- To Serve With Honor -
Winter was seated around a spare end table, sifting through a sizeable sheaf of papers when a knock came at the door of their new Beacon quarters. "Enter," she called without looking up. "Did you stop by the infirmary?"
"The head physician's a real piece of work," Jaune grumbled as he shuffled through the portal, making sure to secure the door behind him. "Former Vale Defense Force officer by the name of Grey, says that Miss Goodwitch brought him on personally about a decade ago." He sounded suspicious towards the end of the statement.
"Glynda is not anti-military just because she and I do not always see eye-to-eye, Jack," the elder Specialist said chidingly, closing the folder in front of her and taking another from the stack to her right on the table. She paused long enough to pull out her Scroll and note the doctor's name for a later check. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"Well, there's no risk of infection, thanks to the first aid," he sighed, taking a seat across from her at the small table and automatically reaching over to take one of the folders that she had already reviewed. "He seemed a bit confused that it isn't healing faster, but chalked it up to Taurus's weapon."
"I would not put it past an experienced terrorist like Adam Taurus to coat his weapons with poison or anticoagulant," she agreed with a distracted nod. "It's part of the reason why I was so insistent on treating you immediately."
"I'm sorry for doubting you, and I appreciate your concern," Jaune said diplomatically. Winter closed the folder that she had just started on and looked up with a blank stare, only to find him staring back with a stricken look plastered across his features, his bright cobalt eyes contrite and his lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line.
She cursed internally; it just wasn't fair that, even with the scarring, he still had the 'kicked puppy' look down pat.
"Did he prescribe anything?" she persisted.
"No," the look disappeared when he replied quickly. Winter sighed in equal parts relief and irritation when he averted his gaze.
"Jaune, we both know that it will be easier for you to maintain a cover if you get rid of, or at least diminish your scars."
"Medical procedures leave a paper trail," he shot back stubbornly. "And besides, even if the ones on my temple and throat go away, the dents on my jaw go down to the bone and pre-date my Aura - my body already considers them to be part of my natural state."
"And I suppose that, after having Aura for eight months, you're now an expert on interactions between human physiology and Aura?"
"Winter, please just drop it," Jaune finally pleaded. "I'll learn how to cover them up myself, or I'll come up with some way to play it off."
"They are physical evidence that tie 'you' back to your 'cover,' and therefore jeopardize your own desire to maintain anonymity!" Winter pressed incredulously. "And besides that - why would you willfully preserve evidence of your own failures?"
"Because I don't want to forget!" he shot back hoarsely. "Because the minute that I forget a single part of it, it all means nothing. Because we're the only ones who'll ever remember - because I'm the only one. And they all deserve better than that."
He was raving again. His pupils were quivering visibly as he stared at a target a thousand meters away through time and space, and the fingers of his right hand curled and uncurled loosely, wrapping around an invisible pistol grip and a trigger. Clench, breathe, squeeze - release.
He was back in Asteria again, and she hated it.
Every failure was her failure.
She saw the scar on Weiss's eye over her own when she looked in the mirror sometimes.
When she fell asleep most nights, she was in that tiny concrete basement again, staring at Jack tied to that chair, watching as the Fang beat him over and over again, threw a cloth over his face and soaked it in a stream of ice water, pressed makeshift electrodes to his bare chest and cranked the voltage until the ends of what was left of his hair began to smoke.
Jack Amsel was Winter Schnee's personal scar - the walking personification of everything wrong with the Atlas military, and a constant reminder of her every failure in its service, but by no fault of his own - and she hated him.
Jaune Arc, on the other hand, was her complex. A lost soul with a heart of gold, taken from the comfort of a home and family by a pure emotional impulse to make a mark - to do good by the world, and to break away from the pages of annals already written to become his own tale of ascension and virtue.
He was the brother that her family could never give her - the paramour that she could never have. Her other half in every possible respect. And her redemption.
By divine intervention, he had been placed before her not once, not twice, but thrice. The first time, she had been shown his basest state - but she had stupidly walked away, unwilling to degrade herself by daring to draw the lines and connect the dots.
The second was her golden opportunity. He had been placed before her in his prime - ever so faintly tarnished by time and tragedy through every fault of her own, but ultimately identifiable now as the diamond hewn by nature and fate for her to cut and shape into perfection.
But again, the fool she was, she had walked away. Disbelieving of the gem, too fearful of breaking the mortal standard to seize him and fulfill their shared purpose. And he had been made to pay for her irresolution by the time of their third meeting.
But, even though she had finally grasped him, Fate now conspired to punish her ignorance and take him from her. Professor Ozpin; General Ironwood; even her own beloved sister Weiss, and that accursed terrorist, Adam Taurus. They had all been used as vessels, weapons to remove him from her unworthy presence.
Winter Schnee was not an inherently selfish person. But Jaune Arc was her purpose. And if Fate wanted him back, it would damn well need to go through her first.
"Jaune," she called softly, reaching across the table and grasping his off hand with both of her own. "Jaune, listen to my voice."
"Winter," he mumbled weakly, his eyes still fixed on an indeterminate point in the distance. "Winter, I don't, I-I can't-"
He was confused. The visions in his mind didn't mesh with the sounds, or smells, or sensations being received by the rest of his body. The dissonance was distressing, and no doubt made frightening by whatever hazy, chaotic landscape was swimming through his head.
"Jaune, if you believe that you can work around your scars, then I believe you; and I have faith that you will come up with a sustainable solution," Winter's tone hardened to its normal pitch, offering a corporeal anchor for his conscious mind to latch onto. "But right now, I need you to be back here with me. We have work to do."
An objective. He was a soldier - a Legionnaire. Pain was a temporary condition to be accepted and mastered. But to press forward, he needed to know his mission. To recognize the goal beyond the obstacles - his motivation to adapt and overcome.
His breathing slowed minutely, and Winter kept a firm hold of his hand, curling her fingers around the base of his thumb and wrist with one hand, and clasping the other over his knuckles, tugging the appendage gently to the tabletop until she was resting her elbows on the surface and holding it aloft between them.
She kept her eyes fixed on his own cloudy cobalt orbs, carefully examining their depths as his irises contracted to their normal size, until he finally returned her gaze and swallowed dryly.
"Winter, I'm so sorry," he whispered, shamefaced.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"That's a lie, and we both know it." Yes, they both certainly did. "Winter, I betrayed you. I was… I was emotional from coming home, and part of me was reaching, grasping for any way to try and make things right with Dad…" He let out a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "I guess I didn't even remember that he despises Ozpin, too, almost as much as he hates Atlas…"
Ah. So he was stuck on the failed homecoming from two days ago. 'Alexander Arc,' she mentally sneered in distaste, reminded on some base level of her own parentage. 'And yet my own father could at least spare the courtesy of not degrading everything that we stand for in a single breath.'
Her reverie ended when Jaune shook his head sharply. "No, I'm just making excuses for myself again… I was weak, and I did everything wrong that I possibly could in that meeting. I compromised our position to Ozpin, and… and I spat on your generosity, everything that you've given up and done for me in this last year, right there in front of him."
Winter bit lightly on the inside corner of her lower lip, recognizing the truth in his words even as she glanced down in embarrassment; recalling her own sharp words to him in the elevator. "Jaune, I was much harsher than I had any right to be. I was irate, both with General Ironwood's deception and Ozpin's own machinations, and I took it out on you unjustly-"
"No," he cut her off sternly, "You had every right to be mad at me - still have every right, in fact. You were absolutely right: We have our arrangement, the entire basis of our partnership, and I discarded that in a heartbeat for pretty words from a face that I can't even claim to call familiar." He paused and glanced aside, working his jaw contemplatively, before looking back with steel in his gaze. "I gave you my word - and an Arc doesn't go back on his word anymore than a Legionnaire discards his honor when it is convenient."
She wanted nothing more than to snap at him - at how he was hiding behind his family's superficial values because he was still afraid to fully commit, because he still somehow thought that Ozpin's offer could be better than her own.
Another part of her recognized that, just maybe it was a better offer. If she truly wanted the best for Jaune… Then maybe the best would be to encourage him to fully accept what Ozpin was proposing.
Either way, Winter ultimately recognized that it was too soon to contemplate forgiveness, because she was still quite thoroughly emotional about the situation.
"We can discuss this later," she sighed, unconsciously reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. She kept her bangs hanging over her eye, and focused down on the papers, even as her instincts screamed for her to look up and meet his pleading gaze, to keep talking and try to salvage some sense of closure from this mess. "These are the VPD's abridged case files from every crime that's suspected to be connected to the Dust robberies. One of our objectives during the meeting with the Police Chief tomorrow will be to negotiate for access to the full files, as part of the primary goal of securing administrative and field access to the department's operations for the duration of our stay."
She continued to read silently, waiting until Jaune visibly slumped in her peripheral vision and exhaled sharply in exhaustion and frustration.
"Alright," he finally grunted in acquiescence. "How useful are these 'abridged' files for our work?"
"Not at all, so far as I've been able to discern," she frowned, closing the file and flicking open the next. "I've reviewed over three dozen of them by now, and none have been any more detailed than what you might find in the Vale Daily News police blotter - which is probably what they are for, come to think of it."
"So we're going into negotiations with the local police set on stonewalling us from square one." Jaune leaned forward on his arm and massaged his brow. "It's like joint exercises with the Special Task Force all over again."
"Vale isn't looking for a reason to arrest you for treason or sedition," Winter pointed out helpfully.
"We don't know how much Ozpin has told them yet," he rebutted. "For all we know, I might walk into the room and have the Chief of Police after my head for basically forfeiting my citizenship to serve in a foreign military."
She twitched at that; the thought honestly hadn't occurred to her previously. Then again, she was slightly biased, on account of knowing and believing his declared motives behind his actions. "If Ozpin was even remotely honest about his intent of utilizing your services, then it would go against his own interests to expose you to the authorities."
"So we'll all be playing this close to the vest, then. Great. Would make screwing up that much worse for everyone…"
"Enough of that," Winter snapped. "From this point on until dictated otherwise, we are on duty in foreign and not wholly friendly territory. Our mission has received additional parameters, but otherwise remains the same as before. Failure is no more an option than it has ever been; and our personal issues and grievances can be dealt with on our own time. Is that clear?"
Jaune Arc closed his eyes and bit his tongue; and then suddenly, Winter was once again alone in a room with Jonathan Amsel.
"Crystal, ma'am," he replied neutrally, taking the remainder of the stack that she had reviewed and starting on the first.
The pair worked in professional silence for several hours afterwards. He would offer commentary or ask a question about a piece of information, and she would reply in as few words as possible, too scared to risk a conversation for fear of relapsing into the previous drama, lying to herself that the current tension was preferable.
By the time they finished sorting through the mountain of files and papers, the sun had long since fallen below the crest of the airship docks and cliff face. Winter moved the stack over to an end table beside the door, and proceeded into the bathroom to change into her nightgown; by the time she came out, Jaune had already replaced his uniform with a t-shirt and sweatpants, and had parted the comforter on one of the twin beds to lie on top of the sheets, one leg crossed over the other and his arms folded behind his head and pillow.
"You wanna work out first thing tomorrow?" he muttered to the ceiling as she moved over to the adjacent bed.
"Set it for oh-five-thirty," she muttered back, petulantly dodging the undesirable question in favor of the unspoken one. "Knowing Glynda, there will be coffee and tea brewing in the staff lounge by oh-six hundred."
He grunted in acknowledgement, tapping a button on the Scroll held behind his head and reaching out to set it on the nightstand between them. Their alarm propped against the base of the lamp, he flicked the switch and killed the light. "Night, Winter."
"Goodnight, Jaune."
"... I'm sorry."
Her hair loosened from its signature bun and spread across her pillow and face, she heaved one final sigh of profound exhaustion, and whispered back.
"I know."
The first light of dawn was signalled by an electronic klaxon that Winter very nearly reached out and stabbed; fortunately, the offensive noise was quickly silenced by Jaune as he swung out of his bed and snatched his Scroll away from her blind punches.
Winter Schnee was not a morning person. Previously, this had not often been a problem, because as a Specialist, she essentially wrote her own schedule apart from scheduled meetings and missions.
Then, of course, she just had to choose a protégé who actually abided by the military's "rise before first light" mentality.
She blearily managed to catch a bundle of clothes before it smacked her in the face. "On the bounce, Specialist," said subordinate's impossibly lively and amused voice chirped from the other side of the bundle, "Early birds and all that."
"Stow that lip, Corporal," she grumbled back, setting the clothes onto the bed beside her in time to watch Jaune strip off his shirt and replace it with a dark grey sweatshirt. She looked down at the lump of clothes and noted a similar sweatshirt, sweatpants, and athletic undergarments.
Once he finished lacing up his running shoes, Jaune moved to the doorway and glanced back. "I'll mark the route and meet you by the fountain on the east side," he said patiently. She nodded, and he slipped out of the room quickly.
As she took her time changing out of her nightclothes, Winter contemplated the morning's later meeting. To her knowledge, neither she nor Jaune had any means of putting the proposed double-identity ruse into action so soon after its conception; which meant that they would have to risk presenting the VPD with two Specialists from square one, and trusting Ozpin to offer the excuse that "Jaune Arc" had not yet arrived in Vale. It was necessary, but it presented a risk for the future by increasing the odds that Vale's law enforcement would connect the dots between Jaune and Jack from the get-go.
She was pulling the sweatshirt over her head when a knock came from the door, causing her to start and struggle briefly with the article. Disentangling herself and ensuring that she was fully clothed, Winter strode across the small space and lightly tapped the electronic lock pad on the wall, causing the portal to retreat into the frame, and admitting a characteristically sharp and aggravatingly wakeful Glynda Goodwitch with a box tucked under one arm.
"I noticed Mister Arc warming up in the courtyard and figured that you might be up and about," the Deputy Headmistress explained flatly. She extricated the container and presented it to Winter's bleary gaze; the Specialist blinked and accepted it slowly, immediately popping the lid of the box open slightly and peering inside.
A mess of golden-blonde strands was nested inside. She let the lid fall and stared dryly at Glynda.
"You just so happened to have a wig on hand that matches Jaune's natural hair color and cut?" she drawled.
"We had a similar one on hand that was easily modified by our quartermaster on request," Glynda replied shamelessly. "You'll also find a pair of colored contact lenses in the bottom that are slightly offset from Mister Arc's natural eye color; I would advise that he start wearing them regularly while he is serving at Beacon."
"I'm sure that General Ironwood will appreciate all of the effort that you and the Headmaster have put into subverting the one foreign soldier that he has seen fit to place even the slightest bit of faith in after years of cultural tension," Winter snarked, setting the box on the table beside the door and moving back to her bed to lace up her athletic shoes.
"Professor Ozpin is adapting to the situation at hand to ensure the smoothest possible progression through this investigation, for Atlas and Vale both," the administrator shot back. "Mister Arc's presence was neither planned for or predicted; and your baseless accusations only serve to lend further credence to long-standing concerns regarding the raving paranoia with which James manages his operations."
"General Ironwood," Winter growled faintly, yanking at her laces and tugging them into a thorough knot as she spoke, "Can hardly be faulted for his distrust, when Professor Ozpin is the one running his institution - as well as attempting to run many others - by flagrantly manipulating key individuals through espionage, coercion, and blackmail."
"Now see here-!"
Glynda's indignation was cut short as both hers and Winter's Scrolls chimed loudly in unison; Winter leaned sideways across the length of her bed to retrieve her device, and flicked it open confusedly to read the message. The sender was her contact from the Vale Police Department.
Interrupted robbery has resulted in hostage situation - Chief of Police has requested Atlas liaisons' immediate presence on-site.
"Send for Mister Arc; I'll have a Bullhead prepped for your immediate departure at Pad Three," Glynda bit out, tapping away at her Scroll and spinning on her heel to leave.
"Wait!" The Deputy Headmistress froze and glanced impatiently back to the Specialist. "If we are requested to assist in this situation, then Jaune would be more useful responding as he is than in disguise," Winter quickly explained. Glynda pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut as she contemplated it; she finally nodded in acceptance.
"He has combat armor, correct? Make sure that he has a helmet, and we should be able to minimize our risk provided that he remains in full uniform." Winter nodded quickly, already stripping back out of her workout clothes to don her regular uniform. Glynda departed, and once the door had sealed, Winter snatched up her Scroll and hit speed-dial.
Jaune picked after two rings. "Don't tell me you got cold feet-"
"Get to the Skyhawk and get into your combat gear, including your helmet," Winter snapped, "There's a hostage situation in Vale that we will be responding to. Gear up, take a weapon, and rendezvous at Pad Three in five minutes."
The line was silent for a moment as he processed her words, before he made a short noise of affirmation, and the call ended.
Winter was jogging quickly down Beacon's main avenue five minutes later in her regular uniform, her saber rattling at her hip as she fought to run and tie her hair back at the same time.
The bulbous form of a Bullhead waited on the pad, its VTOL engines idling and tilted back to allow the craft to rest on the ground. Next to the open hatch, Glynda Goodwitch stood and continued to tap away at her Scroll, expanded into its usual tablet size and nestled into the crook of her arm.
"The standoff is currently taking place in the south-central Commercial District, at a store called From Dust Till Dawn," Glynda called over the loud hum of the aircraft, "VPD SWAT is on site, along with every available officer from the three nearest precincts."
"Why would they even want us at the scene, then?" Winter asked as she closed the distance, finally succeeding in tucking the final strands of loose hair through her tie and shaking her head to even it.
"Reports have indicated the presence of at least a small number of perpetrators with active Aura signatures." The deputy frowned deeply. "The police department doesn't keep any Hunters on regular retainer, and the situation arose too suddenly to put out a standard contract for assistance through Beacon. I would go myself, but the commanding officer at the scene determined that my presence has too much potential to cause a sudden and irreversible escalation. Considering the opposition, I can't help but question why he would instead ask for you."
"Who are the culprits?!" Winter demanded impatiently.
"The White Fang," a modulated voice answered from behind her; the Specialist narrowly restrained herself from jumping out of her skin, and slowly turned to face the final arrival.
The man stood tall and cut an imposing figure, encased from head to toe in grey combat fatigues, black steel-capped boots, and heavy-looking grey body armor trimmed with thin maroon lines over top of a tight black bodysuit. Grey greaves and gauntlets wrapped around his legs and forearms, and maroon gloves with black trim and molded knuckle caps were wrapped around the pistol grip and forestock of a heavy-looking magazine-fed shotgun. Pouches and bandoleers of equipment and munitions were mounted around his vest, and a pistol and knife were secured to to either hip.
The deep, modulated voice had emerged from unseen speakers in a gunmetal grey helmet, hidden behind a flat full-face visor. The helm encased his entire head, and the collar on his body armor rose completely around his neck, revealing absolutely no skin from head to toe.
Winter repressed a shudder.
"Put your visor up, please," she sighed. The figure's hand rose to the side of his head, and the faceplate retracted completely into the crown of the helmet. Jaune blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.
"Mister Arc is correct," Glynda responded, swiftly wiping her own unease from her features as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a finger. "During the initial robbery, the would-be thieves were disguised with heavy coats and full-face masks; however, once first contact was made with authorities and the standoff began, they discarded these measures and replaced them with the White Fang's standard ballistic armor and Grimm masks."
"Why on Remnant would the White Fang be robbing a Dust shop in the middle of Vale at first light?" Winter wondered aloud.
"That's what you're here to find out," Glynda stated flatly. "They're awaiting your arrival at the mobile operations center, located one block from the scene; the pilot has instructions to drop you there. I would advise that you get moving before anything else has a chance to go wrong." The administrator nodded to both Specialists, and moved away from the Bullhead, back towards the academy.
Jaune grasped the crew door and pulled himself up into the dropship's main compartment. "Terrorists aren't gonna sort themselves," he grunted, dropping into the bucket seat closest to the door and holding a hand out to Winter.
She accepted the hand and pulled herself up into the aircraft; once she was seated opposite him, Jaune reached back and banged his fist twice on the closed door between the compartment and the cockpit. The Bullhead's engines roared into life, and both Specialists were pressed into their seats briefly as the craft shot into the air and took off towards the city.
The Legionnaire yanked the exterior door shut, cutting the noise and momentarily plunging the compartment into darkness before automatic lights flickered on, casting the a dim red glow across the interior and its occupants.
The two sat in silence like that for awhile; Winter wanted to say something reassuring, but she couldn't find the words. She watched as Jaune tilted his head back slightly to rest against the bulkhead, and stared at the encased wiring running across the ceiling.
Eventually, the young man exhaled deeply and tapped his fingers idly against the grip of his weapon.
"I used to get airsick, you know," he said suddenly. "Couldn't set foot on an airship without my stomach trying to come out through my mouth."
"So what changed?" Winter humored him.
"Jump School," he chuckled. "On my first jump, the Skyhawk's crew chief threatened to turn me inside out if I puked in his aircraft. Then when it was time to jump, I hesitated; his boot met my ass, and I went tumbling head over heels out of the ramp into a ten-thousand-meter free-fall."
"That must have been terrifying."
"It was for about five seconds," he admitted. "But then I managed to get myself straightened out and figure up from down… And it felt like I was at home." He laughed at her puzzled stare. "It was completely unbelievable. I was dropping like a rock from ten thousand meters high with nothing but a Grav Rig and an emergency 'chute, but I'd never felt so free. Mantle was underneath me, nothing but a bunch of white and grey; and the sky above me was just so amazingly blue.
"All around me, the rest of my training squad was flailing around or trying to do flips and tricks, and all I could do was laugh like a complete lunatic and float around like it was my natural state."
Jaune smiled softly at her, and she couldn't help but return it as his tired blue eyes glowed warmly in the light while he reminisced. "The instructors had told us to decelerate at a thousand meters, but I was just having too much fun; by the time I came to my senses, I was approaching five hundred at near-terminal velocity. So, I just… Did what came naturally; I went spread-eagle and hit my gear, and when I finally managed to slow down, I hit snow about half a second later - and I had three Chief Sergeants on me like that, all shouting at me and demanding to know what the hell I was thinking. And I just grinned at 'em, and asked, 'When can I go again?' And they all stopped and stared at me, and two of them just walked away."
He grinned broadly. "The last guy still chewed me out, but I'm pretty sure they still think I'm totally crazy, to this day; especially when I came back a few months later for the Three-Dimensional Maneuver Warfare school to learn how to use the Grav Rig from the ground."
"And now you just… Don't get airsick anymore?" Winter asked incredulously.
"I still get a bit queasy every now and again," he admitted with a shrug, "But when I do, I just think about falling, and I feel better." The conversation ended as the intercom crackled.
"Thirty seconds from target; get ready to drop," the pilot announced. Jaune's mouth fell into a grim line, and one hand checked that the his shotgun was clipped to his armor.
"... Do you think that we'll end up fighting?" he asked after a moment of hesitation.
Winter shook her head confidently. "This is Vale; the White Fang here are cowardly and undisciplined compared to the Zealots in Mantle. Either the robbers will try to run, and the VPD will catch them in the process; or SWAT will move in and neutralize the threat before anything more can come of the situation. We're here symbolically, as the last resort."
Mollified by her conviction, Jaune nodded faintly; his faceplate slid back into place, and he reached out and tugged the exterior door open.
End Chapter 2
Author's Note: I know, the buildup is slow and chocked full of enough drama to choke a horse. But this first few chapters constitute the building blocks upon which future character interactions will be based, and are thus necessary components of the long game.
In a similar vein, a few of you have expressed some disdain or disinterest in the premise associated with the flashback in the last chapter; and to that I say, it's your choice - but it's also your loss. Jaune will have some moments over time where he verbally shares stories of his service in Mantle; however, these occasions will be few and far between. The flashbacks are devices for elucidating on the origins of some of the changes that led Jaune to be in the position that he is in the present timeline; they also serve as world-building for the geo-political dynamics of my Atlas and Mantle.
Ultimately, I of course have no control over whether you read or skip these segments. Just know that should you choose to avoid them, then you might be confused by some of Jaune's thoughts and actions later on in the story - and you'll also be missing key pieces of information that will become relevant once certain Atlas sub-plots arrive at the forefront of the story.
The next chapter, which will come within a week of this one, will serve as the introductory action for the story and the long-term conflict in Vale; by the end, we'll also get our first glimpse of at least one new recurring character and perspective.
See you in the next one.
-Knightmare Frame Razgriz