When Pyrrha came to, it was to the staccato of beeping machines and the sound of someone breathing close by. She awoke to a dull ache in her body and heart, like someone had rearranged the furniture in her aura and scratched all the wooden floors.
Opening her eyes, Pyrrha found herself in a tiny bed surrounded by stone walls and broken bookshelves — and Jaune Arc, fast asleep, with his head in her lap.
Her ribs protested as she took a breath and steeled herself to dig into her mind, to pry loose the memories from the night before amidst recollections of the other million things that now crowded her thoughts. But Pyrrha found what she sought far too easily. Cinder's blood. A darkness blocking the moon. Her eyes on fire.
Like white noise, the Maiden's voices buzzed in the base of her skull, their auras snowy static against her own. Yet they no longer fought for space. They had settled like leaves on a forest floor, content to be still until they were shuffled through or taken up by a breeze. It was pleasant, almost.
Her initial spike of concern satiated, Pyrrha took stock of the room. Stone. No windows. The smell in the air said underground. She was restrained. Among the splintered furniture and scattered objects, an armchair sat on one side of her bed, the only thing perfectly in tact. There were sheets of sudoku tucked into its cushions, filled out with Nora's handwriting and written over, correctly, in Ren's steady script. There were white and red roses in a clay vase on the floor by the foot of her bed. Hanging beside the doorframe were a set of paper cranes, an old Mistrali tradition for wishing someone to get better.
And Jaune was here.
Pyrrha was struck by an impulse to gather Jaune up in her arms, proof that what she saw was real and he was alive and with her. But even if Pyrrha had been so bold, her restraints wouldn't allow it. She focused on the odd cuffs and flexed her Semblance, confirming her suspicion that there was no metal in what was holding her down. Other than the plate on her leg, there wasn't any metal anywhere. Not in the door or in the beeping machine or even on Jaune.
No wonder. She was a murderer.
She looked around the room again, at all the artifacts left behind. Maybe they didn't know, Pyrrha thought. Or maybe they did and had already left her. She found an unsettling comfort in both possibilities.
Pyrrha eased back into the bed, shut her eyes, and let everything — everything — come to exist solely in the spot where Jaune's cheek rested against her thigh. She focused on the warm spot of his breath against the thin sheet that separated their skin. It calmed her. She eyed his bandaged forehead, the way he laid with one arm half-circling his face like he'd been covering his eyes from the light. His other hand laid flat on the bed, just shy of hers.
With a little bit of wriggling, Pyrrha found she could brush her fingertips over his knuckles. She was proud of the scars he had there, from her lessons in hand-to-hand combat.
But Pyrrha didn't dare wake him. She wasn't ready. For the anger — we're partners, Pyrrha — and accusations — how could you — and how much he must hate her for doing what she did. Even if it had saved him. Even if it meant he could be with her here, now. If it had been her in that locker, Pyrrha thinks she'd hate herself too.
Jaune made a half-snore, half-cough and Pyrrha's fingers stilled. He burrowed a little further into the muscle of her thigh, the hand under hers curling weakly into the sheets. Pyrrha waited a full minute for him to settle, then resumed her small caresses.
A vision of an auburn forest flickered across her mind's eye. A fluttering of branches. Then, Elphaba's voice.
You have to tell him, she said, softly. Don't do this to yourself.
Pyrrha jerked her head to the side. She dislodged the woman from her mind, even as the motion made her head spin. She'd heard Elphaba's advice echoed in everyone from Nora to Coco Adele. Pyrrha knew better. She had long ago accepted the bittersweet gift of being just Pyrrha in Jaune's eyes.
More than anything right now, it was that normalcy she craved. Pyrrha had chosen this — in the vault when Ozpin promised her it would save the world — so she'd bear its consequences, in the eyes of Remnant and her friends. But Pyrrha would willingly bury her heart, forget his kiss, and pretend she never hoped for anything more if it meant that she could keep Jaune in her life — if it meant she could go back to how they used to be. Pyrrha had been strong in the vault and at the tower, in every way that counted. She could keep being strong.
A crunch of leaves. Georgina. The end of the world is easy, soldier. Compared to every day that comes after.
"Leave me alone," Pyrrha whispered into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please."
She felt Georgina's presence leave, as quietly and as calmly as she had arrived. It faded back into the dull static. She was grateful they were listening.
More than just sore, Pyrrha felt thin and frail and tired . A ghost of fear still threaded itself into her thoughts; even now, she couldn't shake the sensation of being in a jail cell. She wanted to fall back asleep but dreaded what awaited her in the depths of her subconscious. The Maidens most likely. Or old nightmares, like the ones that had resurfaced in the days leading up to the singles tournament — the same nightmares she used to have at Sanctum — of dying and not recognizing a single face at her own funeral.
The exhaustion and promise of unpredictable dreams had Pyrrha distracted. She didn't immediately notice when Jaune's hand moved under her ministrations. Not until his fingers flexed back, holding her fingertips between his knuckles, nestling her palm over the back of his hand.
She wasn't ready. Not even a little.
Slowly, Pyrrha opened her eyes. Jaune was blinking awake, his irises ringed red from heavy sleep. He yawned and muttered something about his shoulder, made to pull back and straighten up, but abruptly noticed their intertwined hands. Jaune's gaze jumped from her fingers to her face and Pyrrha froze.
Jaune hadn't seen, she realized. Jaune didn't know. He was looking at her like that because she'd kissed him. He still cared for her because he didn't know that the pedestal she'd been on her whole life had become a skyscraper and that she'd killed Cinder Fall with her own hands; he didn't know that she was only a resident of the city that was her own body and that he was so much more than she ever deserved. Jaune thought she was still Pyrrha — just Pyrrha.
She owed him the truth. He was her best friend. Even if, in her heart of hearts, she never wanted him to stop looking at her like that.
In the same exact moment Pyrrha opened her mouth, Jaune pitched forward, sending his chair clattering to the floor. Blindsiding anything Pyrrha was going to say, Jaune dove atop her, shoved both his arms between her body and the mattress, and proceeded to squeeze .
It took Pyrrha a few seconds to react. She shifted against her restraints, then made her hands into fists and did a half-crunch that burned her core to tuck her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He smelled like sweat and medicine and a hint of Ren's favorite tea that permeated everything in JNPR's dorm when he made it.
She didn't realize she'd started to cry until she searched long and hard for her voice and then couldn't get it out her throat. "I'm sorry."
Jaune nodded into her neck and shuddered. He squeezed her even tighter and Pyrrha didn't care that it made all her muscles hurt, because nothing could've hurt her more than the sound of his voice, breaking.
"Me too."
James Ironwood rearranged his handwritten stack of papers on Jacque Schnee's borrowed desk. He rubbed his eyes to fight the nausea of going nearly cross-eyed with reading and re-reading.
There was no easy way to do what needed to be done. It was a task the brotherhood had long been able to prevent, and now, it was a task that fell to him to salvage. Twenty years guarding the Maidens made him a dealer of miracles, and they all were in dire need of one now. He'd been consulting the scans of the old texts on his scroll and doing his best to make what he had to do as concise and coherent as possible. He wasn't sure it was working.
Glynda put one hand on his shoulder and held out her other hand for the stack of pages. "Let me check it again."
Ironwood reached for his brandy, passing the pages over his shoulder to Glynda. He took a long drink as the woman behind him slipped the hand from his shoulder and adjusted her glasses.
His shoulder stayed warm. They were very good at pretending, he thought. It had been very conducive to their respective careers and their history.
They lapsed into silence as Glynda shuffled pages and Ironwood shuffled through memories.
"Do you think she thinks of us?" he asked suddenly.
Glynda tensed, the riffle of papers stilling in her hands. She didn't answer.
"I wonder. Sometimes." He tapped his metal finger against the glass of brandy, revelled in the sound.
"Don't," Glynda said, low and sharp. "Don't do this to yourself."
Ironwood got up and crossed the room, drink in hand, to make sure the door was locked. It was the fifth time he'd checked. He'd been doing it to himself far longer than Glynda knew.
"Nikos will be awake any day now," Glynda said tightly. She came over to Ironwood, pushing the freshly clipped packet of sheets against his chest. "We have a job to do." Glynda waited for him to take the papers, then retreated to the desk. "The story is as good as its getting."
The pages felt too light in Ironwood's flesh hand, too light for the weight they really carried.
"Did you ever get to speak to Amber?" he asked the slivers of bark and wool in his hand. The sound of his voice was not as smooth as he would have liked.
"Qrow was her contact," Glynda answered after a moment.
"And you never asked to meet her?"
The ice in Glynda's voice was splintering. "For what . James."
"For something! I don't know," he snapped. So much for pretending. Pretending took more energy than he had at the moment, when he knew that the Fall Maiden was somewhere underneath his feet and the fabric of the world that had been the focus of half his life was about to unravel in front of his eyes. "For some shred of proof."
Glynda pulled her riding crop from her belt and motioned. Ironwood's drink flew from his hand and to Glynda's.
"If you want to be emotional," she said coldly, "do it now, in private , and sober. As much as I'd love to give this speech in your place, I have my doubts regarding whether or not your men will listen to me. A job still needs to be done."
"A job I signed up for because of you ." His green eyes flashed. "And you signed up for her ."
Glynda put his glass on the desk. Then, thought better of it, and took a drink from it. "Are you done?"
Ironwood lowered his head and huffed. It had been like this for so long, he sometimes forgot what it was like before. In his hands, he unclipped the speech and rearranged it into proper sequence.
"I applaud how well you have your priorities in order," he said.
When he unlocked the door, the sound snapped through the room like frost. Glynda's voice was equally sudden when she spoke.
"You have...no idea. What she meant to me," she whispered.
"Of course. You forget, Glynn," he said, stepping out. "My cybernetics half isn't the one with my heart."
"You know, Weiss was pretty mad when I told her I got invited to a secret meeting and she wasn't."
Qrow snorted. "A Schnee is mad at me? Must be a day of the week."
Ruby grinned. Smiling was easy with Uncle Qrow. Almost too easy, she realized guiltily, considering what the last week had been like.
Early on, in light of all the terrible things that had happened, Ruby had designated herself as Official Bundle of Sunshine. She made the decision on the first night — while Yang was still sedated in her bed, and Weiss was looking for answers, and Blake had been sobbing quietly into her pillow for an hour. Ruby had decided then and there that even if she didn't feel it — and she rarely did these days — she was going to smile and tease and help out anyone who looked like they could use a dumb joke or a laugh at her silly expense. It was all she could do.
Smiling with Uncle Qrow, really smiling, made her feel like a traitor. She bit down on her tongue and rushed a little to keep pace with her uncle. "Sooo what's this about?"
"It's a secret," Qrow said by way of explaining. "Hence, secret meeting."
"You're not going to yell at us some more about finding Pyrrha?" Ruby shrunk in on herself. "Glynda already yelled at us a lot."
"Nah, yelling isn't my department. Besides, I think your blonde friend already learned his lesson pretty well. Never get in the way of a redhead having a bad day." He smirked. "She'll rock your world."
Ruby mock-gasped. "Uncle Qrow ! Yang would be so proud."
Qrow's mirth turned serious. "How is she today?"
Ruby looked at her feet and slowed a little. Qrow followed suit to keep pace with her. "She's...adjusting. She apologized for yelling at Weiss yesterday. This morning, she let me braid her hair — and she never used to let me do that. Talking with Blake has been helping. Being locked in the room with Blake helps even more. We're all working it out." Ruby looked up at her uncle. "I think she's going to be okay. One day."
Qrow raised a brow. "And you?"
Ruby didn't tell him about her newfound fear of elevators, how she suddenly couldn't stand the sound of metal shoving on metal. She didn't tell him about her nightmares where she activated her Semblance and was a blur of speed and flowers and not fast enough never fast enough. She didn't tell him that sometimes she remembered Cinder's body up in the tower, bleeding with that chunk of iron through her heart, and thought of her sister and Penny and good riddance, and then she had to find a stairwell to cry in because she was a terrible person.
Instead, she put on her Official Sunshine Smile, despite not selling it as well as she wished she could. "I think I'm going to be okay, too."
"Good," Qrow said. His half-smile was equally as convincing. When he ruffled her hair, he did it slowly, affectionately. Ruby wondered if her uncle might be seeing right through her. To be fair, explaining away her regularly puffy eyes as an allergic reaction to Atlesian snow probably tipped him off.
They reached the set of doors to the stone hallway. It was guarded by five men now instead of two. They required the hunters to relinquish their scythes, along with any other metal brooches and belts, before allowing Ruby and her uncle to pass through to the stone corridor.
As they approached the room, steps echoing, Ruby could hear Jaune's voice, muffled by the heavy wooden door.
Then — a giggle that turned into a gentle laugh. Pyrrha.
Ruby's heart soared. Pyrrha was awake.
Qrow pushed the door open. Inside, Jaune was sitting in the short chair beside the bed, holding Pyrrha's hand in both of his. He'd taken the back cushion off the armchair and situated it so Pyrrha could sit up. They were looking at each other with red eyes and red faces, but Pyrrha was trying to hold down a shy smile and Jaune looked about as sheepish as he had knocking Ruby over on the first day of combat training. It took them a moment to register the open door and Qrow clearing his throat.
Without waiting for formalities, Ruby rushed in. She was so fast, it was half a wonder a whirlwind of rose petals didn't settle when she threw her arms around Pyrrha recklessly.
Into the hood of her cloak, Pyrrha breathed a small hello. Again.
"You — scared — the beetlejuice out of us," Ruby said when she pulled back. Pyrrha opened her mouth, looking apologetic, but Ruby resolutely held up a finger to shush her. "Your apology for doing so was mailed-in and received ahead of time and has already been accepted."
Pyrrha's lips tipped up at that. The original Official Sunshine Smile. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"You apologize to your boyfriend yet for redecorating the tectonics plates in his brain?" Qrow asked from the door, his attention distracted as he sent a message on his scroll.
Ruby watched the ghost of Pyrrha's smile disappear as she looked to Jaune who hastily adjusted the bandage around his head. "I...did what?"
"It's fine. I'm fine," Jaune said quickly, playing it off. "You didn't hit me any harder than you would've in training."
"What… When ?"
"A couple days ago," Ruby said, sitting at the foot of Pyrrha's bed on the opposite side of Jaune. Clearly, Pyrrha and Jaune had been talking about things other than recent events. "We put together this big plan to find you and break you out because the adults wouldn't tell us where you were. Jaune tried to get you out of the bed and you…" Ruby mimed an explosion. She nodded. "They told everyone it was an earthquake. Glynda bought our silence by giving us visiting privileges."
Pyrrha looked between her friends, no doubt doing the math. "How...long have I been here?"
"Better part of a week, Mother Nature," Qrow said absently. He was still standing, suspiciously, in the open door to the hallway.
Ruby was confused by Pyrrha's flinch at the nickname. Her friend's gaze unfocused, darting to the corner of the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing sharply, like the name had wounded her.
Ruby put a hand on her arm. Jaune sat up straighter as well. "Pyrrha?"
"It's alright, Ms. Rose," a voice said, echoing in the hallway. Uncle Qrow stepped back and pushed the door open fully.
In a wheelchair, Professor Ozpin rolled into the room. "I'll take it from here."
Author's Note: With 47 faves and 92 follows, it's like Christmas has come early!
I must have rewritten Pyrrha's awakening scene at least fifteen different times. I reached a point where I was second-guessing my decision to write this story so soon after joining the fandom as I kept doubting all my character choices because they started to feel disingenuous to Pyrrha in canon. Until my best friend pointed out to me that the whole arc of this story IS about deliberately evolving Pyrrha past the point of canon and then I felt better about it. It may sound silly in hindsight, but it's little things you learn when trying out new story types and character arcs.
Anyway. Maybe I take my fanfiction too seriously. But as my best friend likes to remind me, it's all experience points. And speaking of, god bless her for all her editing help, especially since RWBY isn't her fandom. Even if she keeps referring to Pyrrha and Jaune as Jean Grey From 300 and French Yellow Ron Stoppable.
Chapter Title: "trust your heart / if the seas catch fire / (and live by love / though the stars walk backward)" -dive for dreams, e e cummings
