Pax Propter Vim [Azur Lane Fanfic]

Chapter 32

February 6, 1942.

Morning arrived gently over Fukuoka, casting a soft golden hue across rooftops still damp from the night’s mist. The air was cool, touched with the scent of the sea and faint traces of brewed tea drifting from the hotel’s open kitchen. Zumwalt stepped out of her room without hurry, her uniform crisp as ever, but her demeanor noticeably different, much more calm, almost serene. There was a rare lightness in her step, a subtle warmth in the way she greeted the passing hotel staff with a small nod or a faint smile. It wasn’t joy, exactly, but a quiet kind of peace, the kind that slips in through the cracks after a long storm.

She turned a corner near the hotel’s central lounge and paused. By the old upright piano standing beneath a bay of tall windows, Lexington stood motionless, one hand resting gently on the polished wood, her other gloved arm at her side. The piano itself was an artifact, rescued from the ruins of a local concert hall, its internal damage painstakingly repaired by Manjuu engineers who somehow understood that beauty had its place even in war. It wasn’t the sight of the instrument that stopped Zumwalt, it was Lexington’s expression. The usual firebrand, known for her no-nonsense attitude and her habit of putting Hornet in her place with a mix of tough love and dry humor, now wore a look Zumwalt had never seen on her. Hollow. Quiet in a way that suggested something deep inside her had cracked.

She approached slowly, her footsteps muffled by the smooth wooden floor. "You look like you’re about to play something tragic." Zumwalt said.

Lexington didn’t answer at first. She stared at the keys as if waiting for them to speak. Then, almost as an afterthought, she whispered. "Saratoga. She was escorting a supply convoy in the Atlantic. U-boats hit hard, ambush in the Black Pit. She took multiple torpedoes. They managed to limp her to Scapa Flow, but…" Lexington’s voice trailed off. Her hand curled slightly on the piano lid, as if trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. "They said she’s alive, but it’s bad. Real bad."

Zumwalt had never met Saratoga, only heard passing stories, spirited, reckless, full of life. But she knew what Lexington needed in that moment wasn’t a litany of sympathetic noises or empty words. It was about understanding what it meant to almost lose someone who felt like part of your hull. She stepped closer and placed a hand on Lexington’s shoulder.

"I’m sorry." Zumwalt murmured. "No one trains us for this part. Not for when the fight reaches the ones we can’t protect.'

Lexington’s lips twitched upward in the faintest imitation of a smile, tired, worn around the edges. "She always acted like she was bulletproof. Never stopped to think before jumping into the next mess." A pause, then a slow exhale. "Guess I was always the one watching her back."

"And now you’re the one left waiting." Zumwalt said with soft voice. "That’s the hardest position to hold."

Lexington looked down at the keys. Her fingers brushed them, not playing, just feeling. "Used to play for her. Back in the earliest days. She laughed when I butchered the chords. Then cried when I finally got Chopin right. First time I saw her cry that didn’t involve spilled milk or a snapped hair tie."

Zumwalt gave a subtle, encouraging nod toward the bench. "Then maybe it’s time to play again. For the sake of old times."

Lexington didn’t move for several seconds. Then, without a word, she sat. Her hands hovered, hesitated, then pressed down on the ivory, soft, unsteady, before settling into a slow, aching melody.

Zumwalt sank into a chair nearby, folding her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed not on the keys or even the pianist, but on the space between the notes, those long silences that said more than words ever could. She didn’t speak again, didn’t need to. The music filled the room, spilled into the lobby’s corners like light through cracks in old wood, blending with the soft rustle of cherry blossoms outside, stirred by a wind that carried the chill of winter and the first hints of spring.