#The Weapon is Madter Cheif and Cortanas daughter and nothing will change my mind

[theology101]

I also like to muse, hope you don’t mind.

“A birthday party?” John couldn’t help but ask, incredulously. “A sixteenth birthday party?”

“It only seems fair,” Joyeuse said, rocking on her feet as she did so. John hadn’t been certainty of the practically of it - after all, Joyeuse’s ability to appear in Hologram form meant that she could ‘physically’ appear wherever she wanted, all without being put into danger. And she had agreed, on the Zeta Halo.

Now though, on the UNSC Infinity with the perceived safety of the ship (and probably influenced by her ‘mother’ and ‘grandmother’), Joyeuse insisted on appearing in one of Clone Bodies Halsey had developed for Cortana. Or rather, they had been for Cortana, until Joyeuse had hacked her way into the cloning procedure, stopped one of the clone bodies as a teenager, and then slipped her data chip inside. And ever since then, she’d been addicted - and the Infinity had been subject to three generations of Halseys.

How Captain Lansky survived was anybodies guess. How John would survive this request was in a similar state of flux.

“If the ‘sixteen’ is your struggling point, we can just say its four months late for her first birthday,” Cortana put in from the doorframe. She was also in a clone body, this one reached to maturity so it mirrored her avatar. In fact, the only way to tell that Cortana and Joyeuse weren’t natural humans were the ethereal, blue glow to their eyes. “But given her vessel, and emotional maturity, I think we can just say that sixteen months is equivalent to six teen years, right?”

“Was Zeta Halo my pre-school?” Joyeuse mused allowed. Her parents ignored her.

John’s jaw tightened.

It wasn’t her age that was the matter, nor even the idea that she deserved an award - hell, for her six months of compiling data on Zeta as ‘the Weapon’ she probably deserved a parade - but just… the implications of it all. And wether or not he was willing to take this step.

Sierra-117 had long, long ago given up the possibility of a family. That belonged to his forgotten and mythological childhood where nothing was clear and everything sat in a shadow of fog. Before he had his duty, his purpose and his mission. And as far John was concerned, that was it. Yet, during his leave of absence in cryosleep - and the subsequent political chaos with the end of the War, what it meant to be ‘a spartan’ had changed. Orion and the IVs had seen to that.

It had been taken for granted that Spartans did not have emotions. And while John would never go so far to agree with that statement, he was well aware of the mental separation the Gen IIs and IIIs had to their newer siblings. He didnt mind it - barely thought of it - but was aware of it nonetheless.

And this? This would shatter it.

Cortana bunking in John’s quarters had been natural. His suite of rooms were far larger then he could ever need, and well and beyond what he would ever want - sacrificing some of it so that Cortana would be comfortable (and not in either private observation or in the scientific staff bunkroom) had been easy. Besides, most of the Science Staff still thought she might snap and try to recreate her Created, so it was generally safer for the now permanent resident of a Clone woud stay with him.

It had cured her rampancy after all, and after a few months she’d integrated back into the team. Joyeuse, who had only recently taken that name after having read the Matter of France decided that she ALSO wanted a human body had been more chaotic to handle (Such as ensuring her bed doubled as a data plinth, incase her mind was needed while she was still ‘asleep’). Like before, John had the space and didnt have the need for it, and so Joyeuse moved in.

Then Kelly started calling him ‘Papa John.’

Buck would make kissy noises every time John and Cortana walked into a room together.

And Dr. Halsey had started a scrapbook made up of himself, Cortana and Joyeuse titled “Halsey-Sierra Family Vacations - 2560”

And now, the AI that everyone on this ship regarded as his daughter, wanted a sixteenth birthday.

Exhaling so softly that it didn’t pick up on his helmet mic, John-117 shook his head. “Sure kid. I’ll teach you how to drive a warthog after.”

Fuckin. Thinkin about. Stupid post-everything “has a chance to relax” “several years after canon” “most likely in the world savers AU” johntana. Yknow shucking aside the fact that mr. “gets an itchy trigger finger whenever he’s not in battle” and ms. “Constantly has to be doing something in order to feel anything” would ever even learn to relax. But I like to muse, so.

They’re sitting on like a park bench next to each other and Cortana is looking something up on a tablet and John’s just watching her, looking up and watching the birds, thinkin

And then he just kinda goes “Cortana?”

“Hm?”

And then, a little softly, but steady:

“I love you”

And Cortana blinks and thinks on it a second and goes “That’s right. I suppose you do.”

“This is the first time I’ve heard you say it outloud, but... you’ve shown me it a whole lot, haven’t you?” And smiles at him

And he’s pink in the cheeks, and his gears are turning in his head, wondering how to respond

And she adds on a “what made you decide to tell me now?”

And he’s knitting his brows, and thinking really hard, wondering, why did he? What was the occasion? What sparked it? What was the purpose of saying it?

And he settles on

“It kinda... just came out”

And she’s smiling more and her cheeks are getting color and leans over to look at his face and he’s thinking more about what to say.

“People... say it, sometimes, to other people. I wanted to try it out.”

“Yeah? How did it feel?”

“...”

And he thinks about it again, how does it feel? It’s not anything that’s useful for them. It’s not like it was an action that saved the world, or a huge gesture or a big sacrifice or a pound of flesh for some earned affection. It was just words. It was just a statement of a fact. It, technically, was no different than a sentence in a text book or an exit sign or a greeting card. Maybe socially, it’s considered more precious than that, like a very important sentence in a text book, or a very needed exit sign, or a very emotionally important greeting card, but still. Just words.

But that was it, wasn’t it? The freedom to finally use those words whenever he wanted, whenever he felt like it, he finally had it. He was sitting here, next to her, and they weren’t covered in blood or screaming at each other, they weren’t in pain or dying, they weren’t sacrificing for one another or making any more big grand gestures that they already have.

They were sitting in the park and watching birds.

And he just said how he feels.

It was simple, kind, and painless.

So he smiles.

“Felt... good.”

And Cortana smiles back.

“I love you too, John.”

...and that felt really good.