The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
Chapter 8: Little Habits

…

Tara was woken up by something heavy on her chest, and for one reason or another, her face felt really sticky. The dull throbbing of her head didn't make it any better.

For a wild moment, she thought her past caught up to her, but…

Her skin felt warmth instead of the usual cold when out in the field, a cool material kissed most of her skin – pyjamas.

Odd, Tara Twilight has thrown them all a year ago – since it was impractical to change into nightwear when in the middle of the night, she might have to move fast. And her waists were free of burdens of cloths...

Another impractical thing if she was ambushed by Grimm.

In the haze of figuring out, the Huntress noted whatever she was sleeping on was comfy.

A clear sign she was not in a tavern – nor a motel room.

Tara opened her eyes, sleep still clouding her heather colored eyes. Flecks of electric blue irises scattered across her eyes – like stars in the night sky. Currently, they were the brightest thing in the whole room.

The same slittery thingy is going up and down her face – Tara grabbed the furry head, squeezed it with her palms – her half-awake mind had pieced the simple jigsaw puzzle together.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" asked Tara, half-grunting. She was confident she had locked the door of her room the night before she went to bed.

It wasn't a habit she will break – especially safety.

Zwei merely squirmed in her palms. "Arf! Arf!"

The young woman only sighed and patted its head. "Now get off my chest."

"Arf," it replied in a lower voice. It jumped off and landed on the wooden floor without a single sound – which Tara was grateful for. She shifted her position, and with a roll, became a cocooned caterpillar.

Her lilac scarf tangled around her neck, its ends were partially scorched with bullet marks, and every one of them spoke of her great valor and tiring events of Tara Twilight.

And those dreams plagued Tara Twilight in her sleep – their silent figures, were both assuring and not assuring. Like black and white, they mixed together in her dream, to form a mutual balance between the two.

The white to remember her mistakes.

The black to remember the lives she has taken – willingly or unwillingly.

…

…

Meanwhile, in a place away from Patch, inside a storehouse, was a lone masked Huntsman. He wore his combat attire – a white vest over his plain stormy grey T-shirt, and a long fitting pants that showed off his toned muscles. Around his waist was a green sash, exposing his symbol – a wolf chasing after a shining orb.

His mask – was detachable – and shaped like a butterfly's wing. The edge was tinted with silver, and its base color was almost white as snow. It was a delicate crafted mask, from his own hands a year ago.

He brushed the mask with his fingers forlornly.

To think this item is his only link to her whereabouts.

He ignored the heavy weight of his heart, the invisible shackles on it – which once a long time ago – he would gladly remove it if he had the chance.

The feeling kept him alive, as a reminder his experience with his team at Haven Academy is real.

Not an illusion – not a memory as fleeting as a butterfly.

One of his pocket vibrate – and the Huntsman spared it a glance before taking the object out – a Scroll in its compact form until he pulled it, allowing the screen to expand.

The blue light reached his stormy eyes, its pupil became slightly smaller.

A notification – noted the Huntsman with a tired grin – from a friend.

But, the grin was wiped off the moment a silhouette entered his peripherals. The masked Huntsman's lips curled downwards and gave his recently arrived colleague a 'you-are-late' look.

His temporary partner merely smiled and courtesy with her pink umbrella – which the masked Huntsman has no doubt there is a sword hidden in it. She was petite, and her Neapolitan ice-cream colored hair swayed as she walked towards him. Her tri-colored ice-cream eyes narrowed at his opened Scroll – its blue light illuminated part of his face, as if he was a Grim Reaper, except the Grim Reaper does not wear a butterfly-theme mask.

She signed, smirking. "A little late for backing out now, isn't it?"

The Huntsman bit his tongue from retorting, though he was trembling with rage.

Something about this deceiving petite girl reeks of evil. Pure evil.

Satisfied with his reaction, Neopolitan raised a gloved hand – as if it would appease him. "You know," she began as she paced around him in a circle, her stylish boots possibly clacking the cement with every step.

"I always wonder why, you choose to dirty your hands – when," she gestured exaggeratedly to a dusty window – the Moon of Remnant shining the dancing dust in the air. "you could be a hero in light."

He eyed on her evenly. "So could you, Neopolitan. Why choose to hide in the shadows?"

Her face darkened. "My father. Raised me – even if we are not the same flesh and blood."

The masked Huntsman smiled as his thoughts went to a certain orange-head thief. "He is a good father. But you and I know we're not here for a chat. Our next target?"

Neopolitan smiled and sat on one of barrel drums. The Huntsman pocketed his Scroll before he crossed his arms and leaned against one of the boxed crates. Whatever it was inside, he knew it was nothing worth knowing.

Torchwick may be a thief, but he's one of the best, with a wide network of information and control over his turf. Roughly 65% of Vale is under his control despite the active police bodies and constant patrols.

Selling humans, Faunus, and eliminating his rivals… Even selling drugs, drugs deemed illegal under the eyes of law. His moral sense is questionable.

The Huntsman's lips curled. At least he doesn't dabble with human experiments.

He stared at the ice-cream theme girl. Maybe because Neopolitan was a survivor of those inhuman experiments.

"Father wants to eliminate Coyote. Whoever that person is, he or she has damaged our…" She paused, her eyes suddenly narrowed. She looked absolutely livid at this person. "The point is. Coyote has been going around eliminating our regular customers. Mistral… Vacuo… Even on our home ground, Coyote fucking eliminated them and avoid detection. All records, our databases connected to the CCTV. There are no survivors. Our hired henchmen were only just a ground of meat when we found them. Along with researchers. We could try DNA test – if we know all of their DNAs in their first place to find Coyote's."

"No survivors? Ruthless. You two will get along fine," he added the last bit, with a slight tilt of his head.

Neopolitan was not amused. "We don't do human experiments, but, our customers do it. Obviously, we loaned some of our men to them – just to avoid…" She suddenly looked distant. "Father does try to liberate them…but…the best he could do is just give them a proper burial. And we need money to survive in this world of so-called justice." Her hand slowed a little at the word, as if hesitant to use it.

"Where are we transferred?"

"Nowhere… for the time being."

The masked Huntsman raised a brow – which she could not see.

It was strange. Perhaps Roman Torchwick is being cautious. After all, it is rare for a single person, to eliminate 3-digit customers in a span of a year and more without having a single profile about Coyote. No gender, fighting style – no intel at all.

"Wait," He signed as a thought came to his mind – a burning question. "Why do you call him or her Coyote?"

She shrugged, and the masked Huntsman resisted to sigh. He has been sighing a lot lately. He has no idea a coyote's habits, but he knew it was related to the coined nickname.

In a blink of an eye, Neopolitan had walked off, with the masked Huntsman trailing behind the younger woman, still lost in his thoughts.

…

…

"Still awake, Tai?" Qrow's voice drawled out sleepily as he leaned against the doorway, finding Taiyang signing papers, with a stack of files on his left. It was close to 3 A.M. The latter didn't seem to hear the former as the papers were scratched upon furiously one after another.

Qrow became concerned at once. "Tai." He called out a little louder, and this time Taiyang could not ignore as he placed his pen down and glared at him.

Taiyang looked horrible. The dark circles that Qrow was sure it wasn't there earlier in the afternoon, were obvious. His normally tame hair was mopy, as if he had come out of bed – which Qrow suspected Taiyang had done.

"Tai, bed," Qrow pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor. "Now."

By the gods of Remnant, Qrow swore he sounded like a mother for a moment.

Taiyang sagged his shoulders. "I can't sleep." He returned to his paperwork soon after that. Immediately, the scythe master stormed towards his friend and slammed the table with his hands.

"You need rest."

The aforementioned man stared blankly at Qrow before he snapped, "I can handle myself!"

Qrow went silent and slightly disappointed. Skeptical, he asked, "Really? How long has it been since you last rest? Like really rest?" he added the last bit softly.

"Years ago." Taiyang answered, before looking at his unarmed hands – calloused from many years of training. He clenched them and shook his head. "It's hard to sleep when the other side of the bed is…" He started choking. "Cold. I missed her. I missed them both."

Rivulets of tears spoke of his loneliness and sadness he kept near his heart, streaked down his face. Taiyang wiped them away, still hitching and crying softly as he mourned for his lost loves.

Qrow wasn't sure how to comfort him. He had watched Tai broke down years ago, and although he is recovering, there are always two voids in his heart, that even his daughters could not fill in.

A yawn caught Qrow's ears and he quickly turned to the door, spotting a certain red-cape niece in her plain pyjamas. He smiled at the sight, but quickly the smile dissipated as he remembered a broken man in the room with him.

"Hey Rubes," Qrow managed to sound lively and he crouched to Ruby's level, effectively blocking her from witnessing her father's misery. "What do you need?"

Thankfully, Ruby is too sleepy to notice her father's soft crying.

Ruby let out another yawn and smacked her lips together. "Water."

Qrow forced himself to grin. "I will fetch plain water for you, go back to your room, little Rubes."

Too tired to argue, the little girl nod, eyes still closed as she dragged her feet across the smooth wooden planks, and climbed the stairs. Qrow watched until he heard the familiar sounds of clicks that echoed in the silent house – and went to the kitchen.

Before he left Tai alone, Qrow looked at the crying man with a sad smile. "Take your time, take your time. I will try my best to back you up."

On his way to Ruby's room, he hoped Taiyang knew he wasn't alone. He can always count on any of them…right?

…

A/N: To be honest, I'm just testing the waters with the characters in this fic. It's the first time I attempt these characters especially Tara and Taiyang. Scratch that, they all lost somebody important to them, and find it hard to move on.

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