Seattle watched as Luzon sat on her lap, working on a small coloring book. Seattle had her own paperwork to pay attention to, but she kept her eyes on the smaller girl. Partly to keep a watch out for a streak of errant crown, but also because she told her sister she would.

It was a system, they were trying to implement when it came to therapy. Since it was split, and they shared a half hour, that made things a bit, odd. Someone, one way or another, was going to have to stay with Luzon, as Isabella was adamant about not leaving the young shipgirl to her own devices. Which was fair. Destroyers could cause a considerable amount of trouble, if not given something to do, as they were the most active ships in the fleet.

Plus, Luzon was just uncomfortable with many of the larger ships around her. She could handle the presence of a few American Destroyers well enough. But in large numbers, or just large enough ships would have her clinging to Isabella's leg. Occasionally her own, if her sister was otherwise completely indisposed. And given that this was Seasbo? There were a lot of other ships around.

Though it wasn't like her sister was any better at times. Isabella was completely fine with other cruisers, both light and heavy. Carriers as well, though that was likely due to her instincts as a light cruiser more than much else. But battleships? If an unfamiliar one was around, Isabella had a habit of making herself scarce. Those that were part of the rescue party were generally fine. Though that could slide into almost savior worship tendencies, Isabella herself didn't seem to take things that far.

Still, the idea of therapy, or that it was really that necessary, was new to her. It was something she didn't need to think about, most of the time. Isabella welcomed it, even if Luzon seemed a bit more nervous.

Of course, this was merely their third session, so it wasn't like progress on any front would be particularly swift. Even with weekly meetings.

But if her sister thought such measures would make her happy? Seattle wasn't going to judge. She wanted what was best for Isabella, as her older sister. That obviously meant healing, but the road, after something like that, was not an easy one.

The same was the case for Luzon as well. Both needed help, and while Isabella was willing to seek said help out of her own volition, Luzon seemed far less willing.

While Isabella would speak of the meetings, at least a little, Luzon didn't. Seattle wasn't sure what to make of that. Luzon was fairly shy, but Isabella could be just as equally reserved when it came to meeting strangers. So that wasn't the issue.

But Seattle didn't want to push, even if she was curious. Isabella had told her that a therapist could be something incredibly emotionally intimate to have. Someone you could talk to about your troubles that you didn't wish to shoulder onto anyone else.

She didn't quite understand that, either. Wasn't that what family was for? Sharing a burden and caring for others?

Seattle resisted the urge to shake her head. She knew she wasn't trained to handle being someone to talk to about what her sister and Luzon had experienced. Even if she wished they leaned on her for that.

A rumble caused her to look down. It wasn't her stomach that did so, but rather Luzon's, who looked suddenly sheepish. Seattle checked the clock. Noon was fast approaching. Usually, she'd head off to the mess hall. Enjoy spending some time away from the paperwork, absorbing some of the social rays she loved so much.

However, Luzon did not handle such social situations that well, given the noise. But her sister made sure to compensate. Though Seattle felt that she was getting the most out of the deal.

Isabella was a better cook than she gave herself credit for. Sure, in the mess hall, you could luck out depending on who made what. But Isabella could make a good dish. Seattle herself took notes. Sure, she had a few recipes under her belt as well, but not to the same extent. Even if she wasn't used to upscaling meals to that of a shipgirls appetite.

But it was as a baker that Isabella's talents truly shined. While she could make some interesting American dishes, it was treats like muffins where her sister truly hit her stride. She had expected something like a cupcake when she had first seen them but was taken aback by their firmness, yet they still held the taste of sugar. The light and faint, but still present bitterness of lemon made it all the better.

"Are you ready for lunch?" Seattle asked as Luzon bounced wordlessly in her lap.

Seattle giggled, pulling out the small box from where it lay in one of the drawers.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So, I see you're wearing longer sleeves," the comment would have been seen as a harmless thing in any other light. And it was, even in this one. There was no judgment in her voice, no hint of contempt. Just a simple, truthful, observation.

Sure, it was getting a bit colder, but we were adults. I refused to use such an obvious excuse.

"I don't like it when people stare at them," I said. I'd seen plenty of people stare at the wounds, catching their gaze. And I was a person as well. So it wasn't really a lie.

"Even that one?" She didn't need to gesture at it for me to realize what she was referring to. The one. The one.

I shook my head.

"I'd either need to wear a skirt, long pants, or long socks," I said. "I'm not a fan of the prior, it's still a bit too warm for the middle, and the latter makes me look juvenile."

That was one of the big issues. I looked probably in my early twenties. Yes, if you squinted, as I was a bit short. Even by Japanese standards. But I was also firmly aware of just how close I was to straddling the line.

"And I know, I shouldn't care much about people judging me just on my looks, but," I frowned.

"You don't care much for the attention your looks bring you?" She asked. That was, part of it? Maybe? Being looked at, gawked at? I was a shipgirl, and shipgirls generally ranged into either childish youthfulness, teenager, or fairly conventionally attractive young lady. Stick me in a crowd pull of regular people, and I'd stick out like a, well, short supermodel. And that drew attention to my scars, and.

I didn't like people looking at them.

"I don't like being the center of attention, period," I huffed, crossing my arms. That was the crux of the issue. I didn't like having all eyes on me. I preferred to just, exist. Socially, I preferred to be off in the side corner, with the nerds, enjoying the nerdy things.

Though to be frank, my appearance wasn't the whole issue, or at least, my appearance specifically. Though my resemblance to Seattle was becoming a frequent topic of conversation when people didn't think I could hear them. Which was dumb. Apparently, my cousins in the military had been completely correct in their assessment that the only thing that gossiped more than a teenager was a soldier. And given shipgirls could have quite good hearing.

Of course, it was a problem I should have realized the moment I became aware of Seattle's existence.

How does a papership have a sister?

This wasn't a matter of a ship that was ordered, but never given a name, or named ship that was just never completed. But we were both full-blown, paper designs. To have two of us, was, well.

Impossible.

And we looked a lot closer than a lot of other sister shipgirls as well. I'd seen a few pictures. Sure, a lot of shipgirls had similarities when it came to the same family when it came to rigging, but in terms of appearance? Cleveland and her sisters, for example, while generally overall, were light-skinned, but had hair color ranging from a silvery white to blonde, to red, and sometimes even blue hair. They had numerous body types as well, to short like me, to considerably taller, reaching into mid-five foot range.

Plus, while nobody outside of a handful knew why I had ended up on base, other than, the rescue mission, that could only be adding to the rumor machine.

"I don't like it when people are talking behind my back, either," I grumble. That was something I never had good memories of. Elementary School was far from my warmest years, by any stretch of the imagination. Middle School and High School were drastic improvements, but the memories, or more accurately, a completely different set of scars, could make me prickly.

"So you don't like being the center of attention and would prefer to keep to yourself, but at the same time, don't like those who spread gossip around," she nodded. "You also take note of your appearance, which you feel is too young, and try to present yourself at what you feel your age should be."

"Rumors and gossip are difficult. I can understand it might be hard to ignore such things, especially given your unique circumstances. They should move on sooner or later. Something else should grasp their attention, one way or another," Nathalie wasn't wrong in her assessment. I knew this wasn't bullying, like in Elementary school, and that they would soon move on to other things. This was a military base. Something new and exciting had to happen. Eventually.

But that didn't mean I had to like it one bit. Even if I realistically knew it was only the dark parts of my brain pulling at neurons.

"As for your appearance, and how people might see you? I think it might be a bit too soon to worry about things like that," Nathalie's words made me sputter in surprise. Too soon?

"What does that mean?" I asked. Was my head in the gutter, or was she implying what I think she was implying?

"That it might be a bit too soon for you to be looking for, romantic relationships, in general. That's at least part of the reason you're concerned about your appearance so much," Nathalie said.

"Part," I huffed, crossing my arms. "I'm aware it's way too soon to be thinking about anything like that."

Quite frankly, that was a bridge I planned on crossing when I got to it. If I got to it. Ideally with several tanks and other armored vehicles backing me up. At minimum.

"And the rest? Looking considerably younger leading to the feeling of complications when it comes to romance is more of a common issue for shipgirls than some might expect," Nathalie said. Though I suppose that wasn't surprised by that issue. Depending on how destroyers aged, you were looking at long-term puberty, which sounded like all sorts of hell. Or even just being stuck in puberty. Forever. Which was even worse.

"I think it comes back to the rumors. I don't like being judged for something out of my hands, like my appearance," I said. "I don't like how I look can affect how I get treated by others."

"Which implies that you find things wrong about your appearance," Nathalie said. "While I understand that in Japan, your scars can draw negative attention, it's their fault for thinking in that manner, and it's not your fault you have them. You shouldn't let their judgment, built on very false assumptions, have any sway on how you see yourself."

"Likewise, I think your standards are affecting how you think others are judging you," she continued. "I don't think you look as young as you think you do. Yes, you're short, but that is scarcely the only indication of youth."

She probably wasn't wrong. People assumed I was younger than I was had hardly been a new concern, either. Of course, I had a bit of knowledge of why something that used to not be an issue was now, larger than before. But that was something to deal with, later, nor could I tell a therapist without sounding crazy. Instead of a girl with PTSD and issues crazy.

"But otherwise, are you having any other problems you want to talk about?" Nathalie asked, turning her head slightly to the side.

"Thank you," I paused, thinking about other things. My cooking was going decently. I was saving up for some board games and electronics. I had no idea if I would try to access any of my old accounts for, well, anything. It would be a shame to let the money I spent on FGO go to waste, the time I spent collecting ships in Azur Lane, and an entire Steam account full of games. But the latter especially was, tricky. I had a few friends that also had Steam accounts, so it wasn't like activity on that front would go unnoticed, one way or another.

Another bridge I'd deal with when I got to it.

"I've been practicing Japanese a bit," I finally settled on. It made sense that I needed to practice. I was living in Japan, likely for the foreseeable future. Especially since I doubted the Navy wanted me on the waves anytime soon, and even with that, I could see my first forays being convoy escort.

Plus, it would be nice not to drag someone along with me if I wanted to get literally anything done on my own. Not that I was fully cleared for that either. I wasn't an idiot. They didn't need me freaking out and hurting, or even killing, somebody. Nor did they want the same for Luzon. Hell, me freaking out, and just, starting to bleed, was bad PR all on its own. Plus, there wasn't a whole lot I'd be able to off base anyway if I didn't understand any Japanese.

"Really? How has that been going?" Nathalie smiled.

"Yukonia?" I guessed. It was somewhere in that ballpark.

"Close. Yokunia is what I think you were going for," she corrected as I frowned slightly. "Don't worry, you'll get better with practice."

She wasn't wrong there, either. With practice, came improvement. The problem was, there wasn't a whole lot of time to practice. Sure, Seattle would be able to help, but Luzon. Just didn't like the language. I knew she could understand it, and could probably speak it. She just cringed up whenever she heard it being used. Which given this was Sasebo?

That was a lot. Like, we were in Japan, the Japanese langue was going to see a lot of use. Not that a blamed Luzon, given her service history. Japan, during the Second World War, was brutal. Times had changed, but for Luzon, things appeared to have been a blink, rather than a decades-long stretch of peace. Which likely made it harder to bury the hatchet. And I wasn't exactly one to criticize on that front, either. I'd held grudges for a long time over stuff much, much pettier than what Luzon had gone through before she was summoned.

"Sadly, not a whole lot of time to practice, unless I want to get out and about," I said.

"Luzon?" I nodded, as she guessed why that might be.

"With her trauma, that shouldn't be much of a surprise," Nathalie shook her head slightly. "I do appreciate you trying to show her the ropes during the brief joint sessions."

"I'm sorry about her behavior on that front. I was hoping to soften the experience, get her to warm up a little," I said. Part of the reason why I wanted to have a partial group session. Partly because that was what I was used to. I hadn't had a proper one-on-one therapy session since early elementary school. Everything else I'd undertaken was in a group. But because I expected Luzon to, not exactly be cooperative. Sure, Luzon acted like a child in a lot of ways, but she still came from a period where mental health was shunned at best, and considered quackery at worst. Quite frankly, the combination of the two might make things even worse.

"It's quite alright. You're one of the most willing-to-talk shipgirl's I've ever met," Nathalie grinned at me.

"Well, it seems pretty important to at least try to address my issues, even if we're starting small," I said.

"You'd be surprised on long it takes for some to get to that part," she chuckled. "Of course, different times and all that."

Indeed. These were very much different times, even for me. Sure, it wasn't even a half-decade, but hell, the war changed things. I rubbed my face. Not even a half-decade.

"Unfortunately, I think now is about time to end this appointment," Nathalie said, as I looked towards the clock. Right. That was, unfortunate. I glared at the offending piece of timekeeping equipment, but she had a watch, so even destroying that wouldn't be enough.

My stomach rumbled, further signaling that it was, approximately, time for lunch.

"Same time next week?" I smiled, pushing my way out of my chair.

"Indeed," Nathalie said, stifling a giggle as my stomach released another gurgle. I want to punch the offending organ.

But it wasn't like I had lunch plans anyway.