Temperance’s voice sounded from behind him, and Ber turned to see her beaming up at him as she approached. “Really? That’s great.” With a matching grin on his face, he shifted his focus from the witch to the fully repaired greenhouse behind her, and the smile only grew. “Looks good as new,” He observed, surveying the glass panels while Temperance moved past him to wipe off her feet. A glance over at her. “Better even.” The tour, however, was postponed until after lunch, so Ber obligingly followed her inside.

In all of his slobbery, fluffy glory, Artos bounded out of the side room almost immediately to welcome him. Tail wagging, the dog completely ignored Temperance in favor of begging for a belly rub from Ber, which the soldier happily provided. He ran his hands through thick dark fur while the puppy’s tail thumped against the floor, though he did look up from where he was crouched by Artos to offer Melody a somewhat sheepish smile. By now, he had spent enough time around to her to have learned how to fairly reliably distinguish fond griping from actual complaints, and he recognized her words to him now as firmly in the former category. “Someone has to keep you on your toes,” He quipped back. “Gotta shake things up a bit. Can’t be too predictable.”

He spoke the last sentence as he – predictably – turned to give Artos all of his attention while Temperance drifted over to the other room, presumably to collect Thom.

Indeed, the other man’s voice sounded only a few moments later. Looking up, Ber returned the silent greeting with a wave of his own, even as he met Thom’s good-humored complaints with equally affable protests of his own. “Yes, borrowed, and I’ve returned him every time.” His gaze fell back to the dog who reached a paw toward him, impatiently demanding the younger man’s full attention. “Artos just knows who his favorite people are, right, buddy?” He returned to lavishing attention upon the canine, pointedly not thinking about how he was immediately abandoned for Woodwick at Othello’s party.

After a few moments, he glanced up again at Thom. “It is nice to see you again.” The words were earnest and followed by another brief pause before: “So what’s for lunch?”

With a smirk and practiced ease, Ber weathered Melody’s rebuke before looking up at Temperance and Thom as they both made their way over to the table. Still rubbing the dog’s belly, he watched both of them take their seats before offering Artos one last pat and pushing himself to his feet. Beef roast and carrot stew. “Smells good,” He told Melody, making an appreciative noise as a rumbling stomach reinforced his claim.

Stretching, he made his way over to his chair only to find it occupied by a long-furred cat, who yawned and blinked up at him with her paws tucked neatly beneath her. “I see I’m easily replaced.” Where Artos adored Ber, Edith merely tolerated him with typical feline attitude, which meant that she allowed him to grace her with his attention instead of actively seeking it out herself. In a way, he could respect that, even if the puppy’s affection was far easier to understand. “You’re a little in the way, Edith.” After running a hand down the cat’s spine, Ber nudged her gently until she finally rose to her feet and, with an affronted look, jumped down to the floor.

Sliding into his seat, he thanked Thom for the glass of water and took a sip before surveying the food on the table. “Everyone sneaks Artos scraps,” He said confidently, ladling stew into his bowl. A moment passed before he looked up, eyes moving from Thom to Temperance as he suddenly doubted his claim. “Right?”

In response to the latter’s question, he nodded while snagging a piece of cornbread for his plate. “Arm’s still fine,” He confirmed, glancing over at her with a small smile. “And I’ve been fine.” A shrug as the pleasant atmosphere prompted him to keep the news of his deployment from them a little longer. “Busy with work and everything.” He glanced at Thom. “Oh, I had to help Woodwick with his paperwork one time. I really don’t know how you sit at a desk all day, Thom.”

Ber, who always finished his plate, glanced around at the poorly feigned displays of innocence and with Thom’s explanation still echoing in his head, raised his eyebrows. “I see.” As he shoveled some stew into his mouth, he offered a smile and amused shake of the head to Temperance as she retroactively threatened the medics in the military wing. Their replies to his complaint about paperwork caught and held his attention, however.

Nose wrinkling at the thought, he swallowed his spoonful of stew and then protested, as if it was his decision to make, “I am not his favorite.” His gaze rested on Temperance first, then Melody and he pointed his spoon at each of them in turn for emphasis while he spoke. “Not only would he like someone boring—” like Mosse or Sliva “—but you also don’t make your favorite people do paperwork.” A pause, followed by a shrug. “And I’m stuck on staff duty until I hear otherwise, so I just gotta hope Woodwick’s assistant doesn’t get sick again.”

With that matter settled, he turned to Thom. “Guess not,” He agreed. “At least you get out and about sometimes. Anything interesting you can tell us about?”

“That’s exactly why he would!” The words leapt from his tongue almost before Temperance had even finished her statement, though no heat matched the conviction of his tone. Although his opinion of Woodwick and all of the captain’s countless flaws was a hill he would die on, he had no intention of entering into a genuine argument over it, especially not with the lighthearted mood that had settled over all of them. He would bring with him memories of exactly this kind of meal to Cambria, and he selfishly wanted the happiness to last as long as it could.

When Melody defended him, he turned to her and gestured toward her with a hand. “Thank you, Melody,” Ber said with a mixture of faux exasperation and relief. “See?” His gaze had returned to Temperance as his words were directed at her. “She knows.”

Throughout all of this, Thom had remained silently neutral, but because Ber knew that he would side with Temperance if forced to choose one, he opted to not drag the other man into the debate. Instead, he requested a story, and Temperance backed him up. The anticipation grew as Thom acquiesced to the demands of his eager audience, or more accurately Temperance, and when he leaned back in his chair to begin telling his tale, Ber settled in for the story.

He found the beginning rather familiar for multiple reasons, but the similarities eventually gave way to something more novel – and, of course, very enjoyable. Admittedly, the mention of the Yunnan group had his thoughts straying toward the Amber Lotus, though his efforts at shoving the thought away immediately with the hope that work would stop poking its head into the conversation here were rendered futile by Thom’s pointed conclusion. At the other man’s raised eyebrow all Ber could do was let out an equally good-humored and long-suffering sigh. He hadn’t even asked Thom to pick a side, and yet…

“Okay, well,” He began to defend himself, still more light-heated than irritated. “I was only his assistant for one day, so when did this happen? Because it probably would have been read by his actual assistant – some noble named Gerard, gets sick a lot – and not me.” A pause, then a grin. “Besides, I don’t need to read that report now anyway, because you just told me the story yourself.”