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From what Rosinante observed in his many years with the navy, there were two kinds of people. Those who took charge, and those who followed. There was just some sort of natural aura a person had, some sort of drive to lead, or to obey. Try as he might, Rosinante usually fell towards the latter, despite all those inspiring speeches he had attempted to gulp down with questionable success.
There was nothing wrong with being a follower. A leader was nothing without people to support them, after all. Although sometimes, like right now, Rosinante wondered whether he should’ve taken some of those tiresome lectures closer to heart.
“So, so, lemme get this straight…” His captain leaned over the counter of this cozy, family-run inn, probably giving that poor old man the shock of his life from the way she was toying with the top button of her blouse. “You only have four rooms available. You can’t…bump that up to five, by any chance?”
“I-I’m so sorry, miss, but if you want us to board all eight officers, the most we can allow is two people per room. They’re not very large rooms either, usually we only offer one person to stay at a time…”
“Right, but we’re only staying one night. And we’re all coworkers. All, one big happy family.” She patted the chipped countertop, “You stand for family values here, right?”
“Captain.” Rosinante felt the urge to intervene quietly when the frightened older gentleman looked his way for a rescue. “Let’s just, cut our losses and look elsewhere.” He suggested mildly.
And then she straightened up. Faced him square on. Rosinante raised his chin because if he was going to go undercover in the upcoming years, he needed to learn to stand up for himself sometimes, or something along those lines. Maybe challenging his own captain wasn’t a great start at that philosophy.
“Well, what do you suggest, Lieutenant?” She flexed that title on him as his eyes wandered away with annoyance. “That big grand imaginary inn over the hill?”
“Weather’s not that bad.” He shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. “We could just camp outside for the night.”
“It’s almost freezing.”
“Yeah, exactly. Almost.” When he glanced down at her, Bell-mère looked less than impressed. “Could be worse.”
With a wiry sigh, the old man behind the counter rubbed at his balding head. “I suppose if your officers are okay with it, they could arrange themselves within three rooms and…you could stay in the fourth?”
Bell-mère had a beautiful grin. She used it well to convince the man this could’ve been one of the best ideas of his life. “That sounds like a perfect plan, sir. Thank you for being so accommodating.”
A nervous little chuckle, “Of, of course, Captain. Just be sure you get the room key for, whichever room you decide to borrow.”
“Sure thing.” Bell-mère cast him a half-assed salute before she departed towards the stairs. Rosinante belatedly trudged after her. “What’s the matter, bud?” The captain eyed over her shoulder, “Look, if you’d rather go out there and sleep in frozen dirt, be my guest.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He disregarded, head down as she made her grand selection of which officers were getting the boot. “Just feel bad about giving that guy a hard time.”
“Please. I’m sure he’s dealt with shittier customers.”
“Well, that doesn’t really give us an excuse to be difficult.”
For the second time that night, Bell-mère fixed him with a tough stare. With the way that cigarette was perched between her teeth, and the stern glare in her eye, he often wondered what kinds of hell she saw before they were assigned to work together.
“Sometimes, life forces your hand. And you don’t have the luxury to be nice.”
“I get that.” He said lowly, both to preserve the privacy of this little talk, and to remain mindful of any nearby, sleeping clients. “But this…I dunno, didn’t seem like one of those moments to me. But maybe I’m wrong. What do I know, right?”
A tired sigh. She turned away, tugging on the root of her ponytail. “We’ll have this talk another day. I’ll toughen you up yet. Let’s just get some sleep, I’m fucking exhausted.”
“Yeah, agreed.” He nodded along as Bell-mère pushed forth, kicking out two of their once-comfortable officers into different rooms. She stepped into the bedroom afterwards, arms folded as she took in the sights of the place, while Rosinante had to bow his head to pass the threshold of the door.
“Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said the rooms were tight, huh?” She smothered her cigarette out on the corner of the dresser.
“Yeah…” The lieutenant noted quietly, staring at the scarce amenities available. A queen-sized bed. A wooden dresser. Burgundy curtains over the windows.
“Well.” Bell-mère shrugged and let her justice coat glide from her shoulders into her arms. “It’s better than camping out for the night, so, whatever. Let’s just be thankful for what we’ve got.”
“Right.” Who would’ve thought he’d be so spoiled to the barracks at HQ? “I’ll uh, I’ll sleep on the floor, I guess.”
Bell-mère crossed the room, draping her coat over the wardrobe as she kicked a boot up to the polished edge and began to untie her laces. “Yeah, no. I don’t feel like listening to you bitch about a sore back all day tomorrow.”
“I won’t complain.” He raised his hands in defeat, “You’re the captain, you get the bed.”
“I’m not letting my lieutenant sleep on the floor.” Bell-mère persisted. “We’re not animals, we can just share the bed.”
He should’ve expected such a casual suggestion from her. Still, it had him jamming his hands in his pockets awkwardly, craving a cigarette just so he’d have something to bite down on. This was every officer’s dream, really. Every officer who had the privilege of meeting Bell-mère, at least. The pretty spitfire who could drink half the navy under the table and take down half a pirate crew with a rifle alone. And, if he was being honest, he held onto some fluttery attraction for her too, although he kept it repressed deep, deep in the bowels of his mind.
“You…you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Carelessly, her boots were tossed aside, hands grazing over the sheets to get a feel for their quality. “Unless you’d rather stand there all night and guard the door from the boogieman.”
He urged himself to unfreeze and step into the crowded room. Then, promptly stumbled over Bell-mère’s boots. At this point, she’d become immune to the clumsiness. He landed on the foot of the bed with just barely enough composure to collect himself and undo his own laces.
“If at any point you want to kick me out of the bed, just say so.”
“Don’t trust yourself?”
Rosinante willed himself to keep his cool. Don’t look her way. She’ll see your as red as a goddamn tomato. “Well, if I, hog the blankets or something, I dunno…”
An endeared little hum. The mattress jerked and he realized Bell-mère was seated on the edge. “I’ll be sure to let you know. You’ve still got your coat on, by the way.”
“I know. Haven’t figured out where I’m putting it.” He admitted quietly, “I don’t want it to get wrinkled, but there’s nowhere to hang it.”
“Just drape it over mine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She watched her lieutenant lay out his coat with great care, even ensuring hers was smoothed out evenly. “You care about that coat a lot, huh?”
“Yeah. Means a lot to me.” He stood over the bed again, still a bit puzzled about this whole sharing situation. “So, uh…”
When Bell-mère looked his way, it really didn’t help the tremoring of his heart. “What’s up?”
“I’m just, uh…” Rosinante kept his head bowed down, arms crossed. It was surprisingly chilly in here without that heavy-duty white coat. “Wondering how much we should take off, I guess…”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” On that note, she took off her belt. Rosinante decided for his own mental clarity, it was best to sit on the opposite side of the bed as he did the same.
The mattress stirred and bounced behind him. Fabric ruffled and his mind ran a marathon. Impulse urged him to look over his shoulder, cop a glance, but logic insisted he’d never live to see another day if he did. Although, she was willing to get in bed with him. How mad could she possibly be if he looked her way?
No, he decided that was different. He was sleep-deprived, and thinking terrible, disrespectful things about his captain. She probably got enough shit as it was, being one of the only women her age at her rank.
But did he take his pants off or not? Was she wearing hers? He should check just to stay consistent, right? Wasn’t fair if he was still wearing his, and she wasn’t, or vice versa.
The sight of her bare back and bra straps in his periphery was plenty to fuel the fantasies, and jerk his head away with hot fear.
Don’t even think about it, idiot. You could ruin your entire career right now. Think of something boring, something gross. Shit, c’mon Rosi, focus. Think about Garp eating an entire package of rice crackers in under a minute.
A curious hum from behind stirred his mind back into his dreaded situation. “You’ve got a lot of scars, huh?”
“Uh, yeah, guess so.” He cleared his throat, urging himself to sound as light-hearted and casual as his captain. “Well, you know me.”
“So, I’ve gotta ask.” The bed jolted again, and the sudden movement urged him to look over. She was getting under the sheets. It was a gift, in a sense, because now he wasn’t so easily distracted, but he also didn’t get a chance to see if she was wearing her trousers or not. “How many of those scars are from accidents, and how many are from fights?”
Well, this subject was also a great way to stir his mind out of the gutter. “Uh, most of them are accidents.” He decided, “I’ve got a few gunshot wounds from scraps, but…” He bit the bullet and undid his belt, his fly. Took off his pants and socks like tearing off a bandage. “Yeah, most of them are my own fault.”
A jovial laugh. “Ah, c’mon, you should come up with some sort of cool story about them.”
Tentatively, he shuffled under the sheets beside her. The bed was a little small for him, but he had no problem lying on his side, facing away from his captain, knees bent. Seemed like there was adequate room for both of them. Warm, too.
“What, just, lie?” He adjusted the bleach-smelling pillow. “It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.”
“Okay, but if you were, we gotta come up with a cover story for it.” Her voice reasoned from behind. “Maybe you can say you fought off a pack of wolves. Or, or like, some kind of pirate crew who exclusively use blades and daggers! Lemme see ‘em again, get some inspiration.”
Rosinante was in no mood to show off, but apparently that didn’t matter. The sheets shifted, and his flesh turned to stone when he felt her fingers graze over the planes of his back. “Oh, yeah, no, that wouldn’t work. Some of these are definitely gunshots. What’s this one?”
She trailed over a familiar mark near the upper left side of his ribcage and shoulder blade. He clamped his eyes shut as the strange, painful cocktail of emotions whirled through him. Far too sleep-deprived for this shit. “Friction burn.”
A confused grunt. “Friction burn? What, like rug burn?”
“Rope.”
Bell-mère didn’t reply right away. Maybe his tone was too harsh. But really, more than anything, he wanted this conversation to end. He wanted sleep. Not that his body or mind expressed any interest in doing so.
“From…rigging a ship, I imagine?”
“Yeah.” Because that was easiest. If she wanted him to come up with stories about his scars, so be it. “Told you. Mistakes, most of them.”
“Well…I’ll have to sleep on it.” Finally, the blanket dipped between them, and he heard her shuffle over to turn out the bedside lamp.
And then, silence and darkness reigned over. Rosinante released a pent-up exhale and urged his brain to behave, to focus on unwinding. Not too much. Just, an appropriate amount of relaxing. Normal person nighttime thoughts. Nothing to do with that new captain he was assigned to, or how pretty she was, or how much he admired her zest for life, her fearless attitude. How strong and intimidating she could be, while maintaining that friendly, warm core. How he was lying in bed, practically naked, inches away from that fiery, pretty woman with a warm core.
“What made you decide to become a marine?”
Her voice was a little softened due to their proximity, but it was still Bell-mère. It still spooked him initially, not expecting to hear her voice up as he was trying to drift off.
“I uh…” He cleared his throat. “I dunno. Why’d you become a marine?”
“Mayor told me I was a pain in the ass.” She confessed openly. He rolled over at that point, onto his back. Realized she was in the same position. Both of them just staring at the spackled ceiling. “Told me I was a…good for nothing, a nuisance to the entire town, the downfall of my generation.” She snickered, “You know. That sort of thing. And, sure, he was up my ass for a while about shaping up, but…I guess that was the final straw for him. I’ve never seen him get so upset. I felt…bad. I felt like shit.” Her head turned his way, and he met her eye in kind. “So I joined the marines. To shape up. Make him proud. Maybe one day I’ll come back and…he’ll be happy to see me, y’know?” Her head turned to the ceiling again, but he soaked in the dim outline of her profile. “I think that’d be nice.”
After a few seconds, he decided to join her in the riveting sight of that ceiling. “I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t tell a lot of people, I guess.” She shrugged, “Not that it’s some big secret. Bet it’s not too surprising, huh?”
“Not really, no.” He admitted with a laugh. “Sorry, nothing against you, of course.”
“Nah, that’s alright. I’m not your typical marine, I guess. Hey, but neither are you.” She eyed over to him as she rested her arms under her head. He looked her way with diluted confusion. “Which is why I asked why you became a marine, but…hey, I don’t mean to pry. Everyone’s got their shit, I can respect that.”
The mattress shifted a little as Rosinante tried to get himself more comfortable. As he raked a hand through messy hair, and mulled over his response. “I want to be an Admiral.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Like Sengoku.” He said evenly. “He’s, he’s like a father to me. Feel like I owe it to him to…follow in his footsteps.”
A curious hum. “I’ve noticed you and him were close. Always wondered about that.”
“Yeah, he…saved me when I was really young.” He admitted, “About eight or so. I didn’t have anyone left, but…he was there and…” He motioned a hand into empty air before dropping it to the mattress. “Now I’m a marine.”
“Do you like it?”
“Being a marine?”
“Yeah.” She eyed him over, but he clamped his shut and contemplated turning away.
“I don’t know. Not really like I’ve got another choice, right?”
He attempted to laugh it off, but Bell-mère didn’t reflect the gesture. “Sorry, Rosi.”
“Don’t apologize.” He muttered, “There’s nothing to apologize for, really. Life could be a lot worse, so…I’m thankful every day. Even if I’m stuck with you.” He threw a grin her way.
Bell-mère released a breathy laugh. “Hey, thanks.”
After an assuring, smiley hum, another quiet spell lingered between them.
“…can I give you a hug?”
Again, Bell-mère shattered that silence like it was her second job. Rosinante glanced over at her with a truly baffled expression. “…huh?”
“Can I hug you?”
“I…y-yeah, I guess, I…you don’t have to though, I didn’t mean to tell a sob story or anything—” His rambles trailed off as he felt an arm snake beneath the sheets. The heat between them doubled, no, tripled, and suddenly there were warm and soft bits pressed against him. Any internal battle to remain normal and focused this evening started to die, fast. He told himself he'd acknowledge the embrace out of courtesy, and nothing else.
Her leg slipped between his, and yes, they were bare. And yes, he felt the silkiness of her bra against his chest, and urged his fingers not to twitch as his arms folded around her frame.
God, Bell-mère was tiny.
Her forehead rested against his collar and her hands went from a simple knot behind his back to something inarguably sensual, smoothing down his side, while the other circled at a tense branch of muscle.
“B-Bell-mère…?” He huffed out in a whispered air of confusion.
“Do you want this, Rosi?”
Staring ahead blankly, Rosinante decided at some point between negotiating a room with the innkeeper, and getting into this bed, he’d died and gone to heaven.
She waited. Something saccharine lied in those dilated eyes, then he dipped in to give it a shot, to press his lips to hers, ready to wake up in a cold, frustrated sweat in his dorm. But that didn’t happen. Bell-mère’s hands dug into his flesh and she rolled them over with some kind of wicked professionalism.
“You have no clue…” He uttered through an ecstatic chill, “Just how long I’ve wanted this…”
“You could’ve had it a long time ago, pal.” Bell-mère jeered, perched so perfectly over top of him. “We’ll have to add that to the ongoing list of, things Rosinante needs to learn before we part ways.” She patted his cheek twice in a playful gesture. “Taking some goddamn initiative.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to get my ass demoted for hitting on my captain.” He challenged, while his hands settled at her waist.
A sly smirk, “You’re only gonna get in trouble if you make this a waste of my time.”
Broad hands wandered around her back oh-so-innocently, fixing on the hooks of her bra. “I’ll make every second count.”