The extremes of it all leave him a little dizzy. The cold professionalism of a ship’s Captain turned to the exasperated friendliness of days and days before. He blinks a little dumbly and finally relents.

“I’ll reheat it for you when you’re ready to retire, sir.”

But he’d been given a directive, hadn’t he? He steps further inside and begins to remove his clothes. They come off slowly, his face still carefully pulled into practiced resolve. His jacket comes first, then waistcoat, then shirt. It’s the shirt that finally gets a face out of him, and a low grunt of pain as it peels away from the angry, swollen skin. He takes the time to carefully fold his clothes over the back of a chair and moves to the Captain’s berth, sitting as instructed.

“Is this how you’d like me seated, sir?”