A/N: Update 7. I don't know why this fic's main gimmick has become 'let's have heart-to-hearts while washing dishes' but here ya go.

Let me know what you think!


Scribbles

-chores-

Glynda should've known that this intake of students was different ever since she had met little Ruby Rose.

Yet, nothing could have foretold this.

"Glynda, stop."

She didn't respond, hands merely scrubbing the same cup methodically over and over and over-

"Hey." Large hands, one too cold, one too warm, grabbed her wrists. Gently, the man pulled the cup and the sponge out of her hands, setting them both in their proper place. "What's wrong?"

She didn't reply, merely drying her hands on the towel hanging by the sink. She dried, and dried, and dried-

"Look at me, Glyn."

She froze, glancing up at him.

Don't call me that.

No one else called her that anymore, after all- not since her teammates.

James' weary eyes held nothing but concern for her, his accompanying crow's feet and wrinkles aging him far beyond what he should've been. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"…Nothing."

James rolled his eyes, guiding her to sit on a chair by her kitchen table. Kneeling down in front of her, he looked up into her face, his worry evident. "Women," he muttered tiredly. "Just say it. You've been washing that cup for twenty minutes."

She sighed, the sound thin and feeble between barely-parted lips. What could she say? She was acting like a robot, she knew. It had been a long, long evening- trips down into the vaults underneath Beacon Tower were always too draining for their own good.

But that night had been different.

What would be a good enough reason for him? Saying she was tired? Admitting that she needed a vacation or five? Coming clean about all of her deepest, darkest fantasies about just… leaving the battle against Salem behind?

Or would he ever understand just what they'd done to poor, sweet, lonely Pyrrha Nikos?

She didn't say a word.

He sighed, sitting down heavily on the chair beside her. Running his fingers through salt-and-pepper hair, he muttered, "I wanted to talk to you about something." When she didn't respond, still too wrapped up in her own thoughts, he explained, "Oz told me, you know. About Walter."

That was certainly one way to get her attention.

"…Oh."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because he was a threat," she whispered.

"No, Glyn- why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged limply, the fatigue almost too much to bear. "He hurt you."

"Glynda, that was over twenty-five years ago-"

"He almost killed you, James. And he wanted to finish the job."

James groaned. "That's not the point-"

"Then what is?" she roared, standing up from the chair. "What the fuck is the point, James?"

He frowned, shock and confusion and worry painted in a jumble on his face.

She sighed, deflating back down onto the chair. "James, I…"

The man placed his hands onto her knees. "…I've never seen you like this," he said quietly.

It was true. After all of this time, he had never seen her cry like this.

But she couldn't hide it any longer, shame and frustration at her inability to compartmentalize her emotions only adding fuel to the flame. She wept, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as choked sobs made their way out of her throat.

Instantly, James was on his feet, pulling her into his arms. She wept against his neck, the anger and bitterness and agonizing internal chant of why just compounding until it rang, cacophonous and deafening, between her ears. The only sensation she could hone in on other than the pure, wracking sorrow was the heat burning from her thigh, the proximity to him almost searing.

"You did well, Glynda," he said, over and over again. She didn't know if he meant it or not. Maybe he was bitter that she had fought Walter in his place. However, there was no changing the past.

When the initial torrent was over, James murmured, hands stroking her loose curls, "What happened?"

Through deep, shuddering breaths and whimpered sobs, she muttered against his skin, "Pyrrha Nikos is just a little girl. You wouldn't let me become a Maiden- it was a fate too horrible to bear. We saw that in Amber. We… it may be the right choice, and we need a new Maiden, but…" and she sobbed again, her anger towards the cruel irony of it all unstoppable. In her mind's eye, she could still see Pyrrha's wide, horrified green eyes, the understanding dawning upon her and the subsequent guilt of it all too much to withstand. "She's so young. Why are we asking her do it?"

He didn't respond.

"She… she would be such a good professor," Glynda added. "She's bright, and strong. She's the only reason her team hasn't failed- the best student in this class-"

"You see yourself in her."

"Yes, but I wasn't so cripplingly lonely, and she's only just found a place, you can see it in her eyes, and-"

"I'm sorry, Glyn," James whispered, holding her tight. "I'm so, so sorry."

And he was. Winter Schnee was like a daughter to him. All of Glynda's students were like children to her.

And Ozpin's plans were going to force them all to willingly kill one of those children, and there was nothing Glynda could do to stop it.