“You know . . .” Not the in Angela was expecting, but she’d take one where it presented itself, “I’ve still never seen your quarters. I was beginning to think you live in your office.”

Moira laughed and shook her head, “I nearly do. I’m not sure what officer’s quarters are like, but with the quarters us underlings get my office is just as well-equipped, and a bit more comfortable.”

Angela would agree there was no couch she would rather unwind on. She cocked her head to the side, lowering her voice mischievously, “Do you want to see an officer’s quarters?”

Moira exhaled in a loud huff and she turned her face to Angela, her eyes searching for something Angela couldn’t place, licking her lips nervously, “What?”

“I asked you if you wanted to see where I live,” Angela said plainly and turned away toward the elevator doors. Should she do it? Absolutely. Would she do it? Definitely. She had to, she had to see what would happen. If maybe . . . She leaned to her side, closer to Moira, their arms pressing together, standing on her toes and tilting her head upward, fixing Moira with a coy smile, “I have this problem that won’t go away, and I’d love it if you could give me a hand.”