A/N: It seems like my plan to write short drabbles for Tales From The Anthill has slowly evolved into producing chapters twice to three times as long as I originally intended. Oh well, I'm still having fun writing these, so I guess it's all good.
On an unrelated note, I'm getting asked more often about when I'm going to start writing/posting the sequel to RWBY Within. I don't want to give a definitive date, but here's where things stand: The last two months of idly daydreaming and thinking about the sequel have actually yielded pretty awesome results in terms of laying out the plot. I'm very proud of what I've come up with, and I hope you'll all enjoy it when I get around to putting my thoughts to paper. I'm presently in the final semester of grad school, however, which eats into a lot of my free time that could otherwise be spent writing. Coupling that with starting a new job makes me believe that now wouldn't be the best time to start rolling out a new story. My semester ends in May, so I'll probably start building up my 'buffer' of chapters around that time. I'll be sure to keep you all informed when I have a clearer idea of where things stand.
Yang let out a long yawn as she sat up in bed and stretched her arms. A moment of confusion ensued wherein the energetic blonde wondered why the motion didn't feel quite as satisfying as it usually did before Yang remembered that the arms attached to her shoulders weren't exactly hers. She swung her legs (also not exactly hers) over the side of the bed and blinked a few times to clear the cobwebs of fatigue from her head. The sight of two metallic arms resting on the knees of two metallic legs greeted the groggy huntress when she opened her eyes once more. Mechanically speaking, the limbs worked fine: if Yang wanted to wiggle her pinky finger, the appendage responded without lag and in exactly the way that her brain commanded. After a day of acclimating to the leg prosthetics, Yang didn't have a problem with those, either.
And yet, no matter how loudly she told herself otherwise, the first reaction she felt when laying eyes on her new limbs had nothing to do with the excitement of learning to pilot a kickass MEC and the thought of caving in a Muton's face with a rocket-propelled fist. It had nothing to do with her firm belief that she made the right choice in in undergoing the same surgery as Blake so that her friend and partner had someone to relate to while she learned to adapt to her new situation. It had nothing to do with the relief that Ruby wasn't the one impaled by a Chryssalid and forced into a life-saving surgery without her consent.
Her first reaction could easily be summed up into a single word: fuck.
Because while she had a say in the life-changing decision of getting MEC'd, the fact remained that she now had limbs of titanium and steel instead of flesh and bones. While her arms felt 'normal' from a purely functional perspective, they didn't feel right. Yang hadn't experienced any of that phantom limb stuff she'd heard about, probably because the prosthetics served as a suitable mental substitute for her original limbs, but the first couple of nights sleeping with the fakes still took some getting used to. Even a week later, Yang's best record for 'consecutive hours of sleep' was no higher than five.
But hey, at least she had Blake now. After five days of quietly doubting herself and wondering if she made the right choice, the return of her partner to the world of the living helped push those thoughts back down to the dark recesses of her mind where they belonged. Now, she could focus on helping her partner come to grips with the MEC situation. If their first conversation was anything to go by, Blake would definitely need all the help she could get. Help, Yang reminded herself, which included the early-morning workout that had given her reason to wake up in the first place.
Yang was actually surprised that Blake agreed to go with her to the gym. Not because Blake didn't like spending time with Yang (a preposterous thought), but because racking weights and pumping iron wasn't exactly her style. So when Blake green lit the idea, Yang felt equal parts excited and honored. Almost immediately, she got to work coming up with a productive and interesting regimen for the two of them to run through. Not only would the program allow Blake to vent her aggression and anger in a safe fashion, but it would exercise key muscle groups to help her better acclimate to fighting inside a MEC suit. For the first time in a week, Yang had something to focus on, a goal to work towards. Nothing between Remnant and Earth would get in the way of Yang's desire to help her best friend.
She (carefully) rubbed her eyes one more time before rolling herself over to the other side of her bed to check on Blake's morning progress, only to find herself staring at an empty bunk.
Sweat slid down Bradford's face while the ragged sound of his breathing echoed within his head. The fact that a simple five-mile run on the treadmill was wearing him out told the Central Officer that he really needed to start hitting the gym more often. Sure, his line of work wasn't physically demanding, but that was a terrible excuse to not stay in shape. If he started to slip, his operatives would notice. If his operatives would notice, they'd question his commitment. If they questioned his commitment, then how could he expect them to follow his orders?
Once he finished his cooldown mile, Bradford grabbed the towel off of the treadmill's handlebar and mopped his face. He let the warm fabric fall to his shoulders when he heard the sound of the gym's door slamming open.
"Watch it, soldier," He chastised without looking up, "Shen's already got his hands full dealing with the aliens breaking our equipment. No need to add to- oh, hello Xiao Long."
"Hey." Yang answered curtly before ripping a fresh towel off of the laundered pile and throwing it at the nearest bench. Bradford raised an eyebrow as the young woman set about collecting weights and racking them on the bar. Something had clearly pissed her off, and the Central Officer had heard enough stories from the operatives around the base to know that it was unwise to bother an angry Yang, lest he risk becoming the focus of her ire.
And so Bradford promptly ignored those warnings and strolled over to the moody huntress, "Pretty sure you're gonna want to do a few warm-up reps before trying to bench that much."
"Not now, Brad. I need to get some shit out of my system. And besides, my arms are made of fuckin' metal, so why would I care about warming them up?"
Casual swearing. Now that was something that Bradford wasn't accustomed to hearing from his Remnant guests. Sure, Yang was the dirtiest of the bunch, but even she maintained a tighter filter than the average operative.
"Can I at least spot for you, Sergeant?"
Yang paused for a moment to look at Bradford, glance back at the large quantity of weights she had on her bar, and then look at Bradford again, "No offense, boss, but I doubt you'd be much help." She resumed racking the last few plates before adding, "Knock yourself out if you want, I guess."
"Well, I don't need to support the entire bar." Bradford pointed out as he took up a position behind the head of Yang's bench as she prepared for her first set, "Just the five percent that's holding you back."
Yang didn't respond as she pushed the bar off of its cradle and started pumping out her reps. Bradford had to admit: the kid's form was nothing short of exceptional. Not only was she lifting an absurd amount of weight, but Bradford couldn't see any slack or errors in her motion that he could comment on. Sure, one could argue that the metal arms could be considered cheating, but the real power in a bench press came from the chest, which was still very much made of human muscle in Yang's case. As she blew past her tenth rep and showed no sign of stopping, the Central Officer wondered just how many reps she could actually do.
Eventually, sweat started to bead on her forehead, and Bradford noticed the telltale signs of internal struggle.
"C'mon, kid. You've got this."
"Don't tell me... what I don't... already know." She answered between bursts of strength. Next came the shortcuts in her motions as the full rep became too much for Yang to handle.
"Keep 'em coming, Xaio Long."
"Brad..."
Yang's arms shuddered as her chest muscles struggled to push back against the weight. The strength of her robotic arms meant that the huntress was in no danger of dropping the bar and injuring herself, but Bradford knew that the goal was to push her chest to its breaking point. He wasn't sure what had gotten Yang so riled up, but he least he could do was help.
"C'mon! You're better than this!" He shouted.
"Don't tell me what to do!" She shouted back, her eyes glowing a dangerous red. The back of his mind told Bradford that he should stop. The stories from his operatives told him that this is where he needed to ease off. But he also knew that these make-or-break moments were where the greatest feats of strength and success transpired.
"Harder!"
"I'm TRYING!" She argued. Indeed, her muscles were shaking like an earthquake at this point, but her chest refused to push the bar high enough to re-rack it in its cradle.
"You don't try, Xiao Long. You succeed! Give it your all, and give me one more!"
A guttural roar erupted from the back of Yang's throat, and she nearly overshot the cradle as she hoisted the bar up to the full height offered by her chest and let it drop with a loud clang. Silence settled across the gym, save for the heavy panting coming from the huntress.
"Damn." Bradford said, a grin forming on his face, "Xiao Long is Xiao Strong."
"Ugh." Yang replied, rolling her eyes, "That is probably the least original pun off of my name that you could have possibly come up with. You'll have to do better than that."
And yet, despite her criticism, Bradford caught the tiny smirk that formed at the corner of her mouth. Heartened by her positive reaction (small as it may be), he tossed the workout towel to Yang and asked, "So, what's next?"
Yang gave him a pointed look, all she said was, "Lats. Figured I'd start with a set of pull-downs."
Bradford nodded, "Let's get started, then."
Over the course of the next half hour, Yang continued to alternate between the pectoral and latissimus groups. For every exercise, Bradford stood by and offered verbal encouragement (along with physical assistance to squeeze in one last rep in a set) for his makeshift gym partner. Whenever Yang seemed to zone out or let her mind wander, he pulled her attention back to the task at hand. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was up with Xiao Long. Given that Bradford expected find Yang at the hip to her partner once Blake woke up, he suspected that Sergeant Belladonna was the root cause of Yang stomping into the gym alone. Bradford guessed that Blake wanted some time alone to give some serious thought to her present situation, a notion that was diametrically opposed to Yang's plans.
Bradford had no desire to get involved with that emotional mess, but he knew there was more than one way to help out the frustrated huntress. So the Central Officer silently resolved to do what he does best: direct, motivate, and keep his soldiers focused on the target. A few operatives entered the gym while they worked, but none of them approached the duo even though Bradford knew he was almost certainly distracting them with how loud he was shouting. They must have reasoned that there was a purpose behind the actions of their Central Officer and opted not to question or interrupt the unusual workout.
"That's it, Sergeant!" He encouraged as she lifted her chin above the pull-up bar for the twentieth time, "That's the Yang Xaio Long I know. I need ten more of those. You need ten more of those."
"Ten?" Yang scoffed, "You know I can do twenty."
"I'm sorry, did I say ten? I meant thirty."
Yang looked back at him, a gleam in her eye, "Thirty-five."
Bradford held her gaze, a grin spreading across his face, "Forty, and I'll owe you a beer after this."
"Oh, it's fucking on."
Late morning found the Central Officer relaxing with Yang in the lounge. The entire way from the showers to the bar, Yang talked animatedly with Bradford about workouts, combat training with MECs, and the various weapon payloads she would get to haul into operations. He enjoyed seeing the energetic huntress act like her old self again after the unusual outburst he witnessed this morning. The two of them sat down with a pitcher of beer while they continued their conversation about 'special combat maneuvers' Yang wanted to try out with the MEC suits.
"So I was thinking, you're sticking two huntresses into some kickass hardware, right? Well, we've got some talents and capabilities your other operators don't, so why not make the most of it?" Yang took a swig of her drink while Bradford listened with amusement, "Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Yang, you silly goose, you're locked out of your Aura, so what could your huntressing possibly do to crank up the kickassitude of my bitchin' warbots?' "
"Is that how you imagine I talk, Sergeant?" Bradford asked.
Yang nodded, "Oh, totally. But more to the point, I've been talking with Vahlen. You know those Aura modules she developed for my team? The ones that burn out after a single use? Well, she's been telling me that one of the limiting factors in the technology is the portability. But since two of us will now be capable of carrying several more tons worth of gear..."
"... she wants to try to make a reusable module." The Central Officer stroked his chin, "That's a pretty interesting proposition, actually."
"It is! And there's a bunch of ways we can take advantage of Aura in our suits. It'll help us boost our armor, improve our agility, use our semblances, and probably punch harder as well. If you think a Kinetic Strike Module is badass, just wait until you see me using it! Man, I can't wait to start training with Blake."
And just like that, Bradford watched a switch get flipped in Yang's mind. He considered trying to get her mind off of Blake like he had in the gym. However, that would only serve as a temporary solution to the bigger issue. At some point, Yang needed to sort out her emotions about the day's events, and Bradford figured that sooner was better than later, especially since the young huntress had someone waiting and willing to talk with her about it. For now, he'd continue to nurse his beer and watch the movie playing in the lounge while his companion sorted out what she wanted to say.
After five minutes of 'Lethal Weapon' went by without a word from Yang, Bradford stole a quick glance at the young woman. She wore a dark look as she stared into her nearly-empty glass with slightly glassy eyes. Perhaps waiting for her to speak first wasn't the best idea.
"Xiao Long." He said, and Yang looked up at him listlessly, "Penny for your thoughts."
Her eyes dropped back to the glass, which she gave a half-hearted swirl before asking, "You think I fucked up?"
Bradford reached for the pitcher and re-filled Yang's glass, "How do you mean?"
She held up her hand and flexed her mechanical fingers, "Getting my limbs cut off. Was it a mistake?"
The Central Officer shrugged, "I think the answer to that is ultimately up to you. Given the conviction I've seen you capable of, you could find a way to weaponize a wet piece of cardboard and make it worthwhile." He took a sip from his mug, "You made a great sacrifice, Xiao Long. It's up to you to figure out how to deal with it going forward."
"Dust, you sound like Zhang with his zen bullshit." Yang sighed, "I just... I did it for her, you know? Seeing Blake on that operating table, Vahlen's techs trying to keep her guts where they were supposed to be while the automated machinery implanted the meld into her shoulders and hips... there's no way she'd come out of that emotionally intact."
She took a swig from her glass before continuing, "Blake already has issues with running away from her problems, in case you couldn't figure that out already. I put myself in her shoes for a moment and imagined waking up without my limbs. The rest of my team would try to act all positive and shit to help me get over it, but I'd feel all alone. They wouldn't understand what it's like to have tin pegs for arms and legs." Yang glanced up at Bradford with a sheepish smile, "Ah, no offense to Shen's handiwork."
"None taken." The Central Officer answered with a smile of his own, "So you thought that putting yourself in a similar situation would give Sergeant Belladonna a sort of grounding point?"
Yang nodded, "That was the idea, yeah. But fat lot of good that did. She's probably off in the darkest corner of the base that she can find so that nobody can help her while she plays the part of the dark, brooding anti-hero."
"And what about you?"
"Say what?" Yang asked, eyebrow raised.
"You're spending all this energy worrying about Blake, trying to make sure she comes out of this okay, that I don't know if you've given any thought to your own well-being." Bradford clarified, "You went through the same life-changing experience, and yet all I'm hearing is how you're concerned about Sergeant Belladonna."
The huntress rolled her eyes, "I'm fine, boss. You don't see me hiding away from the world and my problems."
"No, but I saw you storm into the gym ready to murder the first machine you set your eyes on." Bradford countered, "I'm honestly surprised I'm still alive and having this conversation with you."
"I was angry." Yang explained, "That's not the same."
"No, but it's still a symptom of a problem. You can blame your partner all you want, but I think there's a deeper issue at play."
"So, what? Are you a psychologist as well as a central intelligence officer?" Yang asked, a hint of derision in her voice, "I'm sure we could find a couch somewhere around here for me to lie down on."
Bradford gave her a hard look, "I've been in this business for longer than you've been alive, Sergeant. There have been more times than I've cared to admit when I noticed something 'off' with one of my operatives, and my failure to investigate the cause resulted in... irreparable damage."
Yang rolled her eyes, "If you think I'm a loony that's going to stick a handgun down my throat and-"
"Xiao Long." Yang had never heard Bradford sound dangerous before, but she was beginning to regret running her mouth off, "Finish that sentence, and you disrespect not only the friends and associates I've personally lost to depression, but the hundreds and thousands of others that lose that fight every year. Think very carefully about what you are saying, and ask yourself this: what makes you think you're so special that you are immune to the horrors of war? Just because you have an Aura, a pair of shotgun gauntlets, and the ability to inflict an absurd amount of devastation with the flick of a wrist? How does that insulate your mind, your soul, from all of the stress that I've seen leave highly-trained men and women curled up in a ball and begging to go home?"
Bradford watched as Yang looked ready to fire back some sort of snarky retort, but the words got caught in her mouth. Her eyes shone with a mixture of indignant rage and helpless frustration as she tried to think of something to say.
"How do you do it?" She asked quietly, eyes dropping down to the table, "Deal with all of..." Yang waved her hand in the air, as if that would clarify what she meant, "This?"
Bradford shrugged, "Sometimes? I don't. Some of the things I've seen, the mistakes I've made... I'll stare at the ceiling, desperately hoping for sleep to come, yet all I see are the faces of those I've wronged. Who are dead because of me" He sighed and down the rest of the alcohol in his glass, "But you know what helps? I talk to people. The operatives here may joke about how Dr. Vahlen is a heartless witch whose calculating demeanor leaves no room for compassion, but that couldn't possibly be further from the truth. I would be nothing like the Central Officer you've come to know if it wasn't for her advice, friendship, and open ear."
Yang rolled her eyes, "Am I supposed to sit in a circle with my team while we hold hands and sing Kumbaya? Is that what you're saying?"
The Central Officer raised an eyebrow, "I'm surprised you even know what that is."
"I don't." Yang answered as a smile slowly returned to her face, "But sarcasm is a universal language."
Bradford snorted, "Fair enough. But to the point: I'm not telling you to fix yourself, Yang. I'm not even saying that anything is broken. What I am saying is that it helps to have people to talk to. Just as you're so keen to help Sergeant Belladonna through this rough transition, there are people who would gladly do the same for you."
"So why haven't they?" Yang asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
"Because they don't realize you need it." Bradford pointed out, "Because you're so gung-ho about everything, nobody even thinks to ask if anything is wrong." He took another sip from his glass before adding, "Neither did I until I witnessed your outburst this morning."
Yang sighed, "I guess that's true. I guess... I just don't want my friends to worry about me, you know? They've got bigger fish to fry without worrying about ol' Yang going off the deep end and doing something stupid." Bradford raised an eyebrow and Yang groaned, "Okay, yeah, that sounded pretty bad when I said it out loud."
Bradford nodded before his expression turned serious, "I think what you need to realize is that it's not a sign of weakness to let your friends help you shoulder the burden of whatever it is that's weighing you down. It doesn't make you weak, nor does it mean that you are any less of a talented and accomplished operative, huntress, or fighter. It just means that you're strong enough to not let your pride get in the way of letting those who care about you do something that they feel is important.
"And hey." The Central Officer continued, his smile returning, "If you're not comfortable with going to them, my door's always open."
Yang grinned back at him, "How about your wallet? Because this beer is doing a pretty good job of helping me feel better."
"I don't know about where you come from on Remnant," Bradford said, "But on Earth? An addiction to beer is known as 'alcoholism.' "
"I'm quite familiar with drunks, trust me." Yang answered with a laugh, "One of these days, I'll introduce you to my uncle."
Bradford nodded, "I'll look forward to it. Listen, I've got to get back to Mission Control. Why don't you get started on that whole 'talk to people thing' and go looking for your partner?"
Yang sighed, "I was kinda hoping I could avoid the heart-to-heart for a while longer. How do I even start the conversation after what happened this morning?"
"Just start by saying hi." Bradford answered with a shrug, "And don't forget that it's not all about you helping her through this. It's about the two of you helping each other."
Yang chugged the last of her beer and stood up, "It'll be weird talking about myself. I've only ever done it once before with Blake, and that was to prove a point about something she was doing that was wrong."
"Baby steps, Xiao Long. I'm not asking you to spill your guts or ask her to help you with everything going in inside your head." Bradford winked, "Just the five percent that's holding you back."
Yang groaned, "I think I've had enough of Dr. Bradford for the day. Off you go, boss. I'll take care of cleaning up."
With a casual salute, the Central Officer headed for the exit to the lounge. Just as his mind started switching gears and running through the mental checklist of tasks he needed to complete for the day, he heard Yang call out, "Hey Brad?"
He glanced back with a questioning eyebrow, "Sergeant?"
"... Thanks."
"Anytime, Xiao Long." He responded before resuming his walk to Mission Control, "Anytime."