A/N: So… it's been close to two months since I posted my last chapter, and I'm so, so sorry. Lots of stuff going on, got sick for a little bit in there, and just took some time off of writing for a bit. Sorry I didn't tell you all….
I'm also working on a collab fic in a completely different AU, so… stay tuned for that!
Without further ado, enjoy!
You're back in the fight.
In a stack on the door. It's dark. The only light around the compound is the yellow glow of headlights across the way, and the twinkling of stars. If you were doing this in a full moon, well, you wouldn't be as invisible as you feel right now.
The door goes down. Weak pine painted with white, shattering as Weiss kicks it in off of the hinges. Metal snapping mixed with splintering wood; the sound of twenty twigs being broken at once. You're the first one in, and your training kicks back in as it did months prior during Afterburner.
Clear the corners, sweep inward through the room. The gentle squeeze of the pressure pad on your rifle activates the light affixed to the forward rails. A circle of stark, white light appears, wreaking havoc on your night vision, but blinding anyone caught in the beam.
No shots ring out. There's no reason for you to fire.
A black shape moves past you, casting sudden shadows on the wall of the two-story structure you just entered. It's Blake, with Ruby right on her tail as they push down the hallway on your right. It was part of the plan.
Was it? Was there even a plan? You can't remember.
Instinctually, you and Weiss move up the two flights of stairs to the second floor. Divide and conquer, as some might say. You won't have any contact with Blake and Ruby- radio silence is a must in this kind of operation.
Stairs are tricky. Try walking up a staircase in the dark without looking at the steps. Now, add 40 lbs of gear and armor to your body, and do it in boots. Now, pick up a gun and remember that there could be someone who wants to kill you on the way up.
Training, Y/N. You've practiced this with the team. Your weapon light stays on, eyes trained upwards on the stair case. As you go up it, your muzzle stays fixated on each individual piece of new space that presents itself. You've taken the slack out of the trigger. All it takes is an extra pound of pressure, and the mechanism will release the firing pin. Bang. The bullet hits whoever the gun is pointed at, whether it be Grimm, Cinder, Neo…. or a friendly.
Gunshot.
Two more. Three more. All of the team had suppressed weapons… you shouldn't be hearing gunshots. They'd break radio silence, right? If something was wrong? That's part of the plan. Was there even a plan for this?
Press on. Your target is on the top floor. At least, you think it is.
Top of the stairs, open doorway with a hall extending out both ways. You and Weiss stack up on the doorway. She's going left. You're going right. A swift tap on the leg, and you move. Turn the corner, squeezing your weapon around it with Weiss opposite you.
At that moment… you can't breathe. Your mouth is open but air won't find its way through. Stifled, even though your lungs burn. But you're not sure if something- someone- has you by the throat, just like the White Fang Lieutenant did, or if it's the scene in front of you.
It doesn't make any sense.
But it's no less horrifying.
Ruby. In a pool of crimson. Silver eyes open to you but no light therein. Mouth open like yours but no breath drawing through. Black hair parted and matted, brow still glistening from whatever fight she was just in. A few spent shell casings sticking to the floor as the blood begins to coagulate. You can see the stains low on her blouse. It… a wound like that, to the gut? It's slow. And painful. But absolutely lethal.
You want to call out to her. Speak. Pray you get a response back. But you still can't get any air to come out. Or go in.
"Aww… pity. She was such a sweet girl."
You know that voice.
"Nice to see you again, Y/N."
You whip around, bringing your gun to bear just like you've been trained to do. Thousands and thousands of times before. But it's not there. No weight. No texture. Nothing.
In fact, the combat rig you were just in is nowhere to be found. Just tattered, ripped, bloodstained fatigues.
Cinder. Fiery eyes that almost seem to glow in the dark. Inches away from you. You can feel the heat of her breath singe your cheek. It's revolting. Every fiber of your being telling you to run. To lash out. Something. But you can't move still.
"Now… where did we leave off?." She reaches up to touch her hand to your cheek. "Here?" Hand trails down to the crevice of your neck. Something glints in her other hand. A needle? Another one?
Gasp. Air fills your lungs. Cool. Fresh. Blackness fades away to the piercing yet comfortable sunlight beating through the windows of the hangar.
It's more than just a gasp. It's heaving. You're in an unfamiliar place. Soft, flannel sheets that are distinctly warmer than those you normally wear. Sheets that are soaked with something wet. Sweat?
Piece by piece, things come back to you. First is sight. You know where you are now. Weiss's bed. White hair ties on the makeshift nightstand. A spare pistol magazine. ID cards, all neat and orderly as if each one has its place.
Sound. The beating of helicopter rotors going over top of the hangar. You recognize the sound as that of an Osprey. The shower running in the background of the hangar. Gentle soprano humming, hovering just underneath that. Whirs and clicks of the refrigerator fan kicking on.
You push the sheets back, their damp sensation reminding you of the dream you just had. Well.. nightmare, to say the least. Swinging your legs over the edge and placing them on the floor grounds you. Assures you that you're here. That's it's not a dream anymore.
The water in the shower turns off just as you stand up. The dryness in your mouth mirrors that of sand, and the half dozen sports drinks Yang normally keeps in the fridge are more than worth whatever flak she's gonna give you for taking one.
You've barely made two steps by the time you remember.
Yang.
How the hell could you forget? Even for a split second. You were there when she died.
"Y/N… you okay?" Weiss's soft voice shouldn't be very audible over the sound of another jet taking off, but you can hear it clear as day. The tones underneath it are gentle and reassuring. Like a pillow to your ears.
You respond with a subtle shake of the head. "Wish I was better." You turn to look at her. She's already dressed, a simple blue t-shirt and white athletic shorts. Her hair is wet, but the beige towel which she uses to gently pat at it is alleviating that 'problem.'
"You had a nightmare last night, didn't you?"
You can't help but sigh. Did it keep her from sleeping? "I told you I would…"
She throws the lump of the towel back into the bathroom to land on the floor in a heap. Her footsteps pad across the hangar and over beside you. Her hand on your chest, nudging you to take a seat on the edge of the bed as she does the same. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
Another shake of the head. But… if there's anything, a very small part of you does want to tell her. About everything. Cinder and Ruby and not being able to breathe… but Weiss has enough on her plate. If anything, you shouldn't add to it. Even though she said that you're all in this together after your first mission, the nightmare really isn't something you want to think or talk about right now.
"Well, just like before… you need to talk, you talk to the team. Please." What you didn't notice is how she's been looking straight at you the entire time. Those seas of ice not reflecting tiredness or pain or anything of the sort. Her hand, still warm and slightly damp for the shower, reaches over to grip yours. Tightly. Forcing you to look at her. "Promise me. Both as… well, whatever we are right now, and as a teammate." Her tone is commanding, but not stern or harsh. Like she's been here before.
You purse your lips, and gently nod. "I promise, Weiss."
…
Col. Ozpin
44th SOD
The placard to the office in front of you is pristine. Polished. If you stood back a little farther, you could probably see your reflection in it. Fitting for a Colonel.
With a deep sigh, you bring a fist up and knock on the door. Once, just like protocol states.
"Come in, please," Ozpin's voice calls from the other side.
The doorknob is cold to the touch as you reach forward and give it a turn. The room in the central tower greets you with scents that are an odd blend of both pine and rosemary, but also something oddly clean. Almost like bleach, but not so potent as to make your eyes water.
"Good afternoon, Y/N." Ozpin stands from his desk, a deep mahogany with designs of gears and clocks etched into it. "Have a seat." He gestures to a green chair at a sort of table on the left side of his office. The table is a glass top, and once again, perfectly polished.
You take a seat, keeping your hands off of the pristine glass, as if this officer- your boss- might get offended at your fingerprints on it. The faint chirping of a vintage clock fills the silence as Ozpin picks up his coffee cup and takes a seat at the glass table, across from you.
"You said you wanted to talk to me, sir?"
Ozpin narrows his gaze, his words coming slow and deliberate. "Talk, yes. Discuss. Debrief. These past few months have been…" He seems to pause, thinking on his words even though you get the feeling that he already knows exactly what he's going to say. "... Trying, to say the least."
You glance down at your hands, lightly gripping the arms of your chair. "We lost Specialist Xiao Long."
"I know, Switch. I've read through the cursory report that Weiss put together." Another pause, his eyes looking you over. Reading your body language, but not in a way that seems prying or judgmental. "Yang's death has all of us grieving. Huntsmen and Huntresses are a family, spanning across all four kingdoms. We all remember the fallen in our own ways."
Your eyes follow the outline of the table over to a shelf behind Ozpin's desk. Resting on each wooden plank are relics. Photographs. A rack of coins with various markings on them from different squadrons. You open your mouth, faintly drawing in a slow breath to speak.
"However, Y/N, I also understand how certain events can be, well, haunting." Another pause as he sips from his coffee cup. His words are slow, easy to follow. Unlike other officers who simply want to talk fast and get you out of their office. He leans forward on the table. "I know how dangerous coming home from that can be. It is a different kind of battle. I don't pretend to know what you endured."
The last sentence drags out, with images of your ordeal going through your head. The 'casual' punch from Emerald and Mercury as you were removed from your cell. Cinder burning Yang's photograph. Needles.
"No… You… Get away from him…"
"Switch?"
Images fade. You come back to Ozpin's office, seated in the green chair. Your eyes refocus on a picture on the wall behind Ozpin. A photo of three of Vale's newest fighter jets astride a bomber. The planes are flying over the red leaves of Forever Fall. "I… I'm here. Sorry."
"I don't pretend to know what you've endured, as I said. But… I can imagine, and in some cases, I can relate." His tone is hushed. As if someone may overhear, even in the silence of his office. Much more personal than it should be for an officer. Especially a colonel.
"How did you get through it?" The question escapes your lips, as if your body speaks it before your mind is aware.
Ozpin doesn't miss a beat. As if he's expecting the question. "Lean on your team. You four are stronger than you think, even without Yang. Please… keep that in mind."
He's the one to continue. "Also… there are many, many other resources out there besides your team. I'll send a list of phone numbers to your scroll." He glances at his hand, setting a white piece of paper that appears to be a business card across from you. Scribbled across the top, in green pen, is another number. His personal cell number, something that officers as high as him never give out. "You know how to reach me, as well."
A breath. More of a sigh. "Yes… sir."
…
Ruby's punch connects with the backside of your forearm as you instinctively bring a hand up to block it. Your left fist reacts, shooting straight out and connecting with the side of her jaw.
It's been three months since your meeting with Ozpin, and here you are with your team leader, beating the heck out of each other in the combatives room in the base gym. Your black gloves are slick with sweat, as are hers, from the hits you've landed on eachother.
It… hasn't been an easy few months. You've got new gear. It's not what you had before Afterburner, but in some cases, it's better. Summer is starting to end in Vale, with the colors of the leaves just beginning to change. Neither you nor the team has been outside the wire, but that doesn't mean you're not ready to go. The gloves and handwraps covering your knuckles proves that.
Meetings. Briefings. Dining outs. Waves of "How are you?" and "I'm so sorry to hear about Yang." Prying eyes wondering if everything you said is true. People just… trying to get into your head, but can you blame them? Training with the team again has definitely helped take the edge off. Sparring and shooting with Ruby, morning runs with Blake, going to the base gym just to lift on your own. Weiss keeps trying to convince you to join her at the pool for a few laps. Says it's "great cardio" and that "you'd love it." Little by little, your strength has come back to you, but the scars haven't left.
Especially the mental ones. The nightmares haven't stopped.
"So… Switch…" Ruby dashes backwards, out of your reach even as you try to throw another jab. "What's on your mind? You're fighting differently today."
Ruby isn't even breathing hard, but you're panting. She could always move faster, but you have a bit more power than her. You answer her in between breaths. "It's… just that I'm ready… ready to go."
You move forward, one foot stepping, the other sliding. Ruby circles to your left and attempts a straight-up cross with her right hand, but it deflects with a glancing blow as you block it with the glove.
"We'll get our chance." She keeps trying to dance around to your left side.
But you just turn, cutting her angles. "Just…" You throw a jab. Another jab. Followed up with a right cross. "Wanna get back in the action… Get my mind off of things here… Make a difference…" You grunt, pressing her boundaries farther and keeping the combo going. Cross. Jab. Hook to the gut. "I'm a warfighter. I need to get… Back in the saddle…"
Ruby gasps as the hook to the gut connects and knocks the air out of her. But still, she makes room. Hops back with speed that she shouldn't have. Or maybe you're just that slow. She drops her fists, putting up a hand. That hook really did a number on her. "I get that. Honestly… I kinda feel the same way. Like we're all getting antsy."
With her still doubled over, you bring your hand up to rip at the velcro of the boxing glove with your teeth. The leather stinks, with two months of your sweat and grime getting baked into it from the sparring matches. "Wanna call it a day for fighting?"
She doesn't reply, just nods. The kind of nod that both affirms your answer and assures you that she'll be okay. Thick and wet locks spill down into her face, but she makes no attempt to brush them away just yet.
You leave her be, and slide out of the ropes of the ring. Quickly peel off the gloves and handwraps, toss them into your gym bag. Talking about something that stinks… your gym bag is even worse than the gloves. But isn't everyone's bag like that?
Fast shower to rinse off in the locker room. You've got the place to yourself, and as you're getting dressed again, you see them again. Scars. Little white dots in all the wrong places. Around the tendons of your knees. In your wrists. On your hands, between the fingers. You know there's more on your back, but you dispel the thought by tugging your shirt on that much quicker.
Ruby meets you at the front door, no longer winded as she flashes you her textbook smile. Her hair is wet- she cleaned up, too. Changed into a crimson, form-fitting long sleeve with thicker black pants and, you guessed it, boots as her shoes. She's always wearing them.
The walk back to the hangar always seems like it gets longer, but that isn't enough to convince you to drive. Driving to the gym that's easily within walking distance is irony at its finest.
Your conversation with Ruby consists of something that resembles a debate more than actual conversation. It's a conversation that you've had with her many times before, but it never gets old: ammunition. 7.62 vs. 5.56. .45 vs 9mm. The apparent 'hype' about .300 Blackout. The raw power of .50 BMG.
Before long, you find yourself setting down your gym bag in the hangar.
"Hey. Dolts." You turn to see Weiss in her camos, sleeves already rolled, standing cross-armed by her makeshift desk. "What's the quickest you can be ready to go?"
"Ready to go?" You ask, confused. She can't mean outside the wire?
"Six minutes, if you load mags." Ruby answers for you. She's right. Just like the six minute drill the team woke you up with on your second day.
"Done. We've got a green light, and we've got a lead. Suit up."
Involuntary contractions tug at your lip, forcing it to turn up into a smile as you rip open the bag where your plate carrier is stored. "Let's get back in the fight."