Arthur woke to unfamiliar weight against his chest and the dull throb of a hangover pulsing behind his eyes. The hotel room's ceiling came into focus slowly, generic and institutional. Not his quarters. Not his bed.
Memory returned in fragments—the bar, endless drinks, Yulha's dry humor cutting through alcohol fog, stumbling toward the hotel together, her sharp teeth on his neck.
He looked down.
Yulha lay sprawled across him, ashen hair fanned across his chest, one arm possessively draped over his torso. She was naked. So was he. The sheets had migrated to the floor sometime during the night, leaving them both exposed in the morning light.
Arthur shifted slightly, feeling the sting of fresh wounds across his shoulders and chest. He didn't need a mirror to know what he'd find—bite marks, dozens of them, each one a testament to Yulha's sharp shark-like teeth and apparent enthusiasm.
"Shit," Yulha mumbled against his chest, voice rough with sleep and dehydration. Her yellow eyes cracked open, immediately going wide as awareness hit. "Oh. Shit."
"Morning," Arthur said.
Yulha pushed herself up on one elbow, surveying the damage she'd inflicted on his chest. Her expression cycled through confusion, embarrassment, and something that might have been satisfaction. "I... did I do that?"
"Unless someone else with shark teeth snuck in," Arthur replied. The bite marks were already healing, his metabolism working overtime, but they'd definitely leave interesting bruises for a few days.
Yulha touched one gently, her finger tracing the indent. "Sorry. I get... enthusiastic when I drink too much. You should probably see Mary or Pepper about—"
Arthur's omni-tool chimed, the sound cutting through their awkward morning-after moment like a blade. The holographic display projected above his wrist showed Shifty's priority code, but the message was from Andersen.
*Commander Cousland—debrief at 0900. Central Command, Conference Room Seven. Bring all evidence. —Deputy Chief Andersen.*
Arthur checked the time. 0745.
Yulha saw the display and her yellow eyes went wide for a different reason. "What time is it? What—oh no. No, no, no." She scrambled out of bed, frantically searching for her clothes. "I have a sentencing hearing at 0800. Judge Fortier will kill me if I'm late again."
Arthur found her red cropped shirt tangled in the sheets and tossed it over. Yulha caught it one-handed, already pulling on her black leather pants with practiced efficiency. She located her white coat near the door, shrugged into it while hopping on one foot to secure her boot.
"Arthur," she said, pausing at the door. Her hand gripped the frame, knuckles white. She didn't turn around. "What happened between us... you need to take responsibility."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
"Yulha—"
"I have to go." She yanked the door open and was gone, leaving Arthur alone with bite marks, a hangover, and a summons from his commanding officer.
He dressed methodically, choosing his tactical coat despite the formal setting. The bite marks on his chest and shoulders were visible above his collar, but he wasn't about to hide them. They were what they were.
The AZX train to the Ark gave him time to organize his thoughts. The USB drive from Webb sat in his secured pocket, containing evidence of the trafficking operation that Viper had orchestrated, manipulated, and ultimately delivered. The mission was complete. Twelve Nikkes were safe. Webb was in custody.
And Arthur felt hollow about all of it.
Central Command's conference room was as sterile as expected—white walls, secure terminal, sound-proofed door. Andersen was already there, reviewing data on a tablet, his military bearing evident even seated. He looked up when Arthur entered, and his eyebrows rose fractionally.
"Rough night, Commander?"
"Long night," Arthur corrected, taking the seat across from him. He placed the USB drive on the table between them. "Webb's records. Client lists, transaction logs, locations of four other safehouses in the Outer Rim. Everything Exotic Squad extracted before turning him over."
Andersen picked up the drive, turning it over in his fingers. "And Viper?"
"Used me. Drugged me. Staged the entire operation to put Exotic Squad in position to capture Webb without Central Government blame." Arthur's voice was flat, professional. "The day we spent together was genuine. The betrayal was calculated. She left the evidence anyway."
"You sound almost impressed," Andersen observed.
Arthur considered that. "She's effective. She's also manipulative, amoral, and willing to compromise anything for mission success. Including relationships."
"Sounds like half the commanders I know," Andersen said dryly. He inserted the drive into the terminal and began reviewing its contents. His expression grew darker with each file. "This is extensive. Webb was middle management at best. The network is bigger than we thought."
"Viper mentioned a new organization. Better equipped, more disciplined. Moved into the Outer Rim three weeks ago, disrupting Exotic Squad operations." Arthur leaned forward. "She'll want payment for this intel. Elimination of that group."
"We'll cross that bridge when we reach it." Andersen closed the files and removed the drive. "The twelve Nikkes are in protective custody. Most want to return to administrative roles, but three requested transfer to the Outpost."
"Approved," Arthur said immediately.
Andersen smiled slightly. "I thought you'd say that. Requisition forms are already filed. They'll transfer next week." He studied Arthur for a long moment. "The bite marks. I assume those are unrelated to the mission?"
"Unrelated," Arthur confirmed.
"Good. Try not to collect too many more scars, Commander. You're becoming a walking advertisement for complicated relationships."
Arthur left Central Command with official mission completion, three new Outpost residents, and the weight of Viper's betrayal still sitting heavy in his chest. The train ride back gave him too much time to think.
By evening, he'd worked through requisition forms, reviewed squad rotation schedules, and checked on Anne—who'd proudly shown him a drawing she'd made of the Outpost's café. Normal life, normal routines, the grounding rhythm of command.
His omni-tool chimed with a message from Yulha.
*Dinner? Restaurant at 1900. We should talk.*
Arthur arrived early, securing a corner booth with privacy. The restaurant was one of the Outpost's better establishments, civilian-run, serving pre-war recipe approximations that actually tasted decent. He ordered water and waited.
Yulha appeared at exactly 1900, punctual despite her morning panic. She'd changed into a fresh outfit—same style, red cropped shirt and black leather pants with cutouts, white coat draped over her shoulders. Her yellow eyes found him immediately, and she crossed the restaurant with Triangle Squad's characteristic efficiency.
"Commander," she said, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Yulha." Arthur studied her. She looked composed, professional, every bit the courthouse administrator who terrified lazy bureaucrats. Nothing like the woman who'd bitten his shoulders bloody twelve hours ago.
They ordered. Small talk covered the food's arrival—court cases, requisition backlogs, the new drainage system installation. Yulha picked at her meal, eating mechanically. Arthur recognized the behavior. She was building up to something.
"About last night," Yulha finally said, setting down her fork with deliberate precision. Her yellow eyes met his, sharp and guarded. "It was an accident."
Arthur went very still.
"We were drunk," Yulha continued, words coming faster now, as if she'd rehearsed this. "Way too drunk. I don't even remember half of it. What I do remember is... we made a mistake. Both of us."
"A mistake," Arthur repeated, voice carefully neutral.
"Yes." Yulha's jaw tightened, sharp teeth visible as she spoke. "You're my commanding officer. I work courthouse administration. We have professional relationships to maintain. What happened was... it can't happen again."
"This morning you told me to take responsibility," Arthur pointed out.
Yulha's yellow eyes flashed with something that might have been pain. "This morning I was panicked and hungover and not thinking clearly. Now I am thinking clearly, and this is a bad idea." She leaned forward, voice dropping low and intense. "I need you to forget about it, Arthur. I need you to not talk about it to anyone. Can you do that?"
Arthur studied her—the tension in her shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on her fork, the way her yellow eyes wouldn't quite meet his for more than a second. This wasn't rejection. This was fear.
But he was tired. Tired of complicated relationships, tired of betrayal, tired of people using him or pushing him away when feelings got inconvenient. Viper had just demonstrated what happened when he let someone close who didn't want the same things he did.
Maybe Yulha was right. Maybe this was better.
"Okay," Arthur said quietly.
Yulha blinked. "Okay?"
"It was a drunken mistake. We'll forget about it. Professional relationship only." The words tasted bitter, but he said them anyway. "That what you want to hear?"
"It's what needs to happen," Yulha corrected, but her voice had lost some of its certainty.
They finished dinner in awkward silence. Arthur paid the bill. Yulha thanked him with stiff courtesy. They left separately—Yulha first, walking quickly toward the courthouse district, Arthur lingering to give her distance.
He stood outside the restaurant, watching her disappear into the Outpost's evening crowd. His chest still bore the marks of her teeth, already fading but not gone. Evidence of something that apparently never happened.
Arthur turned toward his quarters, feeling the same hollowness that had plagued him since leaving the Outer Rim. He'd completed his mission. Saved twelve Nikkes. Returned with evidence. Added three new residents to the Outpost.
And somehow ended up more alone than when he'd started.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Anne's laughter from the café, Rupee's animated voice discussing fashion, the normal sounds of the family he'd built. But tonight, walking back to empty quarters with fading bite marks and complicated feelings, Arthur felt the weight of every complicated relationship, every betrayal, every person who'd gotten close and then decided it was safer to push him away.
Maybe he needed to stop trying so hard. Maybe he needed to accept that some connections weren't meant to last, no matter how intense they felt in the moment.
The bite marks would fade completely by morning. Just like Yulha wanted. Like it never happened.