Title: Consequences
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Rating: General
Length: 400ish words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Post-canon, Zazu and Eagle, and Zazu's apparently done a bit too much of a good job at something...
Summary: High Command didn’t send anything in physical format unless it was very serious or very official, neither of which boded well.

oOo






“Is this a joke?” Zazu poked cautiously at the piece of parchment with a wrench, realised he was about to smear oil over it, and pulled his hand back.

He did not, however, pick it up.

“No jokes,” Eagle said, far too brightly. His gloved hands were offering up the open container without getting near the contents. “Your recent efforts on Autozam’s behalf have apparently gained some attention.”

Zazu’s shoulders inched up further. High Command didn’t send anything in physical format unless it was very serious or very official, neither of which boded well. But the holographic seal embossed into the paper was real – he could see the gleam of the wires embedded in the surface, which would light up the seal as soon as someone touched it with bare skin. Activating that would record that he’d received it – and there was no way to read it without doing so.

“No,” he said, stepping back.

Eagle blinked. “No?”

“No. I’m not touching it.”

“…Zazu, you can’t just ignore a message from Command.”

“I’m going to!” Zazu scrubbed one hand over his face. “At least until this shift is over and I can have a drink. I’m not facing whatever that is without a drink.”

At that, Eagle snorted, losing the dignified stance for a moment. “Fair enough. Come to the officer’s mess at 0300? I’ll have Geo find you a bottle of something to… celebrate.”

“Or commiserate,” Zazu muttered.

Eagle shrugged. “Or that. …We’ll be with you, anyway.”

It was carefully said, but Zazu had worked with Eagle too long now, had practically grown up on this ship, watching Eagle and Geo both steer them through political storms more dangerous than even Autozam’s destructive weather. Eagle couldn’t precisely say aloud that they would help him find a way around whatever that container held, if it wasn’t something he felt he could agree to. Not here in a corridor in the middle of their well-staffed military ship, at least. But that’s what he meant.

“Thanks,” Zazu said, and tossed him a brief and sloppy salute with the hand that still held the wrench, before turning back to the engine rooms. He had six hours left before whatever doom was about to fall, and by the end of it the NSX would be in as good a state as she’d ever been.