As a principle, Iona didn’t work at the weekend. When working for the WCU, she’d only done weekends when the full moon had been on a weekend. Otherwise, those, Christmas, New Year, her birthday and Zora’s birthday were untouchable. Having been given the job of trying to minimise damage this full moon, and improve and bring forward the Wing in general, she couldn’t afford to not put in a few hours over the weekend. That was why she could be found in her office on a Saturday morning.

It was early afternoon when she chose to call it at a day. Her plan, however, wasn’t to head home. She’d been back at the Ministry for a few weeks now, and the enormous elephant in the room whenever she and Bagnold were together needed to be tackled. They talked strategy and tactics, they talked professionally, and every time she’d tried to discuss their former friendship, he’d shot her down. Not today.

Her desk left in some semblance of order (to Iona, anyway), she left her office. Due to it not being a work work day, Bruce had come in to the office in a pair of cargo trousers, a fleece and boots. Her hair was pulled back into a chunky French plait, loose curls escaping. she may have had to work on a Saturday, but she wasn’t dressing up for the pleasure.

Pushing through the door to the WCU, Bruce’s blue eyes fell on their target. There was Bagnold, all alone at the desk he’d used for over sixteen years. Whoever else had shown up today had long gone.
“You still drink firewhiskey?” She asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Grab your coat, boss’ orders.”

It felt like the past month had been a marathon of a broom race, but now they were finally about to enter the final stretch.  Kurby had banned most of the Capture Unit from coming in on this Saturday; they’d all be back bright and early on Sunday to begin their patrols as it was.  He’d spent the morning with Li and Bellingham, going over the final plans, and then he’d kicked them out, too.  Ever since the December cold moon, the Werewolf Capture Unit had spent every spare minute they had preparing for the watch that was to come.  There was only so much more that they could do.

He’d lingered in the office for an extra hour, reading through everything one last time.  At this point, it was more a ritual than it was anything else.  Kurby had just been preparing to file everything away again, to stack the plans on his desk and head back to his flat to find some way to while away the rest of his day, when the office door swung open and Bruce Ballentyne limped inside like she still owned the place. 

The werewolf hunter looked up tiredly at his former mentor.  This was not how he wanted to occupy the rest of his day, which he’d mostly planned on spending sprawled out on his sofa pretending to sleep.  Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face.

“Naw, I gave up drinkin’ a couple years ago,” he said wearily.  He made absolutely no effort to get up from his chair, hands still pressed against his face as if Bruce might go away if he just avoided looking at her for long enough.  “Too many bad mornings.  The hangovers get a hell of a lot worse after you turn thirty.”