Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Are you alright?"

"Am I ..." Yang grabbed her knees, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Still panting, she shot a glare over at her running partner, taking in in the long white hair, tied back in an off-kilter ponytail that ran almost all the way down her back. The grey suit she wore, with sharp lapels and a sharper collar, that somehow stayed completely spotless despite running through miles of smoke, debris, and homicidal robots. It was entirely unfair – the two of them had spent the last hour dodging laser fire and the white-haired woman had barely broken a sweat.

"You show up in my flat chasing a skull-masked monster, get me shot at by jack-booted robots, burn down half the block, and you're asking if I'm alright?"

The white-haired woman straightened, her back cracking, and fixed her tie. "Any grievous physical wounds? Severe head trauma? Laser burns?"

Yang rolled her eyes and slumped against the wall. "Yeah. Think I'm fine."

"That's good," the woman said, brushing her side-tail over one shoulder and straightening the lapels on her suit. The two just stood there for a moment, hearts pounding, their breath slowing as the adrenaline bled from their systems. Finally the white-haired woman gave a quiet little cough, and turned to look at Yang.

"Then, I suppose it's time."

"Time for what?"

The woman stared at her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Time for me to go."

Yang couldn't help but gape. After dragging her halfway across the city, nearly getting her killed, and delivering unequivocal proof of alien life, this woman was just going to ... what? Leave?

"Just like that?"

The woman shrugged as a large blue box materialized behind her, pulsing into existence and letting out one long, rhythmic groan. "Just like that."

"You're mental," the blonde said, somehow surprised that she couldn't manage the energy to actually be surprised.

"Unless ..." the woman started, trailed off until her eyes met Yang's. "If you really wanted, I suppose I could," the woman shrugged, looking very specifically at the molding of her doorway. "Let you come with me."

"... this is a thing with you, isn't it? You just go gallivanting around, recklessly endangering the first attractive young woman you come across?"

"That's not-" The woman caught herself, huffing slightly before looking back at Yang. "I'm not always the one doing the reckless endangering."

Yang smirked, flipping a stray lock of blonde hair back over her shoulder. "So you do think I'm attractive."

The woman let out that same annoyed little huff, stepped back inside her box, and pulled the door shut behind her. A long, pulsing noise filled the air, a grating, grinding groan that resonated in the depths of her bones. With each tone, the box became a little less solid, fading a little more out of existence and taking the impossible woman with it.

Rolling her eyes, Yang stepped up to the box, waited for it to seem mostly solid, and rapped three sharp knocks on the outer door.

The sound ground to a halt, ending in one long whining note before the box re-materialized before her. A small window, right at the level of Yang's chin, opened in the front panel and ice-blue eyes beneath pale brows scowled up out of the little square.

"What?"

Yang leaned in against the box, staring down into the window and smiling all the while. "You haven't answered my question."

"What question was that?"

"What would we do?"

The window closed, the wood clicking into place just as the door swung open. She stood there, severe and imposing. And tall. Almost as tall as Yang. Almost. Even in heels, the blonde still had a good three inches on her. From the way her scowl deepened, Yang could tell how much that must annoy her – she seemed the type who liked to loom over others.

Eventually she spoke, icy gaze never leaving Yang's face as she spoke. "Travel. See the stars."

"Which ones?"

"All of them. Any one that's ever been, ever will be. Anywhere in the universe, in all of time and space.""

Yang mulled it over for a second. The events of the last few hours rushed through her mind, followed by the monotony of the day before, and the day before that, and the one before that. She thought of spending every day toiling in a dead-end job she despised. Of bills and rent. An ordinary life just like everyone else.

The white-haired woman frowned up at her, watching as she struggled to make up her mind. "It's not always safe," she warned, her voice soft and gentle.

Yang's mind was made up in an instant, the unintended challenge sparking something deep within her. The last thing she wanted right now was safe.

"Nothin' worth doing ever is," she grinned down at the woman. "And if it's so dangerous, you could probably use someone watching out for you."

"You think you can take care of me?"

Yang rose to her own full height, lilac eyes staring their challenge down into those impossibly blue ones. "Oh, trust me, Princess. I can take care of you."

The woman's eyes widened slightly, and Yang could have sworn her cheeks went just a little pink. She made the huffing noise again, turning on her heel and walking deeper into the box, leaving Yang to close the door behind her. The blonde grinned demonically, very much the cat with a new toy, a new mouse to torment. All that running, and now someone who seemed so easy to tease? It had been a long time since she felt so ... alive.

Conventional understandings of physics demanded that Yang examine her sanity after she stepped into the box. Then again, after finding that both laser fire and homicidal robots weren't merely the domain of cheesy science fiction, she was willing to stretch the bounds of 'sane.' Crammed inside the little box was a cavernous room, walkways running around the sides, the walls covered in strange, round, glowing things that for the life of her Yang couldn't guess the purpose of. A massive column stood in the center, decorated with countless levels and dials, half of them not looking connected to much of anything.

"You're not going to say it?" the woman asked, looking almost put out as she watched Yang walk through her home.

"Would you actually give me an answer?" the blonde replied, not knowing what 'it' was, but enjoying anything that put the bizarre woman a little more off balance.

"It's something of a tradition."

"Yeah well, I'm pretty bloody far from traditional." Satisfied that no more psychotic killing machines were about to leap out at her, Yang leaned back against the railing that circled around the column. Grinning, she looked back at the woman who'd knocked her to the ground while she was just grabbing lunch, the one she'd spent the rest of her day running for her life with. "So, Princess, where are we goin'?"

"... why don't you pick the first one?"

Chapter Text

The headmaster watched as Miss Rose threw the cloak around her shoulders, the young woman vanishing beneath its swirling folds. A few footfalls reached his ears as she snuck back out into the corridor, fading as the magic of the cloak extended to hide them as well. Still he waited, giving the young girl plenty of time to sneak past the caretaker who would soon be making his nightly check down the halls. Plenty of time to slip back into her common room, past the portrait of the aged operatic, and head back to bed. Long enough for the headmaster to admit that he was procrastinating.

Rubbing behind his glasses, Ozpin heaved a sigh as deep as it was long. No one had ever said that the Beacon headmaster position would be easy. Still, he would be lying if he claimed that he hadn't been feeling rather stretched thin lately. There was always more to do, more to arrange, and making sure that Miss Rose 'happened' across the mirror had been of the easier tasks to accomplish.

But now it had to be moved, placed where it would be safe from the person who wanted it the most. And he could hardly move the bloody thing without looking at it.

And looking at it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He hadn't lied to Ruby, Not exactly. A new mug would be nice. Particularly nice, actually. His favorite had developed a ring he couldn't quite seem to scrub clean, and in all fairness, everyone did always get him books. And the man he saw in the mirror did have a different cup.

Both of them did. Two pairs of thin brown eyes stared back at him beneath a chaotic bird's-nests of greying hair. Two pairs of spectacles resting on two bony noses.

Two Ozpins stared back from the depths of the foggy glass, calmly waiting, each holding their own cup of thick black sludge that Glynda only charitably called coffee.

Their appearance brought up the same question, the same idea. How much more he could get done, could he do with one more pair of hands, just one more set of eyes and ears.

If there was just one more of me.

It was a fanciful notion, if not a completely ridiculous one. There technically was equipment that would allow him to be in two places within the same span of time. It was tightly controlled, but given enough time and leverage, it would hardly be difficult to obtain. But he was a young man no longer, and such a method would only waste what little time he had left that much faster.

There was always the other possibility. The one that he had considered and thrown away countless times before, at least once while staring at this same mirror. Another him that was not him. An ally, a confidant – someone who shared his intentions and beliefs, a partner he could trust wholly and completely. Someone whose mind he knew as well as his own.

He always discarded the idea as quickly as it appeared, although it would be preferable to a simple carbon copy. Another Ozpin would merely see the same problems, his mind create the same solutions. A partner, with the same ideals but different experiences, would think in ways his tired brain could not. But it was not to be. He might not lack for friends or allies, or assets to be used in the proper time and place, but none were that necessary combination of ready, willing, and able to share in his burden. Ironwood was too shortsighted, Glynda too rigid in her methods and beliefs. Qrow, one of the few who possessed both vision and flexibility, was simply too attached, too prone to drop everything should either of his nieces find themselves in real danger. He might respect their decision to become huntresses, but he was far too close to do what simply had to be done. Not even he could be told the whole plan, for fear of sacrificing all the good they could do to ensure that his sister's child would survive.

So the decision, and responsibility, fell directly on Ozpin's weary shoulders. Ratted, beaten shoulders that ached from the weight of Vale's entire future. A future precariously balanced on so many people doing what he knew or hoped they would do, be it right or wrong. A plan that weighed so heavily on his ability to read others, to know their motivations, and to compensate for the occasional mistake.

Resigned to his task, Ozpin raised the mug to his lips one last time, draining the last dregs of coffee and watching his two doppelgangers do the same. That was the problem. They were the same, down to their last eyelash, to the way they held the cup after finishing it, letting the scent of roasted beans waft into their noses.

Twitching the thick braided rope that hung from the side, he watched his twins blur, then vanish as the curtain swung between them. Saying his goodbyes to the triplets he never had, Ozpin waved his wand, and with a slight pop, he and the mirror vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

Even through her bunker gear, Pyrrha could feel the heat of the burning building. Her layered jacket did its best to keep the worst of the heat and flames from touching her, but despite its layers of heat-resistant material and Kevlar, she still boiled inside it, her sweat mixing with the smell of rubber and the smoke of a dozen other fires.

Anything not alight with flame faded into darkness, shadows left by the heavy smoke that billowed through the room, spreading until it ballooned up against the ceiling. Through her mask and hood, she heard little outside the crackling fire and the sound of flinders, the wood of the house snapping and popping as the vapor inside boiled and turned to steam. It came from everywhere, the ceiling, the floors, the cabinet smoking in the corner, permeating every space it could as the house warped and burned. All of it underlined with the steady snap-hiss of her SCBA mask, making sure she had the air she’d need in this inferno.

Her radio crackled, a harsh voice barking orders on the other end. She listened, noted the movements of her fellows, and kept going, never taking her eyes from the room. According to the family, their kids had still been in the house when the smoke had forced the parents out. From the radio, one of the kids had been found, but that still left one.

Stepping through a doorway, Pyrrha glanced about the room, looking for weaknesses in the building as much as a young boy trying to hide from the flames. She didn’t like what she saw. The fire had already weakened this portion of the house, compromising the support beams until the ceiling began to buckle. She gave it another five minutes at best before the room caved in.

Stepping back, she reached for her radio, about to call it in, when she heard it—a low, choked sob coming from behind the sofa. Changing what she’s been about to say, Pyrrha thumbed the radio, then settled herself and strode into the room, skirting the center of the room as she made her way to the child sheltering behind the couch.

He panicked as she came around the side, breathing mask making her sound like a low-budget Darth Vader. Before he could run any further, Pyrrha held up her hands, making sure the boy’s attention was on her and not the burning room ready to collapse.

“It’s okay,” she said, as calmly as she could. “Your mom and dad are outside. Let’s get you to them, okay?”

She already had the boy bundled up against her by the time he nodded.

Something snapped, cracked, then cracked again, followed by a long, painful groan as the ceiling finally crumbled. Pyrrha whirled back to look, just in time to see the room starting to fall apart around them, the boy’s screams echoing in her ears. Instinctively, she grabbed the boy and put herself between him and the falling debris, a part of her glancing desperately for a window she already knew wasn’t there.

She felt something snag her jacket, yanking hard, pulling her off her feet as air whooshed past her head. She braced for impact, for the bruising impact of the floor or the house caving in around her … and then the cold hit her, the sudden lack of heat as uncomfortable as the hellfire she’d walked into. Pushing with her legs, knowing she needed to move, she stepped forward, the boy still in her arms.

Her foot met pavement.

Blinking to clear her vision, Pyrrha turned, and looked back along the darkened suburban street at the burning house .

“Kevin!” Someone cried, followed by the mother’s insistent hands taking the boy from her arms. Pyrrha didn’t fight her—still too stunned at the sudden shift to do much more than stand and watch.

The whooshing sound came again, accompanied by a small, thin blur of red and yellow lightning, zipping round the house once before heading straight for Pyrrha. With a scatter of sparks, the red-dressed figure skidded to a stop, the last vestiges of her lightning still zipping over her suit.

“Went room by room,” the figure said, stretching one arm over her head before letting flop back to her side. “You two were the last out.”

“Glad to hear it, Flash.” Pyrrha sighed as the adrenaline started draining from her, then reached up and pulled her breathing mask aside. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils, but the cool air was a godsend after walking through that blaze. “How’d you know to come?”

Vale City’s very own superhero just shrugged, still bouncing from foot to foot as she worked off the excess energy from her run. “Wasn’t too hard. Big orange beacon. Sirens. Police scanner.”

“Might be faster to just have dispatch send you,” Pyrrha laughed, then looked back at the burning house. The line had already advanced on the building, hoses spraying in at the center of the blaze. The gray smoke that had billowed up from the windows was turning white as the water hit the flames, the orange glow that illuminated the rooms slowly beginning to subside. Satisfied that they wouldn’t need her help for a few seconds, Pyrrha let herself flop down onto the low wall that ringed the garden path, hands starting to shake from the aftermath.

“I can’t be everywhere,” the Flash smiled and sat down beside her. “Plus, you guys do most of the heavy lifting. I’m just the backup.”

“Except when you’re first on the scene.” Shaking her head Pyrrha gestured over to where the parents were standing with their children, EMTs trying to pull them apart long enough to get them all to one of the ambulances. “Plus, you call that ‘backup’?”

The red-suited figure leaned forward, saw where Pyrrha’s eyes looked, then grinned sheepishly beneath her mask. A pile of stuffed animals, toys, family photo albums, and a very carefully draped wedding dress lay beside one of the family’s cars—which Pyrrha knew had been in the garage when the trucks pulled up.

“I had time, and I figured … well, some of that stuff’s going to be irreplaceable, and it’ll help the kids to have something. Plus, I wanted to check for pets. Wasn’t gonna leave a dog in there if I could help it.”

Pyrrha just laughed and shook her head. “Well, I appreciate the help. Although, I hope we won’t need it too often. Can’t get in the habit of expecting a rescue.”

“Come on, Nikos,” the Flash said, glancing up at the taller women through the eyeholes of her cowl. “You gotta know if something went bad I’d be there for you.” She paused, and for a second, Pyrrha could have sworn she saw the shorter woman blush. “I-I mean, I’ve got super-speed, but you guys actually put yourselves in danger to help people with stuff like this. Backup and the occasional rescue’s the least I can do.”

“You sure you don’t want to give your number to dispatch? Pretty sure we’d have the fastest 911 response team in the country.”

The Flash just shrugged, that sheepish grin back on her face. “Think I’m a bit too unofficial for that.”

For a moment, the two of them just sat there, staring at the now-put-out fire as the second team went in to check for any smolders that could start it up again. Then Pyrrha stood, hands no longer shaking. “Thanks for the help, hero. I gotta get back in there.”

“Right. Right. Um … one sec.” With a flash of red and yellow and a blast of wind, she was gone. A second later, the Crimson Comet was back, the wind rustling the leaves of the garden bushes and making Pyrrha’s jacket flap. Not even out of breath, the shorter woman stepped over to Pyrrha and pressed a handwritten note into her hand. “It’s … a burner I have. For emergencies. Just in case there’s a really bad fire or someone trapped, or I mean I’m okay with the kitten-stuck-in-a tree thing too, since it’ll be faster for me to just zip up and get it, but if you ever needed anything—”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Pyrrha laughed, tucking the paper into one of the inner pockets of her gear. Then she looked down at the young … well, she assumed the Flash was young. She was definitely shorter than Pyrrha, but it was something about the eyes that cinched it. The idealism no one who spoke to her could miss, the genuine desire to help, and the obvious joy at being able to. Nothing about Vale’s resident superhero felt jaded or cynical, even two years after she had first started zipping around the city. Honestly, Pyrrha thought, looking down at her, that’s probably one of the reasons people like her so much.

Her mouth was already open, a half-baked and increasingly implausible suggestion on her lips, when a black-and-white police car zipped by, bypassing the fire completely, their sirens blaring at full blast.

“Duty calls,” she smiled, and nodded towards the receding klaxon. “Looks like you’ve got a full docket tonight.”

Flash just stood there for a second, staring up at her. Then she blinked and nodded with a start, looking just as if she’d caught herself dozing off. “… right. Yeah. Okay. Be seeing you, Nikos. Stay safe.” She took a few steps back, hopping from one foot to another as she built herself up, then crouched and took off after the squad car, turning into a long, red blur and leaving lightning in her wake.