salt and giants

A booming sound sent a flock of birds scattering, and combined with the frantic flapping it snapped Fern out of her work. She was used to a staggering variety of wildlife sounds in the Kypros marsh, from myriad bird calls to bellowing frogs and the whispery rattle of snakes, but that didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard before… and most concerningly it sounded almost human.

Lots of careless humans had ventured into the marshlands with no idea what lay in store, and the sound’s source seemed to be near the river.

Awfully close to croctaur territory…

She vaguely remembered hearing some snapping before too… someone could be in serious trouble.

She dropped the rhizomes she’d been harvesting and hurried as quietly as she could towards the river, hoping she’d make it time to help whoever was in need.

By the time she reached the river the original sound had long faded, but she could hear distant muttering and what seemed like muted groans of pain coming from further upstream, away from where the crocs converged. Probably not a croctaur attack then, but an animal or insect bite was still very possible and no less dangerous. Thankfully the botanist always carried medical supplies when she went collecting, ever hopeful for the best but prepared for the worst.

As she reached the riverbed she pushed up her glasses and surveyed the area. There was clear evidence of a hunt, from bloodied markings on ground to the bones of some unlucky animal she didn’t care to further examine, and the lingering sounds were getting closer. Following her ears she realized she was also following an unusually wide trail of disturbed vegetation leading directly into the thickest part of the marsh.

Nobody ventured in that far.

It was something of an open secret that anuids of all types would snatch up humans given the opportunity. Legally speaking there was no such activity, but it was well known that humans were valuable commodities in Kypros, which was why the expedition team strictly prohibited crossing the swamp line into the major settlements. Just exploring the coasts and borderlands of anuid territory was dangerous enough, but walking straight into a croctaur settlement was like asking to be grabbed.

The more she noticed about the width and shape of the trail the more she felt her heart pound. Only a croctaur could have left a trail like that… but anuids didn’t sound like humans… at least, not as far as Fern was aware. As far she knew, nobody had ever met one and returned to tell the tale. Allegedly other humans had ventured into Kypros and studied the denizens of the planet, but the textbooks she’d read had shockingly little to say about croctaurs or anuids as a whole.

Another grunt, this one accompanied by something like snapping branches, followed by a growl…

They’re definitely still alive, and still in need of help…

As the sky suddenly darkened her heart dropped. Dark clouds had gathered at an alarming speed along with a burst of wind, much like monsoon season back home. If there really was a storm brewing it would explain the sudden lack of visible wildlife, but it would also mean an even worse situation for whoever was stuck out here wounded. Even if she reported someone in the deep brush the rescue team probably wouldn’t venture out until the storm cleared, and that was time an injured person didn’t have.

Dangerous or not, someone needed her, and she couldn’t just abandon them.

Taking a deep breath she tied back her frizzy hair, pushed up her glasses, forced her feet forward and ran directly into the depths.

/-/-/-

Gaspar growled softly to himself as he settled inside a dense quinzy of branches and tried to pick at his swollen gums. Unfortunately his claws were far too large to pry out whatever bit of bone was stabbed between his teeth. Still, at least he’d managed a meal before the storm set in. The turn of weather had come far more quickly than he’d expected, forcing him to build a shelter to wait out the storm. He’d already spent most of his energy hunting, and with how fast of a turn things had taken he didn’t want to risk getting caught out in the cold rains and harsh winds. Since he’d gone hunting at the outermost edge of the border his own home was still a ways off.

Thankfully he was good with his hands and had plenty of experience with making things. As he settled in he grabbed a smaller branch and tried to extricate whatever was stuck in his gumline again. It was hard to believe something so tiny could be such a literal and figurative pain… frowning at another failed effort to remove the bone he crushed the branch between his fingers and tossed the splinters into the wind.

“Whoa!”

His ears pricked up at the voice. Who was foolish enough to be out in a coming storm?

Leaning out of his shelter he spotted a tiny flicker of light in the distance.

A human.

Humans rarely ventured this close to croctaur territory, much less in this weather… the winds were picking up, and he could see in the distance a crack of lightning split the sky. The thwack of thunder nearly drowned out the human voice, but he could still just make it out.

“Hello?! Don’t be scared, I’m here to help you!”

The voice was getting closer, almost like it was coming straight towards him.

“I know you’re hurt! Where are you?!”

Surely they weren’t looking for him… was there another human lost somewhere in the marsh? That seemed highly unlikely, not so close to croctaurs…

The light started to flicker, not merely from the winds and rain blurring it but in a distinct, rhythmic pattern, like a signal light.

Now that was extremely stupid. Any nearby anuids would recognize that and happily venture short distances to snatch up a human out in the open, even in a storm like this.

“Please! I heard you cry out!”

Suddenly the pieces came together; it had indeed been Gaspar who’d inadvertently yelped in pain at the stubborn bone still stuck in his teeth, but the human had mistaken his cry for that of another human.

“Hello?!”

He heaved a sigh. On one hand, nobody had told this human to go wandering into croctaur territory in the middle of a lightning storm… but they were just trying to help someone they thought was wounded and stuck out in the elements. They were risking their own life to help another, and Gaspar just happened to be the person they thought was so in need of help.

He couldn’t just leave them out there.

“Stay where you are,” He called, reluctantly standing to leave the makeshift den.

“Where are you?! Are you okay?!” The light wavered but did not stray from its location as he slowly walked towards the human.

“Huh?!”

“Don’t move,” He warned, “Stay exactly where you are.”

-0-0-

Fern felt her heart thump with each thud of a footstep, each one just as audible as it was palpable. An outline of utter blackness towered over her so that even craning her neck at a full vertical left her unable to see the sky above the figure. As she lifted the lantern closer she could see what looked like the feet of a crocodile, but on a terrifyingly larger scale. Each claw alone looked to be at least size of her head.

Between the dark, their current proximity and reduced visibility from the storm it was impossible to see the croctaur in its entirety, but if she had to take a guess she’d mentally estimate it to be at least 50 feet tall… and if she were to be completely honest with herself, that was lowballing. Currently all she could see was up to the knee- joint? Was it an actual knee? She wasn’t exactly familiar with crocodile biology, but whatever it was called, it was only a fraction of the creature’s full form. From the outline of the upper half it looked not only like a human male’s torso, but like it belonged to a power lifter, with a thick neck and bulging arms.

It cane to a stop around a good distance away from her, much farther away from her than she would have expected, but then the top of its outline began to move as it lowered its upper body towards her. She moved her back foot and shifted her weight to move away, but then she saw a pair of yellow eyes come into view against the backdrop of shadow, and a chill ran down her spine.

It was watching her. It had told her not to move. Running now would be useless.

Her mind raced, running fruitless circles of probabilities around the inevitable conclusion: there was no getting away from the croctaur.

Slowly, painfully slowly, she watched as it lowered an inconceivable mass of hulking muscle towards her, lowering one hand to the ground to support itself just a few feet away from her. Without thinking she lifted the lantern higher, illuminating the grey skin of its human half in contrast to the typical greens of the lower crocodile half, and minus the coloring and a pair of what looked like tiny teeth protruding from the corhers of his lower jaw its face was shockingly human. In any other context she might have even said it belonged to a handsome man.

Without thinking she let go of the hood of her jacket as she squinted to get a better look, and instantly the wind ripped it back to soak her head. She tried shielding her eyes with a hand, but it did little as the rain now directly pelted her glasses, leaving her nearly blind as the creature continued its agonizing descent. She could almost feel the shift in the air as his weight approached, the yellow blur of his eyes growing larger and larger as he came closer and closer towards her.

“What- who are you?!” Her mouth was suddenly dry as she felt herself shaking.

“Just hold still.”

Before she could even blink she was moving, suddenly seated on a slightly warm surface that felt almost leathery. Somehow he had picked her up not only startlingly fast but with shocking gentleness. She’d managed to hold onto her lantern, but she almost wished she hadn’t as he brought her towards his lips and opened his mouth wide.

“WAIT! NO! PLEASE! DON’T!”

She skittered away as fingers curled around her, back pressed against the wall of digits. Time seemed to slow as her eyes darted in search of any possible escape, finding only sharp teeth framing a sea of glistening pink… except… there was also a spot of red. At the back of his mouth, between the molars, was a dark red area that even with her current vision she could see was swollen.

An old trick surfaced in her memory as she created a pinhole with her fingers and peered through it, glimpsing the unmistakeable sight of not only blood but a pale object sticking out of the gum.

“Wait… you?! YOU’RE the one who cried out in pain?!

His mouth stopped moving, and without thinking she leaned forward with her lantern to look through her makeshift pinhole, slowly realizing what had happened.

“I get it, you’ve got a bone shard stuck that you couldn’t get out yourself!”

A switch flipped in her brain, blocking out everything except the injury and putting her into work mode as she moved forward, further into his mouth. The shard was embedded between the molars furthest back, leaving the soace both between around both teeth inflamed.

“Ah?”

The creature sounded almost… confused? Had he not expected her to help?

She grabbed the bone and gave it an experimental wiggle, making the croctaur exhale sharply in apparent pain.

“Hold on, I think I can get it out!”

Setting the lantern down she gripped the bone with both hands, planted one foot against a lower tooth and pulled as hard as she could.

The force was so great she wound up stumbling backwards and landed seated in the creature’s palm, still clutching the bloodied shard.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

“Ha!” She laughed, though she hardly even recognized the curt, high pitched sound of her own voice as she found herself smiling up at the croctaur. Hysteria? Probably, she thought. She couldn’t believe that just an hour ago hadn’t even known they could talk… Her own ignorance was hilariously frightening, and she had to mentally push away the thought for now. “That should feel better, right?”

The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins as she looked up at the grey-skinned face before her, though now she could feel her heart trying to ram its way out of her ribcage. Survival instinct screamed in her mind to run, jump, something, anything to get away… but her eyes were somehow transfixed on the face of the croctaur holding her.

He multiple scars, including one running horizontally across the upper bridge of his nose and one vertically slicing the left edge of his lip. Somehow you always see wounds first, she mentally chuckled at herself. A pair of thick eyebrows and a set of darker grey suboccular splotches framed his golden yellow eyes. Her chest felt tight as she tried to force herself into eye contact, but instead of staying on irises her eyes kept drifting back to his full lips and sharp, ivory teeth.

“You’re a strange one,” He remarked, almost chuckling, warm breath drifting over her from the proximity to his mouth. Without thinking she leaned in closer; the wind and her rain soaked clothes had left her half-frozen.

“How does it feel?”

He ran his tongue experimentally over the area, and she instinctively backed away at the sight.

“Better,” He smiled, though something about his expression felt slightly unsettling. Even with his lips closed she could see two smaller teeth protruding, and whether intentional or not his face had a certain neutrality about it that made it impossible to know what he was truly thinking.

“That’s good, I-“

A crash of thunder interrupted, along with a howl of wind ripping right through her clothes. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and hugged herself, teeth chattering as she shivered.

“Let’s get you out of this storm.” His fingers curled closer around her as he lifted her back up to his lips. “Just trust me, alright?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Keep you warm.” Without any further warning he opened his mouth, tongue quickly slipping under her feet.

“WAIT NO! DON’T-“

Before she could even finish the word she was sliding between his teeth across the pale pink floor. She tried to scramble back towards his lips as quickly as she could, but his tongue curled to keep her back. She could only watch in helpless horror as the gate of bone cut off the light of her lantern as his teeth closed, sealing her in humid darkness.

/-/-/-

“Settle down,” He rumbled softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You ATE ME!” She clambered towards his lips, but he quickly nudged her back towards the middle of his mouth.

“Relax. If I really wanted to eat you I’d have already swallowed.”

“Then why are you doing this?!”

“You won’t last long outside exposed in this weather. You’re already soaked and shivering.”

“Wait… so… you did this for me?

“Of course.”

“But… why your mouth?!”

“It’s warm, and safe. Crocs carry their young in their mouths all the time,” He shrugged.

“Oh right, you’re part crocodile… I guess that does make sense,” She chuckled nervously, “In that case, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He tried to shake off as much of the rain as he could beneath the canopy before lying down inside the quinzy. “You’re just lucky I’m the one who found you first.”

“Oh… so… just to be completely clear, you’re not going to eat me?”

“Nope,” He smiled softly, “Though I would like to know what a human was doing out here so close to croctaur territory.”

She paused a moment. “I was collecting plant samples.”

“Pretty bold of a little human like you to venture this close to croctaurs in the middle of a thunderstorm just for some plants.”

“I heard that someone was hurt. I couldn’t just leave whoever it was behind.”

“You weren’t afraid of being stranded yourself?”

“I had to try, someone needed help.”

“And you don’t regret coming out here now that you see who it was?”

“Why would I? You were hurt.”

Gaspar blinked in surprise. There was no hesitation in her voice, and not a hint of deceit. She answered so simply, as if the answer was so obvious. It wasn’t often he came across such a guileless human.

“Would you have come out if you’d known from the start I was a croctaur?”

“Knowing me, probably.”

A small smile crossed his lips. “You know, I think I believe you.”

“I would have been a lot more hesitant about it though.”

“Now that I don’t believe, considering you waltzed right up to my mouth once you saw the wound.”

“I didn’t waltz!”

“Yeah you did,” He chuckled, “Nothing hesitant about it.”

“I was terrified!”

“You still did it, though, straightaway. You’re a brave little thing.”

“Oh no, not really, I just did what anyone else would do, just trying to help!”

“Trust me, I’ve never seen a human just walk up to a wounded croctaur and start helping like you did,” He replied, tone softening a bit in response to her flustering.

“It wasn’t anything special.”

“I’d say it was pretty special.”

“I wouldn’t say that, not at all,” She answered quickly, “Now anuids, you guys are special! You’re so unique and huge, I’d love to learn more about you.”

“Curious, huh?” He chuckled, “I wouldn’t try chatting up any other anuids though.”

“Right… I’ve heard they kidnap us and sell us on the market.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do anuids… really eat us?”

“Some, but not all. Personally I don’t unless I haven’t eaten in weeks. Humans in our territory are rare to begin with, and not very filling.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry, you’re off the menu. For all anuids.” He added firmly.

“I am?”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She was silent for a moment, seemingly surprised.

“Thank you… really… I appreciate that.” She gently patted his tongue, inadvertently giving him a small taste of her as her hand rested on the muscle.

“You’re a good kid. I don’t mind protecting you.”

“You’re very kind.” She patted his tongue again, hand lingering on a tastebud for a bit before she suddenly drew her hand back. “Sorry, I didn’t- I mean, is that okay?”

“Of course,” He chuckled, “You’re welcome to poke around as much as you like.”

“Did you keep my lantern by any chance? It’s awfully dark in here…”

“Hmm? Oh, I guess I did,” He replied, only now noticing he still had it clutched in his hand. He opened his mouth and placed the lantern on his tongue beside her.

“Mind if I take a look at your gums again?”

“Go right ahead.” He opened his mouth wider to allow her easier access, and he quickly felt her tiny fingers palpating his swollen gums.

-0-0-

“Does it still hurt?”

“Just a bit.”

“I can help with that.” She let her backpack slide off her shoulders and rummaged through, looking for the zippered bag she kept with various herbal preparations. Holding them close to the lantern she sifted through countless vials until she found one containing a thick yellow liquid that smelled like a sweeter variant of eucalyptus.

“Aha!“

The fluid cooled her palms and fingertips as she poured it into a cupped hand. The round yellow flowers in the extract were similar in appearance and anti-inflammatory effects to toothache plants on Earth, but instead of capsaicin like compounds the Kypros version were menthol like.

“This should dull the pain pretty quickly.” She carefully spread the liquid across the swollen patch of gumline, fingers gently grazing the slick surface.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Botanist, with a special interest in herbalism,” She explained, “It’s no substitute for modern medicine of course, but when you’re lost in the marsh a sound knowledge of medicinal plants comes in handy.”

“Ah.”

She spread the remains of the liquid into the hole left by the shard and softly rubbed the swelling around it. It felt surreal, surrounded by massive teeth and touching Gaspar’s gums, how it seemed so familiar and yet utterly foreign. Internally he was very much like a human, but in a staggering larger scale, and she could only imagine how different the rest of his insides had to be.

“Thanks, trying to get that bone out would’ve been a real pain without you.”

“You’re welcome! If you ever need a pair of smaller hands again I’m happy to help.”

“If I ever see you again I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“You probably will, I come out here to collect plant samples pretty often so I’m sure you’ll see me again sometime.”

“You shouldn’t go anywhere near croctaur territory again though. It’s not safe.”

“I wouldn’t normally get this close…” She bit her lip. It didn’t feel right to make it sound like she never wanted to see him again, not when he’d been so kind to her. “I’d take the risk to come visit, though,” She added softly.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” She frowned, “I’d like to see you again, and you did say you wouldn’t let anyone else eat me, right?”

“What if another croctaur found you first and I wasn’t around?”

“I guess I’d have to hope they’d be as kind and sweet as you are.”

“I guess I’ll have to be on the lookout to keep you out of trouble,” He grumbled, then paused a moment before rolling his tongue beneath her.

“H-hey!” She clambered towards his teeth again, feeling a small chuckle just as clearly as she heard it.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, remember?” He nudged her back towards the middle of his mouth.

“I know, you just startled me.” Without thinking she gently patted the muscle beneath her. This time she noticed a few gray splotches amidst the floor of soft pink. That definitely wasn’t human, but was it crocodilian? Or was it a croctaur specific thing? The more details she noticed the more she wondered…

“I’m serious though, you really shouldn’t be out here. Any other anuid could have grabbed you in a heartbeat and either sold you or kept you for themself.”

“Are we really so valuable?”

“They’d pay quite a sum for a cute little thing like you.”

“C-cute?”The word felt foreign as she stumbled across it, “No, no I’m not- you don’t see many humans, do you?”

“I’ve seen enough to know you’d fetch a pretty price at the market.”

“Well… with such a bad storm you probably didn’t get a good look at me,” She chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. Why did her cheeks suddenly feel warm?

“Or maybe you need new glasses.”

“How-?!” She blinked in surprise. “I don’t know what’s crazier, that you know what they are or that you noticed mine!”

“You think anuids don’t know anything about humans?”

“You certainly seem to know more about us than we know about you,” She sighed, “I didn’t even know anuids could speak human languages until today.”

“You must be very new to Kypros, that or whoever brought you here left some serious gaps in your education.”

“I’ve been here a few weeks, but I’ve never gotten close to anuids before today.”

“It’s just as well. Are you from Earth?”

“No, Kep42.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s in the Kepler system, it used to be a penal colony for Earthborn humans. The informal name is Primus Oz, if you’ve heard of that.”

“Don’t think so, no. It would explain why you know so little about us though, I’ve never heard of humans coming from that planet before.”

“I have so much to learn, about everything in Kypros… I’ve never felt so helpless and ignorant before,” She sighed.

“It’s not exactly ignorance, you’re just new here.”

“Still… I may have come to study plants, but I wish I knew more about anuids now that I’m actually here. There’s so much I don’t know!”

“Nobody is born knowing everything.”

“I feel like I don’t know anything… I wish I was at least familiar with the croctaurs since their settlement is right near where the-“ She suddenly bit her lip. “The plants I study, they’re so close to the settlement,” She added as quickly as she could.

“You’ll learn.”

“Gaspar…” She pursed her lips again, caught between not wanting to be anymore of a burden on him and the feeling that she’d never get another chance at finding an anuid amenable to hearing her out. “Do you think you teach me?”

/-/-/-

“Teach you?”The croctaur raised an eyebrow at her request.

“I mean if it’s not an imposition on you or anything!” She added quickly, “I don’t want to be a bother of course, I wouldn’t take advantage of your kindness and of course I’d repay you once I-“

“Easy, girl,” He interrupted, “You want me to teach you about anuids? There’s plenty I don’t know myself, and I’m not exactly a teacher.”

“I actually meant more about croctaurs, since they’re the ones I’ll be in close contact with during my expedition.”

“I thought you were going to minimize croctaur contact.”He frowned.

“I mean, in my line of work it’s inevitable that I’ll be around them at some point just based on location. You live right in the middle of one of the most biodiverse areas I’ve ever seen, prime real estate for studying the countless plant species on Kypros.”

“What exactly do you want to know about us?”

“Everything! Morphology, ecology, ethology, sociocultural development, I don’t know anything about croctaurs except that you’re half crocodile and half human!”

“I’m not sure how much I know about those things myself, but I don’t mind answering your questions,” He chuckled, “I still don’t want you getting so close to our territory though.”

“I’d like to come back and see you though, even if you didn’t want to teach me,” She added softly, sounding disappointed.

“Hmmmm… we’ll see about potential arrangements for future visits after I take you home.”

“You mean it?” He couldn’t help a small smile at the joy in her voice, though it quickly dissolved to confused concern. “Wait, what home?”

“Your home.”

“My home?!”

“Of course. Did you think I was going to let you just walk out of croctaur territory alone and unprotected?”He frowned, “No, the only way to ensure you make it back safely is to bring you there myself.”

“Oh no, you can’t- I mean I couldn’t- that’s far too much for me to ask of you!”

“You didn’t ask. I’m telling you.”

“You don’t understand-“

“If you’re really worried about exposing where your cohort is, I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“How did you- I guess I gave it away before,”She sighed.

“Not really, its no secret that humans never come alone.”

“It’s not just that, though, we have armed security guarding the perimeter of the base. If they see you they could shoot you!”

“I’ll drop you off at night, just outside your base, in a spot where they won’t see me.”

“I don’t know, I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

“I’d take the risk to come visit,” He smirked, so widely he was sure she could practically hear it.

“Why are you so sweet?!”

“Besides, there’s only so much a human weapon can do against a croctaur.”

“You haven’t seen our weapons, or any Primus Ozians except for me. Do you know how trigger happy they can be?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“There are some Ozzies back home who wrangle regular crocodiles just for fun! What if they see you and take it as a challenge?”

“I’d like to see them try,” He chuckled.

“I’m serious! I dont want you to take the risk!”

“It’s cute you think I’m at any risk to begin with,” He chuckled, “Don’t worry about me, I’m a lot more durable than a human.”

“I still wouldn’t want to go out of your way even more just to take me back, especially not with armed guards waiting for you.”

“It’s no trouble. Besides, it wouldn’t sit right with me if I didn’t escort you home.”

“I don’t think-“

“This isn’t a discussion.”

He could practically feel her wilt at the finality of his tone.

“I just want you to be safe…”

He sighed quietly, tone softening as he continued.

“Once the storm lets up and it’s dark enough outside you’ll guide me back, and maybe on the way we’ll discuss future visits.”

“So you will let me come see you again?”

“If you stop arguing about me taking you home.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you!”She rubbed his tongue again, not an absentminded touch but an intentional massage.

It was certainly not a sensation Gaspar was accustomed to; on previous occasions when he’d eaten humans they hadn’t exactly been willing, much less affectionate. It wasn’t unpleasant though… quite the opposite, in fact. The gentle feeling of tiny fingers was oddly soothing, and he found himself relaxing at her touch.

“Is this bribery?” He chuckled, resting his head on folded arms.

“Well I do need some way to repay you for everything, will this do?”

“Perhaps.”

She continued for a while, occasionally shifting a bit so that she could reach every inch of his tongue. Tension in his neck and jaw muscles melted away as she continued, and he smiled softly around her with a pleased sigh. His eyes gradually shut as he let himself sink into a pseudo-sleep, letting his mind rest as the sounds of the storm seemed to faded into the distance. If anything major were to suddenly happen he’d be no less alert to it, but his current focus was solely on Fern’s small voice, her sweet flavor, and her tender touch.

“Is this alright? I mean, does this feel okay?”

“More than okay.” He gently licked her cheek, a small gesture of appreciation. It initially startled her, but she seemed to quickly realize the intent and let her cheek briefly rest on the slick surface, giving the edge of his tongue a soft squeeze. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m… okay. More okay than I expected to be,” She admitted, “How’s the storm?”

He forced his eyes open, reluctant to leave the half-dreamlike state he’d drifted into. The thunder was more distant now than before, but far from gone, and the rains were just as heavy if not even worse.

“Still going. You might want to make yourself comfortable and try to rest for now.”

“How long do you think this storm will last?”

“During the wet season sometimes the rain doesn’t let up for days, even weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep you that long. I’m sure your people will worry about you if you’re away too long. Once the thunder dies down I’ll take you back.”

“How long will that take?”

“At least another hour, maybe more.”

“Another hour… I guess that means no chance of a break for a little fresh air?”

“You want me to let you out?”

“Just for a few minutes, please?” She begged, giving his tongue a tiny, pleading rub.

“Hmm…”On one hand the storm was far from over, and even with the quinzy for shelter she’d still get cold if she went back outside… but she had also spent quite a while in his mouth, and even if she was outwardly calmer now she had been terrified before, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if she was still on edge even now. “I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt.”

He propped himself up on a forearm, lifted his free hand to his lips and opened his mouth, gently sliding her off his tongue into an open palm.

Fern instinctively moved away from his mouth, took a deep breath as she briefly looked out at the storm and turned to look up at him, pushing a wad of slimy curls out of her eyes.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Even soaked and slimy, Gaspar could only imagine how fast any other anuid would have snatched her up. There was something oddly endearing about her, from how softly she wrapped her arms around a finger to her dimpled smile that seemed somehow contagious.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head a bit, briefly lost in his observations upon getting a real look at her.

“Nothing.”

“You seemed lost in thought, what were you thinking about?”

“Just that you’re adorable.”

“What? No I’m not!”Her tanned skin did little to hide the redness rising in her cheeks. “You probably just think that from my size.”

“It’s not just size, trust me. I’ll have to keep a very close eye on you to make sure no one tries anything.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” She tried to chuckle in spite of the obvious flustering, before suddenly hugging herself and pulling her knees in close to her chest.

“Cold?”

“Just a little, I’ll be fine!”

His fingers curled closer around her, and she quickly huddled into the curve.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Remember you only have a few minutes. It’s still too cold and wet for you to stay out here.”

“I know… I feel a little guilty that you’re stuck out here too though.”

“That’s entirely my own fault, not yours. Whether or not you’d ventured out here I’d still be here.”

“Still, I feel bad I can’t help you stay warm… aren’t you cold too?”

“Croctaurs are better at retaining heat than humans, especially bigger ones.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not going to freeze to death out here. You, on the other hand, can’t afford to take the risk.” He frowned as he felt her shivering anew, and he quickly brought her back up to his lips. “I think you’ve had enough fresh air.”

-0-0-

“Alright, I just needed a few minutes,” She sighed, already moving towards his mouth even before he opened it. He stretched his tongue over his teeth and breathed slowly to keep it still as she climbed back inside. Her brief reprieve had been reassuring and helped ease the anxiety she’d been stewing in, but it had also left her freezing again. Once she was settled in he gently licked her icy arms and face, the heat of his mouth melting away the chill, and she softly rubbed his tongue in return.

“You should try to sleep for a bit. It’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted from the day you’ve had.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong… but in the grand scheme of all the expeditions she’d been on, somehow this wasn’t the worst. She hadn’t gotten sick from accidental toxin exposure, she hadn’t broken any bones… this was at the very worst barely top three.

“You know what… I’ve had worse days,” She chuckled.

“Worse than getting eaten by a croctaur?”

“I lived, and he turned out to be really sweet and caring,” She grinned and briefly rubbed his tongue again. “Besides, he didn’t really eat me.”

“Not yet,” He teasingly grumbled.

“You wouldn’t!” This time she was more hurt than frightened.

“No, I wouldn’t,” He admitted, giving her a small lick, “I wouldn’t mind swallowing you for a while though.”

“Why would you want to do that?!”

“In an emergency my first stomach would be the safest place for you, even safer than my mouth.”

“First stomach?”She blinked in surprise, though in hindsight it was perfectly logical for a croctaur to have both a human and a crocodile stomach. “You mean it’s like a storage pouch?”

“Exactly. You’d be just as warm and safe, and I wouldn’t mind some belly rubs.”

“Oh, so that’s the real reason why,” She chuckled with another soft rub, “I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet though…”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t ask that from you right now. Not unless you were actually in danger.”

“I promise you belly rubs when the time comes though,” She smiled softly.

“I’ll be looking forward to that. For now just lie down and make yourself comfortable.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s only an hour away, right?” She clenched her teeth as she felt a yawn trying to escape.

“It could be more, and you must be tired. I’ll wake you when it’s time to head home.” He nudged her softly, soft flesh rippling beneath her like a water bed.

“I don’t know… won’t it feel weird for you if I just fall asleep in here?”

“Not at all. It feels no different than if a baby fell asleep in your arms.”

“That’s completely different!”

“Not to me. You’re just as small a hatchling, and there’s nothing strange about carrying sleeping hatchlings.”

“I keep forgetting how normal this is to you, just holding someone small in your mouth…”

“You’re not still frightened, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say frightened, just… a little nervous,” She admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You have nothing to fear, I promise, I’m not going to swallow you in your sleep.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” She sighed, “It’s just the adrenaline still circulating.”

“At least lie down, even if you don’t want to sleep.”

Begrudgingly she uncrossed her legs and slowly turned onto her side. His tongue shifted to meet her so that instead of slowly lowering herself through air she was sinking into the soft muscle, practically cradled in its warmth.

“That’s it, just relax. You’re safe with me.”

Conflicting feelings swirled as she let herself lie down. She’d expected to feel a new wave of anxiety, and to some extent she did, but what she hadn’t expected was to feel her muscles relax, alongside a kind of calmness battling with her instinctive nerves. She was lying in a giant mouth, surrounded by massive crocodilian teeth, and yet she felt so… comfortable? If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was lying on a heated bed, the soft flesh beneath her feeling almost plush.

His tongue tilted very slightly and the lantern rolled towards her in silent suggestion.

“I guess I should save some battery for later…”

“Trust me, if you do nod off I’ll wake you when it’s time. Just get some rest.”

Trust… yes, she trusted him. He’d proven himself trustworthy countless times already, and he had been nothing but kind and chivalrous towards her. He was helping her, sheltering her from the storm, and she could no longer doubt for even a second that she was safe in his care. Gaspar had been so good to her, and he had earned more than her trust… he was a friend to her now.

She took one last glance around the pale pink room and turned off the lantern, and within seconds her eyes fell shut under the sudden weight of exhaustion.

“I’ll try,” She yawned. Her muscles felt heavy, a deep drowsiness falling over her as her mind began to drift.

All she could manage to move was her arm to give one last little rub of thanks before her body went limp, and before she knew it she had succumbed to sleep.

/-/-/-

Gaspar smiled fondly as he felt her dozing off, finally letting herself fully relax. It had been quite some time since he’d held a small creature in his mouth like this, let alone had one sleeping inside him. A long forgotten feeling warmed his chest as she lay nestled atop his tongue, one he could only describe as… satisfaction.

Fern was safe, warm and well protected within his jaws. He’d been careful with her, and she had rewarded him not only with her delightful little rubs but with a trust so deep she’d let herself sleep in his mouth. She was so sweet she’d not only gotten the bone out of his gums but rubbed his tongue and even promised belly rubs, and she so eager to learn about him and croctaurs…her kindness and curiosity were a rare combination amongst humans, and he shuddered to think what might have happened if another anuid had found her first.

Despite his repeated warnings to her about getting close to croctaurs, he found himself wondering already when she would come back. It was nice having a little companion to talk to. In a way he’d missed having hatchlings to hold in his mouth, and holding Fern had filled that need. Having a cute and cuddly little human to protect had been far more fulfilling than he could have imagined.

Especially the cuddles… already he was hoping for belly rubs next time, and perhaps he could return her affection with some hand hugs and gentle tasting.

As he settled in himself he kept his mouth as still as possible, trying not to disturb his tiny guest. She must have been drained to fall asleep as fast as she did, especially inside a croctaur’s mouth for the first time. She’d been so frightened at first… but now she was sleeping soundly inside him, unafraid, unmoving in peaceful slumber.

He looked out at the storm again. Still just as thunderous and rainy… and yet he was almost glad it hadn’t improved. No reason to wake her if the weather was still this bad, and no reason for him not to let himself rest in the meantime. Besides, it wasn’t like he truly slept, and at most it only lasted a few hours at a time. She’d have a nice long nap, and he’d get to hold his newfound friend a little longer.

Sleep well, little one.

Following the official end of the Human-Covenant War in 2552, relations between the two factions had only just begun to stabilize, and both sides still held their prisoners of war. It wouldn’t be until 2560, eight years following the Onyx Conflict, that all prisoners would be returned to their home factions, thus finalizing the agreement to continue peacetalks at a later date.  

Two years later, one John-117, colloquially referred to as Master Chief, was deployed to Epsilon Halo with a small squadron of scouts to locate the wreckage of a small runner ship supposedly containing humankind’s only Covenant-species ambassador. Well, they were called humankind’s only ambassador, John himself doubted that they were the only one. 

It would be the first true assignment he would be sent on with his new… situation, and John couldn’t say he had the utmost confidence in himself to remain covert during such a high-profile mission—with a noncombatant of all things. He had not voiced these concerns, but Charlie—having been assigned to his personal detail as someone who already knew what happened on Zeta Halo—had slapped him hard on the shoulder anyway (something that had hurt him far more than John), and declared that he would “do fine.” John had his doubts. 

In any case, he was not in the position to refuse, and even then he wasn’t sure if he had the will to. Whatever that structure had done to his brain made him… difficult. Something that he regularly failed to find the words to explain to his medical detail. It didn’t matter all that much anyway. He had an assignment to complete. Hopefully, a crew to save. 

With that eerie, unsettling silence still stagnant in his head, he and four others found themselves planet-side, standing in a barren, frigid wasteland. Cold water lapped at John’s ankles, sucking the heat from him in great swathes. Beyond, mountains towered out of half-frozen ocean, reaching for the dark clouds above. It was a dull, lonesome visage unmarked by the smoke and fire of a crashed ship that would have made this assignment so much easier. John’s guts twisted with the thought that the ship could have speared through the thin ice that made the majority of Epsilon’s surface and sunken, inevitably killing all inside. 

The marines at his feet broke him from that train of thought by grumbling amongst themselves, complaining of the cold and uncomfortable gravity, but they oriented themselves at the same time, so John didn’t bother to break it up. He scanned the horizon and mid-ground instead, idly prodding around the points of his teeth with a tongue that felt too big for his mouth. 

John huffed, shaking his head. It still felt weird to not have any sound whatsoever in his mind. Disturbingly empty. Without Cortana, or even Joy, it was more difficult to recall the protocol drilled into him for the beginnings of a mission. Thankfully, his newly-repaired comms system fizzled to life with the voice of one of the marines at his feet, directing him to kneel and explaining their path. Cold metal creaked as John settled carefully onto one knee, ensuring he didn’t squish anyone while the marines clamoured for the miniscule ledges and handholds in his armor. It reminded John of a fire-truck, the way they hung off his thighs and back. He was sure it was all coincidence—this way, he could carry them without having to worry about squishing anyone or having his hands tied—but he definitely felt very much like an awkwardly-shaped Scorpion. He hadn't told the UNSC engineers that.

Two marines clambered up his back to steady their rifles on his shoulders while two more clipped their harnesses to his armor, preventing them from falling while they did one last check of their equipment. John did his best to hold still while they made themselves comfortable, but even his breathing jostled the lot of them, and their subsequent movements put him off-balance. It wasn’t the most convenient arrangement, he had to admit, but no vehicle was getting over the jagged terrain, and exposure suits or not, the marines would freeze if this theoretical vehicle broke through the ice. It was better for John to carry them all. 

He crushed a terrible thought before it could form and swallowed the remains of it. 

One of the marines patted his pauldron, a signal to stand, and more than a suitable distraction. A voice crackled in his ear soon after, directing him South. John turned to orient himself, pleasantly surprised when the sudden shifts in weight from his new passengers now moved with him, much as they had been trained to while riding outside of a moving vehicle. It helped him to not bellyache to himself as he walked. With no Cortana, no Joy with him, it would be a terribly lonesome experience. 

“What are we looking for again?” Or, perhaps not. One of the marines perched atop his back briefly lowered their rifle to lean towards their neighbor at his thigh, though there was really no point as the comms carried their voices through far worse than a little distance and wind. 

The one on his left hip sighed, helmet thunking audibly against his rifle’s scope. “Also Blue Moon, the diplomacy ship—do you EVER actually listen during debriefs, Hemmings?” 

Hemmings, apparently, shifted his weight heavily to the left, like he was leaning. “I mean, not really… our assignments have been so low-stakes since the end of the war, y’know? It’s hard to listen when it’s like if we fail, fuck all happens.” 

“Maybe they’re just putting YOU on the low-stakes missions.” A third. John huffed, fogging his visor. He could tell them to stop talking, but… well, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard worse. As long as they stayed focused, he didn’t have to care. A quieter part of him admitted that the company was nice. “This is a breath of fresh air from breakin’ up conflicts from the asscrack of the galaxy with a bunch of split-lips.” 

“Is it? I heard you’re awful sweet on that real big one with the green eyes. Have somethin’ you wanna admit to us, Robinson?” 

“Careful, Hemmings, he’s in perfect range to tear you a new asshole—not that you need three.” The marine on his right shoulder.

“Am I offending your sensibilities, Richards?” He could hear Hemmings’ smile through the comms. “We’re all thinkin’ it.” 

“Naw, I think it’s jus’ you, Hemmin’s.” The fourth. “Pers’nally, I’m more concerned ‘bout whether or not this ambassador is still livin’. I’m ‘bout to freeze my tits off out here, and we’re all in exposure suits.” 

A pause. The wind howled past John’s face. It was odd to feel it again, through what should have been solid metal and mesh undersuit. He thought about that instead of what could have happened to the diplomacy ship. There wasn’t anything he could do about it until he found it. He turned his attention back to the faceless ice. 

“Hey, they got an ex-Covenant security detail,” Robinson said. “The aliens have better tech than we do. I’m sure they’re fine.” 

Hemmings squawked, throwing his weight back from John’s shoulder presumably to look at Robinson. “Ex-Covenant? How’d we know this ain’t a setup?”

“You’d know if you’d read the debrief,” Richards muttered at the same time the fourth marine shook her head. 

“Naw, they’d been off on some good-will vacation on the squid-head’s planet ‘fore they were comin’ back for peacetalks. ‘F they were gonna get backstabbed, it woulda’ happened there.”

John had remembered thinking that it was an odd concept, an ex-PoW willingly returning to enemy lines to foster diplomatic relations not a year after their rescue, but apparently it had been their suggestion. An effort to prevent further conflict. A conflict they were now trapped in. Truthfully, he didn’t believe the elites had betrayed them. To his knowledge, they had been under the Arbiter’s protection for the length of their stay, and as much as his battlefield instincts wanted to blame those he had fought against for years, the fact of the matter was that this war, in its dissolution, had only become ever-more complicated. 

John, himself, with his new, strange body, was all the proof he needed of that. 

“Awful hopeful there, Taylor.” Hemmings was still suspicious. “But I hope you’re right.”

“And I hope we’re not about to find a human-popsickle,” Richards said, and John started when a tiny finger attached to an equally tiny hand appeared in his field of view, pointing. John’s gaze skipped along the ice as he followed it up a glacier. 

Smoke. 

Just a wisp of it, escaping up into the dark clouds, silvery and oddly clean for a wreckage. John rumbled, uneasy. The ice was just about as tall as him, and a frigid blue, sturdy-looking, but John was also very heavy-looking, and he wasn’t confident in the ice’s ability to compete against him. 

Hemmings patted his neck. “We’ll head up first. That ice might not hold you, Chief… no offense.” 

And so it was. 

John knelt again, letting his marines slide easily onto the ground. The banter fell silent as they coalesced into a neat wedge, passing climbing gear between each other which quickly proved pointless when John gently—always, always gently, if he was not he could crush them—plucked Taylor from the snow. She squealed, undignified, but quite charming, as he lifted her up to the precipice of the glacier, but the whole lot of them adjusted quickly, instead falling in single file for John to bring them all up. A completely trivial task that could have been half an hour of climbing. 

Robinson huffed and used his fingers for stability as he settled on his feet again, sharing glances with the other marines as they all looked at the ship… well, not a ship, actually, an escape-pod. It was half-buried in snow, crumpled almost beyond recognition. Hemmings, the smallest of them, was probably the only one who could stand upright inside, it was so crushed. The assumption that anything inside was dead would have been natural if it weren’t for the quietly smouldering camp stove settled lopsidedly near a low spot in the snow. 

John squinted. Reached—slowly—over his marines’ heads and carefully pressed into the powder. 

It collapsed. 

The entrance of the escape-pod yawned open, lit by strobing red lights. 

It was Hemmings that took point, and everyone else fell into place behind him in a loose, narrow wedge. He called into the dark. Once. Twice. The lights continued strobing. John squinted, something taut in his chest. Another tense, hot breath edged white at the corners of his vision. Hemmings made it to the entrance of the pod. 

Something flashed in the dark. 

“Abort! Abort, NOW—” Hemmings yelled as a piece of the world peeled away from its place, blurring as specialized technology struggled to keep up with the movement. The bite of plasma catching sang through the air, pale blue light snaking into a forked blade that steamed visibly as snow fell heavier. 

Before anyone could have stopped it, Hemmings’ neck found its way a hair’s length from that deadly light.

The squad froze, weapons up. John found them sheltered against one of his hands, the other reaching towards Hemmings. A growl rumbled through him like thunder. 

Short puffs of white bloomed into the air from over Hemmings’ shoulder, coming in quick, feathery spurts. The energy sword quivered. 

“Who… ” It was not any of his marines. It was not rough from years of yelling. It was not hoarse from tense silence. It was quiet. Soft. John almost couldn’t hear them. The tip of the energy sword was fully shaking now. Its blade sizzled almost louder than the voice against the snow. “UNSC. You’re UNSC.” 

As quickly as it had been drawn, the sword fizzled out. 

Hemmings gasped as he was pushed away from the camouflaged individual, and John took the opportunity to gather him, quickly, to his chest. Footprints appeared in the snow. Small. Human-shaped. “Oh my god, you’re marines, I’m—sorry, I—”

“You’re the ambassador.” Robinson tilted his head. The barrel of his rifle came down carefully. One of his hands rested on John’s finger as he stepped out from the wall John made of himself. 

His heart hammered so hard he could hear it. 

“I—yes—oh, uh—” With a flicker, the av-cam faded, fizzling out hexagon by hexagon. It peeled back to show the light, Covenant-style chestplate underneath, sleek but awkward-fitting and splattered with purple blood. They dropped their shoulders, and it slipped off, thumping into the snow. Obviously not theirs. Their hands came around to clutch at their arms. “Sorry, I thought you were—uh—pirates.”

Somehow, the metric of fifty-four kilograms had not prepared John for how incredibly small they were. They were taller than Hemmings, but tall in the manner that it looked like someone had stepped on their feet, grasped their head, and simply stretched them upwards. Even drowning in an emergency exposure suit far too large for them, he could tell they were skinny. He could see, easily, the tendons and muscles moving under what skin was still exposed, and as they rocked back and forth on their heels in the snow, they moved inside the suit more than the suit moved with them. 

It was really a pathetic sight. 

“Well, we’re not pirates.” Hemmings from against John’s chest. He released the poor man, letting him find his own feet again. He didn’t seem too shaken up. “Is that what took out your ship?” 

The ambassador stuffed the hilt of their energy-sword into their sleeve (a terrible place to keep it) to reach up and tug on their own hair, dragging the silken black strands through their fingers. From the general mess it was in, John assumed it was a habit. “Yes! Well—probably, I don’t know, actually. Dir ‘Vogumm—he was my security for the journey—kind-of just shoved me in the pod and ejected me, and—well, the ship went down somewhere over thata-way—” they gestured toward East “—so I assume it was pirates. This is pirate territory.” 

John had never met an Earth-rabbit, but he could only assume this is what they were like. The ambassador twitched this way and that every other second. Tangled their fingers together. Didn’t stop to breathe when they spoke, and it all came rushing out in a waterfall of words anyway. Cortana had used a certain combination of words once, to describe fleeing Jackals. What was it?

Prey-animal fear. 

Yes, that described the person in front of him well. 

“We gathered,” Hemmings said slowly, or perhaps it was only slow in comparison to them. “Well, lucky for you, we brought a Prowler, not some dinky little cargo-ship, so pirates won’t be a worry anymore.” 

There was something eerie about the way they tilted their head, John decided. It was a little too far to be comfortable. “It’s planetside, I hope? Well, a transport is planetside, right?” 

A look passed amongst the group. “No,” Robinson said after a moment too long. “Why?” 

The ambassador bit their lip. Rocked back and forth more. “Well—I mean, it might not be a problem—I hope it won’t be a problem—”

“Today, please,” Hemmings stressed. 

They said it all at once. “I haven’t been able to get any signals out from this halo at all.”

A tense, awkward silence.

Robinson was the first to reach his comm. “UNSC Spectral Vanguard, come in, this is Fireteam Spearhead requesting extract.”

The wind yowled distantly. 

Taylor, then. “UNSC Spectral Vanguard, please come in, this is Fireteam Spearhead.”

Robinson. “Spectral Vanguard, do you read?”

Hemmings. “UNSC Spectral Vanguard, this is Fireteam Spearhead, package is secure, come in.”

The ambassador stole a glance at him when John didn’t follow in the footsteps of his marines, but quickly returned to rocking on their heels. “Sorry.” He wasn't sure what they were apologizing for. 

Four heads turned to look at John. “Chief?” Taylor asked. He was their commanding officer. 

This was his call. 

John swung his head around, searching through the white for somewhere to shelter. The pod wouldn’t be big enough for them all, and considering the state of the armor the ambassador was wearing, he was reasonably sure there was a dead body in there somewhere. All there was, was ice, and frigid water, and mountains. Frozen, and barren. His gaze fixed on the grey peaks. “Every installation has a cartographer facility. We should find it and take shelter there. We might be able to make contact from the control room.” He ushered his marines closer. The ambassador seemed to waffle between following and staying in the snow, nervously twisting their fingers. “Those mountains will be a good place to start.” In the interest of time, John simply grabbed his marines from the glacier and placed them in their spots against his armor, letting them settle as he reached for the next. 

The ambassador—Christ, they looked so young, standing there alone. They had no name on file, nor age, but they couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, surely—stared at him. He reached. They flinched before he’d even gotten close. 

“You’re Master Chief?” They asked when he hesitated.

His nod was as slow as his hand when he looped his fingers around them. He’d have to carry them in his hands—he bit his tongue—even if his armor did have room for another to cling, he’d worry they’d get blown away.

Their heart raced against the pad of his index finger as he closed them in a loose fist. They looked anywhere but down. “You’re bigger than I thought you’d be.” They laughed. It was a strange, halfway-hysteric thing. 

“What do they feed you guys up there?” 

“People!” Hemmings shouted at the same time as Richards’ flat “steroids.”

The ambassador wrinkled their nose, not betraying the thundering of their tiny, tiny heart in John’s hand as he plucked them away from the still-burning campstove and their broken escape pod. 

He settled them against his chest in a cupped hand, turned towards the mountains, and set off without a second thought. 

The silence lasted approximately five seconds. 

“Hey!” Hemmings was turning out to be much more of a people-person than anyone else John had met. He leaned over John’s shoulder to stare down at the ambassador. “What’s your name? It feels weird calling you ‘Ambassador’ in my head.”

They stared at him a moment longer than was polite. “Is that what they’ve been calling me?” 

“Yeah, and it’s gettin’ real old. Name. Gimme.”

Another stretch of silence. They drummed a tune only they knew against John’s armor. “Uh—you can call me Bass, I guess.”

Hemmings seemed proud of himself about until Richards piped in with “is that short for ambassador?” 

John spared a glance down and found their ears rapidly turning red. “A little,” they said. “It’s been… a minute since I’ve had a name.” 

A beat of silence. Almost too quick to notice. The quiet understanding to not touch that topic unless it was brought up passed between them. 

“And you picked Bass?” Hemmings asked, exasperated. “C'mon you can do better than that!” 

“I don't see you providin’ any ideas, Hemmin's,” Taylor countered. “Don't listen to him, Pumpkin, he's more of a jarhead than anyone else in the corps.” 

“Jar… head?” They were asking, but Robinson bowled over them easily. They were so quiet, it was hard not to.

“I agree with Hemmings. We need something to call you, and Bass is… a fish. Ambassador could be shortened to Ador—or Amber!” Robinson obviously thought his idea was marvelous. The ambassador themself—Bass—not so much. They were making an… interesting face. 

“What's wrong with fish?” Entirely steamrolled by Taylor's “For God's sake have you ever met an Amber? That ain't an Amber, you're more like… a Paige. How about Paige?”

Richards, it seemed, couldn't resist. “We were supposed to be working off ‘Ambassador’, Taylor, how did you get Paige?” 

“Y'know, like page! Like all’at administrative bull that diplomats do!” 

Bass gave up speaking entirely to stare at their hands. They rolled the energy-sword's hilt around between them, expertly avoiding the triggers to unsheathe the blade.

“Do you know how to use that?” 

They flinched. Looked up at him. They had to crane their neck to look into his visor. John's marines quieted. 

“Yeah,” they mumbled. “Kind of. Roh ‘Xellos taught me enough to get by. He said I looked too pathetic to bear… kind of. It's hard to put that in English, I think.”

“You speak split-lip?” Taylor asked, and her weight shifted on John's hips as she leaned to look at them.

“Say something cool!” Hemmings demanded immediately. Richards walloped him upside the head. 

Bass thought for a moment before clearing their throat. If John was being honest, he wasn’t expecting much out of them, enough to get by, perhaps, but the sound they ground out of their throat was raw, and guttural, and an utterly perfect imitation of what he'd heard his fair share of on the battlefield. They spoke slowly, stuttered some, and he figured that they could not growl as thunderously as the Arbiter could when he was undoubtedly cursing John under his breath, but truly that did not make the sound any less impressive. That they could reproduce a language meant for four mandibles at all was a feat in his mind. 

His marines seemed to agree, and the icy air filled with delighted chatter as John walked.

“How'd you learn to do that?”

“There wasn't much else to do on a Covenant prisoner ship.” 

“Did they make you fight?” 

They shook their head. “No, I think they realized that would have killed me. I wasn't very old at that point.” 

“Wait! Hey! Important question; have you ever tried popcorn?” 

“No.” 

Outrage. John huffed fondly as Hemmings and Taylor argued over popcorn versus candied apples as the first thing they needed to try, a conversation only tolerated by Robinson and Richards who continued asking quieter questions about their time as a prisoner. 

“I had it pretty easy,” they pointed out several hours later. “I didn't really have important intel or anything—I think they were trying to make another Master Chief, but I'm not the best stock, y'know? I think they just kept me ‘cause I was the only one they'd managed to catch for a while. I'm sure the others have more interesting stories.” 

John was sure “the others” would rather talk about anything other than being a prisoner of war. 

“Chief.” He grunted, unable to turn his head without possibly squashing Taylor, but wanting Richards to know that he heard him. “We should stop and rest. We don't know what's out here, and… “ Quieter, then. “I don't know how well the ambassador's holding up.” 

John looked down at his hand. At some point, they'd tucked their legs up under themself and abandoned the sleeves of their exposure suit in favor of hugging themself to presumably keep warm. It was too big on them, it must not be sealing in heat properly. Now that they weren’t talking, he realized they were shivering.

They weren’t exactly equipped for camping. His team had exposure suits, but nothing to keep them from the frigid ice. A little cold wouldn't do all that much to him—as of the moment there was little more than a chill nip in the air for John—but he was sure it was downright freezing for the small team. Well… if he kept them close, they could stay warm by his body-heat, perhaps. 

John got halfway through a huff, thought better of it, and opened his nasal vents to breathe softly over the scruffy thing doing their damn best to merge with his hand. It didn’t stop them shaking, but they did offer him a thumbs-up. He needed something to keep them all out of the wind. Temperatures were already dropping in the simulated dusk, and John didn't have high hopes for what it'd feel like being out in the open.

The only upside to this world being covered in ice and snow was that it was an insulator. 

It wasn't hard to find a thick, heavy pile of snow and ice big enough to fit him and the whole team. John knelt before a hard rock cliff shielding a high pile of compacted snow. The cliff would act as a good support. “We're stopping here for the night.” 

His marines unclipped themselves with stiff fingers and landed in the snow with stiffer legs, complaints silenced by cold and weariness. They could go on, John knew, but there was no point in completely exhausting his team. He loosened his grip on Bass and let them slide off his hands before straightening and pulling away. Five small faces stared up at him. 

John swallowed a bit of excess saliva, and very, very firmly thought to himself “no”.

Cooling night air only made the biting wind faster and sharper, and his companions were certainly feeling it. They huddled close amongst each other—save for Bass, who kept about four feet of space between them and the nearest person at all times—and to him as well, using his leg as a shield from the wind. Something in his chest went soft and watery, watching them crowd around him, and he sighed when he forced himself to step away. “Stay back. I don't need you underfoot.” 

Hemmings grumbled something that sounded derogatory, but didn't say anything after John plunged his hand into the icy snow and started ripping Warthog-sized chunks out of it. John didn't hold it against him. The cold must have been getting uncomfortable, perhaps even painful. As good as exposure suits were, they were designed to keep people alive. Not comfortable. The faster he did this, the sooner they’d all be more comfortable.

“Do you hear that?” 

John paused, turning to look to the side. He hadn't even realized Bass had moved, much less so far. They were a safe distance away, at least, but had crept right up to the ice wall. John tried very hard to not think of how easily he could have crushed them without realizing, but was still halfway to finding his voice and telling them to stay behind him when their words really registered. So, he shut his mouth and listened. 

Nothing but a soft, faint ringing that he’d never noticed before his transformation. 

“I think—”

Hell came calling. 

The snowbank collapsed, falling in on itself, but not inwards, no, that would be far too convenient. Frigid water lunged out from the breaking snow—like shrapnel from an explosion—and for a heartbeat, it was all John could do to plant his feet and brace against a heavy torrent of frozen slush beating against his armor. His whole chest was soaked, sending a sensation like a shiver that just wouldn’t bite through his whole body. Even with his enhancements, the sudden shock had John gasping and still. 

The world groaned as the last of the water drained away and the snow settled again. John fought control back from his protesting body, forcing muscles unwilling to cooperate to turn his head and search the white. “Report!” He managed to choke out as he spotted Robinson pulling Hemmings out of the snow and Richards still flush against Taylor’s side. She must have pulled him out of the way. “Everyone! Now!” He bit down hard on his tongue to keep his jaws closed. 

“Jus’ a little shaken up over here, Chief,” Taylor called. “We’re okay, we’re all… “

But that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right, because John could only pick out four little figures slipping on the newly-forming ice. He scanned once. Twice. Thrice. Not even the flicker of av-cam. They were under the snow somewhere, but even then, the white powder was turning dark then clear. 

Soaking through to unearth a great, dark sea. 

“Stay here.” Chief’s voice was impassive, his heart thundering in his oversized body. His movements were slow, calculated, only bare conditioning keeping his hands from shaking as he dipped them in slowly—infuriatingly slowly, but rash movements could carry them helplessly into danger. He was large, Chief reminded himself, large enough, certainly, to chop up the water and make it only harder for them to escape. 

One horrible fragment of ice at a time, he forced the gap wider, thinking about anything but the fact that their suit was ill-fitting and likely unsealed. That they could have drowned in the precious seconds he was forced to waste being delicate. 

Five seconds turned to ten and he could plunge—no. Delicate. Careful. Slow, as much as he loathed to—his head under, crawling underneath the ice, prone, with his belly to the cliff’s foot. His visor started trying to frost immediately. Ten to fifteen, and he still didn’t see anything, even with his personal flood lights engaged. Fifteen to twenty—

An empty suit. 

Stark white, it went floating, leisurely, past him. Like a ghost. 

Chief—John—looked up, following the path of its drifting towards the underside of the ice. In the murk of the water, bright emergency orange shone like a beacon. John pushed himself up, crouching in the space between solid ground and dark ice. His floodlights landed solidly on a body, wire-thin and turning a terrible, pale shade, wrapped up in achingly human clothes—that bright orange long-sleeve tee and darkwash jeans, no socks, no shoes—and groping clumsily along the jagged underside of the surface-ice. They turned to look at him, something glassy in their gaze as he enclosed them carefully in his hands. He didn’t think. He didn’t let himself think. There was one correct answer. Otherwise, they would freeze to death.

Whatever lizard-brain had been transplanted into him was more than willing to oblige. 

John swallowed awkwardly around the cold, twitching figure nestled neatly into the divot of his tongue, choking back a gag as disgusting, salty water raked against the back of his tongue and didn’t even bring with it the frigid body. No. Instead, they wheezed harshly between his jaws, still but tense. He could only be grateful they weren’t struggling. They could easily hurt themself on his teeth, or even him if they got themself lodged somewhere. They coughed. John’s tongue twitched. Their chill was seeping into him. They were still shivering. 

There was a very easy solution to this problem. John rocked his jaw a little on its hinge. Tiny, feathery breaths panted against the sensitive inner membranes of his mouth. 

They whined—a horrible, pained sound, strangled and halfway broken—when he shifted them, carefully, delicately, to the side, pressed gently—gently, gently, gently—against his gums. John tried not to notice the faint, sweet-savory flavor—like… hibachi, a thought which John immediately felt guilty for. But the more they warmed—whimpering; left helpless and paralyzed, stiff from cold, pained by heat—the more it invaded his senses. It’d been so long since he’d had real food, prepared with more seasoning than a packet of liquid cheese. The sheer depth of flavor all at once was almost overwhelming; sweet, meaty, salty, all quite literally at the tip of his tongue without even a word of protest—they couldn’t protest.

It was addicting.  

John shook his head, trying to physically dispel the fog that had set upon his brain. Bass wailed, voice sharp as the blade they wielded. Guilt bubbled thickly in his chest, but that only helped, reminding him of who he was—what he was doing—easily. “I’ve got you, soldier,” he found himself saying, and he tried not to dwell on the strangeness of having two mouths. He hoped they couldn’t somehow end up in the other one… something about it made John’s insides clench. Not safe.

All things that were completely irrelevant to the civilian currently enclosed in the maw of something doubtlessly frightening. John worked his tongue around them a little, trying not to seem like he was… well, licking them, when that was exactly what he was doing. Their skin was still chilled to the touch, and he was trying to push more heat into them rather than letting them marinate in his breath. 

They didn’t seem overly fond of the strategy. They found their voice with a hitched breath and tiny, cold hands pushing back against him. “Chief!” They whined it out, high-pitched and wobbly, like their voice was trying to give out. “I—I don’t think—”

“Easy, Bass, you’re alright,” he interrupted before they could work themself into a full breakdown. John could only hope it worked the same with small, panicked civilians as it did with soldiers. “I caught you before you could freeze or drown. We’re still under the ice right now. Once you’ve calmed down, we can find somewhere else to bed down.” They, at least, let him talk, though the odd fluttering, sometimes-touching sometimes-not didn’t stop. They shoved at his tongue suddenly and with no small amount of flailing limbs and squealing, seemingly at random, and by the time John got his next thought in order, he couldn’t tell them heads or tails. “Stop struggling before you hurt yourself.” 

They laughed, strained and unsteady. He wondered what their normal laugh sounded like, when it seemed they only ever managed one when they were terrified. “Forgive me for—” they shuddered “—my skepticism, Master Chief, but—” He tried to nudge them away from his teeth, and they… hissed. Fully hissed, much like the Arbiter had during their time fighting, low, and guttural, and laced thickly with a snarl. “—I very much think I am, perhaps, significantly not alright!” They were talking to him. That was good. Talking, and responsive, and seemingly understanding the situation. Something metal clicked sharply against his teeth. 

John huffed. Of course they still had their energy sword and hadn’t used it yet. He didn’t know if he should count himself lucky, or them a fool. “If you truly thought I was going to hurt you, you’d have cut me open by now.” Giving them the idea perhaps made him the fool. The vaguest notion of a soft, feminine voice calling him just that made his chest crumple. She sure did know how to pick them.

“No! No, I just—just think that we could come to a… an agreeable solution.” They weren’t slipping about so much anymore. He could feel each of their minuscule fingers against his gums, splayed and looped around his teeth. Trying to keep themself from the back of his throat, he figured. 

John squished them against his teeth a little, trying to wring the rest of the chill from them when they very much did not want him to. Still, he wouldn’t have any of his team losing a finger to frostbite, panicked or not. They made it hard for him; it was like chasing a marble around his mouth. A very cold, very fragile—okay, maybe they weren’t like a marble at all, but they kept slipping and sliding over, under, around his tongue. “There is no agreeable solution. Your suit is soaked, and we have no supplies or shelter. If I let you out now, you’ll freeze. If I let you out once you’re warm, you won’t be warm for very long.” Their heart hummed more than beat against his tongue. He swallowed back pooling saliva, and they moaned a low, horrified noise. 

“And if I stay? No—no offense, Mister Chief—” Mister? “—but your teeth are kind of, sort of, a little bit, no offense, GINORMOUS! And—and not to be uh—inflammatory, or—or like—racist? Giant-toothy-creature-ist? But I like all of my pieces attached, please, and thank you, and even just a little accident—” They scrambled around like a caught mouse when he shoveled his tongue back under them and away from the front of his mouth. Perhaps that would help. Cortana would know. Weapon would too. John cursed his blasted luck.

“You won’t be staying with my teeth.” And they were right. He was not afraid to admit that. Keeping anyone in his mouth during any kind of strenuous activity would be a risk. 

There was a small beat of silence where everything, even Bass, was still. 

“No. No, no, no, no, nononononono, Chief—Mister—Master Chief you don’t have to—I really don’t think—” They made a horrible hiccupy bird noise. John’s stomach grumbled, impatient. “That’s worse—you see—see how that’s worse, right? I’ll—I’ll take the teeth, actually, please, and thank you, and—” He lifted his tongue a little, pressing them gently—it was easier, he noticed, to be gentle and exact with them in his mouth—to his palette so he could turn his head and face where he’d come. He couldn’t get out of the water yet. He didn’t care in the slightest for the UNSC’s orders, but he couldn’t risk terrifying his fireteam too, lest they panic as well. “—oh no, no, no—”

“Chief?” A voice, crackling in his ear. Robinson. “Are you still alive down there?”

“I’m still alive. Package secured. We’ll be up shortly.” A pause as he waited to ensure Robinson was satisfied. “And once you’re secured—” Saying “swallow” just… felt wrong. So he didn’t. “—we’ll rejoin the rest of Fireteam Spearhead to extract.” How, exactly, they were going to extract was still up for debate. One problem at a time. “And I will turn you over to UNSC’s diplomacy division.” 

“You—god, that guy was right, they really do feed you people—that could take DAYS!” The last was a yowl, loud enough to make even John’s head rattle. They squirmed a little in place, but he held them down easily. The hardest part was making sure he didn’t squish them. 

“In which case, you would be warm for days.” 

Another stretch of silence. They went still. “Are you kidding, stupid, or am I missing something?” Their voice was wet. Near tears, if John had to guess. 

He tried to hum comfortingly and it ended up rolling into a growl. He grimaced. “I won’t hurt you,” he tried. Compared to them, his own vocal range felt very, very limited. Monotone. He couldn’t imagine what this sounded like, coming from him. “That would defeat the purpose of this whole assignment,” he added, just in case.

They laughed again. Salt bloomed against his tongue. They were crying. “So—so what, you have an ‘off’ switch in there?” 

“In a sense.”

“And you—you expect me to believe all… this—well I suppose I don’t have a choice, now, do I?” They kicked his tongue. It didn’t hurt, only a light impact. They realized there was no point in struggling. Good. 

“No.” Plain and simple. “But I would prefer your cooperation.” 

“So I don’t kick around and scare everyone outside, too?” 

John snorted. They were, at least, quick on the uptake.  “Ideally, but ideally this will also not be… altogether terrifying.”

“We’re a stargate or two past terrifying, Master Chief.” They were warm, now, still taut and drawn up into—John prodded at them a little bit with the tip of his tongue—into a tiny ball, hugging their knees. They sniffled. Loudly. “If I die, ‘m haunting your intestines ‘n giving you indigestion.” 

“You won’t die.” Something he could promise. He should take the opportunity when they weren’t fighting him. “Keep still.” 

Another stretch of silence. They didn’t move. 

Then, just as John thought they were waiting on him, they shifted. Untangling themself and stretching out. Even all straight, they didn’t take up his whole mouth. “Please don’t choke on me,” they whined, and he felt them cross their ankles against the back of his tongue. Like they expected to fall. 

“I’ll do my best.” 

They were about halfway through “that’s not funny” when he tossed his head back and swallowed all at once. 

They stuck fast—not for any struggle, but their shirt, even soaked through, clung to his throat like spider’s web—at their ribs. Their breath puffed against his flesh. Their heart beat through his nerves. He could feel, acutely, every one of their tiny bones pressing into his throat, the tiny skeletal figure of the person with their life in his hands… so to speak. Something spasmed in his own chest, and John swallowed again. 

Just like that, they went down easy. At least, far easier than any pill he’d ever taken. Impulsively, he brought a hand up to track them—and they made that really quite convenient, filling his throat just enough that his neck strained under it, enough that he could feel their rough shape on the pads of his fingers when he brushed one against his Adam’s apple. Still as they were, they slipped down smooth as whiskey, and their weight spilled into him just right. John shuddered. Maybe a little too right.  

He sighed out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, like he’d been carrying tension all this time that hadn’t dropped until they settled heavily into the pit of his stomach. “Make yourself comfortable.” They kicked him. Only a little, though. 

John breached out of the water precisely four minutes and twenty-three seconds after he’d gone under. Distantly, he heard Hemmings make a “Godzilla” joke, and after he’d shaken his head to clear off the excess water, he found them all gathered as close as they could reasonably get while still leaving him space to haul himself out of the water. 

“Where’s the ambassador?” Richards asked before he’d even gotten back on his feet. John found himself tensing his core—why eluded him, but what became increasingly obvious as he acclimated himself to the comparatively balmy air. Bass simply would not stop moving. Touching. They were touching everything that they could reach. They shifted their weight every few seconds. Kneed him sharply in the liver as they floundered around. 

“Armor emergency storage,” he answered easily, and it wasn’t… a lie, per se. Intentionally misleading, yes, but his armor did happen to have emergency storage. Said emergency storage was also simply… him. “Lost their suit in the water, so they’ll stay with me.” He squashed them a little flatter when a peculiar, almost itchy sensation made itself known by hijacking his brain. John bit down on a growl. Stop that. 

The excuse was accepted easily enough. It was designed to be. 

“We’ll move to more stable ground then set up camp.” Such that any camp they could set up would be. “It’ll be a few hours more.” 

No one complained. 

John did find a good spot three hours after simulated dusk had fallen, and brought his marines close to his chestplate to sleep. He could keep watch—he barely needed to sleep at all anymore, after all. The only consequence was that it left him with only faint movement in the tangle of his guts and his thoughts. 

Or not. “You called me Bass.” He could barely hear them himself, and their voice hummed up through his very bones. John tightened the perimeter of his arms around his fireteam. No one stirred save for them, wrapped deep in his core. Their movements fluttered under his skin, and John could feel every bit of it. Hands here, knees there, the scuff of their hair against his stomach, the points of their fingernails. He could humor them.

“I did.” 

“Thought it was ‘sposed to be Paige.” They were feeling around, hands feather-light as they stroked along the walls closest to his spine. It almost itched. 

“You called yourself Bass.”

“I did.” John huffed as they pressed their hand heavily in at him, and—oh. He tensed up, and they fumbled. “Sorry. Did that hurt?” 

“No.” No. It was one of the most horrible, wonderful, intense sensations he’d felt in… a long time. Like someone had reached into his muscles and simply ripped the knots, and age, and wear out of them. 

He breathed very, very shallowly as Bass hesitantly pressed at him again. “I don’t like it in here, by the way. You smell weird… no offense.” John was not under the impression he smelled at all, but then again it did make sense. They kept talking, and, more importantly, kept doing whatever it is they were doing that was making his muscles feel like water. “But ‘s kinda cool. Did you know gastro has the second highest density of neurons associated in the human body?” No, and that did not seem like information he could ever make use of. “Kinda cool to think about that.” They did not wait for him to respond. “Sangheili have three stomachs. They’re kind of like ruminants in that way, actually, ‘cause they’re cyclical. Go to stomach one, get all ground up, go to stomach two, get pickled, back to stomach one…” 

John found himself somewhat tuning them out after the first five minutes, and simply letting them ramble the next hour. They were “a nervous yapper,” and apparently had a hard time stopping once they’d started. According to them, it was a fair trade for them sitting in his gut “turning into a giant sad prune”. John thought it was more than fair. They talked about anything and everything—how they thought they were the only one who had heard the ice break because John and also every single other marine had damaged eardrums, their favorite animals, the animals on Sangheilios, their sparse interactions with Arbiter Thel’ Vadamee, proper energy-sword stances, food, what they thought they tasted like (John decided not to add to that conversation in the slightest), everything was a topic. They talked at him for hours, and all the while they… squished him. Kneaded at the lining of his stomach like they were at a massage parlor, slowly working over every square inch of him within reaching distance, leaving John no more useful than a beached jellyfish. It was… familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Comfortable. Their voice completely drowned out that terrible soft ringing. 

Forget paid leave or vacations where he wondered after the UNSC anyway, this was more than enough. 

John came out of his stupor near dawn. He hadn’t slept, not in the slightest, but he had tuned most of the world out until it was time to get ready to move again. Though, eyeing the blisteringly bright white of the snow at sunrise, he thought he’d wait a while to wake his marines. 

Bass had seemingly long-since fallen asleep, though faint, pleasant tingling remained in the wake of their ministrations. They were all balled up again, high up in his stomach, and—John flexed just a little and found he’d been tensed around them the whole time, leaving them little room to move. He hoped he hadn’t smothered them too badly.

Yet as he pulled away, they stayed right where they were—if anything, somehow they tucked themself in smaller. He clenched his abdomen again, shivering when they uncurled a little to meet him. They pushed against him. An odd feeling. A good feeling. Very good. 

Before John could think too much on it, the crackle of their comms woke everyone up, a voice too loud for its proximity immediately filling the bare static. 

“Come in, Fireteam Spearhead. Fireteam Spearhead come in. This is UNSC Spectral Vanguard. Repeat come in—”

John grumbled. He’d never been one for lazy mornings, but he’d be a liar if he hadn’t suddenly seen the appeal. “Copy, Spectral Vanguard, we read you.” Hemmings made a sound halfway between a groan and a whoop and achieved neither. “We tried to reach you yesterday, but it seemed the cloud cover was disrupting our access to the ship. We have the package and are prepared for extract.” Mostly. Taylor looked tempted to try going back to sleep. John pushed all four of them up off of his arm.