which carves feelings into the damp planks of the bench beneath her. A deep groove forms. What stops her is not that she calms down, nor that she decides to ignore the fact that Damiano is no different to Cosimo ( a laughable truth that she’s certain people don’t want to acknowledge ). It’s a flash of familiar blonde hair passing across the sliver of dull green grass in front of her which halts the ever-destructive behaviour, meeting blue eyes unblinking. “Kitty-Cat. You’re looking less dead than before.”
Her gaze drops to the creature being paraded along at her sister’s heel. Damiano had called her a dog, rabid and wild. Would he sooner have her leashed and mindless like this fleabag? “Didn’t get a promotion so you got a pet instead, huh? You’ll end up with a fucking zoo at this rate.” A bitter laugh lines her lips. “I should know.” Grace weighs the blade in her hand and abruptly points its tip at the strip of material clutched in Catherine’s fingers. “You shouldn’t keep it on a lead. You should let it make its own choice. If it wants to be feral, so be it. If it wants to stay--” shoulders clad in leather and cotton rise and fall heavily against the back of the bench, “--then you’ve done something right.”
