Ozpin's office had felt suffocating after tedious hours spent looking for information that was nowhere to be found. Between his nearly infuriating calm at this whole situation and Qrow's feigned belligerence- despite the fact he was actually blaming himself for this- her patience was dangerously thin.

alternate title; 5 plus 1 ways to say 'i love you'

"It'll heal, just give it a minute," she rasped, grasping his slick hand with far less strength than she had a just few moments ago, "It's fine."

"It's just James' birthday," he protested, his scarf clutched in one hand and a tie in the other, "I hardly think he's going to mind-"

What worried her was that she hadn't heard from Ozpin.

my god, this reminds me of when we were young.

"I wonder if we're not hard enough on them." "You know that's not true."

It was Saturday because Ozpin's dreadfully cheery alarm tone hadn't woken her up already and because for once the sun was coming through the window instead of the dark that accompanied 5AM every other day of her week. Glynda stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to Ozpin's steady breathing beside her and trying to muster the will to get out of bed. It wasn't working.

"Y'coming to bed?" he mumbled blearily, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand.

"Something bothering you?" Her tone was casual enough, but his cane missed a beat when he stepped next.

alternate title: five times ozpin kissed glynda and one time he didn't [5 plus 1 things]

"They're fine, Glynda," he laughed, keeping his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the music, "It's not hurting anyone." She only frowned in response, huffing a low breath. Every year she tried to invent a reason why she didn't have time to chaperone the dance, and every year Ozpin succeeded in roping her into it anyway.

"Not quite 8:30," she mumbled, lazily pushing him back, "If you put your glasses on maybe you could see that far." There was a soft lilt of amusement in her voice, eyes half lidded as if she might allow herself the luxury of actually going back to sleep. [nsfw]

"Alright," he trailed off, fingers ruffling through his already messy hair. "I asked who you were, though. You're… quite lovely, if I may." Glynda could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, unbidden. Somewhere in the hall outside the door there was an eruption of muffled laughter followed by a chorus of 'ssshh'. [this is that meme of the guy who doesnt remember his wife post-op lol]

He regarded her quietly for a moment, observing the water sluicing down her shoulders and back and the hair sticking to her face and arms. She looked exhausted sitting there, her eyes finally lifting to meet his with a half smile.

It's not surprising, at least, to hear a new collection of stories crop up when a rotation returns to Skyhold from one outpost or another. Enemies encountered, refugees saved… and often tales of the Inquisitor herself if she's happened through the area recently.

Anderson knows this is far from the truth. [fic swap with fiesa]

Sooner or later, she realizes, this will cause her trouble.

She's still not used to all of his mannerisms and rituals, but she likes to think that she's catching on.

That was the moment she stepped out and collided with him (he was fairly sure she did it on purpose), letting out a soft grunt when she bounced off of him. Dredd took a half moment to look her over out of habit and then paused.

She was just about to doze off when a presence crossing by her apartment door snapped her back into consciousness. It oozed impatience, even some apprehension… but after a moment of blinking and trying to wake back up, it felt familiar again. Anderson relaxed, listening to the quiet beep of the lock before the door slid open. Typical. She figured he wouldn't knock.

"I don't understand why we can't eat at your place," Dredd grunted, fingers wrapped tightly around a bag of takeout as he trudged up the stairs after Anderson, "You aren't even allowed up here."

Dredd fought through scrambling medics and other personnel, forcing his way past a clump of Psi Judges before he arrived at the last door in the intensive care unit. He ignored the collective calls of protest from the hallway behind him. No one was going to stop him right now.

There was a simmering anger that rolled off of him in waves, leaving Anderson thoroughly perplexed. It was only partially directed at her, she sensed, although for what reason she couldn't quite figure out. [nsfw]

This time, she's not a rookie anymore.

He'll never say 'I love you', and perhaps she prefers it that way.

It was too much for him; he couldn't breathe and he was on /fire/. It felt like there was gasoline in his veins and Anderson was doing a damn good job of striking the match. [nsfw]

There were some days when Dredd cursed ever passing that goddamn rookie. Today was one of them. He felt unsettled waiting around for something to go wrong. That was the only reason he had been dragged along after all… a safety net for the psychic Judge.

"Dredd," she whispered, yanking her gloves off her hands and grabbing her med kit, "Your helmet has to come off or I can't get to the wounds." He grunted and swatted her hands away as she reached for him. "No."

Six percent per day was never an acceptable amount, but it was the best that they could manage. At least, that's what she was telling herself. To make a difference, she had told Dredd the day they had met. That was why she had pushed on to become a Judge.

Today's thirty hour shift was one awful thing after another, it had seemed. Sometimes she has to remind herself that they can't save all of them, but it doesn't take the sting of recent failure away.

He's been telling himself he doesn't need her around for the last three years. Why is it that she's still tagging along at his heels?

Some days she really wonders about him.

He knows the answer well before the Chief Judge has asked him for the verdict. This bothers him.