The battalion sent to combat the newest contingent of Sirens noticed something amiss within the first few minutes. Orders from the commander usually came instantaneously after the enemy showed up on their radar. And with minimal risk, every last foreign invader would be summarily destroyed. That was his style. Past commanders had been happy with forcing the enemy to retreat.
Thankfully, Washington was more than happy to accommodate this. As far as she was concerned, they both had the same idea of how to wage war. While the cunning and planning which happened on the larger scale escaped her, she could appreciate the work behind the scenes. After all, hadn't every single past skirmish resulted in victory with only minor scratches? Washington had no qualms with being directed if it ensured the safety of her friends and sisters.
But when there was nothing but radio silence for thirty seconds, Washington could only wonder if there was an issue with her communications. The others could see that something was wrong. The Siren mass-produced ships haven't turned yet to engage first, but what was going on?
Cleveland looked over, confused, and touched her ear. Comms down?
Washington shook her head. Someone was definitely on the other side, listening in. He or she was just unresponsive.
But orders did eventually come through. And they did not spring to action like they usually did, but with hesitation. The combination of both made the following battle all the more painful. No up-and-close battles where you could feel the shells land on your target from point-blank range, but long range barrages which were closer to volleys which were impossible to land — even if they did land — and felt cheap and unearned The kind of fighting style that Washington detested. Since when did he play chicken?
But they did win. It was long and tedious, but they did not return until they saw to it that every last Siren was sent to the depths below. Some of the cruisers cheered to yet another victory, and Washington put on a smile. But inside, she thought about how she would have words with the commander. She'd never met the man yet, which was odd. But there was no time like the present to find out exactly who she was fighting for.
—
As much as the commander wished that time would have stopped, the world cared little about the inner longings of a single man, regardless if he was the commander of an international fleet. It hadn't been more than a day when Akagi delivered another file. When she came sashaying inside, he had an internal prayer to God that it wasn't what he feared. Otherwise, he was playing some sort of cruel joke to force him to return to that cursed room.
The commander didn't remember the last time he made that kind of desperate plea to the omniscient forces beyond the senses. But as Akagi placed the file in front of him, it felt like his organs were sinking deeper and deeper into his gut as reality set in. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to embarrass himself again.
"Shikikan-sama?"
But duty called. He wondered what would happen if he decided to just not go. Amagi could handle it, right? But he was already on his feet, moving. It was too much trouble to explain himself anyways.
It was a small mercy that Amagi was not there, waiting by the holographic table. It felt like he could breathe easily without her presence. Out of sight, out of mind. So there should be no pressure at all. The enemy had become smarter over the double-digit skirmishes he had, but still they were little challenge. There was no reason to fret. He had a wide margin of error to work with.
So why was it that he hesitated? He kept inputting commands but deleted them before sending them. The little blips of light, color-coded in easy red and blue, made it so easy for him to believe it was just another practice. He was reminded of the hours leading up to scrimmage, where he did nothing but send imaginary ships to their doom. There was a second where he entertained doing the same thing. Throw all precision to the wind, and just make it a grueling bloodbath. Then he wouldn't be responsible for any losses.
That was a lie the second he thought of it. So he finally took charge and played full defense. A long process which relied more on target practice rather than actually using tactics. But there was no way he could lose this way, so that's exactly what he did. It didn't matter that it took three times longer than usual. That's what mattered at the end of the day. No one was lost. And he won.
After that, he decided that he'd take the rest of the day off. No paperwork. No work in general. He didn't really sort out what exactly he needed a break from, but there was an inherent call for something to stop. Something that had to change or give. So he absent-mindedly said a terse goodbye to both Akagi and Belfast, who had been monitoring the battle, and tottered his way back to his dorm. He thought about taking a nap, but finally decided on going for a walk instead. While his head felt foggy and disoriented, he wasn't tired.
The bright daylight outside almost made him change his mind. It also made him realize how cold it was. Despite not having a cloud in sight, the wind chills quickly robbed any exposed skin of any warmth it had: hands, ears, and face.
How long had it been since he really went outside? He usually had his meals inside, brought by Akagi and Belfast. Besides, the path between the office complex and the canteen was so short they were practically interconnected, so even stepping by to have a meal there hardly qualified as going outside.
So the sudden chill had caught him by surprise. The commander's coat that he always wore felt inadequate. But it was too much effort to step back inside for an insulative parka. He reckoned that he would get his body temperature up and running by walking. So he shoved his hands in his pockets, picked a direction, and meandered along the concrete, not thinking of much at all.
—
A certain table located in the canteen was especially quiet. This was highly unusual. On successful skirmishes (which is to say, all of them) everyone was allowed an extra helping of dessert. Destroyers would wait in anticipation, waiting to see their allies arrive back in port, hale and hearty, but the true reward was always waiting for them at the canteen. And they would make their delight very audible, echoing off every surface. And most elders permitted it. For after all, every victory should be celebrated. Those who did not enjoy the shrill cries would refrain from voicing their displeasure because either 1) they were too self-conscious to say anything or 2) no one listened to them anyways in the first place. But that was not why this particular table was quiet.
Washington was thinking. That wasn't scary in itself, but the frigid gaze and atmosphere she exuded made all of her tablemates afraid of talking in any volume greater than a whisper.
North Carolina nudged Washington gently. "Knock it off," she said.
That made Washington return to her senses. "What?" It was only then she realized how quiet everyone else was being. She tried to smile, just like she practiced, but no one felt very reassured.
By and by, they left earlier than usual or moved to slightly more breathable tables until it was only Washington and N. Carolina left.
N. Carolina turned to face Washington directly. "What is the matter with you today?"
Washington, abashed, could only sigh. "Sorry."
There was a moment of silence. "Well?" N. Carolina asked. "Tell me what's bothering you."
Washington struggled a bit, wondering if she would sound silly voicing her thoughts out loud. She may be the first one leading the charge directly into the fray, cannons blazing, but her sister was and always had been more experienced and proficient with matters concerning the heart and mind. So Washington acquiesced to her quiet demand.
Carefully, awkwardly, Washington explained to N. Carolina to the best of her ability about her concerns about the commander, and how she was putting her full trust in someone she hardly knew. Someone who had faltered when it mattered, and could risk not only the safety of herself, but the safety of everyone she knew. N. Carolina listened carefully, nodding in understanding even though the right words did not flow.
It was only when Washington was finished did her sister speak. "Did you ever feel this way with our previous commanders?"
Washington frowned. "No, I didn't."
"Then I think you can rest assured. This commander has had a better track record so far than any other we've had."
Washington folded her arms. That didn't sit right with her. "That might be so, but still, it's odd that I never got to meet the commander myself after all these months. I want to meet him personally," she said. And as an afterthought she would have only said to her sister, "And for my own peace of mind."
N. Carolina considered that for a minute. Then she smiled, with a twinkle in her eye. "You've made up my mind. Let's go together: you've made me curious as well."
"You don't have to come with me."
"But I insist."
"Fine," Washington grumbled, and N. Carolina giggled. But she was glad that her sister had heard her out.
—
The walk didn't do him any good, as he expected. It was cold, miserable, and lonely. Why he thought it was a good idea, he didn't remember. But now was not the time for regretting. It was time for a scalding shower until he could regain some sort of feeling in his limbs.
But more often than not, it turned out that he could stand for hours on end in boiling water, until his skin turned red and it was impossible to breathe in the water-laden air, and he'd still shiver the instant he turned the water off. Hour long hot showers were probably not good for him, and definitely not good for the environment, but he found comfort in his long, torturous ritual. He was able to take this moment to feel nothing and think of nothing besides the scalding water.
But today no amount of steam was able to block the thoughts of that game between him and Amagi. He hadn't seen Amagi since then, which was a small mercy, but it didn't really matter when the moment of his defeat was etched into his mind. A multitude of other trains of thought left the station, all of which didn't lead to anywhere better. He could list them: if Amagi was better, why wasn't she in charge? What was he doing, playing games an ocean away where there was actual war? And why wasn't he able to just stomach the fact that he lost, but at least he could do better next time?
He could answer some of those questions. But he knew he wouldn't like the answers, so he left them blank. So the unanswered questions persisted, and hung over his head, never leaving his side. And it crept into even the safest of havens: the nights and the hot showers. It sounded pathetic when he made it sound like that, but it was the most accurate way he could put it.
The vicious cycle. He decided that was enough self-pity in one sitting and began getting ready in a fashion that was suitable for an officer of the navy. He often forgot that he was supposed to be an officer. But then again, there was precious little to remind him of that.
It was dinner. It was near the end of its open hours, but he had skipped lunch to go on that asinine idea of a walk that he already spent too much time regretting. So he made himself look half-presentable to the best of his ability, and got ready to go out. What he wasn't prepared for was for two to be waiting outside, and he recognized neither of them.
He knew it was incredibly unlikely, but there was some small hope that they just happened to be loitering outside of the commander's quarters rather than be waiting for him. He decided to try and skulk by and assume the best. They were deep in conversation, after all.
The moment he took a step, one of them loudly cleared her throat. "Commander, do you mind if we can have a moment?"
He wondered why he had ever hoped.
—
Washington had high standards for everyone. Only the strong and fit were able to protect the people and things they loved; even if you weren't strong, there was always an opportunity to work on it. That being said, she wasn't so cruel to look down on others. If one asked, she would always be there to lend a helping hand. Even though she wasn't the most approachable person.
But she was working on it! See, she wasn't a hypocrite. There were things yet that she could work on. But it was important that one wasn't ever satisfied with their current state of being. There was always a higher ideal to strive for, some more so than others.
So it was to be expected that Washington placed high expectations on her commander. It's understandable that someone who held responsibility for the international combined navy needed to be held to higher standards, more than what could be expected for the average person.
Yet, Washington could not help but be bitterly disappointed with every failure of a commander that passed by. She had a problem with a few of them because they weren't capable of behaving like a commanding officer, and garnered no respect nor leadership. Still others weren't able to separate work and their personal lives.
And it was hard for her to not judge the commander for his hunched back and weary expression as he finally came out of his personal quarters. They'd been searching everywhere for him, and asking for his whereabouts was difficult when more than half of the everyone they asked hadn't seen him at all. It was a painful process, and when they finally decided to wait in front of his quarters for half an hour, he didn't give them any further acknowledgement other than a look and started to shuffle away from them. The nerve!
He only paused when she cleared her throat with an extra-loud a-hem! And didn't bother to turn around as she was talking. Washington had to wonder why humanity couldn't be bothered to scrounge up an actual officer, after multiple attempts. Out of seven billion people, this was the best that there was to offer?
There was a long silence where she wondered if the commander was deaf the whole time and she'd embarrassed herself terribly. But then a small voice said, "Could it wait? I was about to get dinner."
"The canteen is about to close."
"They usually have something still." His voice felt like a sigh. About as much effort went into his words as someone would put effort behind inhaling and exhaling. Washington had to strain her ears just to hear him. It probably didn't help that she was becoming steadily more frustrated by his lackluster appearance and speech. This was the person who Washington had entrusted her life to?
A warm hand seized her clenched fist and began to work out the tension in her knuckles, relaxing it. "Relax," N. Carolina mouthed.
There was a moment where Washington was conflicted if she should act in passion, but logic won out. The commander was still standing there, back to them, implicitly waiting for her verbal permission. She could only sigh irritably. "Fine."
—
As Washington had said, the canteen was pretty much closed. It was dark out, and the only sign of activity came from the back, behind the counters, where the clitter-clatter of dishes and sound of running water could be heard. A few were already mopping down the floors and wiping down the tables and stacking chairs. But true to the commander's word, there was still food in the chilling containers. Washington had to forcibly refrain from tapping her foot impatiently as he seemed to move at a sloth's pace, moving from counter to counter, and finally finding a seat at the very corner of the hall.
It was only after they were all seated was Washington able to actually see his face. He looked half-asleep, spooning mouthfuls of cold soup to his lips, not seeming to care about the quality and taste at all. His eyes couldn't seem to be able to focus on the food in front of him nor their faces, but seemed to settle in between, on the table between them.
Washington couldn't help but wonder if there was another commander who pulled off the deft and striking strategies in battle, rather than the fellow who sat in front of her.
"Have you been sleeping alright, Commander?" N. Carolina asked, with a touch of concern.
"I've been getting my eight hours in," he said, laying his spoon against the bowl with a clink, but his expression turned mildly sour. "Though I can't say whether or not I'm getting a good eight hours. I always seem to wake up in the middle of the night."
"Has work been difficult?"
"It's not been too bad. I guess I've always had trouble sleeping."
Washington found her trust in her commander diminishing, bit by bit. He sounded closer to a burnt-out office worker than someone who was in charge of a fleet.
"Do you care that little about your job?" Washington found herself asking.
Both the commander and N. Carolina turned to look at her sudden question. He began awkwardly, "I mean, it's a job. I complete it to the best of my ability —"
"Then what was that today?"
He looked away. "A fluke."
"What I saw out there was not a fluke," Washington said, raising her voice.
The commander did not try to argue his point, nor did he concede that Washington was right, and instead went back to his cold soup. He only seemed more tired than before they set out for the canteen. It was likely that at any given moment the metal spoon might slip out of his tenuous grip and he'd fall asleep, right at the table.
But it was also getting difficult for Washington to contain her temper, driven by both disgust and pity. Perhaps a gentler person might have taken the commander's exhausted state and pried later, but she was not her sister. How N. Carolina managed to have infinite patience, she had no idea. It took everything to not relinquish everything but eventually she settled for rolling out the tension in her shoulders and neck. As much as this person was a poor excuse for a commander, she shouldn't stoop down to his level, she resolved.
Still, it was impossible to watch him tediously eat, so she brusquely excused herself and went outside to get some fresh air. It was cold enough at night for her to see her breath fog up, but she was worked up enough that it was refreshing rather than chilling and she could gather her thoughts.
It had been difficult for her to not get up on her feet and shout at his face to get it together. He was playing with the lives of everyone if he didn't take his job seriously. It probably wasn't fair for her to judge him for his mild demeanor and passive mannerisms and frankly terrible posture. But it was also incredibly difficult to trust his judgment when he inspired exactly zero confidence in his own abilities, especially when he offered no promises or assurances that he had learned from his own mistakes.
Nobody would be able to pry this from her, but Washington didn't want anyone to be stranded with nothing but enemies while the directions in their ear went quiet. Like what happened today.
The fact that he seemed completely unapologetic only made her fingers clench into fists. Perhaps she could excuse all of his unattractive attributes, but she could never forgive anyone who felt no remorse over gambling lives for his pride.
But she felt better now. Not about to do anything stupid. She was about to head back inside when when the commander and N. Carolina walked out, chatting like old friends. His pallor was fuller, and the persistent frown on his face had morphed into something like a small smile as he said something that N. Carolina giggled at.
Washington had no clue what had happened in the short time she was out, but apparently her sister could work miracles after all. The commander saw her walk up and his smile slipped again into the neutral frown she was used to. So that's how it was. It was N. Carolina who did the talking.
"The commander mentioned how tired he was and I think it's best that we can continue the conversation another time," she said.
Washington's first instinct was to refuse. There was no way that someone who sat at a table putting in commands was more exhausted than someone who had literally fought a long, painful battle. But she also had spent enough time with her sister to know that this wasn't a request by the commander, rather it was from her. So she grudgingly conceded and they escorted him to his quarters. Washington was bursting with questions but held them in until they were in the privacy of their own dorms.
"So what was that all about?" she asked, once the door shut behind them with a click.
N. Carolina was at her desk, writing something down in a notebook. "I think that we shouldn't bother the commander any further than we already have, and that we're safe under his direction."
"And how on earth did you come to that conclusion?"
"I had a chat with him a bit while you were away, and I got to know him a little better."
"...and?"
"He's working hard. And his best so far has carried us without a single casualty, a better track record than everyone else we had so far."
"I'm not convinced."
N. Carolina sighed, and put her pen down. "Alright, truth be told he had said some things that he wanted to be kept private. And while you are my sister, there are some things that should be kept between just the two. Just like how I'll never share anything between us, I don't want to break his trust like that." Her eyes softened slightly. "But I'll tell you in advance that you should treat him delicately."
Washington couldn't help but have many doubts about her sister's sweeping claims, all of which she had not the pleasure of witnessing. But if nothing else, she had faith in her sister, and silently agreed to leave him be.
But when the lights turned off, Washington could not help but resolve that if she ever caught him slipping ever again, there would be no let-offs.
