E/N: As before, the omake at the end has not yet been ruled on by the author. It is currently being attached at the editor's discretion. Treat it as non-canon until further notice.

Chapter 113: Food is Consumed

Arizona was well aware that her appetite was larger than normal for a woman of her diminutive stature, an artifact of her nature as the incarnation of a thirty-thousand ton floating castle of steel. She had long since made peace with her need to consume what would be for any other woman a gluttonous feast merely to feel satisfied.

Likewise, she'd grown used to the still-larger appetites of her comrades on the battle-line. Hiei, she knew, had a far more active metabolism and needed enormous meals to feed her turbines and maintain her blistering speed. Mutsu, on the other hand, was simply bigger than Arizona in every way—save the length of her skirt, of course. Her meals had to be larger to supply the Big Seven battleship with the shells, powder, and supplies she needed to prosecute this war.

But, now that Arizona was sharing a table with the Amazonian giantess that was New Jersey, she realized she'd never really known what true gluttony looked like. The squat standard kneaded the squish of her stomach and stared at the vast array of plates Jersey gorged herself on.

Arizona felt sick just watching Jersey shovel mountains of fried rice down her seemingly bottomless gullet. The standard felt sick just looking at her compatriot's meal, certain that her bunkers would explode before she was even half done were she to attempt to match Jersey's gluttony.

It did not help that the fast battleship ate with seeming willful disregard for anything that could even loosely be described as "table manners."

"'Zona?" Jersey managed to slip a word past cheeks bulging with rice without loosing too much of her latest mouthful. "Sup?"

Arizona blanched, and clutched at her belly. "N-nothing." The scarred standard looked for anything else to rest her gaze upon, but no sooner had Jersey exited her vision than Shinano entered it. The enormous carrier sat hunkered down behind her mustachioed destroyer escort, timidly emptying bowl after bowl of rice and curry. Judging by the vast stacks of empty bowls, her appetite was as limitless as Jersey's.

"Yuh whan sum?" Jersey cocked her head and offered her bowl to Arizona.

Arizona shook her head, but kept her lips tightly pressed together. She'd never been seasick before, but she was starting to feel another kind of sick. How could anyone eat so much! And maintain such a… not slender, but perhaps sleek figure!

"Yuh shuh?" Jersey waved the bowl under Arizona's increasingly green face.

"Yes," Arizona risked a word, and politely pushed the bowl away with a hand. For just an instant, she was again struck by how massive the fast-battleship was. Her half-gloved hand dwarfed Arizona's far daintier appendage. Arizona hated to admit it… but Jersey truly was the way of the future.

Or of a future. The future of the past, if you will. The true way of the future was the timid flattop sitting across the mess hall. "She's…" Arizona swallowed, forcing herself to think of anything but her thoroughly stuffed stomach. "She's not what I expected."

Jersey swallowed, her throat pulsating as a wad of rice the size of Arizona's fist vanished behind her scarf. "Who, yamaflat?"

Arizona nodded. "Mmm."

"Well," Jersey scooped up another spoonful of rice, but this time carefully left just enough room to talk around. "What'da expect?"

Arizona pulled her skirt smooth. "I'm… not sure." She glanced back at Jersey. Even hunched over her dinner like a schoolboy, the fast battleship loomed over her. "More prideful I would say. She was a battleship after all."

"You've met Kaga then?"

Arizona nodded.

"Hell," Jersey winced. "That's gotta be fucking awkward."

Arizona blushed. She was well aware of a typical sailor's vocabulary, but that didn't make Jersey's glib predilection to pepper her speech with the foulest of words any less annoying. The standard had to remind herself she was a generation older. She came from an age where Battleships were symbols of grace and poise, and prayed to avert war with their very existence.

Jersey was born into war, born on the very anniversary of her death. The fast battleship had known nothing but war, and the fires of battle had forged her in a way Arizona could never understand. "I… yes. I suspect it was worse for her?"

"Eh?" Jersey cocked an eyebrow. "She fucking killed you, 'zona.

Arizona pursed her lips and nodded. "And her nation suffered dearly for it," said the standard. "While mine exacted justice a hundred fold."

Jersey blinked. "That's fucking badass as shit. Hold on, I gotta write that down."

The standard stifled back a chuckle. Jersey was everything she grew up to think a battleship should not be. Brash, loud, uncouth… but there was something in her enthusiasm and sometimes foolish courage that Arizona couldn't help but be impressed by. She'd never want to have the Iowa over for dinner… but she'd steam into battle with her in a heartbeat. "Kaga's a warrior," said Arizona. A shiver passed down her keel as she thought back to the carrier's post-war offer to open her stomach at her memorial, should Arizona wish it. "Proud… but honorable."

"Yeah, a warrior," Jersey nodded at Shinano. "Shinny ain't. She doesn't come from a powerful…ish country looking to take on the world." The fast battleship gulped down another spoonful of rice. "Shinny there… she's just a kid."

Arizona nodded. The gigantic carrier's youth was almost as shocking as her sheer massiveness.

"When she hit the water," said Jersey, "the Japs had already lost and they fucking knew it. They just wanted to make it as miserable as fucking possible for us." The fast battleship paused her feast to take a long gulp of chilled milk. "You know she wasn't even finished when she first sortied?"

Arizona shook her head quietly.

"And she didn't have a real air wing? Just fucking cruise missiles?"

The standard blinked. "Cruise missiles? You—" she stopped when she realized what Jersey meant. Her face drained of color and she hung her head. "That poor girl."

"Mmm," said Jersey. "She's a good girl, though. We'll make a badass outta her one day."

The standard smiled. "You have a way with words, commander."

"Ain't that fucking true!"

—|—|—

Cameron smiled as he walked hand-in-hand with Alaska though the quiet shopping center. He'd had a hamburger with bacon and fried onions, and a cool strawberry milkshake, and as delicious as it was, he was feeling stuffed.

Alaska, however, had had two salads, five hamburgers, three large orders of curly fries, two orders of onion rings, seven milkshakes, at least nine gallons of root beer, and about eighty percent of the ice cream sundae they had nominally shared. And her figure was still as sleek and slender as ever. He should know, that dress did a marvelous job of showing off every curve.

He was feeling happier than ever that the Admiral had offered to pay him back for anything Alaska ate. Her appetite wouldn't have been nearly as adorable if every bite came out of his pocket.

But since it wasn't he could just sit back and revel in the way her face beamed with undiluted joy every time a new plate was put in front of her. Alaska had a way of making even the tiniest of things seem like the greatest event in her life, it was impossible to be unhappy when she was around.

"Thank you," Alaska smiled, and scooted closer so her hip just touched his. She was just a hair taller than him, but she still found a way to rest her head against his. "That was really good."

"Heh," Cameron chuckled and put his arm around her slender waist. Even after her feast, he couldn't feel anything other than corded muscle with just the slightest hint of feminine softness. "Thank your Admiral."

"My Admiral," Alaska sighed, her snowy hair tickling at Cameron's ear, "Didn't take me out today. You did."

"Fair enough." Cameron gave her flat stomach a little pat. Lord above, she was cute. And then he noticed a white windowless van parked across the lot. Its windows were tinted and opaque in the low evening light, and it looked like the kind of windowless, unmarked van preferred for cliche villains attempting to carry out nefarious deeds while remaining inconspicuous.

Only it wasn't unmarked. The side had a lovingly stenciled logo that read "Not a surveillance van." With a subtitle that read, "Totally legitimate. Look somewhere else."

Cameron chuckled. "Friends of yours?"

Alaska blushed, and hung her pretty head. "Yeah."

—|—|—

"They're looking right at us," Hamakaze scowled and swished a lock of silvery hair over her eye.

"Yep!" Atago giggled and tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth.

"Why did we let Isokaze decorate the van?"

"You try saying no to that face!"

Hamakaze sighed, and flipped back to her copy of PEOPLE.

—|—|—

Cameron laughed, and gave Alaska the warmest side-hug he dared. As much as he'd like to squeeze her in a hug… well… he'd be lying if he wasn't nervous. She was the cutest girl he'd ever seen, and she could snap him in half with a finger if she wanted too. "Hey."

"Hmm?" Alaska glanced over, her face that sweet mask of confused contentment she always wore.

"Wanna freak your friends out?" asked Cameron with a smirk.

Alaska flashed a smile as brilliantly white as fresh-fallen mountain snow.

—|—|—

"Hama-chan!" Atago swatted at the disinterested destroyer. "Hama-chan! Hama-chan!"

"What," Hamakaze flipped the page in her magazine with catlike disinterest.

"They're kissing!"

"WHAT!" Hamakaze threw the magazine away and bolted to her feet. "D-does she like it?"

Atago waved at the cruiser and her date. Alaska's features were flush with pink, but her eyes were closed and her arms were wrapped around Cameron as her lips locked with his. His arms held her gently by her waist, his hands never even twitching south towards her shapely stern. "Look!"

"I think she does!" Hamakaze smiled. Alaska'd gone out of her way to make her feel comfortable in this unfamiliar country, she was like her big sister.

"Eeeee!" Atago squealed with glee. "It's so Romantic!"

—|—|—

Cameron's cheeks were bright red by the time he pulled his face away from Alaska's serene features. "T-think they bought it?"

"Hmm?" Alaska's eyes were groggy with glee as her face nuzzled against his. Her nose was warm like fresh-baked bread, and her breath was hot and wet against his neck.

"Think…" Cameron held her a little tighter. He could feel the waist of her tights though the fabric of her skirt. Ever twitch in her back sang to his fingers, and her stomach kissed his as she leaned into him. "Think they bought it?"

"Dunno," giggled Alaska. "Kiss me again."

Cameron blushed a deeper red, and a giddy rush tore through his system. "I-if the lady desires." And then his lips met hers again.

—|—|—

"Well…" Hamakaze glanced at where Atago lay passed out on the van floor. "That happened."

—|—|—

Alaska wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let her head rest against Cameron's. A dopey smile was plastered on her face, and her eyes hung half-closed with happiness. "I like that."

"Mmm," said Cameron for lack of anything better to say. Her kisses were like everything else about her. Inelegant, unpracticed, but full of enthusiasm and enjoyment. They also tasted faintly of vanilla, which was a pleasant surprise. "So," he let his arm rest around her, his hand lightly playing with the crook of her hip. "I could take you home or… What do you want to do?"

"Heh," Alaska giggled. "I kinda wanna be kissed again."

Cameron blushed, and hastily looked away. "I, uh… maybe we should slow down for tonight?"

"Mmm," Alaska nuzzled his ear with her slender nose. "okay."

The two walked in silence for a moment. Even with Alaska's long, sinewy legs, the pair barely moved faster than a crawl. And neither one seemed to mind.

Then Cameron noticed the inviting glow of a bookstore across the lot. It wasn't a big place, but judging from the bustle he saw though the windows, it wasn't empty either. A bookstore might not be the most conventional date location, but Alaska wasn't the most conventional girl.

In fact, if the reading he'd done on Wikipdia was anything to go by, Alaska wasn't even a very conventional ship. So, he decided, it was worth a shot. "'Laska?"

"Mmm?" she nuzzled his ear interrogatively.

"There's a book store over there," he cradled her waist a little closer. "Want to check it out?"

"Mmhm," Alaska nodded, and allowed herself to be lead off to the double-door entryway.

But the moment she set foot—or… propeller? It was hard to tell with shipgirls—inside the store itself, she froze. A life-size cardboard stand-up of a handsome man in a bomber jacket with a "USS SARATOGA (CV-3)" hat perched on his head. A Banner read, "Meet Daniel Stewart (Author of the best-selling Changing Destiny series. noon-9.)"

The sound of Alaska's heavy breathing assaulted Cameron's ears, and he had to chuckle. "You know him?"

Alaska nodded. "I love his books!" She said. Her boilers built up steam as she broke out at flank speed. "I Have to go—" she froze, and slowly stepped back to form up with Cameron. "N-no."

"Hmm?" he shot her a confused look.

"T-this is our date," Alaska slipped her arm around him. "Our, not mine. I should stay with you."

"'Laska," Cameron shook his head. "I brought you here because I thought you'd like it. Go ahead!"

"Really?" Alaska pivoted on her heel to beam at him.

"Of course!" Cameron mussed her snowy white hair. "Silly."

Alaska gave him a quick peck on the lips and bolted for the end of the line as fast as her willowy legs would carry her. Cameron chuckled and trotted along behind her. He wasn't quite as enthusiastic a fan, but Changing Destiny had gotten him more interested in naval history than anything short of dating an astonishingly pretty warship had.

The large cruiser seemed to handle waiting in line rather well. In that her raspy hyperventilation wasn't quite loud enough to knock Cameron's teeth out of their sockets. But she shuffled along in line without getting in anyone's way, and the way she protectively cradled her copy of the latest edition in the series to her chest was honestly adorable.

Things when downhill, however, when she finally pulled up next to the author of her favorite series. Her hyperventilation stopped and her face rapidly started turning blue.

Cameron put his head in his hand and sighed. "Breath, 'laska. Breath."

"eeeheeeheeeheeeheeeh," came a sound like a dying cat attempting to play a rusty harmonica.

Cameron blushed, and shot a nervous smile to the best-seller author sitting behind his table. "S-sorry, she's kinda star struck."

"No problem," came Stewart's kindly voice. "She can have all the time she wants."

As if on cue, Alaska started speaking. For… certain values of 'speaking.' "HiI'myourbiggestfan!IloveChangingDestiny!IreaditallthetimewhenI'minthebathorwaitingbetweenmissionsandTexasreaditandshesaidyougotSaraspotonandI'msuchabigfanandwouldyoupleasepleasepleasesign my copy?" The large cruiser finally stopped and gulped down a screeching breath of air.

Stewart blinked. "Did you catch any of that?"

Cameron shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I… think it was some form of English though."

Alaska pouted.

"Would you like to try again, miss Alaska?" asked Stewart with a patient grin.

Alaska opened her mouth to speak, then paused. "Wait… how do you know I'm Alaska?"

Cameron's other hand met his face.

"Well," there wasn't a shred of exasperation in Stewart's voice. Just gentle interest. The man would have made an excellent teacher. "There's not many girls your age with hair that white."

Alaska blinked. "I'm seventy-two."

"Then I guess there's a lot of girls your age with hair that white," chuckled Stewart.

"Heh," said Alaska with that timid laugh she reserved for when someone told her a joke that she didn't get, but she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by admitting it. "Um… yeah. I'm a huge fan!"

"Really?" Stewart beamed, and happily took her book in hand. "That means a lot coming from you."

Alaska squealed with glee. "Yeah! Uh… I… I always read them when I'm in the bath, or waiting between missions or something."

"Well, I'm glad you like them!"

Alaska nodded. "Texas, um… she met Saratoga you know."

Stewart nodded.

"R-right," Alaska blushed. "Um. She said you got Sister Sara spot-on."

"Did she?" Stewart was suddenly utterly focused on the nervous large cruiser. "That… that is a great honor."

Alaska giggled nervously and made herself a little smaller. "Y-your welcome."

"Alaska?" Stewart stopped, and glanced at Cameron. "I'm sorry… I'm monopolizing your date, aren't I?"

Cameron shook his head. "She's enjoying it, sir. That's enough for me."

Stewart smiled. "You've got a good man there, Alaska."

The cruiser smiled, and nodded. "Mmm!"

"Anyways," the author handed her book back. "I know your Admiral must be busy. But if he's got a few minutes, could you have him call me?"

Alaska nodded. "What for?"

"Well…" now it was Stewart's turn to blush. "I've been doing my homework on Sara. And… I think I know how to ask her back."

—|—|—

"Jane?" Light Cruiser Jintsuu walked the halls at slightly above her max-economy cruise speed. With the winter holidays still upon then, Jane didn't have school to go to, nor a terribly pressing reason to be in her bed at a reasonable hour. And the cruiser knew Jane was far to smart to go snooping around parts of the base she was forbidden from entering, but still…

It would do the cruiser's heart good to know where the little gremlin had gotten away too. Ever since she'd befriended Albacore, Jane had gotten increasingly slippery, and Jintsuu's latent Samurui code of honor and order was tingling in the back of her mind. "Jane, where are you?"

The cruiser pivoted into the mess hall. It this hour, it was as deserted as it ever was. Save for a few sleepy destroyers lazily pawing at peanut butter sandwiches, there didn't seem to be anyone around. But then she heard a voice coming from the kitchen.

It was a deep, sonorous contralto she'd only heard a few times before. But a voice like that—combined with the woman it was attached too—could make an impression in precious few words.

"Now," said the unmistakable American accent of battleship New Jersey, "Nuke that motherfucker like it's nineteen forty five."

"Okay!" The higher pitched voice of Jane Richardson let out a typically Janeish giggle, and soon the electric hum of a microwave washed over Jintsuu's hydrophones.

The light cruiser huffed, and trotted back into the kitchen eager to find out what the two Americans could be doing at this hour.

The two were staring intently into the glowing microwave door. Jane was dressed her the shark pajamas Albacore had given her for Christmas, while Jersey was… shirtless with nothing but a navy blue sports bra covering her chest.

Jintsuu was momentarily startled by the sheer mass of muscle displayed on the battleship's broad back. She hadn't thought it possible for a battleship to be so toned even the American's arm was as big around as Jintsuu's slender leg.

But her surprise lasted only a moment, and Jintsuu hastily bowed with a polite cough to mark her presence. "Jane," she said, "Miss Jersey."

"Hey, Jintsu-mama!" Jane scooted over to give the cruiser a hug.

"Sup," Jersey waved.

"Hello, Jane." Jintsuu couldn't resist tousling the girl's hair a little. "What are you two up to?"

"We're making nachos!" said Jane with a giggle.

"Delicious!" Jitsuu chuckled, and glanced over at Jersey. "But… why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

The battleship stared at her with utter bewilderment. "Because," she said, "We're fucking making nachos."

Jintsuu failed to grasp the logical chain connecting "melting cheese over tortilla chips" with "remove one's clothing." Although she had to admit, Jersey had quite a nice body.

Thankfully, Jane explained the reason for Jersey's state of undress. "We had to grate the cheese!"

Jintsuu chuckled, and glanced at Jersey's inhumanly toned belly. While she would admit the American's stomach looked like it'd been machined from alloy steel by a renaissance artist with a CNC mill, she was quite certain nobody could literally grate cheese on those abs. "Jane, I don't think thats—"

Jersey waved a plate of grated cheese at the cruiser, and Jintsuu had to concede that she saw no cheese-grating apparatus beyond the aforementioned Iowa-class abdominals. "Oh."

For a while, the kitchen was silent except for the hum of the microwave.

Jane blinked.

Jersey smirked.

Jintsuu hung her head.

The microwave dinged.

"Awesome!" Jane bounced over to receive her gooey melted-cheese-covered bounty from the shirtless American Amazon.

"Hey," Jersey fished a paper plate out of the microwave and dumped chopped green onions onto the melting cheese. "Jintsuu, you want some?"

"Yeah," said Jane. "We made lots."

"Like…" Jersey stuffed another plate in the microwave. "A fucking metric shitton of nachos."

Jintsuu sighed, then a smile crossed her demure features. "Don't mind if I do."

—|—|—

Arizona's eyes flew open with a start, and her pulse skyrockted into numbers never before seen by man. The last vestiges of her dream—a nice, albeit strange one. Not one of the nightmare she'd battled before—vanished like spray off her deck as reality came crashing into place.

She was in her room, tucked into her bed. It was—the battleship checked her on board chronometer in a blind panic—fifteen minutes past midnight. Her crew scrambled to main their stations as alert sirens screeched on every deck.

The battleship's eye's whipped around, getting a firm fix on her surroundings. The room was as dark as it always was at this hour, her growing library sat undisturbed next to the unopened model kit she'd bought for her Admiral all those days ago.

Her vast armada of escorting plushies were scattered around her, still holding their silent vigil in the nightly patrol against bad dreams. But…

But there was something else.

Arizona felt it.

She wasn't alone.

The Standard felt her mouth go dry as she slowly craned her neck, trying to identify the vast dark shape resting against her stomach. Her shaking hands balled into fists as she frantically leafed though her recognition manuals to try and identify the inky shape.

And then she smiled. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she realized what it was.

In fact, 'it' wasn't one thing at all. In the darkness, the silhouettes of four ships had run together into one vast blob of masts, guns, and stacks. But she knew better now.

Three destroyers, three Fletchers lay contentedly against her, each laying claim to a portion of her ample Standard bosom for a pillow. Each wore a blissful smile on her tiny face and, and one was even slowly drooling onto Arizona's fleece blouse.

And the fourth ship… the fourth ship was the titanic bulk of Shinano cradled against her belly. The big carrier's glasses were squished into the fat of Arizona's soft tummy, and her face was half-lost in the soft folds. But even in the dark Arizona could see a happy smile on the big carrier's face.

Arizona leaned back and closed her eyes.

She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

Omake - By MagisterAurelius

After dropping Alaska off, Cameron was almost floating on air. With a jaunty step he walked to the sidewalk when the realization that the 10 ton truck was already gone and he had taken the bus here. And he had missed the last bus. Oh well. A perfect mood and night to walk all the way home wasn't too bad.

"Hey kid." A low voice, somewhere between Sam Elliott, Dirty Harry Callahan and the Wolverine, full of the promise of glorious angry violence, nearly assaulted his hearing despite its conversational volume. "Texas said you might need a ride home."

Cameron turned around to behold the speaker and the ancient car behind him. He did a double take at the sheer amount of chrome and hood ornamentation on some relic from the 50s, he thought, but most of all at the license plate. MRMEAN. And then he took in the speaker. And as short as Cameron was compared to Alaska... this was a man... that made Alaska look dainty. "Umm... I guess?"

"Gunnery Sergeant." The mountain rotated an unlit cigar in his clenched teeth and opened the passenger side door. "If you were to refuse, Texas would not look kindly upon me. Therefore, I must insist. Sir."

Cameron gulped. Everything about this screamed "Imminent Death" to him. Hell, the car's grill even looked like a frown. But then again, if Texas did send him that meant that he was going to be okay right? He got into the car. The mountain shut the passenger door and then got into the drivers seat, shut the door, put on his seatbelt and glared over at Cameron.

"Well?" At Cameron's jump, he sighed. "Seat belt kid."

"Oh." Cameron put on the seat belt. "I've never seen a car like this before. I didn't even know they made them NFL sized."

That got a dry humorless chuckle from the Gunnery Sergeant. "Had to reweld the seat rails myself when I rebuilt her so my knees weren't up to my ears. That was a bitch. This is a 1952 Packard Patrician. And this is what a luxury car should be. So where am I dropping you off kid?"

After a period of silent driving, Cameron felt the need to speak as he could swear he felt anger just radiate off his driver. "So, um... is this where Atago and the destroyers take their vengeance on me?"

"Huh?"

"For kissing Alaska! I assumed this is the intimidation plan 2.0 or something."

"Sounds like you did have a nice evening then. Texas just assumed you lost track of time and missed your bus. And kid, you're dating a shipgirl now. You're in it up to your neck and there's no way out. Because if you somehow screw this up, I'm not what you have to worry about. You hurt Alaska or something like that... her friends will feed you to the Abyssals. Oh look, here's your stop."

The car glided to a stop in front of Cameron's home. The driver put the car in park, got out, and opened Cameron's door.

"Have a nice night kid."

Cameron got out and started towards his front door before turning back, "Thanks for the ride...?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Mean. And you're welcome." With that he got back in the car and drove off. Cameron shivered and went inside.