Chapter 9: They Didn't Give Me Plushies...
A timid knock at the door, so soft it was almost inaudible, shook Admiral Williams from the mindless paperwork haze he'd slipped into. "Enter," he said, closing the latest folder outlining just how badly he was falling short on… everything.
For a second, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open, and the three destroyers—with Jersey herding them in from the rear—shuffled into his office.
"S-sir," said the redhead, Hoel. "Reporting as ordered, sir." The other two destroyers stood at attention, but their heads were hung, not meeting Williams' gaze as they stared at… anything in the room but him.
Williams sat back in his chair, glancing over to Jersey, who only offered a blank stare in response.
"Jersey told us what happened," said Hoel, finally looking up at Williams. "That we'll be serving with the ni- with Japanese ships."
"And-" Heermann was the next to speak, her timid voice finally fitting in with her sisters, "And we heard you had to rush them off the base when we showed up."
"We're really sorry," said Johnston, pulling her feathery headdress off and holding it loosely over her belly. "We- we didn't mean to make things hard for you."
Jersey nodded, her face starting to regain its usual smirk. "I don't think it should be a problem anymore, sir."
Williams took a deep breath, looking over the four ship girls as he slipped deep into thought. Destroyers were tricky little bastards at sea, but he'd never heard of one lying to their Admiral. Exaggerate, maybe, but never flat-out lie.
Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forwards to rest his arms against his desk. "Taffy 3?"
"Sir?" all three destroyers chimed in unison.
"Welcome back to the US Navy."
Heermann smiled sweetly, while Hoel and Johnston had to visible fight to keep from squealing.
"Normally… there's a whole sequence of procedures for formally recommissioning you, but…" Williams nodded to the row of clocks on his wall, at least one of which showed the local time-zone. "It's late."
"'s naaaaawwwwt," yawned Johnston.
Jersey kicked the destroyer in the meat of her calf with a roll of her icy blue eyes. "White'll show you the way to your bunks," said the battleship, leaning over to muss with Johnston's silky black hair.
Williams let her finish before speaking again. "Taffy 3, Dismissed."
The three destroyers scrambled to throw up salutes before awkwardly shuffling out of the office.
"Jersey?"
"Sir?"
"Good job."
Jersey beamed, her smile utterly incandescent, "Thank you, sir!"
"Now get some rack time. You've earned it.
—|—|—
Jersey collapsed on her bed feeling nothing but content. She had a belly full—or at least less empty— of warm cherry pie and hamburgers, the pajamas Yeoman Gale had left on her dresser for her were unbelievably soft, and she'd gotten praise! From her Admiral!
More than that, her hunch payed off! Her friends were back! And they loved her! Jersey was still smiling as she worked her way under her covers, burrowing deep beneath the comforting embrace of blankets and comforters.
It felt like… like pulling into drydock, but without the pain that usually proceeded drydocking. The feeling that everything is going to be okay, that she can just let go and let herself be pampered.
She could feel her fairies shuffling around inside her, checking her systems, cleaning her decks, lulling her to sleep with their minuscule footsteps.
Mmm… sleep…
"J-Jersey?" a gentle knock at the door shook Jersey awake. The battleship scowled. Her ship's chronometer said she'd had all of fifteen minutes of sleep. And unfortunately the alarm clock on her bedside table agreed.
"Yeah yeah," mumbled Jersey, brushing a stray hair from her face. "'s open."
The door creaked open to reveal two Fletcher class destroyers, both wearing fluffy blue slippers and pajamas with the sleeves ripped off. "Um, Jersey?" said Johnston, all but unrecognizable without her headdress.
"Can't sleep?" said Jersey, yawning as she shuffled over to the little kitchenette attached to her room. "C'mon."
Johnston nodded, shuffling in with Hoel hot on her heels.
"Where's Heermann?"
"Sleeping," said Hoel, her hands shoved into the pockets of her baggy pajama pants. "She's with White, they went to sleep like that."
"But…" Johnston shrugged.
"Bad dreams?" half-asked Jersey, pouring two cups of milk and sliding them into her microwave.
"Y-yeah," admitted Johnston.
"You wanna sleep with me?" said Jersey, rocking on her hips as she waited for the milk to warm.
Johnston all but leaped out of her slippers, a smile on her face as she ran over to grab Jersey's waist in a hug. "R-really?"
"Hell yeah," said Jersey, barely even flinching as the 2,500 ton destroyer collided with her 58,000 ton body. "Hoel, goes for you too."
Hoel smiled, darting over to join Johnston in hugging Jersey's midsection.
"But first," said Jersey. The girls hanging of her waist barely even slowed her down.
"Hrm?" muttered Johnston, her face firmly pressed into the muscles of Jersey's flank.
The battleship rolled her eyes, fishing the lone honey bear left in her cabinet and pouring a generous dollop into each glass of warm milk. "Drink."
Hoel's nose crinkled up, "Warm milk?"
"But we're badasses!" said Johnston, pulling her face away from Jersey just long enough to speak before pressing back against the battleship's warm body.
"And?" said Jersey, shaking her hips to dislodge her adorable little limpets, "Milk builds strong bones. Or… something."
"Okay," sighed Hoel, taking the glass in both hands and cradling it against her chest.
"Now drink up, both of you," said Jersey, walking over to her bed. "Then get over here."
"But-"
"No buts, they didn't give me a single plushie," said Jersey, scowling as she rolled onto her back.
Johnston beamed, chugging down her milk in one long gulp. For a second, it looked like she was going to dash the glass against the floor, but at the last instant her reason took over and she gently placed it on the counter.
"Thanks, Jersey," she said as she jumped onto the bed, landing with a loud belly flop next to the battleship. "You're the best," she said, snuggling up tight and resting her head against Jersey's breast.
"Mmm, thanks," said Hoel, putting her glass down much more carefully. She didn't say a word as she padded over, deftly finding a spot to curl up next to her sister and Jersey. "mmm, 'night," she yawned.
Jersey smiled, cradling the destroyers—her destroyers—tight as she drifted off to sleep.
Fubuki was exhausted, which both worried and surprised her. She could steam for ten days on patrol without a second thought, even if she did get kinda bored after a while. Even when Yuudachi kept her up late into the night watching American cartoons, she still managed her early-morning runs without much trouble—even if they were more to focus her mind than train her body. Even the frantic gun battle in the straight left her more shaken then actually tired.
But a single, unplanned overnight shopping trip with Naka and she was wiped out. The Special-type destroyer stared at her oatmeal, watching the scoop of brown sugar slowly dissolve into the cream.
With a tired sigh, she scraped together the energy to scoop out a spoonful, plopping it into her mouth with a lazy flick of her wrist. As she chewed, she glanced over at her friend, the so-called nightmare of the Solomons.
Who was currently passed out. On the mess hall table. Snoring softly into a Naka-Chan plushie Gale'd bought her as a pillow.
Fubuki sighed, taking another bite of her oatmeal and chewing happily, her eyes glazed over as she focused what little energy she had on simply enjoying her meal.
"Um… hey."
Fubuki almost dropped her spoon. In fact, she did leap out of her seat and land with a loud thump on the mess hall tile, her bowl clattering to the ground behind her.
An American kanmusu stood over her, her tanned cheeks puffing out as the girl tried her very hardest to hold in a laugh. The feathers on her head quivered as her shoulders quaked with barely-restrained mirth.
Fubuki gulped, sizing up the American. She knew new kanmusu had showed up, Naka said that was the reason for their expedition to the shopping malls. "H-hai," she stuttered.
The American kicked her feet against the table, biting her lip as she stared at her feet. "Uh, damn. Okay…" she paused, the feathers on her head quivering in thought, "You, uh… you want a hand?"
Fubuki thought for a second, then nodded.
The American offered her right hand, showing off the anchor tattoo on her arm.
Fubuki shakily extended her own, taking the American's with a moment's hesitation. Didn't Naka say these Americans might be… angry? "A-Arigato," she stammered, "It means-"
"Thank you, I know," said the American, quickly shoving her hands back into her pants pockets.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence between the two of them, even Yuudachi's quiet snores of "ppoi~" were gone.
"So yeah," said the American, sucking in her cheeks and clicking her tounge. "That, uh, that happened."
"What my sister is trying to say," said another voice. Another of the sleeveless Americans had sneaked up behind her. It was all Fubuki could do to keep from jumping.
"Oh, shit, sorry," the second girl said, her head whipping around to check for… something.
"Look," said the girl with the feathers, "we're the new girls here."
"And we want you to know we're not gonna hurt you," said the second.
"Because if we did," said the first, "Jersey said she'd shove a sixteen incher so far up my ass I'd taste silk for a week."
The second girl looked over, rubbing her chin with her hand. "I'm still not sure how that works."
"It's because," said yet a third American, "The Mark 7 gun uses separately loaded ammunition. She loads powder in six silk bags."
"Ooooooh," said the first two in harmony, each smiling as she rubbed their chins. Meanwhile, the third just hung her head in shame.
Fubuki just stared at the three girls, her head ping-sponging from one to the next with reckless speed. And she thought DesDiv6 were high-energy.
"So yeah!" said the first, skidding around on her heel to face Fubuki. "USS Johnston, DD-557!"
"USS Hoel, DD-533," said the second, jamming her hand in the general direction of Fubuki's face.
"USS Heermann, DD-532," said the third, a weary smile on her face as she rolled her eyes at her two sisters.
Fubuki was stunned, her eyes slowly slewing down to stare openly at the three girls pronounced… topside displacement. "D-destroyers?" she stammered. She thought for sure they were heavy cruisers, if not battle cruisers!
Fubuki stumbled backwards onto her stool, her mouth hanging open in sheer shock. Shock! not envy, shock!
"Oh shit," said Johnston, "I… I think I broke her."
"Nice going, dummy," said Hoel, rolling her eyes as she gave Johnston a hard smack on the back of her head.
Heermann just let out a long, resigned sigh.
—|—|—
"What the hell is this?" scowled Jersey, holding the clear plastic cup at arms length like it was about to leap out of her hands and maul her to death.
"It's… Coffee, Jersey," said Crowning, rubbing his temples as he held his own beverage like it was a beverage not a tiny creature with many sharp ends intent on mauling his face.
"It's… brown," said Jersey, her brows knitting as she tried to determine what foul intentions the so-called coffee had in store for her or her destroyers.
"It's coffee, Jersey."
"I've had coffee," said the battleship, "Or… uh… my crew.. you know." She scowled. "It was not this color."
Crowning shook his head, rubbing at his temples with his free hand, "You mean Navy Coffee?"
Jersey nodded.
"That… that's not coffee… that's a UN Human Rights violation in a cup."
Jersey made a face that almost literally screamed, "yeah… and?"
"It's a salted Caramel Mocha," said Crowning, taking a sip of his own drink. "Just drink the thing."
Jersey gave the cup a wary look, carefully bringing it close enough to sniff. When nothing threatening turned up—beyond a little dollop of whipped cream hanging off the end of her nose— she risked a tiny sip. "Oh fuck yes," she breathed, her cheeks going red as she greedily sucked down the rest."
"Told you," said Crowning, taking another sip of his own to hide his triumphant smirk.
"I'm never doubting you again."