AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yep, it's time for the "Argus" chapter, though Argus is Algiers in this world. Close enough for government work.

I'm not sure if I have any French readers, but I have to apologize a little. Caroline Cordovin has to be French, and I didn't change her personality much from canon RWBY. So unfortunately you might find her attitude kind of insulting, or cliche. Just know that Cordovin is not a good person in any nationality or plane of existence...

And finally...yep, it's *that* chapter. Get ready for some feels.

Algiers Houari Boumediene International Airport

Algiers, Republic of Algeria

29 July 2001

Yang Xiao Long looked through the perimeter fence of the airport out at Algiers. "Lot bigger than I thought it would be." Before anyone could reply, the gathered members of Ruby and Norn Flights saw Pyrrha Nikos return with a tall man, wearing the standard tropical uniform of the French Air Force, the Armee de l'Air. The French, with their long history of fighting wars in North Africa, had adopted a rather sensible uniform for the desert—a short sleeved shirt and shorts. Yang made some appreciative noises for the officer, who definitely looked like he worked out. "Everyone, this is Lieutenant Colonel Etienne Legrand—he's the NATO liasion here." They all came to attention and saluted, since Legrand outranked everyone but Maria Calavera, and she was retired. He returned the salute crisply, then smiled and shook hands. "A pleasure to meet you," he said, in accented but excellent English.

"Are you sure about that?" Blake said. "With the embargo and everything."

Legrand shrugged. "What politicians do is between them. I can tell you that we in the Armee de l'Air do not think what happened at Beacon was anything more than a brave coalition of international fighter pilots defending their base. If General Ironwood is acting somewhat irrational, that is far outweighed by what happened there. And many of us have not forgotten Belleau Wood or Normandy." He put a hand on his chest. "You are guests. It is as simple as that."

"Which is why you had us land here, instead of the main base at Boufarik," Qrow added, his voice lower than usual.

Legrand again shrugged. "We felt it best to keep your presence a secret for as long as possible. Algeria is not included in the embargo, but here you won't have to worry about your aircraft being impounded." He paused. "Hopefully."

"That's comforting," Qrow replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"If it was up to me," Legrand told him, "you would be refueled and on your way by now. However, with the embargo, these things will take time." He motioned to Pyrrha. "According to Major Nikos, you have friends here in Algiers?"

"Relatives of a friend," Pyrrha answered. "I called ahead, but I had to leave a message. I don't know if they'll be all that welcoming or not."

"We will find out. Afterwards, we will put you up in a hotel," Legrand said. "For now, let me drive you to your friends' home. Once I've dropped you off at your friends', I'll go have a talk with my commanding officer. She will make the final decision on whether or not to let you fly to France. Naturally, she will have to consult with Paris."

"Which means we're not getting through," Ren sighed.

"You might be surprised, Captain. Again, not everyone in the European Union thinks that fighting men and women should be punished for the actions of their political leaders. Some of us are quite aware that this embargo was driven by, ah, certain elements in the EU." He looked pointedly at Weiss. He spread his hands. "But…that is for another time. Let me at least show you some hospitality."

He led them across the burning tarmac; sweat quickly stained everyone's flight suits. "Will our aircraft be safe?" Oscar asked. JINN was safely concealed in his duffel bag.

"They're under lock and key in one of our military hangars. They will be fine." He pointed to one of the larger hangars at the airport, then smiled over his shoulder. "Though I will not guarantee that some of my people will not salivate over such exotic aircraft. We don't get many F-22s in these parts, let alone J-10s or even F-14s—and certainly not a F-23." Yang beamed with pride.

They climbed into a van, and everyone gave a satisfied groan of pleasure at the wonderfully cool and air-conditioned interior. He drove them out of the airport—though not without some worried glances at the hangar—and into the city. "Yang was saying it was a lot bigger than we thought," Blake commented.

"It's actually one of the largest cities in Africa now—almost the size of Paris," Legrand replied.

"I'm a bit confused," Ruby admitted. "Is Algeria part of France or independent?"

Legrand laughed. "A little bit of both. It is independent, in that the people of Algeria elect their own government. However, France controls their foreign policy. Algeria actually achieved its independence in 1962, but then the Third World War happened, and then the GRIMM attacked. Though only a few GRIMM reached North Africa, the threat of worse led Algeria becoming part of the French Empire again—though more like Canada's relationship to Britain than the bad old days of being a colony. It seems to have worked out fairly well so far."

"So no tensions?" Blake asked.

"There are, of course," Legrand said guardedly. "But for the most part, both peoples try to work together. Algeria has its own military, but France keeps a large military presence here to help keep the people safe and trade between the two nations steady." Everyone sensed there was something, or a lot of somethings, Legrand wasn't telling them, but he changed the subject to showing them the city of Algiers. It was a curious mix of Algerian customs and French infrastructure, from modern glass-and-steel skyscrapers to the white stone of the old Casbah. After about forty minutes, they arrived in a suburb. Here, most—but certainly not all—of the faces were ethnically French, and the houses could have just as easily come from a French village in Provence or Brittany.

Legrand pulled to a stop in front of a two-story brick house, with stairs leading up a hill to the front door. "Well, here we are," he said. "I'll wait to make sure everything is all right. If it isn't, we can go to that hotel."

"Thank you," Pyrrha said, and got out of the van. Ruby got out as well. "I'll go with you." She ducked her head back in the van. "Maybe it's not a good idea for all of us to go up there at once." There were several nods, and Ruby followed Pyrrha up the steps. Or at least halfway up, because Pyrrha suddenly stopped. Ruby noticed the Greek girl's shoulders were shaking. "I can't do this," she whispered. "Oh God, Ruby. It's Jaune's sister."

"They've already been notified, Pyrrha," Ruby told her. "They know about Jaune."

"But still…what if they hate me? What if they…" She shook her head. "I can't. I can't. I'll wait in the van. I'll get Weiss—she knows how to handle this." Before Ruby could try and persuade her, Pyrrha turned to run back down the stairs. Before she could even do that, however, the door to the house opened.

Ruby's breath caught in her throat. Even if she hadn't been expecting it, there was no question this was Jaune's sister; the resemblance was unmistakable. The hair was slightly darker, what Ruby supposed was called a dishwater blonde, but the shape of the face, and the blue eyes, were Jaune to the life. "Hello?" she said in English. "Are you Pyrrha Nikos and Ruby Rose?" Even the slight inflections in the accent were like Jaune. "I'm Saphron!"

Pyrrha burst into tears and sank to her knees. Saphron's hands went to her mouth, and then she dashed out and knelt on the stairs, putting her arm around Pyrrha. "It's all right," she said, "it's all right."

"I'm so sorry," Pyrrha sobbed. "I just…I'm so sorry."

Saphron got Pyrrha to her feet, and hugged her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Miss Nikos." She pulled away, smiling, even as the tears ran down her cheeks as well. "Jaune wrote me about you."

"He…he did?"

"Yes. And you're every bit as beautiful as he described." She grasped Pyrrha's hands in hers. "Jaune said you were his best friend. That means you are my best friend." Saphron kissed both of Pyrrha's cheeks, then turned to Ruby. "You must be Ruby Rose! I admit you are exactly how Jaune described you."

"Oh boy," Ruby laughed, despite her own eyes being a bit misty. "I hope that's a good thing."

"A very good thing!" Saphron kissed both of Ruby's cheeks as well, which left the American girl blushing; Ruby didn't realize it was a traditional greeting. Saphron looked beyond them. "Oh my! Is that the rest of Ruby and Juniper Flights?"

"Yeah. We wanted to come by and pay our respects." Ruby looked a bit sheepish. "I know the French Air Force probably already notified you, but…since we were coming this way anyway…we thought maybe you'd like to meet us. Personally." She felt dumb saying it; Saphron didn't know anyone in the van except through Jaune's letters, and Oscar not even that.

Saphron nodded. "It will be crowded, but we'll manage."

"Er…huh?"

"You're staying with us, of course," Saphron said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

"All of us?"

"Certainly."

"We couldn't," Pyrrha told her, but Saphron was already heading down the stairs, arms wide.

The house was fair-sized, but it was crowded with ten pilots, Saphron, and her son, Adrian. To some confusion, Adrian looked nothing like Saphron: he had black hair, and where Saphron had the pale skin of southern France, his skin was the darker tones of Algeria. Nor could he explain the situation, since he was barely more than a year old. Ruby wanted to ask Saphron, but was held back by the feeling that it wouldn't be polite, and the fact that Jaune's sister was too busy rushing around the house, finding bedding, places for the pilots to sleep, and checking to see if she was going to need to go to the store for more food. Ruby and Norn Flights, plus Qrow and Maria, had found places to sit on the floor, on the sofa, in two upholstered chairs. Yang and Weiss were one of those on the floor. Adrian had a toy Mirage, and Yang appropriated it, flying around in dives, spins, and breaks, much to the baby's amusement. He began to laugh, which made Yang laugh too. "You're so cute!" she said, in a much higher tone of voice than usual; Ruby remembered dimly Yang doing the same to her when they were little. "Yes, you are! Look at your little face!"

Yang handed Adrian the Mirage back, and the infant offered it to Weiss. "Aww!" she cooed. "You're such a cute widdle guy!" She switched to singsong German, and Adrian giggled even harder.

"Uh oh," Qrow whispered to Oscar. "Biological clocks just rang. I can hear their ovaries popping from here."

"We can heaaar you," Yang half-sang.

"I don't caaaare," Qrow replied in the same tone. Oscar smothered a grin.

Blake, who upon seeing Adrian had remembered Kali Belladonna's obsession with grandchildren, looked at a picture on a shelf. It showed Jaune in the middle of seven sisters of varying ages, all with the same blonde hair and blue eyes; two of them were twins. All the sisters were smiling, grinning and/or laughing, but Jaune was frowning, his hair tied in pigtails, holding up a sign that read Help in French. So he really did have seven sisters, Blake thought. "Saphron, you're the only Arc living here?"

Saphron finally sat down on the corner of the couch. "No, not the only one. Mother actually lives here as well, though she commutes back and forth to Marseille or Provence, where the rest of my sisters live. Her brother—our uncle—has a vineyard near Nimes. Father passed away a few years ago. I doubt you'll get to meet her, unfortunately-she's in Marseille this week."

"What brought you to Algeria?"

The front door opened, and everyone turned to look. Another woman stared back, and even with part of her face blocked by two huge bags of groceries, this had to be Adrian's mother: they had the same dark hair and tanned skin, though the mother also wore red-rimmed glasses. Saphron got up. "She did. Everyone, this is my wife, Terra Cotta-Arc."

"Wife?" Ruby exclaimed. "I mean…uh…hi!" Now she felt like a bigger idiot. The others didn't seem as shocked, and they all waved.

Saphron and Terra laughed. "Don't worry, Ruby. It's quite all right. We understand that our relationship isn't exactly…well, perhaps it's unusual to you."

"I'm sorry," Ruby apologized.

Terra waved it off. "I'm not offended." She looked around the room. "Quite a party! You weren't kidding, hon. Can I get some help, please?" The question was addressed to Saphron, but Pyrrha, Ren and Nora were on their feet and helping her before Saphron could answer. Ruby got to hers as well. Terra directed traffic, getting the groceries put away.

"I'm sorry for being so surprised," Ruby apologized again. "I'm being twelve kinds of moron here."

Saphron just laughed. "Same-sex marriages aren't common, even in Europe. Technically, it's not even legal here in Algeria! But no one cares, so we don't either."

"Is it legal in France?" Pyrrha asked.

"It is," Terra answered, "but, to be perfectly honest, it's somewhat frowned upon when one of the people in question is French and the other is Algerian." She frowned. "Enough about such depressing matters! Please, tell us how you got here."

Sandwiches were made while they told Saphron and Terra about events since Beacon—what they could talk about, which wasn't much. It was still enough to elicit amazement from the Cotta-Arcs, as they returned to the living room and sat down to eat. Ruby ate with sandwiches in both hands, humming happily; they'd had a very quick and light breakfast at Incirlik that morning, then a long, thankfully boring flight over the Mediterranean, threading the needle between hostile skies over Libya and embargoed skies over Sicily.

"You're sure it's all right if we stay here?" Weiss asked.

"For the last time, of course!" Saphron smiled. "As I said, any friend of Jaune is a friend of ours. We're happy to house true heroes and heroines."

"You all risk so much to keep people like us safe. It's the least we can do," Terra added. She opened her mouth to say more, when her cellphone began to buzz. She rolled her eyes. "Excuse me, please." She got up, flipped open her phone, and went into the kitchen.

"Everything okay?" Blake asked.

"Oh yes—or it will be." Saphron glanced behind her. "Terra's an air traffic controller. She handles traffic through Algiers—not the airport, but incoming traffic through the western Mediterranean. The French military uses the same system, because—" she looked down at Adrian and began singing, "—the radaaar's on the friiitz and guess who's getting the blaaame!"

"That would be me-eee!" Terra yelled from the kitchen.

"It's a pain in the derriere, isn't it, Adrian?" Saphron tickled the baby, who laughed, setting off another wistful sigh from Yang and Weiss—and from Nora, who kept glancing at Ren, who pretended not to notice. Ruby wondered what the hell was wrong with them, or maybe what was wrong with her. She'd never really thought about having children; that would interfere with flying. She caught Pyrrha looking away, trying not to cry for what might have been.

So did Saphron. "What's your plan for tomorrow?" she said loudly, both out of genuine curiosity and to distract Pyrrha.

Ruby swallowed the remains of two sandwiches. "Well, we're hoping to get to France. Colonel Legrand is supposed to contact us."

"How long will that take?"

"We're not sure," Qrow answered. "His CO has to talk to Paris. A lot of diplomatic and bureaucratic bullsh—" He remembered the child. "—bullcrap," he finished.

"This stupid embargo," Saphron said sourly. "It's been helping no one. Other than the fat cats like Jacques Schnee—" She grimaced. "Sorry, Miss Schnee; I do not mean to offend."

"I'm not offended," Weiss echoed Terra. "I'd call him far worse, actually."

"Anyway," Ruby said, "we're hoping it won't take more than a day or two." As Terra returned from the kitchen, shaking her head, Pyrrha's cellphone began to buzz. "Speak of the devil and he appears," she commented, and took it out of her flight suit. "Major Nikos speaking. Hello, Colonel." She listened through a one-sided conversation, then spoke. "Very well, sir. We'll be waiting. Yes, sir." She closed the phone. "Legrand's coming by in about twenty minutes. His commanding officer wants to see us. All of us."

"Well," Yang remarked, "I guess that's a good sign, right?"

Office of the Commanding Officer, French Military Mission

Boufarik Airbase, Republic of Algeria

29 July 2001

It had been another twenty minutes for Legrand to take them to Boufarik, the large military airbase southwest of Algiers. Night had fallen, and it was surprisingly cold. At the front gate, a pair of overofficious guards had at first denied them entry, only reluctantly acquiescing when Legrand had pulled rank. They had then subjected all of them to a patdown that Blake thought was one step below sexual assault, and only then were they allowed into the waiting room of the commanding officer of the Francais Force l'Algerie, French forces in Algeria.

Maria sat in one of the chairs, leaning on her cane. She squinted at the name on the door. "Oh shit," she whispered.

"What's wrong?" Oscar asked.

"Well, I…might know the CO."

"Hey, that's great!" Ruby exulted. "If she's your friend, that explains why she wants to see all of us! She's going to let us through!"

Maria winced. "I wouldn't exactly call us friends."

"Acquaintances?" Weiss wanted to know.

"Not quite."

"Colleagues?" Blake asked hopefully.

"No, not really."

"Mortal enemies?" Yang sighed.

Maria nodded. "That's the one."

Oscar's eyes rounded. "Wait, what? Why?"

"You run one pistachio smuggling ring, disrupt one major airshow, and suddenly you're barred from France for life."

Qrow put his face in his hands. "You've got to be shitting me."

"Now, now, let's not give up hope yet." Maria smiled. "Maybe she's dead."

The door opened. One of the overofficious, gropey guards had gone in ahead of them, and he stepped out. "Attention! Commanding officer, Brigadier General Caroline Cordovin, French Air Force, present!" All of them leapt to their feet and stood at attention.

Ruby half-expected a tall, granite-faced woman, someone like an older version of Winter Schnee. Instead, to Ruby's abject surprise, she was instead confronted by someone shorter than her—and Ruby was exactly one half-inch over the minimum height requirement for the USAF. Caroline Cordovin was shorter than her by an inch or two; only Rissa Arashikaze had been shorter, and Ruby wouldn't care to put money on it. The general's hair was completely gray, and her face was not so much granite than what Taiyang Xiao Long would call lived in. Her uniform was immaculate, but her diminutive height and doughy face took away the dignity of the uniform: Cordovin, Ruby thought with a suppressed smile, looked like a pissed-off toad.

Cordovin barely acknowledged the others, but instead stared right at Maria. "Bitch," she said by way of greeting.

Maria smiled back. "Puta," she replied.

Cordovin's mouth twitched. She stared at the other pilots. "I see you've chosen larger contraband to try and smuggle in this time."

The former GRIMM Reaper laughed. "Cordo, Cordo, Cordo. You know, they say time changes people, but I see you've still got that stick right up your tight ass."

Cordovin stepped forward, but so did Ruby, not really wanting to see two elderly women try to beat each other to death. "Er, General, ma'am, hello! I'm Captain Ruby Rose, United States Air Force, and I was wondering if you would mind hearing us out about—"

The general turned blazing eyes on Ruby. "I've already heard it from Colonel Legrand." She threw the colonel a contemptous nod before returning her attention to Ruby. "You Americans are clearly incapable of comprehending the importance of our mission here in Algeria. So allow me to say this slowly, with smaller words: this base, this mission, the very safety of our two nations is my duty to uphold, as only I have the wit and tenacity for such a task. It is why I was sent here."

"Or maybe France just wanted to get you as far away as possible," Maria observed, which was not helping.

"You shut up!" Cordovin snapped. She rounded on Ruby again. "Your country wouldn't even exist without France, and what do we get in return? You Americans put orbital weapons platforms into operation, against every treaty about space ever signed!"

Ruby fought down her temper. "General, we know mistakes were made at Beacon. We know because we were there."

Weiss stepped forward. "No one's happy about the embargo, General Cordovin. We know that General Ironwood may have overstepped his authority by bringing in more American divisions to Poland, but he's just worried. It's why we need to talk to—"

Cordovin cut her off with a slice of her hand. "Ironwood is a fool! If the Americans want to make Europe their enemy, then so be it! We shall prevail!"

Yang rolled her eyes. "Victor India," she remarked. Ruby bit her lip.

"What's that?" Cordovin's head came around to lock onto Yang.

"Very Important," Yang said evenly, staring back at the general without fear. "You're Victor India, ma'am."

"Huh. Glad to hear it, Captain." The general turned to Weiss, and Ruby stared at the ceiling while Yang smirked at her. It was an old insult of their father's, when he got frustrated at someone. Victor India was NATO phonetic for V and I, but it did not stand for Very Important; it actually stood for Village Idiot.

"If," Cordovin was saying, "if Miss Schnee wishes to return to Germany, she will be allowed to do so. We will allow her safe passage, as befitting her status as an officer of the Luftwaffe. But France will not be responsible for her…friends…of questionable character." She looked pointedly at Blake. Great, Ruby thought. This old bag is not only a stuck up bitch who doesn't like Americans, she's also a racist.

Weiss' hands curled into fists. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Cordovin said, "that we're done here. You have 48 hours to leave Algeria before I will have you arrested. I grant you that much time because I am not without mercy. Dismissed."

"I am Greek," Pyrrha spoke up as Cordovin returned to her office.

"And I am Chinese," Ren put in.

"You gave up your citizenship, Major. And who cares, Captain. Good evening." Cordovin said, and shut the door.

The same two guards escorted them to the front gate. As the gates shut, Nora turned and flipped them off. "Go fuck yourself, you fucking fuckers!" she shouted as she climbed into the van.

"That's telling them," Ren sighed.

Legrand started the van. "I'm sorry. She chewed me out as well. There's nothing more I can do." He backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road. "I can extend that to 72 hours. I doubt she would notice or care about an extra day."

"My fault." Maria shook her head. "Cordo hates my guts. She's hated me ever since I made her look like the fool she is at the Paris Air Show."

"It didn't help," Legrand told her, "but this goes further than just you, Colonel Calavera. You called it, I'm afraid: Cordovin was given a graveyard promotion to brigadier general and then shuffled off here. She'll be forced to retire within a year. I'm afraid she's taking it out on everyone around her."

"Does she just hate Americans?" Yang asked.

Legrand chuckled. "She hates everyone."

"Maybe I should go," Weiss said into the silence.

"No, Weiss. We won't leave you." Blake put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "We'll find a way in. Together."

"Roger that," Ruby said.

Nora contented herself with one last finger in Cordovin's general direction from the back seat. "So what's the plan, boss?" she asked Ruby.

Qrow was the one to answer, his voice bitter. "The plan? We don't have one. Cordovin just fucked us." He leaned forward to Legrand. "There a good bar near the Cotta-Arc's place? I need a drink."

Legrand looked at him with concern in the rearview mirror, but nodded. "I know of a place." Ruby looked at her uncle as well, but Qrow only stared out of the window.

They reached the bar about fifteen minutes of awkward silence later. Qrow climbed over Ruby to get out. "Major," Pyrrha warned. "Remember what we spoke about in Tehran."

"I don't fucking care," Qrow shot back. "Not anymore."

"Uncle Qrow, please! I really think we should try to come up with something…" Her voice trailed off as Qrow ignored her, walking into the bar. Instead, she shut the door.

"What the hell is wrong with Uncle Qrow?" Yang said. "It's not our fault we can't go on!"

"If he's going to be an asshole, then we'll just come up with something without him. Right, Pyr?" Nora grinned at her friend.

"Actually…" Pyrrha opened the door on her side of the van. Everyone stared at her, but she smiled sadly. "No, I'm not going to get drunk too. I just want to walk around. Clear my head." She got out and looked at Legrand. "Is it safe to walk around here?"

"It is. There's a nice park over there, and some cafes. The Cotta-Arcs live about five blocks up the hill, on Avenue Marshal Giraud. You should have no trouble finding it," Legrand told her.

"We'll come with you." Ren motioned Nora out of the van. Oscar hesitated, looked at Ruby, then sat back down. Ren gave him a nod, understanding: what was left of Juniper Flight, not Norn Flight, needed to handle this. Legrand waved, and drove off.

"Damn. Bit cold out here for July in frickin' North Africa," Nora said, rubbing her arms. They had changed into their uniforms before meeting Cordovin, but it was the USAF summerweight uniform she wore. "Hey, there's a café over there, just like the colonel said. Why don't we grab some coffee?"

"I'm okay," Pyrrha replied. "You two go on ahead." She sat down on a wrought-iron bench.

"You don't want anything?" Nora looked at Ren. Pyrrha smiled and shook her head. "Okay…"

"We'll be right back," Ren said, and followed Nora to the café, with a worried look behind him.

Pyrrha leaned forward. She half expected to start crying, but no tears came, only an overwhelming feeling of failure. She had realized that, in some way, she had wanted Saphron Arc to hate her, to curse her, to throw her off her steps and tell her to never return. Instead, Saphron had welcomed her as a friend, almost as a part of her family. Jaune's sister had not even mentioned her brother's death, just talked about how much he'd liked all of them, in the letters he wrote home to his mother every week at Beacon. Jaune's mother had then given them to Saphron, who apparently had been the closest to her brother of all the Arc sisters. Saphron only wanted to remember the best of Jaune; she wanted no sadness around his memory. Pyrrha understood it, and welcomed it, but could not bring herself to think of Jaune that way. She could remember the good times, of course—but she remembered more his touch that one, magical night, the bittersweet memory of his skin against hers, and then that shattering, horrible moment of watching his Mirage explode from Cinder Fall's missile. She'd avenged Jaune over Tsushima, but with no body recovered from the wreckage of Cinder's aircraft, even that felt hollow: Cinder was still out there, still trying to kill another of her friends.

Pyrrha leaned back on the bench, and took a deep breath. Qrow Branwen would never know how tempted she was to follow him into that bar, to drown her sorrows alongside his, to drink herself into oblivion and keep the memories at bay for just one night.

Then she saw something in the park. "It can't be," she murmured, and got to her feet. She crossed the street, walked into the park—another piece of France that seemed strange here, a park that looked like it had been somehow transported from Paris itself. She followed the path to the center of the park, to the statue she'd glimpsed in between the trees. Pyrrha's vision swam; she nearly fell.

The statue was Jaune Arc.

He was dressed in his flight suit, staring upwards at the sky, his hands on his hips, a helmet sculpted at his feet. Small French flags decorated the base. It was a heroic pose: the sculptor had chosen to make Jaune a tad more square-jawed than he really was, and bulkier, but there was no doubt who it was supposed to be. Any doubt at all was taken away by the inscription at the base, in large block letters, in French: IN HONOR OF JAUNE ARC, ONE OF MANY PILOTS WHO FOUGHT VALIANTLY AT THE BATTLE OF BEACON. Below that, was a quote from Napoleon: But all that he will learn will be of little use to him if he does not have the sacred fire in the depths of his heart, this driving ambition which alone can enable one to perform great deeds.

"Mother of God," Pyrrha breathed, somehow keeping her feet. "It's you, Jaune. It's you." She remembered the hallucination in the hospital in Georgia, seeing Jaune as an angel, holding out a hand, that lopsided, goofy smile on his face, offering to lead her to heaven. She'd tried to, following the ghost to the roof before the hospital staff tackled her, before she could throw herself off. Then she'd slashed her wrists, trying to find another way. Luckily, she'd managed to do it wrong, and other than losing blood and what little remained of her dignity, Pyrrha had failed. She would have found some other way, she knew, had it not been for Ren and Nora—and Jaune's final message—forcing her back to something resembling sanity. Ruby, Yang, Weiss, Blake, Oscar, even Qrow had all helped since, helping Pyrrha find her purpose and to live again. The statue, however, pulled Pyrrha back to that hospital room, and the vision.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?"

Pyrrha nearly collapsed again, because the voice, though female, sounded so much like Jaune. She whirled around, her mind snapping back to reality; it had to be Saphron. It wasn't: the woman looked very much like Saphron, but her hair was graying, and she was considerably older. There was a bundle of white roses in her hands; plenty of white and red roses already decorated the base.

It took a moment for Pyrrha to find her voice. "Yes…very much so." She forced herself to look at the statue, while her mind tried to grasp who this was. Could it be Jaune's mother? She was supposed to be in Marseille. "Why in Algiers?"

"Lieutenant Arc was the principal ferry pilot for Dassault, and he flew nearly every Mirage the Algerian Air Force flies. He made a lot of friends here. Not as close as the ones he fought beside at Beacon, but friends all the same. The pilots here pooled their money and commissioned this statue, especially after he was awarded the Legion of Honor…posthumously." The woman smiled. "I'm glad he was always surrounded by such amazing people."

Pyrrha could not stop the tears now. She cried unashamedly. "He should be standing here," she sniffled pitifully. "Not me. I don't deserve it. He did."

"He is standing here," the woman said. Pyrrha stared at her. "He…understood that he had a responsibility. To try. I don't think he would regret his choice, because a pilot, a real man, would understand that there really was no choice to make. And a pilot and a true man was what Jaune—Lieutenant Arc—always wanted to be."

Pyrrha stepped closer. "I knew Jaune Arc," she said, wiping her eyes. "I knew him…very well." She looked back at the statue. "I have been called a heroine, the Invincible Girl. I don't think I can ever live up to that reputation. I never wanted to. But Jaune?" She smiled. "Jaune was…is a hero. No one had to put up a statue for all of us to realize that. No medal needed to be awarded. We always knew. We always will. We'll never forget him."

The woman sniffed, and out of the corner of one eye, Pyrrha saw her wipe away tears as well. "Thank you, Major Nikos." She set down the roses. "No lilies or violets…" the woman began, in English.

"…for dead fighter pilots," Pyrrha finished, an old fighter pilot song that dated back to World War II. "Cheer up, my lads, bless them all." Then she heard her name called, saw Ren and Nora, and waved. When she turned back, the woman was gone, almost as if she had never been there, though the roses remained.

"Pyrrha, where did you go?" Nora was asking. Then she looked up, saw the statue, and dropped her coffee. "Holy shit," she gasped. Ren stopped as well, his mouth falling open. He said something in Chinese that Pyrrha didn't understand, but it was echoing Nora's statement. They stood there, for a long time: Juniper Flight, together again, probably for the last time.

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha said, as the desert wind rustled the trees. "I've been a poor flight commander, and not a great friend. I thought…I thought killing Cinder would end this, or playing that message every night, that I could live with this—"

"Pyrrha." Ren set his coffee down. "This has to stop."

"You're not being fair to yourself," Nora added. "What you did in Japan, to Cinder, when you just went straight at her…you can't do that, Pyr. We love you, just like we love Jaune. We're not just a flight. We're a family. You and Jaune were, are, the only family Ren and I have ever had."

Pyrrha chuckled. "Good Lord, Nora. We only knew each other for a few weeks at Beacon."

"So?"

"The point is," Ren said, "we don't want to lose you too."

Pyrrha was silent, staring up at Jaune's statue. "He never won any of the practice dogfights," she finally spoke. "But he never lost against the GRIMM. And he knew he couldn't take Cinder. But he had to try. For me. For all of us."

"So he did," Ren agreed.

"Maybe we should too," Nora remarked.

"Yes," Pyrrha nodded. Then she smiled, quickly joined by Ren and Nora.

"Jaune may not be flying with us in his Mirage," Nora said, "but we can damn sure fight like he is."

"In a way, he is." Pyrrha looked down at the spilled coffee. "I'm sorry."

"For what? I was the one who dropped it." Nora pointed at Jaune. "Actually, this is your fault, Jaune! This is on you, buddy!" That got them laughing. Luckily, there was no one else at the park; others might not have taken the joke for what it was. "I'll go buy another one, Pyr. C'mon."

"Get me one too," Pyrrha told her. "I'll be along directly." The other two walked away, knowing. Pyrrha kissed her fingers, reached forward, and placed them on Jaune's boot. "Thank you, my love. I'll see you again." She winked at him, and thought she heard his laugh. "Just not for awhile yet, all right? Please have patience." Pyrrha lingered for another minute, once more studying Jaune's face, even if the sculptor had gotten his jawline wrong. Overhead, an airliner—she identified it instantly as an Airbus A340—flew overhead, taking off from the airport, then turning to set a northerly course; she saw the tricolor tail emblem of Air France.

She watched the airliner fly out of sight, then glanced back up at the statue. "That's not a bad idea, Jaune," she grinned, then laughed. "Not a bad idea at all."