Work Text:
The sound of rain beating down on the roof of the command building was loud. For the last couple of days, everyone had been hard at work preparing the base for this very storm - a record-breaker in every way.
It had arrived no less than 20 minutes ago at 2122 hours, starting at 2030 hours as a light mist, before escalating drastically to… whatever this was.
Because of those preparations, however, I had a lot of paperwork to go through. I’d been chipping away at it in the back of my mind since the forecast stations picked up this storm, but even then, the work seemed endless.
“Really glad I sent the girls home,” I thought, refilling my mug with iced tea – the kind you’d get at a fast-food place.
Seeing the fresh batch of paperwork somehow sent in despite the wireless communication hell that was the storm outside, I braced myself for a decently long night.
A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. It was hurried, insistent. Whoever this was had either been soaked and sought the nearest building or had something urgent for me. Both were equally likely, ALNS Atlantic was a massive place, after all.
Opening the camera feed, I saw someone I never expected: Yorktown.
I took in the young woman before me; her white hair with a hint of lilac, and those eyes; the color of the seas she’d sworn to protect. Eyes whose vibrant colours were overshadowed by how she looked.
Wet hair, soaked clothes, a small, sad smile, and when I swung open the door, tear tracks beneath her eyes.
It was only then that I checked the date: June 7, 2231. The 289th anniversary of her first hull’s sinking at Midway.
In that moment, I cared not for the state of her clothing and hair, I simply pulled her into my arms and told her to let it all out, which she did. She knows she is now so much better than she used to be, though she still cannot help but wonder – is history doomed to repeat itself?
Will everything she holds dear be cruelly ripped from her again?
I spin up my armor’s shields, extending them forward to cover her, before increasing its strength, causing it to generate heat that dried off excess water before I moved us inside and shut the door.
The human embodiment of two ships of the same name would later fall asleep to the tune of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers, played by her Commander on his violin, accompanied by the same song over the finely tuned and positioned speakers, just without the violin’s parts. That role was the Commander’s to play, if only for tonight and an audience of one.
Opening an eye to check on her and seeing her blissful smile felt unimaginably good. Though she’d been reborn, Midway would still haunt her every now and then, and on nights when it did, we would do anything to help.
She would never be unloved by us, after all.