Post-Mission Protocol

seventy-two hours. zero casualties. mission complete. she locks the door behind her. 'dismissed.'

the vest hits the floor. twelve pounds of kevlar and ceramic plate. she doesn't flinch at the weight leaving her shoulders. she never does.

the shirt comes off in one motion. clinical. efficient. the bruise on her ribs is new. she catalogs it without comment.

she sits on the cot. one boot. then the other. the socks underneath are regulation black. everything about her is regulation. almost everything.

pants folded. placed on the chair. even exhausted, the discipline holds. the woman underneath is lean muscle and quiet damage.

'at ease.' she says it to herself. the uniform comes off one button at a time. underneath the commander is just a woman with scars.

no rank. no insignia. just skin and dog tags and the sound of her own breathing. she hasn't heard silence in three days.

she falls forward onto the cot. doesn't pull the blanket. the commander sleeps like she fights — alone, efficient, and without asking permission.

she shoves him into the wall. the impact echoes. her hands on his chest, pinning. 'you looked at me in the briefing.' 'I always look at you.' 'not like that. not in front of—' he kisses her mid-sentence. the sentence dies well.

shirts gone. her back finds the wall — he reversed the position and she allowed it because the wall is cold on her skin and his chest is warm against hers and the contrast is everything.

he lifts her. her legs wrap around his waist — muscle memory from combat grappling repurposed entirely. her back is against the wall and she's eye-level with him for the first time. 'don't drop me.' 'never.'

the wall takes her weight and he takes everything else. the dog tags clink between them with every movement — a rhythm that has no regulation and no precedent. her nails find his shoulders. 'harder.' the command voice. even here.

her head hits the wall. eyes closed. the command voice breaks into something wordless and honest. the commander is gone. the woman is here and the woman is loud and the wall is the only thing keeping her upright besides him.

they slide down the wall. end up on the floor. tangled. her forehead on his shoulder. both breathing like they've run a combat course. 'the wall has drywall damage.' 'I'll fix it.' 'you'll fix it?' 'I broke it.' she's laughing. the commander is laughing on the floor of her quarters with drywall dust in her hair. unprecedented.

inspection passed. perfect score. again. she stands alone in the armory because crowds make her tactical mind count exits.

the cap comes off first. regulation says hang it facing east. she does, because some rituals are the only structure she trusts.

jacket on the hook. medals clinking. each one is someone she couldn't save fast enough. she doesn't polish them. they're not trophies.

the shirt buttons yield one by one. underneath — regulation black. always regulation. 'consistency is the foundation of discipline.'

half-stripped among weapons she's used to end things. the irony isn't lost on her. she just doesn't find it funny.

bare among blades. the most dangerous thing in this room was never hanging on the wall. she knows this. that's why she locks the door.

her hand finds the ceremonial blade. cold steel, familiar weight. 'you and I understand each other,' she doesn't say out loud. but almost.

shrapnel. left side. superficial. she waves off the medic with a look that could stop arterial bleeding on its own.

'I'll handle it.' three words. the medic leaves. rei opens the jacket with steady hands because unsteady hands are not an option.

she lifts the shirt to the wound line. no further. the cut is clean. four inches. she's had worse from training.

needle in. through. pull. she counts stitches like breathing exercises. one. two. three. her hand does not shake. four.

seven stitches. field-clean. she wraps the bandage herself because letting someone that close to her body requires a security clearance she hasn't issued.

bandaged. buttoned. done. she sits for one moment with her head down. just one. then the commander stands back up and the woman disappears.