INTERLUDE THE FIRST
IN WHICH ENSUED LILIES AND NAVEL-GAZING
Musashi yawned and looked out of the window. Yamato was fanning herself. Summer was coming, and the air in their room was humid and not at all comfortable.
Neither, Musashi thought, was the business of tomorrow.
"Hey, Yamato," she said. "Been quiet all evening, eh? What's on your mind? Not feeling right sitting on a committee to accuse one of our own, aren't you?"
Musashi had not participated much in discussions around the base, and she did not think anyone could fault her. She was a battleship of action, not of talk. Had she been in the room when tempers were heated with the missing fairy business, she'd be one more vote to the "shoot all the bastards down" party.
And now they'd called her to sit on the committee deciding what to do with Kongou and Fubuki and the frankly odious charge against them. Well, she'd sit there, because that was her responsibility; but never think she took any joy in it.
Yamato looked at her like she was seeing through her, confusion and anger and all. "It can't be helped, can it?" she said.
She glanced through the preparatory documents again, and yawned with her mouth opened even wider. This was not what she was good for. "Oh yeah, and what's the deal with splitting the committee into halves?" she said. "Now I ain't saying I've been to much of the sort – is this a protocol I don't know or something?"
"Ah, that," said Yamato. "Just a precaution, Musashi-chan. Just for the occasion. One half would watch the hearing remotely through video conference; the other half would stay in the room with you and I and Mutsu-san and Haruna-san, just in case..."
Oh yeah, that. Musashi shook her head.
"Just in case the dratted wizard pulls something?"
"Musashi-chan, you can't fault them for being a bit paranoid," said Yamato with a small giggle. "When Nagato-san delivered her report, the commissioned officers were scared stiff. Why wouldn't they? Having your mind meddled with is... Yamato would think it's terrifying."
"Funny, huh?" Musashi said. "The Admiral's been with us long enough to marry several of us several times over, you'd think he's pretty much immune to any hypnosis or mind-screwery now."
Yamato paused. "Are you jealous, Musashi-chan?" she said, and there her cheeks turned just a mite rosier.
Musashi shrugged one shoulder. "Jealous? Nah," she said. "He makes for a darn fine partner, but it isn't like he hasn't made it clear he doesn't think of us that way. I'm not Kongou." She placed the folder at the side of the low table, and slumped down on its surface. "Anyway, you think they'll let us chime in?"
"Mmm, not likely," said Yamato. "Do you have anything specifically on your mind?"
"Just thought if I'd get a disciplinary hearing against me if I'm to crash the party calling for a dragon-hunt open-season," she said. "Haven't had a good fight in a while, and no, wrestling a bear doesn't count."
Because drat it, she wasn't used to this. Pounding Abyssals to the ground with heavy naval guns was so much more fun than beating wildlife with her bare hands like a survivalist on a reality TV show.
Yamato didn't answer; she only smiled.
"I know," she said. She glanced at the clock at the side of the room. "I'm going to sleep," she said. "Good night, Musashi-chan. It will be a... heavy day tomorrow, no matter what happens." Then she bowed – again, so elegantly, in pajamas though she might be – and then climbed up the bunk bed.
"H-hey, don't leave me hanging, Yamato!"
What could Musashi possibly do, but climb into her bunk herself?
Not that sleep came easy to her – or at all. She was twisting and turning under the blanket; There was that strange feeling of being tired and sleepy, but not quite tired enough to douse the anxiety within her. Because I'd be damned if I ever get used to this bureaucratic kerfuffle.
In which case, she thought, there was just one thing to do.
"Hey, Yamato?" she called. "You asleep yet?"
"Mmm?"
"Wanna come down here with me?"
There was a pause – and then an oh-so-Yamato-like giggle. "Sure," she said.
Musashi closed her eyes; she felt first a small shift of the bunk; then a weight settling down on the futon next to her.
Yamato's hair was soft and fragrant, as it always was.
That's more like it.
Gandalf was sitting on a second-floor long balcony, blowing smoke-rings and watching the moon and stars when his ear twitched. Elf-steps, virtually undetectable but by those who knew them well.
"Mithrandir. I was told I could find you here."
Gandalf turned about: A tall and bright elf in blue was standing at the end of the corridor, his soft sole leaving little disturbance upon the wooden flooring.
"Ah, good evening!" said Gandalf. He glanced at the elf's face – now moonlight shone upon him and revealed both familiarity and anxiousness. "It's been a while, Elrohir my friend."
"It is I," said Elrohir – because it truly was him. "When I heard you had come, my thought was to find you, and to ask for counsel freely given; and had my other responsibilities not held me hostage I should have done so before the sun set and the stars rose!"
"I could perhaps say the same," said Gandalf. "I would have sought you out; alas, this naval district is too large and too maze-like, and given what I have to do tomorrow I supposed going exploring would be... ill-advised."
"And you would not have found me that way, for we'd be lost looking for each other," said Elrohir. He sat down next to Gandalf, on a chair at the corridor; his voice fell, and so did his head. "I have erred terribly in some ways, Mithrandir, and I thought I should tell you."
"And so have I, and in the way I erred the consequence might be greater than yours," said Gandalf. "We are all forced to adapt, too fast, too unpreparedly... and like the blind wandering in the dark, to fall into a ditch or crash into a tree is only a matter of sooner or later."
Elrohir rubbed his hands, and stared deep into his palms.
"I would offer no excuse for myself, but a confession of my fears," he said. "Everything is moving fast, faster than I am comfortable with. Much too fast. I make no pretension that I can be so brave in the face of such..."
"No one is free from fear, and nobody should be save the One Himself, for not even the very wise would know all ends." said Gandalf. "And I, well, much as I do fear something very grave is coming, I believe all that we can decide is what to do with the time given to us."
"Change! Change!" said Elrohir. "Yes, that is what I fear above all. Changes shall come, as we have accepted and surrendered ourselves to its vagaries; and the Eldar shall diminish and sail to the West where our heart is and our fea shall rest." Now his face was grim, and his forehead crinkled. "But this is not what I expected. This is not what Ada could have expected."
"Does the ship-daughters still bother you so?"
"It is not what they are that bother me," said Elrohir, "but rather what they would bring. I have spoken much to their folk, though not as much as I should have liked. They are... amiable, and in a way more like the Eldar than I should like to admit, in spirit and in craft as in the tendency towards the beautiful and fair. But..."
"I need not say overly much; their craft is strange and would usher in changes we are not comfortable with. Not prepared for. And not just the Eldar, but the Aftercomers who have known little of their arts of light, fire and steel." Elrohir's voice rose, in fatigue, in frustration. "What, then, is the One's design? How shall we conduct ourselves now, in a world that is ours yet changing so quickly as to make us strangers under our own roofs?"
"For the Eldar there is always the choice to leave," said Gandalf. "Look, look to the West, to Mithlond! Your kin are already departing for Aman, my friend Elrohir. Why would you stay when you can leave the strife and sorrows of Middle-earth for the Aftercomers? Out of responsibility? Duty? Or the desire for preservation, like the White Lady holds in her heart also?"
"All of the above," Elrohir admitted. "I, for one, feel that our time in Middle-earth is not yet to an end, though it is not for the greed for its beauty that I stay, but because I am needed. You could ask Ada, or Elladan, and receive much the same answer."
"And it is a thoroughly worthwhile cause to stay." Gandalf imbibed another mouthful of pipeweed smoke, and blew an enormous smoke-ring. "And... I daresay," he said, "from the rumours of the little ones and the tongues of Men and a few Elves alike, your brother may have another reason why he would want to tarry in Middle-earth for another while."
"You speak of that rumour which I loathe and wish it would go away," said Elrohir, his voice completely unamused. "Surely you know the Eldar well enough, Mithrandir, to know that we take such... matters very seriously."
"My friend, I should ill need a lecture in that regard, you of all folks should know how close I have been to your kin. All I say, is would you not let it bring you hope?" said Gandalf. "If the rumour is indeed false, then all is well and good. But in the better and more fortunate case should it be indeed true, would you not think to draw hope from it? Were Beren and Luthien not the bringers of hope in their own way, though they have long left the world for whatever fate beyond Arda? Or, indeed, your great-grandparents also, Tuor and Elwing who now dwell in Aman?"
Long did Elrohir sit in silence. He raised his head, then let it dip again; as if every time he had come up with a rebuttal, he would then fail to deliver it.
"You are giving Lady Nagato too much credit," he said at last. "If the rumours were any truer than hearsay, then she would be asking too great a thing from Ada, from Arwen and from myself that we shall not grant but in very great sorrow.."
"If anything, I say I've given her too little of the kind," said Gandalf. "And those who fear great losses would stand only to lose more and greater things."
He blew another smoke-ring, and Elrohir spoke no more.
Fubuki woke up early. Or rather, she could not sleep at all and was only closing her eyes until uneasiness caused her to snap them open.
She looked out of the windows into the sunrise above the hills over the pier, and recalled those early days jogging along the water's edge.
The Special-type Destroyer, newcomer to the Naval District.
The clumsy fleet girl who could not keep balance standing, much less fighting.
The proven fleet girl who had not only stood on her own feet, but proven herself in a real scuffle.
The flagship of a brand-new fleet, put there by her own ability.
The unexpected hero of the MI-campaign, and then the long-expected hero of the Ironbottom Sound campaign.
And now, the flagship to be put under a hearing for... for...
Fubuki shook her head. No, no, no, not the time or place to think negatively. Already her other half was stirring...
"Is this all right?" she said. Lycoris said. "Is this truly all right?"
"Lycoris..." Fubuki clutched her chest. She sat down near the pier; her vision blurred. It felt half like she was still standing in the living, waking world, and half like that day again; breathing was hard, as if there was sea-water all about her. And not the cool, salty kind, that felt so natural under her feet, but the bubbling, cold blackness of the great depths; sorrowful and despaired.
"Are you not angry? Resentful? Enraged? Are you not betrayed? Are you not unfairly treated? Have you not already exhausted all available possibilities? Why, then, does this happen to you?"
"I've... I've simply done a poor job," Fubuki shook her head. "And it's fine, see?
Except it isn't fine. It isn't fine at all.
Lycoris, apparently, agreed with her thoughts – not her words. "Fine? Pshaw! You've been set up. You've been deceived. You've been dealt a poor, poor hand by your so-called friends. Shouldn't you do something about it?"
Fubuki felt strangled. "And what should I do?"
That's right, that was a question she had been trying to ask herself, and never quite felt it right to answer. Lycoris wasn't wrong. She was simply in a position where she was so poorly equipped, poorly trained, poorly prepared for, that it felt almost like she had been set up to fail.
"Make your anger known. Nothing else need be said. You have a right to tap into it. Why not? You've been mistreated. Abandoned. Blamed. Framed. And now thrown to the wolf-pack. And how? You tell me. Setting things on fire is a good start. Or... anything you have the creativity for..."
The more her alternative self spoke, the more anger and resentment bubbled within Fubuki. She stopped in her place; sunlight washed over her, bringing with it no warmth, only shame – and with it such hatred. Such rage. Such... fury. "You... you are right. Maybe I should-"
But the flash of red quenched the moment it rose to the surface. A certain... train of thought came to the surface, and it was warm and soft rather than cold and hard.
"Lycoris... you do care about me, don't you?"
The reaction she got was both unexpected and entirely within the realm of possibility: a hollow, hateful voice... that took a turn for the bashful.
"Wha-what are you talking about?"
The echoes of red faded, bit by bit, from Fubuki's systems. She clutched her chest still, but the sunlight had grown warm and less accusing, and far more bearable now. "I said, you do care about me, don't you?" she said.
"D-don't be daft! I... only... I just want you to grasp... Aaarrrrgh, you stupid, stupid fleet girl!"
Deny as she wanted, the damage had already been done. It was a strange sort of relief, as if your own archnemesis - no, more like your lost, angry, hateful twin sister would turn out to be the validation of your existence: they existed because you existed, and vice versa. It was a kind of bond that was both particularly unhealthy and patently antagonistic, but... oddly helpful when all possibilities would be exhausted. The words that would be most appropriate, then, came to Fubuki without her realizing it.
"Would you stay with me, Lycoris?"
Lycoris' voice grew both more, and less, enraged at the same time. "... Why the hell would I not? We are now one."
"Then that's all I need," said Fubuki. "To have you along, through thick and thin; it wouldn't be so bad with two rather than one, would it?"
"You are... Funny. Frustrating. Foolish. But funny. You know what... keep thinking that way. Not like I can ever leave you, and it is all your fault. I... I hate you."
"Is it?" said Fubuki. "Well, who's blaming whom now?"
"... I hate, hate, hate you."
This was the part where, if Lycoris had been physical, they'd give each other headpats. Or, well, that was what Fubuki thought, anyway.
Because a headpat could cure terminal diseases and restore world peace if given by the right person.
It was a bad time to be Mutsuki.
For the whole night she had been sitting by the moss-coated anchor monument. It was probably a bad idea, for the next day she was supposed to be on trial – no way to sugarcoat that; and though she would probably come out fine...
The feeling of being betrayed and vouching for the wrong person and causing – indirectly or otherwise – everything to blow up in her friends' face... and if it would truly come to a bad end for Fubuki and for Kongou-san … how could she ever live with herself?
Mutsuki breathed softly, and looked to the East. The sun was rising again.
What should I do, Kisaragi?
But then the soft tweeting of a small bird rouse her senses; now she looked up into the sky, and a tiny red bird was descending, until it landed with poise and grace upon her shoulder.
"February?"
The red bird's head slightly nodded; she then bent down and began pecking at the fabrics of Mutsuki's vest. It was the sort of sight that could melt hearts and cause heads to swoon; but Mutsuki could only muster enough of a smile and good mood to stroke the bird on the back with her thumb.
"You should probably be off," said Mutsuki. "I mean, I'd love for you to stay, but something... something really bad is going to happen today, and..."
All that came up in response was an innocent chirp.
"You wouldn't understand, would you?" she said, and wiped her tears. "But that's fine. I appreciate your presence anyway."
The bird looked puzzlingly at the moss-covered monument. But only for a moment; she turned her little neck back at Mutsuki, and began tweeting again.
"Ah... this monument?" she said. "They built it in memory of those who fell in the Abyssal War. Fairies, base personnel... and my sister."
February now straightened her back, and stood in place, and looked back at Mutsuki. For once she stopped; no twitching feet, no shifting posture, no tweeting, no nothing.
Did she understand what Mutsuki say? Did she understand her mood? Or did she understand nothing, like every other animal reacting randomly and instinctively? Mutsuki wouldn't know; but she could use sympathy, or the illusion of sympathy if that was truly all she could get.
"She shares your name, but in our language. Kisaragi. February," she said. "That's why... I'm sorry, that's not your name. You aren't her. I've been-" Mutsuki looked at the bird, and smiled; tears were coming to her eyes now. "I've been a silly fleet girl. I'm sorry-"
The sound of footsteps on the grass made Mutsuki swing around; she had barely finished wiping her tears when the image of a very brightly smiling Yuudachi entered her vision.
"I know I can find you here, poi."
"Yu-Yuudachi-chan?"
"Mmm," said Yuudachi; she was swiping some stray strands of white hair off her forehead. "I'm – kind of – worried about you, poi."
"I'm... I'm alright," Mutsuki said. "I think."
"Did you sleep well?" said Yuudachi. She looked straight at Mutsuki's eyes, and then smiled. "E-he-he, silly question, right, poi? Otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here at this hour."
Mutsuki found herself smiling along. "You can't sleep as well, right, Yuudachi-chan?"
"Nah," said Yuudachi. "I'm just excited, poi. Don't quite know why, poi."
Yuudachi was always like that; easy to rouse and hard to fall asleep, and always fond of exciting things, be they good or bad.
"Aren't you worried at all?"
"And what good would that do, poi?" Yuudachi said. "If we have done something wrong, wouldn't it be right to submit to judgement? If we haven't, then at least we aren't ashamed with ourselves; isn't that the most important thing, poi?"
Mutsuki blinked. "Um... that's one way to look at it," she said. "But-"
That was all she could manage to say, when Yuudachi pulled her into a tight embrace that eked a gasp out of her.
"We'll pull through," she said, and for the first time in forever there was no poi in her voice. "We'll pull through, alright? Just trust me!"
There was but two things that Mutsuki could remember of that moment: Warmth in her chest, and the tweeting of a tiny bird at her side...
Kongou woke up, still dreaming of the aftertaste of yesterday's feasts. She'd had two portion for lunch, and another one for dinner, and frankly speaking she could use another or two right about now.
The first thing she felt was a heavy sensation cross her shoulder. Hiei's arm was wrapped around her, as if afraid Kongou would drift away if she would let go. A smile came to Kongou's face: given all of the bad things she had got into, was there any surprise Hiei would be so clingy? Heck, she couldn't remember when Hiei had slipped under her blanket, but it must be a while after she'd drifted into sleep.
Couldn't be helped, Kongou thought to herself. Couldn't be the buzzing, energetic Kongou everyone knew and loved without food and drink and sleep, could she?
In fact, as she'd found out, emotional distress was best cured with good food, a hot drink, a warm bath and a good, long sleep, all of which they'd gladly let her have. And a long cuddle and smooching with the Admiral, too, which they... didn't. Ah well, four out of five wasn't half bad.
Wherever Kongou was going there was probably none of that waiting for her. Part of Kongou would want to keep lying there and be a lazy fast battleship for once; moored and sleeping a boring day away until someone sounded the sortie – which wasn't coming because no real enemy to fight.
Well, not like there's any use staying in bed.
That posed the next question: Hiei's arm was still pinning her to the bed. Which would have been a very real hindrance if not for how used Kongou had been to the correct answer.
She brushed her finger against Hiei's cheek.
"Uuuung- please be gentle, onee-sama..."
Hiei's cheeks turned bright red in her sleep, and she withdrew her embracing arm to her own chest; and Kongou smiled triumphantly. Like she didn't know what was always going on in her second sister's head, the pure and passionate part, and the equally passionate but not so pure.
I'm always gentle, dess!
Kongou breathed lightly, and left the futon as gently as she could. Outside, dawn was shining brightly through the clouds. She smiled to herself: perhaps the day wasn't going to be so bad after all, disciplinary hearing and whatnot.
I have done what I have in good faith. There is nothing to be afraid of.
True to her thoughts, Kongou stretched, waved hello to the sun. Then she changed into her day-clothes, and prepared to meet whatever awaited her.
If it has to go south, let it go south in the most epic, memorable way I can have it!
Fast Battleship Kongou, sortieing. Everyone, follow up, dess!
Notes:
- The only reason for the part with Gandalf so that this chapter wouldn't be all about yuri hints. I am bad at this.
- A while ago, someone asked about Musashi. Well, here she is. For like a sixth of a chapter.
- FF dot net ruined the formatting for Abyssal-speak as it appears on SB. We'll have to make do with plain old boldtext then.