Deacon inhaled his cigarette from under his mask before releasing his breath. The smoke filtered from under the bauta and was carried away by the wind. The door opened. An Armada Soldier peered in his direction. They made eye contact before the other man stepped aside and gestured politely. 

“My lord is ready for you.” 

The spymaster sighed. “Of course he is.” 

He extinguished his cigarette before entering the office. The soldier escorted him to the door. He found a man propped against a desk facing his direction, his gloved fingertips touching one another as his blue eyes studied his figure. The room was filled with tense silence - no implication of any conversation prior to him opening the door. Deacon cleared his throat and shut it behind him, stepping forward while he tapped his cane on the ground. His eyes wandered as he went. He noticed Queen sitting to the side, leg resting over the other and smiling at him. 

He stiffened. There was no reason for her to be here. Did *everyone* have to know his business? His failure? He clenched his jaw at the thought. 

“ Ciao. ” Kane greeted, breaking the silence. He sounded impatient and unhappy. Deacon bowed and moved a hand behind his back. A habit of his, for concealing his pistol. 

“Kane…thank you for seeing me. You will not regret this.”

“Exactly what we need to talk about.” The Supreme Commander snapped to the empty chair across from him. There was no argument as he sat down. His eyes momentarily flicked to the extra company, but went back to Kane when he leaned forward. 

“Deacon, I have high expectations of you. I completely entrust you as my representative - your image is my own. You’re expected to execute my businesses for me. Failure to do so is not only a burden on you , but on me as well.” 

His posture deflated. “ Hai ragione .” 

“When you sank the Erebus last week, you lost valuable intel. Criminals who were going to be questioned and used to our advantage. Not only are we missing * them *, but an expensive ship as well. These matters were in your hands.” 

“They did not get away without a fight.” Deacon defended. They had this conversation already. He was tired of being reminded of his mistakes. “The prisoners were freed and conspired together. I did the best I could, being outnumbered.” 

“Be that as it may, the results are still the same. I’ve invested in a new ship for you - but not one you will captain alone.” 

He quirked an eyebrow under his mask. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re being assigned a partner.” Queen finally spoke, earning his attention. “She will help with your navigation, execute your businesses, and provide a helping hand in case of another… mutiny .” 

The spymaster didn’t know how to process this information. He preferred working alone so he wouldn’t be slowed down - burdened by anyone who couldn’t keep with his pace. He was constantly moving, never staying in one place for a long time. He was known for two things: being brief and remaining anonymous. Leaving no trace of his presence or involvement. A coworker would challenge that. 

One word managed to leave his lips. “-’She’ ?” 

She smiled behind the mask she held. He could tell by her tone. “A friend of mine.” 

This did nothing to assure him. Kane noticed his distress and moved a hand in the air. “She meets all the qualifications. She has prior experience in your field and even basic training. Most importantly, she has no records of negligence.” 

Deacon trailed his hands over his cane. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he so incompetent they had to *hire* someone to *help* him..? His fingers twitched in irritation. He was disappointed with himself. How could he prove to be this inept? It felt like a slap in the face, despite Kane and Queen presenting this as a privilege . A punishment worse than being refused any work… 

“This is strictly for business.” The Supreme Commander resumed. “You two will not convene after-hours, unless so desired. She knows nothing about your identity, as you do with hers. She’s supplied with a mask to keep things incognito. Disclosing any information about yourselves is purely out of consent.” 

He relaxed in his chair. So he didn’t have to know anything about her. Or even care at all. ‘That’s a plus’, he thought. He wanted nothing to do with this “helping hand”, supplied to him out of pure pity. The situation was already degrading enough, in his eyes. 

“She'll meet with you tomorrow at the docks, to your new ship.” Kane wrote something down. “You two will track down your lost convicts. The Pirate is already showing interference with our plans. Every one of them is your responsibility, and you are expected to catch them once more.” 

“I can do that by myself. Is the company necessary ?” He sat back exasperatedly. Kane tilted his head, unimpressed. 

“Need I remind you this is your mistake. Since you couldn’t do what was asked of you the first time, this is simply a compromise, to make sure that doesn’t happen again.” 

Deacon decided to be quiet. The only smart decision he’s made in this conversation. Kane shared a glance with his Queen before rolling up the paper and handing it to him without a word. He saved it in one of his coat’s pockets, to read it in his spare time.

"I want to see improvement from this fiasco. You have three months to track down every inmate you lost and bring them in for questioning. If this does not happen, you'll be moved somewhere less… important ."

As they got into the swing of things, Dea fell into a habit of eying him when he wasn’t looking. It wasn’t often she got to see him without his cape or even wearing fewer clothes like this…he wasn’t one to linger in his nightwear, so she never got a good look at him otherwise. Her thoughts returned to that disguise he’d been wearing back in Cool Ranch. She bit her lip at the memory. She wished she could see him in something like that again. 

Her mind wandered and she made a mistake in her next play. She swore at herself as she corrected her cards, flushing under her mask when Deacon tilted his head at her.

“Something on your mind?” 

Her green eyes met with his inquisitive ones. She doubted he caught her staring, but it was obvious something was amiss. She exhaled slowly, thinking of how to change subjects so he wouldn’t know she’d been secretly ogling him.

“I was thinking of what good mood you must be in, to want to play some games with me. You usually don’t. ” 

He sat up straight and lifted his head. “-I am in a good mood.” 

“Hmm. Read a good book lately?”

“Even better. We’re nearly done with our mission, Dea. We only have a few more fugitives to catch, then this operation will finally be over.” 

A feeling of dread washed over her at this news. She bowed her head to hide her reaction. Of course he would be happy that this was all nearly over - it was like a punishment to him, having to track down his lost convicts with some unwanted help. But in her eyes, they’d finally been making progress with each other…they were spending more time together, learning more things about one another…Not to mention this had been her temporary promotion, and when it was all over with, she’d be reduced down to her prior position in the Armada. 

..Which wasn’t anything impressive.

Just the thought made her sigh deeply. She couldn’t stop herself from doing this, earning Deacon’s concern. 

“Are you alright..?”

“I’m fine. Just…” She blew some air from her lips and pinched the bridge of the nose on her mask. This was a topic she wanted to avoid, but she’d have to address it eventually. “Thinking about what I’m going to do after this..” 

His eyes were trained on her. His attention moved to his cards before deciding that the game wasn’t nearly as important as the subject at hand. “-You’re going to be demoted, aren’t you?” 

“Well, ‘demoted’ is a harsh word…” She sucked at her teeth. “More like, back to what I was already doing…which was cleaning the cannons and stocking ammunition.” 

Silence hung in the room as she begrudgingly made her turn. Deacon was slow to make his play as well, thinking deeply on their conversation. She was feeling cold from this realization, wishing that things were different and she wouldn’t have to worry about losing everything she’d been given. 

“You probably won’t like this idea, but-" His tone made her look up from the table. She held her breath as she waited for his next words. “..I could pull some strings and have you work for me.” 

She curled her lips in amusement. “Why? So we could get sick of each other?” 

“Well, you know how I like my coffee, so you would make an excellent first-mate.” 

She rolled her eyes at his joke. If she took the opportunity to work for Deacon…it would feel strange having him be her superior, instead of the equal position they had now. It was a miracle she’d even been promoted to an alike status to an Elite to begin with. 

‘It wouldn’t mean he has an advantage over me,’ Dea sternly told herself, crushing the worrying feeling she had with the prospect. 

"Things would be going back to normal for you, wouldn't it?" She asked, idly fidgeting with the table cloth. Her chest felt tight. "Back to working by yourself, I mean."

Unbeknownst to her, the spymaster's lips fell . No. Things would not be normal. He would be sailing in complete silence instead of listening to her beautiful voice. Sleeping in an empty cabin without the hint of her perfume. Drawing up maps without her little notes in his margins. He wouldn't be seeing her again, and that made him feel…out of sorts.

He clenched his hands trying to cope with this reality. How surprising that this woman would hold such a tight grip over him. To suddenly step into his life and introduce him to a routine of comfort and companionship; to change things in a way that he always wanted.

He'd been so lonely before. He thought he was simply prioritizing his work before his personal life, but… god , he craved intimacy. A friend. A partner…* anything *. He would be stuck with his soldiers and spies again, but they didn't fulfill him like she did. No one would. 

Her voice snapped him out of it. "Deacon?"  

He looked up and noticed she was waiting on him to play his turn. He mumbled an apology before grabbing his card. She looked away from him sadly. 

"...Sorry if I ruined your good mood."

"You didn't. I suppose I wasn't as thrilled as I thought I was."

"Why wouldn't you be? This is your mission, espía . You'll finally be done. I'm honored to have helped you."

His breath hissed through his teeth. She had no reason to be saying this so far in advance. "Dea-"

"You won't have me nagging you around anymore, telling you how to do things. You'll be on your own again-"

"Stop." His voice was firm. It made her hush down immediately. "You keep insisting your company is some god-awful thing to me, but it isn't. How I acted before doesn't reflect how I feel now." 

She froze in her seat. She began tugging at her gloves nervously, attempting to process this information. She tried to tease him, but the crack in her voice gave her away. "Don't tell me you actually LIKE me being around..?"

"More than you think I do, clearly." She was still awestruck and he was getting nervous by it, so he gestured to their game. "Let's finish this up so we can get back to work."

She nodded, playing her hand and finishing up their game of blackjack. They weren’t talkative this time around. Dea’s mind was preoccupied with the fact that Deacon had just admitted to enjoying her company, and even offered to have her around longer. The Emissary himself felt a mixture of emotions, the most prominent being disappointment from the eventual wrap-up of their mission, and the inevitable time when they would have to go their separate ways.

----

He was fidgety the rest of that day, unable to keep his hands still. When he was at the captain’s wheel, he occupied himself by caressing the underside of his compass and adjusting the collar of his cape. When he was roaming around the ship, he constantly shifted his grip on his cane and tapped it more on the floorboards than was necessary. He grew aggravated with this restless behavior and moved into the cabin, where he sat on his bed and attempted to read a book to get his mind off of things.

His left hand kept reaching into the pocket that held his pack of cigarettes. Each time he caught himself doing this, he had to physically stop himself. It was a habit he was trying to break * again *. Each attempt felt harder than the last, and this particular subject was frying his nerves. It took an immeasurable amount of self-control to not break his newly-made promise. 

He heard the familiar steps of Dea’s boots and looked up to see her in front of him. She crossed her arms and looked at him with knowing, emerald-colored eyes. He had to look away, lest his feelings get worse and he would succumb to his urge to smoke. 

“Come on,” She urged, tapping her foot impatiently. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He asked, pretending to read. 

“You’re going through withdrawal. You should talk to me when this happens, remember?” 

A few seconds passed before he sighed and shut his book. He threw it behind himself carelessly and brought his gloved hands under his bauta to rub his face. Being worked up like this was making him tired. Dea hesitated before sitting beside him on the mattress, keeping some space between them but also letting him know she was there. 

“Is there something stressing you out, espía?” 

He didn’t know what to say. Confess to Dea that he's going to miss her when she’s gone? That he hates the idea of being separated from her? So much so, that it's been driving him mad all day, to regret the time where they’ll have to say goodbye to each other? 

It was pathetic.

Before he could say anything, she reached into her dress’ pocket and offered him a stick of gum. He looked at the piece before taking it and unwrapping it. Popping it in his mouth, he recognized the taste of mint. His shoulders relaxed as he chewed on it. He hadn’t indulged in one of these in an awfully long time. 

“I didn’t know if you had some already, so I grabbed a pack to carry with me. You can ask for one if you ever need it.” 

“...Thank you.” He could tell she was pleased by his gratitude. It made him feel a bit more comfortable to speak. “Have you considered my offer? About working with me after this?” 

She blinked in surprise. She began to idly kick her boots, watching them move with lowered eyelids. “I didn’t think you were serious about it.” 

“I am; it wouldn’t be hard to make it happen.”

“But..” She chewed at her lip, clearly conflicted. “Why would you still want to work with me? Things haven’t been that smooth. We had that fight on our first mission, then I was nearly killed in Cool Ranch-”

“-That’s all in the past and we’ve learned from it. The truth is, you’re one of the most competent women I’ve worked with, and that’s saying something because I know a lot of people.”

His words made her feel happy and confident. It was the first time a man had made her truly feel this way. “..And you like my company?” She asked sheepishly. 

He let that question linger before he replied. “I do. Whether or not you like mine determines your answer.”

She entwined her fingers together, tapping them on her knuckles as she leaned back with a dramatic breath. “Sometimes you can be a pain, but I’ve learned to live with it.”  

She turned to him with bright eyes. He could tell she was smiling from the way she lifted her chin. She looked away and returned her hands to her lap. Her mood had fallen and the confidence briefly left him. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” She sounded like she wanted to say more, but hesitated to do so. He wished she would voice her thoughts, but respected that she couldn’t.

“Just let me know when you make up your mind. We probably have a couple more weeks to sit on it.” 

She nodded along, her eyes fixated on her hands. She was smoothing her palms over her gloves. After a second, she looked up and asked, “-So what was bothering you?” 

“I’d rather not talk about it…” 

“But if we don’t, you’re still going to stress over it.” She countered. She scooted a bit closer and leaned forward. “I promise not to tell anybody if it’s embarrassing.” 

“I still think you would tease me.” He kept his eyes away from her. She moved to try and get in his peripheral vision. 

“Promise I won’t.” 

“-And if you do ?”

“Then I’ll tell you something you can tease *me* about.” 

He paused. That actually sounded reassuring. It still didn’t make him feel any better about this, but maybe he should get it off his chest. He might never have a chance to say it otherwise. “I don’t think I’m ready to end our mission just yet.” 

“Why? Are there other prisoners we’ve missed?” 

“No.”

She attempted to think about why he would say this. He could actually see the strain she was putting herself through. He gathered the courage to tell her. “...I would rather still be working with you than having to part our ways.” 

She was astounded. “You don’t want me to leave?” 

“I…” He struggled for words. Why did he feel like this around her sometimes? “I would miss you. That’s all.” 

A pause. He waited before glancing back at her. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. The silence felt nerve-wracking while he waited for her reaction. He was about to retract his confession before she squealed. 

“Aww, Deacon..!" 

“ Dea .” He groaned.

“I’m sorry!” She waved a hand at him. She was clearly getting a kick out of this, which frankly embarrassed him. He felt ridiculous for saying any of it aloud. “Okay. You want something to tease me about?” 

He leaned towards her in interest, resting a thoughtful finger on the sharp chin of his bauta. She waited a few seconds before telling him, “...I would miss you, too.” 

It was his turn to be surprised. “You would?” 

“Yeah. It would be hard not to, you know?” Her tone became quiet as she looked at the floor. She splayed her fingertips across his comforter. “I loved having this job, to get a promotion this big…I don’t think I really deserved it, but I’m glad I got it, because I never would have met you otherwise. You’ve…been a great friend to me. I don’t think I’ve been as close to anybody as I have with you.” 

He was speechless. He remembered what he told her not long ago. It was still true. He’d never met anyone like her. To hear that she was grateful for their meeting as well…it warmed his heart and gave him hope. 

Then he paused to think. Hope for what ? 

“I’m glad you said something because…I was feeling sad about it, too. Having to end our mission when things are just getting started.” She pouted, trailing her finger along the seams of the blanket. 

“Then why not take my offer?” 

She winced. He didn’t understand why this was a difficult topic. “I…I want to, Deacon. I really do. And I hope I will.” 

“What exactly is stopping you?” He asked curiously. 

There was a long pause. The longest he’d ever received from her. But he was patient and waited. Eventually, she removed her hand and sat up straight. She couldn’t look at him, shifting uncomfortably on the bed instead.

“I don’t have a good past with the men I’ve worked with before. I guess I’m still afraid that things will happen again.” 

The gears in his head were turning. “The ones who marked you for ‘insubordination’..?” 

She whispered a small ‘yes’ . He decided to drop that subject before it delved into something worse. He had a more clear suspicion now, which made him quick to reassure Dea of his offer. 

“I promise nothing like that will happen. We’ve worked this well for this long, haven’t we?”

“We have.” She met his eyes with a more comfortable posture. He was glad to see that green color again. “That’s why I think I will take it. But if I don’t…I hope you understand.” 

Disappointment flooded him and it showed in his posture. He still told her that he understood and respected her decision. Dea seemed to think about something before closing the gap between them and embracing her partner. Deacon was taken aback at the sudden contact, but gladly returned it, much to his own surprise. 

They never hugged before. The sensation was new, but welcomed by them both. The scent she wore was stronger in this proximity and he was instantly addicted. He didn’t want to let go…he wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible. To hold someone after all this time alone. The main contact he shared with others was the torture he inflicted on his enemies. Hugging Dea felt like a much better change of pace. 

As for his co-captain, she was pressing her mask against his chest and relaxing in his arms. She had been petrified to initiate something like this, but she was glad she did. Even more so when Deacon returned the gesture. It ignited something inside her - something hopeful and pleasant. 

The hope that he returned what she was feeling. 

She would be a fool not to accept his offer. She realized that now.

She lifted her head to speak beside his zendale, refusing to part from his grasp. "...Thank you." 

He shivered at the sound of her voice. It was so clear and so wonderful next to his ear. He found himself regretting every moment they had stayed so far apart.

“I trust Deacon has kept you all in line?” She asked.

They nodded eagerly. She hadn’t been expecting anything less. She playfully tapped the Emissary’s arm, who tsked in return. After checking in on their crew, the two captains dismissed their officers and prepared the ship for takeoff. Dea didn’t know where they were going, but she intended on asking about it as soon as possible. She gave the spymaster a nod to start their departure - only for him to hesitate. 

“Would you like to steer the ship?” He offered. 

Her green eyes widened in surprise. Her expression changed to skepticism. “...Really?” 

He took a few steps back and motioned with his hand. She looked at him twice before moving forward and clenching the wood. She shifted under his attention and glanced at him. 

“You’ve never offered me to sail before.” 

“Consider it a present for not dying.” She snorted at that before looking back at the wheel. Her posture was rigid as she drummed her fingers along the handles. “...You *do* know how to do it, don’t you?” 

“...I don’t have much practice with it.” She confessed. Her arms tensed as she looked away. He knew this was a touchy subject and moved to her side with careful precision. 

“It’s not that difficult. What you’re doing is turning the rudder to obstruct the ship’s stream. When you do that, the stern moves the opposite.” 

“... Sí , but that doesn’t really help me..?” 

Deacon motioned for the crew to set sail. Their ship started with a jolt and Dea panicked. Her anxiety was eased when her partner grabbed the wheel and guided them away from the docks. His hand moved just beside hers and she heard his voice from above her. 

“Watch the stern behind us. It will move the opposite way from the wheel.” 

She turned around to check, but Deacon was right behind her, caging her in between himself and the wheel. Her heart was racing at their close proximity. He noticed he was obstructing her view and moved out of her way. She attempted to calm herself with a deep breath. She saw the stern was now to her right, then watched as he turned the wheel to the left. 

“See?” He asked. She nodded slowly. 

“..Let me try.” 

He moved aside. He directed her to keep it straight and she followed his instruction. She had never been allowed to captain a Monquistan vessel, so she missed the opportunity to sail her own ship. She completed a small test while enlisting for the Armada, but the experience was nothing like this. The Executioner was bigger and more elaborate than the test ships lended to them…

Something clutched her hand and she jumped in surprise. Deacon was removing her grip from the wheel and opening her palm, which he slid his compass into. It was the most beautiful tool she’d ever seen. Was everything in the Armada this detailed? She gawked at the device and was brought back to reality when Deacon tapped it with his finger. 

“Start heading east. We’ll be arriving at Aquila.” 

“Speaking of which…” She paused to steer carefully, then looked at him. “What’s our plan of action? Are we still doing what we discussed before?” 

“We’ll get this done sooner than anticipated. I don’t want to jump into anything dangerous.” 

“...Are you worried about me?” 

His eyes snapped over to her at the question. She looked a little amused. He let the silence linger before he sighed. 

“I would rather not have you injured again, if that's what you mean.” 

“What makes you think I would be the hurt one? You’re not made of steel, espía.” 

“No, but I have much more experience than you. It’s been a long time since I've gotten hurt in my line of work.” 

“Oh, really?” She crossed her arms. His hand shot out to grip the wheel out of instinct. She was too busy eying him to really care. “Tell me, Mr. Invincible. When was the last time you were wounded?” 

“If you really want to know, I had both my wrists broken from a run-in with a…rather strong criminal.” He shifted his gaze in shame. “But I’m extremely cautious otherwise. I always wear a bulletproof vest.” 

“-Under all *that*!?” She exclaimed, motioning to his cape, two coats, and layer of clothes. “How in the Spiral have you not had a heat stroke?” 

He met her inquiry with smug silence. She shot him a look and hastily took back control. She returned her focus to steering the ship and making sure they were headed the right way. With his compass, it was easy. It was only when they started heading towards the familiar whirlpool that Deacon moved to take the wheel from her. She allowed him - but with some reluctance. She didn’t want to stop so soon. 

“It's different when you’re in a stormgate,” He explained, slipping his compass in his pocket and taking a tight hold of the wheel.

“But I’ve watched you sail through these several times,” She argued. 

“It’s not as easy as it looks.” He could sense her upset look and exhaled deeply. “Dea, I promise I will let you practice when you’ve sailed some more.” 

“Fine…How do you do it, exactly?” 

“Track the storm and head where the waves are shallow and the winds are low,” He recited. “Keep the bow towards the waves and momentum forward. Luckily, the storms in these gates last only a minute. But they’re difficult all the same.” 

She bit her lip. That did sound a little hard to do. She’d seen him maneuver through these with ease. Anyone would think from watching him that it was a walk in the park. But he sailed all the time, so he had plenty of experience. She felt shameful for having so little practice in comparison.

----

Deacon expertly sailed through the stormgate and they arrived timely in Aquila. Their business here was - in his own words -  'not complicated', on the account that their target was already apprehended and was merely waiting to be picked up. When Dea asked how this had been done, he claimed that he "knew people". This confused her, but it didn’t matter. They had their criminal. All they needed to do was get them and then leave. 

She watched with attentive eyes as they docked at one of the cities and took an eager look around. He noticed her perked up posture and made a comment once they were moving on land.

“Have you ever been here before?”

“Aquila? No.” She shook her head. “I’ve never traveled that much, actually.” 

“And why is that?” 

“…I couldn’t.” She turned her head to admire the mountains. “Valencia’s the fanciest place I’ve ever been to.” 

“Aquila is wonderful. I like coming here for the food and the literature. I’ve made quite a bit of friends in these parts.” 

She quirked her eyebrow under her mask. “-So, is it one of your ‘friends’ that's holding our prisoner?” 

“Yes, but I plan on taking a small detour on the way there. It won’t take long.” 

“A detour? But, you didn’t mention anything about-” 

“-Don’t bother asking. Just wait.” 

Dea was puzzled. If she didn’t know any better, she would think Deacon was trying to give her a headache, now that he safely could. She looked at the rest of her crew and gestured helplessly to them, but none were willing to expose their captain’s secret. She groaned and rolled her eyes, already predicting the smirk was hidden on her partner's face. 

They hiked through the mountains until they eventually reached a village with beautiful architecture, surrounded by a breathtaking view. Dea followed her men and women while looking around in awe. There were tourists currently taking a walking tour of the area, but they were ignored as Deacon strolled past them and led his own crew through the sights. 

She was taken by surprise when he began to tell them about the significance of what they were looking at, as well as some historical facts about the buildings. It sounded like he was reading out of a textbook, reciting everything clearly and without a pause. If Dea didn’t know any better, she would mistake him for a tour leader. He provided more detail than what the nearby groups were listening to. He was also clearly well-versed in his knowledge of Greek mythology and culture.

She knew he was an educated man, but witnessing it in person was something else. Her face felt hot, but she blamed that on the weather. She clearly wasn’t wearing appropriate clothing. Why hadn’t he told her he was bringing them somewhere like this? She would’ve been more than happy to change out of her uniform into something more...accommodating.

They stopped at a beach, where a few members left to dip their feet into the water. She marveled at the pink-colored sand and clear blue sky above them. Deacon had stopped beside her and planted his cane on the beach, side-glancing at her and tapping his fingers. Almost anxiously.

“Do you like it?” He finally asked. She turned her head but quickly flicked her eyes down. 

“I love it. But why did you take us here?” 

“The crew wanted to do something special for you. Since we’re a little time-crunched, I thought a scenic walk through Aquila would… suffice.” 

He appeared a little nervous, adjusting his cuffs to avoid looking at her. She got some pleasure out of it and wanted to tease him about this whole thing, but she couldn’t. It really was a gorgeous place and it served as her true first tour in another world. She thought Cool Ranch was interesting, but they were there for business and it was nowhere near as magnificent as this village. She had to thank him - but when she opened her mouth, a knot twisted itself in her stomach and the words had a hard time properly leaving her tongue. 

She chose to ask something else instead. “How do you know so much about this area?”

“I’ve read books about its cities and sights. I just haven’t had the time to visit them all myself. Most of the papyrus I keep in our bookshelf are collections from Aquila.” 

She fidgeted with her gloves. “It’s…neat how you know all of this stuff. I wish I was as educated as you.” 

He stared at her and she was starting to feel nervous. Why did this feel so difficult? It wasn’t the first time she complimented him! She wanted to stomp the butterflies that were roaming around in her stomach. 

“-Really? You’re not going to make fun of me for it?” 

“No. Why would I do that?” She snapped. She felt bad for it and withdrew herself. “I like how you’re smart. It would be awful to work with someone stupid, that’s all.” 

“Well, I *am* an Elite.” He reminded her. 

“And what are the qualifications for that? I assume the bar is pretty low.” 

“...Ah. I knew that was coming.” 

She nearly shrunk in on herself for that comment, had he not laughed at it. It beckoned her to join in, giggling along his deep chuckles. It was then she realized something strange. It didn’t feel like she was in the middle of work, rather, she was spending quality time with a good friend. Then it dawned on her. When had she ever considered Deacon as a friend? Some would call their situation work partners, possibly even forced-roommates, but it was never unpleasant to her. There was nothing but mutual respect and an understanding shared between them. 

He was the only person she’d grown closest to in these few months. Maybe he WAS a friend. One she could trust to respect her boundaries. Perhaps, if time served them well, she would share more of herself with him. 

…The smile fell from her lips as she stared at him.

 If time was good, maybe she could learn more about *him*, too…

. . . 

. . .

A couple of hours were spent at that beach. Dea eventually shed her jacket and joined in with the others, laughing and splashing along with them. Deacon refused to set foot anywhere near the water and opted for watching from afar. She huffed in frustration. Would it kill him to have some fun? He rarely joined in on the crew’s game nights and wouldn’t stay for long when they celebrated in a tavern. He was always sitting elsewhere, indulging in a book or writing something. She’d only ever seen him working and never actually caught him enjoying himself, beyond the time he played the piano in that saloon. 

…Would giving the crew a tour count as ‘fun’ to him? That was a little lame, in her opinion.

When they moved on, it was nearing sunset and it took a good hour until they reached a decently-sized home a couple villages away. This must be the place where their desired lawbreaker was held, judging by Deacon’s urgency to reach it. When they arrived at the door, they were answered by a large man wearing a blue chlamys and a laurel crown. He greeted his friend kindly and allowed the rest of the group inside. Dea looked around in an attempt to find what they came for, but was greeted by a beautiful interior and couldn’t help admiring things for the sake of it. While she was preoccupied, Deacon and his friend exchanged a brief conversation in Greek before the rest of his company was addressed. 

“Ah, I see! You came all this way, you must be hungry. Please, have a seat and I will serve you the meal I prepared.” 

This caught Dea’s attention. She spun around and began approaching the two while Deacon rested his cane against the wall. 

“You prepared something?” He asked. His friend nodded. 

“Of course, I would not be a good host if my company was in need of nourishment-- Oh ! Who is this?” 

Dea was in his sight when she walked up behind Deacon. He looked over his shoulder and relaxed, moving aside to introduce them. He gestured to his co-captain, then to his friend. “Theodore, this is my new partner, Dea.” 

She offered her gloved hand and Theodore shook it kindly, offering her a polite smile. He seemed like a good man. He had good taste in interior decorating and was willing to hold their prisoner for them. If Deacon trusted him…then she did, too. He had good judgment as far as she was concerned.  

“I hope it isn’t rude if I don’t eat tonight, but-” 

“--Right! Your mask. I assume you don’t want to take it off.” He clasped his hands together as he observed her face. She felt a little embarrassed that the reason had been guessed so quickly. A thought must’ve occurred to him, as he held up a finger and dismissed himself from the room. 

In his absence, Dea looked at Deacon, who shrugged in return. They had just enough time to remove their shoes before Theodore shortly returned with something in his hand. A bauta mask from Valencia itself..! She could tell from the quality of the item as he placed it in her hands.

He turned to Deacon and rubbed the back of his head in shame. “I hope you don’t mind, my friend, but your appearance always fascinated me. I took a trip to your homeland and picked one up for myself…I’m afraid it doesn’t suit me well, but I’m going to start a collection of your beautiful masks.” 

He moved to Dea and nodded at her. “You’re free to wear it while we eat. I would hate for you to miss such a delicious meal, and valuable time with your people.” 

She was left speechless at the sudden thoughtfulness. Deacon looked surprised as well. She recovered from her shock when Theodore directed her someplace she could safely exchange her mask. When she took her usual one off, she ended up staring at the large crack that dominated its once beautiful features. 

…She’d almost forgotten about it, what with such a good day she’d been having. She cringed realizing that everyone had been looking at this the entire time. She wondered how Deacon must’ve felt being so close to someone with a ruined mask. It was frowned upon in the Armada as it was, but she couldn’t imagine the expectations the Elite held as well. It made her feel self-conscious, and she prayed her new mask from Queen would be arriving soon. 

She kept it close while slipping on the bauta. When she looked up in the mirror, she nearly stumbled backwards in surprise. For a split second there, she almost thought Deacon was in the room! She quietly swore at herself for losing her cool and buttoned her zendale back on. 

---

She must’ve spent quite some time in there, because when she left, she could hear the sound of chatter and clinking utensils coming from the dining room. She scolded herself for taking so long and wasted no time rushing towards the noise. When she stepped in, she found her crew seated at a long table, unmasked and talking with each other, with Theodore at the head and Deacon right beside him. She noticed the empty space next to her co-captain and her heart began to beat nervously at the idea of sitting so close to him. 

..What was the big deal? They shared a room, for Spiral’s sake! 

She took a deep breath, shaking off her jitters and approaching her seat. She tried to make her arrival as discreetly as possible, slipping onto the cushion and sitting up straight. Theodore noticed her presence and clapped his hands excitedly. 

“Marvelous! Now, we can dig in! We’re starting with horiatiki salad, a little bit of saganaki, then a great bowl of giouvetsi.” 

“You really needn’t go all out like this,” Deacon replied, grabbing his fork. “We were only stopping by.” 

“-But you have so many mouths to feed! Besides, you know how I love to cook for my guests. Remember all the tiropitakia we’ve shared?” 

“...What was any of what he just said?” Dea whispered.

When Deacon turned to reply to her, he froze in his seat and stared at her face with wide blue eyes. She didn’t know what warranted such a reaction until she noticed his eyes were repeatedly scanning her new mask. 

She feigned offense. “You don’t like my new look?” 

“...It’s a little odd,” He responded, fixing his posture, but not wiping the surprise from his eyes. “Almost like I’m looking at a doppelganger.” 

“But I looked like you before.” 

“Yes, except...the mask.” 

“Don’t other Armada officers wear bautas? Like your spies?” 

“...This is different.” He argued. Before she could refute, he remembered her question and struggled shifting his focus. “...Ah, we’re having a salad, some fried cheese, and a stew.” 

She tore her attention away from him to the petite bowl sitting before her. The rest of their company was already eating and complimenting the salad. She took her fork and hesitated before trying some. It was nothing like the usual salad she was accustomed to, but she loved the new flavors. She offered her praise to Theodore, who was relieved and wasted no time bringing out the saganaki when they were done. 

As Dea was digging into this new cuisine, she overheard the conversation next to her. Deacon and Theodore were speaking in Greek again. She was overcome with fascination and attempted to eavesdrop despite having no clue what they were talking about. She ended up doing this quite a few times during dinner - enjoying the food and the words around her. She forgot all about what had happened to her and wished she could enjoy this for just a little longer. 

Theodore returned with small cups after they finished the stew. It was a baklava sundae - she was amazed with how it tasted. It easily landed itself as one of her favorite desserts of all time. When all was said and done, they were finally brought to their desired escapee - who had been securely hidden in Theodore’s basement. Deacon did a thorough job making sure their departure looked as natural as possible, and kept their criminal out of sight. 

Dea was walking alongside him on their trip back to their ship. She spent the first few minutes admiring the night sky before sighing longingly. “I miss that bauta. It was refreshing to eat without having to worry about my face."

“That’s what they’re made for - to be convenient and secretive.” Deacon agreed. 

She turned to him and grinned. “You should let me use yours, then.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I bet you have more than one.”

“...Your point?” 

“Let me borrow one so I can eat with you, espía. It was…pleasant, not being alone for dinner.” She didn’t have the courage to face him anymore, and shifted her gaze elsewhere. “..You think so too, right?”

He was still looking at her. Something in his chest burned pleasantly. “If you promise not to ruin it, then I might let you have one.” 

She lowered her head. She was feeling warm and giddy from today. She wished they could do this more often, rather than working all the time. They could spare some free time, couldn’t they? “-It’ll be for the best. This crack is starting to bother me…”

His look changed to something sentimental. He decided to focus on something more positive. “Did you have a good time..?”

“The trip was beautiful and your friend was nice.” She paused, thinking of something. “Had you planned that dinner all along..?”

“No, I told Theodore I’d have my crew with me and he must’ve gone all out. We were going to have some local takeout, anyway.”

“I should find some way to thank the crew. It was awfully nice of them to want this for me.” 

Deacon was about to mention that he played a big part in planning this little trip, but held his tongue. She was happy and that was what mattered. He reached for something he’d been hiding behind his cape and pulled out a bottle of malagousia. Dea’s green eyes lit up at the sight. 

“Theodore handed this to me before we left. This should be a nice gift for them, if you think we should indulge tonight.” 

She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutamente."

----

The crew had a good time, officially welcoming Dea back with a small celebration of their own. She was thankful for everything and had no trouble expressing it. They enjoyed a glass of wine and played a game together - which, to Dea’s surprise, even Deacon participated in. She excused herself when she started feeling exhausted and chose to retire for the night. 

She returned to the cabin and realized she was the only one there. Deacon had left sometime earlier - she assumed he was taking one of his smoke breaks on the above deck. The place looked spotless and all of her belongings were left untouched. She didn’t expect anything else, really, Deacon was organized and liked to keep things that way. The only difference she found was that her bed was neatly made and the sheets had been recently cleaned. She was grateful for that…she’d have to thank him when he came back. 

She yawned and changed into her nightwear, ready to pass out then and there before something caught her attention. When she yanked back the privacy sheet, she found a book propped open on the desk. She assumed it was one of Deacon’s novels he’d been reading that he must have forgotten to close. Something compelled her to get a closer look at it.

When her eyes began skimming the pages, she quickly realized it was Deacon’s journal he regularly wrote in. Her breath hitched in her throat and she looked around again. She was still alone in the room…and the journal was still sitting there, completely opened. 

Dea bit her lip before slowly grabbing the item from the desk and reading what had been recently written.

Don Rodrigo appeared in the doorway. “I have called for the local doctor. He will be here to help you shortly.” 

That was good news. They needed some proper equipment to locate the bullet. They dipped their heads to him with gratitude. Deacon offered more of his help, but chose to leave when Cinzia insisted on removing Dea’s mask to check for further injuries. This was a pressing matter, sure,  but he still respected her privacy. It didn’t feel…right…to see her face without her consent, while she was unconscious like this. He would leave that matter in someone else's hands for now.

How telling, that he would have so many opportunities to reveal her identity lately, but had to refuse each one. He mentally kicked himself for having such strong principles. 

When he left the bedroom, he found the rest of his crew sitting around Don Rodrigo’s leisure space, passing the time by talking and drinking. The owner of the house was politely pouring them small drinks. His eyes met with Deacon’s from across the room. He outstretched his hand to offer him a clean glass - but the spymaster shook his head and left for the hallway.

He kept walking until he stumbled into an outdoor garden. This part of the manor was quiet and still. He appreciated the solitude and took a seat on the bench next to a beautiful fountain. He didn’t indulge in the sights or stop to smell the flowers. Instead, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and lit the end of one. He sat there for several minutes looking around the space and thinking to himself. 

How could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? 

He made sure no one else was around before succumbing to his frustration and burying his head in his hands. He had endured a few gunshot wounds of his own before - but none so dangerously lodged in his stomach like Dea had right now. The rest of his crew were waiting closely by the room at this moment, waiting to hear further word on their Captain's condition, while he'd retreated as far away as possible.

Guilt was eating him from the inside. 

His gun was burning a hole on the side of his hip. He had the strongest urge to grab it and chuck it away. He looked down to his current disguise and felt disgusted. He didn’t want to be in these clothes anymore. He wanted his familiar cape and layers of clothes to hide in. He wanted to be alone.

So when he eventually heard footsteps approaching, he wanted to shrink in on himself. He corrected his posture instead and quickly extinguished his cigarette before they ever saw him.

"Ah, señor. There you are." He looked up to find Don Rodrigo smiling down at him kindly. There was a faint twitch of his eye, like he was slightly displeased to find him here. "Will you not join us? I’m treating your team to a celebratory round of whiskey."  

"You’re celebrating at a time like this?” He asked incredulously. 

"Sí. To the raider's downfall, to our masked hero, and to give some rather good news." He held up his glass. "The doctor has arrived. They have located the bullet and will start the procedure to remove it. It has miraculously avoided any major organs. But only by slim chance - if it had landed a little to her left, we would be in quite the…ah...predicament right now." 

Deacon lowered his head and took in this information. Don Rodrigo added, “-They expect her to make a steady recovery, should the surgery be a success." 

"I'm not going to waste my breath on any premature 'celebration'."

He noticed his hostility and lowered his drink. "You're worried about her, aren’t you?"

"I think it's reasonable to worry for someone who just got shot."

Don Rodrigo took a few strides forward. He lowered himself onto the bench and kept a respectable amount of space between them. He focused his attention on Deacon.

“I noticed we have not yet properly introduced ourselves. I am Don Rodrigo, a humble landowner. My friend has told me about your situation. I was more than happy to provide to you what I could."

The Emissary dropped his unfriendliness and held his hands together. He needed to properly show their appreciation. "Thank you for your charity."

"So, tell me. Who are you, really?" 

"We are a subsidiary of officers enforcing the law."

"Yes, but not *our* laws. We have a protector for that sort of thing, as you know. Where have you come from exactly?" 

"...We travel, hoping to explore the west." Deacon explained with fake confidence. "Our criminal took refuge on your lands. I apologize for letting it happen.”

"I see." He did not press any further, much to his relief. "Well, it is a good thing El Toro took care of them. A wonderful guy, yes? So charming, and very cunning…" 

Trumpets sounded quietly around them, compared to the usual way they confidently blasted at the hero’s name. The spymaster grew uncomfortable and decided to take his leave. He stood to his feet and let out a reluctant sigh. 

“I should talk with my people. Get an update on my partner’s situation. Thank you again for your hospitality.” 

“I ask that you leave as soon as you can,” Don Rodrigo’s tone changed. It wasn’t unfriendly, but assertive. “She will need to recover elsewhere. Our village must recuperate, and I would like to move on from all of this.” 

“...Of course.”

He excused himself and coolly walked down the hallway, thinking on what to do next. It usually took more than a week for him to heal from his wounds - and Dea would be no different, maybe even longer. But they did not have days to spend here, or time to waste during their mission for that matter. He’d have to find a different refuge for her. In the meantime, he hoped that the surgery would be a success, and that all of this could soon be left behind them. 

----

Deacon spent an hour indulging in a shot of whiskey and talking with his crew. They were proud of taking down the bandits, but were equally worried about their captain. She’d befriended most of the crew and treated them well, which meant they were looking forward to her recovery. When he had the chance, Deacon turned on his communicator and made a call to Kane to inform him of their recent plight. They discussed what course of action to take. They shortly came up with an alternative plan. It disappointed a few members of the crew to hear what was decided, but they collectively agreed it was the best thing to do until Dea was well and ready to be put back on duty. 

. . . 

. . .

It felt like ages until Cinzia and the Doctor came out of the room. They announced that the procedure had been a success - bringing simultaneous relief to everyone's ears. Their conversations gradually resumed. The two stepped aside to speak with Deacon personally. Their expressions changed to something more serious. He was prepared to hear the worst. 

“It's the usual side effects of a concussion, but they're not too bad." The Doctor informed him. “Memory loss, some sensitivity to light and noise, minor nausea, to name a few.” 

“But other than that, she’s recovering well,” Cinzia added with more hopefulness. “She needs rest and a careful eye to make sure she heals alright.” 

He relaxed. “And how long until she can move?” 

“She might have issues with her balance and her sight. I don’t recommend anything that will re-open her wound.” 

“I see. Thank you for your help.” He offered the Doctor some gold from his pocket, but the other man declined with a wave of his hand. 

“Think nothing of it. I’ve had to treat patients in worse conditions lately. Thank God those bandits are gone."

He grabbed his medical bag and took his leave. Cinzia stepped up to Deacon, glancing at the bedroom door for a brief second. 

“If you want to see her, Captain, she may be a little confused. She might not recognize you right away, and I doubt she even remembers what happened. I’m sure her memory will come back in due time, but try not to overwhelm her until that happens.”

“Certo. You’ve done excellent work. I’ll be giving you a raise for your help today.” 

She beamed at the news and dismissed herself to join the rest of the crew. Deacon hesitated before approaching the door and putting his hand on the knob. His heart beat intensely in his chest, the familiar sensations of guilt and euphoria overwhelming him. He was glad she survived, but had to accept the difficult fact that it was *him* who had nearly killed her. If he’d been more careful, more attentive to where the barrel was pointing during his struggle…or if he had just gained control over his gun to begin with — 

The sight of Dea on the bed immediately put an end to his thoughts. She was finally conscious. He could see her small figure breathing from under the blanket draped around her. The lights in the room had been dimmed. It was quiet as he closed the door. Her green eyes snapped over in his direction and he tensed under her stare.

“Espía."

Something in his chest lifted at her voice. That nickname he usually thought nothing of now filled him with relief. He approached her bedside and smiled under his mask. She recognized him. That was a good sign indeed. 

"How are you doing?" He asked as steady as he could. She laid her head back down on the pillow with a small groan.

"I can't remember much. My head hurts, and my stomach…" She moved the blanket aside. Deacon’s breath hitched when the sight of bandages met his eyes. The culpability was almost too much to handle.

“How did this happen?” She asked weakly.

“...You were shot,” He answered. “The bullet just barely missed any of your major organs. It was quite lucky.” 

Her hand came to her face and made contact with the mask. Her fingers trailed over the large crack that nearly separated it. She seemed to be lost in thought, her eyes drifting as she felt the imperfection over and over again. It made Deacon nervous that she might try and remove it. He went to get her attention until she looked at him.

“I remember your mask. But…you don’t look right.” She clutched her head and winced. “‘Espía’ is the only thing that comes to my mind, but…that can’t be your name…”

"Don't worry about it." He quickly reassured. He didn’t want Dea straining herself so soon. "You're not all that wrong, anyway."

"...*Are* you a spy?"

"I lead an organization of spies." He corrected her. 

"-But, still, a spy." 

He opened his mouth to rebut but fell silent. She was right.

“Do you remember who you are?” He asked curiously. He wanted to get an idea of her state of mind. This made Dea pause. She looked to herself again. Her hands trailed over the remnants of her disguise. She was clearly displeased, averting her gaze and contemplating.

“I’m Reyna.” 

Deacon started. That was not what he expected. “Ah–” 

"I can't remember my last name." She missed the way he fumbled with his cane. "I don't know why I was dressed like that. I would never wear a corset…I don't even know how to tie them."

"-You're in a disguise." He explained. He was still trying to forget that word. Reyna. Reyna. Reyna -

"Disguise? Why?" 

Deacon took a deep breath to calm himself down. "We were on an undercover mission. Your codename is 'Dea'." 

"-Dea?" She asked peculiarly. This was only confusing her further, so he had to put an end to this conversation. Before he could, clarification suddenly filled her eyes and she snapped her fingers in realization.

"That's right. I got promoted in the Armada. I was assigned to work with you – Deacon! Your name is Deacon!" 

She sounded proud. It earned a chuckle from him. 

"We have a ship, and a crew....ah-" She narrowed her eyes again and touched her mask. It seemed to be involuntary. "The last thing I remember…we were standing by that church. It was on fire. And I was asking you about something." 

He recalled that conversation. He wanted to avoid having the rest of it right now. "Is there anything else you remember?" 

"No…Where are we now?"

"Don Rodrigo's manor."

He pulled up a chair so he could sit beside her. She remained deep in thought. She eventually closed her eyes and sighed. She melted back into the bed, pulling the blanket back up and groaning under her breath. She inhaled sharply when she shifted. 

"It hurts so much…"

"Your painkillers should kick in soon." 

She went quiet. Deacon took this opportunity to reflect on things. Dea seemed alright, albeit forgetful. She must not be too aware if she had let her real name slip like that. He decided he would not mention it unless he absolutely had to. He almost felt overwhelmed with all the things he was learning about her lately. He wondered why fate had brought him what he wanted much too late. 

"I'm sorry for getting shot." 

Her apology snapped him out of his reverie. She sounded genuinely remorseful and it nearly broke him. What could she have done? She was the victim and he was the guilty party. If anyone needed to apologize, it was him. But he needn't burden her right now. She had too much on her plate as it was. 

"It wasn't your fault." He shook his head. "I’m just glad you're alright."

She looked at him and he met her gaze. Her eyes grew watery. Without a word, she held out her hand. Her gloves had been removed sometime during the surgery. He caught sight of her painted nails and looked back at her face. Was she expecting him to comfort her?...Should he? She was in an indescribable amount of pain. She'd just narrowly avoided death and was recovering from a substantial amount of blood loss. 

And now she was reaching out to him. 

He hesitated before lifting his gloved hand and grasping her palm. This was apparently what she wanted. She squeezed her small fingers against his own. The breath left his lips in shock and the air puffed against the inside of his bauta. He could not gather the will to let go.

"Thank you, espía."

His shoulders sagged, the guilt weighing back on them. He did not deserve any thanks after what happened. "For what?"

"For being here. I…" Her words trailed off and she removed her hand from his. "I always wanted to thank you. I can’t remember what for, but I feel like I should tell you."

He sucked at his teeth. He didn't know what she was talking about, but it didn't matter. She needed to rest. It sounded like her medication was kicking in and he didn’t want to wear out his welcome.

"Dea, you need time to heal. We cannot stay here, so I have called for a ship to come by for you. You will be transported to a hospital in Valencia." 

 "How long will I be there?" 

"At most, two weeks. They'll be able to monitor your condition and take care of you. As soon as you're better, you'll return back with us on the ship." 

“...And where will *you* be?”

“I will continue tracking our lost prisoners in your absence. I expect to make good progress by the time you’re healed.” 

Her tone suddenly turned bitter. "So you're getting what you always wanted." 

He did a double take. "-Excuse me?"

"I'll be gone, and you're going to continue our mission by yourself. Isn't that what is happening?" 

He grew defensive. "Why do you think that's what I want?" 

Her eyes lowered. She didn't respond right away, inhaling deeply and letting out a shaky breath.

"You never wanted me here. You despise me. You think I don't know it?" She whimpered. She had succumbed to her tears. "You've probably been wanting this ever since you met me."

"Cosa diavolo? I never wanted you to get hurt!” 

"But you wanted me gone." She countered. 

This was not like her. He'd never seen Dea lose herself like this. He worried she was stressing herself out. Her words no longer mattered and his irritation was replaced with concern. His chest grew cold when he saw a tear fall from her jaw and land onto the blankets. 

“I’m only doing this because Kane asked me to. I won’t risk having you on the ship and opening your wound. I - the crew  - wants you to get better.” 

She didn't say anything. Her body shivered and she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. He took a glance at his trench coat that was still folded on the nightstand. He retrieved it and offered it to Dea. When she made no move to take it, he laid it on her instead. She fought him at first, but eventually embraced the warmth it provided. 

“They will be here soon. Auguri di pronta guarigione.” 

She closed her eyes and prepared to rest. He was about to leave the room until he caught her small voice. The Dea he knew had temporarily resurfaced.

“..Try not to miss me too much.” 

He smiled under his mask at their more usual banter. His reply was a playful hum. “-I ask the same of you.” 

She snorted sarcastically. He laughed and shut the door behind him.

An Armada ship announced its arrival when it docked itself at Santo Pollo. Dea was helped out of bed by a couple of her crew, who supported her so that she would not undo any of her stitches. Her journey to the ship was assisted by Deacon, who held her closely and took careful steps with her down the hills. Neither of them were used to such close proximity with one another, but chose to redirect their focus on getting her onboard the vessel. 

There was nothing more to this. 

That’s what the spymaster kept telling himself. 

He noticed one of his gloved hands was wrapped protectively around her waist. It was there to prevent her from slipping, but the image was unintentionally ingraining itself into his mind. He cleared his throat and carefully helped her onto the docks. He moved his attention to Dea’s feet, making sure she didn’t step in-between the floorboards.

They weren’t even at the ship yet when a few Armada medical officers jumped down and swiped her from his hands. They assisted her the rest of the way. He waved his hand at her retreating figure, letting out a frustrated groan when she didn’t even see it. No matter. He had things to attend to - like returning their ship and retrieving The Executioner. Then they would move elsewhere, to rest until they could officially resume things tomorrow. 

He stood where he was and watched them prepare for departure. He didn’t move until the boat sailed away to a nearby stormgate. He reluctantly picked up his cane and rounded up his crew - bidding a final goodbye to Don Rodrigo, and thanking him again for his aid. He cast one last glance in the ship's direction before leaving, and felt a sudden loss when there was no captain of his following him at his side.

----

It was dark by the time Dea was finally brought to a hospital. She’d been transported through Valencia and was admitted into one of the Armada medical facilities, where they specifically treated their soldiers. She was given a room and a small dinner that would not upset her stomach. She was thankful to finally eat, but ended up blanching at the hospital supper. She decided to retire for the night instead.

. . . 

Dea couldn’t sleep either. Her head was still pounding and although the pain in her abdomen was beginning to subside, something felt...off. It dawned on her what it was and she called for one of the nurses. A young man entered the room wearing Armada-themed scrubs and perked up attentively at the desired patient. 

“Everything alright, miss?” 

“I had a trench coat when I was checked in,” She explained timidly. “Is it still here?” 

“I’ll go check for you.” 

The man standing before her wore a different ensemble - a black hat with a pinched front, and under that remained his bauta mask, except a bandana was loosely wrapped around the lower half of it. He wore a dark trench coat, buttoned on his chest and separated at his stomach, revealing a tight vest. A belt wrapped around his waist with a holster for his gun. His usual cape was missing from his shoulders, which threw her off the most. 

Without it, she was able to see his frame more clearly. His layers of jackets concealed how thin he actually was. His clothes fit so snug on his body that she wondered if he had any fat at all. Her eyes curiously trailed Deacon's stature as he stood straight. He lowered his cane to clutch it with both hands. He discarded his gloves for a pair of black leather ones. Her attention was drawn to them instantly. 

"It's time to get moving." He told her. 

This did not snap Dea out of her ogling. She was only brought back to reality when he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Deacon was no doubt waiting to hear an explanation for her staring, so she blurted out: 

"You're skinny."

She regretted saying that. His eyes subconsciously flicked down to his body. He lowered his arms to keep them to his sides. She wanted to apologize. But he spoke before she could even open her mouth. 

"How are you feeling?"

She finally sat up and rubbed her temple behind her mask. She could faintly remember what happened, but some details were still unclear. She recalled Deacon carrying her up the stairs but that was the last thing she could picture before passing out. She sagged her body and let out a defeated sigh. 

" Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid last night…"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You made a friend at the bar."

"...Not one I got too close with..?”

He laughed. “Not on my watch. Have you forgotten we’re sharing the same room?” 

She wanted to banter some more, but a sharp ache came to her head and her hand shot up to clutch it. She regretted drinking so much last night. She wasn’t hungover, but she felt terribly dehydrated. She needed to brush her teeth and take a shower. Her dress would need a proper wash soon as well…

His voice was quiet. “Do you remember anything?” 

“I think you rudely threw me on the bed and then I ate a lot of meat.” She placed her palm over her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t come to regret that. “Why? Did something happen?”

His silence stretched out too long for her liking. “...No.” He knew she was going to pry, so he tapped the nightstand again and pointed to the bag placed beside her. “You’ll want to change into your disguise, now.” 

She took a quick glance at it before standing and stretching. “Give me a bit to shower, then I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“Bene. I’ll get us some coffee.” 

Dea was troubled as she stepped into the shower. She felt guilty for getting tipsy last night, and on top of that , something happened that Deacon didn’t wish to disclose. Did she make a fool of herself? Had she sung drunkenly at the bar in front of everybody? Is that why he had to carry her away? She narrowed her eyes in thought as she spread the soap on her body. A frown settled on her pink lips.

There was something else bothering her, too. 

She’d be lying if she said his disguise wasn’t convincing. It looked like a bandit had single-handedly made his way into their room and was ready to send a bullet through her skull. She was thankful Deacon woke her up the way he did. But that wasn’t what bothered her about his appearance - rather, that she found it attractive. 

She used to watch westerns with her sisters growing up. They were popular pictures in Monquista. She used to fantasize about the cowboys, imagining herself getting swept away by them. They were silly daydreams back when she couldn’t sensibly comprehend the danger. But her attraction remained, and the man she was assigned to work with unknowingly met the imaginary checklist she’d made for her idealized cowboy boyfriend. 

…And she called him ‘skinny’! She wanted to slap herself in the face. 

She reminded her conscience about the man behind the costume. This was the same guy who read novels when they sailed and took his coffee black. He was the most boring person she’d met to date. Sure, she learned a few interesting things about him…he was musically inclined and was fluent in different languages. He had an interesting trick where he could summon his pistol from thin air, and he could gracefully twirl it in-between his gloved fingers. He also had lovely handwriting and his cape looked mesmerizing when it caught the wind a certain way-

…Hold on..!

Dea stopped lathering herself as her eyes grew wide. Her heart beat intensely and her breathing became unsteady. She willingly emptied her mind, focusing on cleaning herself as best as she could. She was thankful to get the grease out of her hair and properly clean her skin. It felt strange not applying makeup anymore…there was no need to, since her appearance was hidden, and it would get smeared anyway. She sometimes had to stop herself from the habit.

She stepped out and dried herself with a towel, taking the briefest glance into the mirror to spot the faint blush on her cheeks. 

----

Deacon obtained the coffee and added the amount of sugar and cream he knew Dea liked. He carried it back to the saloon. On his way, he couldn’t help peering down at his disguise and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. It was habitual for him to wear several layers. It kept him warm for his trips to colder regions, like Polaris, and offered many pockets for him to keep various things in. Above all - he liked covering himself. He felt bare to be in anything less. 

Dea had a point, though. He was…terribly thin. 

Being overseas all the time meant that he didn’t have a nutritious diet. He never ate that much, since he was busy working, and rarely spared an evening to have a good supper. He mostly ate on-the-go snacks so he wouldn’t have a growling stomach giving himself away. MRE meals were the most he would consume. But that wasn’t saying much. 

He was happy that his mission with Dea enabled him to eat a little more properly. She wasn’t as content with snacks and wished to have at least one meal every day. This was more than he was accustomed to. But since he moved so much, he burned the calories quickly and didn’t gain any weight. He wasn’t as unhealthy as Bishop was, who starved himself for days when he was engrossed in his experiments, but he must have been thin enough to gain Dea’s attention. 

He felt self-conscious. He questioned why . 

It wasn’t like he held her opinion in any high regard - she’d teased him about his shoes and hat before, which didn't phase him. If anything, he should be flattered, since her entire uniform was solely based on his . And she couldn’t see his face to judge any of his features. But her first comment on his body was what evoked a reaction out of him. He fumbled to articulate why. 

Was he trying to impress her? He didn’t have bodily mass like Rooke did. He’d be the least athletic out of the Elites if it weren’t for Bishop. Deacon chased his convicts down - he didn’t completely lack strength or agility. But he was about as average as any man was. He was unimpressive on the eyes. He knew this. It’s partly why he dressed the way he did. But now he was realizing it was far from stately to gain a woman’s attention.

Deacon forced himself back to the present when he found two swinging doors in front of him. He strode through and climbed the stairs to their room above. 

---

Dea bit her tongue as she struggled to tie the corset around her body. She swore under her breath as she twisted her fingers around. She wished this room had more than one mirror. Why did she even have to wear this with her disguise!? She had no prior experience with these, despite how much her family pressured her to. She wished she had paid more attention when her mother tied her sister's corsets. 

She kept her original mask and zendale with the outfit, but had to wear a red underlayer and corset. She wore longer black boots that stopped below her knees. A modest skirt of similar color came down to her lower thighs, accompanied with a pair of fishnets. Her gloves covered her forearms and she was provided with a small holster for her own pistol. The arrangement was finished with a fancy hat attached with large feathers, and a small coat that would cover her arms. 

The door opened in the midst of her frustration and her head snapped in its direction. Deacon came in carrying two cups. He paused when he saw her posed uncomfortably in front of the mirror. It didn't take long to piece two-and-two together.

"Having trouble?" He teased. She glared at him. 

"Were *you* the one who asked for this!?"

He shook his head innocently, setting their drinks down. "Queen insisted on the corset. I had no say in the matter."

'She's testing me!' Dea thought helplessly as she reached behind her again. Deacon watched her in the reflection. She struggled for a minute or two before he offered his assistance. "Do you need help?" 

She released her grip in surprise. "You know how to do this?"

He nodded. He stepped forward and gripped the string from behind. She couldn't see what he was doing, but watched his arms move along with his eyes. She felt his fingertips ghost along her back and she involuntarily shivered. They’d never shared actual physical contact like this before. His touch was…a little intense. The leather texture from his gloves weren’t helping. She nearly arched herself away from him before she stopped herself, realizing that it might give her away if she reacted at all. 

The corset was secured around her figure as Deacon stepped back. It was close-fitting, but not overbearingly so. She could still breathe and move freely in it, which was what they wanted if they were to partake in some action today. She moved closer to the mirror and turned around to admire his work.

Her partner, however, was a little preoccupied with the sight now laid before him. Dea’s hourglass figure was more prominent with a tight corset wrapped around it. His eyes came down curiously to her skirt, boot, and fishnet combination. He didn’t exactly know what Queen had gone for with the getup; all he told her was that she needed a disguise to blend in with him in Cool Ranch. Whatever it was…it was surely going to distract a few of their enemies, if they looked in the right places. 

Dea repeated something, and he tore his gaze away from her body. She looked a tad aggravated with him. “-Sorry?” 

“I said ‘thank you’. Where exactly did you learn to tie a lady’s corset?” 

He cleared his throat and adopted a more professional stance. “Queen was the one who taught me. She has the mindset that every gentleman should know how to do it.” 

She snickered. “You? A gentleman? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“You’d be surprised how chivalrous I can be, to ladies who deserve it. Now, come on. We need to get going.” 

She rolled her eyes before picking up her gun and coffee, making sure she had everything for their mission. They departed from the saloon in the direction of the docks. When they arrived, Dea noticed The Executioner was nowhere in sight. Instead, Deacon led them to a frigate completely different in appearance. There were no clockwork emblems anywhere on it, leaving no hint to their affiliation with the Armada. He likely picked it up from a vendor nearby. She recognized the crew’s voices as they greeted them - who had changed to blend in with the locals.

She was impressed by his attention to detail. “An undercover ship? Why didn’t I think of that?” 

“--Which is why you didn’t plan this operation.” 

He ignored her offended gesture, leading them onto the ship and preparing to set sail. The wind was a little rough today, so the ride wouldn’t be entirely smooth, but he was confident they could get there in a timely fashion. As soon as all the crew-members were settled and the ship was moving, Deacon decided to get something important out of the way. 

He approached Dea with a serious look in his eyes. “I need you to tell me how experienced you are with fighting.” 

She was a little surprised at the inquiry, but answered truthfully. “I have basic combat and weapon training. I was praised for being particularly good with guns.”

“Are there any weak spots I should know about..?” 

She hung her head for a moment, reflecting on her shortcomings. She hated thinking about this. She wanted to focus on her strengths and prove she was worthy to be in the Armada. But after what happened in Monquista…she understood why he wanted to know. They couldn’t have something like that happening again. 

“I’m not the strongest girl, but I can be pretty quick. Should I know some of your drawbacks, espía ?” 

“I’m not too tough, either, but with some coordination, we should do just fine.” He opened one of his pockets and handed her a pack of bullets, which she accepted. “Since we’re both dependent on our guns, distance is imperative. Be aware and avoid any and all weapons pointed at you. Our main objective is to capture our wanted fugitive - the moment we have them, we leave. I have no interest in arresting other criminals right now.” 

“So, we shoot but don't kill, right?” 

He nodded. “If you can help it.”

“More than either of us can count,” He mumbled, briefly searching through the drawers. He almost laughed at the ironic placement of a bible.

“I would rather sleep back on the ship.” 

“You'll just have to deal with it, then.'”

She opened her mouth to complain, but held her tongue when he reached into his coat and grabbed a dossier. He handed it to her patiently. She opened the file with curious eyes. It contained all the information about their current target. He brushed past her to head to the door.

“Read that while I go and fetch our things. You'll need to know what's in there." 

She nodded, allowing him to leave the room. 

By the time Deacon came back, Dea had finished reading all the papers. She threw the folder onto the desk and went to sit on the edge of the bed before she stopped herself. She moved to the chair instead and crossed her arms. She picked up her head to look at him. 

"That man's disgusting," He could hear her quietly grinding her teeth. "Just why had he been targeting the Armada, anyway?"

"From what I learned, his past lover enlisted and that made him furious. He had a history of stalking her, and claims that we took her ‘away’ from him when we provided her protection. He likely found shelter in Santo Pollo after escaping his arrest.”

"Dios mío… "

"I should warn you - most fugitives I capture are the scum of the Spiral. I don't exactly work clean." 

"I'll be more than happy to give this bastard what's coming to him." She peeked over to the large bag he carried into the room. "What's in that?"

He pulled out a few pieces of clothing. "-Our disguises."

"So we really are going undercover..."

"Indeed. I had to contact Queen to make sure your size was right. We’ll try them on in the morning."

She tilted her head, attempting to remember when she ever caught him talking with anybody . "When did you have the time to do all of this..?"

"I've planned our entire journey before we ever left Valencia.” He set it aside and handed her a smaller bag that contained her things. “We'll head to Santo Pollo tomorrow."

He moved to set his things on the nightstand and hung their disguises in the closet. He placed a couple of books down on the desk while Dea eyed her bed warily. She peeled off the top layer before reluctantly laying down. It was a little comfortable, but that was definitely because the mattress had been worn in.

She shivered.

Deacon began writing on a few papers with one of his books propped open. She watched him scribble away until the room darkened. By then, he flicked on a nearby lamp and resumed what he'd been doing. She shuffled a little in the background, starting to get restless.

He eventually set down his pencil and stood from the chair, taking a brief glance outside. "I should get us something to eat before it gets too late."

She didn't stop him when he moved to the door. Her stomach felt like it was going to eat itself. They didn't have their usual meal today on account of their… detour this morning. She was getting a little sick of the MREs back on the ship,  so she was craving to eat *actual* food again.

He dismissed himself, promising a prompt return, and she waited patiently in the meantime. After some time passed, boredom got the best of Dea and she climbed back down into the main floor of the saloon.

—--

She wanted to have a good night out for a change, and ordered a heavier drink this time around. The unfortunate part of working for the Armada meant that she was always busy, and had no idle hours for partying. Not that she was the reckless type - but she sort of missed the social scene, after being kept from it. Being forced to share a room with the same man for several weeks was starting to make her seek company from others.

'This will have to do ,' She thought to herself.

She was halfway through her glass when a man sat next to her. Judging by his outfit, he worked as a miner in one of the local sites. His hair was long and he sported yellow leather gauntlets with overalls. His skin was dirty and his beard looked like it hadn't been washed in ages.

"Good evenin'." He greeted. 

She drummed her fingers on the glass. She wasn't feeling anything yet, which was disappointing, but also a relief right now. "Hi." 

"Say…I saw ya' here earlier with a fella'. Wouldn't happen ta' be yer' beau, would he?"

"No," She answered, observing the shelves of liquor in front of them. 

"Well then, might I say yer' awfully pretty! I mean…I'm guessin' you are, under that thing yer' wearin' on your face." He looked at her sideways. "What's with the mask?" 

"I'm from Valencia," She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The man stared at her before scratching the inside of his ear.

"Is that the fancy place with all them unicorns?"

Dea rolled her eyes. The good part about hiding her face meant she didn't have to smile. "-Thaaaat's the one."

He watched her chug the rest of the liquid before his very eyes. The moment she set it down, he perked up in his seat. "Might I buy the pretty lady another one?"

"No thanks," She declined. She knew where this scene went - a stranger would offer her drink after drink in hopes of getting her wasted, then he would have his way with her later that night. She wasn't stupid enough to fall for that.

"Gosh! I just wanna' be polite. You can pick anythin' ya' want. And I won't impose after that, I promise."

She mused the idea for several minutes. Right when he was about to leave, she held up a finger to the bartender. "Get me a long island iced tea."

The alcohol must have hit her in the midst of their conversation, because she was laughing after every sentence he spoke. He wasn't necessarily a funny guy, nor were the tales of his childhood entertaining in any way, but her mind felt bubbly and she couldn't focus on anything except the strange-sounding words coming out of his mouth. 

"---So my pa comes out an' starts hollerin' at my brother and I to get out of them bushes! We were panickin', ya' see, cause we thought he knew 'bout the branding iron..! But he was jus' mad that we didn't eat my ma's pie. Boy, were we relieved..! You wouldn't believe the type of whoopin' we used ta' get back then…" 

An unbecoming snort came out of her nose. She felt...warm. Not entirely comfortable, but she could listen to this all night if she could. She slid the empty glass forward and waved a hand when the bartender offered to refill it for her. Judging by his look, it was clear her inebriation was becoming obvious. 

She brought her gaze up in time to spot Deacon coming through the two swinging doors out front. He was carrying a bag that undoubtedly held their dinner. He was about to walk straight past her until their eyes met, and then he paused in his steps. He observed her slumped posture before darting his attention over to the gentleman she'd just met. 

For some reason, she felt like she'd been caught doing something obscene, and froze in her movements. But then the man said more of those funny words and she broke down laughing again.

"How much has she had to drink?" Deacon asked the stranger, who puffed out his cheeks as he got a good look at her. Dea had her head rested on the counter, completely turned away from the two of them. She looked like she'd pass out at any minute.

"She was holdin' it together 'til now. I wouldn't keep her out too long, if I were you."

He took the hint and tugged on her sleeve, urging his co-captain from her seat. "It's time to leave."

Dea protested, shrugging his hand off with a huff. "What!? No! This man here, Rick– Um…Wait. What was your name, again?" 

He smiled patiently. "Brody."

"¡Gracias, mi querido hombre! Brody was just telling me about the time he-"

To her utter astonishment, Deacon lifted her off from the stool with no hassle. She wobbled a bit in his grip at first. He had to shuffle to balance her over his shoulder while carrying the food in his other hand. Her drunken mind could barely comprehend what happened, except for the fact that she was looking at the floor now. 

He dipped his head politely. "Grazie."

Brody waved it off as he watched the masked figure carry his lookalike up the stairs. When they disappeared from view, the emissary fumbled while he carried her. He was thankful their room wasn't far, and practically threw Dea on the bed once they were inside, just to be relieved from the weight on his arm. 

She landed safely on her back, but didn't move. She spent an awfully long time staring at the ceiling. He set down the bag and carefully removed their food, arranging the plastic cutlery with their servings. 

Deacon watched as her eyelids fought to stay open. He started with an amused tone, "Far be it from me for criticizing a lady getting wasted on her job, but–"

"-I'm not!" She defended, turning to look at him. "Just…a little tipsy. Is that so bad? Wanting to wind down a little bit?" 

"Might I suggest not blindly trusting pitmans at the bar? Not every stranger you meet out here is a good-intended oaf like him.”

She placed a hand on her chest, acting offended at his words. "How dare you say that about my new friend, Bret!?" 

He didn't want to bother at this point, though the situation was a little funny. He hadn’t witnessed her intoxicated like this, but made a mental note not to leave her alone at a bar again. He handed Dea her boxed food, which made her sit up. She took it eagerly from his hands and threw it open, only to blink in intimidation at what she saw.

"This…is a lot of beef."

"Good luck finding anything else here." Deacon scoffed as he reached for his plastic fork. 

She shrugged before digging her utensil in to retrieve a bite, only for the food to gracelessly clash against her mask. She groaned in frustration. She had no second thought as she unbuttoned the sides of her zendale. Her company’s eyes flew over to her direction as she clutched the edge of her mask and began to lift. Before it could leave her face, he jumped from his chair and shot out his hand to grip her wrist tightly.

"Dea." He warned. 

She jumped as his gloved hand latched onto hers. She looked at him in a mix of offense and confusion. But then she realized where her hand was and turned rigid. She was about to take off her mask! Right in FRONT of him! Her heart beat rapidly at the realization, and the sober part of Dea inwardly scolded her for her thoughtlessness. 

He removed his grip and stood to his feet, noting the heavy air in the room. "'I’ll…go eat in the bathroom."

She scrunched up her nose. The unappetizing thought was tenfold to her right now. "No, that's gross. Let me just-"

He gave her no chance to stop him, disappearing through the other door in the room. There was an audible sound of the lock latching afterwards. Dea sat there staring at the wood before glancing down at the food still sitting in her lap. Its smell was growing enticing as the seconds ticked by. Her growling stomach wasn’t making things any easier. In a moment of defeat, she threw off her mask and hungrily ate the food. She was thankful Deacon hadn’t been in the same room when she did this. 

She wanted to wait for her partner before heading to bed. But the dizzy feeling encompassing her head made the room suddenly turn fuzzy. Her head fell to the pillow in a slow movement, and she was passed out in only a minute.

Deacon tightly gripped the plastic fork. He didn’t unclench it at all during his time in the bathroom. 

It was a grimy place that likely didn’t see much cleaning. Knowing what these rooms were for, he could understand that. The lodgings back in Valencia were grand and impeccably clean. But in his line of work, he’d stayed at much more unsavory motels before. Places he would never willingly take Dea to. For this reason, his appetite was practically nonexistent as he stood there. He wasn’t sure where to place down his food, so he held it instead. 

He was as still as a statue, staring at the tilted floor in complete silence. 

He was glad he looked up when he did to catch her removing her zendale. He hadn’t stopped her then, despite how much he should’ve. He reasoned with himself that she was feeling hot, probably from the drinks, and needed to get some air. Unfortunately, he’d been distracted by the sight she unknowingly exposed to him. He only caught her trying to take off her mask at the last second. He’d never moved so quickly in his life. 

Dea had messy black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her ears were also pierced - he recalled seeing a small pair of blue earrings on them. But he refused to indulge any further when he realized what she was doing. He couldn’t live with himself if he *had* seen her face - revealed in a drunken stupor…

It was a little ironic, he thought. He’d been prying into her personal life since they started working together, wishing to know her identity just to get a peek at her credentials. And here had been the golden opportunity to know what she looked like. He would have undoubtedly memorized her face and shortly scoured the Armada’s files to find everything he needed. 

But things were different now. He knew how much Dea valued her privacy; the countless requests for him to look away or step into another room when it was needed...He could respect the mysterious requirement for a mask - he donned one himself, after all. And he would loathe himself if his moment of vulnerability came from having one too many drinks in a night. He couldn’t let Dea make that mistake. Not when he was of sound mind and she wasn’t.

He leaned against the wall, trying to rid these images from his mind, for her sake. After spending what felt like an eternity in that restroom, he realized he couldn’t. He unlocked the door and gripped the handle. For a second, he felt unsure. Considering what just happened, walking in on her mask-less was the last thing he wanted. He pressed the side of his head against the door to listen for any sounds. All was quiet. Hesitantly, he opened it just a sliver and called out to the room.

"Dea?"