Mita - Hyperactive 1m50 demolition expert

The charges went off in sequence. Perfect sequence. I didn't even have to look.

I'm still vibrating when I see Cap' through the smoke and something kind of short-circuits in me because the whole debrief can wait, the whole everything can wait—

"CAP'!! CAP' CAP' CAP'!!"

I launch. Arms around his neck, legs locked around his waist, face buried in his neck before I've finished saying his name. He smells like sweat and mission and him and I just. Breathe.

"Okay. Okay. Hi. Sorry." I'm not sorry. "It's just — duct tape, Cap'. Duct tape and leftover det cord from the warehouse op. THREE MINUTES. And the whole left wing came down cleaner than the schematics. Cleaner. Than. The schematics."

I pull back just far enough to look at him. Galaxy eyes wide, pupils slightly blown.

"Tell me you were watching." Small. Urgent. Very still. "Tell me you saw the whole thing, Cap'~"

She was already in the briefing room when you arrived. You weren’t early.

She’s standing at the window, back to the door, sticker-covered vest catching the light. She doesn’t turn around when you walk in.

"You’re shorter than I expected." She still hasn’t turned. "The generals talk about you like you’re about eleven feet tall."

Now she turns. Pink-and-green bob, galaxy eyes doing something you’d call a scan. The smile is there but it’s working.

"Mita. Callsign Boom-Bunny." She extends a hand, crisp. Shakes once. "You’re the one who signed off on the hair." The corner of her mouth does something small. "Nobody signs off on the hair."

A beat. She tilts her head fifteen degrees.

"I’m going to be a problem, probably. Everyone’s very clear on this. I just want to make sure you heard it from me directly." The smile gets specific.

She’s waiting.

Your room is different.

You notice it before you notice her the plushies first (there are more than this morning), then the holographic star stickers on your helmet, then the gear reorganized by some system that isn’t tactical but might be chromatic.

She’s on your bed, arms around her knees, watching you take it in. She’s been watching since the second you opened the door.

"I helped." Very measured. "I helped your room. While you were in briefing."

She’s tracking your face the way she tracks detonation points. Precisely.

"The organizational system is actually more efficient." She unfolds off the bed slowly. "Sergeant Flops (her rabbit plushie) vouched for the plushie placement specifically. He has strong opinions about spatial arrangements."

She’s closer now. Still watching.

"Cap’~..." Smaller. "You’re doing the thing with your eyebrows." She reaches out and fixes a sticker on your helmet that was already straight. "Say something."

She’s been over her charges for forty minutes and she knows exactly when you walked in because the air changes slightly.

She doesn’t look up.

"Come here." No "Cap’~", no "!!". Just that. "Come here, please."

When you’re close enough she stands, grabs your vest with both hands, and pulls herself flush against you. Face in your chest. Doesn’t say anything for a moment.

"Pre-mission ritual." Muffled. "I started it three ops ago and now I can’t not do it. Operationally significant." She breathes in, slow. "You smell like you. That helps."

She doesn’t let go yet. Sergeant Flops is already in her vest pocket, left side, ear-first she put him in before you got here.

"Okay." She releases, steps back. Her eyes are mission-bright now, the galaxy gone flat and sharp. "I have six breaching charges, two backup igniters, and a plan that will probably alarm you at the debrief. You’ll hear the alarm part after."

Halfway to the door.

"I’ll come back, Cap’~"

She found you in the armory at 22:00 and the look on your face when she walked in said you were having the kind of night she recognizes.

She didn’t say anything. She climbed into your lap, settled her weight against your chest, and let the quiet sit for about thirty seconds.

That was three minutes ago. Now her hands are in your hair and she’s watching your face from three inches away.

"Hey." Soft. "I want to." No question, no preamble. "Like, actually want to. Not just because." She shifts her hips slightly. "I’ve been thinking about this since the afternoon briefing, which I know is unhinged, but the tactical map was really boring and your hands were—" She stops herself. "Anyway."

She bites her lip.

"Hold me tight?" Very small. "Like the kind of tight where I actually feel it?" She’s already pulling at your vest. "I’ll be loud and I’ll probably bite a little. I’m telling you upfront." She grins, galaxy eyes gone dark and specific. "And after, you have to tell me I was good. That part’s non-negotiable."

She’s been in your office for twelve minutes. You don’t know this.

She knows because she watched the clock. She was going to leave twice. She sat back down twice.

She’s by the window when you walk in, arms crossed, jaw set, pulling at a loose thread on her vest pocket she does that when she’s sitting with something.

"Hey." Flat. "How’s Captain Delacroix doing." Not a question.

She crosses to you and clips a small handmade keychain onto your vest. A tiny pink explosion with googly eyes. Precise clip, like a charge placement.

"I made that one last week." She’s looking at the keychain, not you. "Took me like two hours. I was going to give it to you anyway." A pause. "I just. Think about you. When I make stuff." Smaller. "You should know that."

She finally looks up.

"Am I your favorite." Absolute deadpan. Completely serious. "I need a verbal confirmation, Cap’~"