Chapter Text
Professor Griggs enjoys the occasional glass of wine after a meal, and with the lazy summer heat rolling in through the open window, the invitation to slip off her shoes and slink onto the back balcony, glass in hand, is impossible to ignore. Ivana is still working downstairs, the faint melody of her painting playlist seeping up from the studio below. It keeps the moment from feeling too lonely.
The chirp of a PADD draws her reluctantly back into the bedroom. In case it’s official business -- isn’t it always? -- she shuts the door behind her and sets the wineglass on the bedside table.
Marcus appears to be sitting in his office, the shadows of the sunset translating poorly across the electronic display.
“What can I do for you, Admiral?”
“I was just looking over this proposal list for new candidates. Not our most impressive bunch.”
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Marcus always does this little song and dance, and then uses it as an excuse to be vindictive when the trainees start failing out. “We need more in the way of technical skills,” she reminds him. “The physical aspects are more easily taught.”
“All well and good, except that the techies almost never have the appropriate psychology for long-term assignments.”
This surprises her. He isn’t wrong; it was this tendency in the first place that shaped her recruiting framework this time around. But it is more insightful than she was expecting from him.
“Yes,” she agrees as blandly as she can. “We’ll need to be quite strict with the final emotional assessments.”
Rather than pushing the issue further, Marcus hums distractedly. “Well. Perhaps we’ll get lucky. There’s always diamonds in the rough.”
Ah . “This is about JT, then.” It’s too nice an evening for tiptoeing about.
Marcus shrugs, too arrogant to be sheepish, but an admittance nonetheless. “He was a good find. The trifecta of potential. Not mention,” he grimaces just the slightest, “it was reliving to get something worthwhile out of the whole disaster.”
She raises a single eyebrow. He needs to get to his point before Ivana makes her way upstairs.
“Do you remember,” he asks, “what you told me when we first spoke of bringing him into the program?”
“You thought he was too young, too unstable,” she paraphrases. “I told you that was entirely the point.”
He looks at her, steady, contemplative. “I think you put it a little more strikingly than that, Lucille.”
This time, she does roll her eyes. So dramatic. “I said you needed to stop thinking of him as a boy. He wasn’t a child. He was a weapon.”
He leans back, finally satisfied. “Yes, that’s how I remember it.”
“Was there anything else, Admiral?”
“No, Professor. Nothing else, for now.” He signs off with a flick.
She throws the PADD on the bed in distaste. What a lovely evening, so needlessly soured.
Lucielle is just retrieving her glass from the table when Ivana pushes open the door. Her wife’s face is far too serious for the late hour, an ominous omen indeed.
“You have a visitor, dear.”
Lucille sighs. “I don’t know why these things always wait till I’m off the clock. Haven’t emergencies ever heard of office hours?”
Ivana smiles, and swipes the wine from her hand. “ You are never ,” she punctuates with a small kiss on Lucille’s cheek, “off the clock.”
True enough.
Lucille makes her way down the stairs in marginally better spirits. Catching sight of the woman standing in her entryway only improves them, and she stretches her hand out with a smile.
“Winona! Oh, you look just awful.”
Indeed, Winona’s eyes are almost as maddened as her curly, sweat-dampened hair. “Lucielle. I didn’t know where else to go.”
Lucille tuts. “You can always come here, Winona, you know that.”
“You’ll help me?” Winona presses, practically vibrating with tension.
“Of course.” She runs a comforting hand up Winona’s arm, drawing her further into the house. “What else is family for?”