Father Timothy Howard had risen spectacularly in the tiers of the church since his graduation from Seminary. Young, they said, to be a Bishop already. Eager, they said, to take on a project such as Briarcliff Manor. And capable, they agreed, to run it as effectively as he did. And while he appreciated their praise (almost to a fault), he tried to be as humble as possible, giving credit where it was due: to a nun. The nun. Briarcliff's curated and hand-selected (by himself, no less) administrator - Sister Jude.

He'd never met a more impressive Sister of the Church. Kind ones, yes. But smart? Not so much. Strong? Definitely not. Authoritative? Rarely - although a few Mother Superiors here and there had impressed him with their austere proclivities to control. No. Rarely was he impressed in general. Had met few he would trust with his Bible - much less his pet project.

This one - Jude - was a rara avis, indeed.

And she was shapely. Not that he noticed such things. He didn't.

But no matter her capabilities, or her...physical fitness, he recognized that even the most competent of leaders sometimes needed help. Jude was certainly an adept assistant to himself. He wouldn't be making Briarcliff half the success it was without her. Her bakery idea had won him massive accolades within the circles that mattered - the circles that selected Cardinals. The circles he most wanted to matter in.

And now that her idea was coming to fruition - that the Briarcliff kitchens were being expanded into an impressive (and expensive) functioning bakery, he had consulted the Mother Superior. With the added staff and responsibilities, Jude deserved some help.

He hoped that their meeting today would be as productive as usual. Honestly, he'd attempted to arrange it for later in the evening as the Sister was oft influenced (with very little suggestion) to cook for him. And her cooking was (probably) sinful. A gift from God.

Or the Devil.

Like her curves. Not that he noticed such things. He didn't.

Walking through the doors of Briarcliff today, he remembered the first day he'd walked through the doors of Briarcliff. The wretched stench of wretched people, many catatonic in their own filth. Mats matted with mysterious fluids littering the floors and hallways. Cells flooded from leaky roofs, stagnant water alive with larvae. A kitchen with a barely functioning stove and a drunken cook serving rotten food. People shaped cages. Straight jacketed zombies beating bleeding heads against mildewed walls. Mite infestation. He'd had to be treated for lice, himself.

A Hell-hole.

The Church had been right to intervene. And he'd been right to appoint Sister Jude administrator. Souls needed saving here. Mother Superior had not let him down with her selection of nun, and he had faith she would not let him down again. Or Jude.

Patients were much quieter now. For the most part more active. There was a common room with music. Tables, chairs, and games to distract them. Regular fresh food deliveries and sober staff. Increased security and hospital-trained orderlies. All supported by earnest Sisters who'd volunteered to be apart of something good: God's work.

A vast improvement still improving by leaps and bounds.

Today, it was bustling. Construction crews were in and out working on the kitchens, so extra security lingered at all doors, ensuring no escapes or injuries. He greeted the head of security - Frank McCann - at the base of the stairs. "Mr. McCann." A nod.

"Father." Frank nodded back. "Sistah Jude is expectin' ya. In her office, I believe."

"Thank you." He didn't know exactly what Jude had seen in this particular man, but she'd been insistent on having him as her direct report. Seemed a bit gruff to Timothy. Not at all manicured. Too much confidence on a handsome face. A rather strong build. Man's man, as they say.

The priest didn't like him. But Sister Jude was happy. So...whatever.

He knocked at her door twice. "Come in."

"Sister Jude." He smiled. She smiled, too. It was a lovely smile. She left her desk to greet him. And he liked the way she cast her eyes down when he reached for her hand. Clasped it in both of his. "Good to see you."

"Always, Fathah." She gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Please. Sit. Coffee? Tea?"

"Perhaps after we visit the kitchens today, Sister. I'm eager to see how our construction is progressing."

He didn't miss her slight scowl. "After a few minor...inconveniences? It is on track. The estimate is two weeks tops for completion now. But it could be sooner."

"Wonderful news." He gestured to a stack of papers on her desk. "I see you are as busy as always, Sister. Are you faring well, personally?"

She hesitated. He saw the vacillation in her eyes. Tired eyes. But she would never admit it. He understood. And even admired that. "I'm managing."

A knock at the door interrupted. She looked up. "Yes?"

A novice poked her head in. "Sister Jude? The chef is complaining that construction will have to shut off the gas soon. She wants to know what the staff is supposed to do about dinner."

Jude blinked a few times. "Sandwiches? And green salad, I think."

"Very well, Sister."

"Thank you, Bernadette." The door closed. "I'm sorry, Fathah."

"Not at all." He gestured. "That is you managing, as you say. And of course you are. With staggering effectiveness. Sister, I haven't enough words to express my gratitude or my admiration for your work here so far."

Her lip trembled. The bottom one. The really plump one. Not that he noticed such things. He didn't. "That...that means a lot ta me, Monsignor." She collected herself. "I couldn't do it without yar support."

"Which you will have more of soon, Sister." He smiled. "My duties as Bishop are finally evening out, and I will be more available here - where I'm truly needed. There are still some important loose ends we must tie together. Finding an attending physician, for example. Although I've been referred to one who may prove perfect for our needs."

"I hope so."

"Which brings me to the other reason I asked for your valuable time today."

"And that reason is..." She trailed off, curious. Another knock. Jude bit her lips. "Yes?" More strained this time.

An orderly entered. "Sorry ta interrupt, Sistah."

"What is it, Carl?"

"The new linens are delivered. But they can't get ta the service entrance cuz of the construction vans. Should we bring 'em around front?"

"That should be fine. Frank has extra security on the main entrance today."

"Nah, not now." Carl crooked his thumb toward the hall. "They got called away to some kinda ruckus in hydrotherapy."

"A ruckus?" She asked.

"A snafu."

"I see." She considered for a moment.

"A shit show," Carl clarified further.

"Thank you, Carl!" She held up a hand. Timothy withheld a grin. "Have them use the secondary service entrance on the side. Surely you and Greg can handle it?"

"Will do, Sistah. But don't call me Shirley." He winked at her as he exited.

A suffering sigh. But she smiled at Timothy's smile. "I apologize again, Fathah. Carl is um..." She waved dismissively. "Carl. You were saying?"

"Sister." He paused. "May I call you Jude?"

"Of course." Her carved cheeks went pleasantly pink. Not that he noticed such things. He didn't.

"Jude. You know that I have full faith in your abilities as administrator here."

"Yes?" She looked...nervous now.

"But we are taking on far greater responsibilities now than either of us originally imagined. And there can only be more to come under your excellent direction."

"Uh-huh..."

"I've consulted with Mother Claudia." He watched her face soften at the mention of her mentor. "And we both believe that perhaps...you could use some assistance. Of a more personal variety."

"A...personal assistant."

"Exactly!" He clapped his hands together, pleased. "She has already arranged for us to meet two sisters tomorrow. Either of whom she feels would make an excellent choice for your needs."

"But Fathah -" A knock. Jude rolled her eyes. "What?!" She snapped.

Frank opened the door. "Boss."

"Yes, Frank?" Her tone softened.

Timothy immediately noticed the different level of familiarity between the two. He hoped he controlled his lip curl.

"We've got a bit of a situation in hydrotherapy."

"That's what Carl said. Is anybody dead?"

"No. It's the Mexican."

"What about her?"

"She won't cooperate with the orderlies or the sistahs. Says our water is heated by the fires of Hell and won't take her bath."

"So don't make her take a bath. Take her to solitary far a while and let her cool off."

"She's askin' fer you, Sistah. Somethin' about prayin'."

"Well, I'm busy, Frank."

"I see that, but..." Frank winced. "She's uh...got a hold of a hose."

"A hose."

"Yeah. One of those fire hoses we use ta clean the floors and sanitize new patients? She's blastin' anybody what tries ta get close."

Jude's hands steepled in prayer beneath her closed eyes. For some reason, Timothy bowed his head, too. She stood, fingers on her desk in a steadying fashion. "Fathah. Please excuse me far one moment. I'm afraid my staff is stretched a bit thin at the moment, and I must deal with this situation."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Sister?"

Jude looked at Frank. Frank shook his head subtly, lips pursed. Timothy didn't care for the guard's disregard. "Wait here, Fathah. I'll be back momentarily." A pointed look at Frank. "With no furthah interruptions?"

"None at all, boss." Frank assured.

"Thank you." She gave the guard's arm an appreciative squeeze. "Let's go, then."

Timothy watched them leave, eyes narrowed. He really didn't like that guard. Picked at a cuticle, not sulking. How did she ever get anything done? Picked up the letter opener on her desk. Poked the tip of it. "Ow!" It was sharp. He sucked at his finger. Looked at his watch. 1:17. He milled about behind her desk and around the room. Looked out the window. The door to her personal chambers was cracked and - with no malicious intentions whatsoever - he peeked inside.

Spartan. Exactly what one would expect from a devout sister. Something, though, caught his sweeping eye. A sliver of red silk - just a sliver - caught in the top drawer of the chest near her bed. The only color in a bland and otherwise beige room. It was a curiosity. And for some reason - distracting.

He shook off the red sliver. None of his business. Returned to her window and peered out. Past the grating was a view onto the front grounds. She would see all new arrivals from here - a bird's eye view of all comings and goings.

There were some notes on her desk, jotted hastily on a pad beneath the phone. Mostly construction related by the looks of them. Now openly nosing, he slid out a desk drawer. Pin neat. Organized. He'd expected no less, and smiled. Paper clips in tiny boxes - small to large. Stapler beside staples. Pens facing the same direction. Pencils sharpened to the exact same length.

But still...a sliver of sanguine sin distracted him.

Her door opened suddenly and he startled. "Sister." He gaped.

"Father." She leaned against her door a moment, seeming to collect herself. "You'll have to excuse me far another moment, I'm afraid."

"Of - of course, sister." Head to toe, she was completely wet. Habit completely soaked. Wimple plastered to her head and slightly askew. Blonde hair loose, ringlets dripping. And she looked...furious. What was the phrase? Mad as a wet hen? But literally. He hesitated, but had to ask. "Are you...alright, Jude?"

She paused in her chamber door. Didn't look at him. "I'm fine, Fathah. Thank you far asking."

The door closed behind her.

He sat again, nervously tapping his lip. The wet habit had hidden none of her shape at all. Not that he noticed such things, of course. He didn't.

She was a quick change, though, and emerged from her chambers perhaps only two minutes later. Dry habit. Golden curls re-hidden. Mostly shapeless again. Face pink. "I apologize."

"No apologies necessary, Sister." He spread his hands, wondering. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She sat behind her desk, placing her palms flat there.

"Something." He prompted gently, a small smile encouraging her.

She softened. "I...attempted to pray with a patient and she...hosed me down and nearly drowned us both in a hydrotherapy tub." A shrug. "Pretty run of the mill stuff." A wet sniffle. Little cough.

"Hardly!" He leaned forward, offering the her the handkerchief from his pocket. This couldn't be a daily occurrence. "You could have been injured, Sister. Or...worse."

She waved him off. "Frank was there. It took some wrestlin', but he rescued me. We got the situation undah control. I promise."

"Thank God for Mr. McCann's tactical response." He really  really hated that guard.

Jude rested her head in her hands suddenly. "Monsignor. Did ya come here today ta try ta convince me ta take on an assistant?"

"Yes." He leveled with her. Best approach. "Please don't think that I - or the Diocese - have any doubts as to your abilities. We simply -"

"Timothy?"

He blinked. "Yes, Jude?"

"After the day I've had today, you'd have ta convince me not ta take on an assistant." She looked up from her hands. "What do you need from me?"

"Accompany me tomorrow. To St. Mary's. You'll want to meet the sisters, I'm certain."

"Of course."

"I shall collect you at ten am. Mother Claudia has invited us to join the sisters for lunch."

"I look forward to it." She rose when he rose, a slight squelch in her shoes. "Now. How about a look at our new bakery?"

Jude was a notoriously early riser. It had become second nature at the convent, where there was always much to do, and came in handy at Briarcliff, where there was even more to do. After morning checks - blessedly peaceful - she made her way to the kitchen. Construction wasn't scheduled to begin until ten am, so she had time to make breakfast.

Checked the clock on the wall. 6:37. Should be right on time... She started with bacon and sausage. Rolled out some biscuits. Saved the eggs until:

"My favorite part of the day."

She couldn't contain her smile. "G'morning, Frank."

"Sistah Jude." He tipped his cap. "Yar far too good ta me."

"I know." She gestured to the set table. "Sit. Over easy?"

"Please."

She flipped eggs easily. Plated up the meals and set out butter. "These damn biscuits. Mm." She'd always appreciated a man with a hearty appetite. Always appreciated men in general, really. And Frank was no exception. He was kind. Hard-working. Loyal to her. Trustworthy. Punctual. Strapping. Tall. Handsome-faced. Nice strong hands. A glimmer in his dark eyes that was probably entirely inappropriate for breakfasts with nuns.

Not that she noticed such things anymore. She wasn't supposed to.

But it certainly warmed her heart - and other parts - to see him enjoying her cooking so much. "Thanks, Frank."

"Nah. Thank you, Sistah. Ya know, they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day?"

She rested on her elbow, watching him eat. "Do they?"

"They do."

"Who are 'they', Frank?"

He shrugged. Sopping sausage gravy with a biscuit. "Hell if I know. Probly a buncha assholes."

She laughed loudly. With Frank, she could laugh this way. Felt free to do so. Probably another reason she liked him so much. He had a killer sense of humor, and spoke to her straight. No obfuscations. No flatteries. No bullshit. "Frank. I have an ulterior motive far cookin' ya breakfast today."

"Yeah?" Why did he look so excited about that?

"Yeah. Um..." She withdrew some folded paper from her pocket. "Listen here. I'm interviewing a couple nuns today. Far a personal assistant. Can I practice these questions on ya?"

"Oh." Why did he look so disappointed? "Sure, Sistah. Shoot."

"Ok." She grinned. Cleared her throat. Very official. "Mr. McCann."

"Mr. McCann was my ol' man. I'm just Frank."

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously? That old line?"

"Would you prefer: Keep practicin' that cuz you'll be screamin' it latah?"

She flushed. "Um...no?" He chuckled. She swatted his arm. "Be good, Frank!"

"Alright." He grabbed another biscuit. "Go on, go on with yer important questions."

"Mr. McCann." A hard look. He gestured for her to continue. "Describe a time you had a different point of view or an idea to do something differently and how you approached it."

"Hmmmm." Frank chewed, thinking. "Well. There was that day last week when I wanted ta blast that nutbag out of the ceiling in the arboretum with a hose and you said it was cruel."

"Yes, I recall that. How did you handle that disagreement on technique?"

"Oh. I did it anyway."

"Frank!" She was scandalized. "He coulda been hurt!"

"It was a minor concussion. Kept him nice and calm for three days."

"Frank!"

"Next question!" He snapped into a slice of bacon.

"You were the wrong person far this practice session." She tossed her papers to the table.

"Aw, come on, Sistah. I wanna help." He handed the papers back to her. "Come on. I'll be serious now. I promise."

She huffed, not buying his sincerity, but continued. "Oh, hell. I don't even wanna ask you about a time you dealt with a difficult patient or coworker."

"No, you don't."

"Ok. Here's a good one. Tell me about a time you saw someone not following procedures or doing something incorrectly."

"Yesterday."

"Just yesterday?"

"Yeah. I told Carl yesterday he couldn't take a smoke break out the side service entrance cuz he could get locked out."

"I see." She leaned toward him. "Did he do it anyway?"

"Yep."

"Huh." She pursed her lips. "And how did you handle that situation?"

"I locked his dumb ass out so he had ta walk all the way around and then told all the othah guards not to let him in until he could prove his authorization as a staff membah."

Jude smiled. "Very creative. How long was he locked out there?"

"About two hours."

"Two hours?!"

"Well. He learned a bonus lesson about keeping his ID card on him at all times." Frank produced his own Briarcliff ID from his pocket. "Procedure."

"I'm glad yar here, Frank."

"Well, I'm glad yer here, Sistah. Cuz these breakfasts are life." He stood. "I gotta get ta work." Looked just past her head. "And it looks like the Monsignor's here."

"Already?" Jude turned to see Father Howard at the kitchen entrance. It was locked, and he had no key. "He's early."

Frank shrugged. "Should I let him in?"

"Of course, Frank!" She stood, dusting biscuit flour from her habit.

"What if he doesn't have his Briarcliff ID?"

"Frank!"

"I don't like him."

Jude blinked. "What?"

"Somethin' about him." Frank's keys jangled when he produced them. "But I'll let him in." He turned on her quickly, an aside. "This time."

Timothy took in the remnants of their meal with a slight scowl. "I've interrupted your breakfast. My apologies."

"Nah, Fathah." Frank snagged the last biscuit. "We just finished." He tipped his cap to the blushing nun. "Have a good day, Sistah Jude. Call me if ya need me."

"Thank you, Frank."

The priest watched the guard leave the gutted kitchen. Jude could have sworn she heard him growl a little.

The car ride to St. Mary's was as awkward as could be expected. Jude fought to keep focus; not on the priest's hands, but on his words; not on his handsome face, but on his thoughts; not on his promising crotch, but on his promises. Her struggle was real. And the car was small. And every now and then, his elbow brushed against hers as he shifted gears. She chewed her lip so frequently she was certain it bled.

St. Mary's offered respite from her torture. Back in the halls of purity, she recalled her early days as a nun, as a reformed woman. It reminded her how far she'd come from the alcoholic whore she once was. She could breathe here - if only in short gasps.

"Oh, my Jude! My darling!" Mother Claudia's hug was hard and welcoming and warming. Jude felt her eyes well. "Look at you. Have you lost weight?" The elder sister held her at arm's' length. "You must remember to eat, child! Business will always wait until you have taken the Lord's gifted sustenance, yes?"

"Yes, mother." Jude bowed to her mentor. "I will remember."

"Monsignor, you must assure that our Sister Jude is well! She is your right hand! A blessing on your institution!"

"Absolutely she is, Mother." Timothy conceded. His warm eyes lingered on Jude, and she warmed beneath them. "I assure you I will see to her well-being."

"Good! Good. Come!" The Mother Superior ushered them briskly through the church to her office. "This way. I've arranged for our sisters to be delivered post haste." In the cozy office, they sat in worn chairs. "I prefer a coffee, myself." Claudia fussed with papers on her desk. "And if I recall correctly Jude, you do as well? But Monsignor, I believe - tea?"

"You recall correctly, Mother." Timothy smiled.

"Excellent! Mary Eunice?" She called out clearly and her door opened. A little nun appeared - a novice. Jude vaguely recognized the porcelain face with its cherubic cheeks.

"Oh!" The novice suddenly remembered something. "I forgot to knock!" She shut the door again quickly. A second passed. The trio in the room waited, blinking. A knock sounded.

Mother Claudia sighed. "Yes, Eunice. Come in." When the door opened, she shook her head. "I called for you, Sister. You didn't have to knock."

"But you said -"

"Never mind." Claudia waved off the girl's argument. "Two coffees and a tea for me and our guests, please."

"Yes, Mother." The little nun made to hasten.

"And Sister?" Claudia added. "Please don't drop the tray." The little nun ducked bashfully, disappearing again. "A truly lovely soul, our Mary Eunice." Mother Superior explained to the Bishop. "But dreadfully clumsy." Jude stared after the departed novice, barely hearing any conversation that passed between her superiors. "Don't you think, Jude?"

"Hm?" She whipped back to the moment. "I'm sorry."

Claudia chuckled. "You're tired. I can tell. She's never distracted," she directed at Timothy. "My Jude is sharp as a tack. I believe you need an assistant who can match that intelligence."

"That may prove difficult to acquire, Mother." The priest smirked at Jude. "She is a rather...rare bird."

There was a bit of a scuffle at the door. Some minor noise outside. The trio turned toward it expectantly. It swung open. The little nun backed inside, arms cradling a loaded tray. Her lip was clenched between small, sharp, white teeth. "Let me, Sister." Jude rose, approaching - just in time to see Eunice bump into a statue of St. Christopher, upsetting the drinks on the tray. St. Christopher toppled also, fortunately cushioned by plush carpet.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!"

"Just set it down, Eunice." Mother Claudia gestured to the table between her guests. Jude maneuvered the table, making it more accessible to the young woman. But she still nearly overshot her target, toppling a creamer.

"Oh, dear!" Jude scrambled to help right the tray while Eunice scrambled to man the pumps. "I'm so sorry, Mother!"

"Eunice." Mother Superior gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just collect Sister Margaret."

The younger sister looked near tears now, pausing on her way out to right the statue she'd upset. "I'm sorry, Christopher," she whispered. But in her haste to comply with Claudia's wishes, she simply toppled the statue again as soon as she reached its pedestal. Jude took pity - and discovered reflexes she'd long forgotten - capturing Christopher in a quick hand. "There." She set him back on his pedestal firmly. "All right now."

Eunice's small smile quivered up at Jude. "Good for St. Christopher he had you protecting him today, Sister."

The temptation to pat her head or caress her cheek was quick and charging. Jude felt a great softness for this nun - something completely alien to her. A strong urge to hold her like a child. But she simply laughed - genuine laughter - at the girl's quick wit. "I suppose so."

"Thank you, Sister." Eunice whispered, ducking through the door.

Jude sat again somewhat distracted. Timothy prepared his tea with the little amount of cream left over, offered half to Jude. But she took her coffee black. "How long has Mary Eunice been here?" She asked curiously. "She's familiar."

"She arrived just a few weeks before you left." Claudia thought a moment. "Just over a year now. I know you must be thinking she's hopeless." A chuckle. "Some of her sisters here would agree. We're considering sending her to a mission for a time. A good way for her to mature. Learn confidence." She looked guiltily away. "And...to protect some of our more valuable possessions."

"Hm." Jude chewed at her lip. The priest watched her, eyes sussing something.

A knock. "Yes?"

Mary Eunice appeared again, taller nun in tow. "Sister Margaret," she announced. But she stepped to the wrong side, successfully stomping Sister Margaret's toe and producing a rather loud yelp of pain. "Oh, Sister Margaret! Your poor toe!" She reached for Margaret's shoulders - perhaps to comfort - but was shrugged away quickly.

"It's fine, Sister Mary Eunice!" Margaret snapped. "Leave me alone."

Eunice was having a terrible day. It showed on her face particularly strongly in that moment. "I'm - I'm sorry!" She said hastily. "Please -"

"Mary Eunice, everything is fine." Mother Claudia stood, reassuring Eunice firmly. "You're dismissed until I need you. Thank you." Her words were strict and unforgiving. Eunice whisked away. It was her most graceful exit so far. Claudia took a deep breath, watching Sister Margaret rub at her foot. "Sister. Please. I'd like to introduce you to Sister Jude. She's the administrator of Briarcliff. And, of course, Bishop Timothy Howard."

Jude shook Sister Margaret's hand. The shake was firm, strong. And Sister Margaret was as tall as herself. A stocky body, she had matronly features and a sharp, pointed nose. She looked for all the world like a sort of streamlined racing chicken.

And suddenly - amidst many murmurings of 'sister' (because there were far too many sister in this room now to avoid confusion) - this entire situation was overwhelmingly hilarious.

"Jude?" Timothy tapped her elbow. "Did you wish to ask Sister Margaret some questions?"

She must have zoned out. It was hot in this office. Looked like a penguin convention. St. Christopher was a little crooked on his ridiculous dais, seeming to smirk at them. Jude stood suddenly. "I can't!" At their stunned, wondrous looks, she gathered her wits. "I mean - I need to be excused far a moment. Fathah?" She produced her researched, curated interview questions from her pocket. "If you'll please get started far me?" She slipped past Sister Margaret. "It's a pleasure meeting you." But the greater pleasure would simply be - away.

In the dark hall, she pressed against a wall, lips tight together. There were conflicting temptations: laugh. Cry. Kick that statue of St. Benedict over there.

She settled on laughing. Ridiculously. Muffling the sound behind her hand. In fact, she muffled the sound so well, she heard a sniffle over her own snorts. There, beside her, hunched on a bench, Mary Eunice wept softly into a very wet handkerchief, unaware she was no longer alone.

Jude looked down at the girl and melted. Not that the girl - or anyone else - would ever know that. Not ever. She sat inches away. When her hand touched the novice's back, she leapt nearly a foot on a startled cry. "Sshh!" Jude hushed her quickly, hand over her open mouth, pulling her back. "You'll get us both in trouble! And I don't wanna go back in there yet!"

"Sis - Sister Jude." Eunice made a valiant attempt to collect herself. "Is there something you need?"

"There's a lot I need, little sistah." They whispered like conspirators. Jude rested her head against the wall behind them. "Why are you cryin', huh?"

Eunice shook her head. "I'm just a mess, I guess."

"Me, too."

"Oh, Sister no! You're - you're wonderful! Mother Claudia tells us all how proud you make her. How smart and strong you are. How you're running a hospital now. I'm so pleased to have even met you today!" Her smile was genuine. Pleasant.

"I assure you, Mary Eunice. Mother Claudia's opinion of me might be slightly skewed. That's why I'm here, after all. Isn't it? Because I can't handle this project on my own?"

"Everyone needs help, Sister." Eunice considered. Hard. Her face screwed up a moment. "I need help. A lot. And here, there's always a sister I can turn to. But if everyone at Briarcliff is busy helping patients there, who helps you?"

Jude nodded. "True."

"You seem very tired."

She smiled. "I am."

"Would you like another coffee? I won't spill it if it's just one."

"No, thank you." Jude laughed softly. "I'm going to have to go back into that room and be very official now."

"I'm sorry."

"I appreciate yar condolences."

"I could cause a distraction." Eunice suddenly suggested, eyes bright. She snickered. "I'm very good at those."

Jude stood. Placed an appreciative hand on Eunice's shoulder. Like a little bird... "Sister. Yar a real treasure." She felt better. Confidence replaced. Definitely cooler. She opened the office to Sister Margaret droning on about the time she and Sister Beatrice argued over how to plant some cucumbers... And there was one more of these to go.

A quick glance back to Mary Eunice. The novice gave her an encouraging thumbs up, and Jude grinned darkly, outlined in the doorway, the office's light at her back suggesting a possibly devious plan.

"Are you alright?" Timothy asked softly.

They sat at the long table in St. Mary's cafeteria. It hummed with low voices chatting amiably all around them. "I'm fine." Jude answered, sipping her water.

"You were rather hard on Sister Margaret when you came back."

"I need to see how they respond under pressure."

"Sensible." He shrugged. "I don't think she did very well."

"Broke like a cheap watch."

"The other fared a bit better."

"She did." Sister Beatrice had been an improvement on the racing chicken. But still...

"Good that she has so much hospital experience already."

"Indeed."

"A war nurse." The priest's brows rose appreciatively. "I imagine she would be perfect in Briarcliff's singular...environ."

"Very practical." Jude agreed. She sipped her water again. Not looking at Timothy.

"You won't take either of them."

Her forehead creased. "How do you know that?"

"I have a feeling." His eyes drifted to a small table across the room where Sister Mary Eunice sat by herself. Jude made no denials and he sighed. "She's very young, Sister."

"I'm aware of that."

"Very...clumsy."

"I noticed that, too."

"Mother Claudia wants to send her to Japan."

Jude tisked. "Ridiculous. Everything there is made outta paper. She'll wreck the place quicker than the A-bomb did."

Timothy chuckled. But he had to know. "Why, Jude?"

A shrug. She looked at the lonely table, too. Eunice caught their stares and waved shyly. When she reached for her water glass, she knocked it over. Jude smiled. "She makes me happy."

Timothy considered for a moment. "I suppose that's very important."

Mother Claudia bustled over to the table, sitting with her tray. Sisters Beatrice and Margaret followed. "Well, then." The older nun smiled widely. "The green salad looks lovely today." They ate amidst pleasant enough - if boring - conversation, with Jude constantly distracted by the little bird at the lonely table across the room.

They strolled through the gardens after lunch. The St. Mary's vegetable patch was a thing to behold. Jude had fond memories of tending it. Getting her hands dirty. Reaping the fruits of meaningful labor.

Timothy was just looking forward to seeing Mother Claudia's reaction to Jude's imminent announcement. Underneath a spreading cherry blossom tree, they sat on an ornately carved bench. He sat close to Jude. Felt a hidden curve hit his hip. Not that he noticed such things. He didn't.

"So." Claudia broached the subject directly. "Have you had enough time to make a decision, Jude? If you need more time -"

"I want Sister Mary Eunice." She reached up as she spoke, plucked a cherry blossom.

"Pardon?" Claudia leaned toward her. "I thought you said -"

"I want. Mary Eunice." Jude spoke more clearly.

"Oh, Jude. My dear heart." Claudia shook her head. "Your sense of humor has certainly taken a turn." When Jude didn't laugh, the Mother Superior looked desperately to Timothy Howard. "Father. Is she serious?"

"Quite serious." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I'm afraid Sister Jude is notoriously difficult to sway once her mind is made."

"Jude!" Claudia begged. "See reason. She's...she's practically a child! And a novice still! She trips over her own feet. She talks to butterflies. And I'm worried she has some sort of inner ear deficiency, as clumsy as she -"

"When can I expect her?" Jude asked, rising.

Mother Claudia gave one final, aching look at Timothy. He looked up at Jude, who waited. Claudia sighed. "I can have her delivered tomorrow morning."

"Perfect." Jude reached for her mentor's hands. "Thank you, Mother."

"This is insanity, Jude." Claudia rose, hugging her protege.

"Insanity is my business now." Jude muttered into Claudia's embrace. "Trust me. She'll be fine."

The Mother Superior studied Jude's face. Cupped her cheek. "I do trust you, Jude." She looked at the Monsignor. "Father. You'd do well to do the same. Jude has a singular instinct."

"I believe that." He stared at Jude. She stared back. "Sister? Shall we return to our duties?"

"We'd bettah." Jude gestured for him to walk. "Frank'll be hosing everybody out of the ceiling if I'm gone too long."

"What?" He stopped.

"Come on, Fathah." She walked on. "I'll cook us a celebratory dinnah tonight."

Smiling, Timothy set up step again, waving to Mother Claudia. Dinner sounded just fine.

It was nearly ten am when the knock finally came. Jude hid a smile. "Yes?" She stood behind her desk when Mary Eunice appeared.

"Thank you, Mr. McCann."

Frank chuckled. "Everybody just calls me Frank, little sistah." He nodded to Jude. "Everything alright, Sistah Jude?"

"Fine, Frank." She waved at him. "Thank you for delivering my assistant."

"Yep. Welcome ta Briarcliff, Mary Eunice." He tipped his cap to the ladies, softly closing the door behind him.

Eunice stood very still for a moment, taking in Jude's office. She already seemed overwhelmed, making Jude remember her first days at the institution. "Sister. I know that this seems like a lot ta take in right now. And I understand you're going to require some adjustment. But everyone here will be glad ta see you through this transition."

"Sister Jude." Eunice interrupted softly. Her wide eyes were far from fearful. There was hope in them - and naked appreciation. The little bird was an open book. "Why? Why did you ask for me?" She finally stepped toward Jude's desk, knuckles white on the handle of her single suitcase. "Those other sisters - they were so much better than me for you! They were both so capable and quick and not scared of storms. And they're actually smart! I'm so stu -"

"Don't you dare." Jude's finger silenced the novice. "Never ever say you're stupid around me. Or in general. D'you hear me, Sister?"

Eunice swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Sister Jude!"

She wanted to be firm. Not necessarily harsh on the new nun, but firm enough to bring about development. To grow the girl's confidence. To reveal her inner strengths. She'd stayed up all night talking to herself about it. "Self, don't be soft with this girl. No mattah how sweet she is. No mattah how innocent. Ya brought her here ta learn. Ta teach her. So don't be emotional. Don't get attached. Remembah this is a purely professional relationship." And her self had the best intentions of complying.

But as soon as the first tear spilled over the rim of those earnest eyes, Jude was around her desk. "Don't cry, Eunice. I didn't mean ta snap at ya."

"I'm just nervous." Eunice dropped her suitcase, clasping her fingers together. "I'm fine." And she was fine. For all of three seconds. Her lips trembled and her face fell in her hands. "I'm just so scared! And I'm only going to disappoint you! You should just send me back, Sister." She wept bitterly.

"Eunice!" She took the girl's arms. "Stop this. I brought ya here because yar smarter than you think. And yar certainly capable. Ya just need guidance. And some support, Eunice."

"I'm going to mess up, Sister!"

"Of course ya are! That's life. We make mistakes. We learn from them. We move on." Jude laughed ruefully. "If anyone knows about mistakes, it's me. Trust me, little sistah."

Suddenly, Eunice threw her arms around Jude. It was a shock for the older nun - to feel so warmed and enveloped. And the feeling was instantaneous. As if there was redemption in this novice's arms. As if her innocence could be contagious. She returned the hug slowly, still coming to terms with powerful emotion, but fully. She couldn't remember the last time she'd hugged anyone so hard. "Oh, Mary Eunice." She tisked, rested her chin on the shorter sister's wmpled head. "Yar gonna be perfect."

"Thank you, Sister Jude. For believing in me. I'll do my best to help you."

"I know you will."

"And the Monsignor."

"He knows that, too."

"And I'll try really hard not to break anything."

Jude withheld a grin. "Fortunately we don't keep too many valuables around."

"That's a relief."

"Eunice."

"Yes, Sister?"

"Yar gettin' snot all ovah my habit."

"Oh no!" Eunice drew back quickly, almost upset their balance. "I'm so sorry, Sister!" She brushed ineffectually at the spreading, sticky mess, succeeding only in awkwardly feeling up her superior. "It's um..." She paused with a hand on Jude's breast.

Jude removed the hand smoothly, smiling. "It's alright, Eunice." She collected the suitcase. "Come on. Let's get you settled into your room. I think...we'll save the official tour for tomorrow."

"Actually I'm very eager to get started, Sister!" Eunice chattered as they walked the hallway.

"No need ta hurry, Eunice." Jude unlocked the door at the end of the hall, handing Eunice the key. "We'll talk more over dinnah tonight. The Monsignor is joining -"

A sharp gasp interrupted her. "Is this - is this my room?"

"Yes."

"All to myself?!"

Jude nodded, resisting a chuckle. "Yes. All to yarself. The bathroom is through there. It's tiny, but -"

"I've never had my own room, Sister." Eunice sat on the single bed. "Not...not ever."

"Well." Jude set the suitcase at Eunice's feet. "I'll let ya get settled in. And I'll come collect ya far dinnah. Okay?"

"Okay." Her answer was so small. She was peering out the grated window when Jude softly closed the door behind her.

Dinner was nice. Eunice still a bit out of sorts, but she ate well enough, complimenting Jude's spaghetti. And Timothy obviously found her quite charming, appreciating her gentle nature. She offered to wash dishes, but she was already yawning, and Jude sent her to bed.

"I apologize." Timothy swirled dark wine in his glass. "For doubting your decision, Sister. I believe our Mary Eunice will prove a success. Especially with your patient tutelage."

Jude laughed as she collected their plates. "I don't know how patient I am, Fathah. But I'm willing ta try. She deserves a chance."

"She's...special."

"I agree." Jude turned from the sink, a small smile. "She...hugged me."

"That...that must have been nice." He swallowed. Rose. Not imagining hugging Jude himself - her curves pressing up against him, breath warm against his collar. Because he didn't notice those things. He didn't. "Here." He rolled his sleeves. "I'll help you with these dishes."

"Thank you." She didn't stare at his toned forearms as they thrust into the soapy water. She didn't notice those things. Not anymore.

Jude retired late. After night checks, she yawned herself, feeling the day catch up with her. The hallway outside personal chambers was quiet and dark - save for the light spilling from under Eunice's door. Jude vacillated. Approached the door softly. Behind it she heard soft weeping. She knocked.

Sniffles. The door opened slowly. "Sister Jude!" Eunice peered into the hall, eyes swollen and pink. Her long white cotton gown revealed curled, cold toes. "It's so late!"

"Yes, I know. Why aren't ya sleeping, Mary Eunice? We have an early morning."

A shrug. A bitten lip. "I'm not so good at sleeping all by myself, I guess."

Jude blinked. Stifled another yawn. "C'mon." She nudged Eunice into her room. "Lay down." Eunice obeyed. Jude covered her with duvet and afghan. "Now. You are gonna fall asleep, little sistah. And I'll sit right here until ya do." Indeed, Jude sat on the edge of Eunice's bed.

"Thank you, Sister. So much."

Jude stroked the silky straight blonde hair. Spread it onto pillow. Tugged gently on the ends. "This is how my mothah used to put me to sleep."

"Hmmmm." Eunice hummed, content, a kitten smile playing on her lips. Her eyes closed. "Feels so nice," she murmured.

She was asleep in seconds, it seemed. Exhausted. Jude fought her own drooping eyelids. Stood stiffly, not disturbing her charge's sleep. She looked down at the nun so childlike in sleep. Placed a gentle kiss on her temple. (No one would ever know, anyway.) "Good night, Mary Eunice," she whispered. "Little bird..."

Jude's own sleep came quickly, too. And she also smiled, looking forward to morning for the first time in a long time. She dreamed about a little white bird. It flew from her hand and back - over and over - perching, chirping bird laughter, flitting in and out of shadows until a great dark storm approaching from the distance seemed to swallow it up...and it was lost.