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Oscar is always the first to wake up, out of the four of them—years on the farm have conditioned him for early rising, and Atlas hours are at times almost early for him. Most days Oscar will open his eyes to pitch black and watch the ceiling, savoring the quiet, listening to the even breaths of his team. There is a comfort in knowing they are there, that they are sleeping peacefully, and Oscar basks in it.
Nora is always the next awake, and once she is up the others have no chance; Nora for the life of her cannot get dressed quietly, and Jaune has a habit of falling out of his bunk when startled, even though he’s in one of the lowest ones. Oscar, who has a top bunk and delights in the extra height, laughs at the routine and rolls over, bringing the blankets with him. He is the first to get up and the last to get ready—always unwilling to brace the Atlas chill, sharp and biting. Today is no different than any of the others. Oscar pulls the blankets up tight over his shoulders—brr, cold wind, why does Ren insist on leaving the window open—and watches the others get ready, blinking slowly as his mind finally starts up.
The sky outside their window is pitch dark, but already Oscar can see the creep of dawn.
He yawns into his hand and pushes himself upright. “What are you guys doing today?”
Nora bounces over to his bunk and hooks her arms over the edge, pillowing her face. “I have no idea! Usually, missions are nothing weird. But then, things usually go weird?” Her smile gets bright and evil. “Want to find out?”
Oscar considers it, then sighs. “Yes.” He turns and throws his legs over the side. “But I think I have stuff to do today, too…”
“Bor-ring!”
Oscar rubs at his hair and grins at her. “I’ll go to the mission room with you guys, though. Um. I-if that’s allowed?”
Nora brightens at the compromise, leaning back to pump both fists in the air. “The team is complete!” she bellows, and rockets back upright with both hands on her hips. “But bring your coat, yeah? That room can get chilly if you don’t watch it!”
Oscar rolls his eyes and slips out of bed. “I’m getting better about holding my aura.”
Ren, strapping on the pieces of his armor, turns from the closet to smile at him. “We know,” he says, and then immediately undercuts it by holding out Oscar’s coat anyway. “But maintaining aura to block out the cold can be draining, especially if you’re not used to using it all the time yet. Save it for when you’re training. That way you can practice on doing both—deflecting attacks, and the chill.”
Oscar takes the coat, unable to argue with the logic. “Still…”
“You’ve practically got it down already,” Jaune says, from across the room. “You’ll see. A few more weeks and it’ll be easy.” He’s staring mournfully at a mirror, and the bedhead sticking all the sides of his hair straight up. He tries to brush it down. His attempt is a dismal failure. “Why did no one warn me that short hair meant extreme bedhead?”
Oscar and Nora, both with their own short-hair bedhead, exchange glances.
“Don’t judge me. Oh my god, I can feel you judging me. Go away?”
Nora laughs loud and mocking, and turns to clap Oscar on the shoulder. “Hey, what are you doing today, then, if not hanging out with us?”
“Oh.” Oscar pauses, halfway through lacing his boots. He braces himself. “Um. Well. Training with Ironwood.”
There is a pause in the conversation. The easy banter has briefly broken. Ren has stilled from the corner of his eyes. Nora frowns. Oscar keeps his eyes on his boots, and pretends he can’t see the glances being exchanged over his head.
The hesitation only lasts a second. Nora throws herself down to sit beside him; Jaune leans back against the wall, lips pressed in thought. “The old ‘awakening Oz’ stuff, huh.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. More glances. Oscar finishes lacing his boot and looks up, shaking his head. “Guys.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nora nudges him with her arm. “We just worry, y’know? I mean, training is awesome, but you aren’t really training to train, so…”
Ren, his armor laced up, walks over to them. “Every day does seem sort of overkill,” he hedges, quietly. “If Oz hasn’t responded yet thus far, I don’t think more training will make much difference…”
Oscar frowns down at his hands. “I know you guys are still upset with him,” he says, closing his hand to a fist. “I… I am, too. But having him back—”
“I mean, yeah!” Nora says, cutting him off, and knocks Oscar with her shoulder, shaking him slightly. “But that’s not what we mean—not what I mean, anyway.” She gives a narrow-eyed look to Jaune and Ren; both raise their hands and nod rapidly. Nora looks smug. “Not what we mean. Like, Oz is whatever, but…”
She trails off, looking uncertain. Jaune takes over. “It makes you twitchy?” he says, half a question. “Uh, feel free to say I’m wrong but… you always seem so frustrated afterward. And, all this time trying to wake up Oz, I mean, you don’t seem to get a lot of chances to do things for… you? Y’know?” He pauses. “Um. I could. Totally be wrong, though.”
Oscar stares at his hands. He curls into himself, and tugs at the hem of his gloves. He thinks about it. Every day, every hour. Training, training. Ironwood is kind, and patient… but Oscar has noticed, more and more each day, at the end of every training bout without results, the flash of disappointment on the General’s face like a blow.
He has to force the words through his teeth, but he says them. “You… aren’t wrong.”
“Oh!” Jaune says. Then his shoulders slump. “Oh.”
There’s another silence, heavier this time. Nora’s expression is tight, her eyes dark. Ren leans down to place a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. His touch is warm, strangely grounding. “I know why you and General Ironwood think awakening Oz is important,” he says, gravely. “But taking the time to do things that you want to do is equally important. You are your own person.”
Oscar tilts his head up, his smile wry. “Still Oz, though,” he mutters back. “Soon, maybe that's all I’ll…”
“I do not believe that,” Ren says, cutting Oscar off, and he says it so suddenly and so fiercely that all three of them stop to stare at him. “I refuse to believe that your life—that you would be erased. Oz is a liar, but I never thought of him as cruel. Perhaps you’ll have more memories than before—different references, new experience. But you will still be you. And—and if that is not the case, then we will fight it with you. If you must become Oz, then we will make sure you become your kind of Oz. You are you, Oscar. Nobody else.”
For a long moment, no one says anything. Jaune unhinges his jaw first. “Holy shit, Ren.”
“Wow,” Oscar agrees.
“Exactly,” Nora says, looking delighted. She smacks Ren on the arm—Ren, who has turned bright red and is looking away from the abrupt attention—and then turns back to Oscar with a wicked grin. “Maybe old-man-professor-Oz is snoozing, but you’re cute-boy-Oz! Your own Oz! Make it one of a kind!” She pumps a fist, creating a small shock-wave in the air. “And if Ironwood can’t see that, we’ll break his knees!”
“I’m sure Ironwood sees it similarly,” Ren demures, and Oscar pushes past his flash of momentary doubt to nod agreement, not wanting to ruin the rising glow of warmth in his chest. “But yes, back to our original point—you can take a day off, you know.”
“Before we continue, I want to point out that we are talking about Oz like he’s a kind of status or title or something, okay, fact pointed out, done now.”
“Jaune!”
“What? We were!”
“You—”
Oscar starts laughing.
They all stop to stare at him, and he leans down over his knees and tries in vain to stop from cackling. His stomach hurts.
“Oh my god, we broke him.”
Oscar snickers into his glove and lifts his head, rubbing away a few hysterical tears from his eyes. “No, no, I’m—I’m fine.” He swallows down another giggle, grinning. “I’m—curious about Mantle, actually. And I do need to work on maintaining my Aura…” He turns to Nora and Ren. “If you head back to wall duty, could I…?”
Ren smiles at him. “Of course.”
“About time we hang out some!” Nora claps his back, nearly pitching Oscar to the floor. “I’ll teach you how to braid! We’ll kill awful monsters! Laugh at Jaune getting accosted by casseroles!”
“I’ve gotten six so far…”
“And if Ironwood says no, we’ll break his knees!”
Ren sighs. “No one’s breaking anyone’s knees, Nora.”
“Gosh, you guys are no fun today.”
Oscar tugs on his last boot and takes up the cane—the Long Memory a comforting weight in his hands. He turns the weapon in his palm, looking at the shine of the cane in the light, then collapses it and hooks it to his back, standing with a smile. “Do we at least have time for some coffee?” A craving that is not quite his own flashes through him. He keeps smiling. “Or, um, cocoa?”
“Cocoa? Cocoa-coffee?” Nora slings an arm around his shoulders. “Hell yes!”
“It’s called a mocha, Nora.”
“We have coffee pots,” Nora continues, looking delighted by her own idea. “We have hot chocolate packets. Let’s do this thing. Hand-made mocha for everyone!”
Ren follows after them. “Um, I’m not sure dumping a cocoa packet in coffee will achieve the same effect—”
“It’s cocoa and coffee,” Jaune insists back, “how could it taste bad— ”
The door to their dorm closes behind them, a quiet click. Oscar lets his friends—his team, maybe, he thinks, with a glow rising in his chest—lead him on to the briefing room, half-listening to the words but mostly just basking in the warmth, and ducks his head with a quiet smile.
You didn’t trust them, Oz. Maybe you just couldn’t.
Nora laughs. Jaune is smiling. Ren is a solid presence at their backs, comforting in his quiet.
But I do.
No answer. Nothing at all. But Oscar opens his eyes, his smile unfaltering, and knows, whatever happens next, that for now this moment is all that matters.