Take My Breath by AwayRealityBetterThanFiction on a03

Chapter 7

Limey - An old derogatory term for a member of the Royal Navy that stems all the way back to the 1850s where sailors used to add lime/lemon juice to their rations to prevent scurvy (gross!).

Rotorhead - Naval slang term for a helicopter pilot such as our beloved Commander Corden.

Charlie Foxtrot - A much less offending way to say something is a total mess in naval slang (aka Cluster Fuck = CF = Charlie Foxtrot).

*Reminder to check the trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter before reading!

Story starts below...Enjoy!

xxxxx

Harry should have seen this coming. He really, really should have seen this one coming. As if he didn't have enough on his plate. As if the stress of a highly competitive flight school, daily run-ins with death by jet plane, and navigating a burgeoning secret relationship wasn't enough. Now Harry had to worry about his RIO's life and limb, considering that Niall had quite impressively made himself Public Enemy Number One aboard the HMS Elizabeth. Like always, whenever Harry's attention strayed, even for just a moment, Niall could be counted on to start the next apocalypse.

The most impressive part of Niall's newfound infamy had to be the timeframe. It had taken Niall less than twenty four hours to insert himself into the harmonious inner workings of things aboard the carrier, and then subsequently sabotage them. By that, meaning waging an all out battle between the 1D squadron and Lizzie's resident squadron, The Mighty Wings. It had started with Niall's theft of food, as most dilemmas usually did, and had escalated from there in a bitter back and forth where no man aboard was safe.

"Shower of cunts!" Niall hollered as soon as the 1D squadron all piled into their ready room from afternoon class.

Harry sighed from the back of the group, unable to see what had inflamed his usually cheery RIO. "What's going on?" Harry asked Ginger, who was standing at his side.

Ginger just laughed jovially. "Craic's about to go on a week long cleanse from the drink, that's what. Compliments of our friendly mates down the hall."

"In that case, we better prepare ourselves. It's going to get ugly," Harry warned, pushing through his fellow recruits to get to Niall.

It wasn't hard to single Niall out of the group, considering he was tomato faced and practically steaming with anger. He was glaring daggers at the front of the room where the podium and white board were located. Harry turned his attention in that direction and had to hold back his laughter for fear of being brutally dismembered by Niall right on the spot.

Premier Dicks,

To commiserate your piss-poor flying.

Drink up,

The Mighty Wings

The message was written in big block letters on the whiteboard with an arrow pointed toward the podium. On it was Niall's emergency booze supply that he had smuggled aboard, sitting in a neat cluster and suspiciously full to the brim considering they had put a good dent in the supply celebrating Harry and Niall's takedown of Rogue.

Niall stalked forward and grabbed the first open bottle, a fifth of his favorite Irish whiskey. He squinted his eyes and studied it carefully, then lifted the bottle to his nose. He took a hesitant sniff and then let out an unearthly howl of rage.

Harry made a grab for the bottle before Niall could send it hurtling against the whiteboard to shatter everywhere.

"What is it?" Liam asked, watching the scene with confusion as Niall let out a loud litany of incredibly creative curses. Some of it didn't even sound like it was in their national language. Harry was unaware Niall could speak in different tongues. He barely managed English most days.