"What the hell are you talking about you smarmy asshole?"

The woman's voice preceded her into the officer's kitchen, bouncing off the gleaming stainless steel appliances to return to their ears with an angry metallic harmonic.

Any members of the Letztes Bataillon who had been in the kitchen had intelligently absented themselves at the sound of an incensed Lieutenant Zorin Blitz approaching.

"I mean that the Captain needs some assistance with a problem and you are the best qualified among the one thousand to help him with it," Tubalcain Alhambra answered smoothly as he followed the tattooed woman into a room neither of them had any use for in years.

•••

The Captain heard the approaching footsteps, but did not look up from his study of the plan book for Operation Seelöwe. He already knew who was coming and what she was carrying, but felt no need to acknowledge either yet.

A tray clattered down, covering the plan book and forcing his attention up to meet the half-tattooed face of Lieutenant Zorin Blitz, the barest compression of his lips a loud comment on her choice of introduction.

"The Dandy says you aren't eating," the woman almost growled. "And had the half-assed idea that I'd be a good person to deliver you some food and tell you not to be a weakling."

It was even possible that Alhambra was correct in that respect. There were few enough Millennium members who would not quail under the look the Captain had just turned on her. Rip would wet herself if she had the bodily functions; Alhambra just wouldn't say it, the Doctor wouldn't care, and even the irrepressible Schrödinger had been known to cower under a Look from the Major's right hand wolf.

Thus the duty defaulted to Millennium's loose cannon.

"Eat. Don't be a weakling." Zorin lifted the lid on the tray to let the scent of barely-cooked meat hit the werewolf's senses like a slap. "We'll fight tomorrow. We'll kill tomorrow. We'll see decades of waiting end."

Her grin stretched to show razor teeth as the prospect of tomorrow's war brought out the monster barely hiding below the surface. "We'll bring them war."

They were the right words. The Captain's lips twitched to hint at a smile – an almost effusive expression from the taciturn man.

"It's traditional," Zorin continued, pushing his chair back from the desk enough to allow her space to swing a leg over and straddle his thighs, "to release a little tension before going into battle."

She leaned in to bring her lips near his ear, murmuring, "No one should face death without one last fuck to remember and want to live to repeat." At least not if they could plan ahead.

Her hands slid down his chest to cup his groin. "What do you say, hm? What's a little fucking between comrades?"

As usual with the taciturn man, actions spoke louder than words – volumes in this case, as he set aside his pen and pulled Zorin in for a crushing kiss.