The commander did not dream. He remembered an era when he did: fantastical longings which put him on top of the world. Power within the grip of both hands. Power to get whatever he wanted, at his very whim.
But of course it couldn't be too blatant. He had to be the underdog. The surge against an oppressor, but where he did have and did use the power to fight against it. And the streak of justice that resulted before his awakening left him with a gentle afterglow for the next several days.
And there were nightmares, which made no sense. The dark, uncertain surroundings which revealed little to location or time. A dark force in pursuit, from which he could never quite elude. No matter how many turns he made, or how often his feet stamped on the cold pavement, that thing always managed to get right on his back. And at that very moment, he would wake up in cold sweats and breathing a mile a minute, looking up at the ceiling trying to reassure himself it was only a dream.
That was back in elementary school. But since then, he couldn't recall any other dream which happened in the past. And now, he couldn't remember the last time he even managed to dream.
So when he woke up that morning, the colorful images still in his head made him afraid for a minute, unfamiliar with this foreign experience. And when his mind finally hit upon the word, it was like recognizing your classmate from elementary school who moved away long ago. There was no joy nor worry. After the initial eureka! of discovery, there was no other sentiment there. Only confusion.
Then someone rapped on his door twice, and the door creaked open.
"Commander, your breakfast is ready," Belfast called, before closing the door again.
The dream was gone by the time he sat up and got out of bed.
—
The commander used to skip breakfast all the time. With his terrible sleep schedule and his penchant for sleeping far into the day, it only made sense to altogether forgo that early meal.
Belfast had heard about this and did not approve. While the canteen was indeed open for breakfast, there was absolutely no way that Belfast was able to convince him to go save for literally dragging him by the scruff of his nightshirt. So this was the uneasy compromise they made. She'd prepare breakfast in the previously-unused kitchenette of his quarters, and he'd eat what he could.
Belfast would always stand out of vision the first week she served him, which made him nervous. He'd feel a tingling in his spine and he'd see that Belfast was still standing to the side. It unnerved him. Maybe it was the fact that he really never had a maid before. But more likely, it was because having an individual invade his refuge was much more jarring than he anticipated.
It wasn't like he was going to practice some absurd and disturbing ritual every morning in his quarters, or parade about naked, but it still felt like Belfast was intrusive.
But it wasn't because Belfast was a bad maid. He never had any before, but it was everything that he had expected. No chores or housework to do. No cabinet or bookshelf ever got dusty. The sink was devoid of dirty dishes. The porcelain and steel faucets in the bathroom shined like they were newly installed. It was like living in a hotel room. Every night, he had the distinct impression that his bed was not his, with its daily washed sheets.
Belfast must've noticed his discomfort, because she started to leave his quarters after preparing breakfast, returning only to collect the plates and silverware once he was through.
Beyond the professional reminders, though, there was little else said between the two. Belfast maintained all the physical aspects of his life. It was up to him to take care of the rest. Tactics. Strategy.
That was their dynamic. It never progressed beyond that. While he made the leaps and bounds of growing accustomed to his role in other places, Belfast remained static. Maybe a normal person would've been comforted by this boundary. But for the commander, it bothered him. Belfast was just as professional as she was on his first day, but he still barely felt comfortable saying "Thanks" to each favor she did. And her responses were just as cool: "It's my pleasure to serve."
So it was on a whim he called out to her before she left him to only his breakfast. "Um, Belfast…" His voice sounded weak to even his own ears.
Belfast crisply turned around. "Is there anything else you need?"
He swallowed to try getting rid of the dryness in his mouth. "Do you mind keeping me company?"
The commander was not excellent at reading faces. He'd surrounded himself with text and numbers for too much of his life to gain that intuition in his formative years. But he thought that Belfast was momentarily surprised by this, even though the professional smile never once left her face.
She said, "Of course," and took the seat across from him, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she sat.
He regretted his request instantly. Where he was a little bit uncomfortable of a maid standing off to the side while eating, this was complete terror. What was he thinking? Why did he think having some company was a good idea?
Apparently, Belfast had the same question. "So, Commander, is there anything you wish to know?"
He tried thinking of any answer, but couldn't think of anything. So he ended up telling the truth. "I thought I did, but I guess I didn't think that far ahead."
"I hope that isn't the case when you're leading us in battle," Belfast commented wryly.
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but he realized it was a joke. The commander looked up to see Belfast's usual professional smile turn more genuine. He couldn't name or describe why, but he felt that way anyways.
He said, "I didn't think you were one for jokes."
"I think there's quite a bit you don't know about me, Commander."
"I guess that's true," he admitted after a pause.
"Are you done with that?" Belfast asked, gesturing to his plate.
He looked at it and decided he was through, and pushed it towards Belfast. She picked it up and started the sink. Now it was him who had nothing to do but wring his hands while Belfast was washing the dishes.
The sound of running water did little to distract him from his own thoughts. He wasn't given the gift of carrying on a conversation by himself. If anything, people had to carry on every conversation with him by themselves. But the words and conversations in his head never did come out the way he wanted it to. Like translating everything into Latin and back — turning carefully articulated sentences into the glib of everyday conversation.
By the time Belfast was done, there was no sign that she ever broke professionalism. Wordlessly, she escorted him to his office for another day of paperwork and monotony.
—
Day one, Belfast had always been the default go-to secretary, so much so that he had never recognized that her position could be fulfilled by others. It was simply Belfast who handled and organized the paperwork and forms which needed to be filled out, it was Belfast who organized his mail, and it was Belfast who always woke him before dawn whenever there was an imminent skirmish he had to prepare for.
She did the job so effectively that he never felt the appreciation for a job well done. Does a child truly feel the pangs of hunger when so closely monitored by two wealthy, loving parents? So when Akagi had stepped in as replacement for secretary, Belfast had silently bowed out and left for other responsibilities.
Akagi was by no means a bad secretary. But when the child skips one meal, do they know anything else but the stabbing pains in their abdomen, even though they have never suffered hunger before?
If the commander and Akagi met somewhere in the middle delegating responsibilities to each other, then Belfast must've had come all the way to his front door. So for a while, he had suffered. Someone turned up the speed on the treadmill, and he had to personally make up for the duties that were suddenly lacking in manpower. Though he did stumble, he did not fall. Perhaps he did spend many late nights in that office, but at least none of it was pushed off to the side or put into the backlog. He didn't really have much choice in that matter, though. Akagi insisted on staying in the office and left if and only if the commander completed all the tasks for that day. So maybe a few forms were filled out in a hurry. But it was better than staving off a tired Akagi with depleting mental fortitude.
Speaking of Akagi — he had no idea what was going on in her mind. Akagi was now herself — clingy, no respect for personal space, and overzealous — but there was something fundamental he didn't know about Akagi which made her a constant source of distress. While it was the same for Unicorn (he had no clue what the sweet girl ever saw in him), he could at least believe in good faith that Unicorn wouldn't do anything extreme to meet her ends. As much as he wanted to believe the same for Akagi, he could not. And the fact that he distrusted Akagi like that frightened him.
There was something in his mind that didn't add up, and he wasn't sure if that was his fault or Akagi's.
Akagi entered the office. Where Belfast treated doors like kittens, Akagi used them like baseball bats: with great force, in faith that they would not break. The door bounced off the doorstep, and the wall groaned in protest.
"Good morning, Shikikan-sama," she said, and bounced her way to her seat.
He mumbled a greeting back, and they began work.
—
That day was especially uneventful, with less papers to review than normal. On busier days, Belfast would bring food into the office for them. Today, Akagi suggested eating with everyone else and he saw no reason to refuse.
He decided terrorizing his destroyer friends with Akagi's presence again was probably not the right move, so he moved towards an empty table. As expected, Akagi followed to sit across from him.
From his vantage point, he could see Javelin enthusiastically telling everyone about something that couldn't be heard over the general din of the lunch hour rush. Ayanami was intently listening. Z23 spotted the commander looking her way and waved, but had to quickly catch Laffey from putting her face in the stew. The usual.
But then it was Akagi who barged into his view, demanding nothing but all of his attention.
He couldn't fundamentally understand Akagi. He thought about this a while ago — but the longer he thought about it, the more it was true. He only ever had his own short life as a reference point to everyone else's. If he were in Akagi's shoes, he would have despaired just like her — but unlike her, he never would've forgiven. There would've been absolutely nothing that anyone could have said to him to rouse him from the abyss of his own design. He would've watched his hypothetical sister and the Obscure Object of Desire reach a relationship he'd never have. And then there would have been a shitty acceptance that would've left him with less of himself than previously. Like all terrible experiences had gone for him.
But then again, he had never fallen in love. Had crushes? Yes, followed by the fantasizing of future dates, chaste kisses, and warm hugs, but they had always stopped short of the bedroom. He figured that there would be nobody sane enough who would want him, empty as he was.
Technically, that was still true. Not many would readily claim that Akagi had all her screws in.
Maybe that was why they could never connect on a fundamental level. Akagi — who loved too much — loved him, who couldn't love at all. Akagi was made of much more sterner stuff than he was. Both literally and figuratively. Maybe that was why he was afraid.
"Shikikan-sama, please tell Akagi what's on your mind." He looked up to meet Akagi's crimson eyes. Expectant, warm, no different than on the first day he ever met her. Akagi could bounce back like a rubber ball. He thudded on the concrete like a sandbag.
The intensity was too much for him, and he looked away. "It's nothing."
This only seemed to encourage her further. "You know you can tell me anything. I'd take your secrets to the grave. I'm sure that would always be true."
"Is that true for the other commanders before me?" That left his mouth before he was even cognizant of the thought.
She frowned. "I don't like being reminded of them. They disgust me."
He wondered what was so disgusting about them in comparison to himself. He asked her as much.
"There's no need for you to concern yourself over them. They're gone now. And it'll be you who leads us all to victory. With me by your side," Akagi answered, with a soft lilt.
This didn't reassure him at all. "I don't think I'll be the one, honestly," he said. There was absolutely no way it was him, commander numero 8, which turned out to be the guy who led them all to victory. Movies and novels were full of clichés on what a good leader should be in war. Buff. Taller than all his subordinates. Eyes of steel, which knew of loss and regret. Unbiased, with eyes on the objective. How to handle sacrifice, and to weigh consequences with a critical eye. But these traits were not built upon stereotypes. An incapable leader wouldn't be able to meet these expectations.
And of these, he was not. There was no question about it.
All he knew was to push around little icons on a field. He never went out to witness the boom of cannonfire, or burning oil. In his little holographic war room, safe from everything and everyone. So Akagi's reassurance made absolutely no sense to him. He was not a leader of a navy. He was going to be eighth in a long line of stand-ins before someone deserving showed up.
But he didn't know how to condense all of these thoughts into a nice little pill for Akagi to swallow.
"Do not worry, Shikikan-sama," Akagi said, leaning over closer to him. "Even in times when you may falter, I'll be your side. That is an immutable fact that no one or god can take away."
But the commander was silent, and pursed his lips. They finished eating silently and returned to work.
—
The commander couldn't sleep that night. In his bed, where the pillows and comforter smells like detergent and the room was pitch black, his head echoed with the hard truth that his time here was limited. He had known ever since he heard about his seven predecessors. But for some reason, the dots never connected until today. The Sirens were learning and adapting slowly, but an upgrade from headless chicken to just a chicken was hardly any challenge. But eventually, they'd learn. And eventually, he'd be defeated, because he had been resting on his laurels, choosing to find comfort in the banalities and doldrums of useless paperwork rather than sharpening his mind against an infinite alien armada. He had lost sight of his objective, preferring to feed the bite of loneliness he felt on a daily scale.
Resolving a heartbreak. Learning to overcome social anxiety. None of that would prevent ruination by alien technology if he let his focus slip for even a single battle. Because if he failed once, he'd be sent away in shame just like the other seven. And he couldn't have that. Not after he spent so much effort into this little place. And besides, if he was gone, there'd be nothing left for him. So he had to keep winning. Not for Akagi's sake, or anyone else, but for himself. Extend the borrowed time he had before someone inevitably showed up who wasn't as crippled as he was. One who didn't need the company and support of others to keep a sane mind. One who didn't quail at the thought of direct opposition. One who didn't get knocked over by the slightest resistance in any step of life.
The shame of acknowledging the basest of his psychological needs burned all the way down his throat and rested in the pit of his stomach. He tossed and turned in his sweet-smelling sheets, and eventually threw them off completely until sleep finally took him under.
—
Belfast knocked twice on the commander's door, and waited for a response. She didn't expect one, either. And so when she entered, all she could do was soundlessly sigh while appraising the mess of a room the commander managed to achieve within one night. She gently shook him awake and began the thankless task of picking up the sheets and pillows while the commander stared at the ceiling with bleary eyes.
She didn't bring up the topic of how he slept when she passed his breakfast to him, and she left the commander with his steaming pile of scrambled eggs and his thoughts alone.
—
Amagi listened to the commander's request carefully and did not say anything until he was finished. He had come to the dorms in the morning by himself. She did not know what caused the grimness and nervousness that could be seen all over his face. Although, she did have one question on her mind.
"I am more than happy to practice simulation battles with you, but I must ask — what are your reasons for doing so, out of the blue?"
And Amagi saw him grind his teeth and clench his fists and knew that the answer could not be gently coaxed out at this time. So she said, "I understand. But I hope you will be able to tell me, later." And she saw the tension leave his body by a fraction.
They agreed upon a time, and they parted ways. But as Amagi watched his hunched figure disappear once again into the building which contained the holographic table, where he would undoubtedly try his hand against the computer, she felt a spark of worry. And not because she knew that the commander would find that the computer was too easily exploitable with its patterns and would offer no challenge.
Amagi, despite being lauded as the greatest tactician of the Sakura Empire, had her own fair share of regrets. Her greatest was not being able to watch over Akagi. So maybe it wasn't entirely rational to reach out so far for the commander when she never did so for anyone else. The commander reminded her an awful lot like younger Akagi. The spark of genius, but led astray by the lack of direction. But despite this, there would be no way Amagi would be able to forgive herself for standing by when intervention was necessary.
If there was vital information that she did not know, then it was essential to find it on her own. Amagi called it a prerequisite for any tactician worth their salt. Kaga would sometimes mention under her breath that it was called being too nosy. But having such a blindspot, whether it be for actual combat or for interpersonal relationships, was like dealing with a bad toothache. Ignoring the root of the problem only guaranteed future pain which would never resolve on its own. So while the commander headed towards his office, Amagi collapsed her paper umbrella in front of his quarters to speak with his caretaker, someone she got to know through Illustrious: the Head Maid, Belfast.
