Rowan's eyes shot wide as Lightning's voice hummed urgently in his mind.
"Hey, Cap? I know this is really not the best time—like, emotionally vulnerable duchess just finished melting against your ribs not-best-time—but… you gotta go."
He blinked over at Lightning, who was making little rushing motions with her hands at the door like she was trying to direct an aircraft. "Go?" he whispered. "Go where?"
"Combatives, boss! You've got it this morning. You're already cutting it close."
Rowan's heart sank. "Wait, that's today?!"
"Yeah, today today. As in, you're going to be late. As in, Professor Piorun is probably already marking down mental death threats in your file."
He hissed in a sharp breath, turning toward the hallway like a man about to jump from a moving train. Then he paused, turned back and without thinking, leaned in and gave Hood a quick, warm squeeze.
Not the soul-bearing, cathedral-quiet hug from moments before. This one was fast enough and amiable enough that it startled the absolute crap out of Hood. Then he let go, patted her on the shoulder and rushed away.
"Gotta run," he said, breathlessly. "See ya, neighbor."
Barefoot and glowing faintly with blue circuit-light, Rowan dashed from the room at full tilt, disappearing down the corridor like a man being chased by duty itself.
Hood was left standing in the silence he left behind—alone with her thoughts, her rapidly recovering posture, and the lingering warmth of arms that hadn't judged her.
Lear, ever cruel and timely, gave a low, amused sigh. "I liked the first hug better. You were much more flustered, sister mine."
Hood, for her part, was confused. She had intended to walk to class with him... She looked at her wall clock. They still had 20 minutes...
----
Rowan burst through his door and immediately caught his big toe on the threshold.
"OWW!shitting fuck!"
Rowan stumbled forward, flailing, only barely managing not to eat carpet as he windmilled his arms and caught himself against the bed frame.
Lightning winced aloud. "You good?"
"No!" He shouted, hopping up to one foot.
Despite the toe trauma, he scrambled to the dresser, yanked open a drawer, and pulled a soft white tee over his head. He grabbed the nearest pair of uniform-issue shorts, wrenched them on, and yeeted his sleep pants across the room like they'd offended his honor.
Lightning caught them in midair, rolled her translucent eyes, and neatly laid them on the back of his desk chair. Messy boy, she thought to herself and smiled at his frenetic motions.
Shoes in one hand, socks clenched between his teeth, Rowan launched himself out the door with a thud of panicked momentum and the desperate hope that he could still make it to the training yard without getting vaporized by Piorun's glare.
He hit the hallway running, legs pumping like pistons, his breath short and sharp as the morning air slapped against his skin.
No hesitation. No pacing himself.
Rowan sprinted.
Shoes still in one hand, sock still clenched in his teeth, he tore down the corridor with the focus of a man being chased by a missile and the coordination of someone who'd done this a lot. He didn't take the stairs. He hit the landing for the stairs and leapt, caught the rail with his butt and slid down like a create-a-character from a weird version of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater. He landed at he bottom in a dead sprint and never missed a beat.
He rushed past the library bare feet slapping on concrete like machine gun fire. Two cadets gawked from a bench as he flew past.
One dropped her energy drink. The other just murmured, "Was that Takeda?"
He hit the main quad and didn't slow down.
Dorms, dining hall, admin tower—blurred past. His stride lengthened with every step, body burning clean and efficient, his breathing steady. He cut across paths, ducked under an arch, dodged a food cart, and bounded over a hedgerow without so much as a hitch in his speed.
By the time the training yard came into view, he was moving so fast his shadow struggled to keep up.
It had been one mile across the campus. Lightning checked against her own internal clock and hummed happily. Her Captain had made it in less than a minute.
Rowan skidded to a halt at the edge of the training yard, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
No one else was there.
The field stretched out before him, empty and pristine in the soft morning light. Not a single soul in sight. No instructors. No students. Just Rowan, barefoot and heaving like he'd outrun a cheetah.
Confused, he fumbled for his phone, still panting.
10:50
He was ten minutes early!
His eyes widened. "Wait… what?"
He rounded on Lightning, chest still rising and falling with sharp, post-sprint breath. "What the heck?!"
She materialized beside him in a pulse of light, arms crossed, expression utterly unrepentant.
"I told you," she huffed. "If you're not fifteen minutes early, you're late."
Rowan stared at her. Just stared.
Then he collapsed backward onto the grass with a long, exhausted groan. "Dadnabbit…"
He stared at the sky like it owed him compensation. "I forget how much of a punctual freak you are sometimes."
With dramatic flair, he peeled one of the socks from between his teeth and threw it through her glowing form. It phased harmlessly through her torso and landed nearby like a tiny flag of defeat.
"You had me scared to death, woman."
Lightning sniffed, turning slightly translucent as she perched above his head, still hovering.
"I'd rather you be early and alive than late and in trouble or something," she said, smug. "And besides..." she floated down next to him, elbowing him in the ribs. "now you get time to warm up and impress Piorun."
Rowan just groaned louder. "I don't want to impress Piorun. I want to not throw up my spleen from panic!"
"Look at it this way, gorgeous," she said cheerfully. "You impressed me."
"Gee, thanks," he muttered. "Maybe I'll get a sticker."
"Already printed one," she beamed. "It says 'Fleet's Fastest Dumbass.'"
He laughed despite himself. The gremlin always had his best interests at heart but good Lord!
"You're so mean to meeee!" He whined at her playfully. And he flopped dramatically on the ground grabbing his chest, "You've killed me!"
Lightning flickered once, then went still. A moment later, her voice crackled through his head, thick as jam with sarcasm.
"Quit laying there bein' all dramatic, ya big baby."
Rowan rolled his head to the side, glaring half-heartedly. "No, I'm dead. I've had a heart attack and died."
"You're fine," she continued. "Heart rate's elevated, sure, but you're not blown out. Not by a long shot."
She popped into full visibility beside him, hands on her hips, wild cobalt hair drifting like plasma in zero-g. "So c'mon, ya lump. Get up."
She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet, well most of the way... Halfway through Rowan thought about their contact point and then he phased through her fingers. Damn one-way street! He fell in a laughing heap and then kicked up to his feet in one fluid motion.
He shook his head, sweat-slick strands of red hair flopping over one eye.
It still amazed him. What the two of them had become together. Before he had been Chosen, Rowan could barely run a mile at all, much less sprint at near highway speeds.
He'd just run a mile in under a minute, with just pure muscle and momentum, with Lightning's charge singing under his skin.
And yet… she was right.
His breathing was quick, but not strained. His legs didn't burn. His chest felt fine. No aches. No tremors.
Rowan glanced down at his hands. At the faint cobalt glow still pulsing under his skin. At the black stylized lightning bolt tattoos that even now, the one on his left arm glowed faintly.
"Wild, isn't it?" Lightning said, watching him with something softer than pride. "I'm awesome and I will make you awesome too, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to greatness."
He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah," he said. "Guess I better act like I earned it."
Lightning grinned. "Damn right, Cap. Now hurry up. You've got five minutes left to psych yourself up before Professor Piorun gets here."
Rowan dropped onto a bench near the edge of the training field, tugging on his socks with more drama than necessary. "I'm just saying," he argued, between heaves of exaggerated breath, "inducing punctuality-based panic attacks in your Captain is probably not a long-term strategy. What's gonna happen when I'm an old man, huh? You gonna keep scaring the piss outta me until I keel over?"
Lightning folded her arms in the air beside him, semi-manifested and flickering. "Then I'll just make sure all your clocks are an hour ahead. You'll never know the difference."
He barked out a soft laugh, tossing one sock on and then the other. "That is not comforting."
But Lightning wasn't really listening anymore.
Her process halted.
He said he'd be with me until he's an old man.
Just as her mental subroutines began spiraling into catastrophic projection, a shout cracked the morning wide open.
"YO! TAKEDA!!"
Rowan jolted so hard he nearly yeeted his sneaker across the lawn. He twisted in place, sock half-stuffed into one shoe, heart pounding—and there she was.
Wisconsin.
All bared teeth and crackling energy, hands on her hips like she was posing for a Top Gun remake that included way more punching. Sunlight caught on the scars scattered across her arms and shoulders like battle confetti. Her cropped U.S. Navy hoodie barely covered her abs, and the way she strode up to Rowan made it very clear: she'd been looking forward to this.
"How you doin', Romeo?" she grinned.
Lightning groaned aloud and phased out completely. Lightning's emotional processor was still hanging by a thread when her visual subroutines flared red.
Target acquired.
USS Wisconsin.
Former Golden Gloves champ, cardio monster and disastrous bisexual goblin. Redhead fighting rookie of the US Navy.
Lightning knew that kind of energy. Knew what it could do for lonely hearts like Rowan's.
And she liked her. She was able to push Rowan's buttons.
"Oh no," Lightning muttered to herself in her own code, rapidly branching simulation trees. She's perfect. She's cocky. She's got scars. They're both gingers! He's gonna imprint on her like a baby duck.
While Lightning's matrix started plotting scenarios that involved candlelight dinners, towel mix-ups, and shared sparring sessions with "accidental" kisses, the actual woman herself was already halfway across the grass, closing in like a friendly missile.
"Hey!" Temper shouted, slowing to a swaggering stop in front of Rowan. "Sorry if I freaked you out yesterday."
Rowan blinked, caught off-guard. She was grinning wide, but there was a glimmer of sincerity behind her words.
"I was a little rude," she admitted, looking up at him. "Got caught up in the whole 'first dude Captain' excitement. I might've gotten a little handsy. My bad. We cool?"
He nodded on instinct, still adjusting to her tempo. "Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. I just… I'm not used to this much attention. I really don't know what to do with it."
"Yea, I get that." Temper gave a sympathetic nod. "Fame's a bitch."
Then, without missing a beat, she pulled her hoodie over her head and tossed it beside his shoes.
She stood there unbothered, arms bare, torso snug inside a black compression-fit top that read in cracked white lettering: Hands 4 Days
Rowan's brain stopped for repairs, and Lightning blue-screened. Because the Navy's meanest daughter... Was unreal!
She had that perfect contradiction of feminine curve and combat-forged definition. Soft in all the right places, hard in all the wrong ones. Her stomach was sculpted like a Roman statue; her thighs could probably pop a watermelon, or a man's soul.
And then there were her circuit seals. The were like comic book explosions or stars.
And they were everywhere! Scattered across her body like constellations tattooed by war itself. Lightning didn't have a tongue, but if she did, she'd be dragging it across Temper's shoulder just to savor what victory tastes like.
And Rowan?
He was dying.
Lightning risked a glance into his vitals.
Pulse: elevated. Pupils: dilated. Internal monologue: complete system crash.
Because Wisconsin had just shucked her joggers, revealing a pair of skin-tight vale tudo shorts—black, slick, clinging to every curve like paint on steel.
Rowan was absolutely fighting the war against staring at her. And Temper Temper absolutely noticed. The grin she flashed him was positively shark-like.
"Want me to turn around," she teased, voice a low drawl, "so you can get a better view?"
Rowan made a noise that might've been a protest.
Might've been a prayer.
Lightning made a sound like a dial-up modem left out in the sun and trying to run broadband.
Her Captain was not ready. Captain is never going to be ready. This was not a drill. This was a thirst strike.
"Geez, you're hopeless." Temper said suddenly, giving him a real smile. "You are going to drown if you get this down bad over me."
"What?!" Rowan barked, completely called out and flailing.
Wisconsin laughed and playfully punched him in the shoulder. "Hey, I'm trying to apologize here and you're gawkin' like you've seen God." She shrugged. "Not that I mind but you're sendin' real mixed signals, Takeda. Running away all offended one day then staring at me like you wanna eat me."
Rowan shook his head. "Yes, you're right... sorry." He told her plainly, "You're just so casual! I don't know how to react to it."
Wisconsin sat on the ground and spread her legs far apart and began stretching out to touch her toes. "Yea, I'm pretty direct. It's one of my best and weakest points." She paused, "Hey, could I ask you to push my back down for me? I'm feeling a little stiff this morning."
Rowan stepped behind her, unthinkingly helpful as he always was even if the thought of putting his hands on those toned shoulders sent his pulse to battle stations. "Yea, sure." He leaned down and careful to keep his hands on the cloth of her compression top, he applied gentle downward pressure. "Like this?"
Wisconsin groaned happily. "Yep, just like that." Then with absolutely no preamble, she asked "So, what's really going on with you and the Nazi?"
"Don't call her that." Rowan snapped, sharper than he meant to. "She doesn't deserve that. We don't even really know her."
"She brings it on herself, walking around dressed like a bad guy and doing the whole ice queen thing. You telling me she doesn't give you 1930s Austrian painter vibes?" She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Shoot straight with me."
"No," He said flatly. "She doesn't. She's weird and standoffish but she's nice if you can handle the cold, sort of professional soldier thing she has going on." His mind was filled with images of Bismarck's smile, dancing alone and unbothered in her underwear. Plus her army of stuffed animals said that there was a girl under all the steel somewhere.
Then Wisconsin said "Ok, I gotta swap sides." Rowan snatched his hands up like he had been burned. And Wisconsin leaned over her other leg, "Ok, push down again." Rowan obliged. "Look, I don't know you and Lightning all that well but are you sure that you aren't just getting blindsided by the fact that you saw her in her panties? Then you guys get into a literal naval battle and you take her number by force of arms. Kind of a warped first impression, dontcha think?"
"Hey!" Rowan said, "I tried to let her out of it! And I really didn't mean to see her in her underwear, that whole thing was a misunderstanding." He pushed down a little harder. "You didn't make too good of an impression either, bullying that little sub Captain and then harassing me on the first day of class."
Lightning grinned invisibly.
Her Captain was holding his own against Wisconsin. Maybe she hadn't needed to be so worried.
Wisconsin grunted. "Huh, ok fair... Center now." She said casually. Rowan let her up and she adjusted, leaning nearly far enough forward that her torso was almost laying on the gravel. "But, still. In the two weeks before you got here, before class even officially started, she fought 40 people, Red." She looked up at him. "C'mon make with the hands." Rowan jumped and then put his hands back on her back and pushed her down until she touched the ground. "Ooooooh yes, that's it Red... ya got magic hands kid."
Rowan swallowed. "Thanks, I guess?"
"Just the truth." Wisconsin murmured, closing her eyes and relaxing into the stretch. "But anyway, about your girl: it was like she was hungry for war. Mostly simulations but a couple were live fire duels. And she was absolutely ruthless. She just utterly crushed those girls with no mercy and no apologies." She cracked one eye open and looked into his eyes. "Did you know she nearly killed one carrier Captain who challenged her for fun?"
Rowan blinked. Twice. "What? Really?"
Wisconsin closed her eye and sighed as he unconsciously increased the pressure on her spine. If the Captain thing didn't work out for him, he would make a great physical therapist.
"Oh, yea." She continued, her tone light and airy. "It was supposed to be a friendly spar and Bismarck put that poor girl in the Infirmary with 3rd degree burns. Took her a full 4 days to recover."
Rowan's hands froze on her back.
"…What?" he asked, voice low.
Temper didn't look up. "Mmhm. Smile on her face, too. Or so they say."
"That…" He straightened up slightly. "No. That doesn't sound right."
"Sounds right to me." Wisconsin said.
Rowan stepped back fully now, brows drawn. "She wouldn't do that."
Temper finally turned her head, resting her cheek against her knee so she could look up at him. "Wouldn't she?"
"I…" He hesitated. Thought of her dancing in her dorm room screaming and smiling like a dork. Then he thought of how she had tried to kill him. He thought of sitting beside him during class, trying to pretend she wasn't scooting closer. Then of how quickly she was willing to fight Wisconsin. The he could hear Bismarck just before she fought Hood. Her voice on the rooftop. The calm in it. The fury that may or may not have always been lurking just below the surface. And how she had waited on him to wake in the Infirmary. Which was the real woman?
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't think so."
Temper rolled onto her back, sitting herself up and resting her chin on one knee. "Well, damn. I was just messing around, but now I feel kinda bad. You're really trying to figure her out, huh?"
"I'm trying not to assume the worst," he said, sharper than he meant to again.
"Alright, alright," she said with both hands raised. "No shade, Red. I can respect that."
She grinned at him again, smaller this time. "You're weird, Takeda. I like that."
Rowan looked away, heat rising in his cheeks. "Yeah well… so are you."
Lightning for her part, ran through the schools logs. Everything Wisconsin had said was true. Bismarck had finished all of her duels via disabling her opponents. Bismarck never even gave them the chance to surrender. She quietly logged this information and began calculating ways to pull her Captain out of the orbit of this ruthless battleship, if it came down to it. No how, no way was she going to let her boy be involved with a serial killer in a Kriegsmarine uniform.
But then her internal sonar detected the familiar signature of the war maiden herself.
"Heads up, Cap. Neighbors on radar... And they may or may not be friendly."
Rowan looked up and there, walking toward the training field, wearing shorts and a T-shirt bickering with Hood, was Bismarck.