It was a few days into Dea's recovery and she was doing well. Her bandages were changed on a regular basis and her wound was beginning to heal. She still didn't have much of an appetite – eating was one of the last things she wanted to do, really – but she finally got around to nibbling off the food they gave her.

She was told not to do any strenuous thinking, to not fret over her missing memories - but it was driving her mad. What had exactly happened for her to get shot? Deacon said they were on an undercover mission and she'd been in a disguise…but she couldn't recall where they went or who they chased after. She was able to recall a man in black, but she couldn't put a name to his character. It was aggravating.

So, she distracted herself. Which was hard to do when one was stuck in a hospital room. Her nurse offered a selection of books to read - and Dea had initially declined, not seeing anything particularly interesting. She wasn't that big of a bookworm and she wasn't desperate to become one right now. But then she spotted one of the novels she'd seen Deacon reading back on their ship, and requested for it.

…It was a detective slash romance novel.

Oh, she was going to tease him about this for sure!

It was held in her hands and opened to the second chapter. She just started reading and her only gripe was that it was a little cliché. Not like she had read many of these, but it wasn't hard to tell where the story was heading. She briefly wondered if these were the type of things Deacon read - did he like thriller novels? That would make sense, what with his line of work. Did he enjoy romance stories? She almost laughed at that thought. She couldn't picture him holding a book with the cover of a woman dangling dramatically from a shirtless man's arms. It just didn't seem like him.

She was in the middle of flipping the page when the door opened. Her nurse peeked in and smiled.

"You have a visitor, miss. Is it alright if I let them in?"

Dea folded the corner of the page to mark her spot. "...Who is it?"

She hadn't contacted her family since she got promoted in the Armada. She made sure they didn't know of her whereabouts. She wasn't ready to see them. She still needed to prove herself. It would be terrible if they came and saw her like this. She could already see the disappointment in her father's eyes, and hear judgemental tsks from her mother's lips…

"A special visitor," The nurse replied happily. This confused her - but she didn't want to get her head throbbing again, so she nodded and sent him off.

It was tense as she waited for whoever it was to arrive. She didn't have to idle long before the door opened again, and a mask peered in from the small crack. Dea jumped in immediate recognition - instinctively moving to rise to her feet and salute respectively to her guest.

"Q-Queen!"

"At ease," Her voice gently commanded.

She rested against the mattress and watched as the tall woman closed the door. She moved across the room smoothly. She had an elegant way of walking, able to conceal the movement of her feet underneath her dress. Sometimes it looked like she floated across the floor. It was the result of extensive practice, to show how attentive she was with her image. Dea watched in awe as she pulled up a chair and sat at her bedside in one fluid motion.

"I wanted to see you as soon as I could," She began the conversation, turning her head and the mask followed it naturally. "How have you been?"

Dea tried not to fidget under her attention. She was nervous to be in her private company - who wouldn't? Any soldier who came across the Armada's Queen was either in trouble or getting interrogated. She was kept as a rare sight for a reason. Dea remembered how anxious she'd been the first time she met her, and tried to swallow down her worry.

"I've been fine. Why have you come to see me..?"

"I heard about what happened to you. You should understand my concern."

Her gloved hand unconsciously came up to feel the crack in her mask. She often repeated this action when she felt fidgety. It was hard *not* to, when she knew there was an imperfection on her second face. It was upsetting, but it was also the only clue as to what had happened. It was…another irritating thing she wondered about.

Queen's eyes followed her hand and Dea tensed. She struggled for an explanation. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to break it."

Masks were a touchy subject. They were the most valued part of an Armada uniform. Leaving them dirty violated the dress code, so they were promptly cleaned after every battle. To actually break one was generally frowned upon. It was encouraged to immediately replace and fix any tampered masks - and Dea hadn't had the opportunity to do that yet. The sight had earned her sympathetic looks from doctors and nurses.

"Non ti preoccupare. I will have my husband make you a new one." She leaned out of her seat and splayed her fingertips across Dea's mask. She pressed the material slightly, to test the last of its durability. "I apologize you had to wear that delicate thing. You shouldn't have been given such a flimsy mask, dear."

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until Queen moved away. A relieved sigh left her lips. So she was getting a new mask…It was even being made by the highest hand of the Armada. She thanked the Gods that she hadn't upset her superior. If her posture was anything to go by, she seemed to be in a relatively good mood, all things considered. Dea began fiddling with the blanket as she prepared herself to have the conversation she dreaded. She needed to, while she had this chance.

"I am sorry for my failure." Her eyes fell to the floor in shame. "If you decide to demote or even discharge me, I understand."

"Oh, bella. This sort of thing happens all the time. You're just fortunate nothing worse happened to you."

"But I still… disappointed you. You were the one to promote me. You had such high hopes in myself, and…I failed to meet those expectations."

A hand landed on her shoulder. Queen looked at her compassionately. "You could never disappoint me."

She clenched her jaw, withholding emotions that wanted to escape her. "Why?"

"Us sorellas need to stick together. You were a victim, Reyna. But that does not define you - you are strong. No matter what happens, I have every confidence in you."

She looked away and breathed heavily to calm herself. This happened the last time she was approached by Queen. She said such inspiring words and showed an immense belief in her…support that her own mother had never offered to her. It was the first time Dea had not been disparaged in her career, and it was then she knew the Armada was the right place for her.

"...It's, um, 'Dea', now."

"Dea?" The Elite repeated, holding a hand in front of her mask and giggling. "My, that's…cute."

She grew embarrassed and regretted her bold choice of alias. Queen was clearly amused, but did not press the topic any further. She readjusted her hold on her mask and shifted in her seat. She perked up when she spotted an item sitting on her bedside table.

"Oh! Have you borrowed one of Deacon's books?" She asked, reaching for it. Dea extended a hand to stop her, but she already had it in her possession.

"No, that is the hospital's-"

"I gave this to him last Christmas," She continued, ignoring her unnerved state. "I didn't think he ever got to it."

"He, ah, reads all the time on our voyages. I think he finished that one recently.."

She flipped it around in her hands, reading the text and observing the cover wordlessly. She finally asked the question that had been lingering between them. "How are things with Deacon? Are the two of you still not getting along?"

She crossed her arms and groaned. Her green eyes lifted to the ceiling in regret. She didn't know how Queen had learned about this. She must have her ways. "...I think I messed up."

It felt like the room had dropped a few degrees. She rubbed her arms and unconsciously leaned into the trench coat laid underneath her. Queen's attention momentarily flitted to the item, but she moved her gaze back when Dea let out an exasperated breath.

"I know what you said about him, but…I didn't know what to make of Deacon really, and I…may have been a little harsh. He wasn't all that friendly with me, either, but..I think I made him hate me."

"Don't say that–"

"-Es cierto. We've had a few arguments; I said things I shouldn't have. I once made him so upset he hadn't bothered working with me for half the day."

"Dear, he's just frustrated. He's had a lot going on. You'd be irritable, too, if the same things happened to you."

She frowned underneath her mask. "..What should I do?"

Queen crossed one of her legs over the other. "Show him a little more patience. He's an independent man. He's never had to rely on anybody else."

Her heart twisted in guilt. She really had imposed herself. She'd heard of Deacon's mistake when getting promoted and cruelly taunted it in his face several times. She enjoyed having the upper-hand over someone for once, rather than the other way around. But it was unprovoked. He must have been going through his own personal Hell, and she merely added to it. That's why he wanted nothing to do with her. She only had herself to blame.

If she'd lost an entire ship, her prisoners, and members of a crew she was responsible for…she'd be constantly kicking herself for it. She could only imagine what had been running through his mind for these past couple of months. That last thought reminded her of something and she sucked in a harsh breath.

"Queen? Am I…still involved in this operation?"

She hesitated. "There was talk about it. Your medical leave puts a slight strain on your mission, so…you and Deacon have been granted some more time."

"..Is that even necessary, if he's still working while I'm gone?"

"Hmm. I don't know what he told you, but we haven't received an update since your admittance. If he is, I don't think he'll be working very hard in your absence, bella."

Her lips pursed in thought. She thought he'd have already been close to capturing another fugitive by now. He worked diligently when she wasn't involved – she learned that the hard way. Was he waiting for her return? Or was he going to work more efficiently with her out of the picture, like she presumed? She didn't know what to expect and the uncertainty made her restless.

Queen stood and glanced down at her. "I should leave now. I'll return with your new mask…It's a promise, Dea."

She went to make her exit, but stopped in front of the door. She appeared to remember something, spinning on her heel to face her again. "-Oh, and after all of this is over with, I would like to have a special day together. Just you and me."

"-A 'special' day?" She repeated, tilting her head in confusion.

"You deserve something nice. It will be fun." Her tone was slightly mischievous as she reached for the handle and let herself out. "Rest easy, sorella."

"Hell yeah!"

Rooke's laughter filled the room as he hit the bullseye on the dartboard. There were only a couple of nearby patrons watching the pair across the room. They'd come at a relatively empty part of the week. Normally, when Deacon and Rooke visited their favorite bar together, it was to celebrate their time off and drink the night away in the company of their Armada troops. Right now, it was only the two of them playing darts with a couple of beers in the middle of the day.

When it was Deacon's turn, he carefully aimed his missile and threw it to his best attempt. He'd only gotten a single score. On his next try, he didn't fare any better. It was pathetic when they tallied the end scores. Rooke had royally kicked his ass, which was mortifying - as darts was Deacon's game.

"What's the matter? You've never let me win before." His brother prodded when they sat back down. The spymaster chose to deflect the question.

"I'm obviously not drunk yet."

This failed to make the other laugh. "Hey," His voice lowered and Deacon knew he was in for it. "I found out what happened. Are you doing alright?"

"Of course I am." He snapped. The General glared at him.

"It's bothering you, isn't it?"

. . .

. . .

Deacon was at his wit's end.

He'd meant to carry on with his mission days ago - but after Dea's admittance, waking up and finding her bed empty gave him the strangest sense of loneliness. Deacon found himself changing behind his privacy sheet before realizing there was no need to. Their journey that day had been unusually silent. There was no sound of feminine singing as they sailed, so no one had any reason to make noise.

It was ironic. He would have begged for this exact situation two months ago, but now he didn't care for it.

He made the disturbing mistake later that day, when he spoke aloud at the captain's wheel, intending to ask Dea what she thought of the weather. He quickly made the shameful realization that he was talking to himself. His final straw was when he had accidentally made two orders for his dinner that night instead of one. That next morning, he insisted that his crew take the next few days off, as he was afraid of what would happen if he kept up with this strange behavior. He used the excuse that they were working hard lately, and deserved to have a little fun.

He was trying to convince himself that he was simply used to the routine, not *Dea*. Habits were easy to form, but harder to break, as he knew. Change was clearly the issue here. Wasn't it?

He had the intention of taking it easy today, asking Rooke if he was free to hang out, but when they actually made it to the bar, Deacon felt depressed. He wondered how long he could've hid it from him - he probably would've done a fine job, had they not picked up a game of darts.

"I don't know," He confessed. And it was the truth. He genuinely did not understand what was going on with him right now.

"You're really going through it, aren't you?" His tone was remorseful. "Losing the Erebus, your prisoners, then nearly your partner… ? I'm surprised you haven't lost it yourself."

'I am losing it!' Deacon wanted to scream. Why was he so fussed over this woman? He wanted to throw his head into a wall.

"You don't understand. It was my gun that shot her. My own bullet."

"Don't blame yourself. It was an accident."

"But I pulled the trigger-"

Rooke shoved the beer towards him. He gave him a stern tilt of the head before his brother reluctantly took a drink. He crumbled in his seat, covering his face underneath his mask and shaking from the guilt.

He was finally surrendering to his emotions.

He was better than this.

"I'm no stranger to casualties. Accidents happen all the time on the battlefield. Sometimes you can't predict what your enemy is going to do. Chi Non Fa, Non Falla."

'He who does nothing, makes no mistakes.'

The Emissary faltered. Of course Rooke had seen worse. He'd probably witnessed his soldiers blowing up and dying before his eyes. His line of work was as equally disturbing as Deacon's, just in different ways. It was sometimes therapeutic to discuss these things with him. Whenever he thought he couldn't relate, he always surprised him.

"You should go visit her in the hospital," He suggested all too nonchalantly. "Buy her flowers, maybe."

He didn't respond. The larger man waited expectantly at his silence. He caved in with a wince. "She thinks I hate her."

"Deacon."

"I don't. I just - damnit! She's been a thorn in my side for so long, but…" He struggled to explain how he felt. Even he wasn't sure. His emotions felt like a jumbled mess. "She doesn't deserve her pain, and she shouldn't think I despise her."

"Here's how I see it-" Rooke leaned back in his chair, gesturing with his hands. "You've gotten used to her company. You two have been practically roommates."

He scrunched up his nose and looked away. "-But it doesn't feel like that."

"-Then what DOES it feel like?"

He dropped his frustration. Now he felt conflicted. Over how he's handled these two months, even after Rooke advised him to open up to her. And he had …He played the piano in front of Dea, tied her corset for her, and discussed the things he liked. He thought that would be enough to start something, a friendship of some sorts, maybe, but…it still didn't feel like they were close enough. It was unbalanced. He had learned more about his co-captain, even a clue as to what she looked like, while he remained an enigma in comparison.

"I don't know."

This conversation felt futile. He'd gotten nothing out of it, beyond venting to Rooke about his guilt. His brother looked tired. He motioned for them to finish their beers. Deacon obliged – shifting his gaze and somehow feeling even worse. Had he wasted both of their time? Maybe being with him right now hadn't been the best idea. He should've known to wait until he was more mentally stable.

Rooke noticed his dispirited demeanor and patted him on the back. It was his usual gesture of comfort. "You should still go see her while you can. Try to talk some things out."

"..You think she'll want to see me?"

"Why not?" He shrugged.

…

Why not, indeed.

Two visitors in one day felt like too much for Dea.

She was tempted to have the nurse send them off, but she really had nothing else to do here. Her conversation with Queen had sent her mind running. What did she mean by a 'special day together'? She was cryptic with her words, sometimes, and it scared her. She'd been in a frenzy about it, wondering if she should feel relieved or nervous. So she was sort of thankful for the distraction when she was told that someone else wanted to see her.

The last thing she expected, however, was to find Deacon shuffling his way into the room.

He was finally in his blue ensemble again - his familiar jackets and cape giving Dea a great relief. Just seeing him like this made things feel normal again. She wanted to be back on the ship doing the usual things like chatting with their crew while Deacon simultaneously juggled steering the wheel and reading a book.

"Ciao." He greeted her in kind.

"…What are you doing here?"

"-Checking on you. Would you rather me *not* do that?" He asked seriously. She shook her head.

"I'm just wondering why you're not out at sea right now..?"

"Took the day off," He mumbled, helping himself into the seat. Unlike Queen, he didn't pull it up to her bedside and instead settled on watching her from afar. "How are things?"

"Not so bad. The pain is getting better, but my head is still…" She waved her hand as she thought how to word it. "-Weird? A lot is coming back to me, though."

He looked at her curiously. She paused, wondering if she should bring certain things up. She had a few questions, but something in particular had been bothering her. Was it better to wait? Get her answers later? She decided to bide her time and reached over to grab the book from the table. She held it with a wryly smile - somewhat disappointed that he couldn't see her expression right now. His eyes moved to look at what she was holding.

"I didn't think you knew how to read," He commented dryly. She shrugged and opened it, flipping through the pages casually.

"I usually don't, but I saw you had this one, and wanted to check it out." She pinched her lips together, stifling a giggle. "-You really enjoy this stuff?"

"I didn't pick it out," He defended. "And for the record, there *are* some good detective novels out there."

"I'm sure," She replied humorously, returning the book to its place. Her tone grew curious. "I never asked you, but what do you like to read, Espía?"

He looked surprised. It took him a minute or two to think about his answer. "Mystery, thrillers, adventure…"

"What's your favorite book?"

"Moby-Dick."

"No way!"

He shrugged, entwining his gloved fingers together. "It was one of the first serious stories I'd ever read."

Her laugh was like music to his ears. He didn't expect Dea to ever ask something like this - but he was delighted. He'd just been thinking of how little she knew about him, and he was glad to change that. He owed it to her, after all. His eyes wandered while she calmed down and noticed the article of clothing shoved behind her person. It took a few seconds for him to recognize what it was and realize he had completely forgotten about his trench coat.

"Comfortable?" He asked, much-too-knowing not to be suspicious. Dea looked at him strangely before realizing where he was looking. Her face grew hot under her mask.

"I - ah," She stammered, moving to hide the coat from his view. "If I remember correctly, YOU were the one who gave this to me..!"

He gave a casual hum, sitting back in the chair. From what *he* remembered, she didn't even want it. She grew annoyed at his reaction and waved him off. This did not dissuade him from continuing the conversation.

"Who is your favorite singer?" He prompted. She blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"The person who inspired you," He clarified. She wondered why he inquired about this, but figured it was fair, since she had asked him about his books. She clicked her tongue.

"My aunt loved to sing. She would teach me all sorts of songs and play instruments for me. She was a big inspiration in my life." A particular word rang heavy in the room, so she elaborated. "She passed away a long time ago. I've wanted to sing in her memory, if that makes sense. She always wanted to share her voice with the world, but never got to. I…guess I haven't, either…"

"...I see." He responded. He sounded happy to know, but sympathetic to hear at the same time. She offered the question back to him.

"You're really good at the piano. I bet you're talented with the violin. Who inspired you to play?"

"No one, really. It was just beneficial to learn."

"Then how come you didn't pursue it? As a career?"

"Not what I really wanted to do," He confessed. "I liked to be on boats, go sailing. I did well in school, so my father thought I was educated enough to become an Emissary."

She continued to pry. "Do you like your job?"

This was when he fell silent. Of course he loved his job. He was miserable whenever he was put on-hold. But he couldn't admit that aloud. It didn't feel right. Being an Emissary and a spymaster came with all sorts of responsibilities, and he was held to such high standards that it was often stressful for him. When he made mistakes, he faced brutal consequences. Being an Elite was a privilege, and not one he wanted to lose. So he overworked himself and never had any time for anything else.

Maybe if he had become a professional musician, he'd be a little happier. He wouldn't be held to such standards, and wouldn't have to work under Kane. He would never have to deal with his disappointment because he was conditioned not to make any mistakes on strings. He was slippery with his job now, things constantly happened out of his control…he suddenly wondered if he had made the right choice with his life.

Seeing his struggle, Dea spared him from answering. "I bet it's hard."

"Unbelievably so."

He wanted to change the subject. He had to, before things escalated and they were digging into territory he did not want to discuss. Before he could say anything, a troubled sigh escaped the woman. She clasped her hands together and looked away.

"Deacon…I remembered what I was trying to ask you, back at that church. You said we would talk about it later. Is now a good time?"

He held his breath. No time was good for this, period, but he'd rather talk about it like this. Alone, and when the air between them was still light. He gave her a solemn nod and she took a second before having the courage to ask again.

"What happens to these prisoners, when we are done capturing them?"

"As I told you," He began calmly. "They will be taken back to Valencia to be questioned."

This conversation was going exactly the same as it did last time. Maybe that was for the best. "-And they'll be questioned about *what*...?"

"I have studied the rise of piracy within this past year, and suspect these pirates will grow numerous in the long-term and pose a threat to the Armada and our plans. The criminals and undesirables we are arresting have valuable intel about a pirate haven located somewhere in Skull Island."

Her eyes grew in shock. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together. Her stomach felt like it was in a knot. She had to gather her strength to ask the next question that popped up in her mind.

"And if these prisoners don't tell you what you want..?"

He bowed his head, his tone ominous. "They will be tortured until they do." He looked her in the eye before finishing, "-By me."