"Jonathan."

It's not a question, it never is.

"Yes?" he looks up from the royalty paperwork.

Juliette stands in the doorway, bag slung over her shoulder, a shawl dangling from her arms. She looks almost amused, but he knows far better. She gives him a faint smile, waiting for an invitation.

"Have a seat?" he finally sits up fully, taking off his glasses and leaning back in his desk chair. "I don't exactly have time -"

She cuts him off, one hand raised in understanding, "I know. I know." She sits in a chair facing him and sets her bag on the floor. "I think," she starts slowly, testing the waters. "Eva Rodriguez," she looks up for confirmation that he's truly heard her.

"What about her, Jul?" he seems exasperated already.

"She's good," she says firmly, ignoring the use of her nickname. He only uses it when he's irritated or when he'd like to get her off his back. Or when he needs a favor. She's learned.

"So?" he's back down in his paperwork, not even bothering to look at her.

"Jonathan, really?" she crosses her arms over her chest, thoroughly unamused.

He's so rarely in good spirits when spring pushes through Manhattan. It means season announcements, the workshop, selecting new company members, firing old ones. And while he trusts Juliette, he does, he truly does, he refuses to relinquish any ounce of decision making.

"Jul," he sighs, signing a few documents before meeting her eyes again. "What do you want me to do? It's not as if I can recast, re-choreograph, or... whatever you'd have asked," he waves his pen-wielding hand dismissively. "You weren't going to ask, were you?" he pauses in thought, nearly terrified at the idea that he may not know her quite as well as he thought.

"No," she says pointedly, getting more frustrated with each passing second. "We have this discussion every spring, Jonathan."

"No, we don't," is his childish reply and he eventually closes the folder of legal information laid out before him. "What is it you're really after then?"

"Give her a spot," Juliette crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrows raising in challenge.

"This couldn't wait," he drags a hand down his face. "It's late, go get some rest."

"I could say the same to you," she looks slightly concerned. "I saw Kathleen wandering the halls a while ago."

"She's got a late rehearsal," he leans back again, paperwork forgotten as he finally smiles at her. "The Glass," he nods, remembering the name of the piece he'd scheduled for the next gala. "It's really just magnificent."

She smiles fondly, "I know, I saw a bit yesterday. It reminded me of that strange little piece we did in '89."

"Ah, yes," he chuckles, the flesh-colored unitards all too clear in his memory. "We were almost young then," he smiles wistfully. "It's been twenty-five years we've known each other, Juliette."

They don't do this often, it's better left unsaid. It's been years. But she remembers how happy they'd been, how they'd taken care of each other somehow. She supposes it's something she'll always remember. She'd been a principal, the principal, and so had he. And once old age had set in, they both taught... that is, until he was promoted. And suddenly it was all too clear to Juliette. Happily ever after was going to have to come from someone else, something else. Or maybe old age had made her too haggard to truly make Jonathan happy.

"What are you working on?" she nods toward the papers.

"Just final paperwork for our next season," his eyes gleam and she knows he's already given Kathleen some life-altering roles to dance this year.

"It's going to be different next year," she muses softly, her mind wandering to the rumors she's heard whispered in the hallways, the dressing rooms.

"It's always different," he scans the top of his desk. "You heading home?"

Juliette nods, gathering her things again, "It's getting late."