September 8, 1919 – Midday to Evening
Lunch had been a lively affair with Yang's staff of well-groomed local servants filing in to adorn their table with a banquet while she animatedly related her adventures as the top muscle in Beiyang China.
"...and I said, 'Now, that's a katana!' The guy was so embarrassed, they had to drag him out of the barracks for roll call for the next three days! Honor guard couldn't be complete without him, hah!"
A round of snickers and chortles rang from Jaune, Weiss, and Blake. At least, she ditched the puns. Somewhat.
"Let's dig in, everybody! Team Ru..." Yang's grin nearly faltered but she tacked on her joy even as the sergeant caught the other two girls look away with fading smiles. "Team us. We're...finally back together. Mostly."
The blonde sergeant could sense the depression in atmosphere. It was a familiar air that dominated the trenches back then. One way he knew to diffuse it... "So, me and Weiss are British spies."
Weiss spat out her tea while Yang, with a wicked grin, harped, "And I thought that was a load of BS. Well? Spill it, Vomit Boy!"
"Yang!" the former heiress scolded. "Show some respect! He's a sergeant in the French Army!"
The fiery brawler cast her a teasing smirk. "Oh-ho, what did I just hear? Is Ice Queen actually standing up for our limp noodle?"
Jaune kept mum as his SSB partner turned a steamy red. In his mind, he counted to three before she predictably snapped back.
"Our 'limp noodle' here is a decorated veteran of the Great War! He has served with distinction on the Western Front and the Arkhangelsk Expedition where he was rightfully elevated to the rank of sergeant. He was awarded the Croix de Guerre thrice over as well as the prestigious Médaille Militaire. He's seen far more than any of us here! So show. Due. Respect. Yang. Xiao. Long!"
The table was silent for three seconds.
The shock on Yang's face was not enough to wipe away the upward curve stretching into her cheeks. "Whoa. Easy there, Weiss-cream. Didn't think you'd get all uppity over your boyfriend there."
If Weiss had been flustered during her outburst, then the tint of her complexion made her appear as though she had spent a day locked in someone's boiler room. She recoiled while trying to readjust the frills on her dirty robes. "He's not—we're not—ugh! We are too busy for that!"
"That's not a denial," Yang rebutted cheekily.
"I'll say," Blake butted in. "I've had to put up with that passive-aggressive stuff since leaving Manchuria."
The Anfu Dragon leaned over to the Feng-t'ien Ghost. "You catch them doing it?"
Jaune coughed on his bread. "Putain de merde, Yang!"
The cat faunus rolled her eyes. "If I did, you would already know."
Weiss screamed over her slice of roasted duck. "Blake! Da ty zatknosh'sya nakonyets ili nyet!?"
Yang laughed. "Relax, guys! It's been like, what? A year? Two? Nothing like a bit of ribbing to get our groove back. Besides, you got me there at that whole 'British spies' thing."
"Yeah," Jaune acquiesced. Then he raised his brow at her. "Come to think of it, how did you know who we were back at the palace?"
The fiery brawler leveled him carefully. After dismissing her staff, she replied, "You tell me all about this spy business thing you've got going on between you and Blake and I'll fill you in on my own dirty little secrets."
Weiss had to admit that Yang was taking this far more maturely than she anticipated. Then again, as an experienced nineteen-year-old mercenary, it would be no surprise.
"So let me get this straight," the Dragon worded. "You guys are legit British spies going undercover here in China with German aliases to cover your tracks. Then when you get caught, you blame the Japanese."
Jaune shrugged. "Pretty much. That whole roping-in-the-Japanese thing was Blake's idea though."
Yang was deep in thought for a while. She then stood, ushered them away from their boneyard of a banquet table and down a flight of stairs. "So far, you outed Adam. And you found Blake. Then we ran into each other. All that's left is..."
"The Serpent Monk—"
"Ren."
All three stood frozen on the steps descending into the brick and mortar basement. Weiss nearly tripped when Blake collided into her back, knocking her onto Jaune who almost lost his footing.
Yang rummaged through some shelves in the dark until they heard the click of a lever. Followed by rows of dangling electrical bulbs flickering to life, revealing a workstation cluttered with paper stacks, folded boxes, and a large map on the far wall tacked with countless pins, interwoven thread, and articles snipped from various newsletters and publications.
"You're next target is Ren," the Dragon echoed. "Trust me, guys. I know. I fought him."
That got all three of them moving until they were in front of the map of the known world as printed by the British. Yang pointed to a green pin pressed against a landlocked region in southern China.
"Three months ago. Here. In Guangzhou..."
Jaune was blown away.
Yang kept tabs on everything. It was a lot of information, half gathered from the foreign legations surrounding them, the rest noted down from the locals and debriefings with Marshal Chi-jui's cabal. Of the many things the blonde sergeant found impressing about the fiery brawler, astute intelligence-gathering was not one of them. It was a nice surprise given the level of accuracy and scrutiny he was seeing on the board.
"The SSB would've loved to have you," Jaune mumbled dumbly.
The Dragon chuckled while she elbowed him on the side. "I'm already taken. And so are you."
"Zatkni past, Yang!" Weiss barked from the table behind them where she and Blake were busy sorting through the mountain of documents Yang had stockpiled over the couple years.
Jaune traversed to the European side of the map where he could see blue pins, marking some of the battles of the Great War. Including the engagements at the Marne, Ypres, and Aisne Rivers. Along with cut-outs from editorials glorifying (and demonizing) his exploits as Forked Lightning.
A line of blue thread stretched over to a pin tacked over Archangel where he saw the incriminating front page piece dated the day the Romanovs left Russia for good complete with that damn photograph. Of course, the imperial family themselves were in the shot but they were ascending onto the deck of the ship in the background with the main subject being Weiss pressed up against his face.
In all honesty, Jaune did not mind it as much as Weiss did. It was a kiss. Nothing more. Not like there was any deeper meaning to it, right? Friends kiss sometimes. Right? He liked to believe it was so. They had grown closer as friends since Archangel and the willingness to settle down in North Dakota with her was to cement their platonic relationship. Yes, that was it. Completely platonic.
"I'm impressed, Vomit Boy," Yang mused, planting her free on her hip while her stub of an arm dangled from her shoulder. Her mechanical appendage had been carefully unclasped and laid to rest on the shelf. "A whole year on the Western Front. Man, that must've been bloody."
Sergeant Arkos huffed bitterly. "Way worse than you'd imagine."
Yang seemed to have gotten the hint. She changed gears. "Look over here. It's an article talking about the Second Battle of the Marne. Not much but your name was on it. I was taking all chances. Shooting in the dark, hoping I'd get a hit, you know?"
Jaune pored over the documents. Column pieces detailing the mysterious white-haired lady in the envoy of the Romanovs. A handful of mentions and handwritten notes about the Ghost, the Serpent, and the Demon. Most of the publications were foreign press. "You got a lot of clout, huh."
Yang shrugged. "Ease of access, ripe location. Rep goes a long way."
"Really? So how famous are we here in the Far East?"
The Dragon mulled the question before answering, "About as famous as the day's hot topic. Monday, you're the talk of the town. Tuesday, people forget. Whatever they talk about here usually stays here. Unless the brass finds out and sometimes they go overboard with their speeches. Hyping up their troops." She shuddered. "It's weird and creepy seeing how easy those guys bite into their bullshit. Ever heard of their 'Dare To Die' corps?"
Forked Lightning grunted. "I imagine a lot of wanton sacrifice 'for the nation.'"
"Pretty much, yeah. Some of them go out with a literal bang, too."
Nothing he had never seen before, Jaune wanted to quip. He felt his hands slack over his hips and brush against where his pistol holster normally would have been strapped. "Say, Yang."
"Yeah?"
"Marshal Chi-jui confiscated a bunch of stuff from us. You think you can flex some muscle to get them back?"
"... I can. It's gonna take a while. Even with me giving the word, the red tape isn't getting any thinner. I'll still try and get you kitted up."
"Thanks."
Yang lifted her forearm and sniffed. Then recoiled. "Ugh. Man, we stink."
"I'll say." Jaune playfully elbowed her back. "You're rich. Got a fancy shower we could use?"
The Dragon beamed. "Oh, better than that." She leaned in to his personal space. "We can all go in together."
Jaune sputtered something incoherent for about a second before a heel clicked loudly against the floor. And Weiss's voice cut through the air like a heated knife through butter. "Yang Xiao Long! What manner of indecency are you implying!?"
Yang reeled back laughing. "Jealous, Ice Queen?"
"I beg your pardon!?"
"Even after all this time, you still don't let up, don't'cha?" The fiery brawler countered Weiss's glare with an even wider smirk. "Come on. I can't throw in a barb every now and then? Or is it I can't entertain Jaune?"
"You," the former heiress seethed.
Jaune moved to intercept. "Okay, now. That's enough, you two. How 'bout that shower? You go on ahead, girls. I'll...uh, I'll stay here...and take notes. Need to study all this stuff."
"Getting stiff down there?" Yang butted in as she headed up the stairs. "It's an open air bath so you're free to come over."
Weiss growled. Blake rolled her eyes. Jaune made a complete about-face turn to focus as best he could on the map.
"Come on, Weiss-cream. You're skinny dipping with me," he heard the Dragon bark.
The former heiress let out a strangled noise. "Would you please refrain from inferring such lewd acts?"
"Some things never change, huh, Yang," the Ghost mused.
Jaune silently agreed.
Weiss had to admit that she was a bit envious of her old teammate; Yang was practically richer than her. Back on Remnant, the notion was laughable. Here on Earth, it was ironic. Sitting here submerged up to her shoulders in a steaming pool as an honored guest to her wealthier former roommate reminded her of how much she had lost as an heiress to a massive business conglomerate. Not that she really missed those luxuries—house arrest with the Romanovs had been very humbling. It was only that she felt...poor. Again.
It was always an odd experience being poor. Always hinging on the generosity of others, hoping for leniency in places where extremism and anarchy trumped rationality and order. Poverty was not a painful, it was eye-opening. Definitely nothing to do with her being raised rich. Or so Weiss liked to convince herself from time to time.
The white-haired girl was snapped out of her reverie at the sound of Yang's voice. Blake had shed her robe and was carefully dipping into their open air bath. The bruises and cuts on her bare arms and legs were clear to see even after Jaune applied his Semblance to help seal some of them up.
The fiery brawler reached out to her. "Whoa, easy there, kitty—"
"I'm fine, Yang," Blake dismissed, shedding her modesty and dipping into the bath. "I smell."
"You're still hurt," her old partner argued.
"Yeah. I'm healing." The Feng-t'ien Ghost shook her head. "Seriously, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. I'm getting better."
Weiss tugged at Yang's left hand. "Let her be."
The latter released a stifled breathe as she eased back down into the water. "Sorry. It's that...they put you through the shit they do to prisoners and...it fucking sucks."
"I know," Blake said. "But, hey, you got us out. Thanks for that."
"Aww, you don't have to say so," teased the maimed brawler.
The faunus rolled her eyes while keeping a light smirk. "Right. Just...don't touch me. I'm still sore."
"Gotcha." Yang waded slightly to the side to allow for Blake to fully submerge herself. Then she turned her attention to the SSB agent. ""So, Weiss-cream. How're you and Jaune?"
Weiss took three seconds too long to answer. "Amicable."
"More than that," Blake muttered teasingly.
"Excuse me?" the former heiress protested.
"Professionalism is a bad excuse," the cat faunus countered with a cheshire grin.
"I'll have you know that—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't need to hear everything twice."
And with that, the three members of what had once been team RWBY settled leisurely into the bath. Weiss once again drifted in her thoughts. Here they were, ultimately reunited in a world more brutal than the last, enjoying a respite from war and strife. There was only one more element needed to complete them. Alas, until then, Weiss could hope that Ruby was doing well elsewhere...whether on Remnant or on Earth.
Jaune was on his way to his own open air bath, reserved exclusively for males, when he came face to face with Weiss in a robed nightgown. It was not the first time he had seen her with her hair down and dressed to rest. But something about the way she looked... Maybe it was the moonlight? Yeah, definitely the moonlight. Making things pretty...and lovely...
"Yes, Jaune?"
"Sorry," he said, snapping at attention and rubbing his eyes. "Went through Yang's files. Plotted hotspots where Ren could be active. I'm thinking we could go see the British legation tomorrow, call up the SSB and—"
Weiss pulled on his arm. "Jaune, stop."
"... What?"
For a moment, her glare transformed the wooden walls of Yang's manor into a familiar medical ward where the window sill outside was lined with snow. He blinked and the Archangel hospital vanished from his peripheries, replaced by a pale face lined with free flowing white hair. Complimented by a pair of sharp turquoise orbs.
"Weiss?"
"Jaune. You've done enough. Please, rest."
He sighed. "I will, I will. Can I have my bath, please?"
"When you're done, I expect you to be in your bed resting. Not poring through notes all through the night."
"Weiss, I'm not that...Blake-y. I know I'm tired. That's why I'm going to get cleaned up so I can have a goodnight's sleep." He tipped her chin up at him while he let his lip curve slightly. "Happy?"
She glanced away. "... Appeased."
"You go on and get some shut-eye, too," Jaune finished, stepping around her and disappearing outside to his own bath, leaving his SSB partner and friend to stew in her thoughts in the hallway.
Weiss did not stew for long. Her bare feet carried her upstairs to her room where she shut herself inside and slid down the door, staring blankly at the evening sky peeking through her open window.
This could not be happening.
This is not happening!
She calmed her breathing. Count one to ten. Clear her mind. Think of something else.
Petrograd. Riots. Romanovs. Anya and Lyoshka. Yekaterinberg. Mister Dverko. Jaune. Arkhangelsk. Safe haven. The Allies. Jaune. North Dakota. Mansion in the countryside. Jaune. Fencing with the Romanov sisters. Jaune. Far East. Jaune...
Weiss dropped her head into her hands. What on Earth was wrong with her? Why now? Why not then? Not all the times they were together, training for a month in the woods outside Arkhangelsk, trekking for a week through Mongolia? The kiss at the docks, that awkward moment in that cave...
She let her hand drift down where she could feel her heart beating.
Why was this happening?
Jaune was nothing more than a friend. An annoyance, at first, the bane of her existence who had later redeemed himself. Willing to go to great lengths for the well-being of others, holding true to the chivalrous creed of the knights of fantasy. And here he was, driven by the same noble cause, to search for their other friends who were displaced. But at what cost?
And would it hurt her if he paid the ultimate price?
Was she daft!? Yes, it would! She cared for him, going so far as to volunteer as an aide to the nurses in the understaffed hospital at Arkhangelsk so she could see to his recovery. And the well-being of the others injured in the fighting, of course.
So why was she hurting when he was reassigned by the SSB? Why did she follow him here to the Far East? Why...could she not separate herself from him?
"Ya," she choked at herself, "Ya...ya yego lyublyu."
The pressure building against her chest only grew heavier at the admission.
The last time he had the luxury of a steaming open air bath was when his family visited Mistral for a week when he was a kid. The warmth of the water and the calmness in the air restored unto him memories he once thought forgotten. Calmer days when he worried less of Grimm, less of reaching the standards of being a Huntsman, less of trying to save Pyrrha...
He took a deep breath.
All that was in the past now. The present mattered for it dictated the future and right now, he was to enjoy this luxury so he could be at his best first thing in the morning. So Weiss can stop pestering about it.
She was always on his case. Was he alright? Was he hurt? Did he forget anything? Did he clean his gun? Did he check the map? Was his compass working? Where was the food? Did they have enough money to get to the next town?
Weiss was so high-maintenance, it was...homely. Any man would have given her up. But this was Weiss. He knew her personally. She was a friend. A good friend. A close friend. His only friend from their real home.
He took another deep breath and looked up at the moonless sky.
"Can I try again?" he asked the stars.
Maybe this time, it could work.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: November 17, 2018
LAST EDITED: December 16, 2018
INITIALLY UPLOADED: December 16, 2018
NOTE: There. Drank an energy drink and that gave me the boost to cap off this chapter. It's a busy month and I've got a lot on my plate so updates will take even longer.
Translations:
Putain de merde! = French cuss phrase
Da ty zatknosh'sya nakonyets ili nyet!? = Would you shut up already!? [Russian]
Zatkni past! = Shut up! [Russian]