Disclaimer: Jon Grissom belongs to Bioware. Sofia Archer is mine.

. . .

Chain of Command

. . .

"Admiral."

Fleet Admiral Sofia Archer turns from the window towards the door. The glass pane behind is framing her with the dark velvet of space, slashed by elegant silver blades of the Alliance Fifth Fleet. "You were in no hurry, Grissom."

Rear Admiral Jon Grissom does not seem perturbed by her dry remark. If anything, he seems amused. "The war's over. No need to hurry."

Archer very carefully reigns in a smile trying to get onto her lips. "Take a seat." She gestures towards two armchairs at a little coffee table, proud she manages to keep a straight face.

This is a game they have been playing for quite some time now: him bordering on disrespect, but never in a way that would really get into the course of duty and disrupt the chain of command, her pretending it does not amuse her.

Grissom does not sit down, of course. He walks over to the tiny cabinet, takes a glass and pour himself some brandy.

"You could at least pour me some, too," she scoffs.

The corner of his lips goes up a fracture, in a grimace that is not quite a smile. Rear Admiral Grissom is not a sociable man, and has never been known for his gentlemanly manners. Not that Sofia minds; she is no gentle lady either. In a way, they are similar, as much as two so differently minded people can be: sometimes crude, but efficient.

When she is certain he decided not to hear what she said, Grissom takes a second glass and pours. He moves over to the table, settles both glasses down, and finally takes a seat.

"You wanted to see me." He looks up, catching her gaze, his eyes piercing.

Archer languidly walks over to sink into the second armchair. "It's about Hackett," she says, taking up her glass. The alcohol swirls when she moves her hand, and she watches the tiny whirl.

"What about him?" Grissom takes a sip, waiting for her answer.

"You mentioned he deserves that Star of Terra."

"Did I?" he asks wryly. Both of them know he did. "I know better than to argue with you."

"Argue?" Archer allows a small smile to form on her lips. "And what about negotiate?"

Grissom frowns. "You're up to something."

Her eyes are focused on the liquid in her glass. "He's first-rate officer material, that's certain."

Rear Admiral barks out a laugh. "He is an officer, dearie." As much as Grissom hates his status of an Alliance hero, he sure knows how to make use of it. No one else would dare to use such a patronising tone when speaking to her, not any longer. Not since she became an Admiral.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. He's a natural leader, that much's evident. He could get pretty high up the ranks..."

Grissom freezes, glass half-way up to his mouth. "How high, exactly?"

She shrugs. "Fleet Admiral."

"Ah, I see." Grissom raises an eyebrow, a trick she is still jealous of. "And that's why you refused him the medal he deserved?"

Archer puts the glass back onto the table with an audible thud. "Don't be stupid, Grissom. I have a bigger picture to consider than your damn fleet and your damn toy soldiers."

"Politics," he says disdainfully. During his career, he has brushed with politics often enough to understand she had to what she did, even if was not the best options. He knows well enough sometimes there is no best option. "Fine. So you stripped him of an honour he deserves... Way to go about your plan."

"Oh, don't you mock me." Archer does not feel offended; his jokes, however disrespectful, do not bother her, they are just mildly annoying at times. She knows he feels the same way about what she might say to him.

"Please be so kind and tell me what are you going to achieve that way," he says with a hint of sarcasm, not paying any attention to her comment.

Archer leans back, her elbow on the armrest, and rests her head on her uplifted hand. "Grissom. Stop that. You know very well what I'm up to."

The no-smile fades from his face, and his features turn serious."He'll not look kindly upon you mentoring him. Not after what you said about that Star of Terra."

"That's why you'll mentor him," Archer says matter-of-factly.

Grissom scowls. "Be serious. I don't..."

"You might fool anyone, but you won't fool me. Neither did you fool Hackett."

He waves his hand, a gesture of impatience. "He's too quick-witted for his own good. And way too stubborn."

Archer smiles lightly, a true, heartfelt smile this time. "Reminds me of someone I know. Well, in his younger days."

Grissom scowls again. Then he laughs quietly. "You've got me there. Fine. I'll mentor him."

She watches him closely. "But...?"

"You could do it yourself, despite everything."

"And how would that look? Me, mentoring a rookie fresh from the officers' training?"

"Thought you don't care about gossip."

"I don't," she agrees. There have been no gossip, so far. "But that would ruin his career before it's even started."

Grissom nods, and for a moment they sip their drinks in silence. He is the first to break it. "And you, Sofia?" he asks, serious this time.

"And I'll make sure he'll be up to face any nightmare."

He looks sceptical. "How are you going to achieve that, precisely?"

Archer smiles. She knows very well what most of the soldiers and officers think about her – nothing nice, to put it mildly. She does not mind. Her task is to run the Fleet smoothly, and not gather compliments. And she managed to get them through the war; that has to count. "By becoming his worst nightmare."

Grissom's eyes darken. "Careful, Sofia. That sword cuts both ways."

"That's why I need your help. Show him how to face adversities. And I'll make sure you'll never run out of adversities to face."

Grissom watches her, thoughtful. "He won't be grateful, you know."

She snorts. "I don't need grateful. I need to know someone will take good care of the Fleet when I retire."

He nods. They fall silent again. Having known each other for so long, they do not need many words.

"Speaking of retiring..." he ventures, eventually.

Archer's face remains impassive, but her shoulders tense. "Not now. I expressly forbid it." They have just come out of a war. The losses were not half as high as expected, nothing compared to most of the historical wars, true. But they are trying to earn humanity a place in the galaxy, their position is still feeble, and she is not going to go through all that alone, no matter his opinion.

"Oh, not now," he says impatiently. "After we clean up the mess. I hope we're be done in two, three years. Just wanted you to know."

She ponders this for a while. "Fine. That's an honest offer." She pauses. "What about our agreement?"

He dismisses her worries with a wave of hand. "It'll be even easier to mentor the boy while being outside the chain of command, don't you think?"

"You may be right."

"I know I am." Grissom downs the remaining alcohol from his glass and gets up. "I have to go."

Archer gets up, too. "So, we have a deal?"

He nods. They shake hands.

"Take care."

"You too."

He lets go of her hand, but the no-smile appears on his lips again. "I'll make sure to invite you up to celebrate my retirement, when it comes to that." His tone is casual, light, but the look in his eyes warms up a little, in a way she is well acquainted with.

Archer laughs. "I'll hold you to that."

His face grows serious. "I mean it, Sofia. Take care. You're doing one hell of a job, but you're not making many friends along the way."

"Look who's talking."

He gives an off-handed salute. "So long, Sofia." Then he turns and leaves.

"Goodbye," she says, towards his retreating back. He is almost out of the cabin when she speaks again. "And Jon?"

Grissom stops and looks back at her over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Her voice, when she continues, is surprisingly soft. "Thank you."

Author's note:

This was written as a side-note for myself rather than an actual fanfic, to help clear out some plot threads in Epaulettes (yes, the next chapter's taking ages, but I'm getting there, promise).

Looking for a beta, so if you're interested, please let me know.