Chapter 9

Rather than the bloodstained arena I envisioned, The Hall of Heroic Endeavors is a pretty normal modern museum, even if it is on the nice end. Tall glass doors, sparkling electronics and shining black marble differentiate it from the run down brick or even wood buildings that hail back to Vale's earliest days, but there's no sign of mortal combat or other such oddities. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

As expected, a team of four men and two women stand vigilant at the entrance, dressed in the dark reds and greens of Vale's 'police' force. The Council calls them the Peacekeepers, but we all know better. They keep the peace, alright, but their methods are nowhere as lofty as their name.

Once I approach, one of them steps forward, a folded bundle of clothing in his arms.

"Mister Arc," he greets, words clipped and coldly professional. "It is good you made it on time." He holds the clothes out to me, and I instantly recognize it as a dark blue Hunter's dress uniform, typically used for parades and other intent is obvious. Go in obviously dressed like hunters, act appropriately romantic, heroic, and happy, inspire the common people, and leave. "Wear this," he continues. "You are to meet your mate in five minutes. There are bathrooms adjacent to the museum. You may change there. Within the uniform shirt pocket is a piece of paper. That is your itinerary for this exercise. You are to follow it closely."

It's a good thing that Weiss and I didn't buy anything, then. I should have guessed that they would want to show me and Ruby off. She probably has to wear a matching uniform. Not too similar, though. Can't have all of us hunters and breeders looking exactly the same. And an itinerary? We can't even choose what to look at or for how long?

Once I've changed, the peacekeepers bustle me inside. Small groups of people meander the halls, enough that the museum feels occupied, but far from reaching any kind of capacity. Ruby is waiting just beyons the doors, eyes roving the hall with childish wonder. When she notices me, she waves enthusiastically, and the peacekeepers behind and beside me disperse, giving us a facade of privacy.

"Jaune! Over here!"

Rather than the uniform I expected, she's wearing the red and black combat dress I haven't seen on her since Beacon, but with some new modifications I can't quite put my finger on, but I can tell something's different then before. Compared to the simple clothes I've gotten used to seeing her wear, it makes her seem older. Not just a child, but sleek, competent, professional.

Dangerous.

"They let you wear that?" I blurt out. So much for making us match. Gah, I wish I had something to wear that didn't make me feel like a tall, gangly peacock.

She giggles. "Crazy, right? I had to wear this for work today, and I came straight here afterwards. My boss put in a word for me, so they let me keep it. One guy looked so mad about it."

"I can imagine. You probably broke more rules in that one instant than he's broken his entire life."

"Probably. SDC employee, woo!" She looks me up and down before finishing with a shy smile. "Blue suits you. You look sharp."

The unexpected compliment brings a rush of heat to my face. I cough to hide my embarrassment and glance away. "Uh, thanks. You too. Sharp that is, not blue. Although I'm sure blue would be great for you too. Maybe a little ironic though, cuz your name is Ruby and all, and, uh..." Good job, Jaune. Real smooth.

She laughs. "I get it, Jaune. Thanks." Her bright smile and pink cheeks leave no doubt she took my aimless rambling as a compliment, which is good, because if I tried to explain myself at this point I would probably just make it worse.

"Get a move on, you two," a furious voice growls behind us. One of the caretakers trails us, having swapped his eye catching uniform for more normal clothes and a pair of shades. "You have two minutes to enter the first exhibit."

"Already? But we just got here!" I moan with an exaggerated shake of my head, more to irritate the man behind me than from any genuine feeling of disappointment. "I mean, where else am I going to recite my twenty line romantic poem?"

"I'm sure we can find someplace," Ruby joins in, silver eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. I can almost hear the man's jaw creaking with agitation. "But do you even have a twenty line romantic poem?"

"Nope," I admit freely. "My poetry, uh, isn't the greatest."

"Aww. Too bad." Apparently unbothered by my lack of poetic talent, she spins in front of me before settling into a dramatic pose, one finger pointed imperiously down the hall that leads to the first exhibit. "Come, my knight-dashing in armor-shining! Let us depart for lands hitherto unknown! Glory awaits!"

"As you command, my–" I try to imitate her exuberant speech, but I'm interrupted by a crippling fit of coughing as my throat protests the rough treatment. "My liege," I finally gasp out.

And then I make a huge mistake.

With everything going well, especially compared to all I had stressed over while planning with Weiss, I let my guard down. Begin to genuinely enjoy myself, lost sight of all the danger I was navigating, and forgot the unaddressed landmine under my feet.

So when Ruby takes my hand, I don't see it coming.

For one brief, brief moment, our hands are nestled together, hers small and warm and soft against my larger and rougher one, still cold from the crisp late autumn chill.

A pleasant thrill jolts up my spine, and maybe I'm crazy, but I can hear echoes of song in the depths of my soul, like my aura itself resonates with hers at the contact, the two of us melody and harmony.

But then some other part of me takes control, a part that screams no with every fiber of its being, and I jerk violently away, severing our contact, and the moment dies with it.

"Sorry!" Ruby cries out, and her newfound energy dissipates in an instant, replaced by the nervous and subsued girl I've lived with for the past few months, her silver eyes averted in shame. "I'm really sorry. I – I shouldn't have done that."

Come on, Jaune. There was absolutely no reason for that. Why did you react that way? All she wants is to hold your hand. Besides, you have to put on a show for the people, pretend you're happy and in love and all that. Holding hands is part of that.

But logic can't argue against what wasn't logical in the first place. I didn't think about dodging away. It just happened.

"No, I'm sorry," I say, trying to convince myself more than her. "You just… caught me off guard." I extend my hand toward her, deliberately this time. "Round two?"

She shakes her head and smiles at me, but a cloaked sadness pollutes what should have been joyful. "It's alright. I'm fine. Sorry to surprise you."

Great. Less than five minutes and I've already blown it.

With sharp commands hissed under their breath, the caretakers guide us into the first exhibit, a winding hallway containing a series of rooms, each hidden by a thick red curtain. The exhibit is even more sparsely occupied than the already quiet entrance; the only other inhabitant is an elderly man perusing one of the exhibit descriptions engraved on a bronze plate beside one of the curtains. Ruby throws him a cheery wave, and he responds with a curt nod before ambling off down the hall.

At yet another barked command from our caretakers, who are still tailing us from barely out of sight, Ruby and I enter through the now-vacated curtain, into a cozy room of plush red carpet and golden tassels. Three glass display cases each occupy one of the walls, and a holoscreen hangs ominously over the largest case directly opposite us, a looping documentary clip depicting soldiers and hunters struggling with the Grimm acting out its endless cycles in the air above. Ruby moves to get a better look at the holoscreen, but I opt to study the cases instead. They're filled with plastic figurines of men, machines, and Grimm, an artificial recreation of some historic battle. A series of adjacent plaque lend some much needed context to the scene.

A Crisis Averted: The Patch Evacuation.

Oh. This is really recent history, then. Ruby probably remembers a lot of it.

The plaques give a long and detailed explanation about the unprecedented waves of Grimm that overran Patch, along with several theories as to the source, and a whole lot of other information that I skim over, overwhelmed by the quantity of information, until one particular passage rivets my attention.

Although Patch was nearly a disaster, the timely and heroic intervention of the Hunter Corp and the 17th, 22nd, and 28th brigades drove the Grimm back long enough for military transports to evacuate the populace, with only minimal casualties. The Battle for Patch illustrates an important lesson: rapid reaction and well trained men can overcome even the most unexpected of Grimm attacks, and Patch is remembered and celebrated as one of the greatest victories of our time.

I was young back then, but even so the story the museum is trying to pitch clashes horribly with what I remember of the event. My parents did their best to hide it from my sisters and I, but I remember the haunted horror that sometimes overtook them when they came home from a long day of work. The Council cracked down to keep news from leaking to the populace, but the Patch Disaster was just too big, with too many people involved, to keep everything under wraps. People were there, and people talked, even if they had to whisper in the darkest corners of the night to get away with it.

"So that's what they said happened?" Ruby murmurs behind me, startling me out of my memories. When I shoot her a quizzical look, she elaborates. "It's– what's written there? It's not true."

"Yeah. I definitely don't remember it being so… successful."

"Patch was a disaster," Ruby drones, eyes glazed and unblinking. She begins a robotic recitation of fact after fact with the practiced mastery of one consumed by them. "Nobody was ready. The troops that got there in time were untrained. The Hunters got split up when they tried to land. Everyone was decimated."

"Ruby," I try to interrupt, but she plods forward irregardless, every word falling in step.

"And the military couldn't scrape enough transports together. Most of the ships were civilian pilots who risked their lives to save those they could. But – but a lot of people got left behind anyways." She pauses, her eyes completely unfocused by now, and I suddenly realize she's trembling, trapped in a nightmare of memories. She might be here, but her mind is a hundred miles away, on a little island where the streets are overrun with death and the hills spit flame in desperate defiance that wanes with every second and rubble intermixes with bloody corpses and shattered machines in equal measure.

"Ruby!" I snap, shaking her shoulder with more force than I intended. Although I feel a little bad for the way she's jostled to and fro from my hands, it's quickly overruled by relief when she blinks and the life comes back to her eyes.

"Sorry," she apologizes yet again.

"Are you alright?" I ask. I realize it's a dumb question as soon as the words are out. Of course she's not alright, not while she's standing in the middle of a brutal reminder of the event that took everything from her. What little family she had left, what friends she might have made – all gone in an instant. Even worse, rather than acknowledge it and mourn it is a tragedy, the state's twisted it into some fictitious tale of salvaging victory from the jaws of disaster, disrespecting the sacrifice that was paid for every life that survived that night. "No, what I mean is–"

"It's okay," Ruby says, weak and faint at first, but growing stronger with every word. "This place just… brings some bad memories back."

"If…" I begin, knowing what I want to say but not sure how to say it, "if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. And willing to listen. I'd be happy to, in fact."

She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I'm fine, really. Patch and all that, it doesn't bother me anymore."

There's no way that can be true, though. Memories like that always leave a mark, right? I study her closely for her usual signs of lying: the way she averts her gaze, the way she pivots uncomfortably from foot to foot, all the little tells she has that make her usual attempts to deceive miserable failures.

I find none of them.

"Besides," she continues, and now I know she's not being honest because all of a sudden she turns so she doesn't have to look at me, "I don't really remember that much, anyways."

I haven't decided if I want to challenge her or not when my scroll buzzes. When I pull it out, the words 'next room' flash across the screen.

These caretakers are making this whole date thing really, really difficult right now.

"Didja get that too?" Ruby asks.

"Yup."

Inconvenient timing? Very much so. But maybe it's just as well. I think both of us are more than done with this place, and neither of us want to think about it, even if it means shoving some things under the rug.

::-::-::

After several more rooms of smaller exhibits, our invisible guides lead us into a spacious thoroughfare, illuminated by the late afternoon sun through the massive glass panels that compose the roof. The wall space not taken up by the multitude of doors and exit ways into other parts of the museum is lined with antique posters and small screens playing out battles between Hunters and Grimm in stunning detail. If we lived in some alternate realm where humanity actually won most of those battles, they might even look realistic. In contrast to the quieter sectors from which we had just come from, small groups of schoolchildren and families pass through on their way to some exhibit or another, and a few pause to admire their surroundings.

None of it matters to Ruby. I've only turned away for half a second before she's flown halfway down the hall, so quickly in certain her semblance was involved, until she's parked before a tall, metallic statue. I rush to catch up, and once I'm close enough and I have a better angle, I realize she's not looking at just a statue, but in fact a full size mech. It stands on a pedestal, surrounded by a red rope to keep spectators out and a sign bearing the words "please do not touch." I've seen a Paladin mech once, during a parade, but this one is smaller, scrawnier, even though the design is otherwise similar.

"I can't believe it!" Ruby gushes, silver eyes sparkling with excitement. "They have the original prototype Sentinel-class mech! Oh, isn't she beautiful?"

"Sentinel class?" I haven't heard of them at all. Before my time? Maybe my parents would know.

"Yup! The Sentinels were the first mass-produced mechs capable of using dust boosted ammunition without tearing the gun apart." Or, well, maybe Ruby would know. "They saved a ton of battles when they were first deployed, and they're pretty much the great grandparents of today's Paladin!" She pauses for a deep breath and leans over the rope to gently caress the leg of the mech. "Oh, I would kill to get my hands on one of these! Grimm, that is. Kill Grimm. Dunno if I would kill people. I'd have to think about it."

"Please stay behind the red rope!" a museum attendant calls out, but his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Ruby's gaze cranes upward towards the massive machine gun the mech holds aloft. The thing probably weighs as much as she does, if not more. It's a pretty comical sight, actually; she's leaned so far over I have no idea how she hasn't fallen on her face, but her head is tilted to look straight up. That can't be comfortable. "Oooh, no way! The prototype uses 12.7 millimeter ammo, but the standard designs swapped to 7.92. I wonder if it's because–"

She babbles on in total bliss, oblivious to the increasingly heated warnings wafting over from various museum workers, and I rapidly lose track off the constant stream of technospeak and military references.

"Ruby," I finally chime in, pulling on her hood to choke off the ceaseless flow of words. "I hate to interrupt you, but there are a lot of very unhappy employees glaring at us right now."

"Oh!" she squeaks, face bright red once she realizes the sheer volume of attention she's generated, not only from workers but also from random passersby, their expressions ranging from disapproval to amusement. "Oh boy. Right. Um. Hi everyone! Just pretend you didn't see – or hear – anything? Please?"

I let out a startled gasp when she barrels into me, bodily dragging me away with all the force her petite frame can manage.

"Aaaand that's our ticket to leave," she blusters, face bright red. "Not super excited about the whole staring thing."

I lead her away to a nearby bench, which proves to be a difficult task, since she won't stop trying to use me as a human shield. "In their defense, you were being pretty loud." A petite fist slams into my chest with unexpected force. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You're supposed to be sticking up for me!"

"Ok, ok," I chuckle, "I'm sorry."

"Meanie."

Once we take a seat and it becomes impossible for her to hide behind me, she settles against my shoulder instead. I don't mind, at first; she's soft and warm and it's anything but unpleasant, but as time drags on I grow more and more, I don't know, aware that she's there, which makes no sense because she's been there the whole time. But it's like her presence just gets stronger and stronger, until it swallows up my awareness, and all I can pay attention to is the rhythm of her breathing and the warmth against my shoulder and the faint scent of strawberries in her hair and–

I make the mistake of turning my head, and her face is right there. Her eyes are closed, but I take in every detail instantly, how small and peaceful and innocent and straight up cute she is, and my heart skips a beat and–

And–

I jerk away, leaving her to barely catch herself before she smacks against the wood, a startled squeak her only protest against my actions.

"Jaune?" she asks, concern radiating from her in waves. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" Yes! You're driving me insane and I don't know why! "Sorry. I must have fallen asleep," I lie, breath coming in heavy gasps.

She regards me suspiciously, before her eyes widen in realization. "Riiight. Sorry! I forgot you don't–" she cuts herself off without warning.

"I don't what?" I prompt. I don't know what she's thinking, but I get the bad feeling we're not on the same page.

"Nothing!" The words rush out of her mouth far too quickly for them to be true. "Just thinking aloud. You're fine. Great! Nothing wrong."

"Ruby–"

My scroll vibrates yet again, cutting me off. A single word blinks across the screen, sending icy tendrils of dread spiraling through my chest.

Kiss.

Oh, screw that. It's one thing to micromanage every minute of our time here, but that? That's going too far. I'll kiss her when I'm good and ready, thank you very much, and I'm not, so I won't.

I stuff the scroll back into my pocket, resolutely ignoring it when it vibrates unceasingly, until it finally rests silent. I'm sure I'll pay later, but I'm sick and tired of their interference. I'll just make up some excuse about how I saw the message late or something.

Except the message goes to Ruby's scroll as well. She glances at it, then at me, before quietly shoving it back into the pouch at her belt. I expect her to say something, maybe criticize me for my rebellion or suggest that we follow orders, but to my surprise, she says nothing.

I open my mouth to explain why I'm ignoring them, maybe to apologize to her, but the words won't come. It feels too complicated to try to justify, because I'm not even sure myself.

Luckily for me, she doesn't push for answers. She suddenly whirls around, attention drawn further down the hall. "Hey, Jaune." She points, and I strain to follow her motion through the people that constantly block my view. "Do you see that kid?"

Once a path clears enough for me to get a good look, it's hard to miss her. She can't be more than four or five, but she walks with a grace that belies her age. Every movement is graceful, controlled, poised, nothing like what a young child should be. Brilliant red hair spills down her back in a messy ponytail, adding to the attention that she naturally commands. You can't help but watch her when you notice her, and sure enough, other passersby glance at her uncertainly as they walk by. Not a single one moves to talk to her.

"Yeah, I see her. Why?"

"I think she's lost."

The girl turns back and forth, pacing aggressively from side to side, as if she desperately wants to move on, but something chains her to the same patch of ground. Her gaze whips around the hall, looking for something – or someone – she cannot find.

"I think you're right."

"I'm going to go make sure she's ok," Ruby declares, and before I can protest she's striding purposefully towards the young girl, flowing through and around the foot traffic effortlessly. I follow after her, although my approach involves a whole lot more clumsiness, a near collision, and several hurried apologies.

Once I finally make my way over, Ruby's already knelt down to talk to the girl face to face. I'm not sure what else I should do, so I stand awkwardly a few feet away. It would be bad to intimidate the girl further when she's clearly already wound up.

Ruby speaks gently, with a calm, soothing tone that catches me off guard. I've heard happy, sad, sorry, even angry, but not this. It seems at odds with both forms of Ruby I know, both the cheery girl I knew at Beacon as well as the… other one I've come to know now. This is a Ruby I've never seen, the one that spent years as a surrogate older sister in a cramped orphanage, with dozens and dozens of younger children to take care of whether she wanted to or not.

"Hi there. Are you okay? Are you lost?"

The young girl freezes in her pacing, verdant green eyes bouncing between Ruby and the rest of the hall, unsure of how to react to the red cloaked stranger in front of her.

"Don't worry, I just want to make sure you're alright," Ruby explains.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Although the girl hesitates to even say that, it's clear that the poise she exhibits extends to her speech as well. While she lilts and trips over words like any young child, there's an eloquence and a thoughtfulness in the delivery of her words that wouldn't be out of place on someone much older.

Ruby smiles, not at all off put by the rejection. "Oh? That's very smart of you. Well, okay then, how about I talk, and you can just nod or shake your head. That way, you don't have to talk to me."

Um, Ruby, I don't think it works like that.

The girl ponders the option for a while, eyes rolled skyward, then nods.

Or, well, maybe it does.

"Great! Um, let me see… is anyone else with you? Are you here with your mommy?"

She shakes her head twice.

"No? How about your daddy?"

Same thing.

"No? Um, a teacher then?"

She thinks about that one for a while, then shrugs. Ok, I get nodding and shaking, but what's a shrug supposed to mean? 'I don't know if he's a teacher?'

Ruby, thankfully, picks up on the child's intent much better than I do. "Hmm? So he's kind of a teacher, but not really? Or is it a she?"

The girl holds up one tiny finger.

"He, then." Ruby starts to rise to her feet, but without warning, the girl latches onto her arm, keeping her from going any further. "I'm just going to go ask the museum people to find him, okay? Or do you want me to stay with you?"

The girl hugs Ruby's arm tight, green eyes trained through her lashes. Despite the maturity she radiated, she's still a little kid, and getting lost is always terrifying. Ruby might be a stranger, but at least she's shown herself to be kind, and kids are surprisingly good at sensing people's intentions.

Ruby leads the girl to a bench, lifting her up when she struggles to drag her tiny frame onto the wood. "Okay, I'll stay here. Can you tell me your name?" She points to me, and I wave, pasting a smile on my face I hope looks mostly genuine. "Then Mister Jaune over there can go find your teacher for you."

"...Pyrrha," the girl says, evidently deciding that Ruby is a suitable exception to the talking-to-strangers-rule.

I wave an employee over and begin explaining the situation, but the exchange only lasts for a few moments until he departs to search for the child's parents, and we're quiet enough that I can still catch the conversation going on behind me.

"Pyrrha? That's a very pretty name. I'm Ruby!"

"Hi," Pyrrha replies, and I can hear the coy smile in her voice, even if I can't see her face. "I like your name too."

"Why thank you! That's very nice of you. How old are you, Pyrrha?"

"I'm five and a half."

What is she even doing here? Judging from the people around us, The Hall of Heroic Endeavors is primarily meant for young teenagers and children who are almost there. It's definitely not for kids as young as Pyrrha. I mean, I don't think she's even tall enough to see many of the exhibits.

"Are you here for school?" Ruby asks, unconcerned with the apparent unlikelihood of that being the case. "Is that why you're with your kind-of-teacher?"

Pyrrha shakes her head again, but there's a lot more energy to the motion than there was before, and her timid uncertainty has all but vanished. "He's not my teacher. He says he's Uncle James. But he's not really my uncle. He's my… my… garden."

"Garden?" Ruby pauses, her impeccable translation temporarily confounded, but it doesn't take her long to figure it out. "You mean guardian?"

Pyrrha nods emphatically. "Yeah! But what does gardee-en mean?"

"It means that he takes care of you."

Pyrrha ponders that for a while, before coming to a conclusion with childlike clarity. "Like a mommy and daddy?"

"Yes, like that," Ruby acknowledges, but there's a sad taint to her smile and her cheeriness is forced. My own heart twists, because I know what's coming.

Kids with living parents don't need other guardians.

"My mommy and daddy can't take care of me. They're dead. That's why Uncle James has to do it," Pyrrha states matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ruby says, but neither of us are surprised. Orphans are anything but rare. This one was lucky; she at least had someone to take care of her afterwards.

Pyrrha shrugs, tiny shoulders rising and falling in the awkward swell that only a child can do. "It's ok. Uncle James takes good care of me. He's very strong."

"I'm sure he is," Ruby replies. "Is he the strongest? Like–" she holds her arms wide. "Thiiiiiis strong?"

"Even more stronger," Pyrrha declares solemnly, "because he's a good guy. My teacher says good things happen to good people. That's why he's strong. But I don't think she's right."

"That would be nice, but the world doesn't always work that way." Ruby murmurs.

"My mommy and daddy were good people too, but they still died," Pyrrha agrees. "That's why she's not right."

It's spine chilling how calmly she says it, like she was just telling us what she ate for breakfast. Maybe it's because she's too young to understand what she's saying, but I don't think it's that simple. Nothing I've seen from her makes me think of childish innocence.

"That's why I'm going to be even more stronger than they were," Pyrrha continues. "Even more than Uncle James, until I'm the most strongest of all. Then nobody else will have to die."

"That's a great goal," Ruby says, with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "But remember to take care of yourself, too. It would be sad if you got hurt."

Pyrrha shakes her head, and for the first time her mask cracks as her tiny voice trembles. "I can't be weak. Because… because if I'm weak…"

She doesn't finish the sentence, but Ruby knows what she means, because she wraps the young girl in a tight hug.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" she says, only relinquishing the hug in favor of coming face to face with Pyrrha.

Pyrrha nods.

"My mommy and daddy are dead too."

"Do you miss them?" The tiny redhead asks after a thoughtful pause.

"Lots," Ruby admits. "Lots and lots."

"I miss mine lots, too." Pyrrha sniffs, and a single tear rolls down her cheek, before she rubs furiously at her eyes, as if she could scrub away all the grief and shock and tragedy, as long as she tried hard enough. Ruby strokes her hair gently.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," she croons, "it's okay to cry. Crying helps you feel better."

"No," Pyrrha insists, mastering her emotions through supernatural will. A chill courses through me at how quickly and easily she does it, even as such a young child. "I have to be strong. Uncle James says so, too."

I'm getting less and less good vibes from this 'Uncle James,' even if Pyrrha seems to look up to him.

The employee I talked to earlier returns from his quest, and motions for me to follow. I leave Ruby behind to comfort Pyrrha and follow the employee through a smaller side hall marked 'employees only.' He leads me through a maze of nondescript rooms before we enter a spartan conference room. The room's sole occupant looms by a window opposite the door, a tall, imposing man, one so dominating he radiates power and control, even while seated in one of the cheap plastic chairs circling the table. He turns as I enter. My blood freezes when I see his face.

"G–general Ironwood," I gulp. This is the 'Uncle James' that Pyrrha was talking about? Why on Remnant would the head of the Vale council be taking care of a five year old girl?

He regards me coolly, but there is no trace of the outright hostility from our last meeting. "Mister Arc. I'm glad to see you are well. Please, take a seat."

"Oh, ah, yes, of course. Seat. No problem." I oblige, too nervous from both his presence and the aftermath of our last meeting to do otherwise. Ironwood mirrors me.

"How are you adjusting?" He continues. "I assume your lodgings are suitable?"

"Fine! Very fine. The finest. Thank you sir," I squawk.

"Good. I understand that your new life may take some getting used to, but for the good of Vale you must do your part."

The good of Vale. Two fairly normal kids, torn from their previous lives because of a simple number on Remnant's cruelest test, forced into a relationship neither of them want, the rest of their lives structured and restricted, all for the good of Vale. "Yes sir."

"Have you initiated your duties with your wife?"

I really wish that everyone would stop bringing that up. Not that I can say that to General Ironwood of all people. "...Not yet."

"Hmm," Ironwood hums, expression carefully guarded. "Don't delay. I promised Glynda you would receive six months deferment, but you will get no more. Obtaining even that much for you was quite the struggle. The administration does not usually grant exceptions."

He went through trouble to help us out? I always assumed that he just got his way with whatever he wants. Why would he bother to help us if it brings him such inconvenience? Shouldn't he be furious we're breaking the rules yet again? "Thanks. Thanks a lot, actually. It means a lot."

He's a hard one to read, skilled as he is in navigating through Vale's politics, but even so I don't sense anything antagonistic from him. If anything, it's emotionless interest, like I'm an insect in an experiment and he just wants the results. "As long as you understand. I will be very put out if you misuse my good will."

He leaves the threat hanging. I don't ask him to elaborate. "If you don't mind me asking, sir," I ask hesitantly, "why did you want to talk to me? Is something wrong?"

"Am I not allowed to speak to whomever I choose? But you are right. We have other matters to attend to." He raps on the table, summoning one of the peacekeepers that had been so militantly following me and Ruby. "Bring the two girls here."

The peacekeeper bows and departs, leaving us in silence. It's not long before the pitter patter of tiny feet along the quieter strides of slightly larger ones signals the arrival of Pyrrha and Ruby. The younger girl clutches my partner's hand, but she lets go in order to bow to Ironwood when she walks in.

"Hi, Uncle James."

"Pyrrha," he says in a gentle rumble. "I thought I told you to stay close to me. It's not safe for you to wander on your own."

"I'm sorry. I got lost because I went to look at the sen...sen...sen-tin-uhl. It's huge!"

"Yes it is, but even if you like it, it is more important that you obey." His eyes flicker to Ruby, then back to Pyrrha. "But we can talk about that later. Go wait outside, please. Burg is there, so play with him. I'll be out in a second."

She toddles out, but her drooping shoulders and hunched posture make it clear she's upset about her shortcomings. Ruby steps forward to fill the gap, fists clenched.

"She's just a kid."

Ironwood motions towards the chair next to me. Ruby takes a seat, but her eyes never leave his. "And so it is all the more important she learn obedience. Nonetheless, I must extend my thanks for finding her."

Ruby ignores his half-sincere gratitude. "She looks up to you, you know. She was telling me all about how strong you are."

"There are worse role models to have."

There's something that's been bothering me. Why would Ironwood, with all he has to do, bother to take the time to adopt a little orphan?

Ruby's wondering the same thing, but unlike me, she's angry enough to ask it, silver eyes quietly blazing even though she manages to keep her voice calm. "Do you care about her at all? Or is she just another powerful little orphan girl for you to use?"

Like me goes unspoken, but we all hear it.

"I do what I must to ensure Vale's survival, Miss Arc, and I make no apologies for it. Not for Pyrrha, and not for you."

"Powerful?" I cut in. I mean, sure, she's mature and unusually eloquent for a child, but that alone isn't an indication of aura potential. The strength of your brain isn't the same thing as the strength of your soul.

Ruby, however, has come to a different conclusion. "Super powerful. Jaune, she has aura already. Couldn't you feel it? When I held her… I dunno, it was just weird. She felt so familiar, like it was my own aura, almost."

I stare at her blankly. No, I couldn't feel it, but I'm not exactly sure what I should have been looking for. I never got that close to her, anyways, and if my Report was anything to go by aura detection needs proximity. My shortcomings aside, however, there's an even bigger obstacle to Ruby's claim. It's just not possible for Pyrrha to have aura.

"But that can't be right," I protest. "She's way too young." Aura doesn't manifest until the late teens. That's why the Report happens at young adulthood. It's an impossibility that goes against everything we know about how it–

An impossibility?

Like the impossibility that a clueless, regular guy born to two regular parents with seven regular sisters happens to be one of the most powerful people of his generation?

Because that one's all too real.

"It's very, very rare," Ironwood says. "But not impossible. In fact, you're very familiar with another example."

Familiar with another example? Pyrrha's early aura is somehow linked with her strength, or at least I think that's what he's suggesting. Who else do I know is a ridiculously strong–

Oh. Of course.

We both turn to Ruby, who has suddenly found the stained surface of the table to be fascinating.

"How old were you when your aura manifested?" Ironwood asks.

"... Nine."

What…? Even though that's a lot older than Pyrrha, that's still unbelievably young. I mean, even if she had only just recently manifested aura, fifteen is still the youngest I've heard of for an aura bearer, let alone nine.

Rather than surprise, however, Ironwood just nods, as if nine was exactly what he expected. "I guessed as much."

I look to Ruby for explanation, but she's only grown more withdrawn in the face of Ironwood's questioning. I don't think she even notices me.

"Patch gave as well as took from you, it seems," Ironwood murmurs.

Her head snaps up at that, eyes blazing with a potent concoction of barely constrained tears and fury.

"With all due respect, sir," I interrupt, placing a calming hand on Ruby's shoulder. "You still haven't explained what you've called us here for. Is there something you want from us?"

He says nothing for a long while. It's not until Ruby's tightly coiled tension slowly relaxes under my touch that he speaks. "You've already given it to me."

"... Sorry, what?"

He rises without further comment and strides away. "We are finished here. Enjoy the rest of your day. Once again, I thank you on Pyrrha's behalf." He pauses in the doorframe to address one parting remark to me. "You may want to pay better attention to the exhibits. I find them to be a good reminder." He gestures towards one of the walls, and now that he's brought my attention to it I can see there's another plaque, barely visible in the dim light. "That one in particular is worth your attention. It's not open to the public."

As soon as he's gone, Ruby lets out a shaky sigh.

"You must think I'm crazy."

"Maybe a little bit," I admit. "You really don't like him, huh? Long history?"

"Yeah, a little bit. It's not like I really hate him, either. He just… brings out the worst of me." She leaps to her feet, holding out a hand to help me up. "Well, at least it's over! What do you want to do next?" She sounds cheerful, even managing to paste a silly grin on her face, but although I might be a bit dense, I can still tell it's forced.

"What is there left to do?" I ask absently. I make my way over to the wall that Ironwood pointed out earlier, the general's words driving me forward with morbid curiosity.

"Weeeell–" Ruby checks her scroll. "We only have an hour left. If you're hungry, we can get food, or there's–"

Her voice fades into an incomprehensible hum as the words on the plaque draw my attention.

We see all.

::-::-::

Ruby has to support me as we leave the interrogation room, since my knees have turned to jelly in the aftermath of our confrontation with Ironwood. Once I'm free of the oppressive atmosphere, it only takes a few deep breaths to regain my composure, but if I'm honest, the plaque's message rattled me. I willfully disobeyed Peacekeeper orders earlier by refusing to kiss Ruby. It was insanity to take the threat of retribution so lightly. I can't brush it off. They'll know I'm lying if I say I didn't see it.

"Any ideas on what to do?" she asks. I kind of expected her to ask what's bothering me, but she doesn't. Maybe she saw the writing herself. If she did, it hasn't affected her, or at least not like it has for me.

"No, not really." I flash a sheepish grin, or at least my best attempt at one. "Sorry, didn't hear your suggestions earlier. I was a bit distracted. Is there anything you prefer?"

"I wouldn't mind looking at the sentinel again." She studies me for a moment, then shakes her head. I'm probably still visibly distressed. "Actually, never mind. Wanna just chat?"

I take a moment to muse over it, but I don't have any better suggestions, and after the hectic scramble of the day something slower sounds nice. "That'd be great. It feels like it's been forever."

We meander over to a quieter section of the museum, where the din of conversation and travel diminishes to the faintest of whispers.

Hmm. Now what?

"You were really great with Pyrrha." I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, but it's no less sincere for the impulse. She was amazing, because it's not just what you say around kids, it's how you say it and how you act, and that's an art form I have no talent for.

"Oh! Thanks." She laughs awkwardly, one hand coming up to scratch the back of her head. "Orphanage, you know. Lots of kids. And I was one of the oldest, so… lots of practice."

She's told me that before, but I think she's selling herself short, anyways. Merely spending time around kids doesn't make you good with them.

"Still amazing. You'll be a great mom, someday."

… Did I just…?

Yeah, I just said that. Good job, Jaune. Remember that thing you were trying very hard not to think about? Now we're both thinking about it. Very smooth.

Her cheeks flush a pale pink. "U-um, thanks. We… you know, have to do that soon, by the way. Since… well, yeah."

"Soon, soon," I reassure her, but there's no heart in it. I'm delaying the inevitable, and we both know it… but I just can't help myself. I never wanted this. "I'm just not ready yet. To be a dad… or anything else."

"Don't worry about it. You'll be great!"

"How do you know?" I've never been a great anything, not even the easy stuff. Something as hard as being a dad? Crazy.

"Because you're a good guy," Ruby says without a shade of doubt. "Even if you don't see it."

A good guy, huh? Even though we fought? Even though I hurt you? Even though I wish with every fiber of my being that I could be somewhere, anywhere else?

"You sound like Pyrrha," I tease.

"Well she's great too," Ruby declares with a grin, "so that works for me!" Her mode shifts into seriousness without warning, face furrowed in concentration. "Speaking of Pyrrha… this is kind of a weird question, but what color were her eyes?"

What? Where did that come from? "Weren't they green?"

"I thought so too, but once I was closer to her… I dunno, that's not what I saw."

"Well, what did you see?"

She hesitates. "I'm probably just going crazy."

"Just tell me. I'm curious."

"I… I was sure they were silver. Exactly like mine."

::-::-::

A/N:

Yes, I am playing with ages, but you guys already knew that from Yang. This one's even more dramatic, though.

And as you've no doubt guessed by now, there's a reason for it.

Sorry about the long update delay. This chapter was a lot harder to write than I expected, and I'm still not fully satisfied with it. Finals are this week, so hopefully I'll have more time/energy after that.

Also, we surpassed 400 favs, 600 follows, and 230 reviews, which is absolutely mind blowing and way more than I ever would have guessed when I first started writing. Thanks for all your support everyone, and thanks for sticking around this long. It's only going to get better.