Admiral Hipper slowly woke up in her bed with the strange feeling of being watched. It was still dark outside. She opened up one eye and looked into the room, only illuminated by the moon. Her eyes immediately came to rest on the emotionless and uncaring form of Sheffield, staring back in the gloom. Hipper completely woke up in an instant. She stared back at the amber eyes and wondered if this was what the victims of assassins felt like. She shrieked, threw off the covers, and stood on top of the mattress with her fists in the air.

Sheffield said, "Good morning."

Hipper paused for a moment, then reached for her alarm clock. "Morning? It's not- 0500?! Huh? Sheffield, are you insane?! Only the first chow cooks wake up this early!"

"I've already had some scones. I have some to spare."

"And stop breaking into my room! If you want to talk to me, just knock!"

"That would wake the others."

"My screams probably woke the others!"

"Improvised soundproofing was installed in your room by your comrades a few months ago. Have you ever not noticed the recent lack of noise complaints?"

Hipper stood there for a moment, then said, "At least let me dress."

"I shall wait outside."

They both did their respective things, and Hipper exited the room in her uniform. Sheffield looked up and down Hipper and said, "I can't recommend traveling into town in that. You'll be rather conspicuous."

Hipper retorted, "And you think you won't stand out in that frilly maid outfit?"

"I like a challenge."

Hipper rolled her eyes and the two of them walked to the wharf. Sheffield stared out to where the sun would rise. Hipper griped, "Don't bother. You won't be seeing anything for at least another hour."

Sheffield said, "I know. I was just thinking. Let's be off.", and stepped off the dock. Hipper did the same. They landed on the water, and instead of sinking, stood right on top of it. They slowly picked up steam and skimmed eastward.

As they traveled, Hipper got sick of the silence and radioed Sheffield, "You told the mainland we're coming, right? I really don't want to get strafed by a combat air patrol that thinks we're sirens."

The radio crackled for a second, then Sheffield said, "I have a friend at the air station there. He knows. Believe me, I do not plan on being the victim of friendly fire again."

Hipper, frustrated at the conversation immediately dropping into silence once again, tried simple gossip. The maids were notorious for it. She asked, "You think there's something off about Saint Louis?"

"There is 'something off' about all of us, Hipper."

"Ha ha, very funny. No, I mean she kinda… pushes the whole faith thing a little too hard."

"If that is what keeps her sane and motivated, and it does not interfere with anyone else, then I see nothing wrong with it."

"But think about recent events. Wisdom cubes, Sirens, us… She never really talks about what it means. I'm not really big into it, but I've read a little. If I was her, I'd be really shaken up."

"She doesn't seem to be."

"Yeah, but that's only on the surface."

"What are you implying?"

Hipper sputtered, "You're always analyzing people! I thought you had everybody figured out! Is she hiding something or not?"

Sheffield looked on the horizon ahead and said, "Well, I'd never bothered to find out. It didn't seem worth the trouble. Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know! I guess I just wanted to know what was going on! I'm closing the channel."

"Right. Carry on, then."

They all made landfall just before the sun rose. As they walked onto the waterfront, Hipper asked, "I only thought of this now, but do we have any method of transpor-... Sheffield, that vehicle isn't ours! Why are you looking in it?!"

Sheffield produced a key from her pocket and inserted it into the blue sedan's driver door. It turned and the door opened. Sheffield gestured to enter. Hipper asked, "Is… Is that car yours?"

"...Yes."

Hipper hesitated for a moment, then decided not to question things. They both entered the car, and soon after Sheffield started it, Vivaldi softly began playing over the radio. Hipper started with, "Well, now we should probably think about some gift ideas."

Sheffield backed out of the parking space and said, "Chocolates?"

"Nah, we did those for Valentines."

Sheffield suggested, "Perhaps a novel. Master is a very stressed person, and a book can be good for the soul."

Hipper replied, "Yeah, okay. That's a start. Where's the closest library? We should've brought a maaaaaaaa-!"

Hipper's sentence was cut off by screeching tires as Sheffield cut into traffic with a window only the most confident of drivers would even attempt. The car behind them rolled down his window and yelled brief obscenities. Hipper clutched her chest and stared forward hyperventilating. There was a period of silence, then after Hipper calmed down, she said, "Don't they teach the maids how to drive?"

Sheffield replied, "Yes, I took an offensive driving course as part of my training."

"You mean defensive."

"I've never heard that technique before. Oh look, that storefront on the right has books in it."

"Sheff, there's someone in that lane. There's someone-!"

Sheffield accelerated past the van in the right lane and made a violent turn to the right, crossing the lane in the process. The van driver hit the brakes as the sedan hit a small incline between the pavement and the parking lot. The sedan's plastic mud guards dragged across the asphalt for a moment as the suspension compensated. Sheffield then made another hairpin turn immediately into a parking space. She turned off the car as if nothing had happened and looked to Hipper with confusion.

Hipper's nails were doing their best to dig into the polyester as she seemed glued to the passenger seat. Sheffield expectedly stared at Hipper for a response, and gestured for everyone to exit. Hipper looked back to Sheffield and said, "You brake into turns. You don't… accelerate!"

Sheffield scoffed and opened the driver door. "You've been in rough seas before. This should be nothing in comparison."

"We're going to be a wreck before today's over!"

"You're forgetting who we are, and we shall be fine. I know what I am doing. I've been in many wrecks before."

"That's not something to brag about!"

They exited the car and entered the store. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a tourist shop, geared toward people looking for something to do in Seattle upon arriving by boat. The book section was full of novels that were most likely to be read inside hotel rooms or during travel. They both spread out and went to their personal preferred section. Hipper went to maps and diagrams and Sheffield mosied over to mystery/horror. They perused, but then realized that they were browsing for themselves, and not someone else. It probably wouldn't be what the commander would want. They all met in the romance section.

Sheffield was the first to speak. "I could not find anything that seemed appropriate." As she said this, she curiously retrieved one of the books from the shelf. Hipper showed the rest of them her item. It was a rulebook for a tabletop RPG game. Sheffield commented, "Oh, those things that Jamaica plays. I've seen master play them occasionally, but not often enough to make for an acceptable gift."

Hipper replied, "Yeah, I guess you're right. What's that you've got?"

"Just some novel I randomly chose."

Hipper grabbed another copy off the shelf and said, "What's this? 'Love's Savage Secret'." She read the summary on the back, "'After Michael and Susan's enormous success with their clothing line in the Union, they set their sights for Europe, debuting in Milan. However, the couple are caught up in a assassination plot as MI6 recruits them as agents to root out a KGB operative who intends to-'. This is… this is-"

Sheffield interrupted, "Rubbish?"

"Yeah, that's a word for it."

Now that they both had an impression of the business they were in, they silently came to a conclusion: A tourist trap wasn't the right place. While they both agreed and made their way to the exit, Hipper realized that this meant getting back into the car. She asked, "Maybe I could drive."

Sheffield replied, "I trained specifically in these kinds of cars. I know them like an extension of myself. You shan't find a better driver in the city."

"W-well, maybe we should talk about where to go next."

"Let's."

"Okay, we have to think about what he likes."

Sheffield's voice gave off a slight tone of impatience. "And what does he like?"

"He likes… He…"

"Do you want a hint?"

Hipper's face turned red and she exclaimed, "I know him! I know him just as well as you do! You think you're so special because 'you're a professional' and the Royals rule the waves! I know things, too! I haven't forgotten; I'm just thinking!"

"The kriegsmarine did a lot of talking and not much listening, anyway."

If Hipper was upset before, she was livid now. "Excuse me?! The RAF carried you halfway to anywhere! It's a lot easier to defend an island than it is an entire continent!"

Sheffield's voice dripped with sarcasm, "Don't forget your 'brilliant tacticians' such as Raeder and Göring. At least our admiralty had the integrity to adhere to the naval treaty. What was your tonnage again?"

"A treaty that nobody planned on following and you know it! If you weren't going to respect it, then why would we?!"

"Lot of good all that tonnage did you anyway. The sun never set on our lands, and who do you think made as-"

Hipper, driven to her wit's end, unleashed the nuclear option. "May Island."

Sheffield suddenly sat stark still, and then entered the car without a word. Hipper reluctantly entered from the passenger side. Sheffield was still for a moment with her hands on the steering wheel. She stared forward off into space in silence. Hipper smirked internally in victory. Sheffield suddenly moved her arm to the gear shift and placed it into reverse. As she backed out, Hipper asked, "Where are we going?"

"Where I bloody well please."

The feeling of victory turned bitter for Hipper. In her pursuit to win, she felt like she'd hurt someone unintentionally. There was an awkward silence for some time that occupied Hipper to a degree that she almost didn't notice Sheffield's near-suicidal driving. She eventually looked to her left and said, "I'm sorry."

Sheffield didn't immediately reply. Hipper couldn't tell if it was because she was doing it for dramatic effect or genuinely thinking about what to say. Eventually, she said, "Has it ever occurred to you, that perhaps, just perhaps, you are only tolerated and nothing more?"

"Yeah, for most people, but it's probably because we're all forced to get along because of Azur Lane. I think most people don't look at me seriously because they don't want to confront their problems when I tell them about it."

"Or perhaps if you continue to spew vitriol at people, they may right well return it."

"Vitriol?!"

"I know how you treat master, and that man has far more patience than I do. I simply don't understand where he brings it from, but to see you treat my master like that makes me quite upset. If I were him, I would have abandoned any chance of friendship long ago. I think you take your situation for granted, because for someone who criticizes others so easily, I don't think you could take even half of what you attack others with."

"I…"

"Insult me like that again, and I will leave you on the side of the road."

"H-he gets mad, too."

Sheffield did a few relaxing breaths, and then said, "Yes. Yes, he does. I sometimes think it looks right unprofessional, but his emotions are justified. There are times when we all are angry. There are times when we are sad as well. I am always there when he is sad. That's my duty."

"He's sad?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"He carries a lot on his shoulders. Sometimes he thinks he will fail. Sometimes when he is with us, he gets glimpses of what we feel and think. I don't think humans are supposed to experience the same things we do. I'm a little worried that it may hurt him, but he seems fine. On the positive side, it helps him understand us."

"I didn't know. He always acts so cocky and carefree."

"That's because he has to. If you actually paid attention to others, you'd understand. Maybe he'll open up to you." She changed the subject and said, "I think we would better use our time if you searched for a gift while I drove. Perhaps you can use that fancy cell phone to internet us an idea."

Hipper chucked a little bit at that and looked at the phone's screen. She then looked up and asked, "What do you mean by 'right unprofessional'? Do you mean he's professional in the right way?"

"...It means very. I apologize. I used the wrong word."

Hipper consulted the map. "What about ammunition for that rifle he has? He hasn't used it very recently. I don't know Union prices, though."

Sheffield considered that. She already had a supplier through the secret service, but her relations with the public services were strained, putting it optimistically. Her open and sarcastic mockery of any FEOs back home had placed her on a watchlist, and apparently her own service hadn't bothered to scrub her from it. Unsurprisingly, constabularies talked to each other. Not that they blocked her from doing anything, but the less eyes attempting to be on her the better.

After the transfer to the Pacific, it meant dealing with the Union system, which was another mountain of red tape to overcome. It wasn't as bad as back home, but there she had superiors who could directly grease the gears. The Union, for some reason, disliked listening to other countries. After her patience had worn thin, she'd simply decided to not deal with them at all. This had come to an abrupt halt after one of her early uses of the internet, involving a crate of ammunition and a rather unorthodox use of several cans of PTFE spray. Needless to say, the ATF was not pleased, nor did they appreciate Sheffield's more independent nature.

She was bailed out by her superiors, and ultimately her master had to personally come to the scene of the siege to explain to the very rude and unreasonable men the situation. That was another story. While they'd claimed to stand down, Sheffield always remained on guard on the mainland. She humiliated them once, and doubted they would let that lie. In short, she didn't feel like dealing with a legal arms dealer who would most likely ask annoying pointed questions. She replied, "I believe he simply takes it from the depot. Perhaps something else?"

Hipper made a silent frustrated expression and dug around in her head for something that she thought would be a good gift. She sat up with a jerk and said, "I know!"

"What?"

"A poster! He's always listening to hard rock! Let's get a poster for him."

"Where?"

"I know the place. It's by the waterfront. Turn left here."

Hipper immediately regretted the last sentence. Sheffield swerved left, throwing Hipper's head against the door. The left turn light blinked yellow, but Hipper wondered if Sheffield understood what "yield" meant. Regardless, she patted herself on the back for getting one over Sheffield. Not only had she thought of a gift to make this trip over faster, they were also heading toward one of her favorite record stores. Secret agent, her ass.

The compact sedan played the traffic puzzle with the grace of a panther and the aggressiveness of a crack addict. Hipper wondered where the (in)famous Union police were and why they weren't immediately shooting at the car. Despite the honks and curses, the car continued on it's merry way.

Hipper's upper half leaned left as the car jerked in the opposite direction. It stopped abruptly in a parking spot, still shockingly in between the lines. Hipper unbuckled the seat belt, and stumbled out of the passenger door. The mad ride was over, and she'd finally arrived at her happy place.

The "happy place" was a run-down brick building painted in a faded white. The ocean air had done a number on any exposed metal on the exterior as well. Compared to the more modern buildings around, it stuck out like a sore thumb. The two windows in front were covered in trinkets, stickers, posters, and other assorted clutter to the point where it was nearly impossible to see inside. One of the windowsills was extended with a piece of plywood held up by small wooden triangles. On the board was a stereo that looked like it had been taken apart and reassembled at least a dozen times. An extension chord snaked from it and through the slightly open window. It softly played jam band music, but loud enough so that others on the street could hear. The door was also adorned in the same way as the windows. On it was also a worn cork board with various papers and some images on them. It appeared to be a place for local performers or bands to recruit or advertise their gatherings. They were all names Sheffield had never heard of before, but Hipper stopped at the door and inspected the board, seemingly with great interest. Sheffield read one at random:

Our band: Stool Pigeon

We play: Punk, Ska Punk, Pop Punk, and Punk

We need: Bass guitar, Tuba

Take a number!

No posers!

Sheffield understood what the words meant, but little else. Of all the names for a band, Stool Pigeon? What was punk? Why did they mention it twice? How could a bass guitar and tuba coexist? Why did people tear off those small strips of paper at the bottom, and what stopped them from simply taking a photo? What was a poser? Sheffield looked over to Hipper for answers, but only heard her mumble, "…I could get some recording done off-duty."

Hipper opened the door and Sheffield's ears were immediately assaulted by guttural screams of some demented hell-beast that the band, no doubt, summoned to perform the "vocals". The second noise was the jingle of the bell above the door. Sheffield made a swift about-face and said, "I shall wait for you outside." Hipper shrugged and shut the door behind her.

Sheffield walked to a bench nearby and sat down next to an older gentleman in a flannel jacket. As she sat down, he commented, "You're dressed awful weird for this time of year. This time of… anytime. Aren't you one of those people who dress up?"

Sheffield responded, "This is my work uniform. Terribly sorry, but your accent sounds familiar. May I ask where you're from?"

"Leeds. You?"

"…Sheffield."

"Sheffield's a good place. What're you doing all the way out here?"

"I should ask the same of you."

"Oh, well, I'm out with me missus. She wants to hear some of that 'Union music' she says. Bunch'a noise if you ask me. What about you?"

"It's quite the story…"

Hipper was in her element. The walls were exposed brick, the air smelled of paper album covers, and every surface of the interior had something in or on it. The rows and rows of albums were occasionally interrupted by a cardboard spacer with words written in permanent marker indicating genre. Some would call it confined, but it was cozy to Hipper. This was where the real music resided. There were only three other people in the building counting the cashier, and the total number of tattoos and piercings easily tripled that. Hipper had thought of having a tattoo, but was on the fence about it. Maybe a rose tattoo on her arm or thigh. Maybe she could dye her hair. The man at the counter looked good in green. She was tired of the blonde jokes anyway.

She perused through the albums to check for new stock. It was always good to keep track of new arrivals of obscure music that was released at least twenty years ago. There were some that caught her eye, but not enough to take home. Besides, she wasn't there for that. She moved over to posters and unrolled a few. She wasn't sure about the commander's tastes, but she had a fairly good guess. The first poster was the bust of a man with long greasy black hair in a white shirt. However, the man appeared to have slammed his face against a brick wall, and blood ran all the way down his face and neck, also ruining his shirt. Intense, interesting, but probably not appropriate for the office.

The next poster was a black and white picture of a man sitting on a stairwell with his head in his knees. The man sported a mowhawk, leather vest and boots, and dark pants. There was a lot of emotion and meaning in this one, and it certainly impressed Hipper. She kept it to her side.

The third poster was also black and white, but depicted a naked woman in a complex pose, which exposed simultaneously all explicit zones to the viewer. She had an hourglass figure, and not only met, but exceeded all carnal requirements. Hipper found herself looking at it in a strange combination of disgust and jealousy. Just then, Sheffield walked in with an older man behind her. The man moved left and walked to another woman of similar age. Sheffield glided forward and flatly said, "A friend of mine said I should experience what others like, even if I don't approve." She looked down at the poster in Hipper's hands and commented, "Though most of us have the dignity to look at such things in private."

Hipper snapped back, "Oh shut up. I'm going through posters. You haven't exactly done anything here." Under her breath, she mumbled, "I was just wondering if I could ever look like that."

Sheffield sighed and said, "…Me, too."

Hipper rolled up the poster and they looked at each other for a moment. For a long time, they both thought of each other as allies against a common foe and nothing more. Both found each other to be annoying, but for this moment, they realized that they had something in common, something to confide each other in. They weren't the only ones disappointed with the hand they'd been dealt, and trying to come to terms with it. Life was an unfair race where the starting line was different for every person, and they related to beginning somewhere in the back. They both realized that, while their methods were different, their determination to finish was equal.

Maybe they could be… friends.