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My hands clench into fists as I stand anxiously outside of the Asura's transport chamber, chewing on my lip and staring intently at the glyph, silently willing it to light up, bringing my beloved back to me as it came to life.
I open my hands and glance at the clock once again. Though it feels like you're days overdue, that damn display claims that it's only been six hours since the scheduled evacuation.
The numbers continue to tick by, keeping rhythm for me as I wait. Tick, tick, tick--my hands clench and relax, clench again. I stare blankly as the technicians change shifts; new, clear-eyed crew members glancing nervously in my direction as they search through the myriad of glowing panels, sifting through the deluge of data for any sign of your unit.
You've been gone for three days. I had planned a party for you, for your first successful mission as an S-rank mage. The banners are sagging now, and the food has either started to go bad, or disappeared as crew members scrounge off of the tables, unwilling to go so far from their posts as the mess hall. I even managed to smuggle in a special surprise--some wine from home. I received several strange looks when I pulled out a bottle, but no one actually said anything--even when, five hours after you were due, I broke it open in an attempt to calm my nerves. Chrono-oniisan saw, but he hasn't said a word--he only squeezed my shoulder and returned to the bridge. Somehow, that wracked my nerves more than anything else. It felt like they were all giving up on you.
I'm starting to get a little light-headed...from the lack of sleep, the alcohol, or the stress--I'm not sure which. I'm afraid to leave, though. It feels as if my leaving will seal your death.
You aren't dead. I won't allow it.
Clench, relax.
They keep looking at me. I know what they're thinking--they think that you won't return. I can see the pity in their eyes as they sneak glances at me. I don't need their pity. There's nothing to pity if you aren't dead.
Oh my, I've finished the bottle.
I start rooting through my bag, looking for the second bottle, which I had been saving for our private party later, after this one had finished. I suppose that that was supposed to start two hours ago. Might as well--NO! I shake my head to clear the looming doubts. You are coming back! I'll just let the bottle breathe a little for you...
...Strawberry. This is pretty good.
Another hour has passed. I think...I think I need to sit down.
I can't help but giggle as I half-fall into a chair. It's not that there's anything particularly humorous...it's just...it's the way the ship keeps swaying back and forth, back and forth...I wonder how anyone manages to stand still, let alone walk in a straight line. I can't help but imagine Chrono-oniisan swaggering as a pirate, or wobbling as a bobble-head. Chrono the bobble-head pirate!
Suddenly, an alarm goes off, klaxons ringing as medical teams rush into the transport chamber. My mirth is forgotten as mingled hope and dread rise within me, the symphony reaching its crescendo. Can it really be...?
I manage to stumble out of my chair and make my way back over to the chamber. The medical crew is standing by just outside, but none of your team has arrived yet. I reach a hand behind me and use it to guide myself backward to the wall. Walls can be tricky. They slide away from you just when you think you're safe.
A flash, and I am momentarily blinded. I try to squint through the afterimage, to see the condition of your team, but all I manage is to go cross-eyed. I quickly finish the contents of my glass and blink, using the liquid to help clear my head and moisten my dry, clenched throat.
Your team is in shambles--thr--tw--no, three mages are on their feet (barely), each propping up or carrying another. Several are lying in various positions on the ground. And in the middle of the chaos, there you are, bent double, covered in blood, with a large box under one arm. You gently set the box down and draw yourself up straight as the medical crews rush in, followed by a few security members, who retrieve the box you carried.
I try to rush forward with them, but I seem to have tripped over something--maybe someone's foot as they ran past. I instead settle for staring at you as I stumble back against the wall and try to regain my balance. You see me here, watching you intently, and our eyes make contact. You smile sheepishly, and suddenly you are a girl again, small and cute as you brush back loose hair that had fallen into your face.
"Nyahaha...I'm home."
...I don't know whether to hug you or slap you. I settle, instead, for sliding to my knees and crying like a baby.
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"Mou, I'm sorry, Fate-chan." you whine, wincing as the doctor starts bandaging your injured right arm. I sniffle from my position on the floor, where I'm sitting hugging my knees to my chest and staring out at you over my knees.
Around us, the less serious injuries are being treated through mundane means, while the badly wounded are being rushed off to the infirmary for magical surgery. I'm kind of glad for the commotion--it means that no one is paying any attention to the soggy blonde fluffball curled up in the corner, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
I know you want me to respond to you, but I'm afraid that if I open my mouth, I'll start bawling again. Or throw up. Vomiting is a definite possibility.
You chatter excitedly about the mission, telling me about the initial reconnaissance and the discovery of the lost logia--I notice, however, that you seem to be brushing over any events that may have led to you and your team arriving looking like the byproducts of a meat-packing plant. I continue to stare balefully out from my imaginary fortress, pouting as you ponder your next move.
The doctor finishes his task, and you stand to walk over to me, favoring your left leg slightly. I see that you're having trouble trying to crouch down to my level, and I hurriedly try to stand, coming to you instead. However, all I manage is to lurch forward, my head colliding with your crotch as I land against you in a kneeling position. It isn't all bad, I muse as hear you yelp above me. At least you're here, and you still smell the same...
"Fate-chan, what's wrong?" you ask, tension (and I think embarrassment) in your voice as I kneel flopped against you. You gently run your fingers through my hair and tilt my head up, looking me in the eyes. I smile up at you, face flushed, and try to think of something witty or romantic to say.
"'ee mished oo"
...Close enough.
You stare at me in confusion as I try to stand, leaning heavily against you and more climbing up your body than actually putting my legs under me. I wipe my nose with my sleeve again and smile shyly at you, clinging to you to keep from falling down again from the force of the ship spinning. And, trying to keep the mostly-liquid contents of my stomach from sloshing out of me as well.
"Fate-chan..." you start, eyeing me questioningly as you hold me with one arm and use your bandaged hand to lift my (now cracked) glass to your face and sniff, "Are...are you drunk?"
I snort and giggle, burying my face in your neck, both to smell you, and to hide. Mostly to smell you, of course...my shame had yet to fully realize the extent of the embarrassment I had caused myself.
"Oo ere gun sho lung en 'ee mished oo en oo ere late..."
You pull my face away from you in order to try and puzzle out my speech as I do my best to coherently separate one thought from the next and annunciate each syllable. Either I did better than I had thought, or you know me too well, because you quickly smile and hug me again, running your hand through my hair and whispering soft, soothing sounds into my ear. Either you or the ship is rocking--I can't tell, maybe both--and my fatigue catches up to me. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, letting myself fall into you.
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"Tsk, silly Fate-chan," I smile as I hear gentle snores escaping from my shoulder. I run the fingers of my left hand through her long, messy blonde hair, picking out a piece of streamer that had gotten stuck in it at some point. I could see the remains of a party, as well as an empty wine bottle next to Fate's personal duffel. I can only imagine what she thought when I was so late coming back.
I carefully lift Fate, distributing her weight toward my relatively uninjured left side, and start toward our shared cabin. I giggle a little when she nuzzles against me, her breath tickling the little hairs on my neck. She mumbles something incoherent, and proceeds to drool slightly on my neck.
I smile, thinking about how cute she is, and how I was going to make it up to her.
After her punishment for getting drunk, of course.
Although, really, won't her "punishment" and my apology end up being the same thing?
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I lost my hard drive not long ago, and with it much of my writings planned for other stories, so I regret to inform you that there will not be a follow-up to winter vacation for some time, until I stop moping. There will, however, be new fluff—and, if there is enough interest, there may also be a special "Punishment" citrus to go with this.