It was, cold. It was dark. As a child, I had a fear of the dark. I think all of humanity had that very fear. One, singular, universal truth. Humanity was afraid of the dark, probably going all the way back to humanity's earliest days. We always imagined monsters in the dark. From the inky void of space to locations far closer.

Before the Abyssal War, humanity knew more about its own moon, than it did the deep recesses of Earth's oceans. They knew less, now, the deep now held purely by Abyssals, at depth's humanity could scarcely attempt to reclaim. After all, how could they reclaim what was never theirs in the first place?

I was alone, in that dark. Panic. Fear. Rage.

Dispair.

I thrashed. I struggled. I could do nothing else. I could not tell up from down, but I felt as if I was being dragged further into the oppressive darkness. In the end, there was nothing I could do as the darkness laughed.

There was a flash of light.

Then nothing.

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Light broke upon my face. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping to cut off the offensive light. However, even throwing the blanket over had proved fruitless. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the waking world, only for my leg to feel heavier than usual. It wasn't just my leg, either. There was an all too familiar feeling of someone cuddling into my thigh.

A brief peek under the blanket confirmed my suspicions. If it were anyone else besides Luzon, then I'd have been fairly concerned. I didn't want to wake her, but my prior movement was already causing her to stir.

I'm not entirely sure how she got there, to be honest. Luzon had gone with the Destroyers and other smaller craft. She didn't want to, but she put on a brave face anyway. I'd told her to come to find me if she couldn't sleep, which is likely what happened. Luzon let out a cute yawn, looking up towards me, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"Did you get a good night's sleep?" I asked, smiling slightly. Still not fully awake yet, Luzon only nodded, though her grip on my leg softened, allowing me to wiggle my way free. A chill ran up my spine as my bare feet made contact with the metal floor. It wasn't too cold, but the contrast between the warmth of the sheets and the floor was enough.

Maybe I should wear some of the socks I'd been given to sleep tomorrow? Pausing for a moment before deciding to contemplate the choice of action later, I threw on a hastily assembled outfit. Of course, it wasn't like I had many variations to choose from, having mostly spared military clothing to choose from. Beggars couldn't be choosers, but almost all my shirts went from uncomfortably tight or to unbearably tight.

Why did I have the feeling that I was going to need specialty clothes?

After a few more minutes of getting Luzon properly dressed, her stomach let out a grumble.

"Can I have pineapple pancakes for breakfast?" Luzon asked as we headed towards the mess hall, walking past Ohama and few other cruisers on the way out the door.

"Of course. Just remember, pancakes are breakfast food," I hummed as we made our way down the hall. Luzon made a noise that indicated her disappointment. I bite my lip to stop the chuckle rising from my throat.

Now, which way was it to the mess? I think it was too the right?

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Omaha crossed her arms across her chest at a few of the other cruisers. Under normal circumstances, Omaha doubted that such a display would accomplish much. Just about every other ship outgunned and had more displacement than she did. However, now more than a few of the cruisers were looking down at their feet, rather than meeting Omaha's fiery gaze.

Hopefully, she didn't have to continue her chastisement of the other cruisers. It was that chastisement that had caused Isabella to wake up in the first place. Omaha didn't realize the lump on one of the beds had been Isabella. If she had, Ohama would have taken the conversation elsewhere.

Isabella waking up alongside Luzon brought the conservation to a halt. It wasn't like they were going to talk about her when she was right there. Especially with the topic of the conversation being Luzon.

"Look, I get it. But that doesn't change what the rules say!" Omaha rolled her eyes. If it was one of the Japanese cruisers, she might be able to understand why they were so anal about the rules. The Japanese navy had been a stickler for rules, order, and rank. But they were an American one, so even that poor excuse didn't exist.

"Look, lawful stupid," Ohama's eye's narrowed, ignoring the indignant squawk from the offending cruiser. "How many of us got any sleep last night until Luzon decided to cuddle up with Isabella gain? Come on, a show of hands."

Nobody did raise their hand. More looked at their feet, however. Omaha didn't know if it was out of shame or fear, but she didn't care, either.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. And it wouldn't surprise me if the same can be said about the Destroyers as well," Omaha let out a huff. "So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to talk with the Admiral in charge. I'm going to explain why letting Luzon stay here will benefit everyone here. I'm going to do all that, and you guys are going to deal with it. Am I clear?"

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"Thank you," my feet shifted as we finally arrived. I'd like to say that we'd gotten there without issue. That no problems came up and that it was a simple straight shot down the hall. I'd be lying if I acted as if that were true. But that would just commit faulty memories to my brain, and this whole song and dance would be done again.

I'd pretty much got lost right off the bat. It had been a left, not a right. And several other turns through the cramped corridors, for that matter. I'd almost started to panic before I managed to spot a familiar face, South Dakota. She'd been talking to a battleship with short black hair and eyes two different colors. One yellow and the other blue. Wasn't that condition called heterochromia?

Regardless, after I'd arrived, out of breath with Luzon in tow, I asked for help. The dark-haired battleship had gone, somewhere. I wasn't even sure when she left our little group. But South Dakota not only graciously gave us directions but also escorted us there.

"Your welcome," South Dakota nodded, as I watched Luzon make a blitz towards the pancakes. I certainly could go for a few myself, but my eyes were drawn towards the scrambled eggs. And, of course, the bacon. One could not forget the bacon. Unhealthy and greasy? Absolutely. That's part of why it was so good!

I really needed to try and get some protein into Luzon, though. My baked spaghetti recipe may call for some burger, but it still wasn't a whole lot. Eggs were out if the crinkle of her nose was anything to go by. Bacon got a similar response, confirming some of my fears.

However, Luzon's eyes lingered over a few cups with plastic spoons sticking out. I made a note to take a look when I went through the line. If it was something like yogurt, then my answer was staring me right in the face. Now that I think about it, even milk could provide at least some protein. Milkshakes were an option, but ice cream did have a lot of sugar. Giving Luzon sugar in anything larger than small amounts was something I was reluctant to do, to say the least.

"Do you have any time to join us?" I looked up at South Dakota, puzzled. It looked like it was a bit later in the morning. Which, note to self, buy a watch or phone as soon as I could. Would make keeping track of time a non-issue. But South Dakota didn't look busy, either. Plus, she's a battleship. With the way Luzon and I put away food, she probably needed a whole lot more than we did.

There was a flicker on South Dakota's face. An almost internal debate played out behind her eyes. I frowned. It was a bit of a long shot. She seemed like the type to quietly enjoy another's company, but South Dakota was a battleship. A critical piece of the fleet. People probably wanted her ready for combat at a moment's notice right now. So she was probably a bit too busy to get away with something like that.

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"I think I can make the time for it," South Dakota gave me a slight smile.

"Thank you," I did my best to return her grin.

If I paid enough attention to her expression, I'd have realized just how badly I failed.

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"How is she taking it?"

"How well do you think she's taking it?"

"Shush! They're going to notice!"

Three cruisers poked their heads around the door, keeping watch on the Admiral and Seattle. They'd heard the rumors. Seattle was probably one of the few people that hadn't. The cruiser information network was extremely good at what it did. No matter how tight-lipped people were, things would slip out. Intentional or accidental.

They had to work very hard on making sure Seattle didn't hear any of the rumors, and if she had been in greater contact with the cruiser information network, she probably would have. But, for the time being, they'd done their job and done it well. Now, it was time to see if the rumors held any merit.

Which, by the fact that Admiral Richardson had called to meet Seattle, alone, was likely the case. Unless one put any stock in that other rumor mill, there wasn't much of a reason for him to do otherwise.

Now, it was just a simple waiting game. A game of patience and stealth. They couldn't use most of their equipment, either. Much too close, running the risk of being discovered.

Only snippets of conversation floated by. It was hard not to notice the little things. The grimness in Admiral Richardson's expression. The gradual tightening of Seattle's fists.

It was only a few moments after Admiral Richardson stopped talking before the shouting began.

"You know, the fact I've never seen Seattle angry before makes this all the scarier."

"Should we do something?"

"I'll go get Bremerton. And some ice cream."

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"So, how'd the talk with Seattle go?" Admiral Richardson, professionalism be damned, shot a nasty look at Vulcan. Vulcan asking the question was a sign that she knew exactly how well that conversation went. Even without the smug look on her face.

"Better than I feared, worse than I hoped," that was the truth. Richardson had never seen Seattle get like that before. Her anger at worst was maybe a slight elevation in her voice. This time, she was outright livid. He'd almost describe it as scary. Off the records, of course. It wasn't like Richardson was in any danger, but to see Seattle angry? That was not an emotion he'd seen her display and was not one he was in any hurry to see again.

It was always the nice ones, he swore.

"And, how exactly are Isabella and Luzon?" Vulcan's smug expression changed into a much more somber one.

"To quote you? Better than I feared, worse than I hoped," Vulcan sighed. "The fact she's already considering therapy without any prompting is at least a good sign. But I'm starting to think Isabella is worse off than she thinks she is, and she's under no illusions that she's close to well."

Richardson's eyebrow raised. Great. More bad news.

"Isabella's had a hard time navigating around. She hasn't gotten lost. At least, not yet, and I'm worried about what will happen when she ultimately does. I'm currently working on getting some guide system set up for the two."

"And as for their sleep?" the number of expletives that came out of Vulcans mouth was enough to tell Richardson that he was going to love this.

"Omaha has already put forth a request for Luzon to move into the cruiser quarters for the remainder of the trip. One I recommend is carried on when they arrive at the dorms. Both Luzon and Isabella both suffer from night terrors that only seem to be soothed with each other's presence," Vulcan flipped through a stack of papers, likely reports. "What's really concerning is what South Dakota told me about an hour ago."

"Go on," Richardson prompted, a deep feeling in his gut.

"After finding Isabella lost in one of the hallways, South Dakota lead her and Luzon back to the mess hall. Isabella asked South Dakota if she was like to join them for breakfast," this, didn't seem so bad. Surely, seeking out social interaction was a good sign, right?

"South Dakota said, that when she accepted, Isabella tried to smile at her," Richardson paused for a moment.

"Tried?"

"Yes sir," Vulcan's curtness was striking. "South Dakota described it as more of a blank look than anything else. But she felt like Isabella was trying to give something like a grin."

That sounded, problematic. A British understatement to is sure. At least Isabella was considering therapy. Jesus. How bad were things that a willingness to see a therapist could be considered a silver lining?

"Thoughts?"

Vulcan let out a sigh.

"I don't think her ability to feel emotion is impaired. At least, not that much, if that is your concern. Depression will probably be an issue going forward, though I'd rather Isabella get diagnosed by a trained professional, compared to my untrained shelf. As for where it came from?" Vulcan's shoulders sagged. Richardson would scarcely call it a shrug. It was more of a heave than anything else. "I not certain. South Dakota is the only person to report the issue, so it's a recent development."

"Isabella's not going to be ready for debriefing, is she?" Richardson frowned, more of a statement than a question. The brass wanted answers, not that he blamed them, and he was only capable of doing so much when it can to stalling for time. As much as Richardson would sooner avoid forcing Isabella to relive her trauma so soon.

"So long as you don't question her on what happened after she was captured, it'd probably go a lot better than you'd think," Vulcan's words nearly made Richardson bite on his tongue to keep from swearing. Part of the reason was specifically just that. What happened while she was captured. Yes, exactly how Isabella ended up in the middle of the South Pacific was a question that many wanted to be answered. One of the biggest.

But what exactly the Abyssal wanted was another. Simply in part due to the strangeness of it all. Abyssal's simply did not take prisoners. At least, as far as they knew. A few, very minor elements had raised concerns that this whole event was some type of false flag operation, to get a plant on the inside.

Mercifully, most of those people had been told to shut up. Richardson could only imagine the damage that could have been done if they tried to talk with Isabella. He could see it either ending in a complete mental breakdown or a fist to the jaw. Neither of those things going partially well.

"Really?" Still, that didn't sound exactly right.

"I don't see why not. That would be the first major trauma point, right? Waking up alone may have shaken her up a bit, but I can't think of anything else that would be traumatizing until that point," Vulcan frowned. "Not accounting for anything weird, of course. Which wouldn't surprise me if that's likely."

"Oh?" Richardson prompted, though internally, he was about to place his head in his hands.

"I. It's," Vulcan let out a groan of frustration. "Look, there's no other way to put this, and none of us have any clue how she can do it, so I'm just going to say it. Isabella knows how to cook. Not as in over a fire, because that would at least make some sense. I'm talking about using an oven, here."

That was not what Richardson had expected. A statement, that at first glance, likely seemed innocuous. Unless one was familiar with shipgirls, it was an extremely innocuous statement.

But for those familiar? It was anything but. Most shipgirls had some basic knowledge, most of the meals that their cooks had known. Occasionally you got someone with a post-war chief that could make so more complicated recipes. With paper ships, like Isabella, you had none of that knowledge.

That's how it was supposed to work.

"How likely is it that it's just a case of shipgirl magic?" Richardson already doubted that simple shipgirl strangeness was at play. However, he wanted it on record, just in case, someone did try to brush it off as simply that.

"Come on," Vulcan let out a snort. "You know just as well as I do the odds of that being the case are next too, if not past, zero."

"Humor me, if you will," Vulcan's face turned into a proper scowl.

"Anyone who wants to chalk this whole thing up to 'shipgirl magic', is full of several types of feces, sir," Vulcan ground out. "Despite all its strangeness, 'shipgirl magic' has rules to it. There is a method to the madness, but there are patterns to it as well. What Isabella is doing violates most of what we know. This type of behavior? If she saw someone cook and merely had picked up the skill, then maybe Isabella could be written off as a fast learner. But to our knowledge, nobody has taught her any of this. Her crew shouldn't be able to teach her, either."

"There is more going on here. I'm not sure what. We just have far too many blanks on Isabella at this point to even attempt to start piecing things together," Vulcan let out a sigh.

"Amnesia? Maybe she was on one of the islands, awakened, made an escape, lost her memory, then went back?" Richardson was spitballing at this point.

"If that were the case, then her fairies would have likely stepped in to stop her from heading back, or tried to, which we have no evidence of. Plus, adding to the strangeness is the fact she chose her name."

No, Richardson had not forgotten that piece of information. If it wasn't for her being captured, finding out how exactly Isabella managed to pull that off had been one of the biggest questions the brass wanted answered. Just one more on the preverbal mountain.

"And what about Luzon?" Vulcan flipped through a few more papers.

"No mysteries with her. Luzon's pretty much a ball of trauma walking around in the body of a six-year-old. If Isabella's nearby, she's less scared and at least willing to tolerate others. Without Isabella? Luzon becomes borderline phobic of anything larger than an American Destroyer," Vulcan shook her head. "And that's only slightly better than how she interacts with none-American shipgirls."

"And we're sending them to Sasebo. Great," Richardson resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands. The fact, barring some miracle, that they might be working on Luzon's timetable was concerning enough. A transfer was an option, but it was a double-edged sword, given how separating the two wasn't going to work out. If Isabella was at least trying to make connections, severing them wasn't going to help her recover.

But ultimately, it was a catch-22. A transfer could help Luzon, at least marginally, but it would likely set Isabella back. Which in the long run, wouldn't do Luzon much good, either, especially as attached as they were.

Something to put a pin in, Richardson supposed. If they were lucky, maybe Luzon would similarly take to Seattle.

He could certainly hope.

"At least they'll be back at safe port soon enough," Richardson let out a sigh.

"Please, do not try taunting Murphy right now," Vulcan almost mimicked his slump. "A lot can happen in a few days, and you know it."