He didn't get much sleep that night. He reflected on what his life had been like these past several months. Deacon thought he was doing fine with his career. He started off strong, leading his spies and gathering valuable intel around the spiral. After a few years of exigent work, he'd gotten the chance to expand his duties and lead the aggressive sweep of undesirables - only to be repeatedly impeded by Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry. Ever since then, it felt like a constant battle to maintain the respect he'd earned in the Armada.

Dea had only worked with him for a month, and already deemed him unfit as an Elite. Some chagrined part of him agreed with her, while the rest of his dignity demanded to prove her wrong.

He woke up early that next morning still feeling irritable. His gaze came to his co-captain's bed. He was usually the one to wake her and start their day together, but he thought twice about it. He got dressed quietly before leaving their cabin and calling for the rest of the crew. As they prepared, he received a notification on his communicator.

He read the message and his face instantly lit up behind his mask. He redirected the crew to their new location and eagerly took his respected place behind the captain's wheel.

Dea was feeling sluggish.

Her throat felt dry and her eyes stung when she rose from her sleep. She had no sense of what time it was, but she felt suspiciously well-rested. She threw the blanket off and slipped on her mask. She peeked out from the privacy sheet, only to find Deacon's bed empty and already-made. She peered around before stepping out and dressing into her uniform. Judging by the sunlight coming in from the window, it was nearing noon.

She reached under her mask to rub her eyes while she left the cabin. She felt disgusting after several weeks of being out on the water. The brief sea showers did little to upkeep her hygiene. While the zendale spared her from the salty air, she hated being in these layers all the time. It felt suffocating in the hot weather. She quietly envied Deacon's tolerance of wearing so many clothes.

When she walked out on deck, she expected the clear, orange skies of Cool Ranch. What she was met with instead were the vivid blue horizons of Mooshu. Confused, she searched around for a member of the crew, who informed her that they took a detour this morning. This worsened her dubiety and she immediately began looking for her co-captain. He wasn't at the wheel like she assumed - but was searching through a box with one of the soldiers at his side.

She approached Deacon. "What are we doing here? Don't we have to search for someone in Santo Pollo?"

He passed something to the man beside him, who saluted before walking away. Only then he returned to his full height, turning to her and tipping his head. " ¿Dormiste bien?"

'Did she sleep well..?' He must be teasing. She had a terrible habit of oversleeping at home. The freedom of co-captaining a ship brought it back. She felt a little embarrassed, but ignored the feeling as she crossed her arms.

"Why didn't you wake me? I could've been helping you."

"I thought you could use the rest," He responded dryly, leading them into their proper spots beside the wheel. He corrected their course and she noted the lack of eye contact from him. It didn't take long to piece two-and-two together, remembering their conversation yesterday. A feeling of guilt panged her.

"Look," She dropped her arms. "I'm sorry for what I said…If it upset you-"

"-It's not important." He interrupted. He grabbed his compass from his pocket and checked their direction. She went to refute, but he spoke before she could. "We're in Mooshu to collect some supplies. They've been delivered to a nearby merchant ship. We'll be boarding them and loading it onto the Executioner."

"Supplies? For what?"

"Our next mission."

Her question still wasn't answered. She always felt left behind when it came to knowing of their missions. Judging by the way he focused on what he was doing, it was clear he wasn't going to tell her anything more. She decided to drop the subject for now, lowering her head and reflecting on his words instead.

'Maybe you don't know enough about me.'

Her emerald eyes trailed over Deacon's figure. Her posture unwillingly slumped, feeling regret for what she said. He was understandably affected - rushing out of that room, after they had finally made some progress with each other. She felt stupid for ruining that moment. It was hard to get anything out of him these past weeks, and the moment he started talking to her, she just had to go and insult him. She didn't even think twice about her words, believing it was just another quip, but she picked at a sensitive subject without even knowing it.

As she went to say something, an Armada ship came into view. It sailed towards them before slowing down and dropping their anchors. Their vessel repeated these actions until they were both stopped beside each other. Adjustments were made, marines hailed to each other, and boards were soon sat between the two ships. Before Dea knew it, there were several men walking aboard their ship.

Deacon removed himself from the wheel and made his way to the other boat. He easily moved through the commotion, nodding to his fellow Armada officers, before he was standing on the merchant ship. He didn't have long to go before he was approached by a substantially bigger man, who rested his axe beside him. He got a good look at the spymaster. Once his little inspection was over, he bowed his head and briefly waved with a large, gloved hand.

" Buongiorno . I'm glad to see you again."

He sighed in relief. "You have no idea."

Deacon and the General got their formalities out of the way. They spent several minutes filling out paperwork and overseeing their men before stepping aside. He was relieved to be speaking with Rooke again. He was surprised to be contacted by his twin that morning, but was grateful for it nonetheless. After keeping much to himself for all this time, it felt good to talk with someone who could understand his problems and possibly even relate to them.

Rooke quickly pointed out the obvious.

"You're lucky my dreadnought has been out for repair," He commented wryly. "'The Executioner'? I'm shocked Kane even allowed it."

"I didn't name it. My…'co-captain' did." Deacon rolled his eyes. "And it's only temporary. The moment I have my ship back, it's getting re-named."

"'The Erebus'?" Rooke guessed, slowly crossing his arms. Deacon groaned at his own predictability. It stung to even remember about it, like he was opening a fresh wound.

"I wish I never lost her. I'm tired of that damned ruffian and his abettor. They nearly cost me my job. I *can't* screw this up again."

His brother sighed and looked away. "Kane's been in a bad mood. That Pirate you let escape is rumored to cause trouble - but I don't believe it. It's only a small concern right now, but-"

"-I don't want to talk about this." Deacon interrupted. He moved to sit down on a nearby crate, resting his hands on his cane and groaning. "I've been lectured more times than you can count."

"Then I won't repeat my disappointment." Rooke grunted, joining his side on one of the stair steps. The soldiers transporting boxes easily maneuvered around the General. They watched them move around for a bit before the smaller man chuckled.

"It's odd to see you somewhere like…this." He gestured around. "Warships are more of your forte."

"What happened wasn't my fault. My men and I came out unscathed, but my craft… didn't ." He looked to the floor, ashamed. "I've been taking small jobs in the meantime, mostly overseeing trade. It's not bad to pass the time with….Better than what happened with you ." He picked his head up and changed subjects. "-Speaking of, did Kane really assign you…someone..?"

"Unfortunately."

"What's his ranking?"

"It's not a man. My co-captain is a woman from Monquista. A transfer, if I were to guess. One of Queen's friends."

Rooke scratched his stubble from under his mask. "How long are you two working together?"

"Three months, but we only have a couple more to go. It wouldn't be so bad, except-"

"G-General Rooke…?"

Dea had searched for Deacon a little after she adjusted to their situation. The soldiers knew where to put what, and apparently, the paperwork for this exchange had already been handled. She sought after her co-captain, and eventually found him on the other ship. He was engaged in a deep discussion with another man, whom she shortly recognized as the highly-praised General of the Armada.

She'd heard from others that he was a large, muscular man, wearing a specially-painted golden and red bauta. The nose had been removed, enabling a sharp beak to protrude from it. He was covered primarily in armor and belts, wielding a large axe and shield wherever he went. He had a cape, slightly longer than hers, that lightly swayed with the wind. His tricorn hat shielded his face from her view, but she was met with his hazel eyes after exclaiming his name. She hadn't even realized she'd done so - she was so stunned in that moment, feet firmly planted on the floorboards. She couldn't move if she tried.

The heat rose to her cheeks under his and Deacon's gaze. She was thankful neither of them could see it. The man briefly tipped his hat to her, then directed his attention back to the spymaster, resuming their conversation.

Dea stood there, dumbfounded. She'd heard of Rooke from many of her peers when she first moved to Valencia. He was highly admired by her superiors, and fawned over by fellow women. He was one of the strongest men in the Armada. As her eyes impressively looked over his form…she understood why.

She took a few nervous steps forward. She was intimidated to approach him. Her eyes moved to Deacon, who looked more than comfortable in comparison. The two of them talked like they were longtime friends. She shuffled forward and cleared her throat when their eyes came to her again.

"I-I'm sorry, I….It's just…" She fiddled with the collar of her jacket. "I've always wanted to meet you, General..! I…. Ahaha ….you're spoken so highly of-"

Rooke interrupted her rambling when he pointed a finger at her. She shivered at this action. His eyes went down to Deacon. His tone sounded…amused?

"Is *that* her?"

Deacon studied his co-captain as he fidgeted with his gloves. He gave a reluctant nod of the head. The General lowered his arm and laughed, much to either of their surprise.

"You've got to be kidding…" He marveled, rubbing his chin under his mask.

Dea lowered her head. She suddenly felt like a shy schoolgirl meeting her crush for the first time. Her heart refused to settle down as she met with them, playing with her gloved hands as she thought of what to say. She began to sweat under her mask.

"It's an honor t-to meet you…" She failed to keep her arm steady when she offered it. "I'm Dea."

"...Dea?" Rooke repeated, glancing back to the man beside him. He sounded like he was having the time of his life right now. Deacon turned away and muttered something that neither of them could hear.

Politely, the General moved his hand that was bigger than her face. He clutched her small one and shook it, trying to be careful with how much pressure he applied. "Piacere."

She forgot all her Italian and could only smile back dumbly, completely forgetting that he couldn't even see it. Her partner looked between them several times before coughing. Rooke eventually let go and leaned back, taking in the sight of her.

"What do you need?" Deacon cut to the chase. He was getting tired of watching the scene before him. It was the first time he'd ever seen Dea act this way, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

"Oh! I just wanted to, um, make sure everything went alright. With-with the paperwork, and all." Dea grinned shyly under her mask. She rubbed her arm subconsciously. "I was wondering if…I could be of any assistance?"

"My men are doing just fine," Rooke tipped his head in the direction of several marines carrying boxes. They weren't his usual handful of battle angels and dragoons - but they fared alright.

Dea shifted on her feet before muttering a small 'see you later' , then turned on her heel and left. The two men watched her go a little longer than necessary. The General turned to him, and Deacon expected to be bombarded with questions and endless teasing. Instead, he looked around before ducking his head and leaning forward. He hushed his voice to keep their next conversation away from nearby soldiers' ears.

"The crew and I were searching a ship and came across some books. I set a few aside that I thought you'd like. They're in the cabin, if you want to see them."

Deacon relaxed his shoulders as he nodded gratefully.

They made their way to the other end of the ship and entered the Captain's quarters. Normally, on his Executioner, Rooke's room was the biggest in its existence, to accommodate the General's size. But this one was nowhere near equipped to handle him - the bed and chairs being of moderate size. Deacon cringed trying to imagine his brother even fitting on them. A desk was filled with maps and papers, scrawled with strategic notes and plans. It was clear he was still working while his dreadnought was undergoing maintenance.

Deacon entered and promptly made his way to the pile of books sitting in the corner of the room. He observed their covers and read each of the brief summaries. Rooke took this time to sit down and properly clean his axe. It was almost humorous to see a man of his size making a standard chair look puny.

For a few minutes, it was quiet, beyond the sound of pages flipping and Rooke shining the steel. It was far from uncomfortable, while they tended to their own things. Deacon savored this moment of peace, and how the subject of Dea was dropped entirely.

That is, until Rooke decided to speak up.

"She's cute." He offered politely. It was clear who he was speaking of. Deacon rolled his eyes, not buying any of it for a second.

"She's wearing a mask. How can you tell ?"

"Well. You know. Her voice, the petite body-"

"-Stop."

"Alright." He held his hands up in mock surrender. He watched Deacon sort through his collection of books, picking out whatever he fancied. "What's she like, anyway?"

"Completely unbearable. She challenges me every chance she has and reminds me of my mistakes constantly. Other than that, we work…fine, I guess."

Rooke tapped his knuckle on the desk. "It wouldn't be a punishment if you liked it."

"I can't understand why Kane is doing this. All she's done is slow down my progress. Aren't we working to *fix* what I have broken?"

"He's right to do it. You need to learn to cooperate with people - even if they're difficult to get along with."

"Easy for you to say. She was practically puddy in your hands." He remarked unkindly. Rooke chuckled and looked around the room, pressing his fingers together.

"All I'm saying, fratello , is that you have…problems…working with people. It might be good for you, to communicate, to reach out-"

"-I don't careto know her. She's a help that I don't need."

"Don't you see that as an issue?" Rooke snapped. Realizing his tone, he looked away and sighed. "Deacon, you shut people out before they get to know you…It's frustrating to see."

His figure involuntarily slouched. If anyone knew his faults to a tee, it would be Rooke. His voice came out weak. "This is a working matter, and I prefer to work alone."

"But you're alone all the time. Our conversations mean much to me, but I'd like to know that someone is there with you, when I'm not."

He observed the blade of his axe, dulled from the constant strikes to armor and metal. He'd have to sharpen it again sometime. He tsked and soon shook his head.

"You know how busy things have been. I'm sailing all the time while you're several islands away. Why not get to know her? Make yourself a friend, at least?"

Deacon stared at the floor, taking in his words. His chest felt tight. Truthfully, he didn't enjoy being alone as much as he let on. It was sometimes depressing to sit at the same bar stool in his solitude every week. The only romance in his life came from the pages in his books, and the occasional plays he'd watch. Sometimes he mused the idea of a lifelong partner…but doubted he would ever have the safety nor time for one.

Rooke grew smug at his silence. He sensed him grinning coyly under his mask. "-Unless you'd want more?"

He gestured dramatically towards him. "-With MY competition?"

"Hey! We look exactly alike, aside from my scars. You should have no problems there."

"Grazie, Rooke…I mean it."

"Non c'è di che. I just have one question..."

"What?"

"'Dea' ? Is that really her name?"

"No. She made it up, after hearing mine." He sensed the next question and followed it up with, "Queen's responsible for her uniform. She designed it herself, I think."

"-I was going to say!" He laughed.

He joined in on the laughter. He felt…better, after this little talk. He hoped to see Rooke again after this. He was great company to be around. He imagined them playing a round of pool and darts in their usual bar, like they used to do while he was off-duty.

The other man rested a large hand on his caped shoulder, bending down to look him in the eyes. "Seriously. I'm here for you. If you ever need anything, just call me."

Deacon's blue eyes happened to wander behind Rooke. "...Is that a pin up calendar on your wall?"

He whipped around. He stood in front of the object with shame. "It's from my ship. It gets a little boring when you're out all the time, and I like to keep track of the days."

"Right." He pushed his luck and teased him some more. "-Would you happen to have any magazines I could borrow?"

"Not a chance in Hell."

"-So you * do * have some..?"

He pushed him to the door with some force, but his voice was lighthearted. "Get out."