Chapter Three

Ozpin knew something was wrong when he woke up. After three months, he had become accustomed to waking up to Oscar cooking breakfast. And while Ozpin did not adopt him to have someone do so much of the cooking and cleaning for him, Oscar taking it upon himself despite Ozpin's insistence that he could do so, had allowed Ozpin small things. Like sleeping in later. Taking better care of himself. Having the joy of teaching. He hadn't realized how much he had missed that.

But upon waking, he drowsily sat up and realized that Oscar was still in bed.

"Oscar?" he asked softly.

"Hnnnnnngh…"

Oh dear.

He reached over to place his hand on Oscar's forehead. No fever. But Oscar pulled away, burying himself further into the blankets with a small cough and a sniffle.

Ozpin ran a hand through Oscar's hair and stiffly got up. No doubt the spring chill had given his young charge a cold. Especially with all the time he spent up in the building's garden. Ozpin himself couldn't go up, but neighbors who saw him in the hall praised Oscar's tending of the gardens and that there were already vegetables shaping. By late spring, residents could possibly start harvesting and many were grateful to not have to go out spending so much money on food. Abuela was also pleased, as she was looking forward to at least some improvement in rent from some of the residents who were sometimes behind.

But there was a price, it seemed. Ozpin pulled over his stool to the bookshelf and sat down, looking through his dried herbs. Hmmm. Sage and rosemary for congestion and sore throat. Ginger certainly. He stared at the few eucalyptus leaves he had and decided to wait and see if Oscar got worse.

Ozpin thinned his lips. He had appointments today. Could he reschedule? He'd have to go in and post a sign on his door. That would be a good hour and a half, walking back and forth. He sighed. He'd have to walk to the postal aviary at the end of the street and pay for a messenger crow. The landlord of the building could post the sign for him.

He'd wait till Oscar awoke first.

Ozpin hobbled over to the stove and set about getting the fire going. After that was the chamber pot and thoroughly washing his hands. He dressed in the chill, forgoing a coat for a heavy sweater he usually wore on his days off and then his robe over that. By then, the stove was warming the room and Ozpin set out the kettle and teacups. He also made egg toast for himself, uncertain if Oscar would be able to keep food in his stomach or not.

"...nnnn…."

Ozpin levered up with his cane and went around to Oscar's side of the bed, carefully sitting on the edge.

"Oz...pin?" Oscar sleepily asked.

Ozpin reached out and checked again for a fever. None.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"...'t's mornin'...?"

"Yes," Ozpin said, running a hand through Oscar's hair again. "It seems you have a cold."

"...rrrrrnnnnnnngggghhh." Oscar levered himself up. "I have a test in school today…. 's my turn to water for the morning…. I need to…"

"No," Ozpin said firmly. "What you need today is rest. I have a kettle going. Can you get dressed in something warm? You'd be better served sitting by the stove."

Oscar moaned, then coughed.

Ozpin handed over a towel. "Don't sniffle, blow out your nose. Frequently. If the mucus falls back down your throat, this head cold will become a chest cold."

With a whining groan, Oscar took the towel and blew his nose into one corner of it.

Ozpin nodded to himself. For all that Oscar was sick, he was awake enough to think.

"Do you think you can eat?"

Oscar frowned. "I think I can."

"Then we'll keep the chamber pot near you, just in case."

The noise Oscar made was clearly meant to indicate his thoughts on the matter.

Once Oscar was standing and at the chest of drawers, Ozpin headed back to the stove where the kettle was boiling. He set the kettle to the cooler part of the stovetop and started making another batch of egg toast.

Oscar shuffled over, dressed in his thickest clothes with the blanket still wrapped around him.

Honestly, Oscar had no business being so adorable and Ozpin swore his heart felt bigger. He nudged the leather chair closer to the stove and Oscar sat down in a heap. "Tea first, then eat," Ozpin said. "I'm going to check a few things. I shan't be long."

"'Kay…"

Ozpin stepped out and headed downstairs to knock on Nana Calavera's door.

"Ozpin," Nana Calavera greeted at the door. "What has you darkening my door at this time of morning?"

He gave a small smile. "Oscar seems to have come down with a cold."

She offered a word in her language he wasn't supposed to know. "And you have to go in?"

"I will be walking down to the aviary to let my landlord know and to post a sign on my door of a family illness."

The old landlady nodded. "What herbs do you have?"

"I've already pulled out some sage and rosemary," he replied.

"I have some dill. Use it in tea before he goes to bed for the night." She navigated her own apartment with ease, finding a shelf she had by her window that had pots of herbs enjoying the light. "If that boy of yours ends up any good as a gardener, I'll give him some seeds."

Ozpin gave his own smile. "I have some suggestions as well. Let's get a communal vegetable garden first." There were some very specific flowers Ozpin would love to not have to buy.

"Hmph. No doubt. And if that old crow could get our aviary working properly, you wouldn't even have to walk down and pay for a messenger."

Ozpin shook his head. He didn't know what old crow had roosted on the roof or how it would train the rest of the aviary, but he would never be able to get up there anyway.

"I'll have to go out and get some groceries later today," Ozpin said. "Our barrel of flour is getting low and I can't afford to wait to order it. Normally I'd just handle it on the way home, but…"

"Don't you worry," Nana Calavera smiled. "I'll take care of that boy of yours while you head out. I'll be up in an hour or so and you can head out for your errands."

"Gracias, abuela."

"Hmph. Your pronunciation still needs work."

"I'll keep practicing."

Back up in his apartment, Oscar was still slowly eating his egg toast, sniffling and coughing.

Ozpin pulled over the towel. "Blow your nose. Frequently. Keep emptying out your sinuses so that it won't fester."

Oscar nodded numbly.

"How is your stomach? Are you holding the food down?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Oscar said with a rasp. "Just not very hungry."

Ozpin nodded. "Eat all of it if you can keep it down."

"I know," Oscar mumbled. "My aunt would say the same thing."

"A very wise woman."

Oscar gave a pale smile. Then grabbed the towel to cough and sneeze.

Ozpin steepled his hands, trying to word the question carefully in his head. "When you were on the farm," he started, "what did you do when sick?"

Oscar swallowed the last bits of his egg toast. "Auntie Em mostly kept me in bed. Never let me leave it, even though I usually had enough energy to still do a few chores."

"You'll forgive me if I keep you to that."

Oscar pouted.

He chuckled. "Oh, I think you misunderstand. You can move around the apartment at your leisure, but the only chores you'll be handling is mending or other non-taxing chores."

Oscar's eyes glanced down to Ozpin's leg. "I can still handle the laundry," he said. "I can cook, or-"

Ozpin held up a hand. "Oscar, you aren't a servant here. You're my child. You're allowed to be sick in bed. I did the laundry before you were here, I can do it while you're resting. Thank you for offering, but I will insist."

"Ozzzzz," the boy whined.

Ozpin chuckled. "Here, I'll take your dishes. And finish your tea. It will help."

If Ozpin had at least given Oscar the chance to move about the apartment, Nana Calavera didn't. When she arrived, she bustled Oscar to bed, sat down and listened. If he made any move to get up for anything other than the outhouse, she bustled him right back into bed.

"Nana Calavera," he tried to explain.

"Tut, tut," she said, feeling her way over to the bed. "Ozpin will be back in a bit. You can do some good by using all this energy of yours to focus on feeling better."

Oscar sighed. "I'm thirteen, I'm pretty sure I know my limits and can handle things."

"Oh nonsense," the little landlady replied. "Let Ozpin be a parent. You are his only child, you know. He's supposed to dote on you."

Oscar gave up. It wasn't worth the fight. Instead, after blowing his nose again, he reached for his school books. He was supposed to have a test today so he might as well study some more. Ozpin's patient and gentle instructions every night certainly seemed to make school much easier. There was even a game at dinner. The larger the words Oscar used, the more desert, or sweets he earned. Even over the span of these past three months, he could already hear it in how he spoke. He had a larger vocabulary and he was getting more precise in how he spoke.

He certainly didn't sound like a country hick any more. That would make finding apprenticeships easier.

Of course, Oscar had no idea what he wanted to do for an apprenticeship… He'd always thought he'd just continue the farm. Did he even have marketable skills? It seemed like everything in the city was about ledgers and bookkeeping, instead of just doing something. But Oscar did dimly remember Auntie Em talking about her own bookkeeping. Oscar was just too busy out in the fields to ever see it.

Oscar paused while turning a page.

Oh.

He'd been here three months. Nine months at the orphanage.

It has been a year.

Oscar set aside his book and just lay down.

"Oh, Professor!"

"Hello," Ozpin said brightly, limping into the general store.

"You're here early - don't you usually place your orders in the evening?"

"Yes," Ozpin said, "But I can't go to work today. I've just been to the aviary to let the building know. My son woke up sick this morning."

"That's right, you got that new boy to look out for," the store manager said. "Have I seen him yet?"

"I should hope so: freckles, hazel eyes, dark hair?"

"That's him?" the manager smiled. "Shy little kid isn't he? And you say he's sick? Bad luck, that. Anything serious?"

"So far, no," Ozpin said, tapping his cane slightly as he leaned against the counter. "It appears to be just a cold, but these days I'm not taking any chances. For now I want to watch him. That means I have to place a new order of flour and sugar, and of course butter. I'm hoping to make some sweets for him when he feels better."

"Of course," the manager said, gesturing for his daughter to assemble the order. "Anything else you need? I know I have to charge more for the delivery but I can shave a few cents off with that sick boy of yours."

"No," Ozpin said, eyes drifting through the dried herbs. "I see you haven't restocked eucalyptus."

"It's expensive, professor, and you're the only one who buys it. What do you even use it for?"

"In boiling water the vapors help clear congestion." It also was a valuable tool in soothsaying, but the less said about that the better.

"Oh," the manager said, eyes widening slightly. "Didn't know that. You learn that at the fancy college of yours?"

Ozpin simply smiled, letting it answer the question. "I'll have some willow bark, of course, dandelions, feverfew, cayenne, turmeric, and nona, elderberry for Oscar, and some green tea."

"Herbs don't cure everything, professor," the manager said, pulling out the glass jars the dried herbs contained. "Not that I don't love charging you for all this, but you can always see a real doctor instead of just managing the pain."

That implied there was a cure for Ozpin's bad leg, and he learned early on that the backbreaker fever's damage was permanent, and after over a year of learning how to live with his bad leg - among everything else - he accepted that it was a part of him now. His knowledge of herbs because of his craft, and the inherent magic in his blood, had guided him to a concoction of herbs that make walking bearable. That was all he needed.

"Have you told your boy's master he's sick?" the general manager asked.

"He's not apprenticed yet," Ozpin said, reaching into his waistcoat for his coin purse. "He came from a farm some thirty killes south of here; he's shy a few skills to make apprentice."

Ozpin saw the exact moment the manager's eyes went from friendly to greedy. "Really?" he said. "He must be hard to place then. Tell you what, I don't mind taking on another apprentice. Between my two daughters he won't have much to do but it'll give him time to work on his other skills. That I can give you a deal on if you want to buy an apprenticeship with me."

Ozpin gave a soft smile, shaking his head. That was a bald lie from a man who already overdrafted him for herbs simply because Ozpin was the only one to order them. The manager wanted Ozpin to pay twice what an apprenticeship was worth - let alone Oscar's, just so he could get more money. Instead, he gave a subtle counteroffer: "You might also want to know that he's reviving the garden up on our roof, so you'll soon be relieved of having to stock all those rare herbs you love charging me for."

The store manager's face went apple red to purple at the statement, and Ozpin used his blind rage for a brief moment to pay the exact value of his goods without haggling, plus delivery, leaving the lien on the counter and leaving the store. He heard curses as he started walking up the street but paid them no mind. He was a valuable customer, the manager wouldn't refuse him service; and besides, he had spoken the truth. He didn't need a sand reader to see it.

Ozpin, while he was out, also walked two blocks out of his way to the charity shop. He understood the stigma of buying clothes second or third hand, but his nest egg of finances before things got bad was finite, and he wasn't going to be shamed for being frugal. Inside he found a gently used nightshirt for Oscar in case his cold turned bad. He would have to boil out any impurities that might have accumulated, and he also purchased shoes two sizes bigger than Oscar had, knowing he would grow into them. He didn't know a cobbler in the area he could afford, but having them was half the battle.

Those he could carry on his own, and he finally made his way back to the brownstone, the hazy sun high in the sky.

A man he'd never seen before was passed out on the front steps, two bottles of something near each hand. Ozpin frowned, wondering how he was supposed to climb those five steps with a drunk passed out here. He leaned his weight on the safety rail and poked the man with his cane.

"Forgive me," he said lightly, "But I've need to enter my building."

"Sshuddup Clover," the man slurred. "Go fight yer war…"

Ozpin pursed his lips, shifting his weight. "Sir," he said, bending over slightly. "Please remove yourself, or Nana Calavera will extricate you personally."

"... Maria? Fye on her… and the brat on the roof…"

Oh, this was the drunkard that had lived on the roof. Ozpin frowned, realizing this was a neighbor and not a stranger. He straightened, thinking. Oscar was upstairs with a cold, he needed Ozpin, but Ozpin didn't want to scoff at a neighbor and be cold to him. Sighing, he poked his neighbor more forcefully. "Please wake up," he said, "I need to get inside."

"Fye and filth," the man groaned, "then move around me, bastard."

"I can't, the stairs are too narrow for me to maneuver."

"Ugh, just let a guy sleep, damn it!"

"I would do so gladly, save that you are preventing me from ascending the steps."

The drunk finally groaned and sat up, rubbing at his no doubt pounding head. Ozpin waited for a breath, not wanting to move until he knew the other man would be civil. The man reached for a bottle for a drink, but it was empty. So was the other, and a low string of curses mumbled out of the drunk's mouth. He looked up, as if seeing Ozpin for the first time, eyes red and watery.

"Who the hell are you?" he slurred.

"Your neighbor," Ozpin said softly. "Second floor, number six. May I please go up the steps now?"

"Sure," the drunkard said, shrinking down and putting his head between his knees.

Ozpin sighed. "I have some ginger-peppermint tea, if you want the nausea to go away," he offered, before he began climbing the stairs.

Nana Calavera was of course sitting in the hall waiting for his return. "You've been to the general store," she said, "I can smell the herbs from here."

"How is he?" he asked.

"Asleep," she said, nodding her head. "I knew you would be here soon so I waited. Mail came in, too - you should know Dr. Polendina is coming back."

"Oh," Ozpin said, pleasantly surprised. "That's welcome news, to have a doctor back in the building."

"Well," Calavera said, her tone dark. "We'll see. His letter said he's asking his daughter to come back and help him."

Ozpin frowned, suspecting what that meant. "Did something happen in the war?"

"He didn't say, which says a lot."

Ozpin nodded. "I understand," he said. "We'll talk more later."

"And keep a rhythm up those stairs!"

Shaking his head, he hobbled up to his apartment. Oscar was not asleep, but curled in one of the leather chairs that had been dragged to the stove. A book was in his lap, forgotten, as his shoulders shuddered in silent sobs. What…?

Ozpin put his bag to the floor and hobbled over, reaching out and touching Oscar's shoulder. The boy shook his head, hidden by his hands, and Ozpin dragged his stool over, sitting close. "Oscar," he said, "What's wrong?" The teen shook his head again, curling further into himself, leaving Ozpin to adjust his angle and gently pull him closer. His body was warm but not hot, and Oscar nearly melted into Ozpin's grip, hands pulling away from his tear streaked face and snaking around Ozpin's chest, pressing himself as close as possible.

He rode the storm out, wondering what on earth happened - surely a cold wouldn't precipitate this. He managed to get a hand on Oscar's head, still warm but not hot: no fever, no delirium. For now he just held the boy, offered soft words while silently moving through the steps of mild panic from surprise. Finally, Oscar seemed to wear himself out, sagging as the energy finally spent itself.

"... 'm sorry…" he mumbled, sitting up. His face was bright red now, and he gave an ugly sniffle, scraping his arm along his nose with one arm and wiping his eyes with another.

"It's alright," Ozpin said softly, still mentally flailing on what he was supposed to do. "May I ask what happened?"

Oscar nodded, his face numb of all emotion. "Today's the thirty-second," he said. "Today is when my aunt…" A fresh wave of tears poured out of Oscar, and Ozpin grabbed him again, holding him close. Ozpin hummed through the second wave, an old fairy tale song from his childhood, knowing now what he needed to do as Oscar wore himself out a second time. Oscar was nearly asleep, but Ozpin still had to make elderberry tea. He set his new son to lean back in his leather chair, rubbing a hand on an exposed knee.

"Tell me about her," he said softly. "What was she like?"

"I don't… she worked hard," Oscar started. Slowly there were stories: kids chasing each other through corn stalks until Auntie Em put an end to it, how frightening she was when she was mad, how gentle she was when Oscar had scuffs and scrapes. Finding her crying at midwinter feast as she mourned Oscar's parents, watching her go out into town for fabric for new clothes, finding her collapsed by the hearth in the late fall.

"They said it was the bleeding cough," he said, sniffling again. "The doctor said no one was allowed to see her, or they would get sick. She had a handkerchief on her face the whole time, she only let me talk to her through the window. It was such a long winter… she held on as long as she could but…"

Ozpin nodded, by now at the stove and steeping the elderberry in one teapot and the ginger-peppermint in his second. "Did she know her time was coming?" he asked gently.

Oscar nodded, once again numb. He took the tea and sipped, not even reacting to the scalding hot liquid. "She told me not to cry, that I would find a good home. She said she loved me… and wanted me happy…"

"Then let's work to make that happen," he said, bending slightly and placing a hand on Oscar's shoulder. "It doesn't have to be now, or tomorrow, or even a month from now. But let's take some small steps to let you be happy."

He didn't get much of a response, but Ozpin wasn't expecting one. He knew the pain Oscar was going through - everyone did eventually - and he knew these things took time. At least this had happened at home and not at school, and Ozpin helped Oscar shuffle back to bed, emotionally exhausted and dozing quickly. Ozpin allowed himself to run a hand through Oscar's hair, leaning over the bed and almost kissing his forehead - but that was probably too soon, and especially not on the anniversary of his aunt's passing. He refrained, straightening and sought distraction. He picked up the ginger tea and stepped outside his apartment, giving a measured series of taps on the floor to get Nana Calavera's attention, and waited.

The blind landlady came up quickly, tracing the wall with her hand.

"Is it bad?" she asked, sharp as always.

"Today is also the day he lost his aunt," he said softly. "I've got it in hand, but this is for the man who lives in the aviary." He held the hot teapot near her hand, letting her trace down his arm to find the grip of it.

"Is that ginger? And peppermint?"

"Our neighbor was passed out on the front steps when I came back," Ozpin explained. "I was able to wake him but he is terribly hung over. I thought this might help."

Calavera grumbled. "What he needs is a kick in the fanny," she growled. "He has to hit the bottom before he can climb out. This," she waved the tea kettle, "This is just going to encourage him."

Ozpin took a small breath through his nose. "I get the impression kindness has not been afforded him since the war started. Maybe kindness is what he needs to pull himself up."

"Oz, honestly, one pot of tea isn't going to save him."

"No," Ozpin agreed, "but it can't hurt. And besides, what kind of guardian would I be to Oscar if I didn't model what I wanted to see in him?"

Maria whacked at him weakly with her own cane. "This is why you work yourself sick, you know," she said, "I fully expect once the summer heat hits you'll be down with the stroke and then young Oscar will be the one taking care of you. I swear every tenant in this building is out to give me a premature heart attack. Alright, I'll go drop the tea off, but don't hold your breath."

Ozpin shook his head. He wasn't planning on it.

Back inside he saw Oscar was still dozing, and he sat at his desk. So long as he had the afternoon to himself, he might as well catch up on reading the papers and see what mail was delivered to him.

Oscar woke up somewhere in the afternoon, feeling more congested than he had that morning, and just… listless. The spring afternoon was warmer than it had been that morning, so Oscar pulled off his heavier sweater and trudged out of bed.

For all of his congestion, he smelled something...

"Ah, you're up. How are you feeling?"

Rubbing his eyes, Oscar blinked and looked around. Ozpin was sitting at his usual chair, leg up, sewing in hand. "Hey…." Oscar said tiredly, shuffling over to the other chair.

Ozpin had set aside his sewing and was setting the kettle on the stovetop. "I have a broth for you since you missed lunch. And some tea."

"Oh…"

Oscar took his seat at the table while Ozpin bustled about the stove top. Broth was ladled out and a thick slice of fresh bread was brought to him while the kettle heated. Oscar looked around for the towel he'd been using to blow his nose, but Ozpin also brought over a fresh one.

After thoroughly emptying his sinuses, Oscar sipped some of his broth. "Sorry… about earlier…" he mumbled.

Ozpin poured some tea and set it beside Oscar. Slowly, and with some hesitation, Ozpin ran a hand through Oscar's hair and then pulled him into a hug. Oscar sort of remembered this earlier, and just leaned into it. The comfort was warm and he hadn't really had this in over a year now. Not since Auntie Em was sick. His eyes watered, and he just nuzzled deeper into the embrace.

It felt good to be held.

Ozpin rubbed his back, a quiet question, and Oscar pulled back to continue with his broth. He turned to face Ozpin, who moved behind to the washbasin, emptying the large kettle of water over the laundry.

"You don't have to talk," Ozpin said softly. "Take your time. Wake up, see how you're doing. All in due time."

Oscar nodded, still feeling numb and congested, and was content to watch Ozpin do the laundry. He used some sort of tongs to hold the clothes, carefully rubbing them along the washboard, then swirling them in the water. If there was a particular stain, he used a wooden brush to scrub it. Never did he let his hands touch the water.

"Ozpin?" Oscar asked, his brain starting to finally wake up. "Why don't you touch the water?"

His guardian smiled, holding up the tongs. "Isn't this a marvelous idea? I learned this back during my apprenticeship. Lye and other such caustics that are good for cleaning are very hard on skin. As a soothsayer, the hands are important. The fingers are perhaps the most sensitive part of the body, and help ensure accuracy."

That was perhaps the first time Ozpin talked about his profession, and Oscar latched onto it to distract himself. "May I ask…" he started, looking down at his bowl of broth, almost empty. "How do you decide to become a soothsayer?"

Ozpin hummed a laugh as he pulled out one of the clothes, a night shirt it looked like, and opened up a stand to hang and let it dry. "'Decide' might be too light a word," he said warmly, pulling out the towel Oscar had used earlier. "The short answer is that when a soothsayer finds someone with the talent, they apprentice immediately. I was eleven when my master found me."

Oscar blinked, looking back up. "That's pretty young," he said carefully.

"Young is relative," Ozpin countered playfully, glancing up with a smile before hanging another bit of laundry. "My master started his apprenticeship at six, but then again, his magic manifested very early."

… What?

"I'm sorry…" Oscar said, blinking. "Did you say magic?"

Ozpin shook his head, gentle face morphing to a worn smile. "I understand how that sounds in this day and age," he said, moving around the stove to join Oscar at the table. "Magic is disavowed as superstition and primitive belief, things do not exist unless proven and supported by science. Soothsaying itself is little more than manipulation of mathematical probabilities, the reading tables are just artifice." He sat heavily in his chair, bad leg out on the floor. "Regardless of these beliefs, the magic does, indeed, exist."

He paused there, looked at Oscar, and waited with a completely neutral face.

The expectation quelled Oscar's immediate need to dismiss the claims - that magic wasn't real. He frowned instead, wishing he had met the village soothsayer, wishing he knew more so he could ask the right question. He mulled, quietly pleased with the puzzle so he didn't have to think about… "How…" No, that wouldn't sound right. "What…" No, not that question either. He looked down at the table again, wiping at some stray crumbs. "How does the magic feel?" he asked, and then winced at the question.

Ozpin's eyes widened slightly, blinking in surprise, but he smiled, and Oscar saw a tension in his shoulders relax. "It's a hum," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "When I'm reading my table with a client, there is a warm hum deep inside me, in my blood. My master told me everyone has a trace of magic in them, but very few indeed have enough magic to find and read the patterns, and fewer still who articulate what they feel with accuracy."

"I… I don't understand that."

"Most don't," Ozpin said, not unkindly. "Have you ever had an intuition? A flash of understanding that a person had gone through something specific, or perhaps an insight on what was about to happen based on what a different person said?" Oscar nodded. "That's the magic everyone possesses. A soothsayer, however, has that intuition to the point of knowing a person's entire history with the shake of a hand - that's often how we're discovered - we sense something so… so powerfully… that it will often burst out of us because we don't have the training. That was how my master found me."

Oscar looked down, thinking back on his life and wondering… "What did you-" he cut himself off; that was probably a private question.

"What did I see that made my master realize I had the talent?" Ozpin predicted; a genuine smile on his face. "Well, I don't think anyone ever asked me that question. And it is a story. I was eleven, most of my family had already been wiped out by the pox, only my sister Salem and I survived. We grew up in Vale, of course - this was before the king was assassinated - and every Midsummer Feast there would be a parade at the capitol where his majesty and the royal court would move through the streets with the appropriate fanfare. I most remember the confetti in the air - strips of green and gold paper that we could use as tokens at food stands later for free food. They flickered against the blue sky so prettily, my eyes were tracing the patterns and then… I knew."

Oscar frowned. "What did you know?"

"That the king's mother had passed," Ozpin said, looking down, wistful. "Barely an hour before. I remember bursting into tears to know the king wasn't there when it happened, and that it would cause him great distress. It was Midsummer Feast of course, everyone was joyful and jubilant, and suddenly there I was shrieking that the king's mother had passed. The matron had to pull me away from the street, I remember that, and Salem had to split her treats with me. The beating the matron gave me for causing such a scene..." he shook his head. "Two weeks later a member of the court came to the orphanage, apparently someone in the parade had heard me crying out. Nothing was thought of it - children and parades and all - until the next day when word reached the court that yes, the king's mother had died."

"But, wait," Oscar said, a little flabbergasted. "You were a kid - an orphan - in a crowd during a parade, how did they even find you?"

Ozpin pulled at his hair. "Salem and I both had silver hair, even as children," he said. "We were easy to pick out, and the man - I learned later he was a lesser chieftain who couldn't have children - had adopted from the orphanage before and recognized the matron. I was brought to his majesty to account for myself."

"Ah… what?"

"It's not every day an eleven year old screams that the king's mother is dead, and then learns that it's true. Royalty tend to be afraid of conspiracies, you understand. The court wanted to be sure I wasn't part of some scheme somewhere."

Oscar made a face, terrified by proxy at what that must have been like. He could barely talk to kids his own age… to be dragged in front of the king…!

"It was terrifying," Ozpin said, echoing Oscar's thoughts, lost in the memory. "I had never been to the castle, everyone was in fine clothes, the light hurt because of my poor eyes. But the King was gentle, asked me to tell my story, and then did a reading right there on the spot."

"Wait… a reading?" Oscar felt dizzy at the sudden turn of the story in only two sentences. "You mean… the king of Vale was a soothsayer, too?"

Ozpin nodded. "Yes. I was apprenticed to the castle staff by the end of the month, and my training began."

"Wait," Oscar said, still trying to catch up. "Wait… you met a king. You were trained by him. You were royalty?" What… what… his mind was just... what. A hundred questions were cascading through Oscar's mind and he couldn't keep up with it - the professor that had adopted him was suddenly someone important, someone of influence - in another country, yes, but still…!

"I wasn't royalty, no, my master never adopted me," Ozpin said, shifting in his chair. "I wasn't even a member of the royal court. On paper I was a page at the castle and little more. Everyone there knew who I was, the king's apprentice, but by the king's order they were forbidden from asking readings from me while I was training. I knew more of the staff than I did of the court."

Oscar groaned. "That doesn't actually help, you know."

Ozpin openly laughed. "I suppose it wouldn't," he agreed. "But that was how I was apprenticed."

A small silence spread between them, only the occasional crackle of the fire in the stove breaking it as Oscar just… tried… to process it all. An orphan to a student of a king? Over soothsaying?

"Oh dear," Ozpin said lightly. "Have I broken you?"

"Ahhhhhh…"

Ozpin let out a loud laugh. "I'm sorry. I realize that my life has been very unusual."

"B-but, why are you here?" Why did someone who could go anywhere and probably knew people live in a cheap apartment and adopt him? Oscar wasn't anybody important!

Ozpin gave a soft, sad smile, and used his cane to tap his unmoving leg. "I was ill for quite a while. Once I was well, things were different. Not unlike how things have changed a great deal for you."

Oscar stuttered, then coughed. After blowing his nose, he looked to Ozpin, feeling his own grief again. "I see."

Ozpin nodded. "Being happy again; it takes time. It takes effort. I have been alone for years. Now I am not. And that means the world."

Smiling, Oscar nodded and sipped his tea. Because Ozpin was right. He wasn't alone anymore. Ozpin was his guardian now. And he understood a little, what it was like to have life upended. "It does," he said softly. He gulped the last of his tea and went to the sewing Ozpin had set aside.

After Ozpin had set Oscar with another cup of tea and an assignment of his own design to help Oscar review some of his classwork, he headed up to the fourth floor and limped down to the chalkboard that Nana Calavera had scrounged up that listed responsibilities for watering the rooftop garden for the week. He erased Oscar's name for the next few days and listed sick, hoping that would be enough for the other residents to figure out who would take Oscar's chores. If it was a simple cold, Oscar would be working by the end of the week again, if it turned into a chest cold or a stomach condition, Ozpin would be erasing the rest of the week and finding a doctor, but he doubted it would come to that. He glanced at the steep steps that lead to the roof and fleetingly wished he could go up and see what Oscar was accomplishing, but given his paralyzed leg, he couldn't get up easily. Not without help, if even then. Maybe… Ozpin shook his head. Regrets about his mobility were past him now.

He headed back down to their apartment and was almost at the door when he heard a voice behind him.

"Wait up."

Ozpin paused at his door, and turned.

Oh, the drunk.

"Hello," Ozpin greeted politely. Not being slouched and passed out, Ozpin had a better look at him. The man was almost as tall as him, though with more muscle than Ozpin's thin frame. Graying hair, face blotted with the love of alcohol, and squinting red eyes over a scruff of beard that was maybe six days old. "How may I help?"

The man stumbled down the hall, unbalanced. "You the professor?"

"Pardon?"

The man came to Oz and leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes with one hand against what was likely a horrible headache. "Don't mess with me, Maria said it came from Number 6 on this floor."

"It?"

"Fye and filth, the damn teapot!"

"Oh, yes that was me." Ozpin tilted his head, wondering what was expected of him. He didn't see the teapot in hand.

The man muttered something then stood straight with an effort, squaring his shoulders. Under the more direct afternoon light, the man might be attractive, save for the alcohol and the beard. "How much was it?"

Ozpin sighed, and closed his eyes. When he'd come to Haven, he had brought three teapots and a kettle with him. All were old and sentimental and had a specific function. The largest was the kettle and used for the washbasin and for bathing, the most expensive teapot was for when he indulged himself in hot chocolate, and the remaining two were for various teas. He usually set one pot for a drink and one for when he needed to work with herbs and elixirs, especially for making the tea that managed the pain of his leg. "Think nothing of it," he said. "Did the tea help?"

The man scowled. "I'm heading to work. I can pick up one for you. How much?"

Too much. That particular teapot has been steeped for almost four years now in the herbs he needed for his leg. That potency couldn't be bought. "It's fine," he insisted. "I have other teapots. I'm simply glad to see you on your feet."

"Dammit, look, I'm trying to-"

From inside his apartment he heard Oscar coughing, and it wasn't the light cough it had been all day. It was loud, prolonged, and Ozpin worried.

He immediately opened the door. "Oscar?!" His boy was bent over on the leather chair, trying to catch his breath as the coughing just kept continuing. Ozpin hobbled forward as quickly as he could, dropping awkwardly to one knee and letting his paralyzed leg just slide awkwardly behind him.

Oscar looked up, tears in his eyes, gasping for a breath before breaking into another coughing fit. Ozpin pulled him close, rubbing his back, and hitting it gently. Oscar gasped again, and managed to sputter- "Swallowed wrong!" between coughs. Ozpin nodded and slapped his boy's back more firmly until Oscar took a deep breath and held it. Slowly he released his breath, and took another controlled breath.

"Oscar?"

"Fine," he replied hoarsely. "Swallowed wrong. Too fast. Couldn't catch a breath."

"Hnn. Should you lie down for a while?"

Oscar shook his head. "Can finally breathe okay. Sewing's almost done."

"It can wait," Ozpin said, pulling Oscar in for a tight hug. Oscar squeezed back and Ozpin nodded. Once Oscar leaned back, Ozpin leaned forward to put both his hands on the arms of Oscar's chair and levered himself up, relying on his arms instead of his legs.

Turning to grab his cane, he was surprised to see the drunk behind him, offering it to him.

"Oh," Ozpin said, his dark spectacles sliding down his nose. He must have left the door open. "Thank you."

"Not a problem." Squinting red eyes went to where Oscar was curled in the chair, looking up and somehow trying to bury himself into his blanket at the same time. "You the gardener on the roof?"

Oscar nodded.

"Leave my birds alone and I'll do your watering."

"Ah… um… yes?" Oscar rasped, then gave a light cough closer to what he'd been doing all day.

The man nodded. "I'll leave the kettle by your door."

"You don't have to-"

"I do."

Ozpin looked to Oscar, just as Oscar looked to him.

"Well. Then thank you," Ozpin offered. "Good luck at your job."

"Tch. Luck." The drunk turned and Ozpin walked him out.

"That's the drunk," Oscar said.

"Yes, I met him earlier today," Ozpin said, heading to the stove and seeing how the broth was. He also grabbed a cookie to nibble on. "It seems without the alcohol, he's a good man."

Oscar scowled. "Good luck finding him without the alcohol."

"That is his choice," Ozpin said, pulling out ingredients for dinner. "Someone can only change if they want to."

Author's Notes: We don't REALLY get into it but when you look at historical documents sickness was a Big Thing back in the day. Colds weren't really just colds: they could be dysentery or pox or malaria or who knew what depending on what part of the world you were in. Oscar only has a cold here, but Ozpin and Maria both take it seriously until they see otherwise.

In terms of worldbuilding we get to learn a little bit about apprenticeships - not really a lot, yet, but Oscar's at the age where apprenticeships are the thing to do, and parents often have to buy the apprenticeship if the kid doesn't follow in their footsteps. We also get Ozpin's discovery as a soothsayer - there's a lot in his backstory that's going to be drip-fed over the fic that deals not only with him but the current events of the world. We also make the executive decision to make Salem his sister instead of his lover. The two of us have a hard time with the show saying Salem and Ozma's (admittedly bloody) divorce caused so many problems in the show, and it's our fic anyway, we can do what we want :P

Qrow and Oz finally meet - sort of, given one of them is so hungover he probably can't see straight.

Next chapter: Summer heat + Oz = problems.