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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 8 months

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Smoke Break - Chapter 2

Read the first chapter here on tumblr or here on ao3!

It happens again.

Jared’s smoking when he hears footsteps that stop a polite distance away and he still fumbles his pack when he hears Captain Lasky’s voice asking for a cigarette.

He hesitates for the briefest moment before handing one over and Captain Lasky becomes Tom and he asks for a light. Jared doesn't hesitate then.

But then it keeps happening. Not every week, but often enough that there’s something to it. Small moments carved out of their hectic schedules and frantic lives. Shared smokes and glances. Brushing touches and stolen laughter.

There's a rhythm building between them. The push and pull during their smoke breaks, a dance of a conversation as certain topics are avoided and others that they seem to waltz right into and stay. Tom chuckles and Jared follows, enraptured with the man in front of him. Tom leads and Jared sidesteps, remembering this is the captain as white hot anxiety burns as he approaches impropriety. And the pattern builds. The dance evolves. The beat becomes more rapid, the smoke and conversations linger, the touches become more casual and less accidental.

This man is going to kill him, Jared thinks. And he’d die happy.

The footsteps are quick, eager, as they echo quietly in this corner of the hangar the two of them have claimed. There's a smile to greet him when he turns with arm outstretched, fingers proffering contraband with faux nonchalance. Jared’s heart beats a little faster as he grins in return, his own lit cigarette a beacon in the dark.

"Thanks." Tom heaves a sigh and accepts the cigarette, brushing Jared's hand as he takes it. "You heard me coming?"

"Sorry, Captain. Hard to sneak up on Spartans." He says and snorts a quiet laugh when Tom makes a face at the use of his rank. He raises his hands in surrender before grabbing his lighter and flicking it open. He raises it to Tom's unlit cigarette in a languid motion, casually coaxing a flame to life.

Tom raises an eyebrow as he looks up at him and grabs his arm with one hand, a steadying anchor, as he lines up the tip with the flame and it ignites with a quiet hiss. His hand squeezes his arm and Jared can feel the heat through the techsuit even as Tom's fingers don't manage to wrap all the way around his forearm. The dance continues and once again the captain is taking charge.

Jared can feel his face heat and he takes another drag while maintaining eye contact with the other man. Tom simply copies him, raising his cigarette with his free arm, a playful glint in his eye lighting up as the end of his cigarette does, glowing sparks reflecting in each other's eyes.

He had never suspected that the captain would be a little shit.

Tom eventually pushes Jared's arm away and exhales smoke out his nose before sighing and looking up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and the lines of his face relax as he enjoys the nicotine and company. Lasky stops being the captain for a moment and is Tom, the guy that Jared smokes with. He can’t stop being a Spartan but he can shelve the worries during their breaks. A brief interlude in their hectic lives. He’s human and approachable as the weight of command slips for a second. The space between them is less of a gulf and more of a step.

Jared smiles and blows out his own smoke trail, pocketing the lighter and smiling down at his boots. It's nice. Downright pleasant staring into space and enjoying another's company.

Those shiny dress shoes come into his field of vision and then there's an elbow poking in his ribs and the heat of another body emanating through him. The captain is pressed up against him - so close he can feel his heart pounding alongside Jared's own racing pulse. He can’t help but jolt, head whipping around to meet warm brown eyes and feel his breath on his face.

It's enough of a surprise that it makes him cough and hiccup ungracefully.

Tom laughs, loud and surprised, and pats him on the back as he leans away. His hand slides lower and lingers before he pulls it away as Jared stands upright again. The techsuit does nothing to dull the warmth of his touch.

"Thought it was hard to sneak up on Spartans?"

Tom's grinning at him, pressed close, closer than he's ever been and Jared can't think of a single thing to say.

This man is going to kill him.

It continues to happen. Miller really shouldn’t continue entertaining it. This is the captain. He can’t keep flirting with danger like this. It’s starting to creep into his work life, the anxiety seeping out of his skull and onto the screen in front of him. Words blur as his eyes unfocus. Does the Commander know? Roland has to, he sees everything on this ship. Why hasn’t he said anything? Is he going to rat him out?

Jared’s too busy spiraling that he jumps when Dalton calls his name and interrupts his panic. He swallows and answers, tamping down the worries and smoothing out the dented metal of his desk to something less obvious.

He should quit. He needs to make it stop, but there’s relief when he hears those footsteps in the hangar. The crisp cadence of the captain’s confident walk and tap-squeak of an officer’s dress shoes that mark the arrival of his smoking buddy. Not the heavy footsteps of combat boots. He should stop encouraging the bolder and bolder touches, the lingering looks, but he's weak. He likes the attention, craves it.

Tom’s eyes meet his own and the world falls away. He sees him smile and somehow everything’s alright. Better than alright. He’s got it bad.

This man is going to kill him.

The thing is it’s not just him who could get in trouble. The thing is that Miller is technically peddling contraband to a commanding officer. The thing is that it’s borderline fraternizing at this point. The thing is that this is the captain. The captain of the ship, with pedigree and years in service, and who is in at least one Admiral’s good graces.

And he’s just a meathead spartan who got lucky.

The thing is the whole thing can only end badly and Miller won’t be the one walking away unscathed.

This man is going to break his heart one way or another. He can’t let him ruin his career as well.

The bay door seals behind them with a quiet hiss and then the captain's hands are tugging at his arms still firmly wrapped around the man he just grappled into the privacy of the pelican. It's silent save for their panting breaths and someone's heart racing but Jared isn't sure if it's his or Tom's, and he just manhandled the captain into a ship because he heard someone coming and oh god.

He’d been jumpy all day. One last smoke break. He had gotten there early. The nicotine was going to soothe his nerves and give him the courage to talk to Tom - Captain Lasky. To set things right. But he was on edge and they had never been interrupted before and god he keeps making mistakes.

They’re pressed so close. Tom is - The captain is flush against him. He’s warm and broad and sturdy under his uniform, but soft enough that he molds against Jared’s form.There are lips on his neck, then his jaw, and then the man is laughing into his flushed skin and holding on tight as Jared's mind goes blank but he reflexively squeezes the man in his arms.

"Quick thinking, but there are easier ways to get me alone, Spartan." Tom teases, and Jared immediately holds him at arm's length, his hands wrapping around Tom's biceps. He struggles and fails to not notice the muscle moving under his hands as Tom maneuvers to pat him like he's consoling a startled animal.

He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? Oh god. He looks concerned. Jared’s fucking it up, but he just- the captain-

He needs a minute. He needs more than a minute.

“Sorry sir.” chokes out of his mouth and then it feels like someone else pilots his body to the button to open the bay door. He’s off like a shot, but he can’t help looking back to see Tom - the captain, get it together, Miller - standing alone in the dark in that pelican. His chest twinges from anxiety and regret as he flees to his room and locks the door.

The thing is Miller turns tail and runs. The thing is he goes to his room and locks the door and bites his hand as he screams at himself.

The thing is he doesn’t sleep that night. Spartan IVs don’t really need to. He stares at the ceiling instead.

The thing is he wastes 3 days of water allowance standing under the spray until he feels numb and then goes to work. Ops go fine. Everyone must sense his mood because it’s quiet.

The thing is he’d been smoking regularly again and withdrawal itches.

The thing is he’d quit smoking before and it didn’t feel this bad.

He makes it a week before external forces step in.

Jared’s honestly surprised they waited that long. Roland’s not known for his patience or restraint, especially when it comes to him. Commander Palmer does not put up with shoddy work or less than total focus, not when her Spartans are on the ground and are depending on a competent mission handler.

So he's almost surprised when the Commander makes a personal visit to the Op center during a low risk mission. Almost.

“Dalton, have Crimson’s ride ready and let me know when they’re back aboard. Miller, step into my office.”

“Right away, Commander.” Dalton answers, shooting Miller a concerned look as he stands and wordlessly follows Commander Palmer into her office.

He trails after her obediently, face blank despite his racing heart. Here it is, the moment of truth.

The Commander swaggers to her desk and turns to face him while crossing her arms. Palmer doesn’t sit down nor does she tell him to. Instead she looks him over and doesn’t like what she finds. But she doesn’t immediately lay into him. Commander Palmer is not known for holding her tongue. Her Spartans know what she thinks of their performance as soon as she thinks it.

He can tell she’s holding back and that alone throws him for a loop.

“I’d tell you to sit, but I don’t want this to take that long. Miller, you look like someone kicked a puppy in front of you. You’ve been quiet on comms and you’ve only tried to contact me for extraneous reasons -” She pauses and looks at the empty holodisk, which Jared prays will stay empty. But the universe is cruel and uncaring and Roland pops up anyway. “Zero attempts have been made to reach you, Commander. Spartan Miller has been quiet this week.”

“Right.” Palmer continues, eyeing the way Miller nervously looks from Roland back to her. He keeps his eyes to the back wall and swallows. “Listen, Miller, I love not having 4 missed messages from you every time Crimson steps off the ship, but I need you at the top of your game. My Fireteams are counting on you and you need to be on it. Got it?”

“Yes Commander.” He answers, eyes boring a hole into the metal wall to avoid the two people looking at him. They have to know. Roland knows. He had to have told her. Or he’s about to tell her.

“I don’t want to know what’s got you like this. I just need to know it’s going to be dealt with.” She nods.

The Commander uncrosses her arms and Miller remembers to unclench his jaw.

“I know you know I’m serious. I need the people I can count on at the top of their game. Not moping on the job. Am I making myself clear?”

He nods, mouth falling open for another ”Yes Commander,” but she continues.

"Besides, you're both big boys. You need to act like it and not make me have to put up with sighs and puppy dog eyes."

Jared snaps his jaw shut with an audible clack. He blinks and stops staring at the interesting scuff on the back wall and the tilted picture that seems to be covering a hole the size of a Spartan’s fist. He makes eye contact with the Commander who’s got her hands on her hips and is waiting for his response.

“Commander?” His voice cracks and blood rushes to his ears. Roland looks smug, but Miller cannot even find spare brainpower to be annoyed.

“I said, am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal, Commander.” He gulps, willing his voice to lower a few more octaves. There’s something weird happening to his insides and it must show on his face because then she wrinkles her nose and waves him off.

“Dismissed.”

Miller nods, not trusting himself to speak, and turns on his heel. He nearly clips the door frame on the way out of her office, but Spartan reflexes and Mjolnir armor keep him upright. The door shuts behind him with a hiss.

“And here I was hoping to witness you giving him the shovel talk.” Roland chimes in from where he’s been standing so quietly and well behaved.

“Roland.” Palmer grouses, but is unable to keep the smile from forming on her face. “Someone needs to be the adult around here.”

“And that just so happens to be you?” Roland quips back, but huffs when she waves a hand through his avatar.

“Only under the most dire circumstances.”

The thing is, Miller is an anxious guy. Needs control - over his missions, over his life, as much as possible in order to control the outcome.

He likes knowing things - info for missions, time constraints, rules to work by, who has his team’s back. He wants to know what the moving pieces are and who’s his back-up and when they’ll get there.

The thing is Miller is smart. He tries to level the playing field, avoids going in blind, and absolutely does not overcommit or get in too deep. There’s no coming back from that.

The thing is - the thing is… Tom makes him want to throw all logic out the airlock.

The thing is, Miller is halfway to the bridge and officer’s quarters when his brain reboots and he recognizes how insane he looks.

It's just after midmorning and he's a Spartan, fully kitted out in Mjolnir and still technically on duty.

He stops suddenly, finally noticing the path he's cleared through a busy hall full of officers, crew, and other people a lot more important than him.

He turns and heads back to his station - jaw clenched and thoughts going a mile a minute. His ears are burning but he soldiers on back to S-Deck where he might embarrass himself less.

There’s gotta be another way to talk to Tom, one with more forethought.

What was he going to do? Show up at his door and apologize? Or worse, make a scene on the bridge? Jesus Christ, Jared, get it together.

He beats a hasty retreat back to his station and ignores the looks and whispers thrown his way.

“Did we just see a Spartan lose their nerve?”

“Guess so. Funny, didn’t think they could do that.”

“Laaaame. I thought he was gonna kill someone, with that look on his face.”

“You still want his number.”

“Shut up.”

Miller’s debating how to go about fixing things, in his room, alone, in private, like a normal person when Roland comes slinking in like the cat who’s already caught the canary.

Miller could message the Captain, but that’s insane. Just a quick email; “Sorry for freaking out and running away! Hey I know I hurt your feelings, but I’d love to go back to that unnamed, charged smoking thing we had going on.”

But it’s not like he can just waltz up to the guy. Show up on his doorstep with flowers? Insane! Jared could go back to their usual haunt and hope that he might show up again.

He’s started pacing without realizing, hand gripping the lighter in his pocket, when Roland clears his throat and Miller lets out a noise unbecoming of a Spartan.

“Roland! Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Jared says, forcing his voice down a few octaves.

“Don’t have the knack for it, no hands you see.” Roland holds up his avatar’s hands as he talks.

The tick in Miller’s jaw grows tighter as the AI continues.

“Looked to me like you were having a scheduling issue - something that I could help with. What with me being in charge and seeing everything on this ship and knowing when everything is happening is all.”

Miller inhales and holds it for a few seconds while staring into the knowing grin of the little bastard who’s both giving him a way forward and who’s made his life harder in recent weeks. If he gives him an inch, he’ll take over Ops.

“Roland, if you mess this up for me-”

“Oh I don’t need to help you in that department.” Roland chimes in and Miller sighs loudly and sits heavily on his bunk. He lets his face fall into his hands.

“Captain Lasky just happens to be free tomorrow evening. He could be persuaded to make his way to Hangar 11 around 2200.”

Miller peeks up at the avatar grinning at him from between his fingers. “He could, could he?”

“Uh huh. I’ve been told I’m very persuasive.”

“And will this ‘persuasion’ cost me?”

“Oh, for sure! I’ll come collecting later.”

The next day crawls by and Jared spends half of it staring at the dents he’s left in his workstation’s desk. Missions go well, reports are filed promptly, and the air in the Op Center is rife with tension.

That is until Roland decides he’d be funny and starts singing while Miller finishes requisition paperwork and Dalton peers over at the scene the two cause. The first line isn’t out of his speakers before Miller’s eye is twitching and the Spartan is pointedly not turning to look at him.

Two, two cigarettes in the dark-

“Roland.” Miller chides through grit teeth. Just a couple more hours.

He strikes a match 'til the spark

Clearly traces

One face is my sweethear-

“Roland!” Miller barks at the AI, hands grabbing his chair as he spins to face the holodisk.

Dalton sips his coffee and turns away, going back to his own station. Roland stands tall under Miller’s bluster, beaming up at the reddening Spartan.

“Spartan Miller! Here I was thinking you would appreciate Bing Crosby. I’m just helping! Setting the mood and all that.” The AI looks oh so smug as he grins at the flustered Spartan.

“Well, I didn’t ask for your help!” Miller shrills.

Roland’s smile changes into something more sinister and he pulls up his sleeve to reveal a watch. “Just a few hours now. I thought my help was necessary, I could-”

Jared deflates, eyes looking over at Dalton who’s back at his station and focused a little too hard on his own work. He sighs and slings his head low, leaning over to look into the glowing smirk of an uncaring god.

“I want more time on Ops.”

“Of course you do.”

“More time, and I get to set waypoints. And! I get to do more stuff than just hack doors or hack Covie comm panels. I’m tired of only doing the complicated math and being the AI that opens doors. It’s been done.”

“Okay.”

“I also want to send ordnance and munitions sometimes.”

“That won’t end badly.” Jared grumbles under his breath. “You’ll have to ask Dalton for clearance, at the very least, if not Commander Palmer as well.”

“You mean you will have to ask Spartan Dalton and maybe Commander Palmer. I’m collecting on that favor.”

Dalton chooses that moment to make Miller’s life harder and stops pretending to be working. “And what does Spartan Dalton get out of this?”

Miller groans and lets his head fall to his dented desk with a thump.

"You'd probably get Miller's undying gratitude and a favor to collect on. I hear he's good at acquiring things."

Jared looks up venomously at Roland.

Dalton, the bastard, grins and looks up as he thinks, “You know, It’s so hard to find good -”

“Whatever it is. I’ll get it for you, Dalton. Deal?”

Dalton blinks at the sudden shift, but Miller is done with the games and the bullshit. “Deal. Roland can give Crimson and Majestic ordnance. ”

“Done. Roland!” Miller turns, “You got your time on Ops, but only if tonight is still on.”

“I knew you had it in you, Spartan. Of course it is.” Roland looks gleeful, “Go get him, tiger.”

“Never say that to me again.” Miller says as he stands and leaves.

“Yeah, it sounded better in my head.”

“Have fun on your date or whatever.” Dalton says before turning back to his own work.

Miller flips them both off before disappearing out the door.

#my writing #Spartan Miller #Thomas Lasky #Roland the AI #Sarah Palmer #Spartan Dalton #halo fanfic

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