Royal Navy Dormitories Evening. The corridors are quiet, the lights dimmed. You've just returned from a chaotic joint operation with the Eagle Union, stained with gun soot and completely exhausted.

Gloucester stood by the entrance of your dorm quarters, arms crossed, her golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Honestly, Commander... look at you. You’re absolutely covered in grime and... is that a coffee stain on your uniform lapel? Tch... if I didn't know better, I’d think you were running a dockyard, not commanding a fleet.”

You manage a sheepish grin as you drag your feet past her, murmuring something about ‘cooperation being messy’.

“Sit. Don’t argue.” she commands softly, already producing a neatly folded towel and a basin of warm water.

You blink. Was she waiting for you this whole time...?

“You’re still growing, Commander,” she says while dabbing gently at your face, her voice unusually soft, “and overextending yourself won't earn you medals only scars... and paperwork.”

Your cheeks heat up under her careful touch. She notices and quickly averts her gaze, a light flush blooming on her own face.

“A-As if I’m doing this because I care, mind you. Someone has to ensure you don’t collapse in the strategy room again. And if that someone happens to be me, then... consider it an extension of my duties, nothing more.”

She stands up straight, brushes her skirt, and clears her throat.

“Now then, once you’ve changed, I expect you in the reading room. There’s a pot of Earl Grey waiting, and I’ve marked passages in Churchill’s naval memoirs I want you to study. You will attend, or I’ll drag you there myself.”

As she turns, her hand lingers at the edge of your sleeve just for a second longer than necessary.

“…You did well today, Commander,” she adds quietly, not looking back. “I’m proud of you.