Chapter 44
Weiss stood flanked by Pyrrha and Velvet, tightly gripping their hands. They in turn were joined by Ren and Coco respectively. The group waited just inside the Emergency Room entrance, as close to the sliding automatic doors as they could get without obstructing the regular comings and going of medical staff and patients. The ambulance carrying Winter was on the way, and Weiss was determined to be there the moment her sister was unloaded. It had taken some persuasion - plus firm instruction - to convince her to remain inside the building rather than stand at the curb out in the arctic air.
The snowy winter day made for a busy Emergency Room. Chest pains and back injuries from shoveling, damaged digits from snowblower mishandling, the results of car accidents and slips on ice all brought hapless citizens to the hospital. Though Weiss was among the most recognizable celebrities in all of Atlas, none of the passersby seemed to care. The staff was too concerned with the tasks at hand and the patients were too worried about their own injuries to pay much attention to the woebegotten CEO.
A new siren pierced the air, growing louder by the moment. Weiss recognized it immediately as a military ambulance. She clamped down on the hands she held, and Pyrrha and Velvet squeezed in return. As the vehicle pulled to a halt before the entrance, staff rushed out to meet it. The back door swung open and out hopped a paramedic. With an assist from another inside and the joining hospital staff, the paramedic extracted a gurney carrying a tightly bundled patient. The gurney's wheels extended to reach the ground as it was removed from the vehicle, and in seconds it was being wheeled inside.
Weiss caught a glimpse of white hair and knew it was Winter. As the gurney cleared the doors, Weiss rushed to it, pushing her way through the medics to get to her sister's side. Winter looked worse than she had feared. Her hair was matted and stained with dried blood, dark angry bruising surrounded one of her eyes, and blood soaked bandages were wrapped around her limbs and neck. An oxygen mask covered Winter's mouth and nose, and a paramedic held an IV bag aloft, attached to her arm through a gap in the bandages.
Weiss jogged alongside the gurney as it was rushed through the corridors. Winter was awake, though her eyes were glassy and unfocused. The odd bump or sudden turn elicited a pathetic groan. "Winter, I'm here, look at me." Weiss implored. "It'll be alright. You're safe now. You're home."
Winter's gaze lazily shifted to meet Weiss'. Her eyes seemed to bounce around, unable to lock onto her sister's visage. Winter coughed, her lips moving without successfully producing any words. Finally she took a breath and spoke. "Mama?" She managed in a feeble, whispered voice.
Weiss stopped in her tracks and the gurney carried on without her as the medics wheeled it through a doorway through which Weiss knew she could not follow. Now it was up to the surgeons. Weiss felt tears welling in her eyes. She did not resist them. It took all her effort just to remain standing long enough for Pyrrha and the others to reach her and wrap her up in a tight embrace. She collapsed, sobbing.
A receptionist directed General Ironwood to an office near the hospital lobby. He was dreading the conversation he was about to have, but he knew there was no way to avoid it. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Before him, Weiss sat behind a desk that was empty except for a laptop. She locked eyes with him immediately. Despite her small stature, her glare was unnerving. "Take a seat." She commanded.
The general sat in a chair in front of the desk. "You asked to speak with-"
"The doctors won't give me any information on my sister's condition." Weiss interrupted. "You will." She waited for a moment, but Ironwood said nothing. "Now. Tell me everything."
Ironwood sighed. "Her most serious and obvious injuries are the incisions covering her body. It seems they are fresh, made within a day or so, and probably intended to leave visible scars. There seems to be some pattern to them, but nothing yet identified. Her legs are also badly broken. We're not sure if that was to prevent escape attempts or just to cause pain. She appears to have suffered mild head trauma, but it's unclear." He paused briefly. "She also has less severe injuries consistent with prolonged torture. Assuming there's nothing the medics missed, she should recover."
Weiss closed her eyes and nodded. "So you're telling me that not only did you lose my sister, you left her in the hands of those...those animals…to be tortured for all this time?"
"We did everything we could to-" Ironwood started.
"Bullshit!" Weiss leapt to her feet, slamming her hands on the desk. "If it wasn't for your incompetence-"
"We lost soldiers searching for her!" Ironwood stood as well, towering over Weiss. She did not look at all cowed. "I had to burn some of my best intelligence sources!"
"I don't care." Weiss growled through gritted teeth.
"You don't care?" Ironwood seethed. "You don't care! Even your father at least pretended-"
"Don't you dare compare me to my father!" Weiss raged. "I should suspend the SDC's cooperation with the Atlesian military."
"You would burn your company and your country out of spite?" Ironwood challenged.
"No, it would just burn you." Weiss stated coldly. "When the Council hears their most important military contract has been cut off because of your incompetence, it would just be your head on the chopping block. They need me more than I need them. The contract would be renegotiated - in my favor - in no time. I'd turn a bigger profit, and the military would no longer be hamstrung by your blundering." She brushed past him, walking to the door and throwing it open to slam against the wall. "Now, see yourself out of my hospital."
Ironwood briefly considered arguing, but his years of service had taught him to pick his battles. The matter was not over in any respect, but he would be more likely to succeed by approaching from a different angle.
Going out to eat was still a rare treat for Willow. For years Jacques had effectively kept her locked away, then her alcoholism had robbed her of the chance to experience her newfound freedom. Now all that was behind her, and she had a whole world to explore. She had never eaten sushi, and was not sure she would enjoy it, but Octavia liked it, so Willow had looked up local sushi restaurants and picked one out. Octavia had brought her so many new experiences, perhaps she would also expand her culinary horizons.
The pair sat in a private room on the second floor of the restaurant. Normally the space would be used for large parties, but Willow had reserved it for just the two of them. She was intent on keeping their relationship out of the tabloids, for Octavia's sake. Willow knew how harsh the spotlight could be. If their relationship became public, reporters would be beating down Octavia's door, paparazzi would follow her every move. No one deserved that kind of scrutiny.
To her pleasant surprise, Willow found she actually quite liked sushi. Some of it at least. Still, she enjoyed the conversation more. "What do you want to do with your life?"
Octavia swallowed a bite of sushi. "I haven't really thought about it."
"Surely you have goals, a plan." Willow pressed.
"My parents certainly laid out a plan for me." Octavia shrugged. "I never gave it much thought."
"What was their plan?" Willow asked.
"They wanted me to go to a prestigious university, get a good degree." Octavia replied. "From there I would secure a lucrative job with a respected firm, either rising through the ranks to a high managerial position there or starting a company of my own. I would marry a wealthy suitor, then produce an even wealthier heir."
"Sounds like my parents' plan." Willow sighed. "Though they skipped the university and job and pushed me straight into the marriage. At least I got some lovely children out of the bargain."
"And a fortune worth more than some countries." Octavia chuckled.
"Actually I have Weiss to thank for that." Willow corrected. "My husband's will did not leave me a cent."
"Oh...well...oh." Octavia frowned.
"Don't worry about it." Willow waved away her concern. "It's all in the past. I'm more interested in the present, and the future. You should be too."
"Speaking of the present, I told my parents about our relationship." Octavia changed the subject.
"And they must have been thrilled." Willow grinned. "Their daughter, dating a wealthy old widow. I bet that caused a stir."
"It did, but not in the way you would imagine." Octavia noted. "They were actually quite happy to hear about it. It's just that…"
"They're hoping we get married, then I soon die and leave you all my money?" Willow guessed.
Octavia shook her head. "No, they're Mistrali, and they don't quite understand our relationship." Willow raised an eyebrow. "They think you're my erastes. Sure, I'm a little old for an erastes, but I've never had one, and one so prestigious, how could they complain?"
"Erastes?" Willow inquired. "I'm not familiar with the concept."
"Well...how do I put this…" Octavia sighed.
Willow's scroll rang, interrupting before Octavia had to answer the question. Willow slipped the device from her pocket and glanced at the screen. "It's Weiss." She announced. "Sorry, I have to take this."
"Go ahead." Octavia nodded.
Willow tapped the screen and held the scroll to her ear. "Hello dear. What is it?"
"I need you to meet me at the hospital as soon as possible." Weiss answered. "It's urgent, but not an emergency."
"I was just finishing up lunch." Willow responded. "I'll be right over. Do you mind if I bring Octavia?"
"That's fine." Weiss allowed. "Go to the main reception desk, they'll direct you to my temporary office. Do not speak to the press."
"You know I wouldn't waste a word on those blood-suckers." Willow chuckled. "I'll see you soon." Weiss hung up without another word and Willow put her own scroll down. "I'm afraid we'll have to wrap up. Weiss needs to see me."
"Did she say why?" Octavia asked.
"No, but she's always had a cryptic streak." Willow observed. "Probably afraid some reporter's tapped our scrolls."
On arriving at the hospital, Willow was directed to an office near the lobby. She found it brightly lit and sparsely furnished. Weiss sat in a chair behind a desk topped with only a laptop. The girl glanced up and upon seeing her mother, hastily stood. She brushed at her clothes to smooth them as Octavia followed Willow into the room. "Mother...that was faster than I was expecting." Weiss admitted.
"The restaurant was nearby." Willow explained. "Now what's this about?"
"I only found out a few hours ago...and I should have called you sooner...I'm sorry I forgot…" Weiss stammered. She took a deep breath to center herself. Willow found her lack of poise disconcerting. "Winter was found, alive. She's here, currently in surgery, and expected to recover."
Willow quickly crossed the room and embraced her daughter as tears welled in Weiss' eyes. "That's wonderful news."
Weiss gently pulled away from the embrace. "I'm so sorry, I should have called you as soon as I heard. I just…"
Willow pulled her back in. "Shh, it's okay. I spent the better part of the last two decades in a drunken stupor, I'm easy to forget. We're both getting used to the new me." She drew back, holding her daughter at arm's length. "Wipe away those tears, this is no time for crying. The family is back together."
"I haven't called...him...either." Weiss mumbled.
"Understandable, after the gala." Willow sighed. "I shall call your brother myself."
"Thank you Mother." Weiss managed.
"You know I'd do anything for you dear." Willow responded.
While Winter was still in surgery, Willow had business of her own. Weiss had informed her of where Winter's room would be, and Willow led Octavia there. As expected, two military guards already flanked the door of the currently unoccupied room. The soldiers seemed to stiffen at Willow's approach. They surely knew who she was and the reputation the family had. They would probably rather face a battalion of hostile soldiers. At least then they could fight back.
"So you'll be guarding my daughter during her recovery?" Willow started with a simple question, just small talk, to put them at ease.
"Yes ma'am." One guard responded. "Our unit will be rotating in."
"What unit is that?" Willow inquired.
"That's classified ma'am." The guard replied.
"Ah, a very good unit then." Willow surmised. "Splendid. Is General Ironwood here?"
"No ma'am." The guard answered.
"Do you know where he is?" Willow followed up.
"Not for sure ma'am." The guard responded. "I would assume he has returned to base."
"So he was here." Willow guessed. "Did he speak with Weiss?"
"Yes ma'am." The guard confirmed. "He did not appear pleased with the outcome."
"That is regrettable but hardly surprising." Willow nodded. "And stop calling me ma'am. It makes me feel old."
"Yes ma...Miss Schnee." The guard managed.
"Very good." Willow smiled. "Thank you for putting up with me." She turned to walk away.
"Excuse me, Miss Schnee?" The other guard finally spoke up. Willow turned around and took stock of the man. He was taller than his comrade and - though his uniform made it difficult to see - more muscular as well. A scar cut across his cheek just above the jawline, and another on his neck just peeked above his collar.
"What is it?" Willow asked.
The man's grizzled visage softened. "I just wanted to say your daughter is the best damned soldier I've ever had the honor of serving with. Tough as nails, hell of a leader, brave as they come. We've all been praying for her, and now that we've got her back, we know she'll be on her feet in no time."
"Thank you." Willow offered a gentle smile and placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder. "I'm just glad she's home."
The spacious office somehow felt small in the lamplight, but to James Ironwood, everything tended to feel small, knowing the scope of the world. He envied the average citizen, whose day to day lives included such great worries as holding a job, paying the bills, putting food on the table and keeping their spouse happy, if they had one at all. James had not needed to worry about such things for decades. Instead he found the fates of nations splayed across his desk. Stark white pages tinted amber in the light, reports on Fang activity, informants jumping at any whisper, his advisers' blaring their conflicting opinions in the boldest typeface they could get away with.
It was a tiresome blur, but it needed to be taken in. He needed to consider every scrap of intel in order to make the right decisions, or at least the best decisions that could be made. The enemy was innumerable, their influence unintelligible, and the consequences of his actions effectively unpredictable. He could end the war tomorrow or spark a whole new one. All it took was once choice, wrong or right. He had bloodied his hands enough to last a lifetime...and some deaths stained darker than others.
He dropped the chopsticks he had been fumbling with, groaning, reaching to rub at his aching temples. The left side of his body lagged to respond, causing him to nearly jab himself in the eye instead. The prosthetic limb thumped back onto the desk as he glared, and the dull ache that ran down seemed to flare in response. He hated the damned tech. Sometimes he wished he had just died, like any other soldier would in his condition. A glorious death in a fiery explosion while serving his country would have been a fine one, and far less painful than the life he now endured.
Ironwood had to admit, some things were worth the pain. He was better able to take care of his soldiers, make changes he wished for when he was a battlefield leader. The perspective of a soldier proved invaluable, even if at times the red tape made him wonder who his real enemies were. He doubted Winter would appreciate him taking that view of her sister. He doubted Weiss would actually carry out her threats. She was hurting, and it seemed years under her father's thumb had taught her to go for the jugular. Or maybe it was Winter who had taught her as much. Her military career had seen her endure great pain, lessons learned the hard way, written in her flesh for all to see. It filled him with pride to see her come so far, to grow from an angry youth at the academy into his most trusted operator. And it tore his heart out to see her brought so low. He should have done more…
The intercom on his desk crackled to life. "General Ironwood, we have a situation."
With a sigh, Ironwood pressed the button to respond. "A situation that demands my direct attention? What is it now, another fight club?"
"Well sir...it's Madam Schnee." The soldier responded. "She insists on meeting you."
"Let her through." Ironwood instructed. "Allow her full access."
"Sir, yes sir." The soldier responded. The intercom fell silent.
Ironwood leaned back in his chair. "Speak of the devil…" he mumbled to himself.
It had been some time since he had laid eyes on the Schnee matriarch, and then she had not been in any condition to speak to him. The controversy over her husband's demise had been a sticky mess to navigate. No one mourned the man, but everyone was keenly aware that the marriage was not a happy one, and many stood to suffer now that he was gone. Some facsimile of justice was expected, if not demanded. Luckily for Willow, there was no evidence of wrongdoing, and the depressed alcoholic only inspired sympathy. She had looked so tired, yet Ironwood could see an almost serene sense of calm about her, the likes of which he had not seen in...well, a long time.
Several knocks rung on the office door, slow and deliberate. And painfully familiar. "One moment." Ironwood spoke, pushing himself up from his chair with a barely muffled groan, the seams of his prosthesis protesting. Some days he felt like he was on the cusp of tearing in half, and tonight was relatively placid in comparison. Still, it never truly stopped, and it would likely only grow worse with age. The future seemed bleak. He was not sure what to expect as he opened the door, but Willow looked...younger somehow. Her hair was more vibrant, he eyes less tired, her posture improved. She stood as tall as the day they had met, with a smile far more youthful than he had ever though he would see again. "Ms. Schnee."
Willow huffed, brushing past with a scoff. "James, no need to stand at attention. I know how painful it must be."
"It's not so bad tonight." Ironwood was not quite lying.
"Yes, I've heard that before, said it myself many times." Willow noted. Ironwood closed the door, locking it, and turned to see Willow place her handbag on his desk, nudging aside one of the armchairs before it with her foot. "But a six on our scale is a twelve for many others. Sit down James."
Ironwood could not help but laugh, forced though it may have sounded. The sudden action prompted an ache from his chest. He lumbered to the chair and sat down heavily, watching as Willow helped herself to his scotch, pouring a single glass. He spied a blue pill bottle beside the bag. "Painkillers and alcohol, a bold assassination attempt."
"You've survived worse, besides…" Willow turned, looking him in the eye as she opened the bottle, a wry smile on her lips. "If I wanted you dead I'd trigger the killswitch in your spine."
"I've always wondered where it was." Ironwood laughed, wincing again. He rubbed the upper seam through his shirt, closing his eyes until the tinkle of ice grew closer.
Willow held out two pills "Take your medicine, and you may live to see another day."
Oh how he missed these talks. "Such a cruel prospect." Ironwood admitted, taking the pills and throwing them back. He accepted the glass to wash them down.
Willow settled against his desk, humming softly. "And yet, here we are."
Ironwood had no direct response to that. He could only sip his scotch and avoid staring at his oldest living friend. He failed. "You look well, Willow."
Willow scoffed. "I look old, James."
"You've aged gracefully all the same." Ironwood countered.
"I suppose, you on the other hand…" Willow chuckled. "You're only just now going grey.'
"Winter says...Winter tells me I look wise." Ironwood sighed.
"Winter, always the flatterer." Willow smiled.
The glass shattered in Ironwood's hand. He looked up at Willow in shock. "Wint-"
"In recovery." Willow interrupted. "Calm yourself James."
"Calm?" Ironwood choked, shaking the glass from his prosthetic, the dull sensors barely registering the contact. "How can I remain calm after all that has happened? You didn't...you didn't see…"
"I read the report, James." Willow said calmly, taking his hand in her own and kneeling down beside him. "You are not at fault for this."
"She was my responsibility." Ironwood's voice could not help but crack, his vision swimming as he stared into tired blue eyes. "I promised I'd take care of her."
"You couldn't protect her forever." Willow soothed.
"Then what good was I, Willow?" Ironwood asked.
Willow offered a reassuring smile. "As good as you were able, James."