This fic is based on my other fic, Not So Common. I don't think it's necessary reading, but it might make this more comprehensible. If you don't particularly like this take it doesn't have to be canon to that. Minor differences are due to it being a while and stressing different themes.
For the unacquainted in both camps: The Four Loves is a conception of types of love written by CS Lewis.
For those unfamiliar with Azur Lane: take a WW2 ship. Make it a woman. Boom. It's a fascinating idea saddled with a tragically horny fan base.
Commander Miller loved. He did not think himself really remarkable in that capacity; honestly, if anything was remarkable, it was the people he loved. He loved-
(with storge, family love) Kisaragi.
They were, in a sense, thrown together. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Kisaragi was thrown into his life.
She was a kid. A scared little kid, dragged out of a fight she had no reason to be anywhere near. Oh, it was different from normal parenting in more ways than he possibly name, but at the simplest level, there was a child who needed his guidance.
Minor problem: the kid was Japanese. Miller and his base were- at the time- all American and all completely incapable of speaking a word of any other language. Maybe they could have gotten her speaking just English, but that seemed a disservice to her. She was already deprived of the family she should have had, so taking her original language away just seemed an extra cruelty.
Could he speak Japanese well? Not particularly, but he would keep at it, for Kisaragi's sake. (It was strange, how easily he bent to the simple words: 'For Kisaragi.')
He wouldn't be so melodramatic as to say that it was necessary for him to get through the war or anything, but it helped. Doing his duty for his country was nebulous at times, not as unambiguously good as caring for a child.
The first time Kisaragi managed to string together "May I have some peaches, please?" in English, he flushed with pride. He was doing something right for that girl.
(Was he really doing right by her, alienating her from home and family? The idea nagged at him, but… he couldn't say what he did was wrong. He couldn't.)
But of course, he wasn't the only one who cared for Kisaragi. Most of the base came to care for her with time; honestly, it was hard not to. Then there were all the people that cared for her back home…
(with philia, friendship love) Aoba.
Aoba quite literally followed after Kisaragi; it was a testament to her character, if nothing else. The fact that poor, long-suffering Kinugasa was dragged along was a testament to the power of sisterly love.
Aoba's journalistic ambitions meant she could speak English. That and not being an actual child certainly gave her an edge over Kisaragi when it came to being a conversationalist. That came with the caveat that Aoba could give him grief.
Maybe he deserved a bit of grief. They were opponents in a war, but with enough time that seemed to fade away. Eating at the same table, conversations over paperwork- Aoba would smirk at him over his prison of parchment- and fighting boredom together.
The remoteness of their station meant that his books rapidly became Aoba's books, sometimes before he had even finished them.
They husbanded their resources carefully; looks were hard to come by, even when the Armed Services Editions started coming in. (That was when they were really on the warpath- it grew to be a very welcome distraction.)
He was checking inventory numbers when Aoba slammed Ethan Frome shut. "That sucked."
"I shouldn't read it?"
"No. It's horrible."
"How so?"
"Why should I care about these frostbitten mopes?"
"Frostbitten mopes?" He snorted.
Aoba flicked through the book for a few moments, searching for some special target of her ire. "Hey Miller, what do you think of a nice wholesome meal of… pickles and donuts?"
"Pickles and donuts?"
"I suppose that's the sort of euphemism you've got to use in…" Aoba flicked to the front of the book, "1911? Really?"
"Probably would have been very high impact back in the day." Miller remarked.
"Do you know what I want when this is all over, Miller? A pickle dish."
….
"Rats, Lice, and History. Riveting." Aoba said.
"More interesting than you'd think. It's a sort of biography of the disease. I just wish he bothered to translate."
"What languages?"
"Latin, French, German."
"You could ask Koln, couldn't you?"
"Suppose I could. But I don't want to pester her for every passage I find."
(Aoba made jokes, but she read it through when he was done with it. A journalist at heart.)
….
When the war ended and they all limped home, not quite sure what to do with themselves, they stuck together. Limped through Hersey's Hiroshima together, as they realized the new and terrible world they lived in.
At first, it might have just been because Aoba was a fellow reader. Discussing The Good Earth or The Great Gatsby together helped stretch the book's entertainment value a little further.
But now? They were fellow-sufferers. He was under no illusion that his pains were equal to Aoba's, but he was there for her anyway, as a friend.
(Did you love a friend? Perhaps the word was insufficient, left a gap between a simple liking of a companion and the extremity of love…)
(with eros, romantic love) Langley.
He had always had an admiration for Langley. She was a pioneer- America's own equivalent to Hermes or Houshou- and she never let herself forget it. With no offense intended towards Downes or Cassin… it was good to have someone who was no-nonsense.
Recognizing her as a good second in command and a trustworthy subordinate was a far cry from what things became, but it was a start. Or maybe that was the seed.
A life with Langley somehow seemed more realistic than a life with Nevada. Maybe that was because she seemed a bit out of his league- she was a remarkable beauty, even by the inflated standards of the Navy after shipgirls. Or perhaps the reason was Oklahoma. Nevada was usually quiet about it, putting on a cheerful face, but the loss of her sister impacted her. It wasn't the time to pursue something, Miller thought.
Well, he said that like he seriously considered romance during the war. The stress of armed conflict, their collective raising of Kisaragi, and the simple knowledge that he was their superior were all reasons to not try something during the war.
But afterward? When he had gone from Miller the Commander to Miller the man? Suddenly, it was possible. Heck, it was the sort of thing he was supposed to be thinking about.
A new house. A new civilian life.
The idea almost seemed to sneak up on him, one day when Langley returned from a day out with some researchers. It was a long one- he had been getting a bit concerned- and she stopped to let her hair down. A moment later, Kisaragi ran up and hugged her.
Suddenly, it hit him. Langley could come home to kids one day. Their kids. (For a moment, he considered the possibility she would teach them- but that felt a bit below her talent.)
It wasn't how good she looked in a skirt suit or the way her hair fell just so, though. It was Langley, who handled budgets and provisions with the same frugality. It was the same level head that guided him true during the war. It was a constant sense that he had someone to catch him should he stumble. It was Langley.
He wasn't sure if he just managed to compartmentalize really well or if these feelings really came out of nowhere, but he was suddenly thinking about it all the time. And with that, Nevada and Aoba both noticed. Miller had hoped, in vain, that Nevada wouldn't rib him as hard as Aoba would- because she had grown into a motherly or perhaps big sisterly role- but it seemed she was the sort of family who teased.
That helped encourage him to go for it. Not to say he needed to be teased and cajoled into it- he wasn't quite bad enough to just sit on it and do nothing- but it probably helped the timing. One day he worked up the courage and went to tell Langley how he felt.
It wasn't a whirlwind romance straight out of the gate. Of course it wasn't. Langley wasn't tottering around like some lovestruck fool, but she was willing to give it a shot. They jumped straight into going steady- although neither of them had many prospects for playing the field- and from there it was… nice.
….
As silly as I may have sounded, he really did love to hear her talk, even when the subject was a bit over his head. No pun intended.
"I understand why they kept it a secret, but it's such a shame. The world should know about these things."
Miller shrugged. "Top secret is top secret."
"Breaking the sound barrier in level flight, with straight wings no less!" Langley sighed. "Unbelievable."
"Yeah. Unbelievable."
She shot him a look. "Sorry," he said, "I just don't know this plane stuff like you."
Then there was that little upturn of the lip of Langley went into teacher mode. "We all thought you needed swept wings, because of shocks near the sound barrier…"
He watched, almost transfixed, as Langley explained the way swept wings could reduce drag, how the plane's profile was just like a bullet, and all the clever ways the boys in the Air Force and NACA had proved the sound barrier penetrable.
The talk went on, becoming something of a monologue until Langley flushed and came to a sputtering halt. "I'm not boring you, am I?"
"You could make the phonebook fascinating, Langley."
"I hope you would find supersonic flight a bit more interesting than a phone book."
"It is."
….
While he was glad it eventually happened, the first time Langley attempted to kiss him became something of a household joke. There was an unfortunate bit of hopping and standing on tip toes before he lifted her a bit. (Langley was, to put it mildly, petite.)
Aoba and Downes took the joke and ran with it to the point that they were speculating about the marriage step stool before he and Langley told them both to knock it off.
Langley's height was… something she wasn't always happy with. Miller would tell her that it was endearing and sweet until the cows came home, but being endearing didn't earn her the respect she craved. Perhaps it was more accurate to say the respect she deserved was often undermined by it.
Yet she kept at it. She worked like a fiend to live up to her namesake, and was only rivalled by Koln in her love of all things that flew.
(with agape, selfless love) Koln.
He would have loved almost anyone in Koln's position when they first met. At that time, those particular circumstances? Any other human would have been perfect. That she helped save them was a happy benefit, not the root cause.
Afterward, he would be the first to admit the start of their relationship wasn't perfect. Hostile military relations tended to do that, as did a language barrier.
Of course, previous experiences with Kisaragi, Aoba, and Kinugasa had long since taught him such barriers were small. Well, learning German was actually a bit of a barrier, but it didn't hide the fact that Koln deserved better than war. Deserved better than two dead sisters.
He liked to think that hadn't colored his treatment of her, that he cared just as much before and after that reveal. Was he right? He didn't know.
Koln wasn't in as much need as Kisaragi was and tended towards independence. (Or latching onto Langley, but….) Koln couldn't hold a conversation as easily as Aoba could. Koln was certainly cute- she even had the glasses thing, like Langley- but that never preoccupied him.
Why did he love Koln? Because he knew he should. Because the Second World War was a catastrophe on a scale he struggled to comprehend at the best of times. Because… what else could he do, really?
Well, there was all that talk, but he still thought her a lovable person. If she decided romance was in the cards, someone would be very lucky to love her. Or maybe Koln's passions would be directed somewhere else, in the short term: she shared some of Langley's passion for the air, but with some dabbling in other subjects- computing was a favorite, along with literature. She read von Braun's Das Marsprojekt in the original language when it came out, and could occasionally be convinced to read Kisaragi some of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
In fact, she enjoyed Das Marsprojekt so much that she wanted an autographed copy. That… that would be a journey, considering the man and his fellows lived in Huntsville, Alabama. (Better that than Fort Bliss? Probably, since it meant they wouldn't have to tangle with as much national security.)
However, he could kind of sense it was more than just a trip to see her favorite author; he thought there was something more to it. Von Braun was like her: a German in America, contributing to the nation she had once fought. And, though she didn't speak of it, almost certainly a killer in some way. Because that was what warships were supposed to do.
So they got in the car and drove. And drove some more. Drove until the land rose up, towering high and bowing low under a great coat of verdant trees, drove until they found Rocket City, USA, and eventually the man the whole project seemed to orbit around. Koln found something there, in the shade of those great mountains, in discussion with von Braun. Miller didn't see the need to pry, and Koln didn't feel a particular need to share, other than remarking that she would need to buy a lot of stamps for correspondence. After the correspondence came subscriptions to journals and magazines, a wholehearted fascination with the rocket program and autogyros and the rise of the brand spanking new turboshaft engine.
That wasn't the strangest area of research von Braun led her too, though. She worked at it with the same relentless drive- just replace the technical manuals with Aquinas' Summa. Because she was talking theology with Braun and figured she would go straight for the big old medieval root.
(von Braun had found God after moving to America. Go figure. Or maybe it was easy to figure out. Of all the people who needed forgiveness….)
This, I think, is a remarkable number 80.
