“You look–” Flint seems to catch himself, hands tightening behind his back. He gives Gates a curt, military nod. “Very good.” [ listen he deserves it ]

“Uhh…” Gates, having completely forgotten the whole ‘call me pretty’ conversation, has found himself temporarily thrown by the compliment. Unthinkingly, he looked down at himself – perhaps the boss was being sarcastic, and he had some manner of grotesque stain on his shirt?

Nope. Just as pressed and polished as he could be after weeks at sea and no port towns to spend money to bathe in. 

Looking up, he shrugged and grinned, figuring he might as well roll with it. “Don’t I always?”