a/n; Alternate title- "prom arc was a mistake and we're gonna fix it". the song in question for this fic can be found on youtube (/watch?v=YXtyUtsrT0s)
Glynda was certain Ozpin was carrying on in casual conversation only to occupy her, but her attention was focused on a pair of students getting a little bit too cozy at the edge of the dance floor. Her fingers tightened as her weight shifted in anticipation to move. A feather-light touch at her elbow was what stopped her from storming over and pulling them apart; her eyes narrowed to slits as she turned to look back at her companion.
"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. There was no doubt to her that he did it on purpose. Most of her night would be splitting overzealous teenagers apart, shooting down the one or two students brave- or stupid- enough to ask for a dance and hoping that whatever Ozpin had planned for the two of them later was worth the exasperation.
Port had called her 'salty' earlier that afternoon over it. She resented that.
Something behind her caught Ozpin's gaze and whatever good spirits he'd been in disappeared from his face. It was a subtle change; if she hadn't already been looking at him Glynda was fairly positive she would have missed it. She preemptively rolled her eyes when she felt the tap on her shoulder, but once Glynda turned around she was mortified to realize it wasn't a student. It was James Ironwood. He didn't say anything to her, instead only extending his hand to request a dance. Glynda's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat's breadth. The nerve. After their brief confrontation earlier this afternoon she'd hoped he'd steer clear of her for a while. When she looked to Ozpin for direction he gave only a stiff nod, but it didn't change the neutral expression he'd smoothed onto his face.
So that's how this was going to be, then.
Against her better judgement she took Ironwood's hand, allowing him to leisurely lead her out to the dance floor. A gentle, easy waltz was playing over the speakers and Glynda silently thanked whoever had picked the music for their good timing. This was something she could work with- nothing overly dramatic or too lively. Tolerable. One of his hands settled respectfully at her waist and the other took her free one; they fell into the melody and moved with the downbeat on the next verse.
"So she can still dance," he commented after a few minutes, offering a warm smile. Ironwood seemed undeterred by the flat glare she gave him in response. "I'd almost thought maybe you'd forgotten. It's been quite a while."
"I get plenty of practice." She shot him a pointed look, fidgeting her fingers against his shoulder. His eyes followed the movement, catching the glint of the ring on her hand. Almost imperceptibly his brow furrowed as if he'd forgotten. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but his features soon smoothed into something a little more neutral. Glynda took the opening as a chance to change the topic. "Why are you here, James?"
"The Vytal Festival." He sounded half surprised, as if it should have been the obvious answer. "Why else would-"
"That doesn't explain the fleet of ships you brought with you, nor your early arrival. The festival doesn't begin for several more weeks."
Ironwood's expression remained carefully blank, but it was clear to him that without Ozpin here to reign her in Glynda was on edge and ready to pick a fight. Her footing never faltered in their dance, although each step became more stilted and rigid as time passed. Patience was a virtue that she did not possess in abundance, especially when it came to the General.
"I don't think this is a conversation for a school dance." he muttered after a stretch of tense silence, voice low. It was a cop-out answer. They both knew it. Her eyes narrowed; as much as she hated to admit it, he was correct. The entire fleet showing up, the gritty details of what they'd been researching in Atlas... regardless of her opinion on his actions she wanted to avoid causing a scene in a room full of teenagers. It wasn't the time nor the place.
Rather than continue to glare at the General she turned her attention around the dance floor, catching glimpses of other pairs mostly too caught up in themselves to care about anything else. Only one drew her attention for more than a half moment; when her eyes had shifted across the room Glynda unexpectedly met the gaze of an attractive, sinewy woman with eyes like fire. It felt like far longer than a second where they stared at each other, and she silently wondered why the woman felt so familiar. A soft prickle at the back of her neck left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
In mere moments, the woman had disappeared into the crowd.
She kept up with Ironwood reluctantly, allowing the song to end before she stepped away from him without another word and stormed back across the hall. It was ridiculous, really; he had the nerve to come all the way to Vale with his entire army in tow and then pretend like they were being unreasonable in their concerns.
By the time she had made her way back to where she and Ozpin were standing before, the headmaster was nowhere to be seen. She drew a slow, even breath to try to relax, rolling her shoulders back and settling in to watch the students from the sidelines. All things considered they really were more tame than they had been the year before... small blessings, perhaps.
Another ten minutes went by before Ozpin reappeared, sauntering over with an unreadable expression. He didn't offer an explanation of his whereabouts and she certainly wasn't about to ask. They stood in quiet company for a few more minutes while the next shift of chaperones arrived to relieve them for the evening. Finally. It was nearly midnight and the only thing that Glynda wanted to do was settle down in their quarters with a book, a glass of wine and-
"Oh," Ozpin said suddenly, eyes brightening, "It's our song."
It was.
He shot her a knowing look, wordlessly slipping his hand into hers and tugging her out onto the dance floor while the familiar baritone lilted over the speakers. Ozpin's smile reached all the way to his eyes and it was honestly all she could do to keep herself halfway composed in a room filled with teenagers. They fell into step together with perhaps a little more familiarity than she preferred to share with the public; his free arm slid around her back and pulled her close- far closer than she had allowed for Ironwood. Certainly near enough to smell the faintest trace of coffee and oak on him, muddled with old books and worn leather as if he'd been hiding in his private library for most of the evening.
It was far too easy to lose herself in the slow melody and the scent of him and to just follow his lead. There was little chance that this song had just happened its way onto the playlist the students had put together. Glynda suspected Ozpin probably had conned them into adding it for him. He leaned a little bit closer and murmured something she couldn't quite hear, but the shift of his eyes had her tracing his gaze to a group of first years gawking at them from the side of the floor.
"Typical," he laughed softly, "They may be the next generation of huntsmen but they act like they've never seen anyone dance before."
"Unless you've forgotten," she huffed, feigning annoyance, "It's early in the school year. Most of them still don't know what to make of us." Ozpin grinned and squeezed her hand, nearly missing a step in the process. It was endearing in the worst way; if they were alone she probably would entertain the idea of kissing him just to wipe the look off his face, but it was out of the question for the moment. Later, perhaps. Glynda pushed that thought aside and slipped into a stretch of comfortable quiet, trace hints of a smile curling at the corner of her mouth as Ozpin hummed along with the melody. It was an old song, older than even the two of them. She'd never bothered to check the year but it was likely it dated all the way back to the war.
Despite all of the sentimentality it had, it was far too short for her liking. There was little chance she was going to stay later in the evening and the look that Ozpin shot her next confirmed her suspicions that he had other plans for them. His fingers touched the small of her back for the briefest of moments before they parted, each making their way off the floor and out of the hall before someone could ask them to stay later than they had intended.
The rest of Beacon's campus was dimly lit despite the late hour; one of the party planners had strung paper lights along the main pathways leading all the way back to each of the main buildings. More effort had been put in this year despite the last minute switch in delegation, at least. It lit the way for them across the length of campus with a soft glow that cast the brick path in a warm, inviting light.
Once they'd reached the clock tower Ozpin threaded his fingers into hers, humming contentedly through the halls and the entire way up the elevator to his office. There was no one in the building this time of night and especially not on a long weekend. Not that any of the faculty would have even given them a second glance to begin with, of course. The elevator gave a quiet ping as it reached the correct floor and when the doors opened Glynda allowed him to lead her by hand into the room.
"I didn't have as much time to plan this year," he started, placing his scroll onto his desk as they passed it by, "Although I was fairly certain you wouldn't mind."
"I never do." This drew a wry smile from him. She stepped into his personal space when he stopped, her free arm curling around the back of his neck and the other holding his hand close to her chest. Ozpin hummed quietly, pulling her closer and wrapping his arm at her back. Glynda's fingers flexed near the nape of his neck with the lightest touch of her semblance and a quiet, slow melody started to play from his scroll. It was less of a dance and more of a gentle, easy sway to the music. Pressed this close it was easy to gently bump her profile to his- feather light- not quite fully committing to anything more for the moment.
"As much as you know I enjoy dancing with you," she murmured in his ear after a few minutes, leaning her head against his shoulder, "I hope you didn't bring me all the way back up here just for that."
"No." He chuckled and leaned back enough to press a kiss to her cheek. "I picked up a bottle of your favorite wine and forgot it up here this afternoon." Glynda snorted but didn't complain otherwise. Typical. The man would probably lose his shoes if she wasn't there to make sure he walked out the door each morning with them on. She made a subtle gesture towards the desk again and the song cut off. It was after midnight and well past time for them to make their way out of the office and home to their quarters for the rest of the evening.
Whatever was left of it, at least. Ozpin's scroll buzzed suddenly against the glass of his desk with an incoming call- the screen flickered to life with Ironwood's name. As Glynda turned and reached for it he grabbed her waist, turning her back around and meeting her with a searing kiss that he'd probably been containing for the better part of the evening. After the initial surprise wore off she caved, fingers smoothing over his cheeks and jawline as he deepened the kiss further. It was a heated action from him- hungry even; she wondered if they'd even bother leaving the office at this rate.
Ozpin backed off briefly to breathe and was about to move in for another kiss when the elevator sounded a quiet ping and opened. He froze only inches from Glynda's mouth, staring directly at James Ironwood standing in the open doorway.
The general cleared his throat awkwardly, resigning to fiddling with his tie and glancing away until they'd untangled themselves from each other enough to be considered relatively professional. When he finally stepped into the room Glynda realized there was blood smeared on his jacket. Her gaze sharpened, oozing impatience while they waited for him to speak.
Ironwood slapped his scroll to the desk and a security camera recording popped up, looping through some woman in jet black storming the atrium of the CCT. A prickle ran down the nape of Glynda's neck with that deathly cool feeling of familiarity. When she looked up from the footage, Ozpin and the general were locked in a tense staredown. James broke first, grabbing his scroll and sliding it back into his coat pocket.
"So," he started, looking between the two of them, "We have a problem."