Hi again, and I hope you all enjoy!

14. Hostage Negotiation

Hunger.

The food smelled wrong. Bitter.

He wanted to bury it, but he couldn't move. The strap over his mouth was gone, but there were more now, all over his body. He roared but no one came.

Time passed. This new stall was worse than the old one, dark and cramped and smelly. Better now than before, when it wobbled and moved.

Noise. Maybe they were coming to give him more food. He didn't want this food. It smelled like his last meal, the sleepy meal. If he ate it he'd wake up somewhere else. Somewhere worse.

Where was Jacques?

The door clicked open. Light. Three shadows in the light—strangers. The strangers he'd been smelling since he woke up. In one of their hands...

Needle.

He roared. One of the strangers yelped and stumbled backwards. The other, the one with the needle, held it out in front of her. He struggled and squirmed but couldn't move. Needles were bad. Only Jacques was allowed to use them—a light touch on the back of his neck from those perfect hands, worth anything that happened after...

These were not those hands. He made the cold inside come outside, watched pretty crystals form on steel walls. A scream. The needle dropped to the ground. So did the woman who had held it. She cradled her arm, staring at blackened fingers covered in hoarfrost.

A man was next to her, a man with scales on his jaw. There was a stick in his hand. A sniff—metal, and something tangy and smoky and strange.

A loud nose. Pain.

He filled the stall with the killing mist. Frost grew up on the straps until they hardened and cracked. He forced his way free, slamming his tail against the wall and denting the metal there. Another loud noise. More pain.

He pinned the noisy man to the ground and shrieked. Mist billowed from his throat and the noisy man went quiet. He smashed the needle and the noisy thing with his paw. The needle shattered. The noisy thing didn't break, so he threw it in the stall with the bad food.

When he looked up, the man with the tusks was gone and the woman was asleep.

Pain. It was coming from his chest. He craned his neck, looking for the source, found two small holes in his shoulder. They smelled like metal too. Needles... big needles, noisy ones, ones that hurt instead of making him sleepy.

He sniffed the air, looked around, squinted. Everything was too bright. He could see the ground going out in every direction, falling away until it touched the sky. His tail thrashed. Where was home?

A scream. Like the others—a fear scream—but different. Familiar. He sniffed again and followed the smell he knew. More strangers came. Some of them had the big needles with them. He flared his wings to look bigger, and there was noise. Pain in his hind leg. He pounced, made the ones with the big needles stop. The others ran away, except one who put his hands on one of the noisy people. He must want the big needle. A puff of mist, and he couldn't reach for it anymore.

Around the side of a building. Here there was a big field, like the ones he'd run in as a hatchling. With Snowflake. Four more of the strangers stood in a row. One was holding up a tiny square, pointing it at the other three.

And between the other three, screaming and struggling, was the small Jacques.

A sound built up in him. A sound like a thousand crystal glasses shattering, like wind howling around a frozen peak, like driving hail and the squealing of rusty metal hinges. He jumped into the air, clawed at it with his wings—an instinct he'd never been taught. It wasn't enough to get him off the ground, but he glided towards them and hit the ground sprinting.

Now the strangers were screaming too. Three had the big needles. Two of those pointed them at him, made the noises. Only one stung him, this time in his chest. The other turned to the small one, grabbed his hair—

No killing mist. No hurting the small Jacques. His teeth found the third stranger, tearing at the arm that held the big needle and moving it away from the small one. It made noise. So did the woman hanging from his jaws. He threw her away, swung his tail through both the other strangers. He crouched, ready to pounce on them when they got up. They didn't.

The one with the strange square had dropped it in the dirt. He made talking noises. None of them were familiar. He was far away from the small one. A puff of mist, and there was no more noise.

Except a whimper, behind him. The small one was still standing, shaking, his eyes blown wide. His mouth moved like he was trying to make talking noises, but none came.

This was a bad place. Too many strangers. Too many needles. The small Jacques was fragile.

His teeth sank into the small one's jacket—there was even a handle at the top—and he dropped him onto his back where he would be safe. There was a small yelp, then silence. Hands on his shoulders, knees pressing against his back...

Not those hands... but close.

Home. He should go home. Jacques would make it better.

Needles at night. Blue-eyed faces that peered through metal bars, through the hole in the wall, then vanished. A glimpse of fantastic lights through a tiny window, singing a half-remembered melody to an unreachable sky... until that, too, was silenced.

He didn't want home, he wanted Jacques. But there would never be one without the other.

A low, melancholic whistle. It turned into another attempt to remember—a liquid cascade of notes, pure and bright, slipping away...

What did he want? He wanted to be away from here. No more needles for tonight.

Glacier picked a direction and started walking.

Harbinger stood between his riders.

Corsac was on his left, straight-backed and tense, his tail twitching. He was all stern words and discipline—Harbinger would stay between them throughout the visit. He would not touch anything. He would understand why this was necessary.

On his right was Fennac, his ears pinned back against his hood, hands twining around one another under his sleeves. He murmured quiet encouragement, snuck light touches behind Harbinger's ear to soothe him.

Before them was the place the faunus called the lab. Harbinger had never been allowed inside before today, but he knew what to expect. Knew what the thick chemical stench in the air meant. His riders had explained why it was necessary.

There were bad people called humans who controlled everything, and it was the humans' fault the lab existed. Faunus like his riders needed help to fight back. Harbinger could help... and he was alive because of the lab. Soon there would be more dragons like him, and they could overthrow the people in power and make it right.

All Harbinger could think as he stepped inside was, I was born in this place.

First was a small room, filled with incubators and eggs still untouched by Dust. Harbinger sniffed them, taking some comfort in the reprieve from the heavy chemical tang. But he and his riders didn't linger in that room for long.

A thick canvas curtain parted in front of him. The smell was worse beyond it, thick and choking. He stopped walking. Rows of eggs in a multitude of colors, sitting in incubators. Vials of Dust, bright and dazzling. Two faunus with long white gloves and masks paced among the eggs. They glanced up when Harbinger came in. One tilted back her mask and smiled, and it eased some of the fear to realize that these weren't strangers.

But he had to wonder—had one of them cradled him in gloved hands when he was first born?

There was no movement. Everything was clean, or as clean as equipment could be in the middle of the forest. Most of the smell was of Dust, and of other things—strange liquids in glass jars. It couldn't quite hide the scent of death.

Corsac walked further into the tent and tapped his foot on the ground. Come. Harbinger whined, pawed the ground, and went.

His riders knelt on either side of him. "Do you understand why this place exists?" Corsac asked.

Harbinger nodded. It would go away when the faunus were safe. He would make them safe, and it would go away.

"Good." Fennec scratched him behind the ears. Harbinger squirmed. It felt nice, but he didn't want to feel nice here. He wanted to go outside. Outside where he couldn't smell all the little dragons that hadn't been, couldn't see the bins of broken eggshells, couldn't hear—tapping. He could hear tapping.

Harbinger reared up, stretching his neck, turning his head to seek out the noise. Corsac jumped to his feet, holding out his arms. "Stop!"

He turned, found the egg. The tapping was getting more insistent now, impatient, frustrated...

"What do you see, Harbinger?" Fennec asked.

Harbinger approached the egg and sniffed. This was a different smell, a better smell. He pushed his snout against the shell—tap—and got an answer—tap tap!

"It's hatching," Fennec breathed.

Corsac swore. "Harbinger, get away from there. Go outside with Fennec."

"Come on." Fennec approached, put a warm hand on his back.

Harbinger hardly heard either of them. The egg was sandy yellow, veined with darker brown, and this time when he tapped it with his nose the hatchling's answer broke through into open air. Two eyes blinked at him, a yellow so bright it was almost white.

The hatchling stared at him for several long seconds as the technicians scrambled for towels. Its blazing eyes roved around, fixed first on Corsac, then each of the technicians in turn. Then it cheeped angrily and threw itself against the shell still constricting most of its body, sending itself toppling off the edge of the incubator. Harbinger barked in alarm and dove for the egg. Missed.

It shattered. The hatchling inside squirmed for a moment, disoriented. Then she stretched, shook off flakes of dried egg goo, and tested her legs.

A technician arrived with a towel and tried to scoop her into his arms. She hissed and latched onto Harbinger's face. He reared in alarm, making the hatchling squeak and dig in with tiny claws.

Harbinger turned to his riders and whimpered, hoping they would make the angry hatchling let go. Both were staring, wide-eyed. Corsac grabbed his brother by the arm.

"Find Sienna. Now!"

"—hell they were thinking!" Sienna paced back and forth, her mind whirling. "Taking the dragon was a step too far, and now we've lost nine. Ten, if you count Dahlia. And for what?!"

Ilia shifted from foot to foot. "Nine... nine dead?"

Sienna stopped herself. Forced a breath in, let it out. She would not take her frustration out on her subordinates. Especially since Ilia wasn't really a subordinate—not with her connection to Adam. Breathe...

"Yes. And one will probably lose an arm."

"I don't understand," Ilia said. "Why did they take him, then?"

"More leverage." Sienna couldn't have hid the sneer, so she didn't try. "There are only three ice dragons in the world. And three Schnee children." She grimaced. "I've met the man. If he can breed more, I doubt he cares."

"Are you talking about the dragon, or...?"

"Both." She resumed pacing. It helped steady her nerves, which was good—she would have to get through a meeting with the others very soon, without snapping and telling them that they were idiots for supporting this in the first place.

That was what galled her. She'd told them from the moment Cinder proposed it through an extremely displeased Hazel that the benefits didn't outweigh the risks. Corsac had looked her dead in the eye and told her that it was only natural to feel uncomfortable working with the humans, but it was a necessary evil. Now there were nine dead. Ten, if Dahlia didn't pull through.

Half a cell gone in less than ten minutes flat. It would be a miracle if none of the rest deserted, especially now that every military power in Remnant wanted their heads even more than usual. When it hit the news... recruitment would drop. Some would think they were cruel for kidnapping a child. Others would think they were idiots for kidnapping a fully grown dragon. Most just wouldn't want to end up dead.

And what had they gained?

"What do we do, then?" Ilia asked.

Sienna took another breath. That was an excellent question. "There's very little we can do. We don't have the resources to recapture them. The best thing for us would be for Atlas to take them back quickly. If it doesn't go through the news we won't lose as much public support. Then we wait out the military backlash... it's a matter of minimizing losses, at this point." It took a small cough from Ilia to realize she'd lapsed into mumbling to herself.

"I apologize." She rubbed her forehead, trying to squeeze away the headache. "You can go if you like. I needed to say all that to someone other than the Albains."

"Right." Ilia hesitated. "Then... can I help you with anything, or—" She stopped, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. "Fennec?"

He sprinted up to her tent and stopped with his hands on his knees, panting and struggling to get enough breath to speak. "Egg," he choked out.

Then it was Sienna who was running. Her stomach roiled as she ripped back the curtain. Maybe it was the smell, or maybe just the dread certainty of what she was about to see...

"Nnno!"

...A dread certainty that had not prepared her for the sight of Harbinger running in little circles, wailing at the top of his lungs while a tiny hatchling clung to his face, wings flapping wildly. She let out a startled laugh—if that wasn't a sign of good health, nothing was.

The hatchling's head swiveled at the sound. Two sun-yellow eyes bored into her own. It squealed imperiously at Harbinger. He whined and tried to coax it to the ground with one paw.

Sienna came to his rescue with trembling hands. The hatchling's dull yellow scales rasped like sandpaper against her fingertips as she lifted it gently away from the other hybrid. He looked uninjured, thankfully.

Teeth sank into the webbing between her pointer finger and thumb. Sienna hissed in a breath, cradling the tiny creature as best as she could in one arm while the other throbbed. "Food," she snapped at the technicians.

She knelt down to feed the dragon and noticed for the first time that there were lines of dusty brown on its scales—like the cracks in desiccated clay. Its eyes were piercing and constantly on the move, roving around as if it couldn't get enough of anything it was seeing. That, or it was hungry and looking for food.

The technician dropped a bag by her elbow. They didn't have apple slices, like the academies used—most of what they ate was shipped to them from allies in the city. If they wanted something fresh, they had to pick it off a bush or kill it themselves. And with the mortality rate...

It squinted at the handful of oats she'd offered it, then bit down harder. Pain erupted from her hand—the skin there split and cracked right before her eyes. The dragon tried to lap at the wound with a rough tongue, and it was like she'd just dragged the wound across asphalt.

"Stop that!" she hissed, trying to yank the hand back. The little devil went for her thumb, and she only just snatched it away in time. "You!" She jabbed a finger in the direction of one of the onlookers, neither knowing nor caring which one. "Find fruit. Meat. Anything."

Sienna had to hold the creature's jaw shut to keep it from biting her. It huffed indignantly and dug into her arms with tiny claws. Soon her skin was almost as scaly as the dragonet's.

Someone dropped a can of peaches by her feet. She ripped it open an offered the hatchling a slice. It stared at her. Maintained eye-contact. Slowly reached out... and bit her hand. Sienna swore viciously under her breath.

Ilia knelt by her elbow. "Biting is completely normal for fire dragons. I looked like a scratching post for weeks after I got to Haven."

"Is refusing to eat also normal?" Sienna asked, pushing more peaches at the hatchling. It turned its nose up and blew dry air at her face. "Stop that."

"...No. Definitely not."

Sienna narrowed her eyes at the dragonet. She was not losing a creature this healthy because it refused to eat. She'd pinch it's stubborn little jaw open if she had to—

Another puff of arid breath. Her whole left hand was hit this time. When she clenched it into a fist around the peach—which was now just about mummified—the skin around all her joints split.

The hatchling let out a happy cheep and lunged for the peach slice. Sienna was so startled she dropped it on the ground, and watched in mild astonishment as it was devoured.

Then she looked at the can of peaches, still mostly full. At the hatchling, which was opening its mouth and squealing for more. At her hand. She dropped another segment several feet away from herself and let the dragon figure out the rest.

Slowly, she turned from the feasting dragonet and locked eyes with one of the technicians.

"Bring me raisins."

Ilia left with the hatchling perched on Sienna's shoulder, craning its neck to get a better view as its pale yellow eyes flickered around the tent. Drinking in this strange new world outside its egg.

As she pulled back the flap and let in a breath of slightly fresher air—"Ilia."

"Yes?"

Sienna gestured to the dragonet. It had put one of its hind paws through her earring at some point and was trying to climb to the top of her head. "Can you tell the sex?"

"No. Apparently it's complicated, or subtle. I didn't ask."

"Ah." Sienna scratched its tiny head. "I think she's female." The hatchling didn't object. Unless you counted snapping at Sienna's hand, but that had been happening on and off for the past several minutes whenever the volume of raisins slowed down too much.

Ilia managed a small smile. "She's wonderful."

Sienna frowned. "She's strong. I think she'll survive." A wince. "Though I'm starting to worry it's my blood she's after and not the fruit."

"Like I said. It's completely normal for fire dragons, and... I guess fire hybrids, too." She managed a wistful grin. "I'm surprised Adam never lost any fingers." The smile slipped as she felt a hollow pang.

She'd always hated the way Blake looked at him, how it made her blind to everyone else. Especially Ilia. But she was starting to wonder if she'd missed something in the way he'd looked at Blake. She'd never thought he'd...

But maybe she understood that impulse better than she wanted to.

"I should go," she said, after a moment. "I want to see Brand before it gets dark."

On the way there, walking with one hand on Justice's shoulder, she thought about Brand curled up in the shadows. The chain. Wondered if he always treated the ones he loved like that.

They were still almost a hundred yards from the cave entrance when Justice stopped. He sniffed the air, narrowed his eyes. Ilia motioned for him to stop—a dragon the size of an elephant could only move so quietly.

Her heartbeat sounded in her throat as she approached. She knew what this must be—Justice had smelled someone, someone besides Hazel. And the only other person who knew...

A quiet, choked sob.

Oh. Ilia froze, crouched behind the bushes that hid the cave entrance. It felt like she was tipping over a ledge, months of separation evaporating in an instant.

"You don't have to tense up like that."

It had been so long since she'd heard that voice. The moment she did, she could hardly believe she'd thought the first one was Blake.

There was a sniffle. "I hate this. I should be able to just stop."

Ilia backed up a step. She'd brought someone else, here. Probably a teammate... a human teammate. One of the sisters, maybe. Why wasn't Brand doing anything?

"That's definitely not how this works."

"It's ridiculous. There should be an off switch."

A low chuckle. The hair on the back of Ilia's neck stood up.

"You know... you don't need to turn it off. It's just me. And the dragons, but they don't mind."

"I can't just... ugh. Let me repress my emotions in peace."

"Can't, sorry."

For a moment, both were silent. Ilia stayed frozen, torn between creeping away while she had the chance and trying to get closer. She needed to see.

"Weiss..."

And then, just like that, she didn't need to see anymore. Didn't want to see.

"I know it was a joke, but please... it's okay if this hurts. I can't imagine what it must feel like, but..."

Time to leave. Time to turn around and go before they noticed she was there. She didn't want to see Blake sitting with the Schnee. But what was wrong with Brand?! And why was she—

The brother. Damn it.

"I called Father. Suggested ways to meet the demands without... well, you know. Without ruining the company."

Ilia tensed. That callous—

"He still won't. It's the ice dragons, I'm sure it is. He won't release the formula afterwards. If he gives up the monopoly he won't be able to get another one."

"Maybe if—"

"And even if he does, they could just—" The voice broke. "It might not matter."

Oh.

"...I'm sorry."

Ilia glanced at Justice, who was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. I owe her this much, she thought. Because even if she wasn't sure when, she had this inescapable feeling that she'd failed Blake somehow.

She wished she'd thought to bring her mask.

Before she could think better of it, Ilia stepped into the mouth of the cave—and there she was. Staring up at her with wide eyes, dark hair falling in waves... the bow she'd started tying around her ears near the end, wrapped loosely around her wrist.

"He's alive," Ilia blurted, before she could look at the other one—too late. Blue eyes, going from shock to piercing scrutiny.

"You—" The venom in her voice made Brand's tail twitch.

There was a confused rumble somewhere to their left. Right, Ilia thought, cursing herself. Obviously they would have brought their dragons.

"He escaped!" She backed up a few steps. "With the dragon. They're both probably on their way to Atlas right now."

"You mean... her brother?" Blake shook her head. "Wait, Ilia—what are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Don't follow me." She ran before Blake could change her mind.

Justice perked up when she sprinted outside, already tensing for a fight. "We're leaving," she said, grabbing his shoulder and hoisting herself onto his back. "Come on!"

He huffed and tossed his head. There was movement at the mouth of the cave. "Justice, come on! I don't want them to see you!"

"Rr... Rrand."

"Okay," she hissed, "but later!"

Justice dug in his claws, stubbornly refusing to move. Both of them were outside now, they'd seen him. "Go!" she whispered.

He bared his teeth at Blake and the Schnee, then bolted into the woods with Ilia clinging to his back.

"There," she murmured. "We're even."

She remembered the chain, and knew they weren't.

Glacier! Harbinger! A new dragonet! Gah, this one was really fun to write.