—Turning Point—
You've been busy. After several hunts in the Ancient Forest, you're well-outfitted and able to take down a Great Girros with barely a scratch on you.
The Third Fleet Master has made a full recovery in the meanwhile, and though her brusqueness has returned, you catch a glimpse of the kindness beneath it with increasing frequency. It seems as though you've only just started to learn how to read her, but she can see right through you—which is why she looks at you when you linger near her typical perch in the Research Base and asks, "Something on your mind?"
You spend a lot of time with your Handler and now that you've lifted the veil, so to speak, it's impossible to miss the way she dotes upon you. Her willingness to help, her inability to sit on the sidelines where she belongs, her careful attentiveness regarding your eating habits and expedition preparedness—it all makes sense now. She's not just trying to be a good Handler, but a good romantic partner as well. You try your best to rebuff her affections, but the stubborn girl seems to have her mind—and her heart—made up.
None of your rigorous training to join the Commission included "how to let someone down easy."
The Third Fleet Master is a scholar. Perhaps her expansive knowledge could help you. You tell her the broad strokes, careful to leave out names, but she's quick to put the pieces together.
"That girl you're always with likes you? Shocking." The sarcasm is expected, but not the mild irritation that reflects on fair features. "Do you feel the same way about her?"
You nearly spit out your tea and the wrinkle in her brow smoothes out almost immediately. "I see. Have you spoken to her about it?"
You've tried. She's been skittish as a Wiggler in avoiding serious conversation.
"Hm. That one will require a direct approach. Like monsters, people have their own effective methods of being "hunted" so to speak."
You're all ears regarding that topic. You've been trying to figure out the best way to approach the Third Fleet Master with mixed results. She's a more elusive target than even the Zorah Magdaros that's leading you and the entirety of the Astera-based Fleets on a cross-continent chase.
You phrase your next question carefully, play it off as though there's someone else who's expressed interest. It's half true, you suppose, though you find it difficult to read the raven-haired beauty's intentions.
"My, aren't you popular?" she remarks, taking a puff from her pipe. "So you like this one, then? What makes this girl different?"
There are so many answers to that question that your head spins as you sift through them all. You settle on ones that you hope aren't damning evidence, but you can't be sure. Her expression is unreadable.
The Third Fleet Master crosses long legs. "Then I suppose the direct approach hasn't worked with this girl either?"
Not quite. You recall the way she had opened up somewhat after you'd given her space. Maybe that was the key: let her come to you?
"A single spoken heartfelt sentiment is worth a thousand considerations unexpressed." You blink and she exhales a smoke ring in your direction. "My point being that if you don't speak, how will you receive a response? I understand I'm not the best example of that theory in action..."
You share a laugh, but you both know she's gotten better about that. This conversation is evidence enough.
"In any case, what's the worst that could happen if you tell this girl outright?"
What indeed? You have a fluttery feeling in your stomach and her dark gaze has a new, meaningful light that you can't quite place.
At what point had admiration bloomed into something more? Sure, she's an exotic beauty, but beyond the physical attraction, you've come to find that her brilliant mind, no-nonsense attitude, and level-headedness speaks to you. She's nothing like the scores of other people you've encountered in the New World or even back home, now that you think about it.
The Third Fleet Master tilts her head and regards you with dark eyes. You're used to feeling like a baitbug under a lens by now, but for some reason this look is different. She's not simply staring, but studying—a scholar gathering data on you, the subject.
"..."
You contemplate donning your Ghillie Suite and making a run for it. You've stared down raging Anjanaths that were less intimidating and she's not even roaring or breathing fire. The mental image is a disturbing one, but it's distracting enough to get your muscles to unclench.
At last, she takes another long drag. When she exhales, a quiet, "I see..." escapes with the smoke.
She begins to mutter something along the lines of being short-sighted as your lungs scream for the air you didn't realize you'd been denying them. You try to breathe in without gulping like a floundering Gajau.
The Third Fleet Master gestures you closer and you're struck by the memory of the first time she had blown smoke in your face. This time you're brave enough to move to sit next to her on the bench, only to discover that you're memory doesn't do her justice; up close, she's breathtaking.
That becomes the literal case when she kisses you. It's a brief, warm pressure that envelops you in her scent and its over before you can even react. It's only when she pulls away and takes another drag from her pipe that you slump.
"Are you quite alright?" There's amusement in her tone.
When you don't respond, your heart beating far too quickly, she chuckles and a warm hand rests on the crown of your head. It picks up a stroking motion when you lean on her and the two of you sit like that until the swarming mosquitoes drives you indoors.