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Chapter Text

USS Lexington – somewhere in the Pacific – 0845 hours

The USS Lexington plowed through the Pacific swell under a gray morning sky, her vast deck crowded with tied-down aircraft and scurrying deck crews. She was not alone: flanking her in formation sailed two heavy cruisers and a pair of destroyers, their hull numbers of crisp white slashes on dark navy paint.

They looked ready for battle.

Lieutenant James Thompson watched the horizon from the catwalk rail, his gloved hands gripping the cold metal. He squinted into the wind, eyes narrowing at the faint shape of land ahead.

Japan.

Behind him, the ship hummed with contained energy. Planes were checked and re-checked, radios buzzed with clipped confirmations, and officers in khakis traded terse words. The air smelled of salt, oil, and a tension that clung to the skin.

He shifted uncomfortably.

God. Feels like we’re invading instead of negotiating.

He let his gaze drift to the escorting warships, riding the waves with grim purpose.

He remembered yesterday’s briefing in the Lexington’s cramped wardroom:

“Gentlemen, this is not a combat deployment. We’re escorting the diplomatic mission to Yokosuka to open direct negotiations with the Imperial Navy. Make no mistake, it’s a show of force, but also an olive branch. You will maintain discipline at all times. You will follow protocol to the letter. Any spark can light a powder keg.”

James had nodded like everyone else, but the words had lodged in his skull like shrapnel. Show of force. Olive branch. Which was it really?

He sighed and lowered his head.

Footsteps approached behind him, measured and purposeful.

“James,” said Lexington.

He turned. She stood with her long pink hair blowing in the wind, her pinkish coat buttoned high against the cold, white gloves perfectly clean despite the salt spray. Her eyes, sharp as ever, softened as they met his.

“Lexington,” he greeted, managing a tired smile.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re brooding again.”

He snorted quietly. “Can you blame me? Look at that.” He nodded at the distant coastline. “Japan. Feels like we should have our bomb bay doors open.”

Lexington moved to stand beside him at the rail. Her eyes scanned the horizon, taking in the same sight.

“Your squadron is not here to drop bombs,” she said calmly.

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re here to threaten to drop them, you mean.”

She inclined her head slightly. “Diplomacy often requires visible strength.”

He grunted. “That’s what the Admiral said in the briefing. ‘Reassure with one hand, threaten with the other.’”

Lexington inclined her head slightly. “He’s not wrong. They need to see that we are strong enough to be worth negotiating with. And sane enough to want it.”

James was quiet for a moment, then gave her a sidelong glance.

“You hear from Saratoga lately?”

Lexington’s eyes flickered, just a hint of surprise before she smoothed it away.

“She’s nearby,” Lexington replied evenly. “The task group is holding station a few hours out. Close enough to support us if anything…unexpected happens.”

He let out a slow breath. “So this really is just us walking into their front yard with our hands half in the air and half on our guns.”

Lexington’s mouth quirked in the barest ghost of a smile. “That’s diplomacy, James.”

He snorted. “Right. ‘Olive branch in one hand, revolver in the other.’ I just hope they see more of the branch.”

“They will,” she said quietly. Then, after a pause, her voice softened. “Saratoga was worried about this mission. She told me to keep you out of trouble.”

James gave a short laugh despite himself. “Figures. She always did like you best.”

“She likes everyone better than you,” Lexington said dryly, but there was a flicker of warmth in her eyes.

He grinned, shaking his head.

Lexington’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “Which is why you will be on your best behavior, Lieutenant Thompson.”

He cracked a tired grin. “Yes, ma’am. No punching any foreign admirals. No insulting their mothers.”

“Very good.”

They fell silent, watching the land grow closer.

He stole a glance at her. Lexington always looked so composed, even now, with warships bristling around them, steaming into what was enemy territory not long ago.

“You’re not nervous at all, are you?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t turn her head. “I am…alert.”

He considered that. Fair enough.

James shifted again, uncomfortable in his uniform. The wind whipped at his hair.

After a long moment he spoke, quieter, more earnest.

“...how’s the squadron holding up?”

She turned her head, studying him carefully. Her expression softened.

“...They’re nervous,” she admitted. “But steady. Henderson was up checking his Hellcat three times before dawn. Miller tried to lighten the mood at breakfast and spilled his coffee everywhere.”

James let out a short laugh at that, despite himself.

“They respect you,” she added. “Even when you act like an ass.”

He cracked a wry grin. “Flattering as always.”

Lexington’s eyes held his. Her voice lowered, turning gentle.

“James. You’re their squadron leader. They’ll take their cues from you. If you look calm, they will be calm.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Christ. I’m just a pilot. I didn’t sign up to be a diplomat.

But he nodded slowly.

“Aye. I know.”

Lexington straightened, eyes narrowing at the harbour mouth where Japanese destroyers sat waiting to guide them in.

“Remember what the Admiral said: this is our chance to avoid another war. Don’t waste it.”

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight settle in his chest.

“I won’t,” he said quietly.

She turned away, already issuing orders to the crew through her comm link, her voice clipped and professional.

James watched her go, then turned back to the gray, fortified coast ahead.

Yokosuka Harbor, he thought grimly. Let’s hope you’re ready to meet us halfway.

Yokosuka Harbor – 1033 hours

Kaga stood ramrod straight on the wind-swept pier, eyes fixed on the American ships easing into the harbor. Around her, a crisp line of white-uniformed officers held their positions with martial precision. Gold braid and polished swords glittered in the muted daylight.

Her fox ears were angled forward in sharp focus, betraying nothing of her thoughts. Her twin white-tipped tails rested still and disciplined behind her, the cold breeze teasing their fur.

Tugboats growled, churning frothy wakes as they nudged the USS Lexington into position along the concrete quay.

Her gloved hands clasped behind her back, Kaga focused on keeping her breathing slow and even.

Calm. Formal. Impeccable.

This was not battle. Not yet. But it felt like standing on the edge of one.

The Americans had come in force. Lexington herself looming like a floating city, flanked by cruisers and destroyers that exuded silent threat. A polite visit with teeth bared.

She let her gaze sweep their decks. Planes lashed down in neat rows. Officers in dress whites standing at attention. Reassure with one hand. Threaten with the other.

All around her, the Imperial Navy’s own brass and captains stood arrayed in a show of disciplined calm. Conversations were low, carefully measured.

Vice Admiral Yamashita, standing a few steps away, adjusted his gloves and cleared his throat.

“Akagi,” he said quietly, voice pitched just for the line of senior officers. “Status of Sōryū and Hiryū?”

Akagi didn’t even blink. Her golden eyes were locked on the Lexington, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of her mouth. Her red-tipped ears twitched once at the wind before resettling, and her twin tails shifted subtly, proud and steady.

“South of Izu, sir. Maneuvers,” she replied smoothly. “Close enough to respond in force if needed.”

Yamashita gave a curt nod. “Good. I want them ready to sortie on my order.”

Akagi’s smirk turned into something sharper. Her voice stayed low but carried an unmistakable edge.

“Kido Butai stands ready at all times. Should these negotiations fail, should these Americans show their true colors, we will not hesitate. We’ll burn their fleet from the sea before they know what hit them.”

A small hush settled over the line of officers.

Some jaws tightened. Others glanced away.

Yamashita’s expression barely shifted, but his voice was even softer. “Your confidence is noted, Akagi. But today, you will remember your role here.”

Akagi didn’t answer, but her eyes gleamed with dangerous satisfaction. Her ears flicked forward, tails curling once behind her before stilling.

Kaga felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. Her own ears gave the barest twitch before she forced them still.

Such pride. Such certainty. That is our strength and our curse.

These negotiations might buy time. Might stave off the war everyone sees coming. Or they might be the last polite words spoken before cities burn.

We’re all lined up like actors in a play. Bows polished. Swords hidden in the sleeves. Pretending courtesy.

But the oceans are full of ships. Guns. Bombs. And men who will die if we fail.

Kaga’s jaw tightened fractionally. Her tails lowered slightly, steadying behind her.

Duty. Always duty.

I will do mine. I will stand here and greet them as an officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy. I will show them respect. I will show them strength.

But I will not let Akagi’s arrogance blind us. War is not glory. War is death.

Akagi’s voice drifted to her again, pitched so only Kaga could hear.

“Still hoping they’ll choose peace?”

Kaga didn’t look at her.

“It’s our duty to try,” she said evenly.

Akagi’s tone was mocking, silk-wrapped steel. “Try… or submit?”

Kaga turned her head slightly, meeting her sister’s eyes without flinching. Cool. Steady. Her ears stayed forward, her tails held disciplined and calm.

“I will not submit,” she said, voice low but firm.

Their eyes locked for a moment of brittle silence before Akagi looked away, her mouth curling faintly.

At that moment, another admiral raised his voice just enough to be heard over the wind.

“Prepare yourselves. They’ll be disembarking shortly. Show them respect. The Emperor expects nothing less.”

The line of officers adjusted posture in perfect unison. Uniforms creaked. Swords tapped at hips.

Kaga forced her breathing steady once more.

She watched the Lexington’s ramp lowering onto the pier, the first figures moving to disembark.

Americans.

She felt the tension coil in her chest like a drawn bowstring.

Let them come.

We will greet them as officers of the Imperial Japanese Navy. With all the courtesy duty demands.

But we will not forget who they are.

Yokosuka Naval Base – The Pier - 1100 hours

James adjusted his dress white cap, fingers brushing over the polished golden eagle pinned at its front. The stiff uniform felt too tight across his shoulders, every button shining bright in the pale morning light. His gloves creaked slightly as he flexed them.

Beside him, Henderson shifted his weight, scowling at the deck.

“Feel like we’re about to meet the emperor himself,” Henderson muttered.

James snorted quietly without looking over. “Just don’t salute with the wrong hand.”

Henderson shot him a dry glance. “Helpful as ever, boss.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

A flicker of a smile threatened to break through James’s stern expression, but he forced it back down. Showtime.

He exhaled once, slow and steady, as the line of officers ahead of them started to move. The Lexington’s ramp settled onto the pier with a heavy, echoing clang that rang through the hushed harbor.

They walked in unison down the steel ramp, boots striking with precise, deliberate steps.

The wind coming off the water was biting cold, tugging at the hem of his tunic and the crisp black neckerchief at his collar.

Ahead, Vice Admiral McClellan led the American delegation, the saber at his side glinting in the pale sun. His face was as hard and unmoving as carved stone. Ambassador Hayes walked beside him in a somber dark suit, expression perfectly neutral, shoes polished to a mirror shine.

Just behind them strode Lexington herself, pink hair tied back neatly, long white naval coat with blue accents tailored to perfection. She was calm, dignified, every movement precise.

James fell into line with the other pilots, spine straight, chin lifted.

He felt the tension tighten in his chest.

We’re not here to talk. We’re here so they know we’re watching.

They reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped onto the concrete pier.

What met them was something James had prepared for in briefings, but was still unprepared for in person.

The Imperial Japanese Navy’s welcoming line was a wall of immaculate white. Uniforms so crisp they looked carved from ivory. Swords at their hips. Medals and gold braid glinting like frozen sunlight.

And the ears.

Furred, foxlike. Upright and canted forward in perfect military discipline. Tails, thick and luxurious, held motionless behind them like banners alive with restrained energy.

James’s breath caught for just a second.

You knew this. Intel warned you. But Jesus.

He heard Henderson swallow audibly beside him.

“Holy hell,” Henderson whispered. “They really have tails.”

James didn’t turn. His jaw tightened.

“Eyes front.”

“Yeah. Right.”

James forced himself to keep his gaze locked ahead, ignoring the itch at the back of his neck.

We’re the message, he reminded himself grimly. Not the negotiators. Just make sure they remember that.

Vice Admiral Yamashita stepped forward from the Imperial line. His expression was unreadable, polished and professional to the last detail.

“Welcome to Yokosuka Naval Base,” Yamashita said in careful, deliberate English. “We receive the representatives of the United States Navy and your honored envoy.”

McClellan answered with equal precision, returning the bow with naval formality.

“Vice Admiral Yamashita. On behalf of the President of the United States and the Pacific Fleet, we thank you for your courtesy and willingness to meet.”

Hayes stepped forward with a small, respectful bow of his own. His voice was calm but carried clearly across the wind.

“We come at the President’s request,” the ambassador said evenly, “in the hope our two nations might speak plain and avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

Silence followed. The words seemed to freeze in the cold harbor air.

James let his eyes move carefully, slowly, along the Imperial line.

And there.

Just behind Yamashita, perfectly poised.

Kaga.

White and blue, trimmed uniform crisp and flawless. Twin snow-white tails fanned out behind her, still as carved marble. Fox ears white as frost, perfectly upright. Silver hair shifted in the breeze, but her eyes stayed locked, cold and watchful.

They met his gaze for the briefest instant.

Not hostile. Not friendly.

Measuring.

James felt his heart knock once hard against his ribs.

Further down the line, he saw the other one.

Akagi.

Deep bloodred and black layered over her uniform, the color as striking as her posture was precise. Red-tipped ears. Multiple dark tails that swayed once in deliberate, reptilian menace before settling. Her golden eyes glittered with the faintest curl of something that might have been amusement, but not the friendly kind.

She looked like she was waiting for them to slip.

James swallowed hard.

He felt Lexington behind him, steady and silent, watching with the same hard scrutiny as the rest of the American line.

The conversation ahead continued in careful, measured phrases. Bows. Formal greetings. Words about “friendship” carefully balanced with words about “strength.”

James stood at attention, chin lifted.

But under all the polished phrases, he could feel it.

The live current of tension.

The unspoken or else.

Let’s hope you really want peace, he thought grimly. Because we’re ready if you don’t

Chapter Text

James lay on the stiff guest-house cot, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the muffled lapping of the tide against the quay.

The formal welcoming ceremony was hours behind them.

But it wouldn’t leave him alone.

The tight lines of Japanese officers. The way Akagi’s eyes had glittered like drawn knives. The absolute stillness of those fox ears and tails that somehow made them seem even more disciplined than any human squadron he’d ever served with.

And Kaga.

That cold, unreadable calm.

Measuring him.

He let out a slow breath, shoved the scratchy blanket aside, and swung his boots to the floor.

Hell with it. Sleep’s not happening.

He slipped on his jacket over the white undershirt, still neat from the ceremony, though he'd left the stiff outer coat folded and eased open the door.

Outside, the air was sharp and smelled faintly of salt and cold metal. Lanterns burned at intervals along the base paths, casting warm yellow pools on the gravel walkways.

He walked with measured steps, careful not to draw the attention of the Japanese sentries who watched politely but unmistakably.

The path wound slowly toward the waterfront. He let his boots crunch the gravel as quietly as he could.

He found himself near the docks without planning it.

The Lexington loomed in the moonlight, her hull mostly lost in shadow, but silver along the curves where the moon hit the steel. Dim lamps burned along the gangway, casting stark pools of light over the watchstanders who stood in silent pairs.

He watched her for a moment. His ship. Home, even here.

He could see the movement of sailors on watch, muffled voices carried by the breeze.

Feels a world away, he thought. Even with her right there.

He turned away slowly, following the garden path that twisted through manicured hedges and carefully raked gravel.

He was alone here.

Eventually he came to a small open-sided pavilion, tucked amid sculpted pines and lantern-lit stones.

He hesitated at the step.

It was beautifully made. Black lacquered beams held up a gently curved roof, the edges traced with red and gold patterns. Delicate carvings lined the posts, waves, cranes in flight, stylized foxes with flowing tails.

James reached out a hand and brushed the design gently. The wood was polished, every groove precise. It was old but perfectly cared for.

He felt a stab of something he couldn’t name.

Pride. Nostalgia. Envy, maybe.

He stepped inside carefully, boots whispering over the wooden floor.

At its center sat a low table, and on it a shogi board, the pieces lined in perfect order.

James exhaled.

He knelt slowly, removing his cap, resting it on the floor beside him. He picked up a piece and turned it over in his fingers, feeling the familiar heft.

He began to set the board from memory, eyes half-lidded.

He heard the lessons again.
Patient corrections.
Laughter over cheap beer.

Another life.

He placed the last piece and let his hands rest on his knees, staring at the board in the soft lantern light.

The wind shifted outside.

He heard the sound of gravel under precise boots.

He didn’t look up at first.

A voice came, low and clear.

A quiet voice drifted in.

“It is rare to see an American officer here. Especially at this hour.”

James lifted his head.

Kaga stood at the edge of the pavilion, half in shadow. Her white uniform looked as flawless as it had at the ceremony. Silver hair tucked neatly back. Twin white-tipped tails still as the carved foxes on the beams. Her ears canted slightly forward, unreadable.

James cleared his throat.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said honestly.

Kaga regarded him for a long moment, her eyes flicking to the shogi board, then back to his face.

Her voice remained calm, with a faint edge.

“I was told Americans prefer drinking when they feel restless.”

James let out a quiet breath, meeting her eyes.

“Don’t believe everything they tell you about us.”

His mouth quirked faintly.

“Last thing we need right now is a drunk officer insulting our hosts during a peace mission.”

Her ears twitched just slightly.

James cleared his throat softly.

“Kaga-san,” he said, trying to keep his voice respectful.

Her eyes narrowed just a hair.

“Kaga will suffice.”

He nodded once.

He looked back at the board.

“Old habit,” he admitted quietly. “The honorific.”

“I know.”

Silence hung between them.

The lanterns crackled.

Finally, James exhaled.

“Didn’t expect to find one of these here.” He gestured at the shogi board.

Kaga stepped forward, slow and deliberate, boots silent on the wood.

She didn’t sit. But she regarded the board with a glance that took in every piece in perfect detail.

“Officers use it for reflection. Planning. Strategy. Discipline.”

James let out a small huff of breath.

“Sounds about right.”

Her ears twitched.

“You know how to play.”

He nodded slowly.

“I lived here once,” he said. His voice felt rougher than he meant it to. “Years ago. Before the Academy. Picked it up then.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Unusual.”

He managed a crooked smile.

“Didn’t seem polite to just watch. Figured I’d learn. Got yelled at plenty for sloppy play.”

Something very faint flickered at the corner of her mouth. Gone almost before he caught it.

“Your formation is correct.”

James’s mouth quirked a little more. He met her eyes.
“Its James by the way.”

She blinked once.
“Lieutenant.”

He gave a small, resigned shrug.
“Worth a try.”

Silence again. But less heavy now.

Kaga’s gaze softened a fraction.
“You are not what I expected.”

James shrugged a shoulder stiffly.
“Likewise.”

Her ears shifted at that.

James hesitated. Then his voice dropped even lower.
“We don’t want to fight you, you know.”

Kaga’s eyes held his for a long, still moment.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet.
“That is not your choice. Or mine.”

James swallowed.
“Yeah.”

He looked back at the board one more time.
“Maybe another time,” he said softly.

Kaga inclined her head the slightest degree.
“Perhaps.”

She stepped back once, tails swaying just faintly.
“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

James met her eyes.
“Goodnight, Kaga.”

She turned and disappeared down the lantern-lit path, boots silent on the gravel.

He sat there a long time before he finally rose, picked up his cap, and walked back toward the quarters without looking back.

Chapter Text

James shifted his weight inside the stifling planning tent, arms folded across the front of his khaki working uniform. Sweat tickled under the collar despite the breeze off the harbor.

The long folding table was covered in maps and overlays marked in two languages, pencils rolled to a stop at the creases.

Imperial Japanese Navy officers in crisp black tunics with gold braid stood on one side, their swords peace-tied and stacked in a rack by the entrance. On the other side, American naval aviators in khaki uniforms hovered in an approximation of parade rest, carefully not staring too openly at their hosts.

James forced himself to focus on the lines and arrows sketched in red and blue grease pencil. Dive paths, intercept vectors, turn points.

Confidence-building measure, he thought sourly.

He remembered Lexington’s words from the day before, leaning against the chart table back on the carrier.

“Confidence-building measure,” she’d said, voice dry, almost teasing. “So they can prove they’re not about to launch a surprise attack tomorrow morning.”
He’d snorted. “And we’re doing the same.”
Lexington’s expression had softened, if only slightly.
“Neither navy trusts the other an inch,” she’d said quietly. “But they’ll shake hands for the cameras.”

Now he stood among the rest of the pilots, listening to the dull scrape of pencils and the polite murmur of interpreters.

It was theater. But better theater than war.

At the head of the table, Lexington’s Air Group Commander, Matthews, tapped a section of the map with two fingers.

“We’ll fly standard staggered sections. Dive profile to the deck. No surprises tomorrow.”

He turned, found James in the small crowd, and locked eyes.

“Lieutenant Thompson.”

James straightened.

“Sir.”

“You’re leading the dive section. Confirm your intervals with their carrier representative.” Matthews’s mouth twitched in something that might have been amusement or warning. “Make sure nobody’s improvising.”

James felt his jaw tighten but nodded.

“Aye, sir.”

Matthews added just low enough for him alone.

“And Lieutenant? Don’t start a war with your mouth.”

James bit back the first retort.

“Understood, sir.”

Matthews dismissed him with a tilt of the head and turned back to the map.

James exhaled.

He circled to the far edge of the table where two IJN officers were in low discussion with an interpreter. Between them stood Kaga, reviewing the map with sharp, unblinking focus.

She wore the ceremonial battle dress he’d seen before white layered fabric with armored panels, red accents at the waist and sleeves. Her silver hair was bound neatly at the back, multiple white-tipped fox tails perfectly still behind her. Her ears were canted forward in disciplined alertness.

Next to her stood Akagi.

Akagi was similar, yet strikingly different: flowing crimson and black garments, longer twin tails flicking lazily behind her. Her ears were more upright, her golden eyes amused and watchful. She seemed perfectly at ease, mouth curved in a faint, knowing smile that never touched her eyes.

James tried not to flinch when Akagi’s gaze slid over him, unblinking.

He cleared his throat carefully.

“Kaga.”

Her ears flicked once, and she turned to him with calm precision.

“Lieutenant Thompson.”

Akagi’s smile twitched slightly wider, watching them both.

James gestured at the map.

“I’m supposed to confirm our approach intervals. Dive profile, roll-out heading, break point.”

Kaga studied the chart for a moment before answering.

“Your plan indicates twenty-five second staggered sections.”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly. “Tight intervals. Makes tracking harder.”

Kaga’s eyes lifted to meet his.

“Aggressive doctrine.”

He felt the edge of irritation, but bit it back.

“It works.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“It relies on trust. Timing. Discipline.”

James blinked.

She continued, voice steady, almost…instructive.

“We will adjust our turn rate to match your interval. I will ensure my deck crews anticipate your launch timing precisely.”

James exhaled.

“Appreciated.”

He was aware of Akagi watching this entire exchange with a predator’s interest, tails flicking.

Akagi’s voice drifted in, low and lilting.

“Kaga. Careful you don’t let them think we’re too accommodating.”

Kaga didn’t turn.

“We are hosts. We will be professional.”

Akagi’s lips twitched in amusement, but she said nothing else.

Kaga's eyes shifted slightly as she studied the map.

“Your unit is disciplined.”

James blinked.

Disciplined?

He cleared his throat.

“Coming from you, that’s saying something. Your navy’s got a reputation for…well. Discipline’s putting it lightly.”

Her ears angled back slightly, thoughtful.

“It is necessary. Mistakes are unacceptable.”

James nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I get that.”

She studied him another moment before speaking again, her voice softer but still precise.

“What is your actual role? On Lexington.”

He blinked, surprised she’d ask.

“I’m the commander of diving section. Means I lead my pilots during the dive.”

Akagi let out a quiet, amused hum.

Around them, officers were packing up maps, murmuring final instructions.

James shifted to leave but paused.

“Kaga.”

Her head tilted slightly, ears angling.

“Yes?”

He hesitated.

“I…noticed you there the other night. At the pavilion.”

Akagi’s gaze sharpened slightly, the amusement gone.

Kaga didn’t look away.

“I’m aware.”

James felt the heat in his neck but forced himself to continue.

“You play often?”

A faint exhale.

“I did. I…usually had an opponent.”

James caught the small change in her voice.

“But?”

She was quiet a moment.

“She is…unwell.”

He swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

Kaga’s eyes didn’t drop.

“It is…unfortunate.”

Akagi’s gaze sharpened, voice cutting in low and cool.

“This doesn’t concern you, Lieutenant.”

James blinked at her, taken aback but refusing to drop his eyes.

Kaga’s ears shifted back fractionally. Her voice was calm, but there was a new edge under the surface.

“Akagi. That is enough.”

Akagi’s eyes narrowed further, tails flicking once in agitation.

Akagi’s tails flicked, and she turned sharply away with a faint, irritated snort.

She walked off toward a knot of waiting officers, long sleeves rustling.

James watched her go, then looked back at Kaga.

He hesitated, scratching lightly at the back of his neck.

“Your sister doesn’t seem too fond of me.”

Kaga’s ears twitched once. Her voice stayed calm, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes.

“Akagi-nee-san is...protective.”

She paused.

“She does not trust easily. Especially now.”

James let out a slow breath.

“Yeah. Can’t blame her, I guess.”

James ignored it, focusing on Kaga.

Silence fell.

Then Kaga spoke, voice even but somehow less formal.

“If you wish to play tonight…you may.”

He blinked.

“Are you sure?”

“I prefer not to play alone.”

James hesitated, then nodded once.

“All right. I’ll see you there.”

Kaga’s eyes flicked away toward a cluster of waiting Japanese officers. She adjusted her grip on the map.

“I have preparations to complete. I will see you tonight.”

James nodded slowly.

“Understood.”

Kaga inclined her head in calm farewell, ears twitching once, then turned and strode away, tails swaying in perfect disciplined arcs behind her.

James watched her go, exhaling a long, thoughtful breath.

He turned on his heel to head for the tent flap only to find Lexington standing just outside, arms folded, the breeze tugging lightly at her pink hair.

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Making friends, Lieutenant?”

James gave her a look somewhere between exasperated and sheepish.

“It’s...complicated.”

Lexington’s mouth twitched.

“Careful. You looked awfully serious over there.”

He huffed out a tired half-laugh.

“Just coordinating the part where I don’t crash on her deck during the exercise.”

Lexington’s expression softened slightly, her arms uncrossing. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Good. Try not to start any wars.”

James let out a weary snort.

“No promises.”

Lexington smiled, then nodded toward the path leading back to their quarters.

“Come on, Thompson. Let’s go.”

He fell in beside her, casting one last glance back toward where Kaga had gone.

The meeting was over. But tomorrow was another matter entirely.

Chapter Text

The lamps burned low along the tatami room walls, casting a warm, shifting glow over the lacquered table.

The scent of rice, miso soup, and simmered fish lingered in the air, punctuated by the occasional quiet clink of chopsticks on ceramic.

Kaga sat straight-backed near one end, legs folded precisely beneath her, multiple, white-tipped tails arranged in disciplined arcs behind her. She held her teacup lightly, eyes lowered in thought, but her ears remained canted forward, alert.

Across from her, Akagi reclined in carefully maintained poise sleeves draping elegantly over her folded hands. Her red eyes glittered in the lamplight, a small, knowing smile ghosting her lips.

Shokaku and Zuikaku sat side by side, both in their ceremonial battle attire, but with jackets slightly loosened for the informal meal. Shokaku poured tea with calm precision while Zuikaku picked at her rice with an energy that belied her scowl.

Atago lounged gracefully, one hand propping up her chin, golden eyes dancing with sly amusement. Takao sat beside her, posture ramrod-straight, uniform immaculate, face the picture of stoic duty.

And presiding at the head of the table, Nagato.

Silent. Watching. Her dark eyes missed nothing.

A small silence had fallen over them as the meal wound down.

Zuikaku broke it with a sharp exhale.

“Tomorrow’s exercise is ridiculous. Letting them fly attack profiles over our ships? We might as well paint targets on the deck.”

Shokaku’s voice was calmer, measured.

“It is meant to demonstrate trust. Or at least…restraint.”

Zuikaku’s ears flicked, tails twitching in irritation.

“It’s a show. They want to see how fast we can launch. How we maneuver. And we’re letting them.”

Atago let out a musical little laugh, swirling her tea.

“Oh, Zuikaku. Don’t be so grim. It’s politics. Besides…” Her eyes slid to Kaga with lazy precision. “Some of us seem to be making very close arrangements with the Americans.”

Kaga’s ears flattened by a fraction, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“We are coordinating flight intervals. That is all.”

Atago’s lips curved.

“Mmm. So formal. You spent quite a while on it today.”

Takao’s voice cut in, quiet but hard.

“We represent the Empire. We are expected to conduct ourselves with honor and discipline.”

Atago made an exaggerated pout, though her eyes stayed amused.

“I never suggested anything dishonorable, dear Takao. Just…friendly.”

Akagi’s tail twitched once, breaking her stillness.

“Friendly,” she said, voice low. “Is not the objective. Don’t forget why they’re here. Or what they might be planning the moment our backs are turned.”

Her eyes, red as lacquer, turned to Kaga.

“You spent much of the meeting in private discussion with their lead pilot.”

Kaga didn’t flinch.

“It was necessary. To avoid confusion tomorrow.”

Akagi’s smile was humorless.

“Be careful how close you stand, Kaga. You know how this game is played.”

Shokaku cleared her throat lightly.

“Akagi-san. It is part of our duty to cooperate. If there’s to be peace”

Zuikaku snorted.

“If. Don’t fool yourselves. The Americans don’t want peace. They want to measure our decks.”

Atago let out another soft laugh.

“So suspicious. Though…” She raised a brow at Kaga. “Is he handsome at least?”

Kaga’s ears twitched back, annoyed.

“Irrelevant.”

Atago’s grin widened.

“Ah, so you noticed.”

Takao’s voice cut in sharply.

“Enough.” She bowed her head slightly toward Nagato. “Forgive us.”

The room fell very quiet.

All eyes shifted to Nagato.

She had been silent the entire time, hands folded in her lap, ears unmoving.

Now she raised her gaze slowly, eyes ancient and heavy as the sea.

“This is not a social visit,” she said quietly.

Her voice was calm. Terrible in its finality.

“We are the face of the Sakura Empire. We will show strength. And courtesy. You will remember that every word and every look you give these foreigners reflects on us all.”

She let the silence stretch.

Then, softer:

“There is room for professionalism. Even respect. But never forget your duty.”

Kaga felt the weight settle in her chest.

Duty. Always duty.

She lowered her eyes respectfully.

“Hai. Nagato-sama.”

Around the table, the others murmured assent. Even Akagi inclined her head fractionally.

Dinner resumed in silence for a time.

But Kaga could feel her sister’s eyes on her. Watching. Measuring.

She sipped her tea slowly, ears flicking once, then settling.

If I do not speak to him tonight, there will be confusion tomorrow. That is truth.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

She exhaled softly.

He is different. Careful. Watching everything. Trying.

She remembered the way he’d looked at the board. Not challenging. Not mocking.

Just…interested.

She set her cup down quietly.

I will go.

Whatever Akagi thought.

Whatever any of them thought.

I will go.

The air was cooler by the time she left the mess, lantern light flickering along the base paths.

Her geta clicked softly on the stone walkway, tails swaying with slow, controlled arcs behind her.

She kept her eyes forward, ignoring the faint noise of sailors on night watch, the glow of cigarettes in the shadows, the low murmur of officers discussing tomorrow’s exercise.

Akagi’s words still rang in her ears.

“Be careful how close you stand.”

And Nagato’s even quieter, heavier judgment:

“You will remember that every word and every look you give these foreigners reflects on us all.”

Kaga exhaled slowly, letting the cool sea air steady her.

I remember.

She told herself this was necessary.
That coordination demanded it.
That avoiding confusion meant speaking directly.

But she also knew it wasn’t only that.

He asked questions.
He listened.
He did not lie.

That was dangerous in its own way.

Her ears twitched once. She adjusted her sleeves and continued down the winding garden path.

She saw the pavilion lanterns before she heard the quiet sound of boots on the wood floor.

James Thompson was already there.

He stood near the low table, head slightly bowed, fingers brushing the edge of the shogi board. He wasn’t wearing his full khakis, just the undershirt, sleeves rolled, the cap laid neatly beside him.

When he heard her geta on the steps, he straightened quickly.

For a moment they simply looked at one another, the wind rustling the lanterns overhead.

“Lieutenant.”

Her voice was calm.

He nodded, voice lower than usual.

“Kaga.”

His voice was softer than on the docks, less sharp.

She stepped onto the pavilion floor, geta clicking once before she knelt opposite him. Her tails settled behind her in careful arcs.

For a moment they simply regarded one another across the board.

James cleared his throat.

“You didn’t have to come.”

Her ears flicked once, eyes narrowing fractionally.

“I said I would.”

He let out a short, embarrassed exhale.

“Yeah. Guess you did.”

She studied the board. The pieces were half-arranged, his work uneven.

She reached forward and began to correct them with precise, deliberate motions.

He watched her hands.

“You’re…very exact.”

“It is necessary.” Her voice was calm, but she felt the faintest heat at the tips of her ears.

He smiled just slightly.

“Strict teacher.”

She paused, fingers resting lightly on a piece.

Then she spoke carefully.

“Shogi is…discipline. Strategy. Each piece has a duty. It is not…a game.”

James tilted his head.

“Well, it is a game. Just one you’re supposed to lose slowly.”

She blinked once.

He grinned at her confusion.

“Old joke. Sorry.”

Her ears flicked again.

“Humor is…unpredictable.”

He let out a low laugh, softer than before.

“Yeah. We’re good at that.”

Silence fell.

She finished arranging the board and sat back.

He watched her carefully.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may.”

He hesitated.

“Where’d you learn to play? Shogi, I mean.”

Her ears shifted slightly.

“Akagi-nee-san taught me the basics when we were young.”

She placed the last piece carefully.

“I…studied more seriously with someone else. Later.”

James waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

He nodded once, respecting the boundary.

“They must’ve been good.”

Kaga’s eyes flickered, her voice low.

“Very.”

Silence held a moment.

She adjusted her sleeves, eyes still on the board.

Then she asked quietly:

“Do you have siblings?”

James blinked.

“Yeah.”

He let out a small, reluctant smile, looking down at the board.

“A younger brother and a little sister. My brother is also in the navy, much like me. As for my sister, she is spoiled as hell. The kind that gets away with everything.”

Kaga watched him, unmoving.

“You resent that?”

James snorted softly.

“Drives me crazy, sure. But… she’s good. Comes to me when she’s in trouble. Knows I’ll help. Guess that’s the job.”

He shrugged helplessly.

Kaga’s ears twitched once.

“Yes.”

He lifted his gaze.

“You have a sister too.”

Her ears angled back fractionally.

“Akagi-nee-san.”

He waited.

She didn’t elaborate.

He inclined his head slightly.

“Must be…something.”

Kaga let out a controlled breath.

“It is…complicated.”

Silence fell, this time more thoughtful.

James finally broke it, voice quieter.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a mess if we get it wrong.”

Kaga’s eyes cooled fractionally.

“We will not.”

He raised his hands lightly.

“I know. You’re thorough. Just…calming my nerves.”

She regarded him, searching for mockery, finding none.

After a pause, her voice lowered.

“You should be nervous. We all should.”

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

Another silence.

Then, very quietly, he asked:

“Do you really think we’ll fight?”

Kaga’s ears lowered, tails flicking once.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead she let her gaze drift to the edge of the pavilion, where lantern light met darkness.

“It is my duty to prepare for that. Even if I hope it does not happen.”

James watched her carefully.

“Even if innocent people will die?”

Kaga’s ears twitched once. She didn’t look away.

“That is the nature of war. It does not ask who is innocent.”

James frowned slightly.

“That’s...convenient.”

Her voice sharpened just a fraction.

“It is not convenient. It is true. That is why we must be ready. To end it quickly. To keep our people safe.”

James held her gaze.

“Still sounds like a choice.”

Kaga’s tails shifted once behind her.

“Everything is a choice. Even refusing to fight.”

Silence fell between them, heavy with the weight of the words.

Finally, James let out a slow breath.

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the point without surrendering hers.

They regarded each other in the lantern glow, the board waiting between them.

After a long moment, she reached out and moved the first piece.

“Your move.”

James blinked, then huffed out a small, grateful breath.

“All right. But go easy on me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched the faintest amount.

“No.”

He grinned.

They played.

Quiet fell around them, broken only by the faint click of wooden pieces, the hush of the wind, and the distant creak of the harbor’s ships resting uneasily at anchor.

Chapter Text

James flexed his gloved hands on the stick, feeling the steady rumble of the engine vibrate through the frame. Sunlight flared off the glass, making him squint despite his goggles. Salt haze blurred the horizon.

The Dauntless wasn’t pretty the way fighters were. It wasn’t fast. Didn’t dance in a dogfight. It was a purpose-built beast. A Navy dive bomber through and through.

Overbuilt to survive a vertical dive that would make lesser planes fold like paper.

Dive brakes. Reinforced wings. Bomb cradles that swung clear so you wouldn’t shear off your own tail.

They joked you didn’t fly the Dauntless. You pointed it. A controlled fall from the sky with a bomb in your belly.

He let his eyes flick to the gauge cluster, then down, as if he could see through the floor to the bomb slung beneath them.

Today it was a dud, of course, a training bomb, weighted to match the real thing.

Five hundred pounds of iron meant to mimic the real payload. Enough to punch through a carrier’s armored deck if they ever needed to make it live.

The extra weight made the stick feel heavier, the nose wants to drop. Familiar. Comforting, even.

Not glamorous. But reliable. He trusted it.

He checked his instruments one more time, squinting through the haze to where sky met sea.

Find the targets. Hit them clean. Get home.

He pressed his mic.

“Gray Leader to all elements, check in.”

One by one, his squadron replied, clipped voices over the static.

“2 Baker 2, green.”
“2 Baker 3, green.”
“2 Baker 4, green.”

He listened carefully, gauging tone. They sounded tight, focused but tired.

He flicked a glance over his shoulder. The formation held steady, glinting wings cutting across the blue.

They were flying line abreast, good spacing, nothing fancy. Designed to cover as much ocean as they could with their eyes, every pilot sweeping the horizon for that telltale smudge of smoke or the glint of a carrier’s wake.

Henderson was out on his right flank, steady as ever, keeping station like he was born there. James didn’t have to worry about him drifting or getting sloppy.

Further out, Anderson and McKnight were holding their intervals, their canopies flashing in the sun.

Good men. Solid.

He let out a slow breath, feeling the tension settle in his chest.

“Bombing 2, fuel check.”

“Ninety-eight gallons, sir.”
“One hundred.”
“Ninety-four.”

He grimaced.

“We’re pushing it. Stay sharp. No wandering.”

“Yes, sir.”

His gunner, Murry, spoke over the intercom, voice dry.

“Hell of a way to make friends, huh?”

James grunted.

“Better than fighting them.”

But he wasn’t sure.

They’d spent hours scouring this stretch of ocean, scanning empty waves for the so-called targets, Sakura Empire carriers waiting to play enemy.

Officially it was a joint readiness exercise.

Unofficially, it was a test of nerves.

Neither side trusted the other.

Lexington had laid it out bluntly in the briefing:

“This is a confidence-building measure. We show them our runs. They show us their defenses. It’s designed to prove we’re not planning to kill each other. Yet.”

He had nodded like everyone else.

But flying attack profiles against ships that might be real enemies tomorrow?

It felt like balancing on a knife.

Hours passed with nothing but sea and sky.

James was about to call it off when a voice crackled over the net:

“Gray Leader, I see something. Bearing one-seven-five.”

He straightened.

“Confirm.”

“Two carriers. Escorts.”

James’s heart kicked once.

“That’s them. Bombing 2, form up. Lets make this look real.”

“Roger.”

He forced his voice calm.

“Remember your intervals. No slop. Lexington’s watching.”

They closed in.

On the horizon, pale shapes resolved into the unmistakable forms of fleet carriers. Decks stacked with aircraft. Destroyers cutting protective wakes.

He felt his gut tighten.

He recognized one of them immediately.

IJN Kaga.

Even at this distance, she was unmistakable, long flight deck, command tower rising with rigid precision.

Wonder if she’s watching.

He pushed the thought down.

“2 Baker, prep for run. Murry, altitudes.”

“Ten thousand.”

They broke into dive formation.

As they rolled in, black puffs of simulated flak began to blossom around them.

James flinched instinctively as the canopy rattled with thunder.

“Easy, boys. It’s pretend but fly like it’s real.”

“Six thousand.”

Smoke and color coded signal shells marked “hits” and “misses” in coordinated patterns, AA crews below playing their part perfectly.

James kept his eyes locked on the deck, lining up the imaginary release point.

“Four thousand.”

The Dauntless shook in the windblast.

He felt sweat on his back, fingers white on the stick.

“Three five hundred.”

That was the magic number, the Navy’s standard release altitude. Low enough for accuracy, high enough you might still pull out if you didn’t panic.

He felt his stomach clench as the altimeter unwound.

He pressed the trigger, a dummy switch that marked his “release.”

“Bomb’s away!”

He yanked the nose up, the Gs biting.

Murry cursed behind him.

“Christ, don’t black us out, sir.”

“Quit whining.”

They climbed away, formation fanning out, turning to rejoin.

James glanced over his shoulder at the distant carriers, smoke still curling from spent signal shells.

Textbook.

Or close enough.

He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Gray Leader to all elements, good work. Reform. We’re headed home.”

One by one, voices crackled back, relieved, weary, proud.

As they turned north toward Lexington’s coordinates, James risked a final glance back.

The Sakura Empire fleet was shrinking on the horizon, neat wakes gleaming in the sun.

They did their part.

We did ours.

But tomorrow? Who the hell knows.

The wind tore at her hair, whipping it across her cheek despite the careful pins.

Kaga stood on the carrier’s broad flight deck, arms folded behind her back, tails spread in disciplined arcs.

Around her, the deck crew scrambled in perfectly rehearsed patterns, white flags signaling readiness, spotters shouting bearing updates, AA crews standing by.

She let her eyes drift across the light batteries lining the sponsons and deck corners, 25mm mounts manned and ready, crews running through silent drills.

Below decks, the gun crews trained barrels skyward, relaying positions over the wired phones in crisp, professional barks.

The arcs were carefully plotted. Overlapping. Nothing left to chance.

As it should be.

She listened to it all, absorbing each report.

Eyes fixed on the approaching dots in the sky.

Her ears twitched once in irritation.

This farce.

She inhaled slowly, forcing calm.

Duty was duty.

They would do this correctly.

As the American dive bombers closed in, Kaga lowered her voice into the speaking tube.

“Atago, Takao, adjust screening pattern. Do not cross our evasive turn.”

Takao’s voice crackled back immediately, firm and respectful.

“Understood, Kaga. Repositioning to starboard. Takao out.”

Atago’s reply was smoother, a note of sly amusement even in a drill.

“Copy that, dear Kaga. We wouldn’t dream of bumping you.”

Kaga’s tail flicked once in restrained annoyance.

She ignored it and switched channels.

“Fubuki, Shimikaze, screen tighter to port. Watch for stray bombers.”

Fubuki’s youthful voice wavered with urgency.

“Hai! Adjusting course immediately!”

Shimikaze’s answer was clipped but carried an excited edge.

“Acknowledged. I’ll keep them honest.”

Kaga’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction as she watched the formation shift in the near distance.

The escorts moved exactly as ordered, Takao and Atago gliding outward, Fubuki and Shimikaze tucking in closer, their sleek hulls cutting disciplined arcs across the sea.

Good.

Disciplined.

As it should be.

She lifted her gaze back to the sky.

The dive bombers were breaking into their attack runs, wings tilting into familiar predatory angles.

Smoke-puff signal shells began to bloom, black and grey against the pale sky, bracketing the American formations.

Kaga’s ears angled forward, voice calm but firm.

“火を開け! [Open fire!]”

The blank shells thundered in sequence, the deck trembling under her feet as smoke and sound filled the air.

She felt the ship respond as she willed it to turn, her spirit and the carrier moving as one.

The hull heeled smoothly, cutting through the sea in a carefully planned evasive maneuver, just as drilled.

Her tail tips flicked in sharp satisfaction.

Let them see it.

Let them understand.

She scanned the bombers one by one, assessing angles, speeds, spacing.

Most were good, very good.

But one in particular caught her eye.

Marked with subtle squadron stripes. Flying with unmistakable authority.

James Thompson.

Even at this distance she recognized the deliberate precision of his dive.

No waste. No panic.

He flew like it mattered.

She did not smile.

But she did feel the barest flicker of approval.

Below her, spotters called out “impacts,” marking simulated hits in calm, trained voices.

Her officers relayed damage control drills, voice pipes hissing with brisk, coordinated orders.

The American planes pulled up in disciplined sequence, reforming their group as they climbed away.

Kaga didn’t move.

She watched them wheel north, back toward their own carrier group, dark dots against the hard blue of the Pacific sky.

The wind snapped at her dress.

She adjusted her grip behind her back, tails settling.

They did not disgrace themselves.

Nor did we.

That was enough.

For today.

Chapter Text

Clouds swallowed them whole.

The Dauntless shuddered as wind slammed its belly, wings flexing with every gust. Rain streaked the canopy in racing rivers, turning the world to streaming grey.

Lightning flared somewhere off the starboard bow, lighting the towering clouds in monstrous shapes.

James squinted at his instruments. Needle jittering on the heading dial. Altimeter flicking. Fuel gauge dropping faster than he liked.

He pressed his mic, voice clipped and level despite the pounding of his heart.
“Gray Leader to all elements, sound off.”

The radio crackled with static, then spit out ragged, broken voices:
“2 Baker 2...can’t see...”
“Leader say again...signal’s garbage...”
“Henderson here...on your five, but I’m losing...”

James’s grip tightened on the stick.
“Maintain bearing two-four-zero. Do NOT break formation.”

Thunder boomed so close it rattled his teeth.

Through the swirling cloud he glimpsed another Dauntless ahead, just the shape of a tailfin in the gloom. Then it vanished in the black wall of rain.

God damn this Pacific weather.

He toggled the mic again.
“Check fuel state.”

One by one they reported in, voices strained, wavering with static:
“2 Baker 2, sixty-five gallons.”
“2 Baker 3, sixty-two.”
“2 Baker 4, sixty.”

Henderson last.
“Fifty-nine.”

James flicked a glance at his own gauge. Barely sixty.

Murray’s voice crackled in his headset, level but worried.
“James…we don’t have the margin to skirt this.”

James swallowed hard. He knew it.

They’d gotten the abort call, albeit garbled and late through roaring static. Both the Japanese and US ships had called it off, weather going to hell.

They’d been out on a joint exercise all day practicing coordinated search patterns, proving the two navies could work together. Show the politicians they weren’t getting ready to kill each other.

He’d led them deep south of the grid, pushing to cover their assigned sector. Stick to the plan. Make it look good.

And now they were too far downrange. Fuel too low to swing wide and skirt the storm.

No way around the storm. Only through.

He swallowed hard.

My call.

“Gray Leader to all aircraft. We’re going through. Tighten formation.”

He heard Henderson’s reluctant reply.
“Roger.”

Lightning ripped across the sky.

The Dauntless bucked violently. The altimeter spun crazily for a moment before stabilizing.

He felt the plane slam sideways as a gust smacked it, rain blasting so hard it roared against the glass.

Static swallowed his next transmission.

“Gray Leader……kshhh…..respond…..kshhh”

He banged the side of the set with his fist.
“Gray Leader to all elements, check in!”

Nothing.

Only the roar of the storm.

Murray’s voice in the intercom was grim.
“We lost them.”

James bit down on a curse.

He tried the mic again, calmer.
“Gray Leader to any friendly, say again. Mayday. Mayday. Weather compromised. Fuel critical. Attempting to maintain two-four-zero. Anyone read”

The only answer was static.

Murray didn’t say anything.

James sucked in a breath. The smell of wet canvas and oil filled the cramped cockpit.

Stay calm.

He wiped the inside of the canopy with his glove but it was futile. The water was pouring in so fast, visibility was near zero.

The altimeter dipped again.

Murray’s voice was low.
“James…we’re not going to make it.”

James didn’t answer.

His eyes locked on the horizon, if he could even call it that in the boiling cloud.

Lightning illuminated the sea below. Black, seething, whitecaps like jaws.

He took a breath that shuddered.

Then he toggled the mic one last time.

“Gray One to any friendly, Mayday. Ditching. Approximate position two-four-zero from Lexington group. Fuel exhausted. Mayday. Mayday.”

He clicked it off.

And turned to Murray, voice quiet.
“Brace.”

Murray’s answer was steady, though his face was pale.
“Roger.”

James adjusted the nose, trying to find any break in the clouds, any patch of smoother water.

There was none.

The altimeter unwound faster.

Wind shrieked around the canopy.

He fought the stick, breath hissing through his teeth.

Flaps.

His hand darted to the lever, pulling it back. The SBD shuddered as the flaps deployed, drag slamming at the wings. The nose wanted to pitch up but he forced it level.

Rain hammered the canopy. The altimeter wound down like a death sentence.

Slower. Just a little slower. Come on.

But the wind howled, tearing at the controls.

He closed his eyes for just an instant.

Sorry, boys.

“Brace!” he roared.

The impact was catastrophic.

Metal screamed.

The nose buried in a wave and the whole aircraft jerked, slamming them forward. The harness bit deep into his chest.

Water exploded over the canopy, blinding him.

He heard Murray shout, cut off by the roar of the sea.

Water rushed in. Freezing. Black.

James fumbled at the canopy latch, but it was jammed by the impact.

Move.

He slammed it with his fist. Kicked at it.

Nothing.

The world turned sideways as the Dauntless rolled.

He heard a muffled thud, Murray’s canopy releasing behind him.

“Get out!” he tried to scream, but water filled his mouth.

Cold numbed him, biting into his muscles.

He fought the harness. Hands slipping.

Please.

The water climbed to his chest.

Think!

He scrabbled at his holster, fingers wet and slipping, finally yanking the .45 free.

He braced it awkwardly against the side of the cockpit glass.

BANG!

The shot roared in the cramped space, deafening.

A spiderweb of cracks raced through the plexi. Water poured in faster, pressure blowing shards inward.

He twisted, trying to shove the cracked section open.

It bent. It groaned.

But the sea was flooding in. His feet slipped from the rudder pedals as water surged past his shoulders.

He sucked in a lungful of stale air.

Not enough.

He felt the black pressing in on the edges of his vision.

He thought of the shogi board.

Of Kaga.

The last thing he felt was something brushing his hand.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

The sea was still angry as dusk fell.

Grey-black rollers surged under Lexington’s hull, making her massive bow rise and slam down with the weight of a falling building. Water exploded off the prow in sheets, thrown high into the wind to slap down onto the forecastle and cascade in rivulets along the scuppers.

Sailors on the forward decks moved cautiously, hoods up, slickers shining in the lantern light. Each wave that broke against the hull sent sprays arcing over them, soaking collars and cuffs, turning the steel deck into a treacherous slick.

Above them, signal lamps winked and blinked orders to the escorts straining to hold formation in the churning sea. The destroyers rode the swells like hunting animals, their prows slicing, then burying in green water before rising in a shower of foam.

The air was thick with salt and the low, pulsing growl of diesel generators.

On Lexington’s flight deck, the landing signals officer braced himself against the pitching plane as he waved in the returning Dauntlesses.

The deck lurched underfoot with every swell.

“Easy, easy,” he muttered, voice lost in the wind.

One SBD came in high and fast, nose bucking in the crosswind. The pilot wrestled it down, tailhook clanging against the steel deck and skipping once before snagging the third wire with a screech of tortured metal. The plane slammed to a halt so hard it bounced, the wings vibrating.

Crewmen scrambled in, chocks and wands flashing, shouting over the din. Another Dauntless followed, almost overshooting before the hook bit just in time.

White rain swept sideways across the deck, making the outlines of men and machines ghostlike.

Below, the hangar crews waited with towels and tools, ready to pull drenched, shivering pilots from the cockpits.

Above it all, the island tower blazed with electric light. Signal flags flapped, wet and heavy.

Lexington - Bridge

Rain lashed the bridge windows, smearing the lantern light into shifting patterns. The ship rolled heavily underfoot, groaning as green water surged along the scuppers.

Lexington stood by the plotting table, coat cinched high at the neck, pink hair damp at the edges. Her gloved hands rested behind her back, the leather creaking faintly.

She didn’t turn as the door opened.

Boots squeaked on the wet deck.

“Lieutenant Henderson reporting.”

His voice was tight, clipped.

She turned slowly.

He stood at rigid attention, his flight suit still soaked, helmet tucked under one arm. Water dripped onto the map table.

Lexington’s eyes locked on him.

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

He shifted, shoulders stiff.

“Report,” she said coldly.

Henderson swallowed. His eyes flicked to the Admiral, standing impassive to one side, then back to Lexington.

“Joint exercise, ma’am. Coordinated search patterns with the Japanese group. Weather was…worse than forecast.”

Lexington’s eyes narrowed.

“Worse?”

Henderson exhaled shakily.

“Squalls built fast. Visibility went to nothing. Radios broke up. We got the abort call late. We tried to turn north, going around the storm but our fuel state was already tight. Thompson decided to push through the worst of it.”

Silence.

The Admiral’s gaze was like stone.

Lexington’s voice dropped to a hiss.

“He decided.”

Henderson’s jaw worked.

“Ma’am. He was trying to hold the formation together. He…didn’t want to leave anyone behind. He was leading us home.”

The rain beat harder on the windows.

Lexington’s eyes didn’t waver.

“Where did you last see him?”

Henderson’s voice cracked.

“About bearing 240. South of the planned search grid. He was trying to rally us on that heading. Then…we lost him.”

Lexington turned to the plotting board.

The red grease-pencil line was smeared from the damp.

She traced it once with a gloved finger.

Lexington didn’t look at Henderson again, but her voice carried.

“Dismissed. Get out of that suit. Get something hot in you.”

Henderson saluted, fist clenched around his helmet.

Silence pressed in after Henderson’s boots faded down the companionway.

Rain hammered the bridge windows in relentless sheets, streaking the lantern light into rippling lines. The Lexington rolled again underfoot, groaning as green water surged along the scuppers.

Admiral McClellan studied the damp, smudged plotting board, fingers tapping once on the red grease-pencil line marking Thompson’s last known bearing.

Finally, he spoke with quiet authority.

“Signal Cassin and Dewey. Break formation. Flank speed to his last known coordinates. I want them on station now.”

The aide saluted sharply and moved off at a near run, boots thudding on wet steel.

Lexington didn’t move, eyes fixed on the map.

Her voice was lower, but clear.

“Admiral, we should inform the Japanese flagship. They’ll want to coordinate. They were part of this exercise. They’ll help.”

McClellan’s mouth twitched, more a grim acknowledgement than a smile.

“Yes. You’re right. Make sure the signal is respectful. We’re partners in this, whatever happens tomorrow.”

Another officer ducked his head in assent and hurried to the radio set, static already hissing in the charged air.

Lexington’s gloved hands tightened behind her back. Leather creaked softly.

She didn’t turn her head.

“He’s out there.”

McClellan watched her for a moment, reading the tension in her shoulders.

Then his voice softened just a hair.

“And if there’s any chance at all, we’ll bring him home.”

Lexington’s jaw worked once. She drew a careful breath.

Then she straightened, voice clipped and crisp.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

The sea was a boiling cauldron of black water and white foam.

Lightning ripped across the horizon, illuminating the waves in jagged silver.

Kaga’s eyes narrowed to slits against the sheets of rain lashing her face.

She stood at the forward starboard rail of her carrier, ears pinned flat, hair plastered to her cheeks. Her white tails thrashed behind her, heavy with water, betraying her tension.

Spray slapped the deck as the ship pitched.

Her spotters shouted over the wind:

“Splash spotted! Bearing two-four-zero! Close off the starboard bow!”

She saw it too.

A flicker of flame on the horizon. The ugly, final splash. And then nothing but seething waves.

James.

Her claws dug grooves in the wet steel.

Bridge speakers crackled with static and frantic voices.

“Launch the boats!”

“Signal the destroyers, order intercept at best speed!”

“Searchlights to bearing two-four-zero!”

A line officer turned to her, face pale, rain streaking his cap.

“Kaga-sama, the boats are lowering now! American destroyers are also enroute!”

She barely heard him.

Too slow.

She watched the spot where he’d gone in.

The waves were swallowing it already.

Even destroyers at flank speed would take minutes to close.

The launches were already bobbing wildly, struggling to swing out on their davits in the squall.

He doesn’t have minutes.

A raw noise scraped in her throat.

The spotters kept shouting bearings. Crewmen darted around her, securing lines, shouting orders. Steam hissed from the catapult systems in ghostly clouds. Rain clattered on metal.

They’ll never reach him.

Her heart pounded like a wardrum.

Akagi’s voice snapped over the bridge comms.

“Kaga!”

Kaga ignored it.

Akagi’s voice came again, sharper, cold with command.

“Kaga. Don’t be reckless. It’s too late. He’s already...”

“No!”

She didn’t shout it.

She said it low.

But every ear on the bridge heard.

The wind wailed.

Akagi’s voice hissed back.

“You’re not thinking. He’s one foreign pilot, an enemy officer. You can’t save everyone.”

Kaga’s tails bristled.

No.

But I can save him.

She turned to the waiting launch commander.

His mouth opened to protest.

“Kaga-sama, the sea’s too rough, you’ll never…”

She stepped past him, boots ringing on the wet deck.

“Hold position. Keep searchlights on the splash point.”

She flexed her claws, breathing hard.

“Kaga-sama!”

Akagi’s voice rose in her earpiece, frantic now.

“Kaga, STOP!”

She didn’t listen.

She sprinted.

Two strides.

Three.

She cleared the rail in a single, fluid leap.

For one frozen heartbeat she was airborne, tails streaming behind her in the gale.

Then she dropped like a stone into the roiling Pacific.

Underwater

The impact hit like a cannonball.

Cold punched the air from her lungs.

Salt water filled her mouth, eyes stinging as she forced them open.

The ocean churned, green-black and full of whirling debris.

Lightning flashed above, illuminating the wreck in spectral flickers.

She saw the Dauntless below her.

Twisted. Broken.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Move.

She kicked hard, tails snapping in perfect coordination, diving fast.

She caught the canopy outline in the gloom, saw the webbed cracks.

Inside.

James.

Still.

Slumped.

Air bubbles streamed from his nose in slow, accusing ropes.

Too long.

She roared underwater, bubbles boiling from her mouth in a soundless scream. Her claws slammed into the canopy edge.

It fractured further with a dull crack. She jammed her foot against the fuselage and ripped.

Plexiglass gave way in her hands. Water flooded around him in a maelstrom of debris and blood.

She reached in, hooking her claws under his harness.

Not yet.

He drifted limp as a corpse.

No.

No.

She pulled.

Felt his shoulder catch.

He slipped free, turning boneless in the current.

She wrapped both arms around his chest, braced, and kicked.

Her lungs screamed for air.

Just hold on.

They broke through in an explosion of spray.

Air burned in her throat.

James was dead weight in her grip, head lolling, mouth slack.

“Kaga-sama!” voices screamed over the wind.

James lay limp on the landing deck.

Kaga knelt over him, ears pinned tight, tails dragging limply behind her.

Her claws dug into his uniform collar.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

She pressed her palms to his chest.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Breathe.”

Water gurgled from his mouth.

She leaned down, teeth bared, forcing air into his lungs.

Pressed again.

“James, breathe!”

Her voice cracked.

Crew stood frozen around them, afraid to speak.

She didn’t care.

She pressed harder, ignoring the slick blood on her claws from the wreckage.

“Don’t you dare leave me here.”

A cough.

He jerked.

Water poured from his mouth.

He gagged, wheezed.

His eyes flickered open, unfocused.

“K-Kaga…?”

She grabbed his collar, shaking him lightly.

“You stupid, stubborn man.”

He coughed again, breath rattling.

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders slumped.

She pulled him into a crushing embrace, pressing her forehead to his.

“Rest now.”

He went limp against her, breathing shallowly but steady.

Around them, the crew exhaled as one.

Kaga just held him there, the storm raging around them.

One soldier. One life.

Worth it.

Chapter Text

Yokosuka Harbor - Infirmary

The corridor outside the infirmary was dim, lit only by flickering oil lamps in ornate sconces. Rain hammered the base’s tile roofs outside, casting rhythmic sounds into the quiet hall.

Kaga stood with her arms folded behind her back, white-tipped tails hanging limp. Her uniform was immaculate again, cleaned, dried, repaired after the storm, but she felt anything but.

Inside, through the shoji-style door cracked open, she could hear hushed voices. Medics worked quietly over the unconscious American pilot on the futon.

James.

Lieutenant Thompson.

The man she'd leapt from her own carrier deck to save.

She tried to keep her face still, eyes forward.

But her ears twitched, betraying her agitation.

Why?

Why did I do it?

She’d known the launch crews were too slow. She’d seen the splash herself. But why not let them try? Why her?

Because you couldn't stand to watch him drown.

She swallowed hard.

A thousand excuses lined up in her mind. Duty. Honor. Hospitality to a negotiating partner.

But none of them rang true.

It was personal.

Her claws flexed against the small of her back.

Stupid.

Weak.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

The door creaked.

Footsteps.

Akagi.

Her sister’s nine crimson-tipped tails shifted like a fan behind her. Her golden eyes caught the lamplight, gleaming with cold assessment.

They locked gazes without words for a moment.

Finally Akagi's voice cut the silence, soft but sharp as a drawn blade.

"So. This is where you’re hiding."

Kaga didn’t move.

Akagi's lip curled slightly.

"Watching over your precious American. How touching."

"Enough."

Akagi’s eyebrow rose.

"Enough? Oh no, dear sister. We are going to talk about this."

Kaga’s jaw tightened.

"There is nothing to discuss."

Akagi stepped closer, boots whispering on the tatami.

"You risked our mission for him. You humiliated yourself in front of the fleet. You jumped off your own carrier."

Kaga's ears twitched.

"He would have drowned."

Akagi's tails lashed once.

"Yes. He is the enemy."

Silence fell like a dropped blade.

Kaga's voice was low.

"We are not at war. Not yet."

Akagi snorted.

"Don’t delude yourself. You heard Nagato's words. We will be at war before long. And when that day comes, he will fly to kill us. To kill you."

Kaga’s claws bit into her palms.

"That night, he was just a man drowning."

Akagi leaned in, eyes gleaming.

"And you were just a fool who jumped. Why, Kaga? Duty? Honor? Don’t lie to me. Tell me why you did it."

Kaga tried to answer.

Nothing came out.

Akagi’s voice softened, almost pitying.

"You don’t even know yourself, do you?"

Kaga turned away, hiding her face in the gloom.

Akagi straightened. Her voice grew cold, formal.

"I hope you enjoyed this little fantasy of compassion. Because it ends soon. Orders will come. You know what they’ll ask of us."

Kaga stayed silent.

Akagi exhaled, her tails settling.

"Do what you want. Sit here and watch over him like a lovesick fool. But remember who you serve."

With that, Akagi turned sharply and strode away, the corridor swallowing her footsteps.

Kaga stood frozen.

The lamp hissed in the silence.

Finally she exhaled slowly.

Her ears drooped.

She let her claws slide from her palms.

And then she turned and walked away, tails dragging behind her, leaving the infirmary door half open.

James floated up from darkness slowly.

He was aware of warmth first, a thick blanket over his chest. Then sound, the steady drumming of rain on the roof tiles.

Then pain. A dull ache everywhere.

His eyes cracked open.

Paper walls. Wooden beams. Lantern light.

Not the Lexington.

He struggled to focus.

"Easy there."

A gentle voice. Familiar.

Lexington sat beside him in the small room, her dress blues spotless, hair carefully arranged despite the storm outside. Her eyes were full of relief.

He blinked. His throat worked.

"Lex...?"

She smiled, but it was a tired smile.

"Lieutenant Thompson. Welcome back."

He tried to sit up. Pain flared in his ribs. He winced.

Lexington's gloved hand pressed lightly on his shoulder.

"Don’t be stubborn. Lie still. Doctor’s orders."

He let out a hoarse breath.

"Where...?"

"Japanese infirmary. They’ve been treating you. You’re lucky to be alive."

Memory rushed back. The storm. The spin. Cold water filling his lungs. Claws wrenching the canopy open. A flash of silver hair.

His voice cracked.

"Kaga?"

Lexington’s gaze softened.

"She saved you."

He stared at the ceiling.

"She jumped off her own carrier deck into that storm for you, James."

He swallowed hard.

Lexington’s voice was quiet. "I don’t think even she knows why."

He turned his head slightly to look at her.

He struggled to wet his dry lips.

"What about Murry?"

Lexington’s face eased just a bit more.

"He’s fine. Bruised, but nothing serious. He’s resting on the Lexington. Keeps asking about you."

James let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

"Good. That’s... good."

There was a moment of quiet, broken only by the steady patter of rain.

Finally, he turned his head slightly toward her.

"How long... am I stuck here?"

Lexington exhaled slowly.

"Couple of days, at least. Observation. Then you’ll transfer back to us to finish recovery."

He let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Great," he rasped. "Just what I wanted. Japanese hospitality."

Despite herself, Lexington huffed a quiet laugh.

"Behave. They saved your life."

He managed the ghost of a grin.

"Guess I owe them."

Lexington’s expression faltered for a moment.

She cleared her throat, looking away.

He frowned faintly.

"Lex...?"

When she looked back at him, her eyes were suspiciously bright.

She blinked hard, voice a little thick.

"You... scared us, James."

He felt something tighten in his chest.

"...Sorry."

She let out a small, shaky breath.

"You stupid boy."

He tried to smile.

"Hey now. Its Lieutenant stupid boy, to you."

Lexington made a noise that might have been a laugh or a sob. She lifted a gloved hand to wipe under one eye.

"Just rest," she said, voice gentling, settling back into command. "Doctor says you’ll be fine. But don’t make me sit vigil again in another infirmary, understood?"

He swallowed, throat tight.

"Aye, ma’am."

Her expression softened, relief and exasperation mingling.

She reached out and gently brushed the hair from his forehead, motherly and fond.

"That’s better."

He let his eyes drift closed, listening to the rain, feeling her hand steady against his brow.

As sleep tugged at him, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

"Thanks, Lex."

She squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Always, James. Always."

Chapter Text

James limped slowly down Lexington’s familiar passageway, boots thumping softly against the green-painted deck. He ignored the pain radiating from his bruised ribs.

He was home.

Even with the storm battering the hull, the Lexington felt steady under his feet in a way nothing else did.

Sailors he passed greeted him quietly:

“Good to see you back, Lieutenant.” “Welcome home, sir.”

Their voices were careful. Respectful.

They knew.

He gave them nods, small grim smiles.

When he reached his narrow cabin, he pressed the latch and pushed it open with his unbandaged shoulder.

Dim lamplight spilled across metal walls and the small bunk.

He let his eyes rest on it all for a moment, like it was holy.

He shut the door behind him and let out a long, ragged breath.

Slowly, carefully, he shrugged off his damp, wrinkled khaki jacket and let it fall over the back of the lone chair. He eased down onto the bunk with a sigh.

Outside, rain hammered the steel.

He let the sound fill him. His gaze fell to the small desk beside him.

On it lay a single envelope.

Crumpled edges. Faded ink.

His brother’s handwriting.

James frowned, leaning forward.

He’d forgotten about it. Forgotten everything except water and cold and silver hair pulling him out.

With stiff fingers he cracked the seal.

Hey James,

Hope you’re holding up okay on that big floating city. Listen I’ve got news. I’m getting married. Married, you hear me?

Wedding’s in Honolulu. And you’re gonna be my best man. Don’t argue.

Mom’s excited to see you. She’s been complaining you never write enough. Don’t make me deal with that alone.

And hey…word is you’ve been…getting close to someone. Some Navy folks from Pearl mentioned you kept talking about a ‘Commander’ on the other side who wasn’t trying to kill you. Bring her.

I want to meet the poor woman who puts up with you.

No excuses.

Oliver

James let the letter fall to his lap.

He stared at it.

The storm rattled the bulkheads.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his forehead.

Bring her.

What the hell did Oliver think this was?

A date?

He snorted bitterly.

Or maybe…

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what they were.

He heard nothing at first. Or maybe there hadn’t been a knock.

Lexington just appeared in the doorway, her pink hair haloed by the yellow lamplight.

She watched him for a long moment. James didn’t bother looking up.

"Go on," he rasped. "I know you’re dying to say it."

Lexington folded her arms neatly, leaning against the frame.

"And what exactly do you think I want to say?"

He flicked the letter at her without looking.

"‘James Thompson is a sentimental idiot.’"

Her brow lifted, just slightly.

"That’s much too short for me. I’d need at least a page."

He let out a hoarse snort.

"Thought so."

She sighed, pushing herself off the frame, boots whispering on the deck.

She stopped beside his desk, eyes falling to the letter in his lap.

"Oliver again?" she asked, voice softening.

James scowled, exhausted.

"Yeah. Wants me at his wedding. Wants me to bring… her."

Lexington’s eyes gentled even further.

"‘The one you’re seeing.’"

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

"How the hell does he even know?"

Lexington’s mouth twitched.

"Navy wives have better intelligence networks than the Admiralty."

James glared at her through his fingers.

"Did you tell him?"

She lifted one white-gloved hand in mock solemnity.

"Directly? No. I respect your secrets."

His eyes narrowed.

"But…?"

She shrugged delicately.

"I might have… confirmed a few rumors. For his peace of mind."

He let his head fall back against the bulkhead.

"Traitor."

Lexington’s lips curved in a real smile as she stepped closer. She reached out and carefully plucked the letter from his fingers. She didn’t read it, just folded it neatly and set it on the desk.

Her voice dropped, warm but firm.

"I’m your ship, James. And most importantly, I am your friend. It’s my duty to know your family. To care about them. Even if you don’t always want me to."

He went silent.

The rain filled the gap between them.

Finally he let out a long, broken breath.

"…How the hell do I even ask her?"

Lexington let out her own slow exhale. She perched carefully on the edge of his bunk, uniform perfect, eyes steady.

"You don’t ask her like it’s an order. You ask her like it’s a choice. Like you actually want her there."

James’s throat worked.

"She saved my life, Lex. She jumped into the goddamn ocean. I don’t even know why she did it."

Lexington didn’t blink.

"Neither does she, James."

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Lexington continued, voice softer but clearer than before.

"And you know what that means? It means she’s trying to figure it out too. Just like you."

He swallowed hard.

"Yeah. Great. That clarifies everything."

She exhaled a tiny huff of a laugh, then reached out, gloved fingers brushing his hair gently back from his forehead.

"You don’t need me to solve it for you. You just need me to keep you alive long enough to try."

He huffed, eyes burning, sounding almost like a laugh.

Lexington’s hand dropped to his shoulder.

Her voice went quiet.

"When the message came that you were down… I didn’t know if they’d get you out."

James saw it. The tiniest quiver at the corner of her mouth.

She blinked rapidly, glancing away for a heartbeat.

"When you boys launch… there’s always a chance you won’t come back. I know that. I accept it. But it doesn’t mean I ever stop hoping."

James felt his chest tighten painfully.

He croaked out, voice rough:

"Sorry I made it worse."

Lexington sniffed, regaining her iron composure with effort.

"You’re my pilot, James. You’re all my pilots. But you… you’re the worst. Always pulling some insane stunt."

He let out a small, cracked laugh.

"Lieutenant Stupid Boy, reporting in."

She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, shaking her head.

"Just… don’t make me sit in another foreign infirmary worrying if you’ll ever wake up. Understood?"

He swallowed hard.

"Aye, ma’am."

Lexington nodded once, grave as any admiral.

She let her hand rest on his head one last time.

"That’s better."

They sat like that in the cramped cabin, listening to the sea batter the hull, sharing the silence like people who’d nearly lost too much.

Neither spoke.

They didn’t have to.

Because she was his ship.

And she already knew.

Chapter Text

The night was quiet except for the hush of the waves against the quay and the distant clank of rigging on masts.

Lanterns burned low along the gravel paths, the warm yellow glow barely pushing back the drifting sea mist.

James walked those paths slowly, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He’d memorized every twist of the trail by now.

He felt the eyes of the sentries as he passed, silent, impassive, polite, but watchful.

An American officer wandering at night on a Japanese naval base was tolerated. Barely.

He couldn’t explain to them what he was doing.

He wasn’t even sure himself anymore.

At the end of the path sat the small pavilion, tucked among sculpted pines. Its black lacquered roof gleamed dully in the lantern light.

James paused at the first step.

Peered in.

Empty.

Again.

He let out a slow, ragged breath that ghosted in the chill air.

One hand lifted to rub the healing scar at his temple.

He hadn’t really seen her since the rescue.

Sure, there were meetings. Briefings.

He’d sat at a polished table while Kaga stood like a statue, delivering reports in perfect, clipped phrases.

Not looking at him.

Leaving quickly.

Was she avoiding him?

He replayed those meetings in his head. The way her gaze slid past him.

Regret? Embarrassment? Or just…duty?

Hell, he couldn’t exactly roam the base asking for her.

“Excuse me, where’s your decorated carrier commander? I need to see her.”

“Lieutenant Thompson, American pilot, arrested for harassing Imperial Navy officers in the middle of the night.”

He huffed a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. That would go over well.”

James exhaled, boots scuffing on the gravel.

He pressed a hand against the pavilion’s carved post, fingers tracing the stylized foxes.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

He turned to go and heard it.

A soft crunch of gravel.

Sounds of Footsteps.

He froze. His heart jumped painfully against his ribs.

Kaga.

He didn’t turn immediately but he kept his voice as steady as he could.

“Kaga…?”

No answer.

The footsteps slowed. He turned, a brittle, hopeful smile on his face that died instantly.

It wasn’t her.

A woman stood in the lantern’s glow.

Around the same height as Kaga.

Brown hair pinned back in an elegant twist, long loose curls at her shoulders.

Her dark kimono was traced with silver cranes and waves that shimmered when she moved.

Nine full, luxurious fox tails spread behind her, flicking with slow, careful grace.

Her ears were tipped with white, twitching once before settling.

Her gaze was calm. Amused.

She regarded him for a beat before speaking, voice quiet and composed.

“Oh?”

She tilted her head.

“It’s rare to find an outsider here so late. Waiting for someone?”

James swallowed, thrown off balance.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought you were…”

She lifted one elegant brow.

“Kaga?”

He let out a breath, shoulders slumping.

“…Yes.”

Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile.

“I thought so.”

She stepped lightly onto the pavilion floor.

“She hasn’t been here.”

James looked away, jaw tightening.

“I know.”

Silence fell. She watched him for a moment before letting out a soft, thoughtful sigh.

“She doesn’t know what to do with you, you know.”

James blinked, startled.

“…What?”

Amagi’s gaze remained steady.

“Kaga is...not practiced at letting people in,” she said gently. “Especially outsiders. She’s spent her life keeping others other than her sister’s at arm’s length.”

She shifted slightly, her tails rippling in the dim light.

“But she did mentioned …that she found your company... pleasant. Especially playing shogi while I was unwell.”

James frowned at that, puzzled.

“Unwell? Are you…her sister?”

Amagi’s smile widened slightly, her expression softening.

“Not by blood. Nor even by design. We are of different classes. But sisters nonetheless.”

She let out the barest hint of a chuckle.

“Forgive me. I should introduce myself properly. I am Amagi of the Amagi-class battlecruisers.”

James swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Lieutenant James Thompson, United States Navy.”

Amagi's eyes twinkled faintly with amusement at the formality.

“I know who you are.”

Her voice stayed gentle, almost fond.

He swallowed, voice rough.

“I came here to thank her, for saving me the other day.”

Amagi’s eyes softened.

“I believe you.”

She paused, watching his tense posture.

“But you should understand. She isn’t avoiding you. She’s avoiding herself. The thoughts you’ve stirred. The questions you make her ask.”

James clenched his jaw, uncertain.

Amagi continued quietly.

“Be patient with her. Even a Kitsune needs time to understand her own heart.”

He let out a slow breath, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll try.”

Amagi inclined her head, satisfied.

“Good.”

Her eyes twinkled just slightly.

“And when she is ready…perhaps you might do something for her. As your thanks.”

James blinked, surprised.

“…Like what?”

Amagi gave a small, mysterious smile.

“That, Lieutenant, is for you to decide when the time comes.”

James exhaled, tension easing slightly.

“…All right. I’ll wait.”

He shifted awkwardly.

“Thank you. For…this.”

She smiled a little wider.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

James frowned, confused.

“What?”

Amagi gestured toward the low shogi board resting in the corner of the pavilion.

“Kaga told me you’re an excellent player.”

James flushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I…I’m not that great.”

Amagi let out the barest, elegant laugh.

“So modest, but we’ll see.”

She moved gracefully to kneel by the board, tails folding around her like a silken curtain.

She gestured for him to join her.

James hesitated, then let out a small, resigned huff.

And sat down opposite her.

The lantern light flickered over the polished pieces as Amagi began to set the board with precise, graceful motions.

Outside, the wind rustled the Sakura trees.

Inside the pavilion, two unlikely companions prepared to play in silence, broken only by the faint click of carved wood on lacquered board.

Chapter Text

Somewhere on Lexington - 2200 hours

The carrier was asleep.
Well...as asleep as a warship ever got.

Red running lights bathed the steel corridors in a muted glow, casting long shadows that shifted with the gentle roll of the sea. Hushed conversations drifted from watch stations, low and careful, the sort of talk that tried not to disturb the quiet.

Above it all thrummed the ship’s pulse, the steady, rhythmic vibration of her engines deep in the hull, like the calm, patient heartbeat of some enormous iron giant.

Lexington moved through it all with practiced ease, her steps careful on the polished deck so as not to betray her presence.

In her arms she carried a small bundle, held close like something precious.
Eggs carefully packed in paper. A small sack of flour tied with string. Fresh ground beef. Pickles in a jar that clinked faintly with every step. Potatoes wrapped in wax paper.

Technically… contraband.

A slow, wry smile spread across her face.

I’m the ship. What are they going to do, arrest me?

She paused at the intersection, listening for any wandering sailors.

Good, all quiet.

Lexington exhaled, then continued down toward the galley.

Tonight was special.

It wasn’t just about patching up a near-tragedy. It wasn’t just because he’d nearly died in her care and scared her half to death.

Tonight was also about remembering something good.

Because today marked the anniversary of when he’d first come aboard.

When he'd first called her Miss Lexington in that mortified, too-proper tone.

When he'd looked at her like he couldn't believe ships had faces and voices.

When he'd saluted her like she was the President.

She smiled to herself, warm and a little sad.

He’d grown so much since then.

A pilot she was proud to carry.

James.

She thought the name with fondness and exasperation both.

When he’d first come aboard, she remembered his face so clearly.

That day was burned into her mind.

He’d just stared at her.

Wide eyed.

Slack jawed.

Cap tucked under his arm like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Lieutenant Thompson reporting, ma…ma’am…uh, Miss…Miss Lexington…er…SHIP.”

He’d saluted her.

Like she was the President.

She’d laughed, right there on the hangar deck.

“Relax, sailor. I’m your ship. Not your drill instructor.”

He’d turned red as a signal flag.

That wasn’t the end of it, either.

There was the time he’d walked in on her when she was off duty in the wardroom.

Her hair unbound, legs draped over the couch, reading a battered mystery novel.

He’d frozen like he’d seen Medusa herself.

“MA’AM!”

He’d snapped to attention, cheeks burning, eyes somewhere around the ceiling.

She’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing.

He’d apologized a dozen times.

“Miss Lexington, I didn’t…I wasn’t…I mean I knocked but…”

She’d had to tell him to breathe.

After that…

Well.

She’d made sure he felt at home here.

She sighed now, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

He’s family. My family.

She glanced at the bundle in her arms.

And tonight, he deserves something special.

She eased the galley door open.

Dim light pooled over stainless-steel counters.

The giant ranges and ovens sat silent.

She moved like a ghost, placing her bundle gently on the prep table.

Just as she untied the sack, she heard a throat clear behind her.

Lexington froze.

She turned slowly, schooling her expression into polite calm.

Behind her stood Chief Jackson, the Chief Commissary Steward.

Arms crossed.

Eyebrow raised.

“Miss Lexington,” he rumbled. “Might I ask why you’re raiding my galley at 2200 hours?”

She gave him her best diplomatic smile.

“Chief. I’m just… checking morale rations.”

His eyebrow inched higher.

“Is that so.”

She gestured at the beef and potatoes.

“Very important morale.”

He grunted.

“You’re going to make a mess.”

“I’ll clean it.”

He squinted at her.

“…You know you’re not actually on the mess crew, right?”

She tilted her head.

“I’m the ship, Chief.”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. That’s what makes this worse.”

Lexington’s smile turned sly.

“Come now, Chief. Surely you wouldn’t stand in the way of morale operations.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “crazy tin can ghost” but finally shrugged.

“Fine. Don’t burn it. And clean up. All of it.”

Lexington snapped a mock salute.

“Aye aye.”

When he left, grumbling, she exhaled in relief.

She turned back to the prep table, rubbing her hands together.

“Now…”

She rummaged in a drawer and triumphantly produced an apron.

She tied it carefully around her uniform.

“Can’t ruin the whites.”

Then, with great ceremony, she plucked a chef’s hat from a hook on the wall and settled it on her head.

She turned, posed in the gleaming oven door like a mirror, and gave herself a critical once-over.

She raised an eyebrow at her reflection.

“Miss Lexington, culinary specialist. At your service.”

She snorted softly, unable to help it.

She turned serious, surveying her ingredients like a battlefield.

“Operation Comfort Food,” she whispered.

She flexed her fingers and got to work.

“First, we set up our mise en place. Always respect your station. Good preparation is half the battle.”

She laid out the beef, carefully forming each patty with expert hands.

“You don’t want to pack them too tight. A tender patty stays juicy on the grill.”

She salted and peppered with precise flicks.

“Season evenly, every side. This isn’t the Army, we don’t do anything halfway.”

She sliced pickles into perfect coins, each cut deliberate.

“Consistency matters in every bite. Sloppy prep leads to sloppy results.”

She turned to the buns on the griddle.

“Keep the heat low. We want them toasted to a perfect golden brown, not charred beyond recognition.”

The oil in the fryer began to shimmer and pop.

“Now, the oil temperature is critical for frying. If it’s too low, you’ll end up with soggy, sad excuses for fries.”

She dropped the potatoes in carefully, listening to the sizzle.

“That’s the sound of success right there.”

As the patties seared, rich, savory aroma filled the galley.

Lexington paused, closed her eyes, and breathed it in.

“Smells like home. That’s the real goal, isn’t it?”

She plated two burgers, side by side with meticulous care.

Because no one should eat a celebration meal alone.

She even found cold sodas in the mess icebox.

Lexington stepped back, satisfied.

She untied the apron, placed the hat on the counter, and gathered the tray carefully.

She paused for a moment, letting her eyes rest on the meal she’d made just for him.

A real, honest burger. Hot, juicy, simple.

Something human.

Not everyone treated her the way James did.

She knew what many aboard really thought, how could they not?

Kansens were living weapons in flesh and steel. Commanders of ships. Terrifyingly strong. Survivors of brutal engagements.

Some of the crew looked at her like she was something holy. Or something dangerous.

But James?

He talked to her. Laughed with her. Complained about the coffee. Asked about her day.

He treated her like a person.

Like family.

Some joked it was fate that brought him aboard her flight deck.

Maybe it was.

She didn’t know if it was luck or something else that put Lieutenant James Thompson under her care.

But she would cherish it.

She would cherish him.

Like a mother would her son.

She blinked quickly, clearing the slight blur in her vision as moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes.

No tears. Not now.

She exhaled, steadying herself.

This is for you, James.

She squared her shoulders, lifted the tray carefully, and turned on her heel to walk quietly out of the galley.

The ship hummed around her, dark and calm.

She hummed softly under her breath as she went.

“Miss Lexington, raiding the galley. Whatever will they think of next.”

She grinned.

Chapter Text

Lexington - James’s Cabin – 2230 hours

James sat cross legged on his narrow bunk, the dim cabin lamp throwing long shadows across the tangle of papers spread around him like a battlefield of thoughts and half-formed plans.

It hadn’t really been that long since he’d nearly died.

The memories were still painfully fresh, burned into his mind in stark, jagged flashes.He could still hear the roar of the storm battering his  plane, feel the stomach-dropping plunge as the controls failed, remember the panic tightening in his chest as water surged into the cockpit.

And in the middle of it all, her face.

Kaga’s face, pale and determined as she dragged him from the wreckage, refusing to let him sink.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, scrubbing at the exhaustion that never seemed to leave.

He thought, not for the first time, about Amagi’s quiet, precise words.

“She doesn’t let people in easily… She’s trying to figure out what to do with you.”

He let that sink in. It hit something vulnerable inside him.

Is dinner even enough?

How do you repay someone for saving your life?

How do you even ask her without making it sound cheap or forced?

He picked up his battered old notebook. Its pages were covered in his cramped, messy scrawl lines of ideas, scribbled lists, and little arrows connecting thoughts that might make sense if he stared at them long enough.

Places to eat he’d heard nearby. Notes about shrines he’d read were beautiful at dusk. Possible small gifts that weren’t too forward but showed he’d thought about it. Little question marks peppered the margins like land mines.

Amulet? Too personal?

Shrine visit? Is that weird for her?

Walk? Conversation? Just being… there?

He let the pencil roll from his fingers onto the mattress.

Next to him lay a folded, worn menu he’d picked up on shore leave, covered entirely in neat columns of Japanese kanji he was trying to decipher.

He picked it up again, squinting at the characters.

“Grilled eel… or is that chicken? Maybe tofu? Gods, please don’t let that be intestines.”

He let out a slow, frustrated exhale, pressing his thumb to the paper like he could magically absorb its meaning.

His Japanese was rusty as hell. He’d learned enough to get by during those college days, enough to ask directions or order drinks, but this felt different.

He wasn’t trying to order for himself. He was trying to plan something that mattered. He was trying to repay someone who’d jumped into the ocean to save him, risking everything.

And now she wouldn’t even look at him.

You saved my life.

And now you’re avoiding me.

He let the menu drop onto the pile of notes with a quiet, defeated rustle.

What the hell am I supposed to do, Kaga?

He didn’t hear the hatch open.

“Lieutenant?”

James jumped so hard his notebook flew off the bed. Papers scattered, the menu fluttering to the floor.

“Dammit…Lex!”

Lexington stood in the doorway, arms folded, one eyebrow quirked.

“Surprise,” she said mildly. “Didn’t mean to make you redecorate.”

James groaned, lunging for the fallen notes.

“It’s fine…don’t…”

But Lexington was already moving with easy grace, kneeling to help him. She scooped up a few loose pages, then paused, brow lifting as she studied one.

“Japanese?”

He flushed.

“...Yeah.”

“Hmm.” She turned it over slowly, reading the kanji effortlessly.

“A menu?”

“Lex…give it.”

She handed it over without another word, a suspiciously neutral look on her face.

“Just… planning,” James muttered.

She didn’t press. She just stood, straightening her uniform.

Then she reached behind her and lifted a covered tray with theatrical flourish.

“Well, you can plan later. First things first.”

He blinked at the tray she was holding out like a sacred offering.

“What’s… that?”

Lexington’s eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief.

“Dinner.”

She moved carefully into his cramped quarters, placing the tray on his tiny desk with a ceremonial precision before lifting the cover with a practiced flourish.

Steam curled up.

A burger sat there, massive, juicy, perfectly stacked with melted cheese oozing slightly onto the toasted bun. Fries sat in a golden, glistening pile, perfectly crisp. Even a cold bottle of soda waited at the side, beads of condensation trickling down the glass.

James’s mouth fell open. He stared at it like he’d never seen real food before.

“You… made this?”

Lexington flicked her pink hair over her shoulder with mock primness.

“Obviously.”

He lifted a skeptical brow.

“Lex… this is…this is an actual burger. How did you even…?”

She sniffed haughtily, folding her arms.

“A woman never reveals her secrets.”

He just looked at her, one eyebrow climbing.

“Uh-huh. You raided the galley, didn’t you?”

Her confident façade cracked immediately. A bright flush rose in her cheeks.

“I did not…”

James kept staring, unblinking.

She shifted uncomfortably, then sighed in defeat.

“...The chief didn’t mind. I asked politely.”

James threw back his head and laughed, the sound breaking the tense, heavy quiet that had hung over the room. It spilled out of him in a genuine, relieved, incredulous chuckle.

“God, Lex. You’re ridiculous.”

She sat down primly on the edge of his bunk, smoothing her skirt as if she hadn’t just been caught red-handed stealing from her own galley.

“And you’re welcome.”

She gestured imperiously at the food.

“Now. Eat it before it gets cold. I didn’t smuggle contraband out of the kitchen for you to let it go to waste.”

James picked up the burger, still shaking his head in disbelief. He took one cautious bite and immediately let out a muffled, shocked groan as flavor exploded across his tongue.

He chewed quickly, eyes going wide.

“Holy…Lex. This is amazing.”

Lexington preened, her chest puffing slightly with smug satisfaction as she picked at a fry from her own small plate.

“I know,” she said lightly, but there was unmistakable warmth in her voice.

James wiped his mouth on his sleeve, shaking his head slowly.

“Why… why go through all this? Tonight?”

Her expression changed. The teasing softened, her eyes dimming slightly, growing serious. She watched him for a long moment before answering, her voice lower.

“Because you scared me.”

He blinked, startled.

“Because you almost didn’t come back.”

She swallowed, eyes darting away briefly. Her voice tightened around the words she’d clearly been holding back.

“I don’t think you understand what that would have meant to me.”

James opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Lexington took a deep breath and shook her head a little, forcing a small, wistful smile back onto her face.

“Plus… today’s special.”

He frowned.

“Special?”

She let out a tiny huff of amusement, her eyes going a little glassy.

“It’s the anniversary of the day you first walked aboard this ship.”

James’s mouth dropped open. He blinked once.

“You… remembered that?”

Her smile turned tender.

“Of course I did. How could I forget?”

She let the memory flicker behind her eyes, voice dropping to a gentle murmur.

“You were so formal. So nervous. You called me ‘Miss Lexington’ like I was the President or something.”

James groaned and dropped his head.

“God. I was an idiot.”

“You were new,” she corrected softly, reaching out to brush his arm lightly with her fingers. “And you were mine.”

He looked up at her, words failing, throat tightening around the knot that had suddenly formed.

She met his gaze, unwavering, and her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“Eat, James.”

He nodded once, pressing his lips together hard before taking another grateful, quiet bite.

They sat there in the dim, hushed room, the only sounds the faint clink of soda bottles and the gentle rustle of fries in paper.

Lexington picked at her own fries, then glanced at him over the rim of her soda with a sly little glint.

“So…”

James blinked, wary.

“…So what?”

She set her drink down, leaning forward slightly.

“About that menu I picked up off the floor.”

He froze halfway raising his soda, eyes going wide.

“Lex”

“Japanese writing. Restaurant listings. Little notes about things to do.” She tapped her temple theatrically. “I’m not blind, Lieutenant. Sounds like a date.”

James immediately choked on his mouthful of soda.

He coughed violently, spluttering, soda spraying onto his tray.

Lexington slapped her knee, delighted.

“I KNEW IT!”

James glared, wiping his mouth with a knapkin, face flushed bright red.

“Lex, it’s not…” he rasped.

“Oh, sure. Totally normal for big tough Navy pilots to practice kanji so they can… what? Order takeout?”

“It’s not a date, okay?!”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, voice sing-song, leaning back with a smug grin.

James scrubbed a hand down his face.

“It’s not,” he insisted more quietly. “It’s… thanks. For saving me. She…she didn’t have to. I just… I owe her.”

Lexington’s gaze softened further.

“You really want to thank her.”

“Of course I do.”

“James.” She reached out, touching his shoulder lightly.

“Just be honest. That’s all you have to do.”

He swallowed.

“Think she’ll even say yes?”

“She’d be crazy not to.”

He let out a huff of breath.

“Thanks.”

“Now eat,” she repeated, voice warm. “And don’t worry. When you’re ready to ask her…I’ll help.”

James paused, chewing slowly. He swallowed hard, then squinted at her suspiciously.

“Help…how, exactly?”

Lexington’s lips twitched, eyes glinting with mischief.

“That,” she said primly, picking up another fry, “is a secret.”

“Lex…”

“Eat your burger, Lieutenant.”

“Lex…”

“Secret!” she sang, cutting him off with a wag of her finger.

James sighed in defeat, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” she replied sweetly, utterly unrepentant.

They finished the meal in easy silence, two friends, two family members, bonded by more than duty.

Just people.

And in that small, quiet cabin on a giant steel ship, for a little while, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Yokosuka Naval Base - 1400 hours

The briefing room was silent except for the soft rasp of papers being shifted and the faint crackle of the lanterns that cast a warm glow over polished wood and paper screens. Naval charts were unfurled across the central table, their black ink lines marking shipping lanes, scouting grids, and shaded patches of potential threat.

Vice Admiral Yamashita sat at the head of the room like a stone carving come to life, his gaze moving slowly but decisively over the gathered Kansen. His lined face betrayed no emotion, but his fingers drummed once on the lacquered surface before falling still.

Kaga sat perfectly poised on her cushion, her back straight, white-tipped tails arranged in flawless arcs behind her. Akagi was beside her, equally composed, though her half-lidded golden eyes flickered with that unreadable, predatory amusement.

Across from them sat Shoukaku and Zuikaku, their pristine uniforms contrasting with the subtle tension that passed between them in sidelong glances. Atago and Takao occupied the other side of the room; Atago’s languid smile never wavered, while Takao’s focus was sharp as a drawn blade.

A thin stack of folded reports rested in front of each of them, black kanji brushed with severe precision.

“Proceed,” Yamashita’s voice was low, but it carried perfectly.

Shoukaku cleared her throat and unfolded one of the reports. Her voice was professional and steady, the tone of a flagship’s commander delivering cold facts.

“Reconnaissance was conducted two nights ago. Our submarine I-19 encountered multiple contacts with what appears to be a second American fleet”

She laid out a rough photograph from the report, dark lines tracing blocky silhouettes rendered in dim moonlight.

“Visibility was poor. No hull numbers were confirmed. However, based on known profiles and the formation, we estimate one fleet carrier, at least two cruisers, and multiple destroyers.”

Takao leaned forward, the brush in her fingers hovering over the map as she tapped a sector in the open ocean.

“They were operating here, east of our convoy lanes. Most likely a reactionary force to support their fleet here.”

Zuikaku gave a sharp, irritated huff and spoke without waiting her turn.

“So, they don’t trust us is what you’re saying. Even with these damn ‘joint drills’.”

Atago’s fan snapped open with quiet finality as she smiled faintly, dark eyes glittering.

“Can you blame them? We’re hardly acting like blushing maidens ourselves. After all, we were the ones spying on them.”

Zuikaku scowled.

“We should be spying on them. They’re doing the same to us. They’d be fools not to.”

Akagi let out a soft, nearly inaudible laugh, her tails swishing just once behind her.

“Indeed. It’s almost refreshing to deal with enemies who behave exactly as we would. No hypocrisy, just caution.”

Kaga remained silent, her eyes locked on the sketch. The vague carrier silhouette was little more than an ink blot, but in her mind it loomed large, bristling with aircraft and power.

A full American task force. They could strike us when we’re asleep.

Shoukaku spoke again, more carefully.

“I-19 reported she maintained distance to avoid detection. Any closer and the would likely have taken her presence as a hostile act. The sea was calm, so sound carried far.”

Admiral Yamashita’s fingers drummed once more before stopping. He regarded the table, then lifted his gaze to survey each of them in turn.

“These movements are predictable,” he said at last, voice low and weighty. “We must assume they have dispatched this second fleet to monitor us. To remind us they are watching.”

He let that sink in for a beat of silence.

“If our positions were reversed, would we not have done exactly the same?”

Kaga inclined her head slowly, tails stirring once before settling.

“Yes, sir.”

Zuikaku bristled, but held her tongue this time.

Yamashita nodded.

“Good. I will not have us be naive. But I will not have us provoke anything either.”

He tapped the map with deliberate calm.

“Maintain observation. Keep them in sight but at a distance. Report their movements at regular intervals. Understood?”

Takao’s response was immediate.

“Aye, sir.”

“And ensure that rumors do not spread through the ranks,” Yamashita added firmly. His gaze sharpened. “Everything here, stays in this room. We are not at war with the United States. Not yet and I will not have panic create what politics has so far avoided.”

They all bowed low in unison.

“Dismissed.”

Kaga stood smoothly, gathering the reports into a neat stack. She felt Akagi’s eyes on her like cold iron pressed to the back of her neck. She didn’t look back, moving instead with silent precision toward the door.

As the others filed out, Atago brushed past with a knowing, amused look, Shoukaku and Zuikaku whispered heatedly to one another in that tense, prickly way of siblings.

She paused at the threshold as Yamashita’s quiet voice followed her.

“Kaga.”

She stopped and turned back.

“Sir.”

He was gathering his papers, but he looked at her with that same grave, unblinking focus.

“Good job on saving the American Pilot. I trust you know your duties and loyalties.”

She inclined her head deeply.

“…Always.”

His eyes softened just a hair, the barest human crack in the officer’s mask.

“See that you remember that. For everyone’s sake.”

Kaga straightened.

“I will, sir.”

Outside the building, the evening was cooling rapidly. The wind off the water smelled of salt and distant rain.

Akagi was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, tails flicking in languid arcs.

“How diligent we are,” she said softly, voice like velvet stretched over a blade. “Spying on our ‘allies.’ Preparing your reports. So proper.”

Kaga’s ears flattened imperceptibly, her tails stiffening.

“We all agreed on the need for caution.”

Akagi’s eyes glinted in the twilight, a cruel little curl at the corner of her mouth.

“But I didn’t hear you object.”

Kaga’s voice was low and hard, barely restrained.

“I do what duty requires.”

Akagi let out a slow, cutting laugh.

“Funny. You didn’t sound so devoted to duty when you were dragging that American out of the ocean like some lovesick mermaid.”

Their eyes locked, silent tension arcing between them like drawn steel.

Kaga’s jaw clenched, her ears pinning tighter.

“Better than forgetting that every life counts.”

Akagi’s tails gave a single, disdainful flick as she looked away, saying nothing more.

Without another word, Kaga turned sharply and strode off into the darkened path, her boots silent on the damp earth.

She didn’t make it far before she heard the gentle sound of coughing behind a flowering cherry tree.

Kaga’s entire demeanor softened immediately.

“Amagi.”

Amagi leaned against the trunk, one hand on her chest, the other brushing a sleeve across her lips to hide the telltale stain of blood. But her eyes were clear and calm.

“Walk with me?”

Kaga offered her arm without a word. Amagi took it with quiet grace.

They walked slowly along the lantern-lit path, the base settling into the hush of night around them.

“You’re tense,” Amagi observed in that mild, knowing tone.

Kaga’s jaw worked.

“There is… work to be done.”

“There is always work to be done,” Amagi agreed softly. She smiled up at her despite the cough in her voice. “Or are you avoiding something else?”

Kaga didn’t answer immediately.

“Akagi?”

“Always Akagi.”

Amagi gave a small, sympathetic sigh.

“And… the pilot?”

Kaga’s ears twitched sharply.

“He is… recovering.”

“You used to play shogi with him every night.”
Kaga’s eyes narrowed, voice taut.
“That was before.”
“Before you saved his life?”

Silence.

Kaga felt her stomach knot. She could still see it so clearly, the wreck sinking, the water closing over him, his hand reaching for hers. The terror in his eyes. The desperation in her own.

Why did you jump? she asked herself again, bitterly. Why did you do something so reckless?

“Before he looked at you like you were his only hope.”

Kaga flinched visibly, tails curling tightly behind her. Her claws bit into her palms inside her gloves.

That look… she thought. As if no one else in the world mattered. As if I was the only thing standing between him and death.

Amagi’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“He’s been coming there every night you know?”

Kaga exhaled shakily. Her ears twitched, betraying the turmoil she tried so hard to hide.

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

I don’t know how to face him.

Amagi’s voice was quiet, deliberate.
“Say something. Anything.”

Kaga’s voice cracked. It sounded raw.
“Say what?” She nearly spat the words. “Sorry for saving him? Sorry for making myself look weak?”

Sorry for caring.

Amagi met her gaze, eyes patient and steady.
“Thank him. For reminding you what it means to feel.”

Kaga’s breath caught. Her tails curled tighter.

Amagi’s voice softened even further, almost musing.
“Emotion is such an interesting thing with humans. It makes us do things we can’t always explain. Makes us risk things we thought we’d given up.”

Kaga swallowed hard. She hated how much it landed.

Risk.
Like leaping off the deck without thinking.

She lowered her voice, strained and unsteady.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Amagi tilted her head slightly.
“This?”

Kaga swallowed hard. Her tails twitched in agitation.
“These… feelings. This mess inside me. I don’t even know what to call it.”

Amagi’s eyes shone with that calm, tired wisdom.
“Call it what it is. Being alive. Being free.”

Kaga’s ears flicked again, uncertain.

Amagi softened her voice even more.
“You don’t have to name it yet. Or understand it. Just don’t run from it.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and thick.

Finally, Kaga exhaled shakily.
“I… can’t promise anything.”

Amagi smiled, the curve of her lips gentle and knowing.
“Then don’t promise. Just… try.”

Kaga’s gaze fell to the ground. For a long moment she didn’t move.
Then she nodded, slow and stiff.

As Amagi turned to leave, coughing softly into her sleeve, she paused and turned slightly back toward the hedge.

“You can come out now,” she said calmly.

There was a small rustle.

Lexington straightened and stepped out of the shadows, brushing at her skirt as if to salvage dignity.

“...I was almost perfectly concealed,” she muttered.

Amagi’s ears twitched with amusement.

“For most people, perhaps.”

Lexington gave her an exaggerated sigh.

“Honestly. Kansen senses are cheating.”

Amagi smiled, though she hid it behind her sleeve as she coughed.

“Miss Lexington.”

Lexington’s face softened immediately.

“Amagi-san.”

Amagi inclined her head, voice lowering.

“Take care of her. She’s… stubborn.”

Lexington’s eyes glinted warmly.

“Takes one to know one.”

Amagi actually laughed at that, quiet, raspy, but genuine.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Lexington’s expression turned gentle, sincere.

“Thank you. For helping her.”

Amagi’s gaze softened at that.

“It’s what sisters are for.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding.

Amagi let out a small, tired sigh.

“Look after her when I can’t.”

Lexington nodded slowly, eyes steady.

“Of course”

Amagi gave one last flicker of a smile, then turned and made her way down the lantern lit path, her tails catching the glow.

Lexington watched her go for a long moment, the shadows swallowing her up.

Then she turned and slipped away into the dark herself, leaving the garden empty and quiet under the watching stars.

Chapter Text

James sat on the edge of the low wooden platform, elbows on his knees, notebook forgotten at his side. The garden around the pavilion was hushed, lantern light flickering across carefully raked gravel.

He could hear the distant roll of waves against the harbor wall.

His heart hammered in his chest.

God. This felt like prepping for a bombing run.

He wiped his palms on his trousers.

He’d practiced the words. Over and over.

Thank her.

Be honest.

Ask her.

But what if she just turned around and walked off? She’d been avoiding him for days.

He inhaled slowly, fighting down the nerves.

She saved your life.

She deserves to hear you say it.

He didn’t hear her approach until the faint creak of the floorboards made him look up.

Kaga stood at the entrance to the pavilion, her pale uniform crisp in the warm lantern glow. Her many tails shifted behind her with restless energy, ears flicking once before going still.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then she inclined her head slightly.

“Lieutenant.”

He swallowed. Stood.

“Kaga.”

Another beat of silence.

James felt his throat go dry. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

This is it.

Say it.

You idiot, you’re not going to get another chance.

“I’m glad you came.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her tails twitched once before settling.

He blew out a slow breath.

“Listen… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this. I’m not good with… I mean, I’m not good at…” He trailed off.

James cleared his throat.

“I… uh.”

He wanted to kick himself.

He took a breath and tried again.

“Thank you. For… for what you did.”

Her eyes widened, just for a heartbeat. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

He watched as the ever-present calm slipped, just a crack. The careful discipline she wore like armor faltered. Her lips parted like she might say something, but no sound came.

She blinked once, slowly, gathering herself, ears giving a tiny, restless twitch. Her tails shifted behind her, restless in the lantern glow.

When she spoke again, her voice was lower, almost strained.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said stiffly. But it wasn’t cold. It was… defensive.

James caught it. And it gave him the nerve to keep going

“Yes. I do.”

He took a small step forward, voice gaining steadiness.

“You didn’t have to jump in after me.”

Another step. She didn’t back away, but her ears twitched, uncertain.

“You didn’t have to save my sorry hide.”

He was closer now, close enough to see the tiny, uneven flutter of her breathing.

“But you did.”

Kaga’s tails gave an agitated flick, brushing the wooden floor behind her. She stiffened, her blue eyes locked on his, the glow of the lanterns catching the blue depths and making them seem almost too clear.

James swallowed. He hadn’t meant to close the distance this much. But he couldn’t stop.

“You risked your life. For me.”

Her eyes widened again, mouth tightening like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

He lowered his voice, just enough that it felt like a confession.

“So… yeah. I’m going to thank you.”

Silence fell around them. Heavy. Unsteady. The wind outside rustled the leaves of the nearby hedges like whispered gossip. James realized suddenly just how close they were standing.

He cleared his throat, stepping back an inch in embarrassment.

“Sorry. Just… needed to say that.”

Kaga’s gaze fell away for a moment. Her ears twitched.

“I did what had to be done,” she murmured.

James shook his head.

“No. You chose to. You risked yourself. For me.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t answer.

James let out a slow breath.

“I know you’ve been… busy. And I know things are complicated. But I didn’t want to leave it unsaid.”

Her tails curled tighter, brushing the wooden floor.

James hesitated, voice dropping.

“I’ve been trying to think of… something. Some way to… to say thank you properly. To repay you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“That’s not necessary.”

He actually huffed a laugh, nervous.

“Yeah, well. Too bad. I’m stubborn.”

She blinked.

He swallowed.

“I found this place in town. Restaurant. Looks nice. Quiet. Good food, I think, I mean, my Japanese is awful but the menu looked great.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was hoping you’d come with me.”

Kaga’s expression didn’t change at first. She just watched him, unreadable.

His stomach twisted.

“Just… dinner,” he added quickly. “A meal. To say thank you for what you did.”

The silence stretched.

Her ears flicked once. Her tails uncurled slightly.

Finally she let out a small exhale.

“…All right.”

James blinked.

“…Wait. Really?”

She nodded, very slowly.

“All right,” she repeated softly.

His chest loosened, a breathy laugh escaping him.

“Okay. Great. That’s… great.”

Then…

“WOOOOOO!!”

The loud, jubilant cheer came from somewhere in the bushes nearby. James jumped so hard he nearly fell over.

He stared into the shadows.

“…Kaga,” he said warily. “Do you guys have… wild animals on this base?”

Her expression darkened.

“No.”

She turned sharply, stalking toward the bushes.

Another rustle. A squeak.

Then she reached in and unceremoniously hauled someone out by the back of the collar.

Amagi tumbled onto the path with surprising grace for someone being manhandled, tails spreading wide to regain balance. She brushed off her kimono delicately.

“Good evening,” she said serenely.

James gaped.

“Amagi-san?! What were you…”

A second rustle and Lexington half-fell out behind her, pink hair mussed, skirt twisted, trying to look dignified.

“…Hi,” she said weakly.

James planted his hands on his hips.

“Lex.”

She cleared her throat.

“…I was just… supervising.”

“Supervising?!”

Lexington straightened, gathering the last of her dignity.

“Just being your wingman!”

Amagi coughed delicately.

“Technically I was his wingman. You just insisted on us spying on them.”

Lexington shot her a betrayed look.

“Amagi-san!”

Amagi held up her hands, eyes twinkling.

“I apologize. It was her idea. I merely… assisted.”

Lexington’s mouth opened and closed.

James pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Unbelievable.”

Lexington fidgeted.

“…We just wanted to make sure everything went well. And it did!”

James exhaled, but the corner of his mouth quirked up despite himself.

“Yeah. Thanks. I guess.”

Lexington’s eyes softened.

“You’re welcome.”

Amagi smiled warmly.

“Well, now that that’s settled…” She gave Lexington a gentle tug on the sleeve.

“Come along. Let’s give them privacy.”

Lexington made a face, but let herself be pulled.

She did pause to waggle her eyebrows at James.

“Proud of you,” she stage-whispered.

“Go,” James groaned.

Amagi offered one last parting bow.

“Good night, you two.”

They vanished into the darkness, brown tails and pink hair catching the lantern light one last time.

James let out a long breath and turned back to Kaga.

She was watching him with an inscrutable expression.

After a moment, he held out his hand toward the shogi board.

“Play a game?”

Kaga’s ears twitched once.

Then she moved forward without a word, settling across from him.

They sat in silence, the pieces clicking softly between them.

Outside, the base was quiet save for the whisper of wind in the pines.

For now, they just played.

Together.

Chapter Text

Yokosuka Harbor - Kansens Residence – 1743 hours

Kaga stood in her small room, arms crossed, tails flicking with pent-up frustration.
On the tatami mat before her, two neatly folded outfits lay side by side.

Her formal naval uniform, crisp and immaculate.

A simpler, dark blue kimono with understated floral patterns.

She frowned at both.

It’s just dinner.

Her ears twitched.

No, it’s… not just dinner.

She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling a slow breath.

The memory of James’s voice still rang in her head.

“I was hoping you’d come with me.”

She felt heat rise in her cheeks at the memory of how earnestly he'd asked. He wasn’t the first man to speak to her.
But he was the first who’d looked at her like that.

Like she was worth saving. Like he trusted her.

Her tail thumped once in agitation against the floor.

Ridiculous. It’s just a meal. Repayment. That’s all.

But even thinking that, her stomach fluttered in unfamiliar, unsteady ways. She looked at the kimono again, biting her lip.

Was it too much? Too casual?

She’d only worn it once, to a shrine on New Year’s.

Was it appropriate to wear for… him?

She reached for the uniform instead, smoothing the stiff collar.
Safe choice.

But…

I don’t want to look like I’m reporting for inspection.

A soft knock on her sliding door made her ears flick up.

“Kaga?”

She sighed. “Come in.”

Amagi slid the door aside gently, wearing her usual calm, knowing expression.
She paused, eyes sweeping over the clothes laid out.

“Oh my,” she said softly, her voice curling with amusement. “Deciding what to wear for your dinner?”

Kaga’s ears flattened.

“It’s not...” She stopped herself, pressing her lips into a line. She turned away.

“It’s just a meal.”

Amagi smiled, walking in.

“Of course. A meal with a certain Lieutenant.”

Kaga’s cheeks colored despite herself. She glared.

“Amagi.”

Her sister raised both hands in playful surrender.

“All right, all right. I’ll behave. But…” Her gaze softened. “You are nervous, aren’t you?”

Kaga didn’t answer. She just exhaled sharply through her nose, tails curling around her legs.

Amagi bent down, running a careful hand over the kimono fabric.

“I remember you buying this.”

“It’s old,” Kaga muttered.

“It’s lovely,” Amagi corrected gently.

Silence settled for a moment.

Kaga spoke low.

“I don’t know how to… do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely at the clothes, the room. “Going out. With… someone.”

Amagi’s eyes softened even further.

“Kaga, you’ve given orders in battle. You’ve commanded fleets.”

“This isn’t the same,” Kaga snapped, then winced at her own tone.

Amagi only nodded, unoffended.

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “This is harder.”

Kaga slumped slightly.

Amagi brushed her fingers over the kimono again.

“You want to wear this one.”

“I don’t want to look foolish.”

“You won’t.”

Kaga looked at her, genuinely uncertain for the first time in years.

“He’ll think… what? That I’m trying too hard? That it’s… improper?”

Amagi let out a soft laugh.

“Kaga, he invited you. He wants to see you. Not Kaga of the Imperial Navy.”

Kaga swallowed, ears twitching low.

“…I don’t know what to say to him.”

Amagi straightened slowly, placing a hand on Kaga’s shoulder.

“Then just listen to him. Be yourself. That’s who he invited.”

Kaga’s jaw worked soundlessly.

Another voice cut in from the doorway, low but not mocking.

“Well. Isn’t this…cozy.”

Both sisters turned to see Akagi leaning against the frame, arms folded, tails flicking slowly behind her. Her golden eyes fixed on Kaga, steady but not cruel.

Kaga’s ears went rigid.

“Akagi.”

Akagi let out a quiet sigh, the sound heavy with restraint.

“So. Going out with our…guest.”

Kaga’s jaw tightened.

“It’s not what you think.”

Akagi’s gaze flicked to the kimono on the floor, then back to Kaga’s face.

“I don’t care if it’s tea or sake, sister. Just…don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget what’s at stake.”

Kaga’s voice was a low growl.

“I haven’t.”

Akagi’s eyes softened, just barely.

“Good. See that you don’t. He’s…not one of us. Remember that.”

A tense silence fell.

Amagi cleared her throat gently.

“Akagi. That’s enough.”

Akagi hesitated, then gave Amagi a tiny nod. She turned back to Kaga one last time. Her voice, when it came, was softer than Kaga had heard in weeks.

“...Enjoy your night, sister. Truly. But be careful. Please.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and left, tails sweeping behind her, leaving the room in silence.

Kaga let out a shaking breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Amagi’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Pay her no mind.”

“She’s right,” Kaga muttered bitterly. “This is… unbecoming.”

“No.” Amagi’s voice was firm. “This is natural.”

Kaga swallowed.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Amagi smiled tiredly.

“You don’t have to know. Just go. Talk to him. Be yourself”

Kaga huffed, ears folding slightly. Amagi’s smile turned sly.

“Besides. He’ll be even more flustered than you are.”

Kaga actually snorted at that, a small reluctant sound. Amagi squeezed her shoulder again.

“Wear the kimono. I am sure he’ll like it.”

Kaga hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“All right.”

Amagi’s smile turned warm and proud.

“That’s my sister.”

Outside the Meeting Spot - 2000 hours

James was early. Of course he was.

He stood at the edge of the little stone courtyard that marked the meeting spot, just inside the base gates where the lanterns burned low and warm. Beyond, the path led down to town, the promise of restaurants and noise and normal life that felt miles away from the war.

He shifted on his feet, smoothing his khaki tunic for what felt like the hundredth time. It was the best he could do: Pressed khaki shirt. Polished belt buckle. Perfectly straight ribbons, despite telling himself he didn’t need them tonight. Black shoes buffed to a shine so bright he could see his own worried scowl in them.

He checked his watch. Again.

A bit too early. But better early than late.

He ran a hand through his hair, checking the neat part he’d combed in so carefully. A dry breeze carried the distant smell of the sea, salt and tar and the ever-present faint oil of the harbor.

Calm down, he told himself.

It’s just dinner.

He swallowed. Except it wasn’t just dinner. He glanced down at his hand. Clutched in it was a folded scrap of paper, a few careful lines of Japanese he'd copied, practicing the syllables over and over until they sounded half-right.

He wanted to say it properly. Really properly. Like it mattered. Because it did.

James blew out a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

Lexington would be rolling her eyes if she saw you now.

He could almost hear her voice:

Relax, sailor. You’re not going into combat.

But it felt like he was.

His stomach was tight with nerves. He wiped a damp palm on the side of his pants.

What if she doesn’t show?

What if she does?

He had no plan for either outcome. He forced himself to look around, pretending to take in the lantern-lit street beyond the gate. Civilians moving past at a distance, laughter from some restaurant far off. He tried to picture it.

Them. Sitting at a table. Ordering. Talking.

What did you even say to someone who’d saved your life?

What did you say to a woman who was… what was she? A friend? An ally? A rival? Someone he couldn’t stop thinking about?

James swallowed again. He checked his watch one last time, heart thudding at every echo of approaching footsteps.

And when he finally heard them, a measured, deliberate tread on the stone path. He felt all the words he'd rehearsed fly straight out of his head.

He snapped his head up, straightening automatically.

And there she was.

Kaga stepped around the hedge, coming into the lantern glow.

James felt the words catch in his throat.

She wasn’t in her usual uniform. She wore a dark indigo kimono with a pale sash, patterned subtly with stylized cranes and waves. The lantern light gleamed along the silk. Her white hair was combed smooth and tied back in a traditional style, leaving her foxlike ears clear. Her many tails trailed in disciplined arcs behind her, tips twitching slightly as she approached.

She looked… poised. Beautiful. And absolutely out of place standing on a military base.

Had it not been for the ears and those graceful white furry tails, he might have thought some random civilian woman had wandered onto the base by accident.

James swallowed hard, fighting down the sudden flush in his face.

Kaga paused just inside the light, her expression neutral but watchful.

He cleared his throat.

“Kaga-san.”

The honorific stumbled out. His tongue was rusty with it, he hadn’t needed formal Japanese in years.

Her ears flicked. She corrected him gently, without heat.

“Kaga.”

He nodded once.

“Kaga. Right. Sorry.”

A beat of silence fell between them, heavy as lead.

Then James forced himself to keep going.

“You, uh… you look really nice tonight.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, surprise flashing in them before she reined it in. One ear twitched.

“…Thank you.”

James shifted again, feeling about fifteen years old.

She let her gaze travel over him in turn.

“You… cleaned up well,” she offered dryly.

He barked a laugh, tension breaking.

“Yeah. Did my best.” He tugged at the collar of his khaki shirt. It was neatly pressed, insignia polished. He’d combed his hair, too. “This is about all I’ve got.”

She blinked once.

“It’s… acceptable.”

He gave her a wry grin.

“I’ll take it.”

Another small silence fell. The night wind rustled the pines overhead. James swallowed, trying to find the right words.

“You okay? I mean… doing this?”

Kaga’s gaze sharpened, assessing him. Then, very slightly, she nodded.

“I agreed to dinner. I… keep my word.”

James’s smile softened.

“Good. Because I’m glad you came.”

She looked at him for a long moment, unreadable.

“I haven’t… done this before,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet. “Not like this.”

James blinked, heart squeezing unexpectedly.

“Me either,” he admitted. “Well. Not in a while. And never with… anyone like you.”

That earned him the tiniest twitch of her mouth.

God help me, he thought. She’s actually trying.

He cleared his throat.

“Ready?”

She inclined her head.

“Yes.”

He gestured carefully, not touching her, just indicating the lantern-lit path that wound toward the base gate and the lights of the town beyond.

“This way, then.”

She fell into step beside him, matching his pace precisely. They walked slowly, boots and geta whispering over the gravel.

After a few steps he risked a sidelong glance.

“Uh. Hope you’re ready for my rusty Japanese. Haven’t had to really use it in years.”

She hummed once, very low.

“I’ll correct you,” she said, deadpan.

He snorted, grinning despite himself.

“I bet you will.”

They kept walking. The path twisted through carefully raked gravel and trimmed hedges, lanterns throwing pools of gold on the ground. Beyond the gate the faint glow of town beckoned.

James inhaled slowly, trying to calm the jumpy flutter in his chest.

Just don’t screw this up.

Beside him, Kaga’s tails swayed gently with each step, white tips catching the lantern light.

Together they walked on, toward town.

Chapter Text

The streets of the port town were quiet at this hour, lanterns bobbing gently in the breeze coming off the sea. James kept pace beside Kaga, careful not to rush. The hush of the hour made their steps sound louder than normal on the worn stone paving.

They turned onto a side street lined with traditional wooden buildings. Neatly kept paper lanterns cast warm light across dark cedar walls. The scent of grilled fish and miso wafted on the wind.

James cleared his throat as they neared the small restaurant he’d picked.

It was tidy and inviting. Old but well-cared-for, its polished wood exterior gleamed in the lantern light. A narrow sign above the door bore hand-painted kanji, and small lanterns hung at either side of the entrance. Warm yellow light glowed behind shoji screens.

James exhaled slowly.

"Here we are."

Kaga slowed beside him, eyes flicking to the entrance. Her ears tipped slightly forward, taking in the details. Tails shifted once behind her.

He caught the subtle change in her expression. A faint surprise.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Kaga’s gaze slid toward him, cool and assessing. But after a second, she admitted.

"I have been here a few times."

James couldn’t hide his relief, and a grin.

"Perfect. That’s… good to hear."

Kaga’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "You chose this place intentionally?"

He coughed, a hand going to rub the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I… um. Tried to find somewhere that wouldn’t be too formal or… weird. Figured this seemed safe."

One of her ears twitched. Was that amusement?

"Safe," she echoed dryly.

He snorted. "You know what I mean."

She didn’t argue. Instead, she let out a slow breath, gaze lingering on the welcoming glow of the entrance.

"This is good," she murmured.

He grinned wider. "I'll take that as a praise."

They stepped inside together.

Warmth enveloped them immediately. The smell of miso broth, rice, and fresh-grilled fish filled the air. Soft conversation drifted from the curtained booths. Bamboo panelling and paper lanterns gave everything a gentle, golden glow.

A young waitress turned from the counter and greeted them with a bow.

"Welcome! Do you have a reservation?"

James swallowed, straightening a little.

"Uh, yes. Mr. Thompson."

The waitress checked the small clipboard at her side and smiled brightly.

"Ah, yes! Right this way, please."

As she turned to lead them, she glanced at Kaga, and her face lit up with polite recognition.

"Kaga-san! It's been a little while. Welcome back."

James blinked. His head turned toward Kaga in clear surprise.

Kaga's ears twitched once, betraying the tiniest flicker of embarrassment before she inclined her head with formal precision.

"Good evening," she said evenly.

James couldn't help it, he grinned, eyes dancing.

"A few times huh?"

Kaga’s gaze flicked to him, cool but unconvincing.

"They have adequate meals."

The waitress hid a small smile behind her polite bow.

"Please follow me."

The waitress led them down a narrow hall of shoji screens to a private booth in the back. The table was low, the floor covered in thick woven tatami. Paper lanterns cast a quiet, cozy glow.

James let out a breath as they settled opposite each other. He met her eyes across the table, giving a small, slightly nervous grin.

"Well… here we are."

The waitress set two menus on the low table, bowing slightly.

“Please take your time. I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.”

As she left, James blew out a slow breath and picked up his menu. The kanji blurred a little. He squinted.

Right. Rusty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Across from him, Kaga opened hers with a practiced flick. Her tails settled in a disciplined arc behind her. She seemed… calmer now, the tension easing from her shoulders. James risked a glance up and found her watching him. Not harsh. Not cold. Just… observant.

He cleared his throat softly.

“So… uh. I’m going to need you to help me here.”

He gestured at the page.

“My Japanese isn’t… what it used to be.”

For the first time that night, her lips twitched in something approaching amusement.

“Your pronunciation must have been acceptable when you ordered the reservation.”

He shrugged, sheepish.

“Had to practice that a dozen times first.”

Her ears twitched. The corner of her mouth threatened to turn upward.

She lowered her voice, almost conspiratorial.

“The dishes here are traditional. Nothing too foreign for you.”

“I can handle ‘foreign’,” he said quickly. Then after a beat:

“Just… preferably nothing poisonous.”

Her eyes actually glinted in the low lantern light.

“Don't worry, they do not serve Fugu here.”

James snorted.

“Good. One less thing to worry about.”

She leaned forward, tapping the menu.

“I suggest this,” she said, voice quiet but firm.

He blinked, following her finger.

Unagi teishoku. (Grilled Eel, Rice. Pickled vegetables. Miso soup).

He nodded gratefully.

“Sounds perfect.”

They sat for a moment in silence, the soft clack of her nail on the menu the only sound. He felt himself relaxing despite everything. Outside, the wind rattled the thin wooden walls gently, but fortunately inside was warm.

When the waitress returned, Kaga ordered with fluid, easy Japanese, barely glancing at him until she was done. James watched her work.

When the waitress left again, he found his voice.

“So… you come here often?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second. Her eyes drifted to the little stand of chopsticks on the table.

“Yes.”

Another pause. She didn’t quite meet his gaze.

“The unagi here is… very good.”

He blinked. Then his mouth twitched.

“Unagi? Grilled eel?”

She gave the smallest nod, ears flicking once.

“The flavours here are balanced. Sweet. Smoky. Properly prepared.” She paused, voice almost reluctant. “Not many places do it right.”

He found himself smiling, warmer now.

“So you come here because it’s that good?”

Her tails shifted, brushing the floor behind her.

“I believe food should be… worth eating.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take your recommendation then.”

Kaga’s eyes flicked up, met his directly for just a second. Then she inclined her head, calm again.

“You should.”

They sat in that quiet for a while, the hush of the restaurant settling over them like a blanket.

James cleared his throat, glancing anywhere but at her directly.

“So… uh. Remember I said before that I used to live here?”

Kaga’s ears twitched slightly. Her gaze fixed on him, unblinking.

“I do recall.”

He gave a crooked, embarrassed smile.

“It was before I went to the Academy. My dad got posted here. Liaison stuff.”

Her tails shifted, a subtle movement.

“You were a child then.”

He nodded.

“Pretty much. Teenager. I didn’t get it all back then. Just thought it was weird and new. But I liked a lot of it.”

She regarded him, silent, letting him speak.

James exhaled.

“I remember the markets. The smells of the sea. The ramen stalls with the little paper lanterns. I used to sneak off with some local kids and just… wander. Get lost.”

Kaga’s ears flicked forward, listening.

He smiled faintly.

“And the sakura trees. God, I remember those best. Streets covered in pink. The wind blowing petals everywhere like snow. We don’t have anything like that back home.”

His voice went quieter.

“I guess… I missed that. More than I thought I would.”

For a moment neither spoke.

Kaga’s gaze softened just slightly.

“You remember much.”

James shrugged self-consciously.

“Enough to make a fool of myself in your language. Enough to get hungry thinking about real food again. Enough to… want to understand.”

He risked another glance up.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

Kaga shook her head once.

“It is not unwelcome,” she replied, voice low but clear.

He blinked.

“Oh. Good.”

Her eyes remained steady on his, unreadable but no longer cold.

James cleared his throat again.

“I just thought… you should know. Properly, I mean. Not just in passing.”

Another silence, this one gentler.

Finally, her tails settled more comfortably around her, and her ears gave a small, telling flick forward.

“I see,” she murmured.

James managed a real smile, warm and a bit sheepish.

“Yeah.”

And for a moment, sitting there with the lantern light reflecting in her eyes, the space between them felt a little less like enemy and ally and a little more like human and human.

James cleared his throat once more, the last of his words about sakura fading into the warm hush of the private room. He glanced down at the menu, then back up at her, brow furrowing thoughtfully.

“So… what about you?”

Kaga blinked.

He hesitated, then pushed on carefully.

“I mean… I know you girls are… well. Warships.” He gave a wry little shrug. “One-woman navies, really. But you have to have some kind of childhood. Right?”

Her ears twitched. She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze dropped slightly to the table.

He waited, biting the inside of his cheek.

Finally, she exhaled softly.

“When we were… younger,” she began, choosing the words like they were fragile, “Akagi and I quarreled constantly.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“Quarreled?”

Kaga’s tails shifted behind her, curling and uncurling.

“She was reckless. Ambitious. Always certain she was right.”

He smirked faintly.

“Some things never change.”

Her eyes flicked up, sharp, but softened when they met his.

“I was also… rigid. Rules. Duty. I would not yield, even when I should have.”

James watched her carefully.

She went on, voice growing quieter.

“And Amagi.... she was the only one who could stop us. She would step between us, force us to listen, to compromise.”

Kaga’s mouth quirked, just barely, at one corner.

“She had… ways. Of enforcing peace.”

James tilted his head.

“Ways?”

Kaga’s ears angled to the side, vaguely embarrassed.

“Love taps.”

He blinked.

“...Love taps?”

Kaga didn’t elaborate.

Her eyes narrowed a hair, as if warning him not to push. But the tiny flicker of amusement there didn’t go unnoticed.

James snorted, trying not to laugh outright.

“Right. Noted.”

Kaga didn’t smile, exactly. But her gaze warmed a fraction.

“She kept us… together. Even when we made it difficult.”

James sobered, leaning forward a little on his elbows.

“Sounds like she’s important to you.”

Kaga’s eyes met his, level and steady.

“She is.”

James nodded slowly.

“Good. I… I’m glad you have someone like that.”

For a moment, the clink of distant dishes and muffled voices from the main room were the only sounds. Before they could continue their conversation, the door to the booth slid gently open with a muted clack.

Their waitress reappeared, balancing a lacquered black tray in both hands.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, smiling warmly.

She set the tray carefully on the low table between them. One by one, she placed each dish precisely in front of them with practiced grace. A beautifully arranged Unagi Teishoku set for each.

James watched, eyes widening a little with every clink of ceramic on wood.

Each main plate held a small, elegant wooden frame meant to evoke a miniature grill, on it rested the fillet of grilled eel, lacquered in a glossy, caramel-brown tare sauce that caught the lantern light in gleaming highlights. Even without any real heat beneath it, thin curls of fragrant steam rose around it invitingly.

Not to forgot the smell. It was incredible. Deep, sweet soy mingling with charred edges of the eel’s skin, hinting at smokiness beneath the sweetness.

Beside it was the rice bowl, sealed with a lacquered lid. When James carefully lifted it off, a thick puff of pearly steam rushed out, fogging the air between them and momentarily blurring Kaga’s face. The rice was white and glossy, each grain plump and perfect.

His miso soup, pale golden with darker swirls of miso paste still resolving in the hot broth, gave off a briny, comforting aroma.

Pickled vegetables in small ceramic side dishes added pops of bright color. Greens, yellows, oranges.

The waitress finished setting everything down, then offered a deep bow.

“Please enjoy your meal,” she said softly, before sliding the door shut behind her.

Silence fell. James found himself staring at the tray in open wonder.

He looked at Kaga, blinked, then back at the food.

“Wow.” His voice was soft, genuinely awed.

Kaga’s lips curved ever so slightly, a tiny hint of teeth showing.

“Looks good, right?” she said, voice more relaxed than it had been all evening. Her tails swished once behind her, languid.

“Wait until you taste it.”

James let out a short, breathless laugh, still eyeing the glistening eel. He picked up his chopsticks with deliberate care. He wasn’t great with them, but he could manage and split off a neat piece of the unagi fillet.

As soon as he lifted it, the lacquered sauce pulled into a thin, sticky thread before snapping. He guided it to his mouth and took a careful bite.

The flavor hit him instantly.

Soft, fatty eel flesh almost melting on his tongue, the sticky-sweet tare clinging to every bite with dark notes of soy and sugar, undercut by a subtle smokiness.

His eyes actually fluttered shut for a heartbeat.

“…Holy hell,” he murmured.

When he opened his eyes, Kaga was watching him, ears perked slightly forward in clear amusement.

He coughed, embarrassed, but couldn’t help grinning.

“I mean… damn. You weren’t kidding.”

Her gaze softened, that tiny curve of a smile still on her lips.

“I wouldn’t visit it often if it wasn’t good.”

James gestured to the table with his chopsticks.

“I’m convinced.”

She settled back slightly, watching him as he dug in again, her own chopsticks resting in her fingers as she finally allowed herself to relax into the quiet, delicious-smelling space between them.

James wiped his mouth carefully with the small cloth napkin, setting it aside. He let out a quiet, contented sigh, glancing across the low table at Kaga.

“That was… honestly amazing,” he admitted.

Kaga, who had just finished her last bite, tilted her head slightly, ears flicking once. “I did say to wait until you tasted it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. You were right. I don’t think I’ve had anything quite like that since I was last here.”

Her tails shifted a little on the floor behind her, settling more loosely. Her voice lost a touch of formality. “I’m glad. It’s why I come here.”

James drummed his fingers lightly on the table, thoughtful. “Thanks for… willing to come with me.”

She looked at him for a moment. “You did go through the trouble of reserving it.”

He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Well. I wanted you to enjoy it”

Her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “And I did”

They held each other’s eyes a little longer than before, until James cleared his throat and glanced away.

The server returned quietly, bowing and taking the empty dishes. She wished them both a pleasant evening, and they rose from the low table.

James stretched carefully once they were in the hall, rolling his shoulders with relief at standing up. He cast a sidelong look at Kaga.

“Ready?” he asked, voice quiet.

She gave one simple nod, her expression calm but not cold.

They set off down the quiet road side by side. Neither spoke at first. James kept his hands by his side, glancing at the shapes of houses and shop fronts slipping by. He didn’t rush her.

Finally, he found his voice.

“I used to do this a lot when I lived here,” he offered. “Just… walking. No destination. Just felt like you could think better.”

Kaga’s tails flicked thoughtfully behind her. “It’s… quieter at night,” she said. “Just you and the night sky.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”

They walked another few steps in companionable silence.

Then James risked another glance her way.

“Did you have a place you liked to walk?”

Kaga was quiet for a long moment. When she answered, her voice was low.

“There was a small shrine. Up the hill. Amagi liked it.”

He smiled a little. “Sounds nice. Let's go there.”

She blinked slowly. “Sure”

James exhaled slowly, hands in his pockets. His eyes roamed over the sprawling view below them. The port town glowed in scattered lantern light, ships bobbing gently on dark water. The shrine’s wind chimes clinked faintly in the night breeze.

“It’s… something, isn’t it?” he murmured, voice low. “The view from up here.”

Kaga turned her head slightly, watching him. Her ears twitched once.

James continued, sounding almost awed.

“All those lights. All those people. Living their lives.”

He let out a humorless breath.

“Its peaceful. Feels… normal. Like it should be.”

He fell silent, shoulders tightening. His fingers dug into his pockets.

“I don’t want to see this…” His voice cracked just a little. “Turned to smoke and rubble. Not here. Not… back home either.”

Kaga didn’t speak. But her ears angled forward, listening intently. Her tails stilled.

James swallowed. His eyes were locked on the town below, but his words seemed far away.

“That’s why I became a pilot, you know.”

He drew in a ragged breath.

“Up there? You’re free. No borders to cross. No politicians playing games. Just the wind, the clouds, the sun in your face. It’s…” He hesitated, then let out the rest on a sigh. “It’s peaceful.”

He turned to glance at her, eyes earnest, voice steadying.

“But I didn’t join just to fly. I joined to protect people. The ones who can’t fight for themselves. Who can’t just… run.”

Kaga’s eyes softened in the lantern glow, the city lights flickering across their surface like fire on water.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost reverent.

“I envy that.”

James blinked, surprised.

“Envy?”

Kaga’s gaze drifted back to the horizon.

“The view. The freedom.” She tilted her head back, looking toward the stars. “Seeing it all. Above it all. Free to choose where you go.”

Her ears lowered a fraction.

“I don’t have that.”

James didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

Kaga’s voice dropped, rough around the edges.

“I’m a Kansen. A weapon. I exist to protect my fleet. My nation. My people.”

She swallowed hard.

“I have a duty. Loyalties. I can’t… choose.”

James’s jaw tensed. He nodded slowly.

“I get that.”

He glanced back at the lights, then lifted a hand and pointed out over the glowing town below.

“But… what if those orders are wrong? What if they tell us to burn all this?”

Kaga stiffened. Her tails curled tighter around her legs. She didn’t answer at first.

Her breathing grew shallow, and when she did speak, it was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

James heard the raw honesty in it. He let the silence stretch between them before replying.

“Its alright….I probably can’t answer that either.”

Silence fell. Only the wind moved. Somewhere below, a bell rang in the temple precinct.

Kaga’s voice came, rough as gravel.

“You asked why I saved you.”

James blinked, startled by the sudden turn.

Her ears flattened. Tails curled tight around her ankles.

“It wasn’t duty.”

Her eyes glistened in the light, fierce and wet.

“I saved you… because I didn’t want you to die. I couldn’t bare watch it happen.”

She turned her head away, breath shuddering.

“I don’t know what that means, Lieutenant. But it’s true.”

James felt something hot and cold surge in his chest at once. He stepped closer, boots scraping over the old stones.

“Kaga,” he said softly.

She didn’t look at him.

“Kaga.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her face back to him. Their eyes locked, the night wind stirring the edges of her hair.

He swallowed.

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Lieutenant’ all the time you know?”

Her ears twitched, uncertain.

“It’s… habit.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile.

“Just… call me James.”

She blinked. Her mouth parted, then closed. She swallowed hard.

“I’m… not used to that.”

“I know.” His voice was warm, quiet. “But I want you to.”

Silence fell. Her tails flicked once, twice, agitated.

Then, very softly:

“...James.”

It was the first time. He felt something ease in his chest, slow and deep.

He exhaled.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t answer. But her eyes stayed on his, steady and unflinching.

The base gate loomed ahead in the gloom, twin lanterns marking the checkpoint. Sentries in dark uniforms watched them approach but only offered short, polite nods.

James returned them automatically, hands in his pockets. He felt Kaga beside him, her steps measured and deliberate on the gravel. They’d left the bright street behind. Now it was quiet except for the hush of distant waves against the docks.

For a minute or two neither spoke.

James cleared his throat once, wanting to say something, but the words tangled.

But before he could try, Kaga’s voice cut through the dark.

“James.”

He turned, surprised at the softness in her tone.

She’d stopped walking. The lamps cast her face in warm shadow, highlighting the faint flush on her cheeks. Her tails shifted slowly behind her, restless.

“Thank you,” she said. But this time it wasn’t a stiff formality. It was hushed. Earnest.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

“For… tonight. For asking me. For… treating me like… this.” Her voice faltered. She glanced away, as if ashamed of the vulnerability.

James took a step closer, heart beating fast. “Kaga…”

She didn’t back away. Didn’t hide behind rank or duty. She met his eyes, searching them in the low light.

“I don’t…” Her voice trembled, and her ears lowered slightly. “I have never done this before. I don’t… know how.”

He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t either.”

A tiny breath escaped her lips. Almost a laugh. Almost.

They were close enough now that he could see every line of tension in her shoulders. Without thinking too much, he reached out. His fingers brushed against her sleeve, stopping there.

She didn’t pull away.

“But it was good,” she whispered. “Better than I thought it would be.”

James let out a shaky breath of relief. “Yeah. It was. It really was.”

For a moment they just stood there, the night folding in around them, quiet and heavy with things unsaid.

Finally Kaga pulled in a slow breath, composing herself. But her voice was still softer than he’d ever heard it.

“I should go,” she murmured.

He nodded, reluctantly letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Yeah. Get some rest. Good night Kaga.”

She lingered a second longer, looking at him like she wanted to say something else. Then, with a small nod, she turned.

As she started walking, she spoke one last time, voice carrying in the dark:

“Good night… James.”

He watched her go, the words echoing in his chest like a promise.

Chapter Text

USS Saratoga (CV-3) - somewhere in the Western Pacific - 1950 hours

The sky was a bruised violet, the last streaks of sun burning out behind slow-rolling clouds.

Saratoga stood at her own bridge rail, arms folded neatly behind her. She could see the long expanse of her flight deck below, freshly cleared.

The last pair of Grumman Wildcats had just taxied in, engines whining down. Deck crews waved them forward, chocks at the ready. One plane captain jogged forward to catch the wingtip.

She exhaled softly. No night CAP tonight.

The Navy might be experimenting with it, but it was madness in peacetime. One mistake during a night landing and you lost a good pilot, or worse, an entire plane crew.

Not worth it.

She adjusted her collar on her coat and turned slightly.

Her captain was there, Captain Thomas Whitaker. His hands tucked behind his back in that relaxed but coiled stance they all seemed to master. His eyes were also on the darkening sea.

“Evening’s closing in nicely,” he observed.

Saratoga cracked a small smile. “The last plane’s in. I’ll take that as a good omen.”

He glanced at her, lips twitching. “Ever the optimist, Sara.”

She raised an eyebrow. “As if you don’t rely on my optimism to keep your hair from going gray.”

Tom snorted at that, shaking his head, and gestured to the XO, who’d been waiting a polite distance away with a small clipboard.

“Status report?”

The Executive Officer straightened. “Destroyers Gridley, Simms, Downes report negative contacts on sonar for the last two hours. Helena and San Francisco confirms radar clear. Weather is calm, barometer steady. CIC reports all ships holding station within three hundred yards.”

Sara nodded, feeling the words settle through her hull like a checkmark in each compartment.

She looked out at the dusky water. The picket destroyers were out there somewhere, dots in the gloom. She could see their nav lights winking red and green.

“Very well,” she said aloud. “Thank you, XO.”

He saluted crisply and withdrew, leaving her with her captain once more.

She glanced down at the paper wrapped sandwich she’d been nibbling. Cold egg salad, but she didn’t mind. She finished it neatly, wiping her fingers on the offered napkin.

This was the best meal some of these boys would get before a watch shift.

She let the silence stretch, the sea murmuring below.

Diplomatic mission.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

Lexington and her taskforce are tied up in Yokosuka.

While they were out here lurking just out of range.

They were ultimately to act as Insurance,  in case negotiations soured.

Unofficially?

They don’t trust the Japanese. Not fully. And they don’t trust our own diplomats not to get blindsided.

She sighed.

No one really wants war, she thought. But everyone’s ready for it.

She let her eyes roam the horizon one last time before the night fully swallowed it.

Hold together, Lex, she thought, almost like a prayer. Just hold together a little longer.

USS Downes (DD-375) - 2035 hours

The sea was black glass, heaving gently under the wash of a lazy Pacific swell.

Downes felt it in her bones. The stillness. The waiting. The boredom.

She paced her own deck, boots tapping the steel. Her eyes flicked to the horizon, not that there was much to see anymore. Only the navigation lights of Gridley and Simms blinking in the gloom.

Her Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Jack Harris, a tall, hatchet-faced man, stood beside her at the rail.

“You look like you’re going to jump overboard just for something to do,” he observed dryly.

Downes let out a snort that might have been a laugh.

“God, I’m bored.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Bored is good, ma’am.”

She grimaced, folding her arms tight.

“I know. But bored sailors start thinking too much. Or playing dice on my deck.”

He chuckled, then fell quiet, gaze wandering past her shoulder.

Downes frowned, following his line of sight.

The moon hung enormous over the water, throwing silver paths across the gentle swell. The carrier Saratoga loomed off their port quarter, her outlines painted in pale ghostlight.

“It’s a hell of a moon tonight,” Jack said softly.

Downes didn’t answer immediately. She just watched the reflection shift with the roll of the sea.

Jack voice dropped lower. “Reminds me of our first date.”

That made her blink.

He smirked sidelong at her.

“Dinner under the stars,” he continued, voice teasing but softer than usual. “Just us, a blanket, half-warm coffee.”

She snorted, looking away to hide the small, unguarded smile tugging at her lips.

“That was terrible coffee.”

“Still the best damn night I ever had,” he murmured.

Silence stretched between them. The moon gilded the lines of his jaw and the soft gleam in his eyes. His hand inched closer, brushing hers on the railing. Then, deliberately, he took it.

Downes arched a brow without looking at him.

“Careful now,” she said dryly. “Pretty sure sexual assault on a superior officer is grounds for court martial.”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he squeezed her fingers just a little tighter.

“I’ll take my chances,” he murmured.

She huffed a sound halfway between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. But she didn’t pull away.

The quiet lapped at them for a heartbeat more, just the whisper of wind and the low murmur of the sea.

That was when the voice crackled in the compartment below.

“CONN, SONAR! New contact. Bearing 035. Range indefinite!”

Jack dropped her hand instantly. Downes straightened at once, expression hardening like steel. She and the Jack hurried down to the bridge.

“Repeat.” shouted Downes.

The sonar operator’s voice was tighter now, focused.

“Bearing 035, ma’am. I’m getting… irregular cavitation. Metal on metal, maybe. It’s faint. Range indefinite, she could be deep.”

Jack shot her a sharp glance.

Downes leaned in, voice cold.

“Could it a whale?”

“Not… like any whale I’ve heard, ma’am. It’s… unnatural.”

Downes’s jaw tightened. She straightened.

“Sound General Quarters.”

The alarm klaxon blared through the steel corridors. Boots pounded the deck. Hatches slammed. Guns swivelled in their mounts.

Downes felt it in her bones, the adrenaline flooding her hull.

“Radio” she snapped. “Get me Saratoga.”

USS Saratoga (CV-3) — Bridge

The bridge lights were dimmed, red-lit for night.

Saratoga stood near the chart table, conferring softly with her Captain when the radio watch barked:

“Incoming traffic from Downes, priority.”

Tom gave a terse nod

“Put it through.”

The speaker crackled.

“Saratoga, Downes. We have a possible submerged contact. Bearing 035 relative. Range indefinite. Irregular signature. Could be submarine. Going to General Quarters.”

Silence fell on the bridge for a heartbeat.

Saratoga’s eyes narrowed.

Her voice was ice.

“Acknowledge.”

“Downes, this is Saratoga. Acknowledged. Investigate contact. Proceed with caution. Report immediately on any change.”

“Understood. Downes out.”

The speaker went dead.

Saratoga exhaled slowly. She turned to him.

“That bearing is toward our outer screen.”

Tom nodded grimly.

“Too damned close for comfort.”

She felt the tension coil in her hull, in the pulse of every light and wire aboard.

Outside, the sea had gone black. The sun was dead.

If it’s a submarine, it’s in perfect hunting position.

She could almost see them, her escorts, her boys, sailing blind.

She closed her eyes once.

Not tonight. Don’t you dare.

Her Captain’s voice was low.

“If it is them?”

She opened her eyes.

“Then they’re already in striking range.”

The wind howled across the deck. The sea waited.

USS Downes (DD-375) — Bridge

The ship’s engines throbbed deep in her bones as Downes powered up to 22 knots, the bow cutting a foaming wake through black water.

“Maintain sonar speed!” she barked, voice low but urgent.

Jack gave a curt nod.

“Aye, ma’am. 22 knots steady.”

Red lights bathed the plotting table. Grease pencil marks tracked bearings on the clear surface.

Downes turned to her communications officer.

“TBS to Gridley and Simms. Tell them, Downes will Investigate the possible contact. They will maintain the screen for the fleet. If it’s a sub, they will be our back line.”

“Yes ma’am!”

The message crackled over the Talk-Between-Ships,TBS circuit, the quiet tension clear even through the radio hiss.

Gridley’s calm voice returned:

“Acknowledged, Downes. We’ll hold the bearing. Godspeed.”

Simms chimed in a beat later.

“Copy that. Watch your tail, Downes.”

Downes exhaled slowly.

“Helm, bring us around to 035.”

The ship heeled gently as she adjusted course, bow slicing toward the contact bearing.

Below in the sonar shack, green screens glowed. The operator’s voice came tight and clipped.

“Contact now bears 037! Range… approximately one and a half miles!”

Jack stabbed the bearing onto the plotting board.

“They’re maneuvering.”

Downes’s voice was flat.

“Of course they are.” “Helm, standby for rapid manuevers!”

Silence reigned except for the thrum of engines and the muted sonar pings.

Then the operator’s voice cracked through again:

“Ma’am, bearing changing rapidly. Contact now bears 041. Speed decreasing. Signature’s fragmenting.”

Downes’s eyes narrowed.

“Fragmenting?”

The sonar man sounded strained.

“They’re… breaking contact. Going quiet. Might be dropping underneath the layer. I…I’m losing them.”

She clenched her fists at her sides.

“God damn it.”

Jack’s voice was calm but tight.

“Thermal layer, ma’am.”

She hissed out a breath.

“Keep pinging.”

A tense moment passed.

“Sonar reports, no contacts, repeat no contacts.”

The compartment felt too small. Too quiet.

Downes closed her eyes for a heartbeat, then snapped them open.

“Very well. Helm, hold this bearing for five minutes, then come to a slow patrol box. Sonar, maintain active sweeps.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

She exhaled slowly, jaw flexing.

“XO. Get me Saratoga.”

USS Saratoga (CV-3) — Bridge

The voice from Downes crackled over the TBS, hard and grim.

“Saratoga, Downes. We’ve lost the contact. Suspect sub probably slide underneath the layer. Resuming search pattern.”

Silence on the bridge.

Saratoga’s eyes gleamed cold in the red light.

She tapped a finger on the chart table, then spoke softly but clearly.

“Understood, Downes. Maintain pattern. Gridley and Simms will reinforce our screen.”

She turned to her Captain.

Her voice dropped.

“That’s definitely a sub.”

Tom nodded grimly.

“Agreed. Probably sent to watch us.”

She looked out over the black Pacific, the moon reflecting dully off the sea.

Somebody’s watching.

And they’re good at it.

Chapter Text

The briefing room felt too small, too bright. Voices bounced off the polished walls in careful, brittle courtesy.

James stood along the back wall, cap tucked under his arm, trying not to fidget. Beside him, other American officers did the same, faces drawn, eyes flicking to the long polished table at the room’s center.

There, the delegations faced one another. On one side, the US Navy brass in khaki, the other side, the Japanese Officers in black dress uniforms trimmed with gold. And of course their Kansens where present aswell.

Kaga sat among her own side, perfectly composed, tails tucked close, ears canted slightly forward. She didn’t look at James. She hadn’t since they entered the room.

A Japanese aide poured tea in silence. The only sound was the hushed murmur of translation, the careful shuffling of papers.

Then the American admiral, McClellan, cleared his throat. He spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Before we proceed further with any operational cooperation, we fell the need to address…a certain recent incident that has occured.”

The interpreter relayed it in crisp Japanese. A subtle tension rippled down the Japanese side. Admiral Yamashita’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t speak.

McClellan continued.

“Yesterday, one of our destroyers detected an underwater contact nearby one of our fleets.”

He let it hang for half a breath.

“With a sonar signature consistent with that of a submerged vessel.”

Kaga’s ear flicked. She didn’t move otherwise.

James’s stomach tightened.

McClellan pressed on.

“It was deep. Too deep to identify. We could not confirm, but its position was directly abeam of our formation.”

He paused.

“Our destroyer pursued the contact but there was no engagement. However… we consider this a matter requiring clarification.”

He didn’t say accusation. But he didn’t need to.

The Japanese side sat utterly still.

Then Yamashita spoke softly in return.
“Your fleet was not supposed to approach that closely. The agreement was for an escort to protect your liason.”

McClellan’s jaw flexed.

“Admiral, you know why they were there. They are merely a precaution only.”

The interpreter translated, each word growing sharper in the air.

Yamashita’s voice dropped to a lethal hush.

“Precaution. And you expect us to welcome that without response? You would do the same in our waters.”

Kaga still didn’t look at James. But he saw her hand tighten slightly on her papers.

James exhaled quietly, trying not to make a sound. He hated this. The way everyone in the room danced on the edge of a blade.

McClellan’s aide leaned in, whispered urgently.

McClellan raised a hand.

“We aren’t accusing you of anything outright. We simply need assurances that your forces aren’t conducting covert surveillance in violation of the ceasefire protocols.”

The room fell silent again.

“Ceasefire,” Akagi murmured, voice low and silken but edged with unmistakable steel, “is not surrender.”

James felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

She shifted slightly, her eyes locked on the American side of the table, and continued in flawless, deliberate English.

“You come here speaking of peace… yet you arrive with forces positioned to strike at a moment’s notice. Is that your idea of trust?”

The words hung in the air, sharp as a drawn blade.

James saw McClellan’s jaw tighten visibly. One of the American aides bristled outright, muttering under his breath just loud enough for James to hear provocation hissed like a curse.

Akagi’s tails flicked behind her once, her expression cool and utterly composed.

Admiral Yamashita’s gaze didn’t move for a second, but then it slid to her with glacial precision. Barely perceptible, but the reprimand was there in his eyes.

She inclined her head fractionally, folding her hands with exaggerated primness on the table. But the faint, knowing curve at the corner of her mouth didn’t vanish.

She’d wanted them rattled.

McClellan let the silence stretch dangerously. His fingers drummed once on the table before going still.

“Admiral Yamashita,” he said finally, voice tight and frosted over, “is that the official position of your delegation?”

Yamashita didn’t glance back at Akagi. His answer was even, almost weary.

“It is our right as it would be for any navy of a nation to ensure the safety of their waters.”

The silence that followed Yamashita’s words was suffocating.

James could practically hear the tick of the brass clock on the wall.

No one moved.

The American ambassador cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. He tried for conciliatory.

“We understand your… security concerns. But sending patrols to shadow our movements is hardly the sign of good faith we were promised.”

Akagi’s eyes glittered, but she said nothing further. Her tails coiled tightly behind her.

It was Yamashita who responded, voice low but unyielding.

“As I said, Ambassador, any navy would do the same. Including yours.”

James watched McClellan’s fingers curl slightly on the polished table.

The Admiral’s tone was controlled, but every syllable landed like a hammer.

“You’re right. We would.”

He didn’t bother pretending to smile.

“Which is why this was supposed to be a negotiation to avoid that.”

Yamashita exhaled once through his nose. He gave a small bow precisely as deep as protocol demanded, no more.

“Perhaps… our expectations were unrealistic.”

James felt something sink in his stomach. The Ambassador began to speak again, voice thinner now, desperate for anything salvageable. But the momentum was gone. No one was listening anymore.

He risked a look across the table.

Kaga sat perfectly straight, her hands resting lightly on her lap. Her face was carved marble, unreadable. But he saw her ears were half-lowered, tails coiled tight and still. She hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t have to.

James felt a cold weight settle behind his ribs.

This is it.

The Ambassador finally sat back, the last of his forced diplomacy crumbling.

“I see we’re… unlikely to reach any new understandings today.”

Yamashita nodded once, grimly.

“It seems not.”

The scrape of chairs on polished wood was the only sound for a moment as both delegations stood.

James rose automatically, boots clicking. He caught Kaga’s eye for the briefest instant.

She looked at him. Really looked.

And then turned away.

Outside the Meeting Hall

The late afternoon light was harsh, cold.

The American delegation exited first, the Ambassador flanked by aides and naval officers. Lexington was there too, every line of her posture stiff with tension.

James fell in beside McClellan without being ordered. He glanced over his shoulder just once. On the steps behind them, the Imperial delegation was emerging more slowly.

Akagi was saying something low to Yamashita, her fan tapping against her palm with sharp, deliberate movements. He didn’t reply.

And there was Kaga. She had paused, standing half-shadowed under the eaves. Her eyes found his across the courtyard.

For one heartbeat, neither moved. He lifted his hand slightly in a vague, aborted wave. Her ears twitched.She didn’t wave back but she didn’t look away either.

Until someone behind her called her name. She turned, vanishing into the dark mouth of the hall.

James let his hand drop.

He felt Lexington’s presence at his side before she spoke.

“That went well,” she muttered, voice dry as salt.

James snorted humorlessly.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed hard.

“Couldn’t have gone worse.”

She said nothing for a moment. Then her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s head back to the ship.”

He nodded, jaw tight.

As they marched back toward the waiting motor launch, the wind off the harbor cut cold through his uniform. He didn’t shiver. He just felt… hollow.

USS Lexington – Ready Room – The next day

The ready room was quieter than James could ever remember.

No joking. No cards slapped down on the table. Just the scrape of boots on steel, the occasional muttered curse as pilots shoved personal gear into bags.

Charts were rolled up and stowed. Checklists got rubber-banded and thrown into lockers. The big black chalkboard with mission rosters still had the ghost of last week’s exercise plan on it, half-wiped and faded.

James sat at one of the desks, arms folded, staring at the scuffed floor. He could still see it in his head, that conference room. Akagi’s eyes cold as she leaned forward to speak in perfect English, calling them liars to their faces.

He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

What are we even doing here?

He heard the door open behind him. Lexington’s footsteps were easy to recognize, measured, graceful, almost too light for a woman in full uniform carrying a staff. She paused in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the pilots in their khakis.

“Pack it up,” she said softly, voice carrying just enough. “Orders just came down. We’re sailing for Pearl at dawn.”

A few men let out weary sighs. Someone slammed a locker.

James didn’t move.

Lexington’s eyes found him. He tried to read her expression. There was disappointment there, but not surprise.

“Lieutenant Thompson.”

He glanced up.

“Come here a moment.”

He rose, boots scraping, and followed her into the narrow corridor but paused at the hatch, seeing their downcast faces.

“You heard the lady,” he snapped, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Grab your gear, check your logs. We’re shipping out. Prep the planes. Move it.”

There were grunts of acknowledgment, boots scuffing as men got to their feet, shoving helmets under arms and grabbing bags. The hatch shut behind them. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched him with that calm, knowing stare.

“You saw this coming,” he said finally.

Lexington’s mouth tightened a fraction.

“I hoped I was wrong.”

He snorted, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“The way she said it,” he muttered. “Akagi. ‘You came under the pretext of peace.’ Like we’re the ones who started all this.”

Lexington didn’t correct him.

She just sighed.

“Diplomacy isn’t about blame, James. It’s about pretending no one knows whose fault it really is.”

James let out a humorless laugh.

“Well than I guess we’re done pretending now.”

She stepped closer. Put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Fleet Command is worried about the second fleet being discovered. They don’t want it escalating more than it already has so they’re pulling us out while they still can.”

James felt something heavy and hollow settle in his gut.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Makes sense.”

“James.”

He blinked at her.

Lexington’s eyes were steady, calm.

“If you want to see her… go. Now. Don’t waste time standing here.”

He swallowed hard.

“But… the gear, the checks”

She gave him a small, knowing smile.

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure everything’s squared away for you.”

His breath hitched.

“Lex…”

“Go,” she said firmly, but her voice softened at the edges. “Find her while you still can.”

James drew in a shaky breath, then nodded once, hard.

“Thanks Lex.”

Her expression warmed.

“Don’t mention it.”

She gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then stepped back.

“And James?”

He paused.

She gave him the faintest, most conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t make her wait too long.”

He barked a short, strained laugh and turned on his heel, boots echoing in the corridor as he hurried off.

Lexington watched him go, the smile lingering on her lips, equal parts fondness and worry.

The wind off the harbor was cool, carrying the briny smell of the sea. Lanterns flickered along the piers, throwing long, shifting shadows over the stacked crates and moored ships.

James walked slowly, hands deep in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what he’d say, only that he needed to see her.

He spotted her near the end of the pier. Alone. Silver hair glinting in the dim light, twin fox tails curling slightly in the breeze. She was staring out at the black water like it could answer for everything.

He stopped a few paces behind her and cleared his throat softly.

“Kaga.”

Her gaze lingered, conflicted. Then she nodded just once.

“James.”

He stepped forward to stand beside her. For a moment neither spoke. The water lapped quietly at the pilings.

Finally he exhaled, breath misting in the chill.

“It’s official. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

She nodded once. Her expression barely changed, but her tails tightened around her legs.

“I know,” she murmured. “We were informed.”

James let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. Figures.”

Silence fell again, heavy but not hostile.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” she said finally.

He swallowed hard.

“No. It didn’t.”

His fingers dug into his pocket, feeling the small, object there. He hesitated, then pulled it out.

A brass compass. Old and a bit battered but clearly cared for.

“My dad gave me this,” he said quietly, eyes on it. “Said it saved him once. When I got my wings, he made me promise to always keep it on me. ‘So you don’t lose your way,’ he told me.”

Kaga’s eyes lowered to the compass. She didn’t say anything.

James’s voice hitched.

“I want you to have it.”

Her ears twitched, startled. She turned sharply toward him.

“Why?” she asked, voice low and strained.

“Because…” He took a shaking breath. “Because I don’t want you to think this was all lies. I don’t want you to think I ever wanted to fight you. This… it’s so you know there’s someone on the other side who doesn’t want this.”

He held it out between them.

“It always brought me home. So keep it safe for me. Until we see each other again.”

She stared at it, her breathing uneven. Slowly, she reached out and took it from his palm, fingers brushing his.

“You… idiot,” she whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what you’re giving me?”

He managed a tired smile.

“Yeah.”

She clutched it against her chest for a moment.

Then, swallowing hard, she fumbled in her sleeve and pulled something small free.

“I… made this.”

It was an omamori, carefully tied in red and white thread. The kanji on its front was flawless, if a little stiff. Protection.

“In my culture,” she said, voice cracking, “we give these to people we want to stay safe. People who matter.”

She held it out to him, her hand trembling.

James accepted it gently, fingers closing over hers.

“Kaga…”

“Don’t,” she said roughly. “Just… take it.”

He nodded once.

He slipped it into his pocket, then cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly.

“Ah…” He reached into his jacket again.

“One more thing.”

He pulled out a folded envelope and held it toward her.

She frowned, ears canting forward.

“What’s this?”

“My brother’s wedding invitation,” James said, voice unsteady. “It’s in Honolulu. About six months from now.” He cleared his throat. “He… he invited me, and, uh, told me told to invite you aswell.’”

He huffed an embarrassed laugh.

“I don’t know if you could ever come, but… you’d be welcome. If you’re interested.”

Kaga stared at the envelope, speechless. Finally she took it with delicate fingers, tucking it carefully into her sleeve without a word.

They stood like that, silent.

James swallowed hard, voice hoarse.

“Goodbye, Kaga. And stay safe.”

Her eyes glistened in the lantern light. She blinked slowly, breathing in deep.

“Goodbye… James.”

He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her hand one last time.

Neither said another word.

He turned and walked back toward the American side of the pier, boots heavy on the planks.

She watched him go, the compass clenched in her fist.

Chapter Text

The Pacific stretched endlessly ahead, grey-blue and rolling gently under a high overcast sky. The wind had a salt bite that felt cleaner than the fuel-heavy stink of flight ops, and for once the deck was quiet except for a few scurrying deckhands and the distant churn of the screws.

Lexington was heading home.

Not just her, but the whole task force.

James let out a slow breath on the catwalk overlooking the flight deck, watching the big shapes of the escorting cruisers and destroyers riding in formation. Beside them, Saratoga matched speed like a stubborn sister who refused to be outrun.

Ever since they’d left Japan, life had been one long grind. After negotiations hit, the Navy hadn’t wasted a minute. Lexington and Saratoga had been kept in forward rotation for months doing every exercise imaginable. Carrier tactics, dive bombing practice, night landing drills, cross deck ops with a rolling sea that made even seasoned pilots sweat.

James remembered a miserable stormy exercise off Midway where his flight had nearly gotten separated in squalls.

He also remembered a more amusing incident, smirking faintly at the memory:

Some green kid in training had mistaken Saratoga for Lexington in the dark. Landed neatly on the wrong deck. James could still hear the crackle over the comms when Saratoga realized it. She’d been absolutely livid, shouting about “poaching her pilots.”

He sighed. Everyone was exhausted.

But they were finally being relieved.

Hornet and Yorktown’s groups were inbound to take over.

And today, they were heading back to Pearl.

Shore leave.

God, it sounded good.

He opened the hatch and stepped into the pilots’ ready room. The air inside was thick with old sweat, oil, and the buzz of overhead fans pushing warm, stale air. A line of pilots sat slumped in their chairs, eyes bleary. James crossed to the battered lectern, dropping his battered notebook onto it with a thunk.

He scanned the room. They all looked half-dead and he didn’t blame them.

“All right, listen up. Last sortie was… decent. Could’ve been worse. But let’s go over it.”

He flipped through his notes, tapping them with his pen.

“Callahan, you came in too steep on your dive. You know what happens if you hold that angle too long?”

Callahan blinked wearily.

“Uh… get a real accurate hit, sir?”

James snorted.

“Yeah. Right on your own funeral pyre. Ease up next time.”

A tired chuckle ran through the room.

He moved down the list.

“Henderson. You pulled so hard out of that last dive it’s a miracle you didn’t black out.”

Henderson grimaced.

“Sorry, Sir. Just… reflex.”

“Reflex is good. But reflex doesn’t stop you from auguring in if you can’t see straight. Train the reflex correctly. That’s the point.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look. I know you’re all running on fumes. We all are. But we’re finally getting a break. A shore leave when we hit Pearl.”

That got a few weak cheers and relieved groans.

James cracked a real smile at them.

“So learn what you did wrong to today and rest up. Because when we come back? I expect better. Got it?”

A mumbled chorus of “Yes, sir” followed.

He gave them a short nod.

“Alright, dismissed.”

As the chairs scraped and pilots slowly filed out, James set his notes down with a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. For a second, he just stood there, breathing.

God, I’m tired.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache behind his eyes to go away. Then he heard a polite cough. A quiet voice teased from the doorway.

“Lieutenant Thompson. Giving them the what-for?”

He blinked and looked up.

Lexington was there, her pink hair was tucked perfectly behind one ear, her expression halfway between commander and older sister. She didn’t step in yet, just peeked around the hatch coaming with exaggerated secrecy.

“I promise, I won’t interrupt if you’re scolding more poor greenhorns.”

He tried to scowl.

“Lex. You always eavesdropping?”

She smiled, stepping inside.

“Perks of being the ship. Its hard to keep secrets from me.”

He shook his head, dropping onto the edge of the table with a sigh.

“They’re good pilots. Just… they’ve been pushed hard.”

Her expression softened.

“I know. So have you.”

James blew out a slow breath, watching the last of the pilots disappear down the corridor.

“It’ll be good to get them off this boat for a couple of weeks.”

Lexington crossed her arms lightly.

“And you?”

He snorted.

“God, yes. I need a drink. A real bed that doesn’t move. Maybe even… I don’t know, ten straight hours of sleep.”

She laughed, low and warm.

“That’s ambitious. You’ll be lucky to get six.”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Worth trying.”

She watched him quietly for a moment. Then her tone softened even more.

“You’ve done well with them, James. I know it’s not easy.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice.

“Yeah. Well. Not like I’m alone here.”

She huffed.

“True. I do most of the work.”

He barked a tired laugh.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you have that one.”

“So… ready for a break? Or do you want to lecture me about dive angles too?”

James rolled his eyes.

“Ha. Don’t tempt me. If I’m not mistaken your turns are still sloppy after that last torpedo defence drill.”

She laughed. They walked in companionable silence past humming machinery spaces, until she pushed open the door to a smaller wardroom. A low lamp cast a warm glow over the battered table inside.

A chessboard sat ready.

James stared at it, deadpan. “You set it up already?”

Lexington just smiled sweetly. “Perks of being the ship. I’m always a few steps ahead.”

He grunted, dropping into the chair opposite her. “Show-off.”

She sat gracefully, white uniform immaculate. “That’s Miss Show off to you.”

He snorted, but he was already reaching for the black pieces. They began to play in practiced silence, the soft scrape of pieces filling the air. Lexington watched him with hawkish eyes. James squinted at the battered chessboard under the low wardroom lamp. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting fatigue.

Lexington watched him, chin resting on one hand.

“Your move,” she said softly.

He blinked, dragging his gaze back. His fingers hesitated over the knight.

“Come on,” she teased, voice warm. “I don’t bite.”

He snorted once but didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched. Finally he moved, knocking over a pawn in the process. He sighed and set it back upright.

Lexington’s eyebrow quirked. “Graceful.”

“Bite me.”

She laughed quietly. They played on for a few moves in silence. The pieces clicked against the board, the dim light turning the polished wood a warm gold.

Lexington finally glanced up, watching his face carefully.

“You’re not here,” she said gently.

James didn’t look at her. He just stared at the board, jaw tight.

“I’m here,” he muttered.

She said nothing, letting the silence do the work.

He swallowed.

“Sorry…it just reminds me,” he admitted quietly.

She tilted her head.

“Of what?”

James didn’t answer immediately. His fingers traced a path along the board’s edge.

“Of shogi,” he said at last. “Of…her.”

Lexington’s eyes softened. She didn’t need to ask who he meant.

James’s voice dropped.

“I didn’t think I’d miss it.” He let out a humorless huff. “Stupid, right? Missing… sitting on the floor, getting my ass handed to me.”

Lexington reached over the board slowly, pressing her hand over his.

“It’s not stupid,” she said quietly.

He didn’t look up.

She gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“She was important to you.”

James let out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t even know what we were,” he muttered. “Enemies? Friends?”

Lexington shrugged a little.

“It doesn’t need a label.”

He looked at her, frowning faintly.

She met his eyes.

“If it mattered to you, that’s enough.”

He was quiet, thinking.

She tapped his knuckles once before letting go and moving her rook.

“Come on. Your move.”

“Besides,” she added lightly, trying to lift the mood, “I’m much meaner than she is. She probably let you win sometimes.”

James barked a quiet laugh despite himself.

“She did not.”

Lexington just gave him a sly look. They played on, the mood lighter but tinged with something wistful.

Hours later, dawn broke over the Pacific in bands of gold and pink.

James stood on the Lexington’s deck beside Lexington herself, leaning on the rail. The green slopes of Oahu were growing on the horizon. Pearl Harbor yawned open like a promise of rest.

Lexington let out a quiet, contented sigh beside him.

“Home” she murmured.

James nodded, gaze steady on the shore.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

James slung his small duffel bag over his shoulder as he stepped off the gangway and onto the pier, boots clacking against the worn boards. Around him, sailors in khaki and blues jostled and called out to waiting taxis, friends, and family. The air smelled like salt and oil and city dust, with the long Hawaiian evening light turning everything gold.

Lexington was waiting for him at the foot of the pier in her human form, arms folded loosely. She smiled as he approached.

“You’re actually leaving me unsupervised,” she teased lightly.

He snorted, dropping the bag to adjust his collar. “Think you’ll manage?”

She lifted a brow. “Barely.”

He gave her a crooked grin and then cleared his throat. “Hey. Look… you know you’re always welcome. We’re having dinner tonight. My folks, my brother and sister will be there. Mom’s probably making something ridiculous.”

Lexington’s expression softened, and for a second she actually looked regretful. Then she shook her head.

“I can’t. I need to get the patrol and maintenance reports squared away for Admiral McClellan. Besides, Saratoga’s waiting on me.”

He tilted his head, curious. “Waiting on you?”

Lexington huffed, though a little smile tugged at her lips. “She practically demanded it. Said it’s been too long since we had a proper sisters’ night out.”

James blinked, then grinned. “Sisters’ night out, huh?”

She rolled her eyes skyward in mock agony. “Shopping. Talking. Probably dragging me somewhere that serves those ridiculously sweet ice drinks.”

He barked a short laugh. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, it will be. I’ll probably come back broke.”

He chuckled again, then hesitated. His smile faded just a fraction. “Tell her I said hi. And… thanks Lex. For everything.”

Lexington’s face gentled even more. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder firmly, grounding him.

“Of course,” she said. “Now go on. Get out of here before I decide to keep you onboard. Your family’s waiting.”

He lifted his bag a little, shifting it on his shoulder. “You take care, Lex.”

She offered one last warm smile. “You too, James. Enjoy your shore leave. And give my regards to your family.”

They shared a final nod before he turned away, boots thudding softly on the planks of the pier, leaving her watching after him for a moment longer before she finally turned back toward the ship.

The sun was dipping low by the time he reached his car, a battered but solid 1936 Ford Coupe, painted in navy blue, a little dull from salt and sun. He tossed the duffel into the passenger seat, slid in, and twisted the key. The engine coughed and then turned over with a dependable growl.

He didn’t head straight home. Instead he turned off onto King Street, tires rumbling over the cracked pavement, and parked in front of a small local bakery. The windows glowed warm and inviting in the twilight. Inside, the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries made his mouth water. He ordered a box of haupia squares and malasadas, exchanging polite chatter with the elderly woman behind the counter who called him “young lieutenant” with a wink.

When he got back in the car, box carefully balanced on the seat, he took a moment to breathe.

Honolulu in the evening felt alive. Palm trees silhouetted against the streaked sky, radios playing soft jazz or Hawaiian guitar from open windows, kids still playing in front yards even as the lamps flickered on.

James finally turned onto his street, an older neighbourhood not far from downtown but quieter, lined with low wooden bungalows with deep lanais and broad eaves. His parents’ house was modest but well kept, whitewashed walls, a red tin roof, and plumeria trees dropping blossoms onto the front steps. He sat there for a second, engine idling, watching the lights on in the front windows. Shadows of movement inside.

Home.

He shut the car off and climbed out, box in hand, the air cooling fast now that the sun was gone. He stood there on the curb for just a moment longer, breathing in the smell of flowers and sea breeze, feeling the tension of months at sea start to slide off his shoulders. Then he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and walked up to the porch, ready to knock.

Before he could even lower his hand, it swung open.

His little sister, Emily, practically tackled him in a hug.

“Jimmy!” she squealed, burying her face in his chest.

He laughed, steadying them both. “Hey, hey, easy now. You're going to knock me over.”

Their mother appeared behind her, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She smiled so wide it made her eyes crinkle.

“James,” she said warmly. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

He gave Emily a last squeeze and reached past to give his mother a one armed hug. “Good to be home, Ma.”

She patted his back before pulling away. “Put your things down. Dinner’s almost ready.”

James glanced around the living room, cozy and familiar. “Where’s Oliver?”

Emily piped up immediately, still practically bouncing on her heels. “He’s out with Laura. They’ll be back any minute!”

James smirked. “Of course he is.”

Their mother gave Emily’s shoulder a gentle tap with the towel. “Go finish helping me set the table.”

Emily stuck out her tongue at James before scampering off.

James watched her go, shaking his head fondly, then looked back to his mother. “Need a hand in the kitchen?”

She gave him a firm, knowing look. “You sit and rest. You’ve had enough work lately. Emily’s already helping.”

He raised his palms in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shooed him gently toward the stairs. “Go wash up. You still smell like ship.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he deadpanned, but he was smiling as he climbed the steps.

He returned a little while later, changed into clean, casual clothes, loafers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tan slacks. He was just sinking into the old armchair in the corner when the front door opened again.

Oliver walked in, laughing at something over his shoulder. His fiancée Laura followed, cheeks flushed with the evening breeze.

As soon as Oliver spotted James, his face split into a grin.

“James!”

James barely had time to set his feet before Oliver closed the gap and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Good to see you too, Ollie,” James managed, patting his brother’s back.

Oliver pulled away, still gripping his arms. “It’s been too damn long.”

James’s eyes dropped to his brother’s sleeve, taking in the three broad gold stripes.

He let out a low whistle. “Well look at you. Captain Oliver Thompson. Moving up fast in the world.”

Oliver flushed and made a face. “Ah…don’t start with that.”

Laura giggled, stepping to James with a polite but warm greeting. He gave her a gentle hug, careful not to squash her.

“Captain, huh?” James pressed, eyebrow up.

Oliver huffed and rubbed his neck. “The Navy needed to fill a spot aboard the West Virginia. Wee Vee…recommended me for the promotion.”

James gave him a flat look, then jabbed a finger into his chest. “Don’t talk like that. They promoted you because you earned it. You’re ready for the responsibility.”

Oliver ducked his head, embarrassed but smiling. “Yeah, well. Thanks, Jim.”

James squeezed his shoulder once before letting go. “You’ll do fine. Wee Vee doesn’t hand out promotions like candy.”

Oliver’s grin turned sheepish. “She was pretty insistent though.”

James barked a laugh. “That’s battleships for you.”

Their mother called from the dining room, voice bright. “Dinner’s on! You boys done with your reunion?”

James slung an arm around Oliver’s neck as they walked toward the table.

“Yeah, Ma. We’re good.”

And for a moment, all was warm and right, the war outside forgotten behind the welcome glow of home.

The table was small but crowded, warm lamplight reflecting off polished wood. The smell of roast and gravy drifted lazily through the room.

James took his seat, plate in hand, trying not to grin too wide.

His mother gave him that look. “Eat. You’ve lost weight since you left.”

He rolled his eyes, loading potatoes. “Yes, ma’am.”

She sniffed, satisfied, and then her tone softened. “So. How goes it aboard the Lexington? They running you ragged?”

He paused, fork halfway up. Thought of the drills. The men. Lexington’s worried face.

“You could say that. Drills, practice runs. A lot of new pilots to train. She’s a busy girl.”

Emily leaned forward on her elbows, eyes big. “How’s Aunt Lexington? Can she come over? Or can I go visit her on the ship?”

He barked a laugh. “I’ll ask. But she’s got her hands full yelling at pilots.”

Emily pouted dramatically. “She wouldn’t yell at me.”

James raised a brow. “You haven’t seen her when a trainee forgets to put the wheels down during landing.”

The table chuckled. James snorted.

“Better than letting them break their necks on landing.” He raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of responsibility, how’s the wedding planning going?”

Oliver actually blushed.

“Going well, actually.” He glanced at his fiancée with a grin. “We finally got the clearance to hold it on West Virginia.”

James’s eyebrows shot up.

“You serious?”

Oliver shrugged, trying to hide his grin.

“She voted for it herself. Admiral signed off.”

James let out a low whistle.

“Damn. I guess I really should salute you, Captain.”

Oliver groaned.

“Don’t start. It’s just the Navy needed someone in the spot. Lucky timing.”

James shook his head, smile softer.

“Don’t sell yourself short. They don’t promote people who aren’t ready.”

Oliver went quiet at that, gaze dropping to his plate.

Their mother cleared her throat, eyes shining.

“Well. We’re proud of both of you. Even if you’re impossible to keep fed when you’re on leave.”

James smirked. Then he hesitated, eyes flicking to Oliver.

“About the wedding, Ollie…”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“What about it?”

James sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“I’ll try to be there. But I can’t promise.”

Oliver blinked.

“Why not?”

James rubbed at his temple.

“Because I don’t know if Lexington will even be in Pearl that week. They’ve got us rotating constantly. Drills. Patrols. They won’t give guaranteed leave.”

Oliver’s face fell a fraction.

“Ah.”

James’s voice dropped.

“I want to be there. You know that. But I’d rather you plan on me not being able to make it… so you’re not scrambling last minute.”

Oliver exhaled slowly, then reached over and punched his shoulder lightly.

“I know, man. It’s trying times. We do what we can.”

James hesitated, then grinned crookedly.

“Besides, you’ve got another great option.”

Oliver blinked.

“Yeah?”

James raised an eyebrow.

“Ask Wee Vee.”

Oliver actually laughed, shaking his head.

“Wee Vee? As best man?”

James smirked.

“Why not? You two are thick as thieves. She’d be delighted, I’m sure. Hell, she’s basically had your back since the Academy days.”

Oliver’s grin softened into something almost fond.

“Yeah… she really is. Even loaned me half her mess rations once when we were broke.”

James chuckled.

“There you go. She’s perfect. And I’ll feel better knowing you’ve got someone solid up there with you.”

Oliver looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

James clapped his shoulder.

“Good. She’ll keep you in line.”

Oliver snorted.

“She’ll try.”

Their mother cleared her throat gently.

“Enough of that. Eat up.”

Emily beamed, launching into chatter about schoolwork. James watched them all, listening with a quiet smile, the warm light of home wrapping around them.