AN: I feel that I should probably clarify juuust a little that, although it's only Hood and OC (the Commander, obviously) listed as primary characters in the story tab, this is very much going to turn out a CommanderxMulti story. If you aren't into that then I'm sorry, but this may not be for you. Just a heads up.

Solace: A Commander's Tale

Chapter Two: Setting Out

Azur Lane.

Two little words.

How could two little words hold such power over a man's life?

Graham stood rooted the spot in front of Admiral Mercer's desk, finding himself quite unable to speak. Time seemed to have stopped still as his brain worked furiously to process what he had just been told. Scarcely a minute beforehand, he had been A Lieutenant-Commander of the Royal Navy. In command of a modest but effective combat flotilla of four warships—shipgirls, rather—with a spotless record and a burgeoning reputation for reliability.

Now, he was in command of a multinational project that he had heard not so much as a whisper of beforehand. Furthermore, he was expected to lead an entire coalition against an alien foe that knew nothing of rest, and less still of mercy. Jarring did not even begin to describe the circumstances in which he currently found himself.

"Ordinarily, I and a few of my peers on the Council of Nations would provide you with a briefing," said Admiral Mercer, after a half-minute's silence—presumably the only gesture of mercy he could reasonably afford. Graham snapped out of his daze at the sound of the Admiral's voice, instincts ingrained by months of training and several years' service forcing him to listen when a superior officer spoke. "As you may no doubt have inferred, that will not be possible now, so I'm going to have to speed you through the basics. Azur Lane Headquarters is located in the Pacific Ocean. It is fully stocked and you will find all the necessary facilities—drydock and repairs, admin, armoury, canteen, et cetera—onsite; it will all be quite clearly marked."

He paused, checking to ensure that Graham was paying attention before, satisfied, he carried on. "The moment we are done here, you will take a flight so you may begin your work. You will be escorted part of the way by a squadron of our own fighters and then the rest by a rotation of Eagle Union fighters following your refuelling in New York. We have, additionally, already assigned a detachment from among our current roster to Azur Lane, and they will hopefully meet you when you make to leave. I anticipate; however, that you will want to bring someone among your own flotilla?" Graham nodded, and Mercer hummed. "We can spare you only the one, I'm afraid. The others will have to be reassigned as according to the requirements of our nation."

Graham managed to refrain from wincing. Just. In an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people he'd never met before, to have a few familiar faces at hand would have helped in no small regard. Not that he was particularly unfamiliar with most of the Royal Navy's roster of shipgirls, though he had worked alongside and interacted with the others a significant deal less. He supposed that he would have to make do with one, and though it wasn't entirely fair to the others, he knew immediately who it would be.

"May I take Hood?"

"You may," Mercer confirmed, and Graham felt a moment of surprise. As one of the icons of the Royal Navy, alongside Queen Elizabeth and her sister, Warspite, Illustrious, Prince of Wales and Belfast, the former Lieutenant-Commander felt somewhat certain that his request would be denied. Not being the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, he kept his feelings off his face. Or tried to, at any rate.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and Mercer offered him a crooked grin. Maybe he'd not kept his thoughts hidden as well as he'd imagined.

"I'd not thank me were I in your shoes, lad," said the elderly flag officer, "but I appreciate it all the same. I received a confirmation from the other nations that their own delegates are en-route. Some of them will already be settled in upon your arrival. As to your supply situation; well, as I already informed you, the base itself is fully stocked and staffed. They are… unique but you'll find them useful, I'm sure. The Council nations will also endeavour to send you regular supply shipments, but if the war ramps up or turns against us then it may be that you have to make do on your own, at least for a time."

Graham grimaced, though he supposed that he could hardly expect anything less. If this was indeed as the allied nations of the world feared and the Sirens were resurgent, then the normal shipping lanes would swiftly find themselves disrupted if not outright cut.

"Very good, sir," he said like a dutiful sailor. "Is there, perchance, anything else I should know?"

Mercer considered for a moment before fixing his subordinate with a measured look. "You are aware, Commander Graves, that the vast majority of your forces will be comprised of shipgirls, yes?"

Graham affected a shrug. "I would presume as much. They are still the most effective fighting force we have against the Sirens, are they not?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Unless there is something else I've not yet been made privy to, sir?"

"No such luck in that regard, lad." Mercer gave him a wry look as he shook his head. "If there are any developments, though, rest assured that you will be among the first to know. No, what I was meant to drive at was to keep a watch over them."

Graham blinked, not understanding. "I… don't think I know what you mean, sir. Didn't you say that we're meant to be allies—that Azur Lane is meant to be above international disputes? This seems a little contrary to—"

"That's not what I'm talking about, lad," said Mercer with a lengthy sigh. "Just… keep an open mind, Commander. Do not be swift to judge. No matter where they may come from, and the power they can wield, these shipgirls are no less human than you or I. Some people tend to forget that. I know well of the relationship you have with your flotilla, and that is among the principal reasons you were selected as our candidate for leadership. Bear what I have said in mind."

Graham mulled on the Admiral's words and nodded after a few moments. "I will, sir. Will that be all?"

"It will," nodded Mercer before standing and offering Graham a salute, which was promptly returned. "Dismissed, Commander. And Godspeed."

Graham spun smartly on his heels, about-facing and had almost reached the door, when Mercer called out to him again.

"Commander!"

Wondering what fresh bombshell the old Admiral had yet to drop on him now, Graham turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I do apologise," he said, leaning over his desk and beckoning for Graham to approach him with a look of mild embarrassment. "With all the doom and gloom, I rather forgot one last, crucial detail."

Puzzled, Graham acquiesced to the unspoken command and stepped toward Mercer's desk. As he did, the Admiral placed something on the smooth, polished surface in front of him. Peering down at it, he was stunned yet again to find a Commander's broad, sunburst yellow bars staring up at him.

"It would hardly do for you not to at least look the part, Commander Graves," said Mercer, the familiar twinkle returning to his bright, blue eyes once again. "You can fix your uniform on the flight over. Go now, and good luck. I fear you will almost certainly need it more than we will."

"Thank you, sir. I… I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing, Commander, and help us win this war."

"I will, sir," Graves said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. This was still all so much, and he did not know at all how well he would measure up to all the expectations he now felt weighing down upon his shoulders. Commanding four shipgirls was one thing, but an entire fleet? He was almost tempted to ask why Mercer didn't simply take on the duty himself, but stopped himself in time. He knew the answer to that before he even spoke. With the rest of the Royal Navy command almost assuredly dead, it was now down to him and this other, as yet unmet Admiral to helm the Royal Navy's defensive efforts. Even now, he imagined the other nations participating in Project Azur Lane would be scrambling to reorganise and restructure the leadership of their own respective navies.

As Mercer had put it: there was no one else. He would have to adapt and rise to the challenge. If the Sirens were to attack in force, then failure could well mean the devastation, if not outright destruction of the human race. He almost wished Achilles were here. She'd have her usual happy-go-lucky expression and let all the bad news wash off her like water from a duck's back before cracking some manner of inane joke that would add some much-needed levity to this otherwise incredibly grave situation.

Achilles was not present, however, and Graham felt it strangely unlikely that he would see the excitable cruiser any time soon. In fact, he wondered if would have the time to even say goodbye to the others. He wondered what they might have said. Crescent, he was sure, would offer some backhanded remark in order to hide her true feelings, as was her way. Achilles would probably be ecstatic regarding his promotion and send him off with a hug and assurances that all would be well in his absence—nothing ever seemed to faze her. Fortune, though… well, she might be a little upset. The young destroyer had become rather attached to both himself and Hood. He hoped wherever she ended up once he was gone that she was treated well.

"Good man," smiled Mercer. "One final time, Commander: you are dismissed. Be on your way and be swift about it. Your plane cannot leave until you are on it and, well…" he fixed Graham with another wry grin, "I've already impressed upon you the urgency these troubled times call for."

Graham nodded and swiftly turned around before striding from Admiral Mercer's office. He paused to close the door, turned—

—and then almost collided with a little blonde girl. She appeared no older than thirteen at the very most, holding a small, steel sceptre in the shape of a battleship's mast in one hand and garbed in a scandalously short, regal grey skin tight one-piece dress that seemed a little too thin in Graham's own opinion. A crown rested upon her head, and her long, flowing blonde hair was almost as fair as Hood's. Inquisitive, intelligent sea-blue eyes peered up at him in bemusement and a sky-blue ribbon adorned the detached collar upon her neck, bearing a distinctive coat of arms.

"Oh?" spoke Queen Elizabeth, First Lady of the Royal Navy. "And who might you be?"

"This would be Lieutenant-Commander Graham Edwin Graves, Your Majesty," answered one of the two figures at her flank. The first, who had remained quiet, was exactly the same height as Queen Elizabeth, with a regal-looking appearance—at least when taking into account her grey and white button-up breastcoat. A pair of bright epaulettes adorned her tiny shoulders and her expression was smart and attentive as she observed Graham through a pair of cool, amethyst eyes. Then one's gaze travelled to her waist and below, and was in for quite a surprise as her slim and unmistakably bare legs were on almost full display, as were the black side-ties to her underwear. In one hand was held an abnormally large broadsword, which looked very much too heavy for a girl as small as she to wield. Appearances were ever deceptive where shipgirls were concerned, however, and Graham knew this particular one to be Warspite, who cocked her head up at him in a way that made him wonder if she was evaluating him in some way.

The other individual—the one who had spoken—was dressed in the apparel of a maid with her navy-blue dress with its bleached frills. Her long, silvery-white hair, deep, sapphire eyes and sizeable bust marked her out immediately to Graham as Belfast, Head of the Royal Maid Corps and attendant to Queen Elizabeth. Unlike the two smaller women, the cruiser gave a polite bow. Graham regarded the trio with a courteous nod.

"Your Majesty," he greeted Queen Elizabeth. "My Lady Warspite."

"His name rings familiar to my ears," said Queen Elizabeth, ignoring the greeting as was typically her wont whilst holding her sceptre-mast up like a conductor and barring Graham's progress.

"From Madam Hood, Your Majesty," supplied Warspite. "She serves as flagship in his combat flotilla, unless I am mistaken."

"Ah, yes! I remember now," Queen Elizabeth slapped her sceptre into the palm of her hand. "Do continue to treat her well now, good sir," said the haughty battleship, locking eyes with Graham. "I count her among my closest personal friends and it will simply not do if you allow her to come to harm. Physical or otherwise."

Graham swallowed. For all her stature, and the occasional childlike tantrum when things didn't quite pan out her way, Queen Elizabeth was possessed of a presence—an aura, Hood had called it once—that made her feel somehow much taller than everyone else in the room. He also knew that beneath her diminutive exterior lay a keen strategic mind that bordered on the preternatural; one only a handful of other shipgirls could match. It was for this reason that she was the only shipgirl within the Royal Navy to have been granted the flag rank of Commodore, and why she was head of the Royal Navy's shipgirl complement.

"I will do my utmost best to ensure this remains the case, Your Majesty," said Graham, offering a slight dip of his head after clearing his throat.

"Splendid," smiled the battleship. "Continue to serve Crown and Country well, Lieutenant-Commander. These are strange times."

"They are indeed. And I shall, Your Majesty."

Seemingly satisfied, Queen Elizabeth nodded before raising a hand and snapping her fingers. "Come, sister. Bel. My Lord Admiral awaits me."

With no more to be said, Graham stepped out of the way to allow Queen Elizabeth to open the door to Admiral Mercer's office. Warspite trotted dutifully on in after her. Belfast, however, stopped short of entering and instead turned to regard the bemused Commander.

"I have taken the liberty of assigning Sirius and Dido to your person," said the unflappable Head Maid. "You will find no better bodyguards among the Royal Maid Corps, save perhaps my sister, Sheffie—who, incidentally, I have also tasked to aid you in your new duties."

Graham blinked at her. "How on earth do you kn—"

She offered him an enigmatic little smile. "It is the duty of a maid to anticipate, sir. Once Her Majesty was made aware of the situation at large, I simply made arrangements on my own end. Best of luck, Master Graves. I hope your new station is kind to you."

Graham felt not a little taken aback. Aside from a few cursory words exchanged in the past, he had no real interaction with Belfast before now. She had rather given off the impression that she cared little for anything beyond her job. Though he imagined she certainly took immense pride in her station, he also felt as though he'd caught a glimpse into a scant-observed aspect of her personality.

Teach me to make assumptions, he mused to himself. He offered Belfast a gracious nod. "Thank you, Belfast," he said, and meant it, too. "I hope the Home Front will prove ah, manageable."

"We have ever managed, even in the darkest of crises," said Belfast, her little smile widening a fraction. "This will prove no different, I am sure. Good day to you, Master Graves," and with that, and one final little bow from the Head Maid, the conversation was over as Belfast turned to follow her two battleships into the office of a man Graves felt sure would soon be the Royal Kingdom's new First Sea Lord.

"Well," he murmured aloud as the door closed. "I suppose I'd best get to it, then."

Hood had wrapped up business at the dry dock in her typically efficient manner. It helped, of course, that even in the midst of whatever was going on, enlisted men, officers and even her fellow shipgirls moved aside for like Moses parting the Red Sea. She was, however, used to these same people offering her at least cursory greetings and well-wishes. Only the cheeky little monitor, Abercrombie, had offered her any sort of welcome, albeit in her usual fashion. After dealing with the girl in a manner befitting her oft-irksome behaviour, Abercrombie had been kind enough to inform her that something really, really big had happened and the Royal Navy was on full combat alert—In between rubbing her very red, stretched-out cheeks.

While Hood could well have worked that much out on her own, she nonetheless thanked Abercrombie before suggesting in no uncertain terms that she make herself scarce. In spite of her short little legs, Hood found that the rambunctious monitor could fly quite fast when she really wanted to. Now, she walked with purpose in the direction of Admiral Mercer's office to find her Commander. She didn't know the whole story just yet, but if the Royal Navy was to go to war once more, she would prosecute this woeful affair at his side.

She rounded a corner, passing a frazzled-looking Sub-Lieutenant who worried over a dizzyingly tall stack of papers that she held in both hands. Stepping to the side so she wouldn't collide with the poor thing, she continued through the bustling corridors of the facility that served HMNB Portsmouth as both the main admin building and its Headquarters. Hood knew she was closing in on her objective and, sure enough, one final corner yielded results.

Graham Graves stood at a few shades beyond her own height, and Hood knew that she was quite tall for a woman to begin with at almost six feet. He was, as expected, still garbed in full combat dress: dark, button-up breast coat with the distinctive yellow bars and loop denoting his rank stitched onto the very edge of his sleeves and equally smart black trousers and polished black shoes. His peaked officer's cap rested atop a head of fair mahogany-brown hair cut short in line with Navy regulations and his bright green eyes were locked onto a figure next to him. Curious, Hood followed his gaze and, to her surprise, found Belfast standing before him.

Without being entirely sure as to why, Hood felt herself shrink back around the corner and her heart begin to hammer in her chest. What, precisely had she stumbled upon, she wondered? Why was Belfast standing outside Admiral Mercer's office? And why had she stopped to speak to Hood's Commander? In her heart, Hood knew she was acting silly, and that there was almost assuredly a reasonable explanation to be found. Yet something prevented her from simply striding out to meet the pair of them.

She peered around the edge of the corridor, quietly observing the two. With great interest, and not a little concern, she noted Graham's posture: his shoulders ever so slightly hunched, and his face possessing a subtle pallor to it that suggested he was in—or had experienced recently—some manner of shock. That, combined with the way his normally steady gaze seemed to flicker now and then, informed Hood that he was ill at ease. Then there was the way the fingers of his left hand appeared to twitch irregularly…

There could be no doubt in Hood's mind. Something terrible had either occurred or been revealed to him inside Admiral Mercer's office, and she felt her heart ache in sympathy for her Commander. She longed to go to him, to ask what was wrong, and to then help heal whatever had been dealt unto him.

And yet there she remained, an outside spectator as another woman—one she regarded as a wise friend and valued sister-in-arms—spoke with him in her stead. She could not hear what was being said, and some small part of her wondered if perhaps that was for the best. She felt like berating herself for her improper behaviour. She was the Pride of the Royal Navy, not some recently-constructed destroyer. If something about this scenario bothered her, then she should get to the bottom of it and discern why it affected her so.

Yes, she decided, rediscovering herself. That is what she would do. She would make herself known and—

Oh, they were finished.

Belfast offered Graham one of her polite little bows and then entered the Admiral's office, leaving Graham on his own. After a brief lull, he turned away from the office and muttered something under his breath. He appeared bemused and distracted, but not especially unhappy, though Hood noted that the tension he wore like a cloak was still very much present.

It was then that she decided to make her entrance.

"Lord Commander?"

Graham whirled around. His surprise was total. "Hood!" he gaped before swiftly regaining control of himself. "God! You startled me."

"Oh," blinked at his flagship. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump."

"It's fine," he said, swallowing and attempting to claw back some form of dignity at having so lost his composure. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"I came to find you, of course," she answered. "The others from our flotilla are on their way back to their quarters as we speak. They will be awaiting your debrief even now, I expect." She hesitated, peering at him in concern. "Is… everything all right, Lord Commander? And what were you talking about with Belfast?"

Graham had not a clue how to go about even beginning to answer that. A part of him felt as though he had to keep the awful truth from her, but… was that fair to her? As a shipgirl—as his flagship—and as the Pride of the Royal Navy, she was sure to find out sooner rather than later.

No.

No, it had to come from him.

So, he told her. Everything. From the surprise attack on the Iceland facility, to the Sirens suspected return, to Azur Lane and his unanticipated promotion, and as he spoke he watched as regal, calm, beautiful Hood went white as a sheet. Raising one trembling hand to her lips, she covered her mouth and took a faltering step back, eyes wide in muted horror.

"This is… so unreal," she murmured in disbelief. "All that damage… and this—this Azur Lane thing as well…"

"I'm to take a flight to Azur Lane headquarters in the Pacific now," Graham continued in a quiet voice. "I've been assigned a contingent from amongst our own shipgirls and will meet the rest from the various member nations upon my arrival." Hood's eyes widened and he thought he saw a flash of fear in those perfect cerulean blues.

"You are leaving us?" she whispered, her voice scarcely beyond a hoarse whisper.

"I won't have time to debrief Achilles, Fortune or Crescent. I doubt I'll even have time for a goodbye," he lamented. Hood's mouth worked like a fish out of water. "Admiral Mercer, though, has permitted to take one of my flotilla along with me. I ah," he scratched at his jaw, "I picked you."

"You—sorry, me?"

Graham confirmed her query with a nod, feeling strangely bashful all of a sudden. Never once had he ever seen Hood at such a loss for words. He felt like he was seeing something he perhaps wasn't supposed to be. The shipgirl had ever been the perfect picture of poise and grace—one of the inner circle among the Royal Navy's most famous shipgirls, regularly taking tea with Queen Elizabeth, Warspite, Prince of Wales and Illustrious. There was no place within any Royal Navy facility that she was not welcome—with perhaps the solitary exception of Abercrombie's quarters.

He thought on what Admiral Mercer had said to him. For all their decidedly inhuman power, they still took the form of women. He liked to think he was not a fool. Graham knew full well that some in the Royal Navy regarded them as little more than tools to be used as required. Tools, however, did not think. They were flawless. They were flawed. They ate. They slept. They felt. He found himself briefly wondering if they also loved.

Graham came to a swift realisation that, unintentionally, he had come to think of Hood as most everyone else did: the unshakeable, kind-hearted and proud icon of the Royal Navy. The idea that she could—on occasion—find herself as out of her depth as Graham currently did, never once occurred to him, and he felt a pang of shame at having ascribed that perception to her. She was still, to Graham's mind, the personification of angelic grace and regal bearing, and her wise counsel and kind words had helped him through all the months they had known one another…

But she was also much more than that.

His mind racing, Graham now realised that he struggled to think of a time—any time—where he had actually asked Hood how she felt about… well, anything. They had taken tea together on numerous occasions, and the venerable battlecruiser had made him feel welcome each time, but the conversation had always somehow seemed to centre around him and his command. Sure, he could pick up on her moods and subtle expressions, but it was hardly the same thing as having the subject herself tell him about how she ticked.

All at once, Graham felt both a fool and selfish beyond belief. No longer, he vowed to himself. The next time he and Hood had a quiet moment, he would ask her how her day had been, what troubles she might have besides simply how their flotilla was performing and beyond even that.

Satisfied with his new resolution, he looked Hood square in the eyes, watching as her face swept through a wide variety of expressions ranging from disbelief all the way through to muted joy.

"Who else would it be?" he asked her, cracking a small grin. "I could hardly burden one of the destroyers with such a sudden change, and while I'm sure Achilles would relish the opportunity to visit new places and meet new people…"

Hood blinked and, in the time it takes to draw breath, had her mask of beatific professionalism back in place. Clearing her throat, she said, "W-well, of course, Lord Commander. I can see now that your choices were ah, somewhat limited."

"Oh, trust me," Graham grinned, "there really was no choice at all. Do you have anything you need to grab, Hood? I imagine we probably won't be back home for some time."

Hood took a quick breath as though to steady herself and then shook her head. "Nothing that cannot either be replaced or brought over, given time."

"Good, good," he hummed, smiling. "Unfortunately, I do. So, I will need to pack. If you can wait for me by the aerodrome? Look for a transport plane. You should encounter the others who will be flying with us as well."

"Of course, Lord Commander," beamed Hood. "I shall ensure everyone else is ready to leave as soon as you arrive."

"I can always count on you, Hood. Thank you."

Hood smiled, and was it Graham's imagination, or was there a little more colour in her cheeks as she turned around and strode away? He dismissed the thought in an instant, deciding it was hardly worth taking time to ponder on, and made his way to his own quarters to grab what he needed.

There were more shipgirls waiting for him than he had been expecting next to the transport plane, but also fewer than he hoped when Graham finally arrived at the very recently-constructed Portsmouth Aerodrome. All told, he counted five destroyers, two aircraft carriers, six cruisers—three of which were the Royal Maids Belfast had mentioned earlier—and two battleships, not including Hood, who stood at their head, hands clasped in front of her and a patient smile upon her face.

"I presume you are ready to leave, Lord Commander?" inquired the battlecruiser.

Graham hefted the moderately-sized suitcase at his side. "I am," he confirmed, though it had taken him much longer than he'd thought it would. "How is everyone else?"

"Puzzled, mostly," admitted Hood. "Some of them have not yet been informed about our current circumstances. Those that are aware do not know why they are being sent away."

"Right," said Graham, grimacing. "They'll need to be told, then. I think I'll spread the word once we're airborne. Hopefully, the long flight will give them all the time they'll need to process and come to terms with it."

"If you believe that to be for the best," mused Hood.

"There's no real 'right' way to go about breaking this kind of news, Hood. All I can really do is hope to mitigate as much damage as possible."

"I suppose that is true. Whatever you decide, Lord Commander, know that I will stand by your decision."

He smiled at his reliable, steadfast battlecruiser. "Thank you, Hood." He was about to ask if they might take tea in his quarters once they were settled in, but cut himself off before he spoke so much as another word. Now was hardly an appropriate time, and he had no idea what they might encounter when they arrived at Azur Lane HQ. Best not to make promises he couldn't be sure that he could keep.

Instead, he asked, "Can you get them to sound off, please? I'll confess that I'm unfamiliar with a few of these assembled faces."

"Of course, Lord Commander," Hood acquiesced with a demure nod before stepping back and turning to face the assembled collection of shipgirls. "Stand to, ladies," she called to them all, "and represent yourselves in order of ship class, please!"

He watched, suitably impressed, when each and every one of the Royal Navy shipgirls stood ramrod straight and spoke in a loud, clear voice so that he could hear them.

"Foxhound!"

"Ardent!"

"Javelin!"

"J-Juno!"

"Glowworm!"

"Sirius!"

"Dido!"

"Sheffield."

"Fiji!"

"London!"

"Exeter!"

"U-Unicorn!"

"Victorious!"

"King George the Fifth!"

"Rodney!"

"Splendid! Good show, everyone!" clapped Hood. "Now if you wouldn't mind please finding yourselves a seat on the plane! Speed is of the utmost import and we must depart immediately."

The destroyers began chittering amongst themselves as they all started to board the transport. Graham suspected much of the excitement that overrode their confusion was down to their never having flown before—an act which, in his own opinion, was singularly overrated, but then he himself tended towards airsickness so that was perhaps his own bias talking. The maid cruisers got to work loading the scant amount of luggage onboard as the other cruisers and two battleships followed the destroyers onto the plane. Curiously, he noticed Unicorn and Victorious lingered still.

Unicorn was known to Graham—he had very briefly held the girl under his own command, but a sudden transfer had removed the little carrier from his flotilla and placed her in a more sizeable fleet. Interestingly enough, said fleet had contained Illustrious and given how Unicorn had been most unwilling to separate from her 'big sister' and how fond the lady herself was of the adorable little thing, Graham couldn't help wondering at the time if the older carrier had perhaps pulled some strings.

She wouldn't be pulling anything now, though, Graham suspected. Not that this was helping poor Unicorn, who quivered on the spot as she stared at the plane.

"I-I'm scared, Victorious," she said in a small, timid voice. "I don't want to leave my home behind. O-or my friends. O-or Illustrious."

"Worry not, young Unicorn!" the taller, noticeably curvier carrier—Victorious—reassured in a brash and confident voice. One of Illustrious' siblings, Victorious possessed a… unique style of dress in that she hardly wore anything. Her almost translucent white garb was more reminiscent of lingerie than any sort of wear suitable for outdoors, and displayed pretty much her entire midriff as well as an outright transfixing amount of cleavage. Her nether regions were concealed only by a pair of smooth, black undergarments and despite the fact that her black leggings covered inarguably more than anything else she wore, it only added to her alluring appearance. "For in my honoured elder sister's stead, I shall take it upon myself to help forge you into a gleaming crown jewel of the Royal Navy!"

Graham had no doubt that Victorious had only the utmost best intentions. Unfortunately, her loud, boastful words appeared to have had the opposite effect on the much shyer Unicorn, who endeavoured to hide herself, somewhat fruitlessly, behind the stuffed unicorn doll she carried around everywhere she went.

"Come, Unicorn," declared Victorious as she grabbed hold of one of Unicorn's hands. "Wherever our destiny leads us, we must strive to meet it with all the grace and dignity befitting a maiden of our Royal Kingdom!"

Graham watched on, bemused, as the blonde all but dragged the much younger carrier onto the plane. He shared a glance with Hood, who held a gloved hand up to her face and tittered beneath it. He shook his head and exhaled a shaky little laugh of his own.

"Glad to see someone is stepping up, I suppose," he said.

"One can always count on Victorious to take things in stride," agreed Hood.

Graham glanced in the direction of the open cargo bay doors of the great turboprop transport plane. Offering Hood his elbow, he gave her a small but genuine little smile. "Well then… shall we?"

Looping her arm through the proffered gap and linking her elbow with his own, Hood graced him with a broad smile of her own. "Wherever this may lead, Commander," she said. "Know that I would not rather be anywhere else than at your side."

Graham felt uncommonly warm at her declaration, and found it was all he could do to keep a straight face and simply nod his gratitude as a well of emotion flooded through him. He felt precisely the same way, of course. No matter what obstacles he might encounter; no matter what the alien threat might throw at him, he felt sure that he could weather it all as long as he had her at his back.

Swallowing down the last of his trepidation, he stepped onto the plane that would take him to his new command, upon which perhaps the fate of a world rested…