About You, About Me, About Someone, About Things Unknown

She had quite a reputation, and Sheffield was aware of that. Cold and stern, even by Royal Navy standards. She was a perfectionist to a fault, to such an extent that even the Head Maid, who would normally appreciate such quality amid the diverse quirkiness that defined the Royal Maid Corps, thought she was excessive. Her work ethic was as uncompromising as a mountain range. The only humor she knew was dry, raw sarcasm. And so on, and so on.

She was just doing her duty in the best way she could, so what people thought of her would never bother her. Of course, before, she had never experienced him, of all people, walking in on her doing that.

Now that—that bothered her.

"Oh? Sorry, didn't know you were tucking her in," said her master—and the father to her child. He was sheepish, an expression she used to find unbecoming at first, then distracting, and finally, endearing. She had never admitted to ever feeling that way, even now, and never would.

"You heard, didn't you?" She questioned, almost in a whisper, still cradling the bundle, occasionally rocking it when the child in it started to stir and get fussy.

"Heard what?"

Again, he was feigning ignorance, she was certain. He had always been a troublesome master who seemingly knew a thousand ways to fluster her and get under her skin and much more.

"Don't be coy now, master. You know."

His face flushed, just like her own, but the reason was probably different. Then he chuckled, and it went on longer than she thought was acceptable.

"Okay, so you were singing a lullaby for our little dear. Nothing wrong with that. That's still cute, you know."

"I...that's not cute," she scoffed and scowled, though it felt half-hearted, and her cheeks were warming up, even more so when she noticed him approaching. "It's just a tune I thought up on the spot. Nothing special about it."

So much for keeping a dignified front—even someone like him would've noticed her falling defenses.

"Hm. Stubborn as ever, I see. Well, it's not like I want you to change anytime soon."

She was grateful her baby was now already sound asleep because what he said was already distracting enough, and that was before he inched even closer.

"So you can continue messing with me? How perverse, master. How very perverse."

It wasn't so much sarcasm as it was a feeble attempt to keep him at arm's length. Not now, not yet. She couldn't push him away. That was unfitting of a maid, no matter how much an annoyance their master might be.

But soon, he stopped, yet her relief was tinged with something she could only describe as mild disappointment. He laughed, and that laugh was gentle, and when his hand reached forward, she held her breath—only for it to touch the sleeping child's brow. Seeing it wasn't as disappointing.

"No, that's not it," his voice was a bare whisper—and was his face that red? She wasn't sure.

"...And what would it be, then?" She tried to sound firmer, but her voice was just as quiet.

"I could still remember the day I heard you singing by accident," he smiled, and it wasn't the usual childish grin she knew—it was something only a fond memory could bring forth. "It stuck with me for days."

"You...you should've just walked away. Forgotten about it. A maid shouldn't—"

"Oh, you're more than just a maid, you know. And your singing proved that there's more to you than meets the eye. I guess that's when I decided I wanted to know you better."

"And so you did, even though you made a nuisance of yourself in the process," she tried to sound neutral, but that fluttering in her stomach wouldn't be calmed. It felt just like that day, but this time, it didn't trouble her as much.

"And I won't stop there, not anytime soon."

"Master, what else is there to know?" She swallowed before she could blurt out the fact that there wasn't a single inch of her left that he hadn't seen—and the other way around. That thought was rather shameful, as was remembering how she fell so low only to gain so much.

This time, he did get closer—too close, even, and she remembered just how tall he was compared to her and how she only barely reached over his chest. But that wasn't what drew her in, against all reason. She was reminded why when she felt his fingers brushing against her face.

"Well, for one, I just found out what a wonderful mother you would be. I wonder how you could surprise me further, Sheffy."

"I...don't know if I could, and pardon me, I don't want to find out."

He didn't say anything at that. He was silent as his gaze fell on their child again, watching the girl slumber, and he looked so...content. As was she, actually.

"Well, she's sound asleep. Let me put her to bed."

"Very well..." She allowed him to pick the child up.

"Do be careful, master. Or you'll have something coming your way. And not the pleasant kind."

Perhaps her concern was leaking, as did her affection because he didn't seem to be affected.

His smile was still there, but he otherwise didn't comment.

The crib was near, but the walk there felt like forever. Maybe she should be grateful for it because seeing him carry their daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world was probably the most fulfilling sight she'd ever seen.

When he placed the child in the crib, he seemed reluctant to let go. She could sympathize. But he finally did, and when the child didn't stir, nestled among the covers, he seemed relieved.

So was she, to be reminded that he didn't view their child as a burden, an accident, an obligation because she didn't. Not even when carrying her meant that she was out of work for months, deprived of something she would view as her reason to exist before.

"Master, you're a good man. A good father."

She couldn't help it. It was mortifying, but she said it anyway. For the briefest of moments, he was dumbstruck, perhaps rightfully so. For her to say it, mean it, and not take it back—even she didn't expect that. But it was worth saying, if only for the face.

"And you said you've nothing else to show me?" The laugh was hushed, but the mirth was not.

"Please don't make light of it, master," she just had to look the other way lest he noticed the composure she worked to regain cracking.

"I'm not. You've no idea how glad I am. But..."

The pause had a certain force to it that she couldn't ignore.

"...You've been a wonderful woman, too. And an even more wonderful mother."

She would've disputed the sentiment if she wasn't struggling to hold her breath. To contain herself. Especially because she knew he wasn't done. At least he didn't look as assured as before.

"But...well...I wonder if I will be a good husband."

"Master...what are you saying?"

Why did she even ask? It was already clear what his intentions were, even if he was a little roundabout about it. But now was not the time to be annoyed.

His gaze wasn't uncertain and more focused—the kind she had only seen when they were heading to battle, a reminder that he was indeed the Commander first and foremost.

"Marry me, Sheffield."

That was it. No ring, no fanfare, no grandeur, and no florid flattery. He asked for her hand like he was asking for candy. But she could feel the weight of the words, and they affected her all the same.

"Master...are you serious? You are not being cruel by toying with me?" She bit her dry lips, but she wasn't waking up. The palpitations, the warmth, and the chaos of her thoughts were all real.

"I'm serious."

He wasn't smiling, nor was he laughing. In a way, she wished he was. That would make things easier.

"Master, please think it over. Let's...not be hasty."

"Already did. I've thought about this ever since you were carrying her."

"The others will talk."

"They already did and will always will. I've learned to ignore them."

"And they will tease you."

"Don't underestimate my capability for retort. Besides, I know plenty of unsavory things about a lot of people as well. Yes, that includes my superiors."

"...And what about our duties, master?"

"We are raising a child together, and only now are you bringing that up? We've always managed, haven't we?"

"The conflict, master. The war."

She thought he couldn't be any more solemn. She was mistaken.

"Sounds like a good time to find yet another reason to make it out alive. I have one already—but another one won't hurt. And both are just as important."

She was about to run out of argument, unlike him.

"Well, you don't have to answer right away. Even if you decline, though, it's alright."

It was kindness. A lesser man would've forced her, never allowing any room for debate because a maid could never refuse. Yet, he asked her as a person instead.

"You are willing to wait, master? For someone like me? Surely, you could find someone...more worthy."

She quickly regretted every word that passed her lips because they hurt her just as much, if not more so. The ensuing silence stretched on as she struggled to keep her bearing, the surroundings becoming impossibly cold and stifling at the same time.

"I see. Is that a no?"

He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't being indifferent either. Thinking he could be disappointed felt like having a cold dagger pressed against her neck.

"No...no, master. It's just that it's too sudden. It's too much."

She hated how she had become a whimpering fool, but that was nothing compared to seeing the realization on his face—of a guilt misplaced.

"Right, this is too sudden. Sorry for pressuring you. But well, I said it already, so if you could think it over, it would mean a lot to me. But remember, I'm not going to force you into something you don't want. Nothing will change how I see you, though, Sheffy. Sorry about that."

Don't apologize, she would've said if that feeling in her throat wasn't choking her. All the while, he was looking at the crib, at the child sleeping there, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring. She ended up doing the same.

Was the child a fruit of a loveless passion, a mistake born from an errant need, of desperation? Would she prefer it to be that way? Wouldn't that make things easier?

No, she was never one to take the easy way, and neither was he, for that matter. And not even she was that heartless—the fleeting thoughts were sickening.

"Master, do you love us that much? Enough to want us, forever?"

The question was probably long due by now. She was not immune to doubts, but she could always tune them out. But this one proved bothersome and persistent.

"I do."

The simplicity wouldn't feel as reassuring if he was hesitating.

"Even if you haven't seen the ugliest part of me?"

"I believe I have, unless you're hiding something from me. But I know you, and you aren't. You may be a little dishonest with your feelings, but keeping secrets is not exactly your thing."

"And even if—"

She stopped there. She would've pointed out that their lives could be turned upside down if she didn't remember she had already asked that day when she was in his arms, struggling to process that she had just slept with her master.

He would not leave, and they would face it, he assured her then. He would say the same now, and it would still be the truth.

"Sheffy, everything alright?"

"Master, would you allow me to hold your hand?"

She didn't have the mind to sigh at how ridiculous the request might be. His surprise was apparent, but he predictably didn't refuse, and that face didn't last long.

"Take it."

It wasn't the first time their hands met, but they weren't desperate this time, nor were they frantic, grasping for something to anchor themselves to. They were calm. Maybe not content, but she didn't mind. All she needed was a moment to think with more clarity, just enough semblance of control.

And he waited, as he had always been.

She could've said something, anything. Maybe an apology, maybe gratitude. Maybe both, and so many other things.

But they could wait. That was the only thing she could decide when she leaned on his chest, feeling the rhythm of the heart beneath. The beat was somewhat like her own, and the cloud in her head was clearing—and only then could she recall the days leading up to the moment, the unlikeliest of circumstances. The strangest of stories.

They were such an odd pair. A sneering maid and a shameless master. A proud warrior and a foolhardy leader.

But...she was happy, wasn't she? Even if she could only admit it freely now.

And the more she dwelled on it, the more she was certain.

In the end, she was as greedy as Belfast, after all.

"Master, you don't need to wait long."

"Huh?"

"Your answer. You can have it now."

"Re-really? And...what is it?"

The way he perked up, something that used to be so annoying, was now emboldening.

"Yes, I will marry you. Please, don't make me repeat it."

He was at a loss for words, she could tell. She could understand. She herself was still coming to terms with it, though not enough to shake her resolve.

"Master, say something."

He only smiled. No pithy remark, none of the usual cheeky grin. Only his hold grew stronger. Then he let go, only to wrap his arms around her.

"Thank you."

At least he didn't doubt her sincerity. She shouldn't, either.

"I love you, master. So very much."

She didn't say it, then. The shame was too great, and the fear even greater.

But now, words didn't fail her, and she could even put a little more emotion into them. Simple and without pretense.

"And I love you too."

His answer was just as simple, the last piece that fell into place.

She could've laughed if she was the sort to do so. She settled with a small smile.

"Once it's all over...We..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to. She knew. It was nice to think about, she found out. A future worth fighting for.

"We will."

He chuckled and pulled away, but his hands were now on her shoulders.

"Shall we seal the deal, then?"

"An indecent proposal, master. But then again...that'd be innocent compared to what we've done, wouldn't it?"

"Precisely," he leaned closer, and she waited. Only their lips never met.

They stared at the crib, whose occupant had stirred awake and was now bawling. He was the first to go up to her, picking her up, cradling and cooing. She only calmed down somewhat.

"Shh, little girl, Daddy's here. Mommy, too. Everything's alright."

"Please give her to me, master," she stepped forward, arms held open. He was a little reluctant to let go but eventually relented.

"Doesn't look like she's hungry."

"You can tell?"

"I'm learning, master," she held the girl against her chest, and she became less fussy, the tiny hands clinging to her dress. "She's just unsettled and maybe lonely."

"Wow. I have a lot of homework to do, then."

"You have to, master?"

"I'd be a borderline deadbeat if I don't pull my weight."

"Master, you're already tied up enough as it is. And in any case, you're already a good father."

"That means a lot, coming from you. Well, I still want to become better. For your two's sake."

"I appreciate the gesture, really. But maybe it'd be a good idea that you take a rest first, master. You look tired."

"Do I?"

She just had to shake her head. He didn't even realize he was almost wobbling on his feet. Whether he was overwhelmed by work or emotions, it was clear he needed to take five.

"Yes, you are."

"Well...okay. I'll just make myself comfortable there," he made his way toward the nearby couch and plopped down with a grunt. "I'm staying here."

"Very well, master. And since you do, allow us to join you."

She could've sworn he never agreed to something so quickly. When she joined him on the couch, he sidled closer. He held a finger before their daughter's hand, and she immediately latched onto it, gurgling in delight, staring wide-eyed.

"Are you not going to sleep, master?"

"Just a little longer, Sheffy. Don't want to miss a thing."

Figures. Of course, it wouldn't be so easy. Even the baby wasn't as obstinate. That reminded her—she must be put to sleep.

He was watching, but she sang it anyway, the little nameless ditty—soon the girl began nodding off, and her grasp on his finger loosened.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart," he whispered, sounding like he was close to crashing out himself.

"You too, master."

"Hnh...You will be there when I wake up?"

"Yes, master."

"Okay...then..." he sighed and leaned back, his breathing becoming slower and relaxed, just like his muscles. His sleeping face was serene, just like that day after they talked and sorted things out. It was difficult but worth the while. A lot.

So was the child resting against her bosom. She took after her father more, after all. But there was no denying she was the mother.

She made sure he was truly asleep and rested her head against his shoulder. He didn't budge. She wasn't being held, but it was warm all the same.

It was, perhaps, a glimpse into the future. At least, he'd probably frame it as such. She wasn't the sentimental or romantic type, but she could agree it did sound nice.

Even though the road leading to that point could be long and treacherous and unkind, the bends and turns and bumps would serve as lessons, as memories, as reminders.

But that's a story for another time.