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Chapter Text

“Ruby!” Yang watches in horror as her sister flings herself around, kicking off the Deathstalker’s pincers, petal bursting to the ground. 

She skids to a stop, crouching down, twisting Crescent Rose. The blade flips into place. A plume of sand and rose petals sprays up around her as she shoots back into the air. That spark in her eye is unnatural, a wild grin spreading across her face. She whips herself around in midair, catching the blade of her scythe against the Deathstalker’s tail.

Yang cranks Ember Celica, lurching forward. She hasn’t fought a Deathstalker in Gods know how long. She shouldn’t be surprised that Vacuo is littered with the nasty suckers.

“Yang!” Blake shouts. Before she can processes her name being called, Yang is catching the hilt of Gambol Shroud, wrenching her arm to swing Blake around.

Blake leaps from a shadow clone, scrambles on top of the Deathstalker, her heel catching on the edge of the bone plating. She digs her nails into its head, her ears flat to her skull as it tries to shake her loose. A glyph appears beneath her feet, securing her in place long enough for Yang to huck Gambol Shroud back to her.

“Get its eyes!” Weiss calls. She’s kneeling in the sand, Myrtenaster piercing the ground as she holds Blake steady.

“On it!” Blake raises Gambol Shroud, locking the blade back. She aims at the Deathstalker’s eyes, but before she can pull the trigger, a burst of petals explodes past her.

Ruby reappears swinging, whipping herself in a circle. She lands inches from the Deathstalker’s mandibles, the grin splitting her face unnervingly wide. Blake pulls Gambol Shroud back in surprise, a bullet ricocheting off the bone plating. 

Ruby swings Crescent Rose, knocking the bullet away. On the drawback, she slices down on the Deathstalker’s face. The tip of her scythe snags on a chink in the plating.

The thing lurches its head back. Yang watches, a pit in her stomach, as Ruby loses her grip on Crescent Rose. She grabs for it, her fingers skimming the hilt as she’s tossed backwards. Yang lunges forward, though she’s not sure what her plan is.

“Ah!” Weiss drops her glyph, swinging Myrtenaster.

A summoned Lancer races upward, breaking Ruby’s fall. Her aura flickers.

Blake, shocked out of her stupor, unloads a magazine into the Deathstalker’s eyes. She stumbles to keep her footing. The thing lets out a shrieking hiss. 

With another plume of sand, Ruby drops to the ground. Despite her aura fizzling, Crescent Rose still lodged in the Deathstalker’s head, she petal bursts forward.

“Ruby!” Weiss snaps, her voice pitchy and terrified. Her eyes are wide, darting over the Grimm.

Yang shoots the ground beneath her, the recoil launching her towards the Deathstalker. She skids beneath it, prosthetic in the sand. She shoots as many sticky bombs against its stomach plating as she can before stumbling away.

“Back up!” Yang calls out.

Blake folds Gambol Shroud up, springing backward, flipping over herself into the sand. Weiss dissolves her Lancer, darting away. Ruby’s aura flickers again, breaking apart as she wrenches Crescent Rose free.

Still, she swings her scythe, folding it into a rifle. Despite the kickback, Ruby shoots the Deathstalker’s head again, and again, and again, until she’s several feet in the air. She reopens Crescent Rose, swinging down in a sharp spiral. With a yell, she plunges her blade into the back of the Deathstalker’s head.

“Goddamnit—!” Yang runs her fingers through her hair, tugging at the ends. She can’t detonate the bombs until her sister has moved away. Without her aura, they’ll kill her. “Ruby, come on!”

Ruby doesn’t answer, letting out an intense, almost jagged laugh. Even from where she is, Yang can see the whites of her eyes. She wrenches Crescent Rose away, a chunk of bone plating snagging her shoulder. The Deathstalker swings its tail towards her—Yang’s stomach drops—but Weiss redirects it with a glyph. 

Ruby doesn’t seem to notice. She jumps back with a final gunshot, the recoil of Crescent Rose landing her out of range.

“Finally,” Yang grimaces, clenching her fists, detonating the sticky bombs.

With an echoing bang! The Grimm dissolves into dust.

“That was great!” Ruby pumps her fists, though her wounded arm barely extends. “We did so good!”

Yang snaps her scroll open. Weiss and Blake’s aura’s are both hovering in the green—Yang’s has dipped into the yellow. Ruby’s is firmly in the red, still barely pulling itself back together. Each gesture with her arm yanks the number down lower.

Yet, that look in her eyes hasn’t faded. Her energy levels are through the roof. Bloodied and bruised, she’d still been the first to make it back to their Shade dorm, darting ahead of the rest of  them. She flops dramatically across the armchair, pulling her cape off. There’s an ugly bruise spreading across the side of her neck and down her back. She wrestles her scroll out of her pocket, her hands jittery.

“That was awful,” Blake drags her hands over her hair, scratching at her ears. “I hate fighting in the sand.”

“Right? I can never keep my footing,” Weiss agrees. She slumps on her bed, kicking her boots off.

“Well, thats because those riding boots have no traction,” Blake on her bed across from Weiss, pulling her own shoes off. She shucks her coat, shaking herself out, and Yang wants to appreciate seeing her in just her tight-fitting catsuit, but the anger broiling in her chest is too much to bear.

She slams the door shut. 

Both Weiss and Blake flinch in a way that almost makes Yang feel guilty. Weiss gathers herself together, as if on instinct, folding her hands in her lap and dipping her head. It’s a placating, trained pose. Blake, regains herself just as quickly, raising her eyebrows at Yang, one of her ears quirked to the side.

“Ruby, what the hell was that?” Yang barely manages to keep her voice level. It’s like wrangling a wild animal, desperate to escape.

Ruby blinks owlishly, looking up from her scroll. From what Yang can make out, she’s looking at the goddamn mission board again. 

“What do you mean?”

Yang grits her teeth, taking a deep breath, before saying. “When your aura breaks, you need to get out of the way.”

“It was fine!” Ruby kicks her legs up onto the arm of the chair, looking back to her scroll. “We killed it, didn’t we?!”

“It could have killed you!” Yang tosses her arms out. Her voice gets away from her, far too loud for this tiny, stucco-walled room.

Blake and Weiss both avert their eyes. The nervousness radiating off of them is almost palpable. Blake stares at the ground, brushing sand out of her hair. Weiss turns to her scroll, pressing a hand to her cheek. She seems to be flipping between her aura reader and her chat messages.

Yang knows she’s a lot. She’s bigger than her teammates, her temper much more fragile. That’s a sore spot for most of them, Yang knows it. She doesn’t want to seem dangerous to them, she wants her size, her demeanor, to be a comfort. Not something to be fear. She wants to control it, but watching her baby sister’s risk-taking turn to hapless recklessness right before her eyes is too much for her to handle.

“But it didn’t,” Ruby counters, raising her eyebrows. She’s not looking at Yang. “I’m still alive, we’re still alive, so what’s the problem?”

This petulant tone—Yang hasn’t heard it from her since way back at Argus, and even then, it wasn’t directed at Yang herself. It had been their uncle, and Qrow had been deserving of that ire. Yang isn’t quite sure what she’s done in this situation except worry.

“The problem,” Yang starts, and then reels her aggression in before it lashes back out. It curdles in her stomach, twisting and writhing and tearing at her insides. She takes a deep, slow breath, shutting her eyes for a second. “…is that next time, we might not be there to help you. You might not be able to fight your way out of something, if you’re not careful.”

“I doubt it!” Ruby swings her legs, typing something on her scroll. “I mean, we’ve been this lucky so far!”

That hits Yang like a punch to the face, leaving her startled and blinking, because they haven’t been lucky. Yang’s walking proof of it. They left in the wake of a crumbling Atlas, of a Grimm-swarmed Beacon. Yang was marred beyond repair and Weiss lost her home and Blake had to do the unthinkable and Ruby herself was pushed to the furthest reaches of her sanity and she wants to call that lucky?

Weiss gets to her feet and makes herself scarce. She doesn’t bother to put her shoes back on, quietly slipping out of the door. It clicks shut quietly. Blake watches her go, her ears flat.

“What the hell are you talking about!?” Yang steps forward. Her head is buzzing, her arm twinging. “We haven’t been lucky! We’ve been desperate! Every choice we’ve made has been to minimize damage! It hasn’t taken us any closer to our goal!”

“Okay? And we’re still alive,” Ruby still does not look at Yang.

“Okay?!” Yang’s voice breaks, she can feel sparks igniting at the back of her neck. “Ruby, we—!”

She stops herself. Ruby is not listening to her. Not fully, that is. She’s still typing on her scroll, her eyes are still bright. Her hands tremble terribly, and the cut on her shoulder is still oozing blood.

“I’m going to find Weiss,” Yang says. She makes a show of taking her scroll out of her pocket, tossing it on her bed.

She doesn’t miss the way Blake winces, the way she’s still bristled and quiet. Yang storms out, slamming the door behind herself.

Chapter Text

Blake listens, her ear pricked up, for Yang’s foot steps to disappear down the hallway. Once they’re satisfyingly far enough away, Blake stands. She makes her way over to Ruby’s side, hopping up to sit on the windowsill.

Ruby is skimming through the mission board, seemingly on Search & Destroy. 

That certainly isn’t something that Blake is looking forward too. They’ve been fighting practically non-stop since they’ve returned to Remnant, jumping on any mission available, at Ruby’s insistence. For one, Blake just wants some time to relax. She reaches down, laying a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. She’s barely able to process how cold Ruby is before she jumps, nearly dropping her scroll in her lap. Blake yanks her hand back.

“Blake!” Ruby shouts through a laugh.

“Sorry,” Blake pulls her hand to her side. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Ruby tips her head back, leaning against the windowsill to look up at Blake. “I feel awesome! We’ve been doing so great, recently! We’ve aced like, every mission, and the Grimm hoards seem to be dying down!”

She shows Blake her scroll screen, and true to her word, the number of Search & Destroy missions has significantly dropped. They’re not at a level that Blake would call fine—nowhere near it, in fact—but they’re certainly better than they had been.

“Right, so wouldn’t it be nice to take a break?” Blake asks. “Take the weekend off, or something.”

Something in Ruby’s eyes sparks, a bright sort of energy. She sits bolt upright, twisting around to face Blake. Her pupils are blown wide, dilated unnaturally. Leftover adrenaline from the fight, Blake has to assume. Wants to assume. 

“We can’t do that!”

Blake raises an eyebrow, leaning back a hair. “…Why not?”

“Well, Nora’s still injured, and Ren’s more focused on getting supplies out to the group, Winter’s dealing with all her maiden junk, and I still don’t know if we can trust Emerald all that much,” she sits up on her knees in the chair, her words tumbling out over each other. Her arm is still bleeding. “Jaune’s clearly not doing too well, Qrow has all that stuff going on with his sister and the headmaster and everyone, SSSN and CFVY are usually super wrapped up with defense missions, and Oscar’s barely Oscar, and he doesn’t have his semblance yet! So—” Ruby takes a breath, “It’s up to us! We need to be defending the perimeters.”

“What about Robyn and her Huntresses?” Blake asks, hooking her ankles together. “They’re far more trained than we are. Can’t they take over for a day or two?”

“Of course not!” Ruby digs her nails into the arm of the chair. “We’re team RWBY, we survived the fall of Atlas and the fall of Beacon! We trekked across continents! We’ve fought a Leviathan and a Wyvern and that giant whale thing! And we’ve won! Can any of Robyn’s team say the same!?”

“Ruby…” Blake pulls one of her legs up, resting her chin on her knee. “We’re only going too burn ourselves out.”

“We’ve lasted this long, haven’t we?” Ruby shuffles around, tapping the chair incessantly. 

Blake shifts away from her slightly. That look in her eyes is unsettling at best—downright worrying at worst.

“Yes, of course, but with breaks,” Blake insists. “Come on, you have to remember me back at Beacon. That nearly killed me.”

Ruby scoffs. “Yeah, but that was just you.”

Blake pauses, “Pardon me?”

She doesn’t seem to understand Blake’s question, “It was just you? This is all of us combined! And we’re way stronger now!”

“Right…” With a frown, Blake hops off the windowsill. She makes her way to the dresser they kept their medical supplies in. “Why don’t we patch up your arm? That’s an unpleasant looking cut.”

“Huh?” Ruby looks at the wrong arm first, then the correct one. “Oh! Weird, I didn’t even feel it.”

Much to Blake’s discomfort, Ruby prods at the still seeping wound. Her fingers come away bloodied.

“Don’t touch it!” Blake scolds. 

She pulls out their well stocked first-aid kit. Winter had refused to let them bunk anywhere without at least one. There’s a second in their bathroom cabinet, a third under Blake’s bed, and a fourth under Weiss’. Both Yang and Ruby had called it excessive, but Winter had absolutely insisted, citing past reckless behavior. Looking at Ruby now, Blake couldn’t find any reason to disagree with her assessment.

Ruby unlaces her corset, tossing it up on the guard railing of her bed. She wriggles out of her gloves and her bloodied t-shirt. This has become somewhat of a casual thing. Blake has seen her entire team in various states of undress before—they all have. Yang and Ruby both tend to work out in sports bras, and once, Blake had walked in on Weiss naked, changing out of her pajamas before they left for Argus. It hadn’t been as awkward as either of them expected it to be—Blake had zeroed in on the ragged, still healing scar on her abdomen, and after Weiss had pulled her bra and a pair of bike shorts on, they’d had a quiet talk about it.

Now, however, something caught Blake’s eye.

Ruby’s chest and arms were littered with tiny, scrape-like scars. Two on her breast, one on top of another, right above her heart. There’s another on her throat, a little more ragged, made uglier by the deep red bruise spreading across her skin. Blake had never seen those before. Not any of the times she saw Ruby working out at Atlas.

Those were from the Ever After, then. 

Those were new.

“Sit back down,” Blake says, instead, because Gods if she isn’t still a coward. How is she meant to broach a topic like this with Ruby? She’s clearly still not well, something fundamental in her psyche still frayed.

Regardless, Ruby settles back in the chair. Her leg bounces up and down. Blood is now trickling down her shoulder—it seems slower, however. Hopefully her aura has recovered enough to start to patch it up. Blake sits on the arm of the chair, setting the first-aid kit on the windowsill. As gently as she can, she takes Ruby by the wrist.

With an antiseptic wipe, she mops up the excess blood, cleaning as close to the edges of the cut as possible. It isn’t terribly large, but it does seem deeper than Blake would have liked.

“I’m sorry Yang raised her voice,” Blake says after a moment. She presses her thumb against Ruby’s bicep. “I'm sure she’s just worried about you.”

“It’s fine!” Ruby smiles. She’s gone back to the Search & Destroy mission board, scrolling through it aimlessly. “I’m not scared of her.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Blake says. She peels open a packet of antibiotic ointment, gently squeezing some over the injury. “I’m worried about you too. You’ve been a little intense, recently.”

“I’m just excited to be back!” Ruby opens a mission about another Deathstalker. It’s not attacking the kingdom, nowhere near, in fact. The missions seems to be a proper hunt, rather than defense.

“I know you are,” Blake keeps her tone soft, “I am too, but…” she lays a piece of gauze over the cut, holding it secure with two fingers while she struggles to tear open a package with one hand. “…doesn’t this feel different?”

“It feels a lot better,” Ruby looks up at Blake. Her pupils are terrifyingly wide. “I felt so awful back in Atlas, in the Ever After. I feel great now! Isn’t that good?”

“Yeah, of course,” Blake secures the gauze with a bandage. Her ears droop. “How about we take it easy for the rest of the day? Just so your arm can heal itself.”

“Fine.” Ruby’s expression flips on a dime, dropping to something far more annoyed. She snaps her scroll shut, shoving it in her pocket and moving for her dresser. She pulls out a baggy shirt, slipping it over her head.

“Why don’t we all get something for dinner?” Blake asks. “Once Yang and Weiss get back. I think I spotted an adorable little restaurant off by the west quarter.”

“Maybe,” Ruby rolls her shoulder with a wince, like the pain is only just starting to process.

Blake checks her scroll. Ruby’s aura is steadily climbing out of the orange, now, and into the yellow. She sighs, moving to her own dresser on the opposite side of the room. She takes out a more casual, more weather-friendly outfit. The Vacuan dry heat is nothing like to the humidity of Menagerie that Blake is used to. 

“Can you unzip me?” Blake asks. She moves her hair aside.

“Yeah!” Ruby drops her scroll on her dresser. She darts over, resting one hand on Blake’s shoulder. Her fingers are frigid, even through Blake’s catsuit, her hands trembling terribly. She pulls the zipper open, drawing it to the small of Blake’s back.

“There you go!” Ruby pats her between the shoulders.

“Thank you, Ruby,” Blake says, and she disappears into the bathroom to change. Just because she’s seen her teammates somewhat undressed, doesn’t mean she wants them to see her naked. Most of them, at least. 

She pulls on a pair of shorts and ditches her sports bra for an underwire. The tank top she pulls on is stolen directly from Yang’s wardrobe, all soft and baggy and well loved, her emblem screen-printed right over the heart. The ink has long since started to chip away. Blake has to assume it was a school project.

She spares herself a glance in the mirror. The Vacuan sun has tanned her considerably more than Vale’s ever did, and the tan lines around her throat and arms are atrocious. She laughs, shaking more sand out of her hair. Vacuo has started to grow on her, somewhat, and not just because she’s been reunited with some old friends. She checks her eyeliner, but it hasn’t budged, even around all the sweat and sand. She’ll have to keep whatever brand it is in mind.

Outside, she can faintly hear Yang and Weiss laughing, their voices muffled, but still happy. Thank the Gods, at least they’ve cheered each other up. Not that Blake ever doubted they could. Yang and Weiss bicker playfully quite often, but it always seems to put the both of them in a good mood. A lighter one, even.

With a smile at herself and a flick of her ear, Blake reenters the dorm.

Ruby is pacing, already.

She’s still skimming her scroll, her eyes still wide.

“Ruby, relax,” Blake manages a soft, fond laugh. “Sit down.”

“No, no no,” Ruby shakes her head, she walks between the bunkbeds, then doubles back on herself. Blood has already begun to seep through the bandage on her shoulder. “I can’t sit. My legs feel all weird.”

“Ruby,” Blake’s tone goes a bit more stern than she would like, “Your aura. Don’t forget about your arm.”

“Huh?” Ruby stops, only for a second, and glances down at her wrapped wound. “Oh, right!”

Her shoulder flickers faintly red, and the patch of blood stops growing quite so quickly. 

Blake forces Ruby to sit down—her leg jackhammers the entire time—and she redresses the wound. It already seems to be healing, thankfully, slowly sealing up around the forming scabs. Blake traces her fingers around the edges of the fresh bandage before she has to let Ruby stand back up for fear she might explode.

Blake settles back on her bed, brushing stray grains of sand onto the floor. She watches Ruby pace, frowning. Ruby isn’t usually the sister who paces. That’s Yang’s job—she’s so full of wound up energy, that sometimes the fastest way to expel it is moving around. If she can’t pace, she does pushups, and if she can’t do pushups, she chews her thumbnail to the quick.

Ruby usually gets her energy out by bouncing. It’s a little habit that Blake had grown so impossibly fond of. Ruby would clench her fists together, bouncing from foot to foot. Sometimes she’d smile so wide she couldn’t get her words out for a second, just grinning and hopping around, overflowing with giddy excitement.

This is different. This is new.

Blake isn’t so sure how much she likes it.

Chapter Text

Weiss hasn’t gone far, thankfully. She’s standing in the hallway, leaning up against the wall. Her arms are loosely wrapped around her stomach, her eyes distant. Lost in thought, it seems.

“Hey, Weiss?” Yang tries not to get to close to her, knocking on the wall as gently as she can. 

Weiss still jumps, before visibly relaxing. Her expression softens considerably, her shoulders drop down from her ears. She moves closer to Yang, nestling up against her side.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Yang leans on the wall next to her. She crosses her arms.

“It’s alright,” Weiss gently takes Yang’s elbow, “It’s been a long day.”

“It really has,” Yang drops her head back, shutting her eyes. “Still. Should’ve kept my cool. How are you feeling?”

“Gods, exhausted,” Weiss lets go of Yang’s arm, leaning on her shoulder. “I know she’s just eager, but multiple missions every day is killing me.”

“Right?” Yang presses her cheek to the top of Weiss’ head. “I have blisters in places that I didn’t know where possible.”

Weiss pretends to shudder. “Ew, don’t tell me that.”

The two of them stand like that for a moment, Weiss pressed up against Yang’s bicep. Her face is warm, and Yang wants to scold her for never putting on enough sunscreen. That’s the overly maternal part of her, unfortunately. An instinct she hasn’t been able to suppress as well as she’d like to. Weiss never covers up enough under the sun, Ruby’s always getting herself into danger—Yang’s not in charge of them, but she can’t help the way they make her nervous. Technically, at the end of the day, Ruby’s in charge of her, now. 

Still, she can’t stop the way she worries.

“Do we have the lien to eat out, tonight?” Weiss asks quietly. 

Yang wonders, not for the first time, if Weiss has ever had to worry about money like this before.

Ever since their father shut down, Yang had found herself in charge of more money than she should have been. He wasn’t able to work, after Summer died. Not for a while. He sat on the couch and he stared at the wall and sometimes, if he was feeling well enough, he’d tuck them into bed.

Yang, seven years old, barely into her subtraction unit in school, took charge of the family finances. She took her wagon to town and portioned out her father’s lien to buy only the barest essentials. She’d try and stretch lien as much as she possibly could, until her father’s bereavement leave checks came in at the end of each month.

“We have plenty,” Yang says, without even looking at her scroll. They have a joint team-account for their payouts. They leave the largest sum of lien in there, while they split the rest into quarters for each other. It’s worked rather well, so far, and Yang knows off the top of her head that there is more than enough lien in their accounts to keep them fed for weeks. Months, if they stretch it.

“Good, because…” Weiss slumps further, wrapping her arm around Yang’s. “If we have to turn the oven on, I might melt.”

Yang snickers, bumping her hip against Weiss’. “And we wouldn’t want that, of course.”

“Of course not!”

“What would you want to get?” Yang asks. “I’ve seen so many different restaurants around. Vale food, Mistral, Menagerie—” she chuckles under her breath, “I even saw one that was just Anima.”

Weiss laughs, “Just…Anima? The whole continent?”

“They probably just mean the west coast,” Yang rolls her eyes into her skull. That pulls another laugh out of Weiss. “Have you ever seen a restaurant that only serves southern Anima food? Or central?”

Weiss pauses for a second, then in surprise, glances up at Yang, “I don’t think I have!”

“Right! Unless you’re in Anima,” Yang says, “But then it’s not called an Animan restaurant, it’s just…a restaurant.”

Weiss laughs, her shoulders shaking, “Trust me, it was exactly that vague in Atlas. A sprinkling of other cultures so we looked nice and worldly.”

And Yang can feel the way her mood shifts, even just mentioning Atlas. She softens a bit, against Yang’s arm, like someone has cut her strings and dropped her to the ground. Yang pushes her up, ever so slightly, and tries to reel it back in.

“I love a good vague restaurant,” Yang laughs. It feels forced. “Welcome to my humble establishment! We serve Food! And if you ask what kind of food, they tell you to get fucked.”

“Does that cost extra?” Weiss asks, and Yang so isn’t expecting it, that she nearly knocks her to the ground in surprise.

“Weiss!”

A hand cupped to her mouth, her eyes bright, Weiss laughs. It’s softer than Yang is used to, like she’s afraid of being heard.

“It’s a legitimate question,” Weiss straightens up, smoothing her skirt out with one hand. “Is the dinner of food and the beverage of drinks a separate price? Or is it all priced together?”

Yang snorts, running a hand through her hair, “Like a value meal?”

“Mm…more like an appetizer?” Weiss blinks up at her.

“So it comes first?” Yang asks, and desperately bites back the joke she wants to make. “Wouldn’t you be too tired to eat?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Weiss half rolls her eyes.

Yang feels her face redden, her ears burning. “That’s low, Schnee.”

“Oh no,” Weiss lays a hand over her heart, “I’m so sorry for bringing up your loving girlfriend, that must be such a sore topic for you.”

“You know what I mean!” Yang turns away slightly, still laughing under her breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Weiss rests her fingers on Yang’ bicep, her tone dripping with faux-sympathy, her touch feather-light.

“Shut up,” Yang keeps her face turned away, training her gaze on one of the dim wall sconces.

“Maybe if you buy me a food dinner from Restaurant,” Weiss suggests. Before Yang can even open her mouth, Weiss cuts her off with. “I don’t need any appetizers, thank you.”

“Smart, saving our lien for dessert,” Yang offers her arm out. “Why don’t we get out of our combat clothes, and see what the others want to do for dinner?”

Weiss hooks her arm with Yang’s, resting her hand on her bicep. “We probably shouldn’t bring Ruby to Food Restaurant. She doesn’t need to see any of that.”

“No but seriously, what are you in the mood for?”

“Well, we are in Vacuo,” Weiss says, “You know what they say. When in Mistral…?”

Blake is waiting for them at the door, wearing one of Yang’s tank tops and smiling brighter than she was expecting. Behind her, Ruby is pacing between the bunks, her eyes still trained on her scroll.

Weiss untangles herself from Yang’s arm, moving past them into the dorm. She dives into her dresser for a change of clothing.

Blake glances over her shoulder, then takes Yang by the hand. She tugs her into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her.

“Woah, um—” Yang’s brain flatlines, her thoughts going blank. “Now?”

“Wh—no, Yang,” she swats Yang’s arm, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?” Yang hops up on the sink counter. Blake stands in front of her, positioning herself between her knees.

Blake glances towards the door, then lowers her voice considerably before saying “Your sister. There’s something off with her, today.”

“I hasn’t just been today,” Yang frowns. She leans back on her palms, staring up at the grimy ceiling tiles. “Have you seen her eyes?”

“I was thinking about that too,” Blake rests her elbows on Yang’s thighs. “But…I don’t know. She said she’s feeling better, but I can’t tell if it’s actually better or not.”

Yang glances back down. The look Blake is giving her is utterly earnest, her eyes wide and worried. Yang reaches down, cupping Blake’s cheek with her metal palm.

“She was so depressed,” Blake’s ears lower. She presses herself into Yang’s hand, her eyes half-lidded. “I don’t—is this happier?”

“I’m not sure,” Yang brushes Blake’s bangs aside, touching her temple. “I can’t tell if she’s happy or…”

“Overcompensating?” Blake finishes for her.

“Right…” Yang drops her hand to the counter.

“Hey, come on,” Blake jumps up on her toes, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yang’s mouth. “We can keep an eye on her. It’ll be better this time.”

Yang sighs, taking Blake by the chin. She kisses her again, properly this time, breathing out against her mouth. A soft purr rumbles in Blake’s throat. She grabs for a hold in Yang’s top, digging her fingers into the coarse fabric of her overalls. 

Yang lets out a little groan, bringing her hand to the back of Blake’s head. Her fingers tangle in her hair. Blake’s teeth are sharp, sharper than a human’s anyway. She bites down on Yang’s bottom lip, her nose pressed to her cheek. Blake pushes closer to her, pulling their chests flush together.

Yang reaches for Blake’s face, but she pulls back.

“Alright, why don’t we get something to eat?” Blake’s eyes are bright, a mirthful, teasing look playing across her face. “I’m starving.”

She steps away from Yang, trailing her hands down her thighs before reaching for the door. Yang touches her bottom lip, hopping off the counter. Her knees nearly buckle out from under her.

“Ruby and I were talking about a restaurant in the west,” Blake is already explaining to Weiss, sitting next to her on her bunk. Weiss is now dressed in a much simpler outfit, her shoulders and arms covered with a linen shawl. The room smells of sunscreen, which at least satiates some of Yang’s worry.

Ruby has settled down in the armchair, her knee bouncing. She seems to be only half listening to what Blake is saying. Yang frowns, running her hands over her hair. She drops down on Blake’s bunk, crossing her ankles.

“How interested are you all in something a little more traditionally Vacuan?” Blake asks.

“If what Sun described was accurate, I’m so down,” Yang leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Everything in the markets smells so damn good.”

“A bit intense, for my taste,” Weiss wrinkles her nose. “But I’ll still go, if the rest of you want to.”

“Atlesian tastebuds are so pampered,” Blake rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder against Weiss’. “Menagerie street food would kill you.”

“Ruby?” Yang asks. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” Ruby looks up. Her eyes dart around the room, from Yang to Blake to Weiss. “Oh! Um…yeah, Vacuan is fine. I’m not super hungry.”

“Well I am,” Blake hops to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. “Why don't we get going?”

The restaurant is tucked in a row of quaint little adobe style buildings, the smell of braised meat and blooming spices wafts out of the windows. The roof is low, the doors arched. Yang takes a deep breath in. Blake’s palm is warm against hers.

Weiss hides behind the rest of the group while Blake leads them inside. Ruby hangs to the side, bouncing on her heels. Her eyes are still wide, but her expression is otherwise blank.

It takes a few minutes for them to be seated. They’re given a booth near the front. Yang tucks herself in the corner, Blake sitting next to her. Weiss and Ruby sit on the opposite side of the booth. Ruby’s leg is bouncing so hard the table rattles.

“Ruby…” Weiss places her hand on Ruby’s knee. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah,” Ruby nods, her eyes dart around again, from the menus to Weiss’ face. “I’ve just got like, a lot of energy.”

Yang picks up the drinks menu, skimming it over.

“It’s still early,” Blake whispers in Yang’s ear.

“I know!” Yang sets the menu back down. “I’m not here to get trashed, but sometimes a good whiskey is refreshing.”

Blake purrs thoughtfully, picking up her own menu. “Well in that case…”

Yang laughs under her breath. “See, you get it.”

“This food all looks interesting,” Weiss says. She sounds genuine, her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know you could eat cactus.”

“You can?” Ruby leans over to look at Weiss’ menu.

“Look here,” Weiss points at something. “Unique, isn't it?”

Ruby nods, her eyes flickering back and forth.

“Hello there!” A young Faunus woman steps up to the side of their table, holding a notepad in one hand. She’s wagging her tail, her smile bright. “I’ll be your waitress for the night. Can I get you started with any drinks?”

Weiss ducks her head down, hiding her face half behind a menu. “Just a water is fine, thank you.”

“Could I get a glass of lemonade?” Ruby asks, smiling. She shifts slightly in front of Weiss.

The woman writes both orders down, then turns to Yang and Blake.

“Could I have a whiskey sour?” Yang asks, setting her menu down.

“And may I please have a Boulevardier?” Blake squeezes Yang’s hand. Her ears are pricked forward in that excited way she gets when she sees another Faunus.

“Do you want that with rye-whiskey, or bourbon?” The waitress asks, writing rapidly on her little notepad.

“Bourbon, please.”

“Wonderful, and could I see both of your IDs?”

Yang digs around in her pocket for her scroll. She flashes her huntress license, while Blake offers the woman a physical card. She takes it, reading it over. Her eyes widen.

“Belladonna? Are you related to Ghira Belladonna, by any chance?” The woman asks. Her tail starts wagging faster.

Blake stiffens, “I—yes, he’s my father.”

The woman giggles. Her laugh is as bright as her smile. “My mom was from Menagerie! I love what your father has been doing with the place.”

“We’ve still got a long way to go,” Blake touches her hair, her ears flattening to the sides. “But…thank you.”

The woman laughs again, handing Blake’s ID back. “It was nice to meet you! I’ll be back with your drinks in just a moment!”

She scurries off, her tail going a mile a minute.

“Well, she was sweet,” Weiss lowers her menu.

“You can’t hide forever,” Blake says softly. She reaches across the table with her free hand, squeezing Weiss’ wrist. “People will learn to like you.”

“People maybe,” Weiss frowns. “Faunus, much less likely.”

“Well, I like you,” Blake drops Yang’s hand to take Weiss’ in both of hers. “So does Sun, so does Neon, so does Marrow. Trust me, sometimes, you just need to put yourself out there. Even if people hate you, at first.”

Blake flicks one of her ears.

“Right!” Yang pats her own, prosthetic arm. “Sometimes people are gonna assume stuff about you, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. It just means you need to prove them wrong!”

“Exactly,” Blake presses herself against Yang’s arm, purring contentedly.

Ruby doesn’t offer any advice of her own. She only touches Weiss’ shoulder, giving her a slightly too wide smile.

Weiss laughs softly, wiping her eyes with the hem of her shawl. “You guys are the best.”

The woman comes back with their drinks and takes their orders for appetizers and entrees. Yang orders more food than she’ll probably be able to finish, but her stomach is growling and everything just sounded so appetizing.

“Can I steal a sip of your drink?” Yang asks.

“Only if I can have some of yours,” Blake responds, passing her glass over. 

Her Boulevardier is a beautiful shade of crimson, and the sip Yang takes goes down smooth. It’s not as strong as Yang usually goes for, but it’s quite pleasant. The ice rattles against the glass as she sets it down.

“Ooh, that is very sweet,” Blake wrinkles her nose, her ears flattening. “It has sour in the name, but is there…sugar in it?”

“A bit, yeah!” Yang takes her glass back, knocking back a swig. “I like ‘em sweet.”

Blake laughs, brushing a strand of Yang’s hair back. “So do I.”

“Ugh, please spare us,” Weiss puts her hand up in front of her face, hiding her eyes. “We’re only here for dinner. Not dinner and a show.”

“What,” Yang drops her chin in her hand, winking. “You don’t want an appetizer?”

“Yang, gross!” Ruby covers her ears, shaking her head. “There’s children around! Me! I’m children!”

Yang tosses her head back, laughing. Blake swats at her arm.

The woman comes back with their meals, setting plates down in front of each of them. Yang manages to wait a polite twenty seconds for everyone to have their food and for the waitress to leave before she digs in. She ordered stuffed grape leaves, which Ruby had seemed skeptical of (“So you’re eating…leaves?”) but Blake had recommended it. Apparently she’d had some while on the road with the White Fang, and had nothing but fond memories.

Blake had ordered something called masgouf, which appeared to be some sort of slow roasted fish. Yang steals a forkful, dropping one of the stuffed grape leaves on her plate before Blake could protest.

Warmth blossoms in her chest, growing with each sip of her drink.

She watches Ruby carefully. Each of her movements seems stilted, jerky and uncoordinated. She’s jittery, her hands trembling. Her leg is still bouncing up and down. Each time she goes for her glass, it looks like she runs the risk of dropping it, the ice rattling around. Each time she moves her injured arm, her eye twitches.

Weiss seems to notice as well. She keeps shooting Ruby sideways glances, her expression a cautious sort of anticipation, waiting for the final straw to send everything collapsing down. She leans ever so slightly away.

“I was thinking,” Ruby starts. The words tumble out of her mouth like she’s lost control of them. “Maybe we could pick up another Search & Destroy tomorrow? There’s apparently a nest of Sulphur Fish outside the encampments to the north. It’s not a big nest, at least that’s what the mission board says, but—”

“Ruby,” Blake cuts her off. Her tone is impossibly gentle, but Ruby still jumps, wild eyes darting up to meet Blake’s. “Let’s not think about that tonight. Why don’t you just enjoy your meal? Tomorrow morning, we can take a look at your arm, and see where we should go from there.”

“Right, right,” Ruby pulls her scroll open, and an instinctive part of Yang wants to scold her for having it out during dinner. “I’ll mark that one down as a maybe then.”

“Ruby,” Yang says. She tries to keep her tone level. “Come on, no scrolls at the table.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” Ruby stuffs her scroll in her pocket.

Yang downs the last of her drink. Warmth pools in her stomach. She’s not quite tipsy, there’s not nearly enough alcohol in one of those things to get her anywhere close—but she’s hit that balmy coziness that makes it worth it. The sweet spot. She hates getting anything past tipsy, anything even close enough to slur her words makes her nervous.

Blake has long since finished her meal, and has curled herself up against Yang’s side. She’s purring again, her ears drooping. Ruby’s barely made a dent in her food, tapping her foot and glancing around the restaurant. It’s almost as if she’s expecting an attack, looking from window to window, warily scanning each patron.

It had taken quite a lot of coaxing to get Ruby to leave Crescent Rose in the dorm, and it had only worked with the reassurances that Yang would always have a piece of Ember Celica on her at all times, and that they wouldn’t be completely defenseless.

“Hey, Rubes?” Yang asks.

Ruby jumps at her name, looking over. “Yeah?”

“Everything alright?”

Ruby nods quickly, before Yang even finishes asking. “Yeah! Yeah, yes, I’m…I’m just not hungry, I guess? Do you think I could get a to-go box? Do they do those here…?”

She looks around again, feigning trying to find their waitress. Yang frowns. Ruby’s done this since they were children, whenever she didn’t want to talk about something. She’d give a half-answer quickly, then dive off into a different sentence before anyone had time to process the first.

“I’m sure they do,” Yang moves her empty plate aside. Even Weiss has finished her meal, and she’s notorious for picking at her food like a preening bird. 

Ruby has the metabolism of a blast furnace at the best of times, a growing kid who’s constantly swinging around a hundred pound weapon. Usually, she would eat the Xiao Long’s out of house and home. Even at Beacon and Atlas, when they’d had more food than they knew what to do with, it was near impossible to keep Ruby satiated.

“I’ll pay, alright?” Yang asks the others once the waitress has brought them the check. She’s already pulling out her card, and no one is moving to stop her. 

They’ve boxed up Ruby’s leftovers and the waitress has taken the rest of their dishes. They’re quick to leave, once the waitress brings Yang’s card back, excusing themselves and bustling out into the cool night air.

The sun has set, while they were inside, the temperature dropping rapidly.

Weiss hisses under her breath, pressing her palm against her ribcage. It sounds like she’s trying to stay quiet, but Blake’s ears pivot. She glances over her shoulder, and Yang follows suit.

Blake lays her hand on Weiss’ back. “How’s that been treating you, lately?”

“It’s fine when it’s warm out,” Weiss massages the gap between two of her ribs, digging her thumb between the divots and bends. She works her jaw, the muscles in her neck twitching. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries,” Yang puts her hands up. “Trust me, we get it.”

Weiss laughs, shaking her shoulders out. “Right, of course. Let’s just get inside?”

Chapter Text

It takes her embarrassingly long to fall asleep, that night. The knot of scar tissue lancing through her ribcage thrums angrily, tightening and pulsing whenever the temperature dares to drop a few degrees. She lays in her bunk, her hands pressed beneath her chest, kneading desperately against her wound-tight muscles. She grits her teeth. Each breath she takes feels labored, shuddery.

She can hear Yang snoring, sprawled out on top of her covers. What remains of her right arm is dangling over the side of her bunk. Blake, on the other hand, is curled in on herself, a contented look on her face. She’s hugging a pillow to her chest, her chin nestled deep into it.

With a low, uncomfortable groan, Weiss rolls onto her back. 

The one thing she’d appreciated about being in the Ever After, had been the consistent weather. Rainstorms were few and far between, and cold fronts were even less common. Weiss had almost forgotten what this agonizing, burrowing pain was like.

Weiss brings her hand to her mouth, biting down furiously on her knuckles to keep from whining like a wounded animal.

She lays like that for far too long, grinding her skin between her teeth until her aura flickers, pressing down on her ribs so hard they ache. Her scroll tells her, mockingly, that it’s nearly four in the morning, and she wants to throw it across the room. She debates the likelihood of Ruby letting her skip out on the missions for the day. Low, but not impossible if Weiss lets herself look pained enough.

The bunk above her creaks.

Weiss bites down harder, a keening whine escaping her throat.

Ruby slides down the ladder. Silently darting into the bathroom. The lights don’t turn on, and the door doesn’t shut behind her, which draws Weiss’ attention away from the clawing pain in her ribs.

She forces herself to sit up. She watches the empty bathroom doorway for a while. Ruby never reemerges.

Grumbling to herself, Weiss pushes herself to her feet. She braces one hand over her old wound, staggering to the bathroom. If there’s nothing going on, she can use the guise of getting pain killers, and head right back to bed. She leans one palm on the wall, grabbing weakly at the molding around the bathroom door.

She leans against the doorframe, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the biting pain in her ribs to calm down.

“Weiss…?” Ruby asks, her tone impossibly delicate.

“Pain killers,” Weiss manages to get out. She cracks her eyes open, takes a deep breath, and nearly screams as she looks up.

Ruby is sitting on the lip of the tub, her leg bouncing rapidly. Her eyes still hold that wild, caged animal look to them. Her fingers are knotted in her pajama pants, her nails caked in blood. The bandages on her arm have been discarded, the scab messily picked open. Blood is trickling down her arm, dripping against the edge of the bathtub.

“Ruby!” Weiss straightens up.

She scrambles to shut the door behind herself. Ruby winces.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Ruby looks down at her shoulder. “I-I…feel really weird.”

“Of course you do,” Weiss tries to keep the surprised tremble out of her voice. “You’re bleeding everywhere!”

She swings the bathroom cabinet open. She dry swallows some acetaminophen, then snatches up the first-aid kit. Settling down beside Ruby takes just about everything out of her. Sparks of pain shoot through her, her vision going fuzzy. She digs through the first-aid kit, wiping down Ruby’s arm with some anti-septic.

“Are you okay?” Weiss asks under her breath. The others will never hear them, even if they spoke at full volume. Vacuo is never quiet at night. But Weiss likes to feel like she’s keeping a secret with her partner. Something just for the two of them.

“I don’t know,” Ruby repeats herself. “Something feels wrong.”

“What is it?” Weiss prods. She has to scrape some of the drying blood off of Ruby’s bicep before she rewraps it. 

“I don’t know,” she insists. Beneath Weiss’ hand, her muscles wind tight—tense, almost terrified. Like she’s expecting Weiss to yell at her.

“Alright,” Weiss says, and that’s the end of that.

She dresses Ruby’s wound in silence, dragging her to the sink to help her rinse her skin off. Flakes of blood disappear down the drain, swirling and staining the basin. Weiss knows, deep down, that Ruby can wash her own hands. Still, she holds her beneath the faucet, scrubbing the blood off with her own thumbs. She massages soap into Ruby’s palms, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror.

Ruby hasn’t moved. She’s staring at her own hands, her expression empty. Her pupils are far too wide, the bags under her eyes worryingly dark. Weiss wants to put her in a headlock and drag her to bed. She wants to force her beneath the covers, brush the hair out of her face, and insist that she get some rest.

For now, Weiss flicks the water off, and holds Ruby’s hands.

“Sit down,” she says, nodding towards the tub again.

Ruby blinks, but she does as she’s told. Weiss takes her place beside her—on her non-injured side, this time.

“I’m no Jaune,” Weiss says, lacing her fingers with Ruby’s. Her hands are freezing cold. “But I know you’re good with your aura. We’re not going to bed until you work on that injury a little more.”

“What?” Ruby looks over at her.

“Concentrate your aura,” Weiss insists, “You wanted to go on another mission so terribly? You need to not be injured.”

It takes Ruby a moment to respond, and all Weiss gets out of her is: “Oh.”

Weiss refuses to let go of Ruby’s hand. She can feel her heartbeat rabbiting against her palm. Ruby taps her knee with her free hand, her legs both bouncing up and down. Her pajama pants are stained with little bloody fingerprints. Weiss traces little circles into Ruby’s hand with her thumb. She tries not to look over at her—offering her the slimmest amounts of privacy while she pulls herself together.

“I feel weird,” Ruby says quietly. “I…think…something is wrong.”

“Weird how?” Weiss brings her other hand to Ruby’s, squeezing her gently. She leans against Ruby’s shoulder.

Ruby is staring intently down at the floor, her eyes jumping from tile to tile.

“I feel really good,” Ruby whispers, glancing up at Weiss. “And that’s—that can’t be right. Right?”

“How so?” Weiss crosses her legs.

“I felt so awful, for so long,” Ruby leans in closer, her expression wild. “But now—now I-I don’t, and that—that’s not how it works. Something has to be wrong.”

“I think you need rest,” Weiss touches one hand to Ruby’s shoulder, turning her slightly so she can get a look at her other arm. The wound seems to be sealing up, at the very least. The bruise has faded. Weiss reaches out, her fingers brushing against Ruby’s arm.

“Why don’t we head to bed? And in the morning, we can talk to your sister,” Weiss slides her hand down, taking Ruby’s other hand.

“I can’t sleep,” Ruby admits. “I couldn’t—I haven’t been able to.”

Weiss squeezes her hands, “Then how about we make some tea?”

Weiss lets Ruby pace while she sets up the electric kettle. They don’t have much of a proper kitchen in the Shade dorms, like they did back at Beacon and Atlas. They have a common space with a handful of amenities. A griddle, a set of stove-top burners, an electric kettle, and a microwave. There’s a refrigerator that has been mostly taken over by sports drinks, and a freezer that’s full of junk and bags of ice. There’s a row of couches lined against the windowed walls, several folding tables, and a place to project a scroll. Weiss and Whitely have used this place to catch up in a few times. She would recount him with stories of Beacon, showing him photos off her scroll, and he would listen intently. A little confused, but happy to be included.

Ruby has her hands clasped behind her back, her head down. She’s pacing between the row of couches and the opposite wall.

Weiss takes out two mugs—her plain white one, and Ruby’s novelty mug she got from a shop out in Vacuo. It came from a rack of mugs, that were meant to be personalized after purchase, but Ruby had insisted on the default “Thank you for 25 years of dedicated service. Happy Anniversary from all of us at <COMPANY NAME>”. Ruby would laugh herself silly every time someone used it. With luck, it might cheer her up somewhat. Might make her energy more genuine.

The kettle shrieks, startling Weiss out of her thoughts.

Ruby nearly jumps out of her skin, reaching behind her back, where Crescent Rose usually sat.

Weiss snatches up the kettle, pouring water in each of the mugs. She drops in two chamomile tea bags. She usually doesn’t gravitate towards tea, and especially not herbal teas, but when Ruby gets jittery, she gets nervous. When she gets nervous, she gets shy, acting like everything she does might be the wrong thing. One way Yang had told them to combat it, was to do the same thing Ruby wanted to do.

Weiss has to climb onto the counters to get into the top cabinets, where they keep all their tea add-ins. The main tea-drinkers of their little group are Ren and Blake, both the kind of person who forgets that there’s people shorter than them living in the same area.

She grabs the jar of raw honey—it’s Blake’s, Weiss is pretty sure—and drops to the ground. A sharp spike of pain stabs through her ribs.

She stirs in a spoonful of honey into Ruby’s mug. The sounds of the spoon tinking against the ceramic is almost soothing, playing like music. She sets the spoon aside, tossing the tea bags in the trash.

“Do you mind if I lower the lights?” Weiss asks. She picks up both mugs in one hand, hovering her other over the dimmer.

Ruby shoots her a thumbs up, turning on her heel to retrace her steps across the common space. Weiss brings the lights to a little lower than halfway. She settles on one of the couches, tucking herself against the scratchy, well worn arm, patting the spot next to her. Hesitantly, Ruby sits next to Weiss, taking her mug.

She reads the text on it, giggling softly. Her nose wrinkles when she laughs, and the sound always gets caught in her throat, trapped, like she’s almost forgotten how to laugh. It’s a habit she picked up from Blake, Weiss is pretty sure.

“I’m still not sure what you find so funny about that,” Weiss rolls her eyes. If she keeps her demeanor natural, calm, maybe Ruby will relax. She crosses her legs, taking a slow, deep sip of her tea. It tastes…not the best, but it certainly isn’t the worst, either. Weiss could put up with it, if she had to.

She presses the warm mug against her ribs, instead, reveling in the way she unwinds beneath it.

“It’s silly!” Ruby brings the mug to her lips, “I’m not even twenty five years old, let alone—”

The steam curls across Ruby’s face, and her expression falters, slipping. She slowly lowers the mug, settling it in her lap. It takes Weiss a three count before she realizes. Before she remembers. Ruby’s eyes have widened again, that sparking, unfamiliar manic energy rearing its head.

“You know what?” Weiss takes Ruby’s mug from her, wriggling it out of her hands. “I think I may have given you some of Blake’s caffeinated tea. Would you mind if I made some hot chocolate instead?”

Ruby doesn’t respond, furrowing her brow. Her gaze is trained firmly on her palms.

Weiss isn’t sad to see the tea go. She dumps it down the sink drain, rinsing the mugs out. It doesn’t take her very long to make some hot chocolate. It’s nowhere near as nice as Yang makes it—she does it properly, over the stovetop with milk, letting it carefully simmer. But Weiss doesn’t have time for that. She pours some hot water over the cocoa powder, stirs for a moment, and makes her way back to Ruby’s side.

She…still hasn’t looked up from her hands.

“It’s nothing like the way your sister makes it,” Weiss stands in front of her, holding out the stupid, novelty mug. “But it should taste just fine.”

Ruby takes the mug from her in both hands, cupping it to her chest. Her expression is dim, almost confused. Weiss frowns, settling beside her.

“Hey,” she touches Ruby’s shoulder as delicately as she can, her fingers barely brushing her shirt. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I-I’m okay,” Ruby smiles. It’s shaky and somewhat uncertain, but it’s far more real than anything she’d been giving them all day. “Just…caught me off guard, you know?”

“I know,” Weiss leans against Ruby’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Ruby takes a sip of the hot chocolate, letting out a low sigh. She nestles up against Weiss, curling her legs onto the couch. Weiss follows suit, looping her free arm around Ruby’s, squeezing her like a lifeline.

With a soft giggle, Ruby whispers, “Nice Weiss strikes again.”

Weiss rolls her eyes, satisfaction blossoming in her chest. Fondness bleeds into each of her words as she says “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you still made me hot chocolate.”

“I did,” Weiss sighs, shaking her head. “Why do I still do nice things for you?”

“Cause you love me!” Ruby’s laugh the time around is a little fuller. “You’re stuck with me!”

“Gods forbid,” Weiss tucks her head against Ruby’s shoulder, taking a sip of her own hot chocolate. The warmth of the drink soothes the ache behind Weiss’ ribs. She balances her mug on Ruby’s knee, massaging two fingers against the knot of scar tissue.

Ruby takes the mug, “Are you okay?”

“Old injuries,” Weiss says. It’s barely an explanation, but Ruby nods along. This isn’t the first time Weiss has had this issue. It had been hellish, in Atlas, trying to sleep at night. “You wouldn’t think a desert could get so cold.”

“Weather is weird,” Ruby shifts the mugs to one hand. She wriggles around, pressing her thumb against the scar on Weiss’ back. Her hand is warm. “Did the painkillers help at all?”

“They did enough,” Weiss leans into Ruby’s hand. “But there’s honestly only so much they can really…do.”

“That’s the worst,” Ruby takes a drink from Weiss’ mug. “But at least we still have you in commission. When we had to give Yang the fancy stuff, for her arm after her surgery, she was gone.”

“I’d have payed real money to see that,” Weiss laughs, taking her mug back.

“It wasn’t as funny as you’d think,” Ruby takes another drink, “She mostly just laid there. Sometimes she cried. A few times she’d ask for our mom.”

“Oh,” Weiss frowns into her mug, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I think,” Ruby swirls her hot chocolate around, “She’s doing better.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Weiss asks.

Ruby stiffens. “I thought so, but…now I don’t know.”

“I think that’s alright.”

For a moment, Ruby doesn’t respond. She leans against Weiss, running her thumb in slow circles against Weiss’ scar.

“Really?” She asks eventually.

“Of course,” Weiss tries to force as much matter-of-fact tone into her voice as she can. If Ruby can’t be confident, then Weiss can do it for her, right? “You stayed with us when we were at our lowest. Why would we ever not return the favor?”

Ruby sniffles, and quickly hides it with a sip of her drink. Weiss doesn’t bother her about it.

By the time Weiss reaches the bottom of her mug, Ruby has fallen fast asleep on her arm. Weiss wrestles Ruby’s mug from her loose grip, setting both of them on the ground. In normal circumstances, Weiss could easily scoop Ruby up and carry her back to the dorm. Ruby’s muscle is all lean and trim, build for quick maneuvers and sprints. Usually Weiss is able to carry her for short distances—but now, with her ribs still aching, Weiss doesn’t want to chance it.

Which is fine by her. She shifts backwards, laying against the arm of the couch. She pulls Ruby’s head against her chest, drops her head against the back of the couch, and lets her eyes drift shut.

She nods off to the sound of Ruby’s breathing.

Chapter Text

“What are our odds of convincing her to take something from Search & Rescue?” Yang asks. She twirls a bite of noodles around her chopsticks. 

“Slim to none,” Blake shrugs. Under the table, she presses her boot to the side of Yang’s calf, pushing her pant leg up. “But…we’ve certainly faced worse statistics before.”

“That is true.”

She and Blake snuck out early that morning, while Weiss and Ruby were still asleep. They’d been curled up in the common space, both so tired that they barely stirred when Yang carried them back. 

After a bit of exploring Vacuo, Blake spotted a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that seemed rather promising. The prices were low, and there was hardly any wait to be seated, and the entire place smelled delicious.

Blake reaches across the table, laying her hand on top of Yang’s.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “We can do it. She’s stubborn, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be convinced.”

“You’re telling me.”

Blake laughs softly, hiding it behind her hand. Her ears fold down, her eyes brimming with warmth. She squeezes Yang’s fingers, tracing her nail along her knuckles. Slowly, she trails her finger up Yang’s arm, taking her by the elbow. Yang’s face burns.

“Ruby’s always been a little hardheaded,” Yang manages to get out.

Blake laughs a little harder. “She gets it from her sister.”

“Hey!”

“It’s a good thing,” Blake smiles, giving Yang a squeeze. “You set your mind to things. You don’t back down. That’s admirable.”

Yang rolls her eyes, “That’s all well and good, but not when it’s my baby sister trying to get herself killed.”

“We can figure it out,” Blake insists. “Ruby’s a good kid, she’s just been going through a lot at the moment. We all have.”

Yang’s stomach sinks. Every time she thinks about the Ever After, about Atlas, she can only think of everything she did wrong. Everything she couldn’t do. She can only see Ruby, battered and bloodied, disappearing into the ground. She can never forget the look Ruby gave her. How helpless she felt. Yang blinks rapidly, her eyes welling up.

“Fuck—” Yang pulls her hand back to wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Blake laces her fingers with Yang’s prosthetic. “It’s going to be okay. We know she’s struggling, now. We know we have to keep an eye on her. Weiss is with her. We won’t leave her alone.”

Yang nods, swallowing.

“She’s going to be okay,” Blake reaches up, pulling Yang’s hand away from her face. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Right, right, I know,” Yang shakes her head.

“In the meantime,” Blake purrs, running her thumb back and forth across Yang’s bicep. “Isn’t it nice to have some time to ourselves?”

“I—” Yang freezes. Heat blossoms across her cheeks.

“It’s been impossible to get any time alone,” Blake slips her hand back to Yang’s, lacing their fingers together. She lays her other on top of them both. Yang can feel her own heartbeat thrumming in her palm, echoing in her ears. “When’s the last time it was just the two of us? On our own?”

Yang laughs nervously, running her free hand over her hair. She can feel the flush creeping down her neck, her hands trembling. Heat pools in her stomach, that familiar, fluttering nervousness spreading through her insides. Blake runs her boot up Yang’s leg, hooking her ankle around the back of her calf.

“A while, I-I guess,” Yang can’t bring herself to meet Blake’s eyes. Her gaze is so intense, so utterly enamored. The purr rumbling in her throat is audible, even across the table. Every little touch, every movement, sets Yang’s skin on fire.

Blake reaches over, cupping Yang’s face. She skims her thumb over her cheekbone, her hand coming to a rest on her jaw. She takes Yang’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling her across the table.

Yang breathes out, shuddering. Blake glances down to Yang’s lips, then back up. Her ears lower. She pulls Yang in closer, kissing her slowly. She breathes out against Yang’s skin, pulling back a hair. Yang bumps her bowl with her chest in a desperate lunge to get closer.

“Easy,” Blake murmurs against her mouth. She kisses Yang again, then sits back, picking her chopsticks up and grabbing a mouthful of noodles. “I’m still hungry.”

Yang huffs, dropping back against the booth. “You’re terrible.”

“I love you too,” Blake laughs under her breath.

Yang crosses her arms, but laughs as well. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in major adventures, in live and death situations, that Yang sometimes forgets how much she likes the quiet moments, as well. Being allowed to relax with the people she cares about has become somewhat of a luxury, moments few and far between with the constant upkeep of the Atlas refugee encampments.

“You have broth on your…” Blake taps her own chest.

Yang grabs a napkin. “That’s your fault, you know.”

Blake sticks her tongue out, giggling.

“How old are you?” Yang tosses her napkin at her girlfriend’s stupid, teasing face. That only makes her laugh harder. 

“Older than you,” Blake throws the napkin back, snagging it perfectly on Yang’s shoulder.

“That makes it worse!”

The two of them dig back into their meals.

Blake looks contented, her ears resting at a comfortable low, her expression blissfully unguarded. For a moment, Yang almost can’t believe it. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that Blake used to be so terrified of them—that she used to skirt away from affection, and bristle under any sort of scrutiny.

Now, she’s kicking Yang’s ankles under the table, bickering in a restaurant just to talk.

“I love you,” Yang says before she can stop herself.

Blake makes a surprised little noise, raising her eyebrows. “I love you, too?”

Yang smiles to herself.

It’s about 11am, when the two of them make it back to the dorm. Blake has her hand resting lightly on the small of Yang’s back, her fingers ghosting against her spine. Each brush of her hand sends an electric volt up Yang’s spine, goosebumps spreading over her skin. She fumbles with her keys, her hand trembling in partway nerves, partway anticipation.

One of Blake’s ears pricks up. She tilts her head to the side.

“They’re still asleep,” she whispers, “At least, Ruby still is.”

“That’s good,” Yang finally manages to get her key in the lock. “Let them rest a little while more.”

“It’s been a long few months,” Blake agrees.

Yang swings the door open, stuffing her keys in her pocket. It feels so heart-achingly domestic, getting the chance to come home, kick her boots off, and know her entire team will be waiting for her. From the doorway, she can see Ruby and Weiss. Weiss is curled up on her own bed, her face screwed up, both of her palms pressed to her ribs. She’s nestled beneath the blankets, her hair splayed out around her, draping off the edge of the mattress, brushing against the floor.

Ruby had been settled on Blake’s bunk. Yang hadn’t wanted to risk hefting her up to her own bunk, and she’d easily nestled into the softer mattress. She’s clutching one of Blake’s pillows to her chest, a small smile on her face.

Something painful spikes Yang’s heart as she watches her. 

Ruby seems so much younger when she sleeps. The battered, tired expression disappearing. Her shoulders have unwound, all of the tension bleeding out of her.

“Why don’t we let them sleep a little longer?” Blake asks. She slides her palm up Yang’s spine, tracing the arc of her back and coming to rest on the nape of her neck. She slips her fingers under Yang’s bandana.

“Y-yeah,” Yang’s voice trembles. An unfamiliar—but not unwelcome—desire smolders in her chest. “Should we—um…leave?”

Blake brings her hand to Yang’s cheeks, kissing her jaw. The other hands makes to untie her bandana. Yang lets out a choked gasp. Another kiss is pressed to her pulse point on her throat, another to her collarbone. Yang’s vision goes fuzzy, static dancing in her eyes. Her fingers twitch.

“This okay?” Blake whispers against Yang’s neck.

Yang nods, strangling a humiliating squeak before it makes it’s way out of her. Blake presses another chaste kiss to her collar before stepping back.

“Quiet,” Blake warns, wrapping her arms around Yang’s neck. She pushes her into the bathroom, easing the door shut behind them.

Yang’s breath catches in her throat. She hovers her hands over Blake’s hips, unsure quite how to proceed. Blake has always been better at this kind of stuff. At intimacy. Every time, Yang found herself fumbling, clueless how to do anything more than kiss and cuddle.

“Go on,” Blake lays her hands on top of Yang’s, gently placing them against her hips. She steps closer, pressing herself flush against Yang’s front.

Warmth pools in her stomach as Blake runs her hands up to Yang’s shoulders. She slides Yang’s jacket off, letting it drop around their ankles. A bit uncertainly, Yang moves her hands up, lightly touching them to the sides of Blake’s ribs.

“You can press down,” Blake insists, “You won’t break me.”

Yang can feel her face ignite, her cheeks burning as she grabs Blake a little tighter. Her metal hand clinks against her coat zipper. A contented purr pulls out of Blake’s throat, her eyes half lidded.

“Um—” Yang, ever so slowly, brings her hands up, just under Blake’s chest. She laughs nervously. Each breath Blake takes presses her ribcage against Yang’s palms.

Blake runs her fingers up the side of Yang’s throat, cupping her face. Sparks snap across Yang’s skin, her hands trembling. Blake pulls her in, giving her a chaste, almost polite kiss. She smells like their breakfast, her hands are warm. She kisses Yang’s jaw, then the tender spot just beneath. 

“Still okay?” Blake whispers against her skin. This time, Yang can’t stop the way she groans, nodding.

Blake’s ear tickles Yang’s jaw as she moves lower, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. She brings her hands to Yang’s hair. Cautiously, Yang skims her hands back down, digging her thumbs against Blake’s hips.

There’s a certainty to the way Blake hums, pressing her thigh between Yang’s, that makes Yang’s head go fuzzy. The gasp it pulls out of her is sharp, needy. Blake covers Yang’s mouth with her hand. She moves lower again, kissing the top of Yang’s breast.

Yang leans her head back, staring at the grimy ceiling, huffing against Blake’s palm. Her skin burns. Blake hikes her knee up, nipping at the soft skin on Yang’s collar. Once again, Yang is reminded how sharp Blake’s teeth are. How good it feels.

She sinks her teeth into Yang’s skin, purring. One of her ears flicks against Yang’s throat, which almost gets her to laugh. It’s giddy, bubbling in her chest. Blake chuckles, her shoulders trembling.

Pulling back, she tips Yang’s head down, meeting her eyes with a mirthful smile. 

“You’re cute,” she says.

“Says you,” Yang manages to get out.

Blake kisses her throat, hooking her thumbs in Yang’s belt loops. She gives them a tug, and a surge of nerves makes Yang freeze.

“Um—” Yang puts her hands on Blake’s shoulders, “Sorry, I don’t—”

“Too much?” Blake asks.

Yang nods, weakly pushing her back a step. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Blake smiles, slipping her hand into Yang’s. She gives her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Come on, why don’t we wake the others?”

“Ugh, Search & Rescue here is so boring,” Ruby complains, though it seems like she’s looking through the mission board anyway. “It’s always just escorting in people from other kingdoms.”

“But isn’t that a nice change of pace?” Blake crosses her legs. She’s sitting pressed up against Yang’s side, their hands laced together. A part of Yang is a little twitchy, the small hickey on her chest is on full display. “We’ve been fighting quite a lot, recently. Search & Rescue could be a good way to relax.”

“Right!” Yang agrees, mostly on principle.

“Only you three could relax while trekking through desert,” Weiss rolls her eyes. She’s sitting in their armchair, slowly braiding her hair. Unlike Ruby, she hasn’t changed into her combat gear just yet, still lounging in her pajamas. “It’s miserable out there.”

“It really isn’t that bad,” Blake laughs, getting to her feet and squeezing Yang’s shoulder. “Let me help you with that?”

Kicking Weiss out of the armchair, Blake takes Weiss’ hair in her hands. With a bit of a disgruntled expression, Weiss settles on the floor, tucked between Blake’s knees. Blake runs her fingers through Weiss’ hair, combing out the lopsided start of a braid.

“Not all of us grew up in the heat,” Weiss complains.

“It’s just you, dude,” Ruby glances over at Weiss, and for a moment, her expression seems so painfully familiar—that silly, teasing look in her eyes.

“Quiet, you.”

“We could help Nora pass out food to the Atlesians in the encampments?” Yang suggests, leaning back on her palms. “It’s unpaid, but pretty laid back, and we honestly aren’t that strapped for cash, right now.”

“I’m sure Nora would appreciate the help,” Blake agrees. She scratches Weiss’s scalp in lazy, sweeping motions. Humming, Weiss shuts her eyes, leaning against Blake’s knee.

Ruby considers it for a moment, then slumps backwards against Weiss’ bunk. “Fine.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Weiss scolds playfully. “It’s been a while since we’ve done missions with Nora, hasn’t it?”

“I’ll message her,” Ruby says, tapping through her scroll.

“Sounds good!” Yang lays against Blake’s bunk, tucking her hands under her head, kicking her feet up against the backboard.

For a while, they settle into a comfortable silence, broken up only by the hushed sounds of Weiss’ hair being braided, and Ruby’s fingers tapping on her scroll. Yang lets her eyes shut, smiling at nothing.

“When do we need to be out?” Weiss asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Apparently, it’s the evening transport, so we have some time,” Ruby’s voice comes out just as soft.

“Does someone want to make some coffee?” Weiss asks. “I’m going to need the energy.”

“Here here,” Yang stretches, pushing herself up. “I’ll get it.”

Weiss lays her hand over her heart. “My hero.”

Yang hops to her feet, shooting Weiss a wink. “You know it. Any special requests?”

“Make it as strong as you can.”

When Yang brings back a tray of drinks, Blake has just finished up braiding Weiss’ hair. She’s tying off the end as Yang kicks the door shut behind herself. Ruby has begun to pace again, unease radiating off of her in waves. She has her hands clasped behind her back, her fingers twiddling with the hem of her cape. She’s staring daggers into the ground, her hair falling in her eyes.

Yang frowns, shooting a look to her other teammates. Both Weiss and Blake look as equally confused, unfortunately. Weiss shrugs.

“Drinks delivery!” Yang announces, her faux-cheer loud enough to startle Ruby out of her trance. 

With a large, dramatic gesture, Yang hands Weiss a plain mug of black coffee. She swoops back up to give Blake her tea. She put it in one of the fancy floral patterned mugs that Jaune had found at a gift shop in central Vacuo. Giving one final flourish, she presents Ruby with her novelty mug full of a beverage that only loosely resembled coffee.

Ruby gives it a wary look.

“Don’t worry,” Yang grins, dropping her voice like they’re sharing a secret, “I put enough sugar to give dad a heart attack.”

Laughing, Ruby takes the mug in both hands. “You spoil me!”

“That’s like, my job,” Yang takes her own cup of coffee—one cream, one sugar—and sets the tray on her dresser. “I’m supposed to spoil you all!”

“Says who?” Ruby sits back down, crossing her ankles.

“It’s like, the law, obviously,” Yang leans against the wall. “You’re my sister, that one’s obvious. And what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t spoil Blake?”

“And Weiss?” Ruby takes a sip of her coffee, giving Yang a skeptical look.

“Well, I don’t want her feeling left out!”

“Thanks,” Weiss leans back against the armchair. She’s still nestled between Blake’s legs, leaning against one of her calves. “I feel so appreciated.”

Yang scoffs, “Oh, you know I love you.”

“Of course you do.”

The four of them settle back into that contented silence. Ruby is bouncing her leg, staring intently into her mug. Yang sits next to her, feigning nonchalance as best as she can. Hesitantly, almost as if she were afraid of being shooed away, Ruby nestles herself against Yang’s arm. Something twists in Yang’s chest—a painful ache pulling at her heart. She slings her arm around Ruby’s shoulders, pressing the biggest, most dramatic kiss she can to her temple.

“Ew, Yang!” Ruby shoves her, digging her elbow into her ribs, “Gross!”

“Careful!” Yang laughs, squeezing Ruby’s shoulders, trying to leech as much affection into her as she can. “Don’t spill your coffee, I worked hard on that!”

“You put coffee grounds in water,” Ruby rolls her eyes, “I could do that.”

“I put those grounds in water, with love,” Yang corrects. “Can’t you taste it?”

“Gross. I don’t want to taste your love,” Weiss grimaces against the rim of her mug, her face scrunching. Steam laps at her face, curling up against her skin.

Behind her, Blake snickers. She smothers it into her palm, her eyes shining. “Well—” 

“Hey, Blake?” Weiss leans backwards, the smile on her face anything but pleasant. “Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were about to!”

Ruby laughs, her shoulders shaking against Yang’s arm. She hugs her cup of coffee to her chest protectively, her giggles infectious. Yang finds herself grinning as well, squeezing her sister closer.

“You’re all so childish,” Weiss takes a long drink from her coffee, one palm braced against the bottom of the mug, the other wrapped flush against the side rather than tucked through the handle. It’s a mannerism she’d gotten from Blake, Yang is pretty sure. Blake never seems to use the handle of a mug.

“Some of us are still children,” Yang points out. She gives Ruby another squeeze.

“For like, two more months!” Ruby shoves her again, coffee sloshing at the edges of her mug.

“You’re practically still in middle school,” she pinches Ruby’s cheek between her pointer and middle finger, shaking her head around.

“Agh!” Ruby swats at Yang’s hand, “Yang! I’m your leader! Get off of me!”

Yang snatches both of the mugs away, setting them on the dresser before tackling Ruby against the bed. She wrestles her down, laughing as Ruby tries to tear her hands away.

“You’re like five years old,” Yang coos, squeezing Ruby’s cheeks with both of her hands this time.

“You’re evil!” Ruby writhes like an overturned animal, kicking Yang in the stomach.

“Little itty bitty baby!” Yang shakes Ruby’s head back and forth between her hands. “Fresh out of the womb!”

Ruby lunges, detaching Yang’s prosthetic from it’s socket.

“Hey!” Yang snatches her arm with her other hand, but the precious seconds give Ruby an opening for escape. She petal bursts up onto her own bunk, leaning over the edge to stick her tongue out. Her cape hangs over the edge.

“What! I’m just using my advantages!”

“Come on, Yang!” Blake cheers, clapping. “You can’t lose to a kid!”

“She can, and she will,” Weiss scoffs and crosses her arms. “Get back down there and knock her dead, Ruby!”

“Oh, yeah?” Yang grins. She reattaches her arm, and Ruby only has a split second to look surprised before Yang is yanking her down by her cape.

Both Weiss and Blake wince, but Ruby’s back on her feet in milliseconds. Yang lunges off of the bed, grappling Ruby by the shoulders and flipping her into a headlock. She’s careful to keep her prosthetic out of her reach. Ruby kicks backwards, her foot bouncing harmlessly off Yang’s calf.

“Gotcha,” Yang grins.

“Get off!” Ruby bursts into a flurry of petals. Unweighted, Yang staggers forward a step. She only has the time to turn before Ruby bodyslams her to the floor, digging an elbow into her sternum.

She’s grinning, now, her hair all over the place and her cape lopsided.

Yang smiles.

“Alright, alright,” she puts her hands up in surrender, quickly loosing her breath under Ruby’s shockingly boney elbow. “You got me.”

Behind them, Weiss gasps, which pulls a shockingly candid laugh out of Blake.

“Okay…” Ruby squints, easing the pressure off of Yang’s ribs inch by inch. She gets to her feet, pulling Yang up by the hand. “Truce?”

As quick as she can, Yang snatches the hem of Ruby’s hood, pulling it down over her eyes.

“Hey!” Ruby cries out. Yang twirls her around by the hand, wrenching her arm behind her back. “False surrender! Perfidy! This is a war crime, you know!”

Yang wraps her free arm around Ruby’s stomach, slamming all of her bodyweight into her back. The two of them flop against the edge of the bed. Ruby lets out a dramatic groan, slumping against the blankets.

“Whatever, you win,” she drops her head down, her cape still completely covering her face. “Get off of me, you bully.”

“And that’s how it’s done,” Yang stands up, dusting her arms off. 

She turns to the others, shooting both of them a set of finger guns. Blake snickers, and Weiss rolls her eyes so far back into her head, Yang’s sure she can see her own brain.

“Congratulations, Yang,” she says, “You one a wrestling match against a child. What a feat of strength.”

“Can you all stop with that!” Ruby yanks her hood down, combing her hair out of her eyes. “I’m not even that young!”

“Hush, I’m trying to defend you.”

“Yeah, badly!”

“You are so ungrateful,” Weiss finishes off the last bit of her coffee. “This is what I get, for trying to be nice.”

“That’s what you call nice?” Blake folds forward, resting her mug on top of Weiss’ head, settling her elbows on her shoulders.

Ruby flops back on Weiss’ bunk, her arms spread out as far as they can go. She’s smiling again, and that’s enough for Yang. Sometimes, all it takes is a good smackdown to get Ruby’s energy in check.

Yang sits on the floor beside Weiss’ bunk, leaning her back against the sideboard, letting her eyes drift shut.

Her coffee sits on the dresser, forgotten.

Chapter Text

Caffeine might not have been the best idea before a much more relaxed mission. She’s strung out before the boring part even begins, her hands jittering, her heart rabbiting against her ribs. Yang and Blake and Weiss are all talking, dividing the work amongst themselves, not needing any input from their leader. Each of them takes a different cart, following the directions Nora gives them.

Ruby stands beside the wagon they’ve repurposed for storage. She watches her teammates each head in a separate direction, Yang towards the north, Weiss to the west, and Blake to the east. She glances as the remaining cart, then out towards the south. The encampments stretch for far too long, the flickers of lamplight starting to spark to life as the sun begins to set. 

There’s so many people, to the south. Countless. They spread out so far that Ruby can’t quite make out the edges. The tents all seem so unfitting, so unfair to force the Atlesians to live in, while Ruby and her team get to sleep indoors, on proper beds. Who decided the huntsmen got first pick for the dorms in the academy? Shouldn’t they sleep outside? Give the safer conditions to those who need it more? Is it fair, that they’re letting the elderly sleep outside? Children? The sick, the tired, the weary? Ruby’s team didn’t arrive until months later, and yet they were given a dorm without question. If they were given a dorm, no hassle, no time wasted—how many open rooms were in the academy? Were they wasting all of that space waiting for huntsmen and huntresses from other kingdoms, who might never arrive?

The ground lists beneath Ruby’s feet. What sort of huntress is she, if all of these people have to live in misery, while she gets to snuggle comfortably beneath a blanket every night?

“Yo, Ruby! You’re with me!” Nora calls.

Ruby blinks herself steady, tearing her eyes away from the rows upon rows of tents.

Nora is standing next to the remaining cart, leaning against one of the handles. She’s bandaged over her scars, though Ruby isn’t quite sure why, white gauze wrapped over her arms and her throat. Magnhild is clipped at her belt, and the pose she’s striking feels anything but nonchalant.

“Right, right,” Ruby makes her way over. “Do you want me to push the cart, or…?”

“Oh, come on,” Nora flexes one arm—though it’s less impressive when her bicep only strains against the confines of gauze netting. “I’m your pack mule, remember?”

“Yeah, of course,” she finds herself shaking her head, a fond feeling spreading through her chest. “How could I forget?”

It’s weird, now, thinking back on RNJR’s journey through Anima as nostalgic. The trip had been grueling. Ruby isn’t sure her knees have ever properly recovered from it.

Yet, whenever she finds herself talking with Nora, it’s like they’re still side by side on that gods forsaken dirt path, sharing bad jokes and poking fun at their teammates.

Nora picks up the handles of the cart. One of her hands spasms, her fingers twitching against the wood. Ruby frowns. Most of the scars are hidden under gauze, but the parts that poke out look angry. Inflamed.

Unfortunately, Nora notices her looking. She clenches her hands.

“People tend to get a little freaked out,” she explains, her tone strangely chipper. She weaves the cart between people milling about, dodging around hyperactive kids and swerving between their mothers trying to catch them. “So I try not to show them, too much.”

“But that’s not your fault,” Ruby hooks her thumbs on her belt.

“No, but what can you do, you know?”

Ruby didn’t have an easy answer for that. She’s not sure if one even exists.

“I think they look cool,” she offers instead.

Nora frowns. It’s faint, but it’s noticeable. “You might be the only one.”

Ruby doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s not fair to Nora to insist no one is scared of them. There’s plenty of children and upper class Atlesians who have never seen an injury before—let alone one this severe. Some people still get a little uneasy when they see Yang’s arm, and her prosthetic is crazy advanced. Nora doesn’t have the benefit of a prosthetic to make her palatable to the average person, and Ruby can’t help but wish she did.

She tries to make conversation, instead.

“Doesn’t it feel a little demeaning?” Ruby asks, glancing at the pre-prepared meals, wrapped in wax paper and twine. “Giving people food out of a cart.”

“Huh,” Nora shrugs, her fingers spasming again. “That never even crossed my mind.”

“Really?” Ruby rubs her arms. She can feel the jitteriness burrowing its way under her skin. “It’s all I can think about.”

Nora pauses for a moment, setting the cart in the sand. She massages her knuckles one by one, even as they twitch.

“Maybe it is to the elites?” She shakes her hand out, picking the cart back up. “But when I was homeless, I would have killed for a steady source of food like this. I don’t think I would’ve seen it as demeaning, so much as…well intentioned?” She laughs softly, it’s such a foreign  sound to hear from her. “But maybe that’s because I’m on the giving end of it this time around, not the receiving.”

“You’re the expert,” Ruby shrugs.

“The homelessness expert?” Nora laughs a little louder, giving Ruby a teasing smile. “I don’t think those are great qualifications to have.”

“No, no, I bet you could spin it!” Ruby puts her hands up, “Like how Port always said to?”

Nora grins, “Oh, for sure. He’d say it’s resilience under hardship. Or something.”

“An ability to operate under intense stress,” Ruby drops her voice into her best impression of Port’s pompous, haughty intonation. “Showing the capability to thrive, despite challenges!”

“Thrive is generous,” Nora hikes the cart up a little higher. Her entire arm jerks this time, her muscles contracting, visibly cramping beneath her skin. She doesn’t so much as wince, continuing on down the path.

“Look at you!” Ruby gestures dramatically, “You can’t tell me you thought you’d be here, when you were little.”

“That is very true,” she laughs. “It’s nice! Being a huntress, saving the world—” she punches Ruby in the arm. “Hanging out with you guys.”

“Stop,” Ruby shoves Nora’s hand away, smiling. She half wants to punch her back, but those cramps looked awful.

They make their way outside of the southern wall, heading into the encampments. Nora takes over handing out food. Apparently, she’s been doing this often enough that most of the Atlesians know her by name.

“Hi, miss Nora!” A young Faunus kid calls. He’s standing by the first tent in the encampments,

“Hey, ‘lil man!” Nora crouches in front of, offering him a wrapped meal. “Where’s your mom?”

The kid hugs his arms around his stomach. His little tail curls and flexes. Ruby already isn’t great with human body language, so trying to decipher what a monkey Faunus’ tail movements mean was like trying to read a book backwards.

“Right here, sweetheart,” an young woman eases her way out of the tent. She seems to be nursing an injured leg, limping slightly. Her hair is going grey, but she doesn’t appear nearly old enough for it to be natural.

“Ginger!” Nora gets to her feet, putting her arms out. The woman—Ginger, apparently—gives her a tight hug. Her tail wraps around Nora’s waist. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday, certainly,” Ginger’s tail twitches as she steps back.

Nora grabs her a wax paper bag, pressing it into her hands. “Make sure you take it easy, okay? My team and I are doing everything we can to keep your sector safe.”

“Oh, you huntsmen,” Ginger waves a hand flippantly. She turns to Ruby, titling her head to the side. “You’re that huntress who sent the message out, aren’t you?”

“That’s me, ma’am!” Ruby puts her hand out. Ginger shakes it in both of hers, though her expression says a little confused.

“I could have sworn they said you died.”

Ruby’s stomach swoops, the ground swaying dangerously under her feet. She had, in a way, hadn’t she? For several months, at least. Nora places a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, some stuff made getting here a little more complicated,” Ruby forces out a laugh, shaking her head. “But nope! Not dead!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ginger smiles.

“Me too, honestly,” Ruby steps back, that jittery feeling spreading through her arms. Nora’s hand stays on her shoulder, thankfully. “Well, um…we should be going?”

“She’s right,” Nora says, “I’d like to hand food out before the sun goes down. The guys from up top get annoyed if they’re not fed quickly.”

“Oh, of course they do,” Ginger shakes her head with an exasperated sigh. “They wouldn’t be satisfied even if you hand fed them caviar on a silver spoon.”

The laugh that gets out of Nora is much more familiar—boisterous and unguarded. She squeezes Ruby’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to her elbow.

“See you tomorrow, you two!” Nora waves, leading Ruby back to their cart. She grabs a wax bag off of the cart, stepping up right beside Ruby. “You okay?”

“What?” Ruby blinks. She lowers her voice. “Oh, yeah, sorry. She caught me off guard, is all.”

“Promise?” Nora asks. “You might get a lot of questions like that, tonight.”

“I promise,” Ruby tries to sound as reassuring as possible.

Nora squeezes her arm again, but smiles.

The two of them are pretty efficient at handing out food, it turns out. Nora goes to the left, and Ruby heads off to the right. A good chunk of people from the crater seem to recognize her, while far less people from upper Atlas do. That’s fine by Ruby—a lot of people from the top might remember her more as a criminal, than anything cool or important. They make their way through tents as the sun slowly crawls down towards the horizon. Nora tries to keep pushing the cart, but Ruby eventually manages to get it away from her without making a scene, and mostly because Nora enjoys talking to the younger kids while she hands out food. She’s shockingly nurturing, quick to try and console any kid that seems upset.

“Hey, what’s wrong, bud?” Nora drops to her knees in front of a sobbing kid. She looks to be around ten, maybe a little younger. Ruby’s heart clenches painfully in her chest.

“I wanna go home,” the kid cries.

Even still, Ruby sets a wary hand on Crescent Rose, glancing towards the edges of the encampments. Grimm have been dying down, recently, but they’ve still been lapping at the exterior. Extra negativity is the last thing Ruby wants to chance right now.

“We’re working on it,” Nora says, her voice shockingly gentle. “Right now, can you promise to be super brave for me?”

“I don’t wanna,” the kid wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands. She’s trembling in every limb.

“I know, it’s no fun,” Nora sits fully in the sand, resting her hands on her knees. “But right now, we gotta do some stuff that isn’t fun. Then, we can can figure out a way for you to go home.”

The little girl lunges forward, wrapping her tiny arms around Nora’s shoulders. The expression that crosses Nora’s face is halfway anguish, halfway understanding. She gathers the kid in her arms, tucking her against her chest.

“You can be brave, I know you can,” Nora says softly. “That doesn’t mean you’re not scared. Things are scary right now. It just means you don’t let it keep you down. Can you do that for me?”

The kid shakes her head, burrowing against Nora’s shoulder. “I can’t.”

“Do you want me to show you how?” Nora asks. “My friend and I are super experts at being brave.”

Shakily, the kid nods. She doesn’t let go of Nora, keeping her face firmly buried in her shoulder.

Nora looks up at the curious Atlesians who have started to poke their heads out of their tents. She mouths something that Ruby is pretty sure is “Parents?”, and her expression slowly crumbles as no one seems to know. A nearby Faunus shakes his head, his ears drooping. An elderly woman clutches her scarf, turning back into her tent. This time, it’s much more clear to Ruby when Nora mouths “Fuck.”

She gets to her feet, the little girl still hanging off her neck. The girl scrambles up, wrapping her legs around Nora’s waist.

“Ruby, do you think you could remember where her tent is?” Nora asks.

“Sure thing!” Ruby snaps open her scroll, taking a quick picture.

“Thanks, Rubes,” Nora picks up the handles of the cart again, and Ruby curses under her breath. She’s just added another 50 pounds of strain to Nora’s already visibly overworked muscles.

Eventually the kid calms down somewhat. She starts to help the two of them pass out food. They learn her name is Jasmine, but she insists they call her Jaz. She also insists on holding someones hand while the walk, because the sun has officially begun to set, and it seemed to be making her pretty antsy.

Ruby took up the task, letting Jaz swing her hand back and forth, no matter how irritating it became.

“How have things been with your team?” Ruby asks after a while. Jaz gives her a confused look.

Nora sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Weird, you know?”

“Weird…how?”

“Everyone’s so different, I guess,” Nora tightens her grip on the cart, her hand jerking again. “I think Ren is coping in his own way, and Jaune is…Jaune. Neither of us know how to help him.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Ruby runs her fingers through her hair. “Complicated.”

“I know.” Nora drops her head back, staring up at the sky for a moment. Jaz looks up as well. “I just wish there was something we could do about it.”

“I guess, all you can really do is…talk to him,” Ruby hoists Jaz up by one arm, settling her on her hip. Jaz is quick to latch to her side, nestling her head against Ruby’s cape. “Offer him support. He might try to fight you on it, but…I don’t know. Don’t give up on him.”

Nora frowns for a moment, the muscles in her shoulders tensing and contracting. 

“Ruby…” she starts, her words carefully measured. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been better,” Ruby admits, “But uh—we should probably not…y’know.”

She cuts her eyes towards Jaz. 

Nora nods, “Back at the academy, then. Okay?”

“You…really want to talk about it?” Ruby tries to hide the skeptical tone seeping into her words, but based on the way Nora’s eyebrows tip upwards, she failed.

“Of course I do,” Nora sets the cart to a stop. “Jaz, sweetie, do you want to help us hand out people’s dinners again?”

“Yeah!” Jaz scrambles off Ruby’s side, running to the cart to grab an armful of wax wraps. She darted into the mess of tents, thankfully, in better spirits. At the very least, they wouldn’t have any Grimm sniffing at the edges of the encampments on her behalf.

Nora pinches the bridge of her nose, her shoulders hunched. Her fingers are still spasming, twitching intermittently. Part of Ruby wants to smack some sense into her, tell her to go back to the academy and let herself rest, but then that wouldn’t be completely fair of her, would it? Nora usually knows her limits. Back at Beacon, no matter how intense she would get, she would always insist on relaxing and recuperating when necessary. If Ruby asked her to take it easy, would that come across as condescending? Ruby isn’t her leader. She was, once—and Nora had been a wonderful teammate—but she isn’t, now. She’s younger, she’s less experienced, and she’s never had such a personal stake in a cause like Nora does with this one.

Before Ruby can decide, Nora passes her half of the remaining wax wraps and sends her on her way.

She isn’t exactly hounded by people, wondering about how she possibly could have come back from the dead—but she does have a handful of people ask for her autograph, which is…weird. Mostly, Ruby insists on giving them their dinner, but some people have wills of iron, and refuse to let her walk off without scrawling her name on something. It’s weird being on this side of things. Pyrrha used to get bothered all the time back at Beacon, by both classmates and strangers alike. Nora had assigned herself as Pyrrha’s unofficial bodyguard, theatrically shooing people away when Pyrrha was starting to look a little too anxious with all of the attention.

And oh, that one hits Ruby right in the chest. A tight knot winds itself between her lungs, a cold chill spreading under her skin. She tries not to think about Pyrrha too much. Those floodgates don’t need to be opened, ever. She can keep them nice and locked up in her head, swallow down the lump in her throat, and ignore it. If she starts to think about Pyrrha too hard, she starts to think about the fall of Beacon. If she thinks about the fall of Beacon, her mind wanders to Cinder, and if she thinks about Cinder, she thinks about Penny, and if she thinks about Penny—

She shakes her head, shoving a wax bag into an elderly woman’s hands, turning on her heel. Her eyes sting.

Grief had always been a minefield in Ruby’s head. Growing up with a dead mother and an unresponsive father means needing to tiptoe around anything familial. Stories about her home life, anecdotes about her childhood—they all ended up leading to the same place. She didn’t need any of these new wounds, new tripwires to stumble into, waiting to unleash a barrage of unwanted emotions.

She keeps her head down, finishes passing out food, and tries to hide herself inside her cape. Her skin prickles. Something feels so deeply incorrect. Incomplete. Gnawing at the inside of her chest. Ruby pulls the hem of her cape tighter around her arms. The ground sways beneath her feet, her head spinning. 

“Okay, Ruby, we need to escort Jaz back to her tent, and—” Nora freezes, “Ruby?”

Ruby forces herself to blink, straightening up to meet Nora’s eye. “Yeah?”

Nora’s expression is hard to read. Her eyes dart all over Ruby’s face. Even Jaz seems to notice something is up, because she shakes herself free of Nora’s hand, running over to take Ruby’s instead. 

“Later?” Nora asks.

Ruby nods. It’s all she can manage around the painful tightness in her throat.

With another concerned look, Nora takes the cart. She guides them back through the criss crossing paths in the encampment. At least Jaz seems to be in a better mood. She skips along beside Ruby, swinging their hands back and forth.

It takes a bit of twisting and turning before they’re able to find the tent that Jaz has been staying in—but eventually a young woman recognizes her, and calls her over. Nora kneels down to give her one last hug.

“You’re going to be brave for us, okay?” Nora asks.

Jaz throws her arms around Nora’s neck, nodding excitedly. “I’m gonna be so brave!”

“And you’ll teach all your friends?”

Jaz giggles, “Yeah! Thank you, huntress ladies!”

Once she’s run off out of sight, Nora unwinds somewhat. She rolls her shoulders, pressing her thumbs against the base of her spine, stretching her back. Ruby takes her distraction as a chance to grab the cart, and the two of them head back towards Shade academy.

Ruby follows Nora in a bit of a trance. Nora leads her away from the main settlement, straight through the halls of Shade academy, and right up to team JNR’s dorm. She throws the door open, and only seems mildly surprised when her team is actually inside. 

Jaune is sitting on JNR’s version of the armchair, a whetstone held between his knees. He’s gently dragging the remains of Crocea Mors over it, the look in his eyes faraway. Given the way his sword slides across what appears to be a 3000 grit stone, he’s been finished with that level for a while now. Ren, on the other hand, is curled up on what Ruby assumes is his bunk, a book cracked open in his lap. His hair is unbraided, which is strange on it's own, but then he notices them. Ren lights up, and Ruby is so stunned by how candid his expression is, that she’s not sure how to respond when he says,

“Hey, you two!”

“Um—” Ruby blinks, glancing over at Nora.

“Hi, guys,” Nora grabs Ruby by the arm, pulling her through the door. “Both of you, out. I need the dorm.”

“What?” Jaune snaps to attention from his sword, “Oh! Um, yeah, got it.”

He quickly pulls himself to his feet, and Ruby notes the way his pauldron seems to have been digging at the skin of his neck—it’s rubbed raw, painful and angry. Ruby stops him as he walks by, laying a hand on his arm. He freezes.

“It’s good to see you again, Jaune,” she says with the most sincere smile she can muster.

Jaune doesn’t respond for a moment, looking down at her in surprise—and slowly, he smiles back at her. It’s a bit weak, and hardly reaches his eyes, but it’s enough for Ruby. She squeezes his arm, and lets him leave.

Ren sets his book aside, running his fingers through his hair. It’s strange, seeing it down, now. He didn’t do much with it for their journey across Anima—but in Atlas, Ruby had grown used to it being constantly braided.

What’s weirder, is the way he and Nora sort of…skirt around each other. He waves, and she gives him a thin-lipped, sort of awkward smile.

“We haven’t seen you much, today,” he says, clasping his hands.

“Yeah, well,” Nora shrugs. The muscles under one of her arms spasms, twisting and rolling over itself. She winces. “I’ve been busy. Robyn needed more hands, this morning.”

“Right,” Ren nods. “It’s…good to see you, again?”

Nora sighs, and this time, her smile seems far softer. “You too, Ren.”

Ruby shuffles backward, trying to disappear into the walls. Nora puts her arms out. Ren freezes for a second, before hugging her back. It’s a little off kilter—Nora goes to stand on her toes, while Ren goes to crouch down slightly. They both try to put their arms around the other’s shoulders. Ren flits his hands around nervously, as if he’s afraid to put any sort of pressure on Nora. He hovers over her like she’s delicate, a fissured piece of glass about to shatter. He settles one hand on the back of her head, the other right between her shoulder blades.

Nora steps back, holding Ren by the elbows.

“I don’t have any missions, tomorrow,” Nora says, “How about we get lunch?”

It’s impossible for Ren to smother the excitement in his eyes. He smiles, nodding, and Nora laughs softly.

“Go on,” she gestures towards the door. “I still need the room.”

“Sure thing,” Ren looks to Ruby, gives her a smile as well, and heads out after Jaune.

Once the door clicks shut, Nora moves over to one of the beds. It appears to be hers, one of the blankets embroidered with her emblem—but it also looks unused. She sits, and gestures for Ruby to sit next to her.

She does, and Nora wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“So are things going…okay? With Ren?” Ruby asks. She crosses her ankles.

Nora sighs, “I don’t know. You know? I want space from him, I guess, but he’s still one of my best friends. It’s…” she laughs, shaking her head, “It’s been weird.”

“Things are so weird, right now,” Ruby agrees. She wraps her arms around her stomach.

“What’s going on with you, Ruby?” Nora asks. “It’s been a while.”

“How much has Jaune told you?” Ruby presses herself closer against Nora’s side. “About the Ever After?”

Nora laughs. Ruby can feel the way it vibrates through her ribs.

“Not nearly as much as you’d think,” she squeezes Ruby’s shoulders. “It’s mostly just stories. Never anything personal.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“He didn’t say much about you,” Nora adds, “If you’re curious.”

Ruby takes a slow, deep breath, letting it out even slower.

“Have you…ever done something…you regret?” Ruby looks down at her hands, trying to suppress that instinctive shaking. “Something you…can’t take back?”

“Ruby,” Nora lays her free hand on her knee. Her fingers twitch horribly, clenching in on her palm. Her wrist jerks.

“Sorry, I know,” Ruby forces out a weak laugh. She lays one of her hands on top of Nora’s. “Um…” she laughs again, her knee bouncing. Something jittery wells up in her chest, like a nightmarish second caffeine hit. “I’m sorry.”

Nora squeezes her hand. Ruby tries to steady her breathing again. When had it started to pick up?

“I…” Ruby pauses, steels herself, and tries again “tried to kill myself, I think.”

Nora stiffens for a split second, before regaining herself. She slips her arm from Ruby’s shoulders, settling her hand on her spine. She runs her thumb back and forth across Ruby’s back.

“Yeah?” Nora asks, and the shake in her voice is only drowned out by the immense surge of worry.

“Yeah.”

Nora doesn’t say anything for a while, rubbing small circles between Ruby’s shoulder blades. There’s a strange sort of feeling in the air. Nerves flood Ruby’s system, churning her stomach and twisting her guts and pulling the air out of her lungs—but Nora doesn’t seem upset. She only seems to be concerned. Scared, even.

“Do you…still want to die?” Nora asks. Her voice pitches up at the end, her fear audible in each carefully chosen word. A part of Ruby feels horribly guilty. She didn’t have to drag Nora into this, scaring her for no real reason.

“I don’t know,” Ruby finds herself admitting, instead. “No? I don’t think?”

She isn't sure if she means that. If she doesn't want to kill herself because she wants to be alive, or if it's because she's too much of a coward to try again.

But she can feel Nora unwind, relaxing by a hair, and that has to be a good sign right? So Ruby doesn't take it back. “That’s good.”

“But I think Yang’s upset with me,” Ruby adds quietly. She digs her nails into her palm.  “I—I think my team is mad at me, I think—”

“I don’t think you need to be worried about how other people feel about your suicide attempt,” Nora cuts her off, sitting back and taking Ruby by the arms. Her expression is strangely gentle, her eyebrows turned up. “Not yet, at least. Why don’t you worry about yourself, first? How have you been doing?”

“I—” Ruby tries to respond, but whatever she was going to say gets caught in her throat. It comes out as something more like a whine. She blinks rapidly, her eyes welling up. “I, um—”

“Come here,” Nora puts her arms out. She offers Ruby a smile so soft it almost knocks the wind out of her.

Ruby collapses against Nora’s chest, letting out a strangled sob. Nora brings a hand to her hair, scratching her nails along Ruby’s scalp.

Hot tears sting her eyes, her breath stuttering in her chest. The noise that tears out of her is undignified and disgusting—a ragged, almost animalistic cry, half buried into the side of Nora’s neck.

Nora stays quiet, running her fingers through Ruby’s hair, working out tangles. Her breathing is steady—far more than Ruby’s is—and she’s so comfortably warm. Ruby sobs, curling in on herself. She digs her fingers into the back of Nora’s shirt, drawing her as close as she possibly can.

“I think your friends are just worried about you,” Nora murmurs. Ruby can feel the way her muscles writhe beneath her skin, angrily twisting around. “I don’t think they’re angry. Especially not Yang.”

“I—I don’t—” Ruby chokes on a sob, tugging Nora closer.

Sighing, Nora tucks her chin on top of Ruby’s head, bringing a hand to the back of her neck. “I’ve got you, girl.”

Ruby lets out another cry, her throat scratched raw. She desperately tries to pull Nora closer, tries to yank herself up against her chest as best as she can. It’s strange. Ruby remembers being around Nora’s size, when she first met her. Now, she can’t help but notice how awkward it is, trying to fold herself smaller to fit in Nora’s arms.

“Ruby,” Nora says. Each word that comes out of her mouth feels calculated. Cautious. “I…I know what it’s like, to feel hopeless.”

Ruby can’t say anything, her throat tight. She stays hidden in Nora’s shoulder.

“When I was growing up, everything felt so…meaningless. What was the point of trying to find food, when Ren and I might just die of thirst, instead? What was the point of trying to get water, when one of us was so sick that we’d just vomit it back up?” Nora slips one hand to the base of Ruby’s spine, pulling her closer. “There were some nights, where I’d lie next to him, and I’d think, if I wasn’t so stupidly weak, maybe we’d be somewhere safer by now. If I starved keeping him fed, at the very least he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping me safe, anymore, right?”

Nora shakes her head, laughing softly. It rumbles deep in her chest. Ruby hiccups around another cry, her hands trembling, her heart pounding in her ears. Nora hadn’t told them much about her and Ren’s past. What she did always seemed to be accidental, an exhausted slip of the tongue that she tried to hide behind an overly boisterous joke. A part of Ruby can’t help but picture Nora, young, scared, and hungry, letting herself starve so Ren might be able to survive. Realistically, she knows Nora survived that time in her life—clearly she did—but all the same, she pulls Nora closer.

“But whenever I’d start to get weak again, start to get too tired, too depressed, Ren would try even harder to keep me alive. He’d scold me for not eating my share, or try to sneak more food into my portion. And I had to think, why was that?” Nora runs her fingers along Ruby’s scalp. “Why would he get so angry, unless he really didn’t want me to die?”

She draws Ruby in closer, squeezing her ever so slightly tighter. Ruby’s face feels  disgusting, her eyes puffy, her lips trembling. She curls her knees in closer, practically trying to bury herself in Nora’s lap. It’s so childish, she almost wants to scream.

“I think…maybe, that’s what’s going on with your team,” Nora cups the back of Ruby’s head. “I think they seem upset, because they want to keep you around as long as they can, and they’re scared they might lose you. Because you matter to them. Leader or not, you’re still our friend.”

Something hot bubbles up in Ruby’s throat, a final, agonized wail tearing out of her chest. She sniffles and heaves and her head is starting to pound, every brush of Nora’s hands on her skin feels like the last one before she snaps. Before her tether is cut, and she dissolves into nothing.

“There it is,” Nora hums. She drops back against her mattress, pulling Ruby down with her. Ruby slumps on top of her, desperately clawing to stay attached. Her hands are trembling, but Nora’s hand between her shoulder blades, running up and down her spine, is enough to keep her grounded. “Let it out, it’ll feel better.”

“I don’t know what to do—” Ruby manages to get out. “I-I’m so tired, but—”

“But nothing,” Nora wraps her free arm around Ruby’s waist, squeezing her gently. “Take a break. Spend time with your friends. You’re a professional, now! I’m pretty sure that comes with PTO.”

“I don’t—” Ruby’s breaths are coming a little slower, now. She yawns so hard her jaw cracks. “I’m…”

“I know,” Nora says, and Ruby’s surprised to find that she believes her. “Get some rest, you crazy kid.”

Against her better judgement, Ruby relaxes against Nora’s chest, releasing her death-grip on her shirt. Her eyelids feel heavy, her face puffy and hot. With another yawn, Ruby lets herself drift off.

The room around her is dark, watery moonlight seeping in through the blinds. Ruby’s buried beneath a blanket, nestled between several pillows. Off in the room somewhere, she can hear half of a conversation.

“Yeah, she’s with me. I was just keeping an eye on her,” Nora is saying, her voice muffled. She’s quite for a while, before saying “No I…I don’t think she should be alone. Not right now, at least. She said some worrying things, but—”

She’s cut off, and Ruby can faintly hear her pacing back and forth, her footsteps muted against the tiled floor. She must not be wearing her boots, then. Nora’s never really been one to step lightly.

“No, right, I know. That’s why I went with her in the first place,” Nora continues. “She’s…Yang, I don’t know. Have you…h-have you ever seen her like this?”

Ruby pulls the blankets around herself a little tighter, nestling her chin into them. The room is weirdly cold, the nighttime desert air slowly permeating even the strongest walls in the academy. She wonders, distantly, who Nora and Yang are so worked up about. She tucks her legs to her chest, hugging one of the pillows closer.

“Okay, yes ma’am!” Nora sounds slightly more worried, but she couches it with a laugh. “She won’t leave my sight, please don’t stress yourself too m—” Nora stops abruptly, “Okay! Okay! Sorry, you can stress a little bit, just don’t give yourself a conniption.”

Nora is quiet again for a good long while, before she softly says:

“…I know. See you soon.”

Chapter Text

Yang kneels down next to Nora’s bunk, her heart in her throat. She reaches out, brushing Ruby’s bangs out of her eyes, trailing the pads of her fingers down Ruby’s cheek.

Ruby is curled beneath both of Nora’s blankets, hugging one of the pillows to her chest. The skin under her eyes is ruddy, her cheeks tear-stained. Even in her sleep, there’s a permeating feeling of exhaustion rolling off of her. Each breath she takes rattles in her chest, snoring softly on each exhale.

“The both of you need to take some time off,” Nora steps up behind Yang, “Clearly.”

“We’ve been trying,” Yang cups Ruby’s cheek, brushing her thumb across her cheekbone. “She’s stubborn.”

“Oh, I know,” Nora laughs softly. She lays her hand on top of Yang’s head—it’s tender for a second, running her fingers back and forth, before she ruffles her hair, shoving her to the side. She kneels down. “You two are way too similar.”

Yang frowns. “I wish we weren’t.”

Nora scoffs, rolling her eyes. Sitting down, she elbows Yang in the ribs. “You’re both too in your own heads.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think I mean?” Nora glances over at Yang, then back at Ruby. 

She’s shed her protective bandages, the scars on her throat worn red with abuse. It’s rare to see her in anything but her combat gear, these days. Getting to see Nora dressed down, wearing her pajamas, letting her injuries breathe—it feels oddly personal. 

“I-I don’t know,” Yang pulls her hand back. “That we’re…too focused?”

Nora laughs again, “Dude, no. It means you’re too worried about shit that you can’t control. Worry about the things you can control. Like getting your sister to take a goddamn break.”

“I’ve tried, but she doesn’t—”

“Yang,” Nora turns to her, her expression somewhere between annoyed and playful. “I thought you were the older one.”

“She’s still my leader,” Yang runs her hands over her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I can pull the big sister card all I want, but she still outranks me.”

“Oh my god,” Nora takes Yang by the shoulder. “You don’t need to command her, or anything. You’re her big sister, sit her down and talk to her.”

“I’ve tried.”

“I know,” Nora squeezes her. Her fingers twitch, her hand tensing. “Try again. Keep trying, even. Ruby said it to me, herself.”

“…She did?” Yang reaches for Ruby’s arm.

“Well, sort of,” Nora smiles sadly. “She was talking about Jaune, but…hey. Reading between the lines, or whatever. I know it’s a big ask, but you need to stop thinking about Salem, about Atlas, and about whatever happened while you five were gone.”

Yang doesn’t respond. She rests her hands in her lap, dipping her head. It’s been difficult, adjusting to Vacuo. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced, and it’s easy to notice the divide between where she used to be, and where she is. 

“Take it from me,” Nora looks down at her own hands, then back over at Yang. Her smile feels a little weaker this time. A little more forced. “Try and focus on the stuff you can do. Not the stuff you can’t. Otherwise you’re just going to keep bashing your head into a wall.”

“When did you get so smart?” Yang asks.

Nora punches Yang in the shoulder, “I’ve always been smart! You guys just never listened to me.”

“I’m pretty sure I remember you calling Cordovan…what was it again? A big dumb boot?”

“Okay, so insults aren’t my strong suit,” Nora waves her hand dismissively. “My point still stands.”

“Yeah, alright,” Yang pushes herself to her feet. “I get it.”

“Take the week, or something. Relax, recuperate,” Nora says, though she doesn’t get herself off the ground. The muscles in her shoulders tighten, twisting over themselves.

“Do you need a hand?” Yang asks. 

She tries to keep her tone as nonchalant as possible, resting her hand on her hip. How many times had she turned away her dad’s help after she’d lost her arm? How many times had she insisted on doing things she couldn’t, because the blow to her pride hurt worse than the injury itself.

Nora frowns. “Yeah, probably.”

Dropping to one knee, Yang hooks her arm under Nora’s shoulders. She hoists her up and sets her down as quick as she can. Nora brushes herself off, straightening herself out.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Yang says.

“C’mon,” Nora bumps their shoulders together, “We’re friends, Xiao Long. I’m like, honor bound to bother you about all your personal junk.”

Yang cracks a smile, opening her arms slightly. Nora obliges. Despite the injuries, her hugs are just as strong as ever, nearly breaking Yang’s back.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Nora squeezes Yang’s arms.

Yang grins. “Ditto.”

Hauling a sleep Ruby back to their dorm room is a lot harder than Yang thought it would be. She’s barely awake, but insists on walking herself. One of her arms is wrapped around Yang’s, her head resting on Yang’s shoulder.

By the time they stumble their way back, Ruby’s on the way to falling back asleep. Weiss and Blake are already sleeping—the lights are still on. Yang lowers the lights, shaking her head. Yang pulls Ruby up into her own bunk.

“We’re going to talk, in the morning,” Yang says, pulling her blanket over the both of them.

Ruby makes an incomprehensible noise, grumbling something that’s vaguely like words, snuggling up against Yang’s chest. She sighs against Yang’s collarbone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yang smiles, hooking her arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “Goodnight.”

Yang doesn’t want to wake up in the morning. 

She’s ended up on her back, her prosthetic somewhere on the floor. Ruby’s head is laying on her socket, one of her arms pinned beneath Yang’s back. The blanket is far too warm, but Yang doesn’t want to kick it off. The dorm smells like Weiss’ perfume and like their leftovers from the other night. Ruby makes a small noise under her breath, wriggling her hand under Yang’s back. Her face scrunches up.

Yang digs her elbow into the mattress, pushing herself up. Ruby’s eyes flutter open as she pulls her arm to her chest.

“Oh no…” she mumbles, flexing her hand. She curls in on herself, scrunching up her face. “Pins and needles…”

“Morning, Rubes,” Yang musses up her bangs, using Ruby’s head to push herself up.

“Hey!” Ruby smacks at Yang’s arm.

Yang clambers off the bed, stretching her shoulders. Both Blake and Weiss are awake already. Weiss is lounging on her bed, reading one of Blake’s novels, her ankles crossed and her hair unbraided. Blake is sitting on the edge of her bed, a compact open and her mouth parted. She’s carefully putting on her eyeliner, her ears folded back.

Yang leans over, kissing her on the temple. Blake snaps her compact shut, bumping her head into Yang’s chin. Her ear flicks against Yang’s throat.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Oh look, you’re finally awake,” Weiss lays her book on her stomach. “And what of our fearless leader?”

Ruby groans dramatically. One of her arms flops over the guardrail.

“Getting there, I guess?” Yang shrugs. She glances over at Weiss, raising her eyebrows. “Is that my shirt?”

Weiss scoffs, moving her book to cover more of the quite obviously oversized t-shirt she’s wearing. “That’s none of your business.”

“It's yours, Yang,” Blake sets her compact and her eyeliner pen on the dresser.

“You gave it to me!” Weiss sits up, her hair a tangled mess.

“I offered you my blanket,” Blake rolls her eyes. She slings one arm around Yang’s waist, pulling her down against the mattress. “You didn’t want it.”

“That is not what I said!” Weiss snaps the book shut, crossing her arms. Her face has gone red, the tips of her ears pink. “I said I didn’t want you to be cold as well! I’m sorry for being compassionate, I suppose.”

“Why the arguing…?” Ruby slumps down off the bed, rubbing her face with both of her hands. “It’s too early…”

“I’m defending myself!” Weiss smooths her stolen shirt out. It’s one of the ones Yang doesn’t wear as often, a pale yellow, oil-stained band tee that she originally used to wear when she did repairs on Bumblebee. Eventually she had to retire it to a sleep shirt, once it started to hug her shoulders and chest a little too tight to be convenient. After a while, it had eventually lost its status as even that, once Yang started putting on more muscle at Beacon.

“Defend yourself quieter. I’m gonna shower,” Ruby yawns, cracking her back. She disappears into the bathroom.

Yang watches her go, the door clicking shut behind her.

“You’re all so mean to me,” Weiss snaps her scroll open, flicking between each of her messages. “How much paperwork would I have to do to transfer teams? Do you think Robyn has an opening?”

“I think Robyn’s team would eat you alive,” Yang leans back on her hand. “And not even in the fun way.”

Weiss’ face goes red all over again, and she sputters out something that might have been words, if she managed to figure out what she wanted to say. Eventually, she decides on getting to her feet, grabbing some of her clothing out of her dresser.

“We’re not going on any missions today,” Yang says, “So don’t worry about your combat gear.”

“We’re not?” Blake asks.

“Nope. Mandatory day off.”

Weiss raises her eyebrows, but sets some of her gear aside. “Was this approved by Ruby? Or are you planning on skimping out?”

“Neither,” Yang presses her fingers to the base of her socket, gently massaging the skin. “It’s older sister laws, I’m basically in charge.”

“When has that ever worked on Ruby?” Blake asks through a laugh. “Remember at Beacon, when she had her mind set on that on mission for Glynda?”

“Oh gods, with the Ursai?” Weiss turns away from them, pulling Yang’s shirt over her head. The scar on her back is ragged, a starburst of rippled tissue, laying uneven over her ribs. She clips her bra, and the strap hides most of the puncture.“If I never see those ruins again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I hear you,” Blake lays back against the mattress. “I thought we’d never see the end of it.”

“Got us a good grade, though,” Yang jumps to her feet, grabbing her prosthetic off of the dresser. She snaps it against the socket and drops down in the armchair. “That’s a plus side.”

“Just about the only plus side.” Weiss pulls on one of her simpler sundresses, made of loose linens and cotton. Her hair hangs down by her knees, tangled. She turns around, her hands on her hips. “I pulled several muscles on that trip, you know, and we didn’t have the benefit of having Jaune’s semblance on our side.”

“That was literally two years ago, are you still genuinely mad about it?” Yang laughs.

“What?” Weiss blinks a few times, “No, of course not!”

“I can never tell with you,” Yang tosses her legs over the arm of the chair.

“That’s not my problem, now is it?” Weiss holds out Yang’s shirt, “Do you want this back?”

Yang shakes her head, “Keep it.”

“Really?” Weiss pulls the shirt closer to her chest, almost protectively. Her eyes have got wide, her posture almost defensive. That gets another gentle laugh out of Blake.

“It suits you,” Blake leans forward on her knees. “Yellow is a good color on you.”

Weiss gives her a stunned smile, folding the shirt and setting it on top of her dresser. “Thank you.”

“So,” Blake turns to Yang, resting her chin in her hands. “If we’re not taking any missions, what’s the plan for the day?”

“I’m going to have a talk with Ruby,” Yang spins one of the ball joints in her finger. The shower clicks off. “Then, we’ll play it by ear.”

Weiss and Blake exchange a look. Blake’s ears droop slightly.

The weight of Ruby’s foul mood has been slowly pressing down on the rest of the team. Yang’s noticed it, and she’s sure the others have too. They’re no stranger to the effects Ruby has on them as a whole. Back at Beacon and all throughout Mistral and Atlas, she’d been a source of hope. A symbol to look too, reminding them that there’s always going to be some shred of a silver lining—they only need to find it.

Now, without that light to chase, the rest of them are left floundering.

“I’m thankful for some time off, at least,” Blake says, “And hopefully…if all goes well, you’ll get through to her.”

“Hopefully,” Yang leans back. “If not, we try again.”

“Things will be better this time,” Blake says.

The bathroom door cracks open, steam spilling into the room. Ruby steps out, wringing her hair in her towel. She’s wearing her combat gear, unfortunately.

“What’s going to be better?” She asks.

Yang looks between Weiss and Blake, then pushes herself to her feet. “Why don't we go get some boba?”

Neither of them speak for a while.

Yang chose a table by the far corner of the terrace, tucked away from the people waiting in line. Ruby holds her drink to her chest, swirling tapioca around with her straw. She doesn’t meet Yang’s eye, her shoulders hunched in, her cape wrapped around herself almost protectively. Nervousness radiates off of her in waves, mixed with a level of apprehension that’s become so horribly familiar, as of late. Every fiber of Yang wants to reach out, to spool that fear out of Ruby’s chest and to bear it herself—if just to spare her sister for a few minutes.

“Ruby…” Yang starts, setting her own cup down. “About the Ever After—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ruby says quickly. She grips her cup so tight it crinkles.

Yang reaches out, resting her hand flat against the table. “I want to.”

Something shifts in Ruby’s expression, the twitch in her brow impossible for her to hide. It’s hesitation, in part, but it almost seems to be curiosity. And that’s all that Yang needs to stoke. Prodding at that interest may be her key to keeping Ruby somewhat open.

“You had a pretty rough time, yeah?” Yang leans forward.

Ruby lets out a bitter laugh. The sound is so foreign in her mouth that it nearly stuns Yang to a standstill. “You could say that.”

“You tried to kill yourself.”

It comes out a bit more blunt than Yang wants it to. Ruby pales, her face falling. The expression that crosses her face makes Yang’s stomach sink. She doesn’t quite tear up, she doesn’t quite pull back. It’s pure, unfiltered panic.

“Hey, hey…” Yang reaches further across the table, giving Ruby’s arm a squeeze. “You okay?”

Shakily, Ruby nods.

“You tried to kill yourself,” Yang repeats. Goosebumps spread across Ruby’s arm. She shakes beneath Yang’s hand. “…Why?”

“I—” Ruby’s voice frays. Her eyes dart around wildly, landing everywhere but Yang’s face.

“Hey, Rubes,” Yang gives her another squeeze, offering the softest smile she can manage. “I’m not mad. No matter what, I won’t be upset. Okay?”

“Promise?” Ruby sounds so impossibly small.

“I promise.”

Ruby takes a slow, shaky breath. Her eyes drift shut, her expression tightening. That little furrow between her eyebrows has become a staple on her face, as familiar as the faint scar on her forehead—the one she got when they were little, running far too fast down a slippery gravel road.

When Ruby opens her eyes again, they’re shiny with tears. “Everything feels so…worthless, now. Salem has two of the relics—and she’ll have three once Cinder figures out where the Beacon relic is. We risked both of them, and for what? Atlas was destroyed anyway. We didn’t restore communications. We didn’t succeed in anything we set out to.”

“We got the people to safety,” Yang counters. “Isn’t that worth something?”

Ruby stays quiet for a second. Her leg is bouncing rapidly, her heel clicking against the pavers.

“We’ve left a headmaster dead at every single academy, so far,” Ruby says, “did you know that?”

Yang opens her mouth, then closes it again. Truth be told, she hadn’t considered that at all. Headmaster Lionheart never really crossed her mind, and it was honestly hard to think of Ironwood as anything but a general. Ozpin never seemed like he was truly dead—they found him again in Oscar.

“Every single time,” Ruby grabs her wrist, her nails biting into her skin. “Are we just bringing that destruction with us? Are we dooming Vacuo, as well?”

“It’s not us, though, is it?” Yang picks up her drink. “After Beacon, we were specifically trying to stop Salem’s plans. Of course there’s going to be destruction, we’re basically tornado chasing.”

“We didn’t stop anything!” Ruby grips her wrist tighter. “What good are we, if we can’t save the world?”

“We haven’t lost yet,” Yang insists. She reaches out, wrenching Ruby’s hand off her arm. Her nails come away speckled with blood. “So there’s no point in giving up. As long as we’re still able to fight back, we still have hope.”

“And what do we do when she wins, again?”

“We get up, and we try again.” Yang flexes her prosthetic hand, turning it over. The paint is starting to chip on the backs of her knuckles, a small chunk missing in one of the ball joints. She’ll need to get in touch with Pietro eventually. Usually, she’d like to repair it herself, but she doesn’t have quite this level of know-how.

“I don’t—” Ruby’s voice wavers. “I don’t know if I can.”

Yang raises an eyebrow. She gestures for Ruby to keep talking.

“I don’t think I want to die,” Ruby says. She’s staring at the crescent shaped cuts on her arm. Blood beads up, dripping down in little rivulets. “I just…don’t want to be here.”

“In Vacuo?” Yang asks, although she’s pretty sure she knows the answer.

“No,” Ruby gestures to herself. “Here.”

There’s a momentary lull. Ruby grabs for her wrist again, white-knuckle gripping her arm.

“Ruby—” Yang starts.

“I hate who I am,” Ruby manages to get out, her voice thick. “Who I—who I became. I hate myself.”

Yang’s heart squeezes, her ribs constricting around her lungs. A cold feeling washes through her system, full-bodied and painful. She lamely reaches for her sister, her hand falling short.

“That’s why I tried to—” she stops, her words strangled in her throat. “Why I—”

She blinks rapidly, tears gathering on her eyelashes.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Ruby asks. “Why don't you hate me? I-I—I’ve made so many of the wrong choices, I can never seem to get things right. Every time I try, it feels like I only make things worse for everyone else. It feels like—” her voice snags, “I-It feels like everyone around me gets hurt, and I get away just fine. I don’t deserve—”

“Ruby,” Yang cuts her off. “Ruby…”

She scoots her chair around the curve of the table, pressing herself up right beside her little sister. Blood is smeared across the back of Ruby’s arm. It’s caked under her fingernails, seeping into the lines of her knuckles. Yang slings her arm over Ruby’s shoulders. She brings her other hand up to cup the side of Ruby’s face.

“Please, be honest with me. Do you still want to…” Yang hesitates, “Do you still want to kill yourself?”

Her voice shakes on the word kill. It feels so out of place in her mouth. In the world. Her baby sister can’t die. That wouldn’t be fair. Yang can’t outlive her.

“I think I do,” Ruby whispers. “I’m sorry.”

A spark catches in Yang’s chest, smoldering against the dry paper in her ribs. She tries to be as relaxed as she possibly can as she pulls Ruby into a hug. She tries not to spook her, to scare her off.

“Why aren’t you mad?” Ruby repeats, dangerously soft.

Yang has to swallow around the rising lump in her throat. All she can manage is, “I love you.”

Ruby’s breath hitches. She drops her head on Yang’s shoulder, clinging desperately to the back of Yang’s shirt. With a shaky exhale, Yang squeezes Ruby as tight as she can. She brings a hand to her hair, the other pressed between her shoulder blades.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Ruby asks into Yang’s shoulder.

Yang grips Ruby tighter, blinking against the tears welling up in her eyes. “Ruby, I could never hate you.”

“You should.”

“I don’t care,” Yang insists. “I don’t hate you, you can’t make me hate you. I love you.”

Ruby makes a noise like a kicked dog. A deep, pained whine building in her chest. She digs her nails into Yang’s back, clawing for a hold. Her fingers catch on Yang’s hair, yanking at her scalp—but Yang can’t bring herself to be annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” she says through a choked sob.

Yang scratches Ruby’s back in slow circles. “Don’t be.”

They sit for what feels like hours. Yang can’t quite tell if Ruby is crying or not. She’s trembling softly, still buried in Yang’s shoulder. A few customers shoot them worried looks—no doubt they recognize Ruby to some degree. Yang tries to wave them all off, mouthing various platitudes like she’s fine, or don’t worry! but she isn’t sure how well it quells any sort of concern.

When Ruby finally scrapes herself back together, sitting back and wiping her eyes, relief floods through Yang’s system. She pinches Ruby’s damp cheek, giving her a gentle shake.

“Still feeling bad?” Yang asks.

Ruby nods.

“Okay,” Yang drops her hands, leaning her elbows on her knees. “What can we do?”

“Huh?”  Ruby sniffles, scrubbing her sleeve across her face. “What do you mean?”

“You feel bad. Is there anything Weiss, Blake, or myself can…do? To make you feel less bad?”

Ruby thinks about that for a shockingly long time, drumming her fingers on her bicep, leaving behind bloody little fingerprints.

Eventually, she shakes her head.

“I don’t think so,” she admits quietly.

Disappointment snaps at the inside of Yang’s head. She can’t help but wish there was a simple answer—something she could do that would make her sister’s life easier in seconds. She doesn’t want Ruby to have to wrestle through the same things she did.

Ruby picks up her boba, taking a small sip. “I…do like hanging out.”

Yang sighs through a smile. She reaches over the table to grab her own cup. “Hanging out is great, man. I could hang out all day.”

That makes Ruby smile around her straw, her nose wrinkling. She scuffs her boot against the ground, hooking her heel around the leg of her chair.

“Look, Ruby,” Yang starts, “I know you’ve been all about missions, recently, but I’ve been thinking. We have enough lien, and clearly all of this fighting isn’t doing you any good. Why don't we take some time off?”

It’s almost a physical thing, the way Yang can see Ruby’s defenses shoot back up. Unease bristles across her skin as she gives Yang a wary look.

“Just one week!” Yang continues, “That’s all I ask. Vacuo has plenty of huntsmen and huntresses, they’ll survive without us for a week.”

Ruby swirls her drink around again, but slowly, she nods.

“Okay. One week.”

A wave of relief crashes into Yang, nearly knocking her out of her chair. “Thank you, Ruby, I—”

“But only a business week!” Ruby jabs her finger in Yang’s face, her energy feeling far too forced and far too silted. “None of this Sunday to Monday junk.”

“You drive a hard bargain…” Yang pushes her hand away. “But fine. Five days, and then we can get back to it.”

Ruby smiles, and this time, it feels a little more natural.

Chapter Text

Weiss doesn’t often find herself with the chance to hang out with Blake. The two of them  didn’t exactly click for a while at Beacon, and afterwards, Blake was too busy juggling her past to be able to sit down and relax with most of her team. They’d spent a fair amount of time skirting around each other, awkwardly keeping it civil for the rest of their team. After a while—after a lot of needling from Ruby, really—the two of them had decided to bury the hatchet, and go for a walk together after their first semester finals.

That had turned into a habit, taking a stroll together through the Emerald Forest, complaining about heavy class loads or how loud their neighboring dorms could be. They were one of the things Weiss found herself missing the most about Beacon. Getting a chance to unwind was always something to be cherished, especially living with her father.

Now, when Blake offers to take Weiss to a museum—well, she can’t in good conscience say no, now can she?

She doesn’t bother with her braid, opting instead for a ponytail. She wraps her shawl around her shoulders, and watches quietly as Blake picks at her hair in the bathroom mirror.

“You look fine,” Weiss says, crossing her arms.

“Thank you,” Blake fluffs the ends of her hair, “I’m honestly still not used to it. It’s so much…lighter.”

She twists one of her curls around her finger, giving it a little tug. Weiss steps up beside her, and she’s a little startled to hear Blake purring so openly. For the longest time, Weiss didn’t know Blake could purr. She never did, back at Beacon, and the first time she did on the train to Argus, she’d seemed humiliated. 

“It’s nice,” Weiss offers, thought she isn’t quite sure what she’s talking about.

“Adam always liked when I had long hair,” Blake says.

Weiss tenses. Blake rarely brings up her past, and when she does, it’s never quite so candid—always couched in a layer of metaphor or avoidance. And even then, she almost never strays to the topic of Adam. He was always a taboo, in their group. The last time Weiss heard about him, was the short, curt explanation of why Yang and Blake had to kill him.

After that—never again. 

His name lingered in the air, hanging thick between Yang and Blake, a tether that they can’t quite cut. It didn’t usually rope Weiss in, but every now and then, something small would happen, and suddenly the kinship she felt with Blake doubled. Blake would jump when someone moved too quickly, and suddenly Weiss could see herself in those wide, startled eyes.

“He did?” Is all Weiss can manage.

Blake straightens up, smiling at herself. “I think I like it shorter.”

“It looks good on you.” Weiss meets her eye in the mirror.

This time, Blake’s smile is aimed wholeheartedly at Weiss. A burst of nervousness blooms in Weiss’ ribs. She brings her hands together, breaking eye contact with Blake.

“My…father…wanted me to be perfect,” she says. “And part of that meant my hair needed to be perfect. But I hated…I hated doing what he told me to.”

Blake’s quick on the uptake, her ear flicking. “Is that why you wore that ponytail to the side?”

“You noticed that?”

“How couldn’t I?” Blake turns slightly, leaning her elbow on the counter. “Everything about you seemed so calculated, at the time, but your hair was always a little crooked. It caught my eye.”

Weiss touches her hair, “I didn’t think it was that...apparent.”

“I guess it was just interesting,” Blake shrugs. She moves out of the bathroom, squeezing Weiss’ shoulder as she passes. “Come on! Let’s get going.”

Weiss follows Blake through the bustling streets of Vacuo. Blake expertly weaves between people, dodging stray weapons and skirting around tails. Weiss finds herself stumbling, apologizing to everyone she knocks shoulders with. Her shoes slip on the sand coated cobblestone path, the sun beats down on her shoulders. Weiss is astounded, in all honesty, by how at home Blake seems to be. She’s smiling, twisting around with absolute ease. She turns on her heel, smiling at Weiss through the swarming crowd.

Weiss pushes forward, reaching out to take Blake by the hand.

Blake pulls her through the biggest swath of the crowd. They step out in front of a beautiful building, rising surprisingly tall amongst the low-roofed Vacuan storefronts. Above the door, hangs a sign that reads Vacuan Center of Art and History.

“What a name,” Weiss comments, dropping Blake’s hand.

“I never really got to go to museums as a kid,” Blake explains, hopping up the steps. “Menagerie didn’t have the space for one, and the ones in Mistral didn’t allow Faunus. The only one I’d ever been to was a science museum the Whitefang protested against.”

“Oh, um,” Weiss follows her up the stairs. “Well. Museums are nice, if you like the quiet.”

“Weiss,” Blake gestures to her ears.

“Right, of course,” Weiss offers her arm out.

“Oh, what a lady!” Blake laughs softly, looping her arm with Weiss’. “Sun said it costs about twenty lien per person for entry. Unfortunately, we lost our chance at a student discount since we became official.”

Weiss frowns, rummaging in her pocket for her wallet. “Do we have the lien for it, then?”

“Weiss,” Blake snickers. “Of course we do.”

“I just thought I’d check!” 

Still laughing under her breath, Blake leads Weiss inside. She pays for both of their tickets, and practically drags Weiss towards the first exhibit.

It’s a sculpture display, but they’re not sculptures like Weiss is used to. None of them are made of the cold marble she’d grown up around, harsh and unforgiving—no, they’re crossbred between countless different mediums. Wild, confusing, and beautiful.

Weiss drops Blake’s arm, almost trance like making her way over to one of the glass cases. 

It’s a small sculpture, barely more than a foot tall. There’s a barebones quality to it, a frail figure with no real face. It’s made from clay, all of the fingerprints still imbedded in its skin. Scraps of patterned fabric are draped around what Weiss has to assume are the figure’s shoulders. It bears a regal looking set of horns, carved from something that almost looks like bone. Its standing proud, the fabric set with wire, shaped like its blowing in the wind.

The plaque beneath the glass box reads: I Won’t Be Killed. Clay, found fabric, chicken wire, shed antler.

Weiss looks back up at the sculpture, and something deep in her chest aches. This piece is nothing like what she’s used to. It’s scrappy, and unrealistic. The form isn’t true to life, the limbs long and spindly, the face utterly blank. Yet, Weiss can see all of the love put into it. There’s care in each of the thumb prints, the clay pushed aside with reverence, pulling the figure out.

“You like that one?” Blake asks softly. She lays a hand on Weiss’ shoulder.

“It’s…lovely,” Weiss straightens up.

“I’ve actually heard of this artist,” Blake says, “Carmine Padhi. She was an immigrant from Atlas who moved to Menagerie when she was older. Apparently, my grandmother knew her.”

Weiss glances over at Blake, “Art that recent is in a history museum?”

For a second, Blake’s expression dims, her ears drooping. “A lot of what humans consider history is really…just recent memory, for the Faunus.”

“Oh.”

Blake presses her shoulder against Weiss’.

“I’m sorry,” Weiss adds. “It really is a beautiful piece.”

“Isn’t it?” Blake loops her arm through Weiss, holding her by the bicep. “What do you usually look for, in museums?”

“Paintings, usually,” Weiss lays her hand on Blake’s wrist. “Although, Atlas used to have a museum filled with scans of inventors notes and preliminary sketches.”

Oh, that one twinges under her skin, heavy discomfort burrowing into her muscle and sinew. The cold of Atlas still stings her cheeks, the rumbling of factories echoing in her ears. Blake squeezes her arm, shooting Weiss an achingly warm look.

“Sorry, um…” Weiss can’t quiet meet Blake’s eyes. In a vain attempt to course correct, she asks: “Do you think they have a Post-Impressionism wing?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Blake says.

The playful grin she gives Weiss shows off her teeth, sharp and inhuman and so open. Blake never smiled like that, back at Beacon. Every expression that crossed her face was closely guarded, wrangled like a wild animal. Fear laced everything she did.

“Let’s look for a directory,” Weiss tugs Blake towards the next hallway.

Every few steps, Weiss finds herself pulled off course, enthralled by another charmingly confusing piece of art. Blake follows on her arm, pointing out each piece she understands or recognizes.

“So,” Weiss starts as the two of them walk down a hallway lined with paintings. “How have you been finding Vacuo?”

“It’s nice here,” Blake says, glancing between two of the paintings—they both seem styled after Mistrali Futurism, which isn’t a style Weiss particularly cares for, but Blake looks interested. “But maybe I’m just glad to finally get a chance to relax.”

“I hear that,” Weiss laughs, shaking her head. “We have five days. What’s the plan?”

“I’d like to see Sun and his team again,” Blake purrs softly, smiling up at the paintings. “It’s been a while since we caught up.”

“Does he know you and Yang are together?” Weiss asks.

Blake gasps, squeezing Weiss’ arm. She turns, her ears down. “I forgot to tell him!”

Despite herself, Weiss giggles, leaning her forehead against Blake’s shoulder. Blake lets out a small laugh, her shoulders jumping. Their laughter echoes down the wide hallways, bouncing against the stucco and marble.

It’s strange, really. Weiss finds herself loving her team so easily. It bleeds out of her, staining her hands, leaving finger prints on everything she touches. She wonders what her father would be thinking, seeing his daughter hanging off the arm of a Faunus woman, sharing the same laugh.

“What about you?” Blake asks, “How’s Vacuo treating you?”

“I’m from the tundra,” Weiss responds, her expression flat, “Let’s do our own math, shall we?”

Blake snorts, elbowing Weiss in the ribs. “You know what I mean.”

Weiss has to think about it for a moment, as they turn into an exhibit room. The walls are lined with massive paintings, rising five, ten feet off the ground. The largest painting, centered directly on the far wall, is a visceral depiction of a Grimm tearing someone to shreds. The blood is spattered against the canvas like it were a camera, smeared in front of the person’s arms, speckled along the painting.

“Seeing my family against has been…weird,” Weiss admits. She glances around the exhibit, but none of the paintings are quite as striking. Her heels clack against the tiles. “It’s been almost a decade since we were all in the same room together. It’s…incredibly awkward.”

The laugh Blake lets out this time is far more fond, “Believe me, I get it. Let me guess, it feels like you have no idea who they are, now?”

“Whitley and my mother, mostly,” Weiss stops in front of the largest painting, glancing over the placard. It reads Fate of the Angry. “I only left for Beacon when Whitley was twelve, but…at that age, you change so much. He’s nothing like what I remember, but I can’t tell if that’s a bad thing, or not.”

“From what I’ve seen, he seems…sweet, in an odd way,” Blake looks up at the painting as well. “A little snarky, but earnest. He’s a lot like you.”

“Hey!”

“It’s a compliment!” Blake smiles. She bumps her hip against Weiss’.

That stokes something in Weiss’ ribs. She’s no stranger to her name being used as a comparison—as a descriptor. Being a Schnee meant her social path had been laid in stone already. People used her family’s name as an insult, and Weiss couldn’t find it in herself to argue with them. They weren’t wrong, were they? The Schnee name had been horribly bastardized, dragged through the mud by years upon years of her father’s control.

But her name being a compliment? Being compared to her being a good thing? That wasn’t something Weiss had ever expected. Not in her lifetime. Not after what the Vacuans and Atlesians did to her faux-grave.

She blinks heavily, wiping the corner of her eyes with her knuckle. Blake purrs, leaning against her arm, her cheek on her shoulder.

“Horrifying, isn't it?” Weiss asks. The more she looks at the painting, the more she notices pieces of visceral detail. The Grimm is a Beowulf, but it’s warped almost beyond recognition. The person’s splintered ribs burst out of their chest like incisors torn through meat. The fingers they still have are curled in agony, but what’s left of their face is still twisted in a furious scream, their eyes gleaming with anger.

“Yeah,” Blake agrees, “I like it. It feels defiant.”

“How so?”

Blake hums, gesturing to the person’s hands. “Their fingers look almost claw like. It feels like they’re still fighting back.”

“Huh,” Weiss blinks, and it’s like the painting shifts. Suddenly, the figure feels far less angry, and far more challenging. The fury in their eyes seems much more like immovable determination. 

“They’re dead, clearly,” Blake says, pointing to the splitting ribs, their organs spilling over. “No amount of aura can heal that. But they’re not going to die quietly. I like that.”

“I do, too,” Weiss traces her eyes along the edges of the painting.

“It’s almost…” Blake laughs, a tinge of embarrassment bleeding into her words. “Is it weird if I say its inspiring?”

“I don’t think so,” Weiss turns to Blake, “Isn’t the point of art to make your own meaning from it? If you find this painting inspiring, then it’s inspiring. If someone else finds it tragic, then it’s tragic. Does that make sense?”

Blake smiles. "You're the expert."

Chapter Text

Ruby trails behind Yang, her head down. Her face is tacky with tears, shame burning under her skin. Everyones eyes were trained on her, watching her walk back to her dorm. A scrutinizing, awful glare. They’re all expecting great things from her, they’re all waiting for her to change the world—the make it better.

She sent the message. She made a promise.

Even her team is counting on her. Looking to her hopefully, earnestly, like she still has a way to make things easier for them. It’s a responsibility she was given when Ozpin assigned her team leader. She’s supposed to have the answers, she’s supposed to know what to do.

But…now Yang’s got her by the wrist, and she’s six again. Barely managing to make it through her school days without some sort of melt down. Constantly making things more difficult than they need to be. Robbing her sister of a childhood, forcing her to be a mother.

Frigid guilt turns in Ruby’s stomach, icy dread washing over her. Her fingers are trembling, her chest feels hollow. Yang’s hand is so warm on her skin, but it’s miles away from her. A distance buzz, humming just out of reach.

She’s supposed to be the leader, she’s supposed to be in charge.

So…how well has she been handling it?

They make it back to the dorm, and Ruby pulls out of Yang’s grip.

“Hey, Rubes…?” Yang asks. She’s only just turned the knob. “You good?”

“I….” Ruby’s voice frays, her gaze trained firmly down on the floor. She can feel Yang’s eyes on her head, like she’s trying to peer directly into her thoughts. “I—I’m gonna go, um…see Uncle Qrow.”

“Oh, for sure,” Yang steps away from the door, a hand hovering over Ruby’s arm. It’s hesitant, her fingers twitching. Part of Ruby, a selfish part, doesn’t want Yang to touch her. “Do you want me to…come with?”

“No,” Ruby manages a small step back, than another. She can’t make herself look up. Can’t bring herself to. “No, no. I’ll…I—I’ll be back.”

Yang lets out a worried hum. “You sure you’re okay, dude?”

Ruby nods again, a little more intense. Before Yang can ask any more questions, she turns heel, stumbling down the hallway. The hum of her semblance buzzes in her chest, yearning, begging to be let out. To break her apart, scatter her in the air. Petals in the wind.

Ignoring it, Ruby fumbles with her scroll, her fingers numb. She taps out a shaky Don’t feel good. Coming over, to her uncle, stuffing her scroll back in her pocket.

It’s been difficult to allow herself downtime. Once she starts thinking about something—anything, her brain always circles back to the worst. The worst of the worst. Each train of thought is like a minefield, littered with countless different explosives, ready to trigger at the slightest misstep.

Thankfully, the walk to Qrow’s living quarters isn’t nearly long enough for Ruby to brave whatever pitfall ladened path her mind is trying to take her down.

She staggers, shoving her way into the dorm, her fingers trembling.

“Honestly, Qrow, I don’t see what you think he’s doing, it’s—”

The talking stops when she steps inside.

The door gently creaks shut behind her, groaning the whole way. It takes her a second…then two, before she can finally lift her head.

The dorm room looks an awful lot like Ruby and her team’s. Only one of the four beds is made, the rest of them covered in boxes upon boxes, each overflowing with all sorts of supplies. A roll of bandages hangs out of the mouth of a first aid kid, draped over the edge of the bed.

Qrow is sitting on one of the unmade beds, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands steepled in front of his face. He’s not wearing his combat gear, and his hair isn’t combed back. There’s a cup on the cluttered table that briefly makes Ruby’s heart stop—but from the looks of it, it’s only coffee.

Pacing in front of the other set of beds, however, is Yang’s mom. Her hair isn’t pinned up, but her eyes are just as wild and dangerous as ever. Red rimmed and angry, brow set, worn in with years of stress. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

A rush of different feelings nearly topples Ruby off her feet. Anger for her sister, fear for her uncle, wariness, bewilderment. But…a spark of something else itches at her mind. She glances at the spot Raven’s sword usually sits. Then down at the table. There’s nothing of note laying around, and if anything, that’s more confusing.

“Um,” Ruby glances back up between the two of them. “…sorry, should I…?”

A couple different emotions shuffle across Qrow’s face before he finally settles on confusion. He pats down his pockets, checks his scroll, and mouths the word fuck.

“Sorry, kid,” he gets to his feet, brushing imaginary crumbs off his lap. “Had this thing on mute.”

“I’ll be on my way, then,” Raven says. Her voice is so much rougher than Ruby remembered it being. How badly has it been worn down? “We’ll finish this conversation later, Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Qrow laughs in a way that sounds…oddly amicable. “I didn’t think I was off the hook, either.”

“Wait,” Ruby steps in Raven’s way. She wrestles down instinctive, defensive anger “Could you…stay for a second, actually?”

“Excuse me?” Raven raises an eyebrow. A hand is resting on her hip, her thumb hooked in her belt loop. She’s standing so casually, but Ruby can’t help the terror settling in her stomach. Even defenseless and unarmed, Raven still manages to exude a dangerous amount of power. An energy crackles in the air between them—off guard and uncertain.

Seeing Raven face to face feels like a fireball to the chest, like a pistol to the back of the head, like hearing her friends screaming.

“I’ve, um,” Ruby blinks, scrounging for a reasonable explanation. Once upon a time, she might have been able to hold her own against Raven. Might have been able to push back the intensity in equal measure. “I’ve got a—a complicated leadership question. And…I uh—I think you could help…?”

Qrow laughs, a genuine, baffled laugh. He sits back down on his bed, patting the seat beside him. “C’mere, kiddo.”

Raven watches Ruby make her way over. The sharp glint in her eyes kicks the animal part of Ruby’s brain into high gear. Primal terror begging her to run, to get away as fast as possible. But she sits, gives herself a few inches of space away from Qrow, and trains her gaze back on the table. The drink is definitely coffee, Ruby can smell it on her uncle. It’s much more pleasant than the sharp burn of vodka.

Raven…sits as well.

Something diffuses in the air, tension that Ruby hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s this issue?” Raven asks. She leans forward, elbow on her knee, hand hanging limp in front of herself. Her brow narrows down, her eyes as sharp as glass.

Ruby grabs at the hem of her skirt, twisting it in her hands. “I never be quite as good as my mom was. And my team needs a better leader.”

Both Raven and Qrow tense up horribly.

“Gods,” Raven pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “Ruby—it was Ruby, wasn’t it?”

She nods.

“Right, Ruby,” Raven meets her eyes. “You don’t want to be Summer.”

Ruby stiffens in her seat. She digs her fingers into the fabric of her skirt so hard it

Qrow lays a hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. He’s warm, but not like Yang is warm. His warmth is the sputtering embers in a fire pit, still threatening to reignite.

All of her life, Ruby’s wanted to be Summer.

“Summer’s dead, you’re alive. You’re already a step ahead of her,” Raven says. Her tone is stern, but the hard look in her eyes wavers—if only for a second. “Your team knows what they need. If they’re good followers, they’ll tell you what they need. If you’re a good leader, you’ll tell them what you need.”

All of her life, Ruby’s had her mom’s shoes to fill.

Raven gets back to her feet. “That’s something your mother never quite got.”

Ruby doesn’t have time to react before Raven is disappearing out of the door.

An agitated silence hangs in the air. Ruby can hear Raven’s footsteps quietly fading down the hallway.

“Ruby…” Qrow starts. He squeezes her shoulder. “Trying to get advice from Raven is…like pulling teeth. She’s—”

“No, no, um…” Ruby folds up what Raven said, tucking it to the back of her brain. “No, it’s okay. I think—I…” She looks up at her uncle, then back down at her hands. “I don’t know. I gotta think on it.”

Qrow nods slowly, like he’s trying to understand. “Right.”

“You two are getting along again?” Ruby glances back towards the door. Glossy black feathers litter the floor.

“Getting along is a bit strong,” Qrow leans back on his palms. There’s a wrinkle in his brow, just like his sister’s. “I’d go with…on the same side.”

Ruby manages a weak laugh.

It’s weird, seeing her uncle like this. She’s not sure if she can clearly remember a time when he’s ever been sober. There were stints in her childhood, where he’d try to clean up his act for her and Yang—but it never stuck. This is the longest she’s seen him go with out a drink.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Qrow asks. He looks her over again. After a moment, his eyes settle on the scar on her cheek. “Looks like you took a couple hits, huh?”

She scrunches herself down, tucking her chin into her cape. It’s hard to forget that night. Her shoulder hasn’t felt quite right since. “A couple.”

“C’mon,” Qrow gets up again, “I’ve got something for that.”

Ruby ends up leaning against the entry way wall while her face dries. She feels greasy and gross, a medicinal smelling ointment smeared over her cheeks, brow, and throat. She keeps her arms crossed over her stomach, one foot hooked over the other.

Qrow stands across from her. She can feel him staring, his concern palpable.

“Ruby…” he stops himself, letting out a heavy breath.

“Yeah?” Ruby tries to keep the edginess out of her voice, her nerves frayed and shot. She gave him a reason to worry, she prepared him for the worst before coming over. It’s not her turn to be scared. She’s not supposed to be scared.

The silence stretches out for another second.

“I know what being beaten looks like,” Qrow says, his tone dangerously gentle.

Ruby can’t help the way she flinches, tensing in a desperate preparation to run. An instinctive hand jumps to the clip on her belt—right. Crescent Rose is still in her dorm. Her eyes dart around the room, from the dressers, to the beds, to the unlocked door.

“Hey, woah,” Qrow puts his hands up. “Relax. I just want to know what happened. I know blunt force trauma when I see it.”

“Neo,” Ruby manages to squeeze out. “D-do you remember Neo?”

Qrow frowns, his eyebrows knotting closer together. “Shit, not off the top of my head.”

With a shaky sigh, Ruby lets herself relax. It’s easier if he doesn’t know how strong she is. How strong she was.

“She got my aura down,” it feels like she’s speaking around a golfball in her throat. “But…didn’t kill me. Kept hitting me like she was going to, though.”

“Yeah?”

Ruby looks down at her hands, her fingers trembling. A cold, creeping dread claws its way up her stomach. Her vision blurs.

“She’s wanted me dead for—for so long, and I…” she swallows, shaking her head. “I—I got into a fight with my team, and I ran off, a-and she found me. She followed me. I thought she was gonna kill me, but—” a sharp shiver runs up her spine, “but she didn’t. She wanted me to do it myself. And I did. I…I tried.”

Qrow doesn’t react like Yang did. He doesn’t react like Nora, either. There’s no horrified gasp, no tears, no strong words and big hugs. All he does is settle on the ground, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Can’t blame you.”

“Wh—“ Ruby blinks. Hot tears burn down her cheeks, seeping into the still tacky ointment. “What?”

“I can’t blame you,” Qrow repeats. “It’s a tough spot to be in. When you’re in the thick of it, it really does seem like the only way out.”

“It…does.”

Somehow, Ruby finds herself unwinding. Her shoulders come down from her ears, her knees wobbling. She slips, sliding slowly down the wall, crumbling in a heap on the floor.

“Let me tell you, Ruby,” the look Qrow gives her is unusually light, caught somewhere between worry and fondness. “I know the feeling. It gets stuck in your head.”

“It’s all I can feel,” Ruby admits softly, curling one of her knees to her chest. “I thought I was happy to be back in Vacuo, back on Remnant, but…” she sighs, “I don’t think I was really…happy.”

“There’s a point,” Qrow explains, “where you get so depressed, it slingshots back around to this…false happiness. Like your body’s last hurrah before it gives up.”

Ruby nods, chewing her bottom lip.

“But it does stop, eventually,” he adds, his faint smile seeping into his tone. “I’m in my forties, and you kids are still giving me new reasons to keep kicking.”

“Keep kicking,” Ruby repeats. “You know what its like, to try and…?”

“Ruby, kid,” Qrow gestures to his neck. A jagged, gnarled line of scar tissue runs from the side of his throat to his collarbone. Ever since she was a kid, Ruby had assumed that scar was from a Grimm—some well placed strike that had broken through his aura. “Trust me, I’ve been there before.”

Ruby stares at the scar. It’s jagged and patchy. Looks home-stitched.

“I’m glad you're still with us, kid,” her uncle says.

Ruby manages a bit of a surprised nod. “Yeah, um…thank you. You…too?”

“When…everything feels like it’s working against you, it’s difficult to…get out of your own head,” Qrow explains.

“It felt like it snowballed so quickly,” Ruby gestures vaguely, “I—I was fine in Atlas. Super stressed out, but—I wanted to be alive, y’know? And then I so—so quickly I wanted to die.”

“I do,” his voice gets rougher, that familiar grit creeping into his tone. “And your tipping point was…? This Neo character?”

Ruby squirms uncomfortably, “Do we have to talk about it?”

“Nah, ‘course not.”

“Okay, then, um,” she tears a strip off her thumb nail, still not meeting her uncle’s eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”

“For sure,” Qrow kicks his leg up, resting his arms over his knee.

For a second, Ruby isn’t sure what to say. It’s been difficult talking to her team about this, they never gave her a chance to back down when it started to get too difficult. Maybe that was on purpose, maybe they thought it was helping—but Ruby really, really just needs a moment to breathe. To be around her friends and her family, and to not have to constantly dig into her own psyche.

“So…You and your sister are getting along again?” Ruby manages a wan little grin.

Qrow rolls his eyes with a smile, “Oh, god, here we go.”