Chapter 98: A Washington Breeze

Battleship Washington cradled a steaming cup of coffee against her breast and buried her nose in the soft white silk of her scarf. She wouldn't call herself sad, she had a million reasons to be proud of the duty she was carrying out for her nation and namesake state. But she wouldn't exactly call herself happy either. In fact, she'd call herself quite melancholy at the moment.

"What if she doesn't like me?" the battleship picked her face out of her scarf with a sniffle and glanced to her dining companion.

"Of course she likes you!" Kirishima slammed her fist on the table, sending her half-finished teacup a foot into the air before it fell back onto its saucer without spilling so much as a drop. Wash had long since gotten used to such tea-related activities when in proximity to Kirishima. It's simply to be expected from a British-designed warship.

"I'm not so sure," Wash cradled her beverage tighter against the swell of her chest and—despite her generally lethargic mood—smiled at the warmth she felt against her TDS.

"Wash," Kirishima planted her fists on her hips and twirled her tiny skirt petulantly. "You're as stunning on land as you are on sea, and—" the littlest Kongou's voice halted for for a second. Wash assumed she'd just misplaced a signal flag or something in her haste—"anyone one would be thrilled to have you!"

"I'm nothing special," said Wash. There wasn't a shred of self-pity in her voice. Wash was a proud battleship of the American Navy. But she was hardly the fastest ship in the fleet, or the strongest. Both those accolades would go to her younger Iowa-class cousins, and even her duel against Kirishima wasn't nearly so spectacular after Jersey's brawls in the arctic.

"You are to her," insisted Kirishima.

"Then why," Wash sniffled again and let her slender, slightly-misshapen nose sink back into her scarf's fluffy embrace. "Why has she started avoiding me? Ever since that scheme of yours at the gym."

Kirishima blinked those beautiful gray eyes of hers and cocked her head to the side. Slowly, her extended finger rose to touch her porcelain chin while her lips formed a tiny 'o' shape. "what?"

"Ever since…" Wash scowled, "that, she's been avoiding me." The American's scowl flowed back into a serene sniffle. "I used to join her for dinner every few days. Now she leaves whenever I set foot in the mess hall."

"I…" Kirishima sighed, and even her radar hairband drooped in sympathy. "Wash, I'm sorry."

"I thought…" Wash took a little sip of her drink and let the hot, salty brew sit on her tongue for a moment. "I thought I had her interest. I thought she knew I was in love… but…"

Kirishima bit her lip, then slowly scooted over to drape an arm around the American. They might be built by countries on opposite sides of the Pacific at opposite ends of the century, but the two ships were almost exactly the same length and displacement. Wash was a bit wider, and had a much deeper draft though, giving her far more… waterplane area.

Wait, where was she going with this metaphor? Oh, right. The two battleships were almost the same size, and their luck in love was just as matched. "I wish onee-sama was here," sighed Kirishima.

"Hmm?" Wash cocked her head to the side and let her face paint a silent question.

"Kongou," explained Kirishima. "She's the real expert in love. Me…" Kirishima sighed wistfully, "The love of my life's been steadfastly beyond me. It's… like my screws are stuck in concrete."

Wash sniffed, and quietly put a hand on the littlest Kongou's slender wrist. "I'm sure you'll catch him eventually."

Kirishima blushed, and her glasses steamed over with fog. "T-thanks," she mumbled. "But… I don't really know much about night battle. Just… the shocking reveal."

"Oh?" Wash crossed her legs and hunkered down until her breasts squished against the table. She wanted to hear what her friend had to say. Even if it might not apply to her pursuit of the love of Yeoman Gale, she wanted Kirishima to feel like her input and friendship was valued.

"Mmm," Kirishima nodded in that quietly knowing way only Japanese girls seemed able to pull off. "The moment when your target closes within range, and suddenly foom!" She spread her hands wide, "You catch her in your searchlights and—" Kirishima stopped.

Wash blinked inquisitively.

Slowly, Kirishima's gaze drifted down Wash's figure to her searchlight galleries. And then a catlike smile graced her delicate porcelain features. "Kirishima has an idea!"

Wash felt a chill shoot down her keel, although she wasn't completely sure why.

—|—|—

Admiral Goto glanced up from the semi-ordered orgy of paperwork and forms slowly unfolding on the desk he so optimistically claimed to hold some sense of power over and fixed his gaze on the two girls before him.

Albie stood with a semi-professional slouch with her hands stuffed into the folded-over hem of her stolen pants. But her beady eyes were locked on his, and there was a spark of careful attentiveness in her sinewy body. The girl reminded him of a loaded gun, technically innocuous, but ready to explode into action at a moment's notice.

Shinano, on the other hand, looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to stand at attention or cower behind Albie, and ended up just fidgeting in place. It was honestly adorable, especially considering how unimaginably huge of a girl she was.

Goto didn't spend a lot of time around the docks, partly because seeing his own girls naked—let alone battered and bleeding—was more than he liked to bear. And partly because Kongou inevitably found a way to work some part of his anatomy into her soaking wet cleavage. The Admiral had learned never to go near the battleship docks if he wanted to keep his uniform dry.

But that also meant he had barely seen Shinano since her return. He was still coming to grasp with the sheer enormity of the youngest Yamato triplet. And the vastness of her appetite.

"Girls," Goto offered Shinano a warm smile, and her fidgeting damped to just a nervous rocking of her hips from side to side. "What's the situation?"

"Well," Albie puffed her little chest with pride, "I found Shinny here some spare sarashi and a clothes and things."

"She even made me another kimono!" Shinano's voice jumped to a girlish squeak halfway though, and she twirled the hem of her ruddy skirt as best she could. It didn't really look like it twirled at all, the heavy triple-thick canvas was far to heavy to properly spin. But Shinano seemed to be enjoying herself, and that alone made Goto smile.

"But," Albie said the one word he'd learned to fear above all when it came from the mouth of a shipgirl. "She also got a swimsuit."

Shinano hugged her heavily armored chest, "And I love it!"

"But not from me," said Albie. The little submarine handed Goto a tiny folded-up note. "I'm pretty sure that's Archerfish's handwriting."

Goto skimmed the note, then stared flatly over it at Albacore's resigned smirk. "What?"

"Archerfish," said Albie. "Balao-class, SS-three-eleven."

"There's another one of you subtheives running around?" Goto scowled and rubbed at his temples. While a rouge American subgirl wasn't at the top of his list of waking nightmares, it was up there. Those boats had played hell with Japan's economy during the war, and this time they didn't even have to do all the damage themselves.

"At least one, yes," said Albie. "I think I know where to find her, though."

Goto cocked an eyebrow.

"Can I borrow a map?" asked Albie. "Oh, and a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich."

"What's the sandwich for?" asked Shinano with a quiet whisper.

Albie poked herself in the belly. "I want it."

"And the map?" Goto was long past questioning shipgirl antics. If they got the job done—and Albie had a proven track record of completing her assignments with minimal fuss, at least by shipgirl standards—Goto didn't really care about their antics.

"Oh," Albie smiled, "I need to find the nearest aquarium."

—|—|—

A weary smile passed over the janitor's weathered down features as he watched her stare into the plate glass window. Normally, he'd ask her to leave. The aquarium closed almost an hour ago, and he had a job to finish before he could go home. But today, he couldn't quite bring himself to.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen her. For days, he kept snatching glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye. She'd be mingling with the thinning crowds that still flocked to the aquarium for some relief from the endless grind of war. But he'd only see her for a moment, then she'd melt into the sea of weary faces like a wisp of smoke.

But now she wasn't trying to hide. She pressed herself against the viewing window. Cool blue light bathed her scrawny body as indifferent clownfish lazily swam though their tank.

She wasn't Japanese. She had the big blue eyes and hard-cut features of an American. But he didn't care. She might be American, but her body wore the signs of something he was all to familiar with: Neglect.

He'd seen hungry people, but this poor girl looked like she hadn't had a decent meal in her life. Her cheeks were sunken and pale, and her outfit—the parts of it that weren't castoff rags and ratty hand-me-downs—clung to her scrawny figure and showed off her ribcage and bony spine.

The girl had ever right to be miserable. Even her hair was a ratty mess of a ponytail held together by congealed salt. But she wasn't. Her hungry features wore an honest smile as her nose flattened against the glass. "Fishies," she said with a giggle.

"Pretty, aren't they?" the janitor smiled himself, and slowly strolled over.

The girl nodded, but her face stayed firmly pressed against the glass. "I like fish."

"Me too," he sighed and settled his tired body on one of the viewing benches. "It's calming. Just watching them swim."

"Mmm," the girl nodded. And then she giggled when a particularly inquisitive fish swam up and tried to nibble at her nose. "I like looking at fish." She peeled her face off the glass and glanced at him. The neglect in her features was more obvious than ever now, but so was the kind of honest kindness that couldn't help but warm his heart.

"With the war," the janitor shrugged. "I think… people like to come here and just.. watch the fish."

"It's a nice break," said the girl, "After the war."

"Girl," the janitor pulled himself to his feet. "You, uh…"

"Archie," she said.

"Archie," he nodded, testing the foreign sounds in his mouth. "When's the last time you had a good meal?"

Archie bit her lip, and her hands unconsciously shifted to protect her tiny belly. "Th—no, four days ago."

The janitor scowled. There wasn't a lot of food to go around, not with the rationing orhis salary. But… he could share what he had. Especially if it meant putting a decent meal in this poor girl's belly. Just looking at her made his heart ache. "Why don't we—"

"ARCHIE!" another girl burst though the doors with a giant smile on her face. This one looked a little less neglected—if just as thin and underfed—as the other. Actually, other than their haircuts and outfits, the girls looked like they could be twins.

"ALBIE!" Archie sprung into the other girls' arms and squeezed her in a tight hug. "I thought you were gone!"

"I thought you were too!" The other girl—Albie, apparently—squeezed her back in a tighter hug.

"How'd you know to find me here?" asked Archie.

"I looked up your record," said Albie. "You did Sea Scan after the war."

"You're a kanmusu?" said the janitor with a chuckle.

"I… think?" said Archie.

"Yes," said Albie. "We both are. USS Albacore, SS two-eighteen."

"Oh, that's what we are," Archie nodded. "USS Archerfish, SS three-eleven."

"Guess I won't be needing to offer you dinner then," the janitor chuckled at the to girls.

"Well…" Albie smiled a devilish smile. "No, but we could offer you one."

Archie nodded, "It's true. We're better cooks than you'd think."

"Too bad Barb's not here," said Albie, "She makes those awesome cakes."

Archie's knees almost gave out until her twin swooped in to steady her. "Cake…"

The janitor looked at the two scrappy little girls and laughed. "I might have to take you girls up on that.

—|—|—

A stiff, chilly breeze washed off the Puget Sound and crashed against Yeoman Gale's face. It was a cold December evening, but the air was crisp and dry and perfect for a run. At least that's what the sailor kept telling herself. Hopefully… eventually… she'd actually start believing her own propaganda.

Because right now she was pretty miserable.

Her nose was a brilliant red from the cold, her lungs burned with each breath, and her legs were quivering sticks of jelly. But still, she pushed herself to keep running. She'd plotted this course along the waterfront, and she was going to run it every day if it killed her.

Which… it might. But ever since Wash showed up at the gym without a shirt, Gale'd been feeling more frustrated with her own belly jiggles than ever. She was a damn sailor of the United States Navy, she was supposed to be fit, not flabby.

Gale hissed out a grumbling cry and pushed herself a bit faster. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into her room, curl under her blanket, and gobble down eggnog and beer while binging the latest season of Game of Thrones. But that wouldn't give her the body she wanted, the body a woman like Wash would find attractive.

So the sailor pushed her immediate desires to the back of her mind, and set her mind on one thing.

Well, actually two things.

Both of them lived under Wash's shirt.

"Evening, Gale."

Gale almost face-planted on the concrete, but she caught herself at the last minute. Somehow, she hadn't noticed Wash jogging alongside her until the battleship opened that perfectly sculpted mouth of hers. "Gah! Stop doing that!"

Wash just tilted her head and dropped to a slow trot. "Doing what?"

Gale scowled. And then she noticed something. Two something, actually. Two somethings standing in sharp relief against the battleship's simple PT shirt. "Wash…"

"Hmm?"

"You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The battleship stared at the sailor for a solid minute with that unreadable look of confusion she loved so much. "No."

Before Gale could say anything else, Wash fished a flashlight from her pocket and shone it squarely in the sailor's eyes. By the time Gale stopped seeing stars, Wash was nowhere to be found and Gale was discovering new and fascinating levels of confusion.

"The hell is with this base?"

—|—|—

Normally, being called before the Captain's Mast—let alone facing a panel of two Admirals from two countries with six stars between them—was a submariner's worst nightmare. The depths can be outsmarted, escorts can be shaken, and when death comes on the high seas, it can at least be met with defiant rage.

Not so much when being addressed by Admirals. Archerfish was still getting used to her new body, but she was reasonably sure she couldn't hit the bottom and go quiet like she used to. Not when the deck was hardwood flooring. Not that Archerfish had anything against hardwood, mind you. She actually quite liked the look Goto had chosen for his office. Japanese Oak, if she wasn't mistaken. Very pretty.

Just not very soft on her tush. Archerfish had learned the hard way that going deep and quiet didn't work very well on concrete. Maybe it would have gone better if she as one of the big nuke boats. Like Skipjack. That girl was all curves and squishy padding, nothing like the lean, sinewy muscles of a diesel fleet boat.

Wait… where was she going with this?

Oh, right.

Archerfish would normally be uneasy in the presence of so much brass. Partly because her half-sister Albie had stuffed her with so many peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches her belly had actually developed an almost perceptible bulge around her midriff. But mostly because she was finally back in action.

As much as she loved counting fishies, she'd much rather prowl with her sisters in defense of her nation. And count fishies. Archerfish liked fishies.

But she put her thoughts about her beloved fishies on hold for a moment. Her sonar operators had detected a change in the pitch and frequency of her Admirals' speech. She had to start paying attention now. She ducked into her sonar shack and quickly skimmed the last few pages of her log.

Hmm… something something incident, should've called in… hey!

"Um, sir?" Archerfish thrust her chin out and tried not to giggle as her crusty salt-stained ponytail ticked at the nape of her neck.

"Yes, Archerfish?" the craggy-jawed visage of Admiral Williams loomed closer into the flat-screened television box his image dominated.

"I did call in," said the submarine. She wasn't against blatant, unrepentant thievery, shore side debauchery, and the mryid of things submariners got in trouble for. But she wasagainst getting in trouble for something she didn't do.

"What?"

"I…" Archerfish clasped her hands behind her back and gently twisted her hips from side to side. "I sent like… twelve faxes."

Williams' face went flatter than a pool table in Kansas. "A Fax," he said without a shred of emotion.

Archerfish nodded, "Isn't that what we use now?"

"No," Admiral Goto let his head sink behind a coffee mug that Archerfish would consider comically oversized if she hadn't seen Ooyodo drinking out of an even larger one with 'Vlookup, Vlookup, where have you been all my life' mug.

"No", chimed in Williams.

"We really don't," said Goto.

"Oh," Archerfish blushed, and bit her lip. "S-sorry then."

—|—|—

Battleship Washington had a litany of questions she would like to address to her tutor—or, to use the ethnically-correct term, sensai—in the ways of love and romance. She wanted to know how to show her love. She wanted to know—needed to know—if Gale loved her back. If Gale even thought of her as a friend anymore, the battleship had seen the stunningly pretty sailor less and less with every passing day.

But at this exact second, there was one question that rose to the top of her mind above all others. "Kirishima?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you in a tree?"

The Japanese battleship blinked, and adjusted so her abbreviated skirt kept its coverage, even while she was perched high in one of the spruce trees that dotted the base. Her glasses glinted in the amber base lighting, and her lips pursed together with focus. "I don't understand the question."

Wash nodded. That seemed logical enough. She planted her feet in the grass and stared up at the littlest Kongou, her arms crossed under her chest to keep herself supported. As a North Carolina class battleship, Wash was excessively prone to vibrations at speed, especially without all the bracing she'd accumulated during her shakedowns. But Kirishima was the expert, and Wash yielded to her superior knowledge.

"Did you flash her?" Kirishima hooked her legs around a branch and spun so she hung down at eye level. Her skirt stayed down—or up, as the case may be—to maintain her dignity though. Wash figured this was just one of those strange Japanese things and didn't question it.

"Yes," said Wash. Her skills at optical night battle were rusty, but she was reasonably sure she did it right.

"With your searchlights, right?" asked Kirishima. "Not your signal lamps."

Wash nodded again, "Searchlights, I made sure."

"Good," said the Japanese battleship. "You want to stun her with your silent presence. Telling her too much will ruin the relationship."

"Are you sure?" Wash hugged herself and sighed.

"Of course!" said Kirishima. "If she loves you, she won't be able to hear your words. She'll just know."

Wash nodded again. Now that made sense, she'd experienced the same thing herself. Whenever she was around Gale, it was like someone hid all her signal flags and rubbed Vaseline over her optics. The world went fuzzy and soft, and all she could hear was the harmony of her heartbeats and a song of desperate longing humming deep within her breast.

Gale could read her a love poem and Wash wouldn't hear a single word. Just… seeing the way the sailor's chubby cheeks dimpled when she spoke, the way her eyes narrowed to slits when she smiled… Wash didn't need to hear.

"What…" Wash bit her lip, "What if she doesn't?"

Kirishima blinked, and her head slowly tiled to the side. "I… what?"

"What if she doesn't love me?" Wash buried her chin in her chest and sniffled. "She's beautiful and stunning and… she could have any girl she wanted if she just asked." The battleship a space in the grass and sat down in a heap. "If she even wants girls."

"Oh, she wants girls," said Kirishima.

"How are you sure?" Wash pleaded. "How do you know she's gay?"

Kirishima just smiled. "Sailor."

Wash thought for a second. Then a rush of relief crashed over her, and a laughing smile passed over her face as the weight of desperation suddenly lifted from her keel. "Oh right."

"Look," Kirishima pouted, and her radar headband almost fell off her shimmering oil-black hair. "As much as it goes against everything I know and believe in… you could just ask her how she feels."

Wash blinked. "You think I could?"

Kirishima nodded. "Oh, but Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"Go change first."

—|—|—

Archerfish padded quietly though the Yokosuka base carrier dorms. It was oddly quiet this time of day, all the girls who normally called these halls home were either at sea clamping down the latest round of Abyssal aggression, or in the docks recuperating from same. It all felt very strange to Archerfish, even more so now that she didn't have her constant gnawing hunger to distract her from the bizarreness of her situation.

Heh. In fact, for the first time it occurred to her that submarines don't normally get tummy cramps. Strange how hunger can override even the basic levels of logic.

But belly pangs aside, there was one girl here Archerfish had been meaning to meet. A girl she'd met before, every so briefly, during the last war.

The submarine came to a quiet halt in front of a door labeled "Shinano & White" in loopy, sloppy handwriting that looked like it came from a sixth grader's pen. There were even a pair of little stick figures representing the to carriers, each helpfully labeled as "Me" and "White".

Of course, Archerfish didn't need the label to tell her who lived in this room. The worn-in divots where immensely heavy feet clad in steel-armored boots had gouged into the wood were enough. The gentle hum of idling machinery singing in her hydrophones didn't hurt either.

"Hello?" Archerfish tapped her knuckles against the door.

A surprised eep sounded from inside the room, followed by a loud crash and the sound of flesh and metal hitting the floor. "H-hello?" said a quiet, timid voice just barely above a whisper.

"Um," Archerfish rocked on her heels, "Shinano?"

"Mmhm," said the voice, this time somehow quieter.

"Can I come in?"

There was a long pause, then a groan of creaking wood and stressed leather. Then the door swung open to reveal the biggest carrier Archerfish had ever seen. Well, not the biggest she'd ever seen. But the biggest she'd seen from this close. The girl barely even fit in the doorway, and her legs were easily as thick as Archerfish's body.

"Hi," Archerfish tried not to gulp in fear. She'd stalked Shinano long enough to know the giantess was gentler than a kitten in bubble wrap, but she was still a gigantic warship standing far to close for comfort. "Uh… I'm Archerfiiiii—"

Before the submarine knew what happened, Shinano had ducked down and thrown her arms—or arm, one of them ended in a stump halfway down her forearm—around Archerfish and lifted her into a tight hug. The carrier's steel breastplate dug into the submarines' braced, but otherwise unarmed—chest as her massive arms coiled like anchor chains.

"Thank you!" said Shinano. Her massive boots thundered against the floor as she spun Archerfish around. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I loved it!"

Archerfish coughed. As a submarine, she could hold her breath far longer than any human. But only if she had any breath to begin with. Shinano's grip wasn't enough to simulate test depth, but it was close.

The giant carrier blushed redder than her battle flag and set the submarine back down. "S-sorry."

Archerfish was too winded to respond, so she just flopped onto the floor and gulped down air.

Shinano blushed and sat on her heels. It took her a few tries to get the posture right, and she still managed to tower over the American.

"'s-" Archerfish coughed again and struggled to get her wind fully back under her control. "'s the least I can do."

Shinano just tilted her head to the side.

"For… after I sunk you." Archerfish's voice was careful and halting as she felt out the carrier's reaction.

For a moment, Shinano just stared wordlessly. Then a tiny smile passed over her delicate, youthful features. "Thank you for that too."

Archerfish blinked. "Wat?" she said flatly. She didn't even bother to add the 'h'. It took all her mental concentration just to recall the morse for those three letters.

"I…" A shadow passed over the giant carrier's face. And for just an instant, she looked decades older than she was. "I was carrying… special units."

Archerfish knew what that meant. But even if she hadn't read up on history, the look of depressed horror on Shinano's face told her everything she needed to know.

"I don't ever want to carry those again," said Shinano. "You saved me from having to use them in… in a pointless attack." She leaned forwards and wrapped Archerfish in another hug. This time, though, she was far more gentle and timid. "T-thank you."

"It, uh," now it was Archerfish's turn to blush. She didn't know what to say to that, so she settled for just nuzzling against Shinano's neck and hugging the giant carrier back.

That was her favorite part about having a body.

Hugs.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale stumbled up the stairs as quickly as she could. Which wasn't very fast. Her legs always burned after a good lap around the base, and spotting Wash running around only made things harder.

She couldn't focus on anything with the battleship's bouncing, because Wash had, for some unfathomable reason, decided she didn't need a bra to go jogging. And then found it necessary to point an insanely bright flashlight right in her eyes.

Somehow, this was Kirishima's fault. Gale would murder that Kongou if it was the last thing she did.

At least Wash wasn't quite as insanely fast as Jersey was, but she had the same impossible endurance. Gale just about killed herself trying to keep up before her body finally let her know that she wasn't a battleship, and could not keep a flat-out sprint up for over a mile.

Gale grumbled under her breath, mostly because her throat was too raw and her face too sweaty to manage anything more coherent. All she wanted right now was to take a nice, long, cooooold shower. Or maybe a bath, she didn't quite trust herself to stand long enough in the shower.

On the fourth try, she fumbled her door open and staggered into her room. On the third step, she stumbled forwards and fell onto her ragged old couch. Only her face didn't land in the familiar and faintly smelly fabric. It landed in something far softer.

Something warm and gentle and round that smelled vaguely of warm milk spiced with nutmeg and honey. Something that seemed to purr with a quiet hum of machinery. Something with a polished brass button lodged right up her nose.'

"Uh," Gale's eyes went wide and her exhausted body suddenly flooded with adrenaline. "W-what?"

Battleship Washington stared down at the yeoman with those inscrutably beautiful hazel eyes of hers. The dim apartment light only picked out the specks of gold in her honey-sweet gaze, and framed the stunning lines of her face like a work of fine art.

"Gale," Wash's voice was as calm and even as ever as she stared down that slightly crooked nose of hers. "We need to talk."

Gale stared up at the battleship in mute… not quite horror, but something similar. She counted Wash as a friend, and she liked to think the feeling was mutual, but it was impossible to tell with her. But that didn't change the fact that Wash was a commissioned officer. She outranked Gale in every way imaginable, and Gale had just shoved her face into her boobs.

"Um…" the sailor swallowed with a suddenly bone-dry mouth. "Uh…"

Wash smiled that tiny half-smile of hers, and her off-gray thigh-highs ruslted as she crossed those thick legs of hers. She might not have Jersey's horsepower, but the North-Carolina's legs were still jaw-dropping to behold. And that little miniskirt of hers only accented her beautiful battleship stern. "There's something I need to tell you," Wash pursed her lips, and tugged at the crisp white silk of her scarf.

Gale stared at the battleship and tried not to drool. The taut wool of her dress blues strained over those delicious breasts. She wanted to say something, she really did. But the way Wash moved as entrancing, and every time Gale opened her mouth to speak, a little rivulet of drool came dripping out.

"I'm…" Wash blushed. She actually blushed like a timid schoolgirl. "I'm not accustomed to saying this, but… I'm in... in awe of you."

Gale blinked. "I… you…"

Wash barely reacted to the sailor's confused blush. She was too busy running though her mentally prepared script to do anything else. "I'm not human," she said, lazily fingering the hem of her tiny skirt. "Far from it. But… I know, to some level, what it's like being one."

The battleship blushed even deeper, and brushed a strand of that shimmering brown hair over her ear. "I know, or… at least I've heard, how miserable it is to exercise. Yet every morning I see you running you heart out. In the rain-" Wash ticked off on her slender fingers, "In the cold, in the snow… you never quit."

"Uh…" Gale stammered. Of all the things she thought Wash would say, complimenting her for her work ethic? When the only reason she pushed herself so hard in the first place was to try and loose enough flab to win the attention of the battleship she was so desperately in love with?

"You deserve my admiration," said Wash, "And my respect."

Gale blinked. Had… had Wash just friend-zoned herself? The sailor was to confused to answer, even if her exhausted body had been able to gather the wind to do so.

"You must be tired," Wash nodded sagley, and brushed a strand of sweat-slick hair off the sailor's face. "I've drawn you a cool bath." The battleship hooked her arms under the sailor and lifted her like she was made of air.

"Uh…" Gale yelped in surprise and squirmed closer to the battleship. Her warm embrace was comforting and strong, and as she rested her head on the battleship's generous bosom, she couldn't help but notice the faint smell of warm, spiced milk. "O.. okay."

Wash just smiled, and carried the sailor to the bathroom. True to her word, the tub was full with pleasantly-perfumed water. There were even a few faeries motoring around on a miniature whaleboat placing rose petals in strategic locations. "I made you something," Wash blushed, and handed Gale a tall frosty glass.

The sailor slipped the straw into her mouth and took a sip. A milkshake! But no ordinary milkshake. The flavors of strawberry, vanilla and… yes, a hint of nutmeg wafted over her taste buds but never assaulted them. They were as gentle and precise as the battleship who crafted them. "Mmm!"

"Now," Wash clasped her hands behind her back and looked… almost nervous. "I… I've made you dinner. I'm not Lou, but—"

Gale shook her head. "No!"

Wash smiled, but it was a quiet, restrained smile tinged with sadness. "Of course. I'll leave you be."

"Wash!" Gale set the milkshake down and screamed for the battleship with everything her parched, exhausted throat could manage. Which wasn't much, honestly.

Wash pivoted on her heel and locked eyes with the sailor.

"You're…" Gale gulped, "You're a great cook."

The battleship beamed. "Then I'll set out two places."

Gale nodded, and fumbled for the delicious milkshake. She… really wasn't looking forwards to watching Wash eat. Not after she'd just killed herself trying to burn off calories. But… it was Wash's cooking. That made up the difference. So she decided she'd think about it later and concentrate on her milkshake for now.

Mmm… Nutmeg and honey.