She was halfway to the water when a little voice whispered, You're twenty-eight now.

She had almost forgotten. Well into her morning, Nadja studied the rippling shadow she cast over the pool as another thought surfaced.

It's been three years.

Ophion snorted from the deep end, eliciting a fond smile. "I know," said Nadja. "You're still here." She shook her damp hair and plunged in.

The thoughts that filled her head this morning fled at the first shock of cold water, but her body remembered her routine. Long strokes carried her consciousness along while her muscles warmed, and for a while there was nothing but measured breath, the angle of her hands and ringing pressure against her eardrums. As the water's temperature became comfortable wordless things began to trickle in, loose and formless as the fluid through which she moved.

Today wasn't a day off, but she could-

-call them; too far for a visit-

-relax, no surprises this year-

-rarely pleasant in any case-

-but one year there was a dog-

-and roses-

-such a romantic idiot-

The telltale phut! of Ophion's sniper shot broke the steady rhythm of her strokes. When she blinked the water out of her eyes he was lurking near the edge like a crocodile, aiming a baleful red glare at the locker room doors. The Kingdra spat a parting salvo and watched his trainer climb out of the pool and approach the bench, turning his head three-quarters of a circle to do so.

Nadja gazed at the flowers in silence while water pooled at her feet.

Then she pulled wet hair out of her eyes, uttered a "Don't" to Ophion - who was about to helpfully take care of the offering with another water jet - and took her towel into the locker room. The Kingdra huffed and started on a patrol circuit of the pool, stopping at intervals to glare up at the windows.

He looked back when the sound of bare feet heralded a much drier Nadja wearing the sleeveless high-collared dress of her uniform. The redhead knelt by the edge and extended an arm, curling her toes over the tiles while the Pokemon drifted over.

"You got him, didn't you," Nadja murmured, with a throaty little chuckle when Ophion snorted in self-satisfaction. "I don't think you should worry." She ran a hand over his antler-like head fins thoughtfully, and a rueful little half-smile crossed her features. "Once was enough. This is just.."

-three years ago there were roses like this-

"..different," she finished firmly, to an approving nod from the Kingdra before he was recalled.

She kept a cool, impassive look ready for anyone who might see her holding a wrapped gift and vase of flowers on the way to her office. They were fresh blooms, and their sweet scent filled the elevator while velvety petals tickled her cheek.

Call today, when would she call - there were meetings today, reports to read. They could all be postponed, didn't have to be read - when you set your own schedule you were granted such liberties - but she'd lose the pulse of the department and that would be the beginning of the end. It would probably be the weekend before she could find time to reach an outside line and hear the thick, rolling accent of her father.

You know, Nadyusha, the only time I ever give your mother flowers is when I have done something incredibly stupid.

Moloch was waiting at the door, waving his feathery tail in greeting. He snuffled curiously at the flowers, nearly inhaling a cluster of hyacinths, then flopped down in his sunning spot on the carpet and drew his paws up. He was hoping for a belly rub and looked rather disappointed when Nadja set present and flowers down on her desk and made a cup of tea instead. After a moment the Arcanine rolled to his feet, padded over and sat, waiting while his trainer studied the objects over the steaming cup.

Roses - well, they were obvious enough, long-stemmed and more than the standard dozen. Even if the exact meaning of the flowers escaped her at the moment, their meaning was so vague as to be a cliche. Without a bearer to give them context, she would have dismissed them as that.

But there were hyacinths, carefully nestled between the crimson heads, and she wanted to know why.

Moloch got a pat on the flank when he whuffed, but that was all. The giant canine sprawled out like a nonchalant library lion and resumed his sunning, but kept an ear cocked to her preoccupied behavior. Nadja sat at her desk and finished her tea, fingering the edge of the wrapped box while she waited for her computer to start.

The usual host of e-mail notices greeted her; habit and the whispered question she asked of any workplace relationship - Will it affect your work? - made her scan her inbox, but nothing looked particularly urgent. A few minutes with a search engine brought her the meaning of the star-shaped flowers:

I'm sorry.

"H'm." The corner of her mouth pulled back and she reached for the box. Moloch looked over with an 'aur?' at the rustling paper.

That had taken a while. But for a man who took himself so seriously, the whole incident - what he could remember of it - would have been humiliating, and to think of it without immediately recoiling was no mean feat. Neither was voicing an apology - something he'd found an elegant solution around. Then unless this was very expensive replacement tea, the contents of this hinged box would be-

Silver-set amber glowed in the morning light.

-a chain of perfect teardrops.

Moloch knew better than to beg for the paper, so he put on his best hopeful expression. "Not for dogs," Nadja said absently while she lifted the necklace up, studying the dark inclusions. A little paper tag fluttered down and landed face-up on the desk: 'BALTIC AMBER.'

Beautiful. And as close as he could get to personal with the little he knew, although that wasn't very close at all. Jewelery was a safe gift, something to give to someone you didn't know well but hoped to know better. It was the style of thing she liked, though - simple and clean-lined, elegant without being delicate. She might actually wear it.

The browser was still open. On a whim, she scrolled down until she found the entry for roses, red:

Love. Desire. Courage, passion, respect..

Nadja raised a brow and narrowed her eyes at the screen. Desire - well, she could certainly see that, and without respect everything was off, but the rest of the terms were.. weighty, threatening involvement in something deeper.

How much did a flower mean?

If there were.. twenty - she clicked a link - they meant:

I'm sincere towards you.

Silence spun out into the room, poised and still as a bird on the cusp of flight.

-three years ago someone thought of you like this-

Nadja got up quickly and headed for the door.

Locked. Good. She sank down to her knees near Moloch, who recognized the signs and happily rolled over; her fingers met his waiting fur and worked down to the roots. "You," she told the dog fiercely as she kneaded and rolled to contented 'bwurh's, "were a wonderful gift."

-three years ago someone-

Nadja buried her nose in Moloch's thick ruff.

Three years was a long time ago.

After a while she raised her head and gave him a final scratch behind the ears; the canine whuffed and a large tongue caught the edge of her glove. Seven-thirty. She had a meeting at nine, but - will it affect your work? - she needed to focus for that.

A 'thank you' was in order at least.

She issued a down-stay to Moloch, closed the door and schooled her expression into its usual sharp-eyed serenity. The hallway was hushed and low-lit; sunlight streamed in from a distant window, illuminating drifting columns of dust motes. His office was at the end of it, a half-minute walk.

Maybe by then she could figure out what else she wanted to say.