"Oh my god." Former aircraft carrier sat at the edge of her bench seat, cradling her head in both hands and praying the world would stop spinning. The plane she was riding in had landed almost twenty minutes ago, and in her naivety she'd thought the world would stop moving shortly thereafter.

"You okay, ma'am?" said the very kind airman who'd been with her the whole trip.

Sara raised a finger but kept her eyes squeezed resolutely shut. It was strange. She didn't really feel like she needed to throw up—she'd ridden out enough storms to know what that felt like. But she still felt.. queasy. Her bile was rising in her throat, but it never quite managed to make it past her tonsils. She hadn't imagined that not throwing up would be so much more miserable than heaving over a rail, but that uncertainty was driving her mad.

She hadn't understood why Alaska was so hesitant to get her Jet. Sara was a carrier, and while she'd never flown herself, the stories her pilots had told… She was actually looking forwards to flying when she boarded the plane.

Not anymore. Now she was just happy it was over. "I'm…" Sara felt sick rise in her mouth. The bravest waves actually crested against the back of her teeth before retreating back down her gullet. "I'm okay."

The big battle cruiser straightened in her seat, and then very slowly and cautiously eased herself to her feet. Her rudder heels clicked against the jet's cargo floor, and Sara had to grab onto a bulkhead for support as her sense of balance momentarily departed her. She wasn't built to sit in one place for so long, and the dry, low-pressure air from the jet was playing merry hell with her sense of balance. "Woo, okay…"

"You're doing just fine, ma'am," the airman smiled at her and offered a canteen. "Here you go, we've found this helps."

"Thank you," Sara didn't bother asking what was in it, she just fumbled the cap off as quick as she could and downed a greedy mouthful. It was saltwater, warm and sweet against her acid-scoured mouth. It was the sea. It was where she belonged. Sara smiled and took another gulp, then dumped the rest out on her head. She let it run down her hair and over her face and sighed with relief. It was just like being back at sea.

"No problem, ma'am."

When Sara opened her eyes again, there were a dozen men waiting for her at the base of the giant plane's ramp. Sailors mostly, plus a couple burly Marines pushing a heavily over-built gurney. "M-ma'am?" Said one of the sailors—a doctor, Sara realized.

"I'm just a little lightheaded," said Sara with a self-conscious wave. She knew she wasn't a hundred percent, but all this effort for the mild, fleeting discomfort she felt seemed like overkill. "Not to worry."

"If…" the doctor looked her over. "If you say so, ma'am."

"You needn't bother yourself on my account," said Sara with a kindly smile. A smile that vanished when her eyes adjusted to the brilliant California sun. A few hundred feet down the tarmac, Alaska was hobbling off her jet. And that girl… that girl looked like death warmed over.

Her skin was pale. Not its usual brilliant, pristine white, but sallow and morbid. Her eyes were lidded and bloodshot, her parka was stained with vomit and her shirt was glued to her skin by a thick layer of clammy sweat.

"Oh my god, 'Laska!" Sara pushed past the medical team and broke out into a sprint. There was another rushing to meet the exhausted large cruiser, but… but Sara loved the girl, and Cameron was clearly struggling to support her weight.

'Laska's chapped lips parted for a moment, but before she could make a sound a wave of watery bile came up and splashed onto the concrete. The cruiser didn't even bother trying to clean herself up—Sara doubted she had the strength to raise her hand to her mouth. Cameron tried to help, but the moment his hand left her side the poor girl's knee collapsed and he had to scramble to catch her.

One of the doctors—a short woman with frizzy hair that was only barely within regulation—sprinted ahead of the rest of her team with canteen in hand, and a Marine with arms the size of Sara's thighs cradled Alaska like a wounded bird.

The doctor brought the canteen to Alaska's lips, gently offering her sips small enough for her to swallow while the rest of her team helped the poor girl onto a gurney.

"I…" Cameron glanced at Sara. With the medical team swarming his girlfriend, there was little he could do beyond hold her hand as tight as he could mange. "I didn't think it'd be this bad."

Sara didn't know what to say. She thought her trip had been miserable, but at least she could walk at the end of it. She settled for just putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry kid," the doctor looked away from her work just long enough to give Cameron a kindly smile. "She'll be just fine, I promise."

"Heh," Alaska smiled. It was an exhausted smile, one that only barely changed the drained expression on her depleted features, but a smile nevertheless. "Thanks, doc."

Cameron ruffled her snowy hair.

—|—|—

Shinano was not a very good carrier. She was too slow to be useful, her air wing was pathetically tiny—especially for how absurdly huge she was—and… and she just wasn't very well designed. Her elevators were in the wrong places, her bulkheads were all wrong, and even if she could somehow carry more planes she didn't have the facilities to manage them.

In short, she was an overgrown auxiliary. A support ship with a deck glued on her back almost as an afterthought. But… that did mean she was a support ship. She might not make a very good carrier, but at least she could help the proper carriers when they were around. It wasn't a very auspicious role, not compared to the real carriers like Akagi or Taihou. But it was something. Something Shinano could do. Something Shinano was good at.

The littlest Yamato clutched a bottle to her ironclad bosom. A frosty bottle of ramune hand-picked from her stores. She knew it wasn't much, especially compared to the dizzying array of sweet and tasty things the Americans enjoyed every day. But it was the very best she had to offer, and that had to count for something, right?

Shinano clutched her little offering tighter. Saratoga might not have come back as a carrier, but… she was a carrier. A hero of the pacific. A conversion that was actually worth her weight!

She glanced from one side to the other. On one beam stood Musashi with hands on her hips and might rifles proudly displayed for all the world to gaze at in awe. On the other sat the american super-battleship New Jersey with her face half buried in a mountain of burgers.

"J-Jersey?" Shinano's voice was barely above a whisper. She knew Musashi was her sister, and she did love the battleship. But… but it was just so hard to talk to her. Her, the mighty Yamato-class battleship. Musashi was so confident, so utterly decisive in all she did… talking with her was as awe-inspiring as it was intimidating.

"Shina," Jersey reluctantly pulled her face out of a quad-stacked hamburger. "Shut the fuck up."

"Bu-"

"I know what you're gonna say," Jersey scowled, wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. "You're scared that Sara won't like it?"

Shinano nodded sheepishly.

"Sister," Musashi raised her hand and—after a moment's contemplation—put it on Shinano's massively muscled shoulder. "You are a Yamato. You can face anything with the utmost confidence."

Jersey stared longingly at her burger before putting it down in frustration. "Shina, you—"the battleship paused to sneak a quick bite. "'s gunnab beh fahn."

"Jersey," Shinano blushed. "I… I don't…"

"Sarash—" Jersey swallowed. "Sara's a good girl. You give her something she'll like it."

"I…" Shinano sighed, then nodded. She really didn't feel confident. But… like her sister said. She was a Yamato. She stiffened her posture, squared her shoulders, and threw back her chin. She wanted to hid behind Musashi of course, but… nobody else needed to know that. "Okay."

"Imma finish this," said Jersey moments before shoving the entire remnant of the burger into her mouth. It took a bit of effort and much squishing to actually get the burger to fit, but by the time it became obvious Jersey was trying to bite off more than she could chew she was to invested to back out.

Musashi rolled her eyes with a scoff. Jersey's response was chimpmunk-cheeked "fhuh yuh."

Shinano giggled. But before her two favorite battleships could get into any more of a snit fight, the mess hall doors swung open and in stepped former-carrier Saratoga.

She was pretty. Tall, like Jersey, but… sleeker. Thin, lithe, and elegant, like a dancer not a prize fighter. She was so pretty, and she carried herself with such effortless grace. Maybe this wasn't the best—

"Phushu," Jersey grunted and kicked Shinano in the calf. The support carrier whimpered in surprise, but her feet might as well have been welded to the deck.

"Go," said Musashi.

Shinano nodded, and with her offering clenched in her hands made her way over to the serving line. "M-miss S-Sara?" she mumbled, her voice so quiet she could barely hear herself.

"Mmm?" The American had already loaded up her tray with hearty stew and an ice-cold bottle of coke.

"I…" Shinano bowed from the waist and held out her offering. "F-for y-you."

Sara took the bottle and… said… something. Shinano was so wound up she couldn't remember what it was. She wanted to bolt and hide behind her sister's skirt. But she didn't. Because she was a Yamato. "I… I hope you like it."

"What is it?" asked the American ship with a kind smile.

"Oh. Um…" Shinano took a breath to calm her nerves. "It's ramune. Lemon-lime, um… I… I thought you'd like it."

"I'll give it a try," said Sara. "Thank you… Shinano?"

The support carrier beamed. Sara knew her name! A proper carrier knew her name! "Y-yes," Shinano bowed her head. "I— I am Shinano."

"It's very nice to meet you," said Sara with a smile so gentle and sweet it almost put the littlest Yamato at ease. Almost. She set her tray down and offered her hand to Shinano. It was so dainty, so elegant compared to the Japanese warship's massive gauntlet-clad paw.

"Y-you too," stammered Shinano.

Sara popped the top of Shinano's offering and took a sip. Or at least tried to. When she tilted the bottle back the glass marble inside got caught on the bottle's neck and stopped the flow. Sara pulled the bottle from her disappointing lips and gave it a quizzical look.

Before Shinano could explain the art of drinking ramune, a loud snorting laugh sounded from somewhere behind her. She looked over to see her sister clutching her sides and shaking with mirth while Jersey was somehow managing to laugh and inhale burgers at the same time.

Sara rolled her eyes with a blush. "New Jersey, must you be so immature?"

"It's Commander," Jersey said. "And yes. You met Mushi?"

"I can't say I have, no," Sara turned to the towering chocolate battlewagon.

"Sara, Mushi. Mushi, Sara." Jersey tore the wrapper off yet another burger. "Get that sparkilicious ass over here and let's eat."

"S-sparkilicious?" asked Shinano.

"I'm turbo-electric," explained Sara.

"Oh."

Sara balanced her tray on one hand and took another stab at drinking ramune. This time she managed to at least get a few drops into her mouth. "Mmm, thank you, Shinano."

Shinano beamed.

—|—|—

Now that her screws were back on solid ground and the medical staff had done their work, large cruiser Alaska's tummy was no longer a hotbed of violent anarchy the likes of which could only be be understood by watching bad seventies post-apocalypse films past midnight after consuming several cases of mountain dew.

Of course, that didn't mean things were copacetic either. 'Laska's tummy might not be in the throws of anarchic revolution anymore, but that was only because it'd rallied its forces with the single-minded purpose of demanding her higher faculties provide a meal posthaste.

Alaska wasn't used to being this hungry, and she found it a little embarrassing whenever her tummy let loose a roaring gurgle that shook the walls in their foundations. Cameron seemed to find it cute though.

In any case, while the large cruiser was desperately hungry, what she needed even more desperately was a good shower. Her parka stank of vomit, and her skin was oozing with sweat. Now that she could think about something beyond how badly she wanted to throw up, she realizes how gross she felt.

Luckily, the navy anticipated her needs, and there was a hot shower waiting for her when she arrived on base. Alaska had hoped that Cameron would join her—she knew for a fact he'd packed a swimsuit—but instead he waited outside for her to finish.

One of these days, he was going to see her naked.

Alaska cleaned herself off with a quick, hot shower. A warm bath would've been nice—especially if she could somehow convince Cameron to cuddle with her in it—but she was just too hungry for that now. After a quick rinse to get rid of the last of her sweat, Alaska shut off the water and toweled off. Her hair dried to its usual barely-controlled waterfall of floof by the time she'd made it back to her bedroom, and her body wasn't far behind.

Her parka and uniform were being cleaned, but she'd packed spares and Cameron had been nice enough to lay out a change of clothes for her. A nice airy sundress and a pair of shorts to go under. She was starting to think he didn't understand the concept of short-skirts, but if that's what he wanted her to wear…

It didn't take her long to get dressed—unlike literally everyone else on the base, Alaska didn't have to bother with squeezing into a bra—and before her stomach could even finish reading its list of demands she was padding barefoot towards the mess hall.

"Hey, 'laska." Cameron smiled by her side, trotting to keep up with her restless pace. "You feeling any better?"

"Cameron," Alaska looked over but didn't stop moving. "I love you, but I'm really hungry right now."

"Right," Cameron chuckled. "Sorry, lead the way."

Alaska angled towards the serving line. It was a little late and the staff were already setting out dinner. Which was fine by Alaska, because it appeared to be lasagna day and Alaska loved lasagna.

The large cruiser was polishing off her ninth plate when she started being aware of her surroundings again. Cameron was next to her, just watching her eat with a faraway smile on his face, and there were a few ships a table down tucking into their own meals. Cruiser, Alaska was pretty sure. Two of them she recognized. The third was… of dubious compliance with the London Naval Treaty.

"Hello!" Alaska waved.

"Guten tag," said the taller cruiser with the American flag bandanna tied around her arm.

"Hey," said the really pretty Japanese-looking one with a tummy full of scars.

"Oi!" said the flame-haired one with the nice tan.

"Um," Alaska looked at her tray, then back to them. "Can I join you?"

The three ships discussed among themselves for a heartbeat, then the pretty Nesai heavy cruiser nodded. "Of course!"

Alaska collected her meal—and her boyfriend—and trotted over to her new friends. She knew one was a New Orleans, one was a St. Louis, and… the third was some class she didn't recognize. But she couldn't for the life of her figure out which. "I'm Alaska."

"Frisco," said the New Orleans.

"Lou," said the light cruiser.

"Prinz Eugen," said the non-treaty-compliant cruiser with an accent that dripped Germanic precision. "Um… of the US Navy. IX three-hundred."

"Nice to meet you," Alaska set her tray down. "Oh, this is Cameron."

Cameron waved.

"He's my boyfriend." Said the large cruiser. After a moment's pause, she put her hand around his waist and pulled him close. "Mine."