Marble to skin

by y8ay8a

Robyn knew this was the worst idea she ever had. It did nothing to slow her down. / slow build attempt at a canon-compliant story - rating will go up in the future

4. Chapter 4

author's note:
I had originally wanted to release this together with Brighter ch10, as there is some crossover, but between the length of both chapters, it's becoming pretty unreasonable. Most people wouldn't read them both together anyways, and this one is ready so... here it is :')

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"What's this, again?" Winter muttered as she entered the communications room. The giant screen displayed Caroline Cordovin's uptight mug; instantly illuminating with a beatified smile upon seeing Winter. Before the woman could say anything, Winter motioned to the control operator to cut the feed. "What does she want?"

"She reported agitators, one of them an Atlas citizen, petitioning for special authorization to enter the kingdom, Ma'am," the young man summarized.

An Atlas citizen? Winter frowned, feeling her stomach tighten. But it couldn't be, right? After the lengths that Weiss had gone through to escape, there was no way that she'd change her mind willy-nilly and head back home. Winter shook off the thought. "Borders are closed, no exceptions. This isn't hard."

"She insists, Ma'am."

Winter brought her hand to her temple, attempting to massage away an oncoming headache. Caprices like these were the last thing she wanted to deal with, but she also knew what kind of tirade their pint-sized Anima ambassador could throw, and therefore understood very well how she'd found herself called upon again. Winter motioned to resume the feed, watching with dread the older woman's face reappear on screen. "Cordovin."

"Special Operative Schnee," she greeted honeyedly. "What a pleasure to—"

"Borders are closed," Winter cut in.

"Yes, of course," Caroline Cordovin acquiesced. "But surely, the great kingdom of Atlas cannot abandon its own blood."

"Being an Atlas citizen and being a terrorist aren't mutually exclusive," she categorically answered. "Anyone who was outside of the kingdom as the attacks on the academies occured has to be considered a suspect."

Astonishingly, the greyed woman didn't relent. "I must insist," she rejoined politely. "I can assure you that we have an innocent— a strayed child only seeking the protective arms of its glorious motherland."

Never before had Caroline Cordovin resisted one of her direct orders, never had she been anything but teemingly reverent and eager to please; Winter would even go as far as to say that the woman would usually grovel before her. The fact that she pushed so hard for this unnamed citizen with no transit date to be permitted entry made Winter suspect that there had to be something more to it. Maybe Cordovin was being threatened? Did this mean that they had lost their Argus base? But Haven still stood— Salem's people surely wouldn't have been able to recover from this loss so hastily, at least not enough to take on Atlas's most well established foreign stronghold.

In all likelihood, this was a genuine citizen petitioning to come home, but… if it was Salem's agent, then Atlas could be ready to apprehend them as soon as they flew into their airspace.

"Fine," Winter finally yielded. "We'll repatriate the Atlesian. None of these other agitators are stepping foot on the transport ship," she instructed.

"Marvelous! I assure you that—"

The feed was cut again as Winter signaled to the control operator. "I want to know the moment that this ship leaves Argus. The Ace Ops will be ready to receive them," she outlined, "and detain them indefinitely."

With a unified Yes Ma'am from the room, Winter quickly stepped out. The communications control center didn't usually feel this claustrophobic, but between her mild sleep-deprivation, her constant state of anguish — both because she missed Robyn and because she was reproaching herself that she did miss her this incredibly much, the mounting anxiety caused by the increasingly real possibility that she may need to come clean and tell the General about these new feelings that she'd developed, the foreboding in the pit of her stomach thinking of what she may have to do as she watched Fria's illness progress, and the restlessness she already felt at Weiss still being missing… Between all of that, Cordovin's petty circus felt like the straw that threatened to break the camel's back, and Winter needed a moment to breathe. With one hand shielding her face from the glare of the fluorescent lights inundating the corridors, she leaned back against the wall, exhaling a calming breath.

"Winter?" Penny's unassuming call made her snap to attention. The redhead looked terribly worried. "Are you okay?"

Dropping her hand to her side, Winter considered her answer for a second. She didn't want to discount her friend's concern, but she didn't want to further worry her either. "I've been better," she admitted, "but I'll be fine."

Penny didn't look reassured in the slightest. With her vivid green eyes riveted to her features, she looked to be assessing something beyond Winter's grasp, until she finally asked; "Are you sad?"

Gobsmacked, Winter stared back dumbly. Since when was Penny able to decipher behaviors engendered by not immediately obvious emotions? Winter knew for a fact she hadn't looked sad over the last days, maybe just… vaguely weary and atypically unindustrious.

Her lack of response spoke for itself and Penny brought her hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh no! You are sad," she balked. "What's wrong?!"

Having not allowed herself to make space to feel what was brewing inside her, suddenly having it acknowledged and being provided the opportunity to vent abruptly made Winter's senses blurry and congested. It took all the composure she could muster to push it back down. "Nothing, it's foolish," she muttered uneasily.

"If it makes you sad, it is not foolish," Penny contended.

Winter's lips tightened as she held the ingenuous redhead's gaze pitifully. If Penny knew enough to recognize what Winter had been feeling, she still didn't know enough to recognize in this response the implicit bidding to have the matter left alone. "I had to let go of something that had started to matter much more to me than it should ever have, but I'll be fine," she explained as soothingly as she could muster.

Finally, the concern on Penny's features started to abate. "Are you sure?"

Winter nodded. "I'll manage, I just need some time." After clearing her throat in another attempt to chase away still tangible emotion, she tried urging the conversation to some other topic. "I'm surprised you realized that there was something wearying me; no one else seems to have. You've gotten much better at reading people."

The mechanical girl shook her head quickly. "Oh no, the symptoms you exhibited were consistent with a heightened immune response, so I thought that you were ill," she revealed. "I was only able to understand that this was emotional turmoil because I had help."

That was probably the one thing that she hadn't wanted to hear; if Penny wasn't the one who had noticed, then it meant that her behavior hadn't been flying under the radar. Winter could only think of one person who could have consistently observed her moods and sent the redhead to check on her. "Has my work suffered such that Clover noticed?" She had to get a grip on herself if it was that obvious.

"Clover wasn't the one who helped me."

So, it turned out that there was one thing that Winter had wanted to hear even less; she felt dread ball up in her stomach. But it couldn't be right? Because if General Ironwood had noticed, then he would have met with her himself. "The General…?"

With a reluctant shake of her head, Penny shuffled from one foot to the other. She looked ready to be scolded. "Don't get mad... I know that it's ill-advised, but... I spoke with Robyn Hill," she divulged. Whatever showed on Winter's features caused Penny to swiftly fall into a nervous rant; "I know that I'm not supposed to fraternize with her, but she approached me yesterday during my patrol a-and we spoke, and she's a really nice person, I understand how you could become frie—"

"What did you talk about?" Winter urgently cut in. "Was she the one who asked about me? How is she?"

Surprised not to be reprimanded, it took a few seconds for Penny to decide on which question to answer. "She was the one who asked about you," she confirmed. "She said that she wants to see you."

Hearing this, Winter felt like she was holding on to reality by a thread. Conflicting emotions overtook her in an avalanche, threatening to tear her to pieces; a flash of bright hope and joy, anger with herself that she had felt that joy, anger that Robyn wouldn't let go, relief that Robyn wouldn't let go, and the nearly uncontrollable impulse to throw everything out the window and go back on her decision to abstain from allowing what was between them to flourish. It was nothing but the force of habit to fall back on duty that allowed her to stay true to her commitment. "...I can't do that," Winter finally contested, hearing hoarseness surface in her voice. Emotion quickly took over, blurring her vision, and she tried desperately to blink it away.

How visibly upset she was getting clearly tipped Penny off; it wasn't hard to connect the dots between calling it ill-advised to mingle with Robyn, Winter saying that she had to let go of something, and now getting emotional over saying that she couldn't see Robyn. "Is she why you're sad?" Penny asked. "Did you have an argument?"

To this, Winter couldn't will herself to produce an answer; she was scared that saying anything would break the dam, open the floodgates, and she'd spill everything to Penny right there in the hallway.

"It's normal for friends to fight sometimes," the redhead offered. "Weiss and Blake were fighting the day I met them, but they talked and were able to make up. I'm sure you could make up too if you talked to her."

The soldier shook her head. "It's different."

"How?"

Though Winter was unaware of the details of that dispute, it didn't matter. "Weiss was fighting with her teammate," she pointed out, "which put them in a position where it was better that they made up, even if only for the sake of the four years they were going to be forced to spend together. While in my case… it's better on all fronts that Rob—Miss Hill and I go our separate ways. It's better we not be…friends."

Penny's compassionate gaze remained set on her, still completely unconvinced by this rationale. "How is it better if it makes you sad?"

Winter exhaled lightly; she was exhausted, and talking about the woman who was commandeering way too much of her internal real estate only exacerbated her fatigue. "I've explained before why she's bad news for us," she wearily reminded her, to which Penny gave a reticent nod. It wasn't, however, enough to bring her around, as she kept watching Winter expectantly. "Miss Hill's electoral base would turn on her should she be perceived to have ties with the military," Winter added. "I'm bad news for her too."

Penny's eyebrows crinkled cutely. "Then why does she still want to be your friend?"

Winter brought her hand to her temple, again futilely attempting to massage away the migraine that was now breaking through. "She's simply not being reasonable," she dolorously explained. "So I will be. For both of us."

The redhead hesitantly shuffled from one foot to the other, her hands curling around the hem of her skirt. "So, you don't want to see her?"

Between needing to unload some of the weight of what tormented her and knowing that, should she lie, Penny would see it through her vital signs, Winter couldn't help admitting; "I do want to see her." However small this concession was, as she voiced it aloud Winter felt some of her resolve waver, and she was suddenly overcome with the image of Robyn's smile, the warmth in her eyes, the warmth of being in her arms, the allure of being in her arms, the allure of what happiness she had dangled in front of her, of what utter bliss she had tempted her with. "I really do want to see her, so much," she professed; barely contained desperation seeping into her voice. The pain that reverberated through her body welled up in her eyes for the third time in this short conversation, but now, blinking it away didn't work; she felt tears streak her cheeks and wiped them away hurriedly.

It stabbed Penny right in the heart; the way she stared back at her was unlike Winter had ever seen. And to be fair, Penny had never seen her like this either. Penny took her friend's hands in hers. "Why don't you, then? I don't understand why you should stay away when it hurts you like this."

Winter straightened up, trying her best to shake off the emotions she'd lost her grip on, taking a deep break before speaking again. "I'm holding off because it makes no difference what I want, Penny. It doesn't align with what I need to do… and what I need to do is the only thing that matters." Steadily holding her friend's gaze, Winter gently added; "Sadness passes. I can bear it."

Penny's concerns clearly weren't dispelled, but she didn't press the matter further. Winter excused herself and headed to her office; she had ample paperwork to keep her busy for the rest of the day and hoped to keep herself engrossed enough to find some reprieve from this mounting obsession with the woman she'd chosen to turn her back on.

Unbuckling her weapon from her belt and removing her gloves, she sank in the leather swivel chair tucked behind her desk. And then, as if the universe itself had set against her, Winter's scroll buzzed with a new notification.

R: 1 Message
how are you doing?

Winter felt her features set in discontentment; You know how I'm doing, you spoke to Penny. With this, she powered off her scroll entirely, putting it away in her breast pocket. Not that she'd be able to focus on her work now that Robyn had had the courtesy of signaling to her again that she was just the touch of a button away. Never could she have anticipated how draining it would be to barricade herself in silence; every time her screen lit up with a new notification, she felt herself fraying at the edges just a little more. She wondered if Robyn had any idea of how much she was wearing her down. Or maybe that was in fact Robyn's goal?

As the day progressed to evening, as Winter exerted all her willpower and self-control trying to keep herself in check, it became harder and harder to fend off the permeating thoughts and desires that lurked at the back of her mind. By the time night rolled around, she was at the end of her rope and had no strength left to keep her longing at bay; that'd been her lot ever since that day. Every single night, she dreamed of what had happened in that apartment. Every night, she viscerally remembered Robyn's body on top of hers, her breath warming her face as they kissed, her hands as she had caressed Winter's lower stomach… her voice as she'd whispered racy suggestions in her ear. Those words that Robyn had uttered reverberated in her mind over and over as she lay awake in her bed. Winter kept telling herself… she should have let Robyn do it. How incredible would her tongue have felt…?

Every time this thought crossed her mind, she had to violently pull herself out of it. She strenuously reminded herself that she'd done the right thing and painstakingly went over the why again, again, and again. She reminded herself that her life, her desires, her happiness didn't matter, because this was in the best interests of the world. Yes, these best interests boiled down to a fail-safe, the mitigation of the possibility that Winter would be defeated and the Maiden Powers stolen from her; chances were low in both cases, as Winter was confident that should she be defeated, she had enough self-mastery to not let the powers fall into her attacker's hands— she was prepared to take her own life if it came down to it. And yes, Robyn might be a good person and a more than decent fighter, someone who, in other circumstances, would be a decent successor, but it remained that Robyn couldn't be trusted to work together with the General in this counteroffensive against Salem. Which made Robyn a simply unacceptable successor.

After all, for the first time since — at least since recorded memory! — the secret would be broken and all-out resistance against Salem could be launched. The protection of the relics and the dire need to keep them away from that monstrous immortal being would become paramount to every living being, and the General might recruit enough support to not only ensure humanity's very survival, but finally overcome Salem's forces. This might finally spell the end of the age of darkness that had engulfed Remnant, the free expansion of kingdoms as the danger of the roaming Grimm vanished.

That's what mattered. Not Winter's stupid, selfish desire to be in another woman's arms.

And so, every morning, she dragged herself out of bed with the firm resolve to crush any trace of emotion, push herself into an numb state of being, willing herself to become an automaton… all the while knowing full well how her self-command would gradually fail her as the sun advanced into the sky, as it set beyond the horizon.

Mulling over her predicament, Winter stared emptily into the untouched cup of tea in her hands.

Her present company's voice tore her out of her trance. "What's bothering you, dear?"

Icy blue eyes found the marine ones of the bedridden Winter Maiden. Spending hours upon hours together for months on end, it was only natural that the old woman would become somewhat of a confidante. And although Winter might have normally remained reluctant to share what was currently ailing her, she couldn't help reflecting that there was no one better to confide this in than someone who'd forget most of it in the next hour. It wasn't an especially pleasant thought, but it was the ugly reality of things.

Winter fished out her scroll and cut the cameras pointed at them. It was generally understood that she should allow for as much of her visits to be recorded as it was possible, but no one raised any concern over a few missing minutes here and there. It was clear to everyone that Winter had grown close to Fria; that she would confide in her things that she might not want the entire scientific team to know.

Setting her device down, Winter returned both hands to her cup of tea. The warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain in her hands did nothing to comfort her. "I don't know what to do," she breathed. "I think I—… I-I have feelings for someone."

The old woman looked delighted. "You've fallen in love?"

"I don't know if I'm ready to call it... love," she admitted. "To be completely honest… I've been scared of delving into what it is exactly that I feel for fear of discovering that it may be… it may indeed be more powerful than my sense of duty."

"Love is wonderful my dear, there's nothing to be scared of," the old woman reached out to rest her hand on Winter's wrist. There was a benevolent warmth in her eyes as she gave it a gentle squeeze. "You deserve this happiness."

This sort of encouragement was the last thing she'd needed. "But I can't be feeling this way," she rebutted.

"Why not?"

Winter stared back pitifully at the greyed woman. Fria had been getting markedly worse over the recent weeks; she had more or less forgotten that Winter had sought counsel to her about her concerns over the line of succession.

That sweet smile lingered on the aged features. "Tell me about this lucky lad. What's his name?"

The tension that abruptly seized Winter set her jaw almost painfully. Atlesians had never been too accepting of any manner of difference; they weren't now, and it had been worse in Fria's day. Although Winter had no idea where Fria herself stood on this matter, odds were that coming out with the truth would only amount to upsetting the both of them, and God only knew how that may affect the passing down of the powers. Granted, seeing as the old woman tended to not retain much new information, being truthful might not be such a risk, but… frankly, Winter really didn't feel like exposing herself to the pain that would be elicited should the old woman react with disgust or indignation. With this in mind, Winter nevertheless answered; "Robyn," it was a gender-neutral name after all. "I… I think about… h-him, all day, every day— it's downright obsessive. It's the first time in my life that I find myself unable to put my feelings aside, I'm at a total loss."

"Oh, don't be like that, it's only healthy for a young woman like you to feel so passionately about budding love," Fria reassured. "Savor it. Such intensity will become harder and harder to find with every year you'll grow older."

If she grew older, Winter grimly thought. Unlike with Fria's era of relative peace, Salem was now on the move. So, setting aside the impending assault on Atlas, who's to say that Salem wouldn't send dozens—hundreds of skilled warriors to attempt to steal the Winter Maiden's power? "Under other circumstances, I would, but the situation is dire enough already," Winter answered. "These… adolescent feelings of mine, they are compromising the line of succession. I can't be unreliable, not right now, this kind of uncertainty is the last thing we need." Ever since the General had inquired with her about the line of succession, Winter had understood that she was mandated to — at the very least — facilitate the tracking of the powers to the best of her ability. This meant that, now that there was uncertainty about Weiss being the next in line… "I'm afraid that I've reached a point where… to do the right thing, I would have to tell the General about this," she said dreadfully.

"I'm sure that James would understand, you can't help feeling the way that you do."

"I've… I've allowed these feelings the opportunity to grow," Winter ruefully confessed. "That was completely under my control, and it was utterly irresponsible of me to do so. A-and if the General knew that, of all people, it's Robyn Hill who I—... " she couldn't even complete her thought. "He'd—… God, he doesn't need such betrayal. He needs to be able to rely on me."

"You're judging yourself very severely," Fria deplored. "Betrayal is a harsh word; surely the use of a word of that magnitude isn't warranted."

"Oh, it is, because Robyn would never follow—" Winter stopped dead in her tracks. Posing the problem to Fria while pretending that Robyn was a man did raise the conundrum of compromising the line of succession, but it did so with the understanding that the powers would be lost to a random soul somewhere in Remnant… not that Robyn could obtain the powers and refuse to submit to the General's plans. Although Winter had said enough for the old woman to catch on, there was no sign in her features of having picked up on the truth. "I'm sorry," Winter blurted as she started gathering the empty teacups and dirty cutlery. "I shouldn't have brought this up."

The old woman's gaze remained on her as she brought everything to the sink. "You're very agitated," Fria noted.

The soldier stole a furtive glance her way as she took off her gloves. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Fria waved off. "I understand that you might feel you can't tell me everything, and it's fine. I simply wish I could help you in some way, be of some comfort."

Watching the tap water wash away the remnants of amber liquid, Winter shook her head; "Lending me an ear is already plenty, thank you for that."

She obtained a small smile from the sickly woman and, for a moment of silence, Winter busied herself washing the dishes. She took the time to dry everything and put everything away while she retrieved her composure. Once done, Winter approached the old woman again, focusing her attention to the fresh canvas on the easel by her bedside. "You've started a new piece." The would-be painting was nothing but abstract outlines and patches of color, but it was enough for Winter to have a good sense of what city might be depicted. "Is it Argus?"

Fria nodded delightedly. "It is! I'm not surprised that you'd recognize it from such a rough draft, I don't know how many times we've passed through that port."

Almost in slow motion, Winter turned to the old woman, eyeing her carefully. "We've never traveled anywhere together."

"What are you saying?" Fria laughed her off. "Silly girl."

Blood rapidly drained from her extremities, leaving her fingers cold. Her heart was pounding so hard that it made her stomach queasy. "Fria… who am I?"

"Well, you're—..." Fria held her gaze for an extended moment, and finally realization sparked in her marine eyes. "Winter. I must have been confused," she said. "Winter."

"And… I'm sorry to ask this, but… you know my purpose, don't you?"

"Yes, you're to be the next Winter Maiden... I'm sorry, it seems that my mind strayed for a moment," the old woman said, looking troubled to have had such a lapse. Although it was a common occurrence, she didn't know that; Winter usually indulged her delusions. Fria's gaze found the corner of one of her paintings, to the white fur of the ethereal animal. "...I think that she might have looked like you," she said. "My old friend."

That wasn't inaccurate. Winter had been able to find an image of the previous Winter Maiden through Atlas Academy records and, although Fria's then teammate had been a faunus, she and Winter shared enough physical traits for it to be unsurprising that Fria's diseased mind eventually lapsed; white hair, pale eyes, pale skin, and distinctly northern facial features— one might have thought them cousins.

Through the months that Winter had spent with Fria, she had listened to increasingly scrambled stories of her youth, in which individuals slowly faded into obscurity and events were patched up together in chaotic, unintelligible ways. Even as the stories that Fria repeated had changed into ghosts of themselves, Winter never rectified any of it; it would have been a losing battle with the progressing disease and would have only ended up in upsetting the old woman. Not to mention that it was better for Fria to forget the actors of her life, the people who may impede the proper passing of the powers to Winter. Yet now… Fria's grasp on who Winter was was being threatened, and as it was imperative that Fria be able to distinctly differentiate her old friend from her successor, Winter found herself asking; "Do you want to tell me about her?"

The marine eyes didn't leave the while blotch on her painting. "She was a white fox, Atlas doesn't much like her kind."

"Indeed. What else do you remember about her?"

"I'm not sure anymore," Fria said, finally turning to her. The sadness and dread she exuded was almost palpable— who wouldn't feel such distress when faced with the realization that they were losing themselves such? "I'm having doubts about what I thought that I remembered. About whether it really is her or… or if I'm conflating with what I know of you."

"We can go over it, I'll help you sort it out," Winter offered.

After almost two hours of patiently helping untangle and straighten up memories, Winter left the old woman's room with a heaviness she had rarely experienced before. How long could Fria be trusted to remember why she was in that room, who Winter was, or what critical responsibilities they were both entrusted with? As Winter hadn't turned the feed back on, this perturbing lapse remained between the two of them, but it was only a matter of time for it to become apparent to the scientific team monitoring Fria that they were reaching a breaking point. The possibility that there would be need for the machine to transfer the powers was starting to be increasingly real, and the more realistic it became, the bleaker Winter felt about using it.

The vastly unknown consequences of merging Fria's aura and diseased mind with her own scared her. Using that machine, there had always been the possibility of Winter losing herself entirely, of becoming someone else, but now…? What if Fria's illness remained as their aura merged and affected the person who Winter became? …What if it made her useless? Such that she couldn't be trusted to hold her own against Salem's fighter? Then the machine couldn't be reused to get the power from Winter to someone with a healthy mind as it would only repeat the problem; Winter would need to die at one of her colleagues' hands to ensure the proper passing of the powers. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach. Dedicating her life to a worthwhile purpose had driven her, and the prospect of being discarded meaninglessly was unnerving.

What's more, however prepared Winter had always been to do what was necessary, lately… she found that discarding her own wants and needs, discarding herself in the face of the greater good… wasn't as effortless as it had always been. With Robyn tempting her with the prospect of a happiness that she had thought she'd long forfeited, Winter's typically resolute focus was wavering. Even putting aside her worries over Fria's illness being transferred, if Winter remained healthy-minded but was altered to become someone else as their auras merged, what would happen to her feelings towards Robyn? She should have been rejoicing at the notion of being rid of the temptation, but the idea that they might disappear was... unexpectedly spine-chilling. And the idea that Robyn might not yearn for that new version of her was even more so.

To ensure her own self-preservation, would it then be better if Winter instead murdered Fria? However much she abhorred the idea, it was starting to appear to be the best solution for a safe transfer.

Trying to shake off these disconcerting thoughts, she reminded herself again of the very brief but crystal clear image that she had managed to catch in the reading she'd obtained from the fortune teller. In that vision, she had been on her way to show her sister what destiny she'd pledged her life to. The fact that Fria was still alive at that point in time meant that she might not be doing as bad as Winter feared. Worrying over what must be done could wait at least until the temporal landmark of Weiss's return.

As Winter made her way out of the restricted area of the military base, she unthinkingly pulled out her scroll and found herself re-reading for the millionth time the messages that she had refrained from answering. Every moment of every day, she fought herself in order to not reach out in return. She missed Robyn. She missed her unnervingly cocky smirk and that playful glint in her gorgeous almond shaped eyes. She missed falling into the rich purple hue of her irises, she missed getting lost in her admiration for the woman's divinely crafted features. She missed the inebriating scent that clung to her body— god, she missed her body. She missed her arms greedily pulling her closer, how feverishly she'd kissed her, and how utterly conquered she had felt under her. Robyn was so much taller, and with her muscle mass and her pronounced curves, she was heavy enough to make Winter feel subjugated. Of course, with a little effort, Winter could have thrown an opponent of Robyn's size like a rag doll, but it hadn't diminished the sensation of being trapped. She hadn't known that she wanted that. She hadn't known that upon being brought to such a limit that her self-control failed her, she would want to let go entirely and submit. The idea of being at Robyn's mercy was—... she did everything in her power not to think about it, lest it drive her back to Robyn's appartement.

Winter was already doing quite an awful job at keeping under control; she needed to hear her voice so much that, although she knew how counterproductive it was, she had rewatched interview upon interview until she realized that she had learned by heart every single answer that Robyn had ever given any interviewer, that she could recite word for word any televised speech that Robyn had ever given, and still, still, Winter would rewatch those clips. How she wasn't sick of them was beyond her, how the urge to hear Robyn's voice hadn't abated in the slightest was downright incomprehensible. She didn't like to think of how that mindless rewatching might have aggravated her need to talk to her, even just a few lines, even just a few words. The very worst of it was that… it was just the touch of a button away. Every time Winter so much as glanced at her scroll, the desire plagued her. She didn't know how many times she had found herself with her finger hovering over the call button. Not pressing it was an exercise of self-control unlike any other, and never before had she been tested such. Winter breathed out shakily, swiping away from Robyn's messages. She had other fish to fry; now was not the time to sulk and worry.

Before she shared her concerns about Fria's deterioration, Winter resolved to investigate her concerns with the transfer device. After all, if Dr. Polendina could confirm that Fria's illness wouldn't somehow infect Winter should their auras be merged, then all concerns would be alleviated. With this, she made up her mind to accompany Penny to her father's lab that very evening. At this time of the day, Penny was on Grimm patrol in Mantle, but she was due to report back to the headquarters shortly. Winter typed up a quick message, letting her know of her plans to visit Dr. Polendina, and her scroll instantly lit up with about a dozen of colorful gifs and emojis in response. Winter felt a small smile pull at the corner of her lips; her redheaded companion's undying enthusiasm at the prospect of her company was always touching.

Aside from the few minutes holding her tongue during the debrief, Penny chittered from the moment that she touched down in Atlas, through their itinerary from the academy to the military complex as she accompanied Winter to get a ship, and through the ride back down to Mantle. Although she didn't have much to say in return, Winter welcomed the distraction. It was only when the ship landed in front of Dr. Polendina's lab that Penny went quiet. As Winter stepped off the vehicle, she froze. Robyn was leaning against the wall next to the entrance. Penny fretfully glanced between the two of them before scampering off to disappear into her father's office.

Those deep purple orbs bore into Winter as they stared at each other in silence for an extended moment. Eventually, Robyn straightened up and took a few steps towards her. "I heard that you weren't doing super well, but I didn't expect for it to be that noticeable."

Her heart was in her throat. "What are you doing here?"

The dashing blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "You haven't been answering my texts, so I figured I'd check up on you in person."

With her best effort to summon her most glacial disposition, Winter stayed rooted in place. "How did you know to find me here?"

Completely undeterred by the soldier's attitude, Robyn's eyebrows twitched upward. "Are you really asking? How do you think I'd happen to know when to be outside her dad's office?"

There was a spark of irritation. "You put Penny up to this?"

Still annoyingly unbothered, Robyn raised both hands in mock defense. "I didn't put her up to anything," she calmly answered, "I just explained that I was worried for my friend and she was eager to help."

This only aggravated Winter more; she felt her icy mask rapidly melting despite her best efforts. "Don't put the wrong idea in her head," she disapprovingly shot back. "She can't think that we're friends."

At this, Robyn's laid-back airs finally gave way to the dissatisfaction that lay underneath. "Right," she sourly jeered. "You're right, we're not friends, that's not what either of us want."

In anger, Winter grabbed her forearm and dragged her to the side of the building into a poorly-lit alley, away from the ship and any would-be passerby's prying eyes. "I thought I told you to forget what happened," she seethed under her breath. "What do you think you're doing?"

Robyn glanced at the hand still clenched around her arm. "You never told me to stop talking to you entirely."

Winter released her at once. "...Well, stop."

The tall woman's gorgeous eyes slid up to meet the icy ones. "Isn't that a little much?"

"It's what needs to be done."

There was a short silence as Winter stubbornly held her gaze while the blonde searched her eyes. Finally, Robyn cocked her head. "Do you like me so much that you can't handle me talking to you without compromising… whatever it is you're worried about?"

Her blood pressure shot through the roof. "Don't get ahead of yourself," Winter bit back defensively.

"You don't?" Robyn put her hands on her hips. "So I can talk to you?"

"No."

"So you do like me that much."

"I—..."

"You gotta pick one. Which is it?"

Realization washed over her with heavy foreboding and Winter felt her shoulders slump. Robyn was right, it couldn't be both. As she stared up into those eyes she dreamed about every night, there was no denying it; "I like you too much," she conceded. "So… stop. I can't handle it."

Maybe Robyn had expected her to try and deflect the question or change topics —Winter had done that an awful lot in her attempts to resist Robyn's initial advances after all— because she clearly hadn't been ready for the truth.

Winter felt her throat hurt as her heart seemed to attempt to tear right through it. "Are we done, then?" She asked, despite knowing full well that there was no way that the other woman would let the conversation end on that note.

There was unabashed vulnerability in Robyn's eyes as she stepped closer. "What do you mean by too much?"

"Just… too much," Winter answered warily, stepping back in an attempt to maintain distance between them.

"How much?" Robyn advanced again.

Winter's retreat was halted by the sensation of the wall against her back, and, maybe it was being literally cornered, but her ramparts crumbled at once. "I don't know," she diffidently admitted. "I don't want to know; I've done my best to stay busy and not think of you."

The tall blonde's lips twitched into an unamused corner smile. "And how's that going?"

Having a sense that Robyn already knew what the answer was had Winter abandon any inclinations to attempt to conceal the truth. "... Awful. I'm incredibly frustrated with how I can't get you out of my head no matter what I do."

"Is it really such a bad thing?"

"Yes!" Winter exclaimed, unable to suppress the outburst. "It's a big problem!"

"How? Maybe if you'd explained why, I—"

"No."

"Listen—"

"No," Winter cut in again. "You listen! I'm telling you I'm in no position to do this, it should be enough! Why can't you respect that‽"

"Because knowing that we both feel this makes it really hard to! I'd have no problem respecting that if you didn't want me back the way you do," she argued, visibly pained. "Or, I mean— maybe if you gave me another explanation than your job. 'Cause I'm still willing to do this despite my position, and I have more to lose than you do, don't I?"

"But you don't," Winter countered vehemently, "you don't know what's being compromised." Though she could conceive how Robyn would believe herself to be the one risking the most with this affair, the fact of the matter was… Robyn wasn't aware of what role Winter was to play in this war for humanity's very survival. "You don't know what's at stake."

"What, would your boss fire you over this?" She infuriatedly threw back. "Because you're gay? Are you not allowed to be gay? Is Atlas that fucking archaic?"

The soldier's frown deepened. "It's nothing like that."

"Then, what?"

"It's classified."

Robyn grimaced. "I hate that word."

"How so very like you to," Winter dryly noted. "It's still classified."

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, her blonde head hung as she took a moment to re-collect herself, Robyn silently fumed. Her gaze suddenly snapped up to Winter's again. "If it's not because you're gay, then is it because of me? Because I represent the opposition? When I'm elected, we'll have to find a way to work together so—"

"Robyn," she cut in, "stop trying; you won't guess." Her patience was running out, every minute she spent with Robyn she felt her resolve weaken, and all it did was erode her patience more and more. "Just understand that this," she motioned between the two of them, "is jeopardizing the proper order of things."

"The proper order of things?" Robyn repeated disgruntledly. "So, what, I'm a liability?"

"Yes!" Winter snapped back. "You're a liability and a hindrance!"

Uncharacteristically, Robyn had no immediate comeback; she was completely stunned, and very clearly hurt. As it looked like she was trying to swallow what had been said, the silence stretched, and the longer it stretched, the shittier Winter felt. Finally, Robyn exhaled shakily. "Right, okay," she mouthed with difficulty, still finding her bearings. The ball of emotion in her throat was audible as she continued; "Sorry I took up your time, I'll let you go."

Against her own expectations, Winter stood rooted in place. Of all the arguments she'd unremittingly repeated to herself over the last days to futilely attempt to push Robyn out of her thoughts, she could recall none of them. She knew that if she could bring herself to turn her back and leave, she'd never have to address any of this again, and although she knew that it was exactly what she should do, everything in her prevented her from moving.

In return, Robyn also remained motionless, maybe waiting for Winter to be the first to turn her back, to prove that she meant her scathing claim by abandoning her there. The longer this heaviness stretched with nothing happening, the more Robyn's initial distress gave way to vexation, which eventually reached a breaking point. "What's keeping you?" She dryly asked. "Isn't Dr. Polendina waiting for you?"

No words came to Winter. Her feet felt anchored into the ground, and the anxiety caused by the conflict within herself had her whole body tense up more with every second. Somehow, she was also incapable of breaking eye contact, as if blinking away would in some way slight Robyn further.

After another moment of considering the soldier's silence with distaste, Robyn had finally had enough; "Fine," she muttered, turning to leave.

As though she'd lost all control over her body, Winter caught the other woman's arm, stopping her in her tracks. Robyn glanced back at her; her eyes flickering to the gloved hand that had so decisively latched onto her, and then to the cool blue eyes staring back at her. "What's that?" She demanded, Winter's inconsistency giving rise to anger. There was something accusatory in Robyn's eyes as she pressed; "You were very clear just now. So what's that?"

Winter's fingers curled tighter around the other woman's wrist. "I don't know," she admitted miserably, at a loss with her own knee-jerk reaction. The best she could rationalize was that she couldn't stomach the thought of Robyn hating her or being hurt from misunderstanding her; Winter hadn't meant to hurt her. "Robyn, I'm sorry, I never meant to be so callous," she started, still reordering her thoughts. Without knowing just how much she wanted to own up to, the words started pouring out unbidden. "It's... I'm at the end of my rope. What I feel for you and my attempts at keeping it at bay… It's been more trying than anything I've ever had to contend with," she confessed. "You see, I—… I thought that I had made my peace with the sacrifices I have to make for the path I chose, and I thought that I had buried any desires I had for companionship. But...Robyn, you're… everything that I'd never thought I could have, and the thought of you, of what we've shared it's been…" Winter's breath caught in her throat, staring at Robyn in dismay as the image of her half-naked, the sensation of her body on hers and the warmth of being in her arms filled her again. She wanted to cry. "It's been consuming me," she rasped, "a-and I'm forced to reckon with the idea that there was still some hope alive within me, that there was still some part of me that longed for..." Love, she wanted to say, but she didn't dare ascribe such a powerful word to what she felt or presume that Robyn's feelings were that serious. Winter shook her head. "It's… just… completely tearing me apart. And my work—…" she shouldn't say anything about Fria. "Everything's adding up and it's taking its toll on me, such that I'm starting to lose grip on my ability to keep my composure— of course, none of that is any excuse for being hurtful, but I just— I-I don't know how to make you back down."

All traces of combativity and grief had melted off Robyn's features as she'd listened. Carefully, she took a small step forward, breaching into Winter's personal space. "You could tell me why you're pushing me away, maybe I'd understand."

"I've already said as much as I can," Winter lamented. Her tight grip on Robyn's wrist slackened, gliding to take her hand in hers instead. Winter gave it a soft squeeze, holding her gaze earnestly. "But… sooner than you imagine, you'll know everything— everyone will. I promise. Until then, if you have even the slightest esteem for me, please trust my judgment. None of the decisions that have led me to this point have been made lightly."

Robyn gently squeezed her hand in return. "So once the truth is out… then what? We can talk about this again?"

"I-I don't know, it depends how things unfold."

"Still means you might reconsider though, right?"

The glimmer of hope in her eyes pulled at Winter's heart. "Please don't wait on me."

To this, Robyn sighed. "It's just logistics that prevents you from giving it a shot. Not waiting sounds crazy to me."

"But… I can't give you any guarantees. Attempting to move on would be the wisest—"

"But it wouldn't," Robyn interjected. "Listen, Winter… It doesn't matter whether or not I want to wait; I got you under my skin, and that's not going away any time soon. If I tried to be with someone else, my heart wouldn't be in it." With this, Robyn moved even closer; close enough for Winter to feel her body heat, close enough that the sweet scent that clung to her invaded Winter's senses. Robyn gently cupped her cheek in her palm. "If I don't make sure I've given this my best shot, I know I'll regret it all my life," she said, and took a moment to gently kiss her forehead. "You'd always be 'the one that got away.'"

Winter couldn''t help herself as she leaned into her touch. How could she argue against that? "I understand," she murmured, squeezing again the hand she still held. "Believe me, if I could, I..." she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

Robyn's breath still warmed her skin; she moved to kiss her temple, and her cheek. Of course, Winter knew where this was going, and she knew she should stop her, but it was beyond her power to. When the other woman's lips approached hers, Winter's eyes fluttered closed and she was the one to kiss Robyn. The feeling of her full lips and the intimacy of breathing her breath instantly engulfed Winter with the irrepressible urge to wrap her arms around Robyn. When their bodies came together, the blonde moaned gently, and fire ignited in Winter's core to ravage her in a flash. She'd never understood how debilitatingly powerful desire could be until the day that Robyn's lips first touched hers. Never in her life had Winter lost control as she had on that first evening. Or… as she was now, she realized, suddenly coming aware of how her hands were moving on the other woman's body. Winter conservatively brought her hands back to Robyn's hips. Every cell in her body screamed of how right this felt and every instinct roared for more; something primitive was unshackling itself inside her, and she didn't know where she found the strength to part from her lips. With throbbing heat through her body and weakness in her legs, she leaned her forehead against the tall blonde's shoulder. "Robyn," she exhaled quietly, incapable of making herself put some distance between them yet. "Don't tempt me like this," she begged, pushing her nose against her, breathing in her dizzyingly sweet scent, "it's torture."

Robyn wrapped her arms around her in an engulfing, protective sort of hug. "Whether I do or I don't, isn't it torture either way?"

It certainly was. Before she was tempted further, Winter reminded herself that although keeping her distance may be tortuous, it at least spared her from the guilt that giving into her desires brought on. Mustering her best effort, she made the other woman release her. They were in a discreet location, but nevertheless still in a public space. "Someone could have seen us."

"Let them," Robyn leaned in for another kiss.

Winter stopped her. "Let them? What about your campaign?"

The sudden glimmer of realization in the purple eyes made it clear that Robyn had been so enraptured with the moment, so focused on Winter's reasons for denying her, that she'd somehow momentarily forgotten her own stakes. Winter dejectedly stared up at her, between them was the palpable understanding of what a disaster being seen would be. "This needs to stop. For both our sakes."

It initially looked like she still wanted to protest, but ultimately Robyn sighed in resignation. "Okay," she acquiesced, moving a few steps back, effectively clearing the way for Winter to be able to leave. The tall blonde stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat. "I'll give you some space."

"Thank you." Although it needed no adjustments, Winter straightened up her uniform in an awkward motion, maybe in a subconscious attempt to straighten herself. She glanced at the other woman fleetingly. "Take care, Robyn." With this, she started down the alleyway. It was only a few steps before Robyn's voice rose again.

"Winter," she called, drawing the soldier's gaze one last time. Robyn watched her so sadly, it reminded Winter of an abandoned puppy. "If you ever change your mind… my door is open, okay?"

How that hadn't shattered her resolve then and there, Winter didn't know. There was nothing she had ever needed more than to throw herself in her arms. "Noted," she acknowledged before marching off.

Through the evening, it took every last bit of energy Winter had to be mentally present with Dr. Polendina. The sweet old man was delighted to have company and kept her for dinner, diving deep into the genesis of his invention, how his experiments with transmuting his own aura to Penny paved the way for this revolutionary technology, and what were the hopes they had for Fria and Winter. That last bit in turn allowed Winter to touch upon what had brought her to him that evening. It was unlikely, he said, that Winter would get sick, because Fria's illness was a disease of the body. Yet, who knew how much of one's personality or memories were stored in the physical brain as opposed to what might be imprinted on the aura. All in all, as it was unproven technology, there was very little guarantee that could be given. All the same, hearing that it was unlikely alleviated Winter's worries somewhat. As the evening progressed and the time came for her to take her leave, there was one last thing she needed to see to.

"Penny, if I could have a minute," she gestured for the redhead to follow her to the airship so they could talk privately. Winter took a long, calming breath as she gathered what she wanted to say and how to say it.

Penny was the one to break the silence. "Is it about Robyn Hill?"

Even just hearing Robyn's name gave her a hot flash, rattling her already fragile mood. Her fingers curled into fists, maybe in an attempt to steel herself, maybe to contain her grief. "Yes."

"...Are you angry?"

Winter couldn't hold the bite in her retort; "Yes," and the redhead flinched. Any other time, seeing that she'd spooked Penny would immediately have dampened Winter's temper, but she was too aggrieved and weary to find her cool. "Never do this again. Ever," she sternly said. "Miss Hill isn't my friend, understood?"

"But… you like her so much…! And she likes you too! Doesn't that make you friends?"

"I wish it could be this simple, Penny, but it's not," she deplored. "You shouldn't have arranged this meeting."

"But you said that you wanted to see her," Penny feebly argued.

"I also said that it didn't matter what I wanted, I couldn't," Winter instantly shot back. "And that I wished to be reasonable for the both of us if Miss Hill couldn't be. My doing so is just as much for her own good as it is for ours; she can not be seen as being friendly to military officials such as us. Remember?"

The vivid green eyes had fallen to the metal flooring of the ship. Penny's clasped hands in front of her had somewhere along the line started to wring themselves uncomfortably. "I remember, but she doesn't seem to mind at all… so I thought that it might be okay."

Winter sighed in consternation. "Even setting aside Miss Hill's apparent keenness on sabotaging her life's work by associating with me, it remains that she's a free radical; she's also a danger to us," she explained with emphasis. Winter paused to allow this to sink in, until the silence drew her friend's gaze to her again, and the white-haired soldier steadily held eye contact as she continued. "Penny… There is a bigger picture we need to keep in mind— a lot has been sacrificed for its sake, and those sacrifices are about to bear fruit. We're so close to reestablishing contact with the entire world, so close to being able to mount a worldwide offensive against Salem. We need to maintain the status quo if we're to succeed in accomplishing any of this. And… Miss Hill… she's the face of dissension. She's downright hostile to our policies and, when she wins, not only will she make it an administrative hell for us to do what needs to be done to get supplies for our project, she will also do everything she can to find out what we're doing with those supplies. But the truth cannot come out before Amity is ready to launch." Outlining this for Penny was tremendously helpful in consolidating her own resolve and reminding herself why she was doing what she was despite her heart and body's deafening roars to succumb to her desires. "Miss Hill needs to be kept at bay. From today on, we are not friendly to her, understood?"

At this, Penny broke eye contact. Her silence broadcasted loud and clear her reluctance to abide by this. She awkwardly glanced up at Winter for a second and then returned her attention to her feet.

"Penny. Understood?"

"Understood," she mumbled uneasily.

Now that she'd vented what had been eating at her, seeing her normally high-spirited and bubbly friend so downcast, remorse set in. After all, Penny couldn't have known just how taxing the simple thought of Robyn had been on Winter, and she'd likely been manipulated into arranging this meeting. In that light, although Winter indeed had needed to touch base with Penny about not setting her up this way again, her dismay really didn't have to come out as rigidly as it had. With a few steps, she closed the distance to touch Penny's arm reassuringly. "I know that Miss Hill can be persuasive, and I know that you meant well— that you were only trying to help. I do wish that you'd taken me at my word, but I appreciate the intention. I'm sorry for reprimanding you such."

This drew a tentative smile from the mechanical girl. "So… we're still friends?"

"Of course," Winter swiftly reassured. "You said it yourself, friends fight sometimes, right? This is nothing but a road bump."

Relief washed over Penny at once. "Right!"

Later that night, as Winter laid in bed reflecting on the evening, she could only rue herself for allowing things to go down the way they had with Robyn. Although her self-condemnation as she examined her actions could easily have expanded all the way to the very first moment she had stopped being entirely disagreeable to Robyn, it was constrained to the end of their most recent meeting. Winter now recognized that after having hurt Robyn, she should have let her storm off without trying to appease her. Because as it now stood, Winter knew that Robyn would indubitably pick up the phone should she decide to reach out, and Robyn would bend over backwards to arrange to meet should she express the wish to. On the other hand, had she not explained herself and let Robyn be angry, then the door would be shut, and Winter wouldn't have to fight herself every second of every day in order to not crawl back to her. The knowledge that, should she ever have a moment of weakness, she would find herself in Robyn's arms in no time flat scared her because... who in the world never ever has any moment of weakness?

Did it mean that she was only delaying the inevitable?

It sure felt like it.

However, it remained her duty to attempt to fight. And if she couldn't do it by herself, maybe it was time to take preventive steps by enlisting external help. Maybe it was time to come clean.

The very thought of doing so had her awash with the cold chill and heaviness of such extreme dread that it could be called horror. No; she couldn't tell the General something like this, could she? Almost intrusively, her conversation with Fria invaded her mind. The old woman had raised the question: Was she in love with Robyn? Winter still didn't dare exploring that question. Although wasn't her constant pining bound to eventually fade away if it turned out that she wasn't? Was it worth saying anything if she wasn't? Maybe she didn't need to come clean after all.

Telling herself that she would sleep on it ended up being nothing more than a feeble attempt at bargaining before conceding the inevitable. As that next day passed her by, acceptance set in; the fact was that it didn't matter how uncertain she was of what her precise feelings for Robyn were. Between her dreading attempts at gauging their depth, and her oscillating between fantasizing about Robyn and a mantra she'd established to not think about Robyn… the sheer magnitude of time that she did spend thinking of Robyn already compromised the integrity of the line of succession. When it came down to it, it made absolutely no difference whether or not she was in love with Robyn; she thought about her disproportionately either way. For the time being, the harm was done– ergo, she had to come clean.

Standing a few feet from the grandiose table where the three council heads were sitting, Winter ruminated over this instead of paying attention to the meeting. As she came to terms with what she had to do, Winter's eyes remained on the back of the salt-and-pepper head of her superior. How was she supposed to tell him? Hadn't the General chosen her precisely because, aside from her skill, she'd always been so staunchly dedicated to not having a personal life? And now, at what was likely the very worst time, she was straying? And not with just anyone, no. Was there anyone else in the entire kingdom of Atlas that was a worse choice than Robyn Hill? There was no calling this anything else than betrayal. Maybe even such that the General may want to find someone else to inherit the powers.

No, Winter shook off the thought. With how much work had been put into priming Fria's mind with Winter as her successor, there was no recanting from this bid. For better or worse, this was now her destiny.

Her eyes drifted to the empty seat, the one that would in less than two months' time more than likely be Robyn's. Wariness seeped through her bones at the prospect. How they would manage to keep their composure for hours on end, abstain from any telling gestures or any longing glances, or how they could ever address each other again with nothing but the cold courtesy of strangers was beyond her. Or maybe she wouldn't have to, since the General would certainly not have her attend council meetings once he'd be aware of how Winter was compromised. He'd likely do all he could to decrease her contact with Robyn.

Chatter in her earpiece pulled her from her brooding; the voice of one of the command center operators alerted of an Argus airship descending in Mantle instead of reporting to the military base. Winter sighed. More useless paperwork to review. She tuned out the hubbub, returning a listless gaze to the council members. Sleet had been on a long rant about what liberties the military had been taking, and the General had long since given up on appeasing the man; better to let him tire himself out, nod for now and return to business as usual. They'd all understand once the Amity communication tower was launched. Her attention briskly returned to the twittering in her earpiece when one of the operators mentioned the cameras picking up not Atlesian soldiers, but a group of Huntsmen disembarking from the rogue ship. Winter frowned. "Sir," she approached the General, effectively interrupting Councilman Sleet, "we have a situation," she motioned to her earpiece.

Ironwood looked indubitably grateful for her interruption. Without further ado and paying no mind to the protests, he excused himself from the meeting, inserting his own earpiece. He'd barely had time to be brought up to speed when the operators reported a major breach, Grimm in the streets of Mantle. That was the last thing they needed— forces divided between trying to put a hand on the intruders and fighting off the monsters.

As they made their ways through the Academy to the military complex, chatter continued into her earpiece. "Visual on the airship's occupants, they're near Dr. Polendina's lab," said a command center operator. "They're all armed and they—... they've neutralized the Grimm."

The General tapped his earpiece. "Ebi."

The familiar voice came into Winter's earpiece too; "Already on it, Sir. We've apprehended them."

"Do we have any IDs?"

"No Huntsmen licenses," Clover answered. "Except one: Qrow Branwen."

The General's eyes found Winter's; she saw in them the same relief she had instantly felt. He touched his earpiece again. "Have them all brought directly to my office."

There was some surprise in the Ace Ops leader's voice as he answered; "Yes, Sir."

Changing course to head to his office instead, the General glanced her way. "Qrow and… Huntsmen with no licenses," he mused out loud. "His nieces were on your sister's team."

"They were, Sir," Winter said, immediately thinking of the call with their Anima ambassador not even forty-eight hours ago. Things were adding themselves up in her head, falling into place all too well; the Atlas citizen petitioning for special permission to enter the kingdom, the unaffiliated Huntsmen who had helped stop the coup in Haven, and even getting help from a new faction of the White Fang, considering who Weiss's teammate was. Anticipation built with every step as she marched down the corridor, she barely registered Penny joining them a few turns before they arrived at the General's office. And as they were about to enter…

"Oh yay, you made it!" Penny exclaimed.

Winter turned to the group; there were more of them than she'd anticipated. But… yes, indeed as expected, Ruby Rose, and–

Weiss poked her head from behind her teammate. "Winter?"

Having anticipated her sister's probable presence didn't diminish the feeling of relief that washed over her, like a weight was suddenly being lifted. For a second, Winter's brain stopped working, her breath catching in her throat.

Wiggling fingers appeared in her line of vision, in front of Weiss's stunned face. "Anyone wanna give us a hand with these?" The bubble-gum-clad redhead suggested.

Winter straightened her posture, clasping her hands behind her back. Her eyes flew to the soldiers accompanying the group. "You have ten seconds to take those off before I start hurting you."

As the General welcomed them in his office and debriefed these new, direly needed recruits, Winter assessed the group for herself. Between Weiss's letters and Penny's accounts, she felt like she already knew the new arrivals personally. Team RWBY, team JNR, and Qrow, of course. The only one that she couldn't place was the markedly younger freckled boy. Still paying attention to what was being said, Winter's attention nevertheless zeroed in on Weiss's team.

Ruby Rose had certainly matured since their brief meeting outside of Beacon's Main Hall. The young woman looked like she'd come into herself; more self-assured and tangibly seasoned. Even her features seemed less juvenile; the contour of her jaw had lost some of its childish roundness in favor of a slightly more angular, adultlike outline. The two-year age difference with the rest of her team had ceased to be so glaringly apparent. Though her gaze was still clear and decisive, there was a heaviness behind it, no doubt a consequence of the many trials that had led her to be standing in this room today. And between the horrors of that fateful night, learning of the secrets of this world, the impending darkness and humanity's desperate struggle against such an ancient evil, how could one not be changed? It was a wonder that someone so young had not only the valiance and strength of will to undertake such a fight, but also the leadership to inspire all who had followed her here.

Winter's gaze moved to the girl's right.

Yang Xiao Long, Ruby's older sister. She had advanced through to the singles round to represent the team during the Vytal tournament. Winter's eyes fell on the prosthetic arm. Judging by how Yang had fought during those matches, it was no surprise that she would have been reckless enough to get herself injured under the duress of that terrorist attack on Beacon. The blonde brawler was quite the loose cannon, but, as her semblance reflected, also had the resilience to weather the consequences of her actions. The young woman had made a remarkable recovery in such an exceptionally short time, and that she had made it here with the rest of her team was a real testament to her internal fortitude. Nevertheless, no one could walk away from such an injury unchanged, and Winter ventured guessing that it wasn't only the blonde's brazen temerity that had been doused. Both Weiss's letters and Penny's stories had painted the fiery blonde as a jovial and energetic young woman, yet she now came off as quite sober.

And last, but certainly not least…

Blake Belladonna, Ghira Belladonna's only child. Upon first starting at Beacon, she must have been appalled to be teamed up with a Schnee, but knowing how tight-knit the team had become, that must not have lasted very long. Winter's eyes flickered from the cat ears to the young woman's features. There was something feline about them, as there was about the way she moved, and she had a shrewd and analytical glint in her honey-colored eyes as she listened to the others converse. If any part of her being a quiet bookworm —again, as described by both Weiss and Penny— showed through, this was certainly it, because… dressed in tight blacks and thigh-high leather boots as she was, she looked more like a troublemaker than any sort of bookish individual. As Winter's gaze remained on the faunus's features, something else started nagging her, but… it couldn't be, right? Because… wouldn't it have been mentioned at some point in one of Weiss's innumerable letters? Or was it that Weiss didn't know that one of her teammates was queer…? Because she was, wasn't she? Winter's gaydar wasn't infaillible— in fact, she entirely failed to notice at times— but when she did pick up on something, she had yet to be wrong.

Winter narrowed her eyes, as if squinting at the dark-haired young woman would be any help in discerning how accurate her guess was. Maybe it was her faunus senses, but Blake swiftly realized that she was being observed; the gold of her eyes scanned the room to find Winter gazing at her and then darted away instantly.

She's sharp, Winter noted, no less disinclined to stare for having been noticed. Under that watchful gaze, maybe subconsciously seeking the protection of her team, Blake shuffled almost impercibly closer to her blonde partner although she was already standing awfully close to the other young woman.

A small frown broke through Winter's impassive mask; they really were standing very close together.

The soldier's gaze tracked to the brawler again, remembering something in one of Weiss's first letters about needing to get used to the lack of boundaries, constant hugging and such. It wouldn't be unusual for such a demonstrative person to lack boundaries when it came to personal space, wouldn't it? It would be natural for her teammates to have gotten into the habit of seeking her out in return. Yet somehow, telling herself this only felt like a shallow attempt to rationalize suspicions that were quickly engulfing her. That sense was only reinforced as the round table rose from the middle of the office; the group spread out around the room to allow it to rise, and those two remained standing as a pair, inches away from the other. Or no, not even inches; they were standing so close, in fact, that their arms brushed. Now that she was onto it, Winter noticed how, with every new bit of information, Blake glanced at her partner to gauge her reaction… and the blonde did meet her gaze in return every time, without fail. Yang didn't seek her sister —her team leader's— assessment… she cared more to see her partner's reactions and thoughts. How equivocal. Aside from the object of one's affection, who else's reactions might be more valued than one's own family's or leader's? Winter couldn't think of an alternative explanation.

Unable to shake off this suspicion, her eyes drifted again to the faunus in a vain attempt to again gauge the accuracy of her guess, as if something new would magically jump up at her to either confirm or infirm her notion. A cat ear twitched and turned towards Winter, as if acting in the stead of a repressed glance. Evidently, the young woman itched to find out if she was still being scrutinized, but was reigning in the impulse. Seconds later, Blake started fidgeting.

I'm making her uncomfortable, Winter realized, instead fixing her gaze on the General again. Although she refrained from staring anymore, although she managed an impassive expression, the gears in her head were spinning at a dazzling speed. If her hunch was right, did Weiss know? Sharing a room for a year and a half with them, she couldn't not know, could she? And Weiss had crossed half the world just to reunite with them, she loved them from the bottom of her heart. Did this mean that Winter had been worried over nothing? Would coming out to Weiss change nothing of their relationship? She felt her heart accelerate at the thought. Could it really have been this easy? Had Robyn been right to have such trust that it would turn out for the best?

Robyn.

Winter tried to shake the image of her. She breathed out a deep but silent exhalation. She finally had her sister back, shouldn't that be more than enough to push Robyn from the forefront of her mind?

As the audience came to an end and the General released the newcomers to some well-earned rest, Winter called to her sister before she was out of sight. "Weiss? After you've had time to rest and procure yourself some warmer gear, we should have dinner, catch up."

Weiss brightened up. "Maybe we could go shopping together tomorrow?"

"I have a lot of work on my plate tomorrow, so that won't be possible," Winter admitted. "You should go with your friends; they could stand to do the same… and they will surely need your input on how to dress for Atlas climate."

Weiss glanced back at her team. "Oh, yes, certainly."

"I'll be sure to be done and have a clear schedule for the evening."

With a wide smile and a nod, Weiss gave her another hug before following her friends down the hall. Winter caught a glimpse of the Ace Ops awaiting outside the office. The foreboding sensation that she was running out of time overcame her. Team RWBY would be spending a lot of time with the Ace Ops, and it was likely inevitable that they would at one point or another overhear something of those would-be slandering rumours. Winter hated the idea that Weiss would come by this in such a way, which meant she needed to be proactive and speak to Weiss herself. And do it sooner rather than later.

As the next evening rolled around and Winter took a seat at the agreed-upon restaurant she braced herself for this conversation she'd dreaded for over ten years. It looked like Weiss and her team had indeed made the most of their free time as she presented herself in a whole new Huntress outfit. It was the one Winter had seen in her vision, and, though she'd already believed that vision, it made it abruptly clear how much potential there was in the old fortune teller's semblance. Maybe she would do well to go back to her once Salem was revealed to the world, once Winter didn't have as many secrets to be concerned with protecting.

"You look smart," Winter complimented. "This new gear suits you well."

Weiss's lips drew themselves into that smile of barely-contained pride that always surfaced when Winter showed any level of approval. "Thank you."

"Have your teammates also upgraded to warmer attire?"

"Yes, we've all freshened up," she answered, her smile lingering. The same as the previous night in the General's office, the same as every time they met after an extended time apart, there were stars in Weiss's eyes. Winter idly wondered if that sparkling love would dull should she find the courage to come out to her. "You, on the other hand, look… tired."

"...There has been a lot on my plate; stressful decisions. Nothing you should concern yourself with," she dismissed. They ordered and handed in their menus. "How are you settling in?"

"Very well, although I was somewhat surprised that we were to share a room," Weiss answered. "Penny had mentioned that every teen gets their own room at Atlas Academy."

"Spare single rooms were converted in a hurry this last year to accommodate Beacon students. The General offered some scholarships, but we didn't have the infrastructure to give every single extra student their own room," Winter outlined. "Most were happy to have the same living arrangements as at Beacon. Is that not your case? Tired of your team already?"

Weiss scoffed. "Of course not, I'm at my best when I'm with them," she said, and although Winter hadn't had the opportunity to witness it much in person, she was inclined to agree simply from her sister's state of mind through the letters she'd written her during her time at Beacon. "They're not perfect, far from it, but there aren't many others with whom I'd have wanted to face what we've faced."

"Tell me," Winter encouraged.

Weiss leaned forward as she launched into her tale; from the details of her escape, to being captured by bandits and her reunion with her first teammate, to learning of Salem's existence and their victory in Haven, to butting heads with Caroline Cordovin in Argus and the ensuing chaos that ultimately brought them to Atlas on a stolen ship. Weiss spared no details through it all and by the time she was done, they were being served dessert. Winter remembered telling her sister shortly before her admission to Beacon that she wouldn't always be there to protect her. Thankfully, Weiss had grown enough to handle herself, as well as having found trustworthy companions to have her back. It didn't however diminish Winter's desire to shield her to the extent of her ability. She'd always been the one to do so, much more than their parents ever had. Winter's gaze drifted down to her untouched crème brulée, this last thought bringing her to ask; "Will you be going home?"

Being posed this question visibly put a damper on Weiss's good mood. "I don't know if I can bring myself to," she answered carefully. "My stomach is in knots just thinking about it."

"Don't feel obliged to, not if all it will do is bring you pain."

"I feel like I should at least… call."

Winter nodded. "There's no hurry."

"How often do you go?"

Winter didn't need much time to consider her answer; her last homecoming had been an eventful one. Despite knowing what awaited her, she had yielded to their mother's pleas and paid her family a visit. Their father, who she made a point to avoid at all costs, caught wind of her presence and ambushed her, making the evening devolve into a guilt blitzkrieg. Winter hadn't found it in herself to go back ever since. "The last time I went home was when you were still at Beacon."

"You haven't been back home at all in over two years?" Astonished, Weiss had momentarily forgotten her spoonful of dessert halfway to her mouth. "I guess that you were traveling an awful lot, but… haven't you been here for a while now? — Wait, how long exactly have you been back?"

"Five months," Winter revealed. "We missed each other by but a few days."

"Seriously?"

Winter finally started on her own dessert. "It might have been for the best. Would you have left Atlas had I been here?"

This gave Weiss pause. "...I wouldn't have."

"See? And you were clearly needed elsewhere, given all that you and your group have accomplished."

At this, the corner of Weiss's lips tugged into a subdued smile. She really couldn't contain her glee when offered anything resembling praise on Winter's part. In fact, although Winter's stoicism had been something Weiss had always tried hard to emulate, she had never been able to make herself anything less than an open book; her emotions always readily apparent. Winter somewhat envied how it forced her sister to live her life more honestly— although it was something for which Weiss had suffered greatly when home.

"And even setting your group's exploits aside, being home doesn't agree with you," Winter decided. "Better you be away from that environment; it stifles who you are."

Weiss's eyebrows shot up. "I was under the impression that you thought that I needed to pull myself together a little more. You always admonished me for being sloppy."

"Well, you have been," she indicated, earning herself a bit of a guilty look. "However… I might have attempted to impose excessive corrections during your formation; I never meant to try to snuff out what makes you you. Striving for impeccable form was my way to competency, but it's not the only way. It seems that you're more suited to a more… creative approach. You know how to use unpredictability to your advantage."

At this, Weiss had a sort of sardonic half-laugh. "You can thank Ruby for that," she slung, and to answer Winter's mild startlement, she added; "If you think that I'm unpredictable… brace yourself; Ruby doesn't simply think outside the box, she— she doesn't even live in the same galaxy as the box. It drove me crazy at first."

"I remember that from your letters."

"Oh, yes." Weiss cleared her throat.

"You came to acclimate?"

"Yes, it makes her very resourceful, and that creativity got us out of predicaments more than once," she explained. "...Don't tell her that I've said that. She'd become insufferable." With a smile and a nod from Winter, Weiss continued. "Honestly, I… I never could never have suspected how close we would become. Not just with Ruby, but with Blake and Yang too. We're all so different, but… somehow it works."

"Maybe because you're not so different where it matters," Winter suggested, it was after all how she connected with both Robyn and Penny. "Like your values, or your keenness to take action and do what's right."

"I hadn't thought of that," she answered, giving it a short second to think over, "but I think you're spot on, we really are on the same wavelength when it comes to our priorities, moral principles and such."

"It's the most important when establishing a connection. The superficial differences don't matter quite as much," she smiled. "Thinking of it this way, it's no wonder at all that you were driven to strive to reunite with them."

At this, Weiss's face went blank for a second, she forgot about her dessert. "Winter, I didn't leave in an attempt to reunite with them; if I'd wanted to find them… I think I would have gone back to Vale. Ruby and Yang are from Patch, and even had they not been home, their father could have pointed me on the right trail," she explained. "But I headed to Anima because I… I overheard Father speaking with the General. I was looking for you."

Having had never even considered that, Winter was at a loss for words. She felt a cozy warmth flush her body and was momentarily overwhelmed by what she could only describe as a sense of belonging. Although she knew how much her sister loved her, they didn't often openly express affection and it gave a unique weight to every instance.

Weiss reached out and put her hand on hers. "They aren't the only ones who matter to me," she reminded her. "Whether you were physically present or not, you've always been somewhat of a guidepost."

Now her senses blurred and what felt like a boulder developed in her throat. Winter squeezed her hand gently in return. Almost without thinking, she opened her mouth; "There's something that I need to..." her voice failed her. However much this display of love should have assuaged her fears, it somehow instead made them worse. More acutely aware of what she had to lose than ever, she felt her confession stick in her throat.

"You need to…?"

"...I wanted to speak to you about…" Irregardless of being fairly confident of her assessment of Weiss's teammates, and thus of Weiss's lack of prejudice, she couldn't find the courage to come out with it. "Sorry; about your team. Penny mentioned that when she first met you two, you had some sort of important quarrel with Belladonna. You never mentioned that."

"Oh, yes, that," she looked terribly embarrassed. Winter's bizarre segway didn't seem to raise any flags, maybe because Weiss was entirely taken with her mortification over this memory. "Blake… hid that she was a faunus for the first few weeks. She wore a bow that hid her ears," she explained. Although Winter would have recognized the Belladonna name, Weiss had been too young when the uproar began to pay attention to politics and fringe leaders. By the time she was old enough to have a sense of it, Sienna Khan had already been in charge. "I didn't know, and I… made some unsavory comments about the White Fang— about faunus as a whole, really. Looping them all together. I don't even know why I did that— I guess when up here in Atlas, it's the haughty things that we're expected to say, being part of the… elite," that last word was filled with disdain. Weiss, who once prided herself as being part of the would-be aristocracy, now disdained it too. She shook her head. "In truth, I was shocked that Blake was a faunus, I won't deny that, but I… also realized right away that, although I was upset, her being different wasn't what made me upset. It forced me to think about it, really think about all of it— what I said and how I really felt," she paused, maybe reordering her thoughts. "I found that my issue was that she hid such an integral part of herself. We were supposed to be a team—we were meant to trust each other enough to put our lives in each other's hands, and she didn't even trust us with something this fundamental. I felt… betrayed, I guess." Weiss leaned back in her chair. "So when we reconciled, I made her promise to talk to us from then on. I didn't want her to be scared of anything like that again."

With the help of a sip of water, Winter cleared the tight sensation in her throat as Weiss touched on the idea of concealing a crucial part of oneself. "Did she respect that promise?"

She nodded. "Although I did have to corner her again when I noticed some turmoil, she didn't run or lie to me again," then added very offhandedly and almost more to herself; "maybe it was just too obvious that something was going on with Yang for her to try to avoid the conversation."

Winter felt her heart rate accelerate. "Something going on?"

The way Weiss looked at her, like she just realized what she said and was suddenly on her guard, was unlike Winter had ever witnessed. "I meant… because… Yang is her partner, and they had, uh… communication issues," she stiffly dismissed, "as most problems stem from."

It couldn't be clearer that, not only was Weiss hiding something, she also knew how obvious she was being as she apprehensively stared back at Winter. There ensured a strained silence, and Winter couldn't tell if her sister was this awkward because she was uncomfortable with the topic of homosexuality, or if it stemmed from her fear of Winter's reaction to her teammates being in such a relationship. Exactly because she didn't know which it was, Winter didn't know how to tell her that she already knew– probably– and that it was no issue at all.

Weiss hadn't yet shaken off her discomfort as she addressed her again; "Winter, you… I'm sorry it's just— Blake seemed to think that you were staring at her yesterday… It wasn't because… you're weird about her being a faunus, was it?"

"Oh, Heavens, no!" Had she made Blake this uncomfortable? Maybe she should have had a modicum of reserve instead of staring point blank the way she had been. "I admit that I was paying her more attention, but… it's nothing like that," Winter answered as reassuringly as she could, and, although she knew that now was the time to ask, her nerve failed her. "I had never met her or Xiao Long. I was simply… trying to size them up."

Weiss looked incredibly relieved. "That's what I thought! I told her as much."

"I don't hold any of Father's bigoted opinions," Winter added, hoping to open the door if Weiss wanted to confirm what she had clearly circumvented when broaching her teammates' relationship.

"I was under the impression that you didn't, but Blake's concerns made me hesitate for a second," Weiss admitted. "Sorry. I know you better than that, I shouldn't even have doubted."

"Don't worry about it." Although somewhat despondent that this conversation was coming to its natural conclusion without elucidating her suspicions and without having said her piece, she offered a smile. "It was rude of me to stare the way I was, I'll apologize when I have the opportunity."

"Oh, you don't need to, it's nothing but a misunderstanding after all," Weiss waved off. "Honestly… after the last few months, it feels good that this is all we have to concern ourselves about," she said with a chuckle. "I never thought that it'd feel so good to be back in Atlas or to be settled at Atlas Academy… but here we are, and I'm looking forward to having a routine and some sort of structure; to having someone to guide us."

"Such as the mission you're scheduled to undertake with the Ace Ops tomorrow?" Winter said. "Given how your training was cut short, you didn't have much of an occasion to go on missions with professional Huntsmen, did you."

"Indeed. We were able to do so once, on Mount Glenn, but that mission got… derailed. Very literally." Another adventure of team RWBY's; Winter had heard of that too. "At any rate, it will do us all some good to brush up on training with professionals," Weiss said, and she suddenly seemed to remember something; something unexpectedly fierce suddenly burned in her eyes. "Which reminds me— Ruby has issued the most absurd challenge."

This was how, a few days later, as her schedule permitted, Winter found herself in the training room with Weiss, Ruby and Yang standing a few feet away. She hadn't quite understood what had led Ruby and Weiss to escalate a squabble into this siblings challenge, but everyone looked positively psyched.

Ruby pointed a defiant index at Weiss. "May the best sisters win!" She bellowed dramatically.

Weiss pointed right back. "Your fate is sealed," she declared, just as theatrically.

Winter's eyebrows went up in amusement; rarely had she seen her sister so inspirited. Through her letters she'd gotten a small taste of what her friends brought out in Weiss, but it was quite novel seeing it in person. There was no trace of the restraint that her sister strove to maintain when at the Schnee estate; Weiss seemed wonderfully free.

Setting aside her momentary delight, Winter turned her gaze to their opponents. Having watched team RWBY's matches during the course of the Vytal festival, she had a vague grasp of what the two sisters were capable of. As Yang had not only been the one to give the decisive blows to win team RWBY's matches, but also the one to advance to the solo round to represent said team, it was no stretch to estimate that her combat abilities were the best out of the two sisters, which meant that she'd in all likelihood take on the strongest fighter. Along with it an organic match-up of eldest against eldest, it was guaranteed that Yang would target Winter from the get-go. What to expect aside from that? Well, the blonde young woman had been able to barrel through her Vytal tournament matches on raw talent and an extremely powerful semblance. As for her technique… if Winter had thought that Weiss was sloppy back then, the fiery blonde, in comparison, had been bumbling chaos. At the time, Yang Xiao Long had also been an impulsive and temperamental young woman, but it had been a year and a half since those matches, a year in which Yang had to relearn how to fight with her prosthetic arm. Winter steeled herself. As she didn't want to assume her opponent's capacities, she decided that allowing Yang the first move would be telling.

When the buzzer signaled the beginning of the match, Yang closed the distance in a split-second. Given her muscle mass and a clear preference for strength over agility, she was much faster than anticipated. Winter remained faster however, and the look in the pale violet eyes milliseconds before Winter's fist connected with her jaw told of how much she'd underestimated the soldier's ability to hold her own in hand-to-hand combat. Knowing that Winter had helped tutor Weiss, Yang had evidently presumed that she shared Weiss's weaknesses, and so, had expected Winter to be just as defenseless in quarters too close to draw her sword. Let this be a lesson to never make such wild assumptions about a foe.

As the blonde stumbled back, reeling both from the blow and her shattered expectations, Winter decided to put an end to the match then and there— Yang might actually give her a little run for her money if her semblance was allowed to charge up. So, with the firm intent of delivering a blow the brawler would be unable to sustain, Winter threw everything she had into a swift and powerful roundhouse kick. The sound it made as her leg connected to the back of Yang's head; a heinous cunch; left Winter unsurprised to see her opponent's aura gauge plummet into a near-empty red as she was sent flying a few feet away.

Winter instantly resumed her fighting stance, standing grounded and ready, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Although her eyes remained trained on the sprawled fighter, the stillness in the air let her know that both Weiss and Ruby had stopped their would-be offensive in their tracks, in all likelihood witnessing what had just happened. They all waited to see if fire would catch in the blonde hair; if her semblance would activate.

Yang remained motionless and non-luminous.

Did Winter knock her out? She strode over to gaze down at her. "Xiao Long?"

Unresponsive.

Was this a trick? Winter nudged the inert body with the tip of her boot.

Still no response.

Had she overdone it? Winter would never have kicked Weiss with everything she had, but given that pain tolerance was at the heart of Yang's semblance, she likely wouldn't have gone down with anything less than Winter's full strength. She crouched at the blonde's side and turned her on her back to check up on her. Blood trickled from both her nostrils and Yang's already bruising jaw hung limply. Just as worry started to creep in on Winter, the young woman cracked open unfocused eyes. "...Weiss?"

"Winter."

"...Ughh…. right," Yang groaned as an annoyed frown developed on her features. Wincing as she sat up, she brought her hand to the back of her head to rub the sore spot. She threw a bit of a stink eye; "Ow, Winter."

"Are you okay?" She asked, impressed that her younger opponent recovered so fast. The girl could really take a hit.

Yang gave a dispirited sigh, wiping her nose. "Yeah."

Winter extended her hand to her and Yang took it. They stood up together, but the blonde wasn't quite ready to be upright, and promptly stumbled backwards, falling right back down on her ass.

Winter, still standing tall and still holding her hand, gazed down at her. Now that was a little closer to what she'd expected. "...Really, are you okay?"

"Maybe I need to lie down," Yang admitted as both her teammates joined them.

"Yang, what happened?!" Ruby exclaimed.

"I did something dumb," she grinned sheepishly. Well, at least she knew it. "I'm good, don't worry," she waved off.

"Good enough to resume the match?" Weiss asked.

Yang glanced at Winter dreadfully. "Uh."

The soldier shook her head. "We'll reschedule," she said. She didn't truly expect a rematch, but she wasn't averse to one. The fiery brawler would certainly be a more heedful opponent and more of a challenge with that lesson learned. After a quick glance over as her two teammates helped her up, Winter locked eyes with the violet ones. "Get yourself examined by our medical personnel and get some rest."

"Aye Ma'am."

"It's 'Yes Ma'am'. I am neither a naval officer nor a pirate."

The blonde shrunk a bit. "...Yes Ma'am."

As the trio made for the exit, Weiss looked torn between her desire to gloat and her concern for her friend.

"How come you can't do that?" Ruby balked.

"Oh, shut up," Weiss threw back, settling on gloating now that her team leader had slighted her.

Winter lingered a second to cancel the program settings they had entered in the training room interface. That distraction had been short-lived; she'd hoped to be rid of Robyn for more than a few minutes. Shutting the lights, the soldier exited the training room.

"Maybe you should take it easy on the kids," the gruff voice sent a shiver of displeasure down her spine.

Her eyes darted to its owner. "Qrow," she disdainfully acknowledged. He wasn't alone, the two men had gotten into a habit of going everywhere together. She quite liked Clover and couldn't understand why a man like him would associate with someone like Qrow if it could be helped. "You two were watching?"

"Ruby and Yang invited me," Qrow explained. "Dunno what got into them, thinking they could go up against you."

Clover seemed amused. "I like their guts."

"Hm," was Winter's noncommittal semblance of an answer. However much she knew that their nerve was exactly what had gotten them this far since Beacon days, she couldn't say that she loved how reckless Weiss's friends were. Winter felt that the best they could do for them was to train them seriously. "They've faced worse, and will likely face even worse," she pointed out. "Taking it easy on them would be no favor. The girl needs to learn prudence."

Qrow shrugged. "Believe it or not, she's leagues better than she was," he said, "but try and teach fire not to burn, see how that goes."

Winter narrowed her eyes. "Discipline is not an inherent trait; it's a learned skill," she argued back. Everything about him grated her to her core, but worst of it all had always been his nonchalance. In her current state, she had no patience to keep a hold of her composure and what rose from her stomach felt like venom in her mouth. "But I don't fault your nieces for their lack of it, seeing as they had you as a role model."

Silence fell. This was not only a low blow, it had also been gratuitous lashing out, and the malaise in the air made it apparent that it read as such to all three of them. The two men stared at her unsurely.

No matter her personal feelings towards him, taking out her mounting stress on Qrow was inexcusable. "Excuse me," Winter breathed in disquieted consternation before quickly walking off.

Turning the corner, Clover caught up with her. "Schnee, wait," she stopped, "are you okay?"

She half-turned his way but didn't look at him. "...I know that what I said was uncalled for," she said in lieu of answering his question. "I'll apologize properly at a later time, when I've… composed myself."

He acknowledged with a nod, but didn't seem satisfied, as he lingered unsurely. The tense silence was disrupted by a notification from Winter's scroll. She glanced at it right away, hoping for an excuse to cut the moment short.

R: 1 Message

The Mantle politician hadn't reached out in a week now, effectively respecting her word to give Winter some breathing room, and now effectively making her wretched state worse in a split-second.

Clover's amused voice brought her back to the present; "Is Penny still texting you fifty times a day?"

Winter put her scroll away. "No. I have another spammer."

"Let me guess; Weiss?"

"A sensible guess," she acknowledged, knowing that he would take this as a confirmation. The man gave no signs of letting her be, and it was probably that pesky notification waiting on her that made her exceptionally sensitive, but she was rapidly getting irritated with his lingering. "Is there something I can help you with, Clover?"

"I thought I'd check on you. You've been in a bad mood lately, and not just around Qrow– you've been in a bad mood before they all landed here."

"So I have."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not."

"Okay," Clover sighed, unfortunately still undeterred from dwelling. "Well… he's here to stay, you know. We need all the help we can get."

"I can work with him if I absolutely must, but I'd rather avoid him otherwise."

He put his hands on his hips in mild consternation. "Why are you so hostile to him? Did you two get into a fight?" Before she could answer, he added; "No wait, don't answer that last one— you destroyed Beacon grounds."

Winter felt herself redden in embarrassment. She couldn't believe that she had let Qrow goad her into a fight that day. How utterly humiliating. "The animosity predates any of that," she disputed. "All our interactions have been tinted by our first meeting. He said some vile things that day."

"Well, would it help if he apologized?"

"...I don't know."

Clover was perplexed. "Really, huh? Can I ask what he said?"

"He's your new best friend, ask him."

"See, I did ask him. All he could say was that you didn't like him from day one, but he doesn't remember what happened that day, he said that he—..."

"He was too drunk," Winter wryly finished for him.

What hung in the strained silence that ensued was loaded understanding. It wasn't hard to make the connection as to why Winter would have such a short fuse when dealing with drunken behavior.

"If it makes any difference… he's sober now," Clover said.

"Good for him."

It was apparent that he was growing bothered with her uncooperativeness. "Look… we both know that it wouldn't mean anything if he apologized without knowing what happened," Clover reasoned. "You guys might be able to start putting it behind you if you could have an open conversation."

"I won't go up to him and demand apologies," Winter grumbled begrudgingly.

"That's fair, I'll talk to him. What did he say?"

She held his gaze, considering her options. Although she had no energy to spare to try and work on her relationship with Qrow of all people, keeping silent felt childish and unproductive to her. If Clover wanted to make it his cause and expand his energy to resolve this, why not let him? "Paraphrasing," she forewarned, as she certainly wouldn't repeat Qrow's derogatory and downright filthy language, "something about me being an ornamental artifact with no other purpose than to reinforce the public perception of the General's influence or prestige, immediately followed by some rhetoric about myself being a conceited rich girl with daddy issues… which he then had the grace to follow up with some 'helpful' advice that I might resolve both being 'stuck-up' and that other issue should I get a certain substitute father figure to— until I can't walk straight. And some other things along those lines. You get the picture."

Clover's expression had become undeniably stilted; his head receding further and further into his neck as she'd spoken like he was slowly recoiling. "I get the picture," he confirmed. "Really sorry."

"You don't need to apologize for someone else's crass behavior."

"I know, but I'm still sorry that you had to be on the receiving end of that kind of behavior," he said. "He just went off like that the very first time you met him?"

"Within a few minutes. I imagine that between my position at the General's side and my name preceding me, he had a fixed idea of who I was before I ever met him."

Observing her contemplatively, Clover crossed his arms. "So… you don't know if it'll help even if he apologized?"

"I'm not claiming that because I want to be difficult," Winter clarified. "You know just as well as I do that alcohol doesn't create any thoughts or feelings out of thin air— all it does is remove inhibitions. Which means that Qrow really does think all that of me," she pointed out. "Him saying 'I'm sorry that I voiced it' all the while still believing it truly amounts to nothing. So no, I don't believe an apology would change anything."

"I get it," he sighed gently, then took a second to consider now that all the cards were on the table. "Listen… maybe that really was his first assessment, but I'm willing to bet that he doesn't believe any of it anymore."

"What makes you so sure?"

"At the very least, he's seen you fight— fought you even. He knows what kind of skill you have and that you're not just there to parade around because of your name," Clover pointed out. "For the rest… I'll talk to him."

Winter shrugged some of her stiffness off, rolling her shoulders lightly. "If you so wish."

"I so wish," he answered with a wink. With this, he made to turn and head back to where he'd left his friend.

"Clover," she called, stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes flickered to the polished floor for a fleeting second before they found her colleague's again. "...He's sober? Really?"

"Really," Clover confirmed.

Her gaze dropped again. "Hm."

He huffed a half-laugh. "What does that mean?"

Staring in thought at the white tiled floor, her hands clasped themselves behind her back as she took a moment to pinpoint what exactly it was that she felt. Maybe it was the mounting weariness of the last weeks that had worn her down, but all she felt was that… holding a grudge was exhausting, she wanted to let go of that. And why not give the man a chance if he truly was attempting to better himself? Having a less antagonistic relationship with him could only prove to be productive in the long run. Her eyes found her colleague's again. "If he really is making such efforts, then… I'm open to moving past everything," she conceded. "It's not fair to hold someone to nothing but their rock bottom."

His amusement abating to a softer smile, Clover gave her a last nod before taking his leave. As Winter watched him disappear around the corner, the conversation lingering within her, she couldn't help thinking of her mother. Maybe the day would come when they would be able to turn the page and close that unpleasant chapter. Although… Winter suspected that this couldn't happen unless her parents separated, and she wasn't holding her breath for it to happen; as her father's agenda required for things to remain just as they were. That was true for the undisputed control of the Schnee Dust Company he held just as it was true about his political ambitions. Not that he held any chances of victory thanks to…

And of course, she glanced at her scroll again.

R: 1 Message

Robyn hadn't contacted her since that night they'd spoken outside of Dr. Polendina's office in Mantle. Wondering where she'd find the strength to make herself reject her advances again, and anxious that this could be the straw that might break the camel's back, Winter vaguely considered not opening it. Her fingers moved without her consent.

R: I hear that your sister's back. I'm happy for you, I hope that having her around cheers you up.

Somehow this message was worse than what Winter had anticipated, because Robyn was only being supportive; no bids to pressure or tempt her meant that Winter couldn't rightfully be angry with Robyn. There was still some budding irritation, but… it was more a 'damned if she did, damned if she didn't' situation, as she was vexed with Robyn for being considerate– it would have been so much easier to brush her off in anger if Robyn had been pressuring her. Winter was also irritated with herself that she found it felt good to know that Robyn was still thinking of her, and that it took everything she had to not respond. If she started answering Robyn's messages it would only make it easier to answer the next one, and the next one, and indulging in this wouldn't help Winter shoo her away from the ever-present position she held at the forefront of her mind.

She scrolled through all those unanswered messages again. Knowing that the woman whose touch, whose kiss she yearned for so achingly would readily fulfill her every desire should she simply reach out to her was excruciating. Robyn was just a touch of a button away, a lapse of just a few seconds; one single indulgence; could plunge Winter down a path that would compromise everything. And yet she still stared longingly at those messages, some devious voice at the back of her mind whispering sweet temptations. How many times now had she completely torn herself to shreds holding this internal argument? Her heart was at war with her mind, and it left her prey to another restless night, rest which she would have given much for as the next day rolled around with yet another fire to douse.

Protests were erupting in Mantle over the accessibility of voting locations and fears of voter suppression. Robyn herself had yet to emerge, but all three of her teammates had appeared in various news broadcasts, either straight up interviewed or filmed organizing the crowds. In normal circumstances, Winter would have been dispatched to the ground to overview the security as troops were posted strategically around the inflating crowds. But since her face was on looping broadcasts, everyone had agreed that her presence might actually inflame the crowds more, and so Clover took over that duty for the time being, taking with him half his team. They were going to dispatch everyone to the city, but Megoliaths had been spotted in the vicinity of the Amity launching site, and so, it was left up to Winter to ensure the welfare of their project. For the first time since her broadcast messages had been recorded, Winter was glad to be the spokesperson. Not being on protest grounds and avoiding the risk of seeing Robyn in person again was a relief.

The small, elite team she was to lead felt highly unusual to her; more often than not, she led larger forces, and when she did have to fight, it was alone or with her default partner, Penny. As the Protector of Mantle however, the girl needed to make a show of her presence in the city that day. Winter was otherwise able to choose her pick for her team, and she settled on Elm, Vine, Weiss, Blake, and Yang.

The two Ace Ops were a sensible, reliable pair; neither were headstrong, showy, or foolhardy, and Winter trusted them both to get the job done in the most efficient and unostentatious way. This would leave her the freedom to observe Weiss's growth, and… maybe, just maybe, finally have the opportunity to figure out what was going on with her teammates. It had been a little over a week since the new recruits had settled in Atlas, and with Winter having barely crossed paths with those two, she hadn't had much chance to observe them interact. There was always this… sense, however, this unspoken expectation that everyone had of never finding one without the other. It was like everyone implicitly understood that they came as a set, although no one openly acknowledged what may underlie this inseparability, and Winter hadn't been able to find it in herself to bring it up unprompted or without cause.

The dispatch went without a hitch. Although more Grimm had had time to amass since they'd been briefed, they were able to clean up the area in under an hour. Having had a vague idea of team RWBY's capacities didn't prepare her for the full pageantry of their work; it seemed like every member had taken a page or two out of their team leader's book– the originality and ingenuity was astounding, and Winter was surprised at the ease with which Weiss roped her into their beat. This was almost… fun.

With a last sweep to ensure the site was clear and unscathed, Winter caught up to her sister, who was typing away at her scroll, walking a few steps behind her teammates.

Yang stretched her arms above her head. "I love those missions. Training's good and all, but actual destruction has its own special charm," she excitedly threw. "Feels good to have a bit of space to really blow off steam."

"Right," agreed her partner, "and god knows you've got pent up energy if you don't get to work it off in the field."

"What, is it too much for you to handle?" the blonde teased.

"You tell me," Blake snarkily shot back. "Haven't I been handling you fine?"

"More than fine, kitten," Yang suggestively answered.

The look that they exchanged reeked of sexual tension, such that it managed to destabilize Winter. If she'd been pretty certain from day one, there could now be absolutely no doubt left. It was so blatant in fact that one had to wonder if they were advertising what was between them. Weiss, on her part, didn't bat an eye; continuing to type away on her scroll as though this was nothing out of the ordinary.

Disconcerted but emboldened, Winter gathered her nerves before this chance slipped by her. With one hand on her sister's arm, she halted her, allowing some space to stretch with the rest of the group before she addressed her. "Weiss, your teammates…?"

"What about them?"

"They're an item?"

"Oh, that," Weiss rolled her eyes. "They haven't officially said anything about being together yet, but… it's been a thing since Beacon. They're getting around to resolving issues they've had; it's a long story," she offhandedly explained. Her scroll's screen was lighting up with all sorts of gifs—Ruby's method of communication was remarkably similar to Penny's— and Weiss started typing again as she resumed walking. "For convenience's sake, just consider that they are together."

"I see," Winter said, amazed with how utterly unconcerned her sister was with two of her closest friends being queer. "You're awfully casual about it."

At this, Weiss stopped in her path and looked up to her again. Her expression changed in slow motion; something akin to disillusionment settling on her features. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded. "Do you think I shouldn't be casual about it?"

"No, no— that's not it at all." But Weiss's expression continued to progress in its disenchantment. "Weiss, that's not why I—"

"You told me that you didn't hold any of Father's bigoted views!"

This being the first time in their entire lives that Weiss cut her off, it took Winter a second to shake off the shock and find her voice again. "I don't, and that comment wasn't meant to imply that you shouldn't be casual about it."

"Then what did you mean by that?"

"It was nothing but surprise. Before you left home for Beacon, you still held quite a few discriminatory views yourself, at least in appearance."

Her temper somewhat assuaged, Weiss nevertheless gazed at her with one dubiously squinted eye. "...Yeah, well, I've done a lot of growing up since then."

"I see that," Winter rejoined, and breaking the still hesitant silence that ensued, she added; "Weiss, I'm glad that you're rising to your friends' defense… in fact, it makes me feel silly for worrying so much about talking to you."

"About what?"

"About… me."

Weiss's face went blank as she computed what she was being told. Finally, her jaw slackened. "Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, Winter, I never knew." She latched onto Winter's arm with both hands. "I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel like—... Winter, nothing could have ever made me love you any less, certainly not something like this, even back when I was more… sheltered."

How odd it felt to be comforted such; Winter couldn't remember another time where Weiss had been the one to reassure her. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and along with it a colossal weight was lifted off her shoulders, dissolving in smoke. She rested her hand over Weiss's, feeling a smile grow on her features. "It's an immense relief," Winter admitted.

Visibly still reeling, Weiss's mouth kept hanging open as she strained to reorder the million thoughts and questions jumbling themselves in her head. "Now it makes so much sense that you've never mentioned any relationships, Father would have been unhinged if—... Is that why you— did Father make you give up your position as heir because of that?"

"No, no, he doesn't know, neither does Mother or Whitley," Winter said. "But it certainly factored into why I never wanted the responsibility of being head of the SDC."

"I totally understand that, people are so narrow-minded here," Weiss said dazedly, finally beginning to recover from the shock. Giving a glance over to the rest of the group who was now boarding the ship, she lowered her voice slightly. "So… does anyone else know?"

Winter's gaze lingered on Elm and Vine for a second; she hadn't told them anything but… "I believe it's an open secret," she said. "Although I never addressed it with my colleagues, it seems they were all already under the impression that I preferred women. Or so I heard from Clover."

"Oh," she took a second to digest what that might mean, and her features slackened with a bit of a downcast look. "Then… did you only tell me because you felt like I would find out one way or another?"

"No– No, Weiss," Winter trailed off; after all, for such a long time, telling her had never been on the table. "I… admit that there was a moment in my life when I thought that I'd take that secret to the grave, but… as I accepted it for myself, as I got more comfortable with it, keeping it stifled started to feel claustrophobic. I hoped that there would come a day where I could be honest with you, and… I… Recently, someone in whom I was confiding my concerns about coming out to you brought up something that reassured me— she said that lately, you were coming off to the public as a little rebel."

Weiss almost dropped her scroll. "A rebel? Me?"

"Shall I remind you of the uproar you've caused in the short time you've been back home only to run away?"

"...Okay, she might have had a point."

Winter felt herself smile lightly. "This perspective made me consider that you're not one to be told what to think or how to behave, certainly not by Father or by Atlesian expectations, and it gave me hope that it meant that you would be unprejudiced," she explained, earning a small smile from Weiss in return. "Believe me, knowing that you may overhear something… it only pressured me with a sense of urgency to talk to you; it wasn't whether or not I told you, it was simply about how fast I could gather the courage to do so."

She nodded, satisfied. Her gaze darted to the rest of the dispatch team now boarding the ship. "Soooo… it's not meant to be a secret, then? I don't have to be careful about not saying anything?"

For a short moment, Winter had to wonder if, to be asking such a thing, her sister expected to be gossiping over her love life… but this train of thought didn't continue very far. "You mean, you want to know if you have to hold your tongue around your friends?" She asked. "You expect to discuss this with them?"

Weiss gave her a guilty look. "I mean, when Blake came out to me, I told her that I didn't know anyone who was gay. You made me a liar."

Although she had the slight impression that this was nothing but a cop-out for her urge to gossip, Winter let it slide. "As I've said, it's an open secret; if they don't hear it from you, they'll more than likely hear something from the Ace Ops sooner or later."

"Right," Weiss answered, her lips then tightened, like she wasn't sure if she should ask, but did anyways; "Did it make you uncomfortable that people were gossiping before you were ready to be open about it?"

"Hm. Had I known, it might have. However, it only came to my attention quite recently, when— " Grazing Robyn's involvement once had already felt risky enough and bringing this up only felt like asking for trouble, but Winter abhorred the idea of lying about any of this any longer. As much as she could, she needed to be honest. "Clover noticed that— ... that a woman was flirting with me, and was… encouraging for me to entertain the prospect. The fact that he was under the impression that I could reciprocate another woman's affections brought to light those assumptions which, I learned, are apparently wide-spread."

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Reciprocate."

"That's irrelevant."

Weiss shrugged with a somewhat fake nonchalance to her. "I think it's very relevant. Because if Clover had noticed that you did… then maybe all the blame isn't to be laid at the feet of those rumours."

Surprised to be so brazenly exposed, Winter wasn't able to formulate a concise answer quick enough to avoid Weiss drawing some conclusions.

"So you did reciprocate!" Weiss exclaimed, bright with unabashed curiosity. "She's who you were confiding in about coming out to me, isn't she? So you're dating her? What is she like?"

"I'm not dating anyone," Winter promptly answered, and to Weiss's undeterred demeanor, she felt pressured to throw her a bone; "You're right, yes, she's the one whom I confided in, but nothing developed; I nipped it in the bud. Now's not the time for me to divide my energies."

"I see." Weiss observed her contemplatively. Although Winter mustered her best composure to cover up how sensitive this topic was, whatever showed through on her features was enough to betray her feelings. "You're sore about having had to do that," Weiss noted.

Winter sighed. "I am. But it's important that I keep my priorities in order," she motioned to start walking, the rest of the group had all boarded and were waiting for them.

Weiss trotted after her. "So… What is she like?"

Robyn's cocky smirk floated through her mind. Winter's eyebrows twitched into a frown. "Aggravating."

"... Aggravating?"

"Very. She's impudent, boisterous, and completely unmanageable." At this, Weiss's lips drew themselves into a subdued, facetious grin. "What's so amusing?"

"Oh, nothing," and to Winter's expectant silence and single raised eyebrow, Weiss added; "It's just that… I think that at the back of my mind, I expected you'd like a woman just as composed as yourself, but… in retrospect, this might make more sense. I've seen the level-headed one go for the rowdy one before." Although she hadn't named names, it wasn't lost on Winter that Weiss was referring to her teammates. "Besides, your life is nothing but rigorously regimented order. Maybe it was inevitable that you would find yourself charmed by someone who'd shake things up; no one can live their entire life like this."

At this, Winter faltered. Weiss knew a thing or two about needing to break free from domineering structure. Granted, Weiss's had been authoritarianly forced on her by their father, while Winter's was a self-imposed bid for purposefulness, but… she had to wonder if she'd pushed herself too far. Anything pushed to excess inevitably became pathological. Whether it was self-imposed or not, too much order was stifling— suffocating even.

Certainly, the draconian discipline by which she had lived had had its place and borne its fruits. For one, in her teens Winter had gotten a hold of her depression by putting herself together in a methodical way, setting her feelings aside and focusing on sculpting herself into someone useful, pushing herself to trudge forward until she stumbled across a path meaningful enough to shine light on the darkness within. It had worked, and she'd since never re-evaluated her way of being. Discarding her pain or desires, to instead focus on doing what she must, no matter the cost, was just how she did things.

Yet now, as she considered what Weiss had said, she suspected that this coping mechanism had become obsolete long ago, and not only that, but without truly realizing it Winter was already starting to leave it behind. Wasn't her attraction to Robyn evidence of that? Robyn was such a break from form, wasn't it evidence of Winter being ready for change, of needing change?

What did this mean? Was she to rethink her entire way of being at such a critical time? Rattled by what doubts had emerged, Winter made herself brush it off for the time being. "Maybe your and your friends' presence will prove to be turbulence enough for me," she suggested, trying to convince herself by the same token.

Weiss gave her a pointed glance. "We're not unruly children."

"Children, no, indeed. But unruly? We've already established that you have been," she reminded her. Weiss sucked in her lips in apparent shame, and Winter rested her hand on her shoulder. "I wasn't chastising you. You were very stifled by Father, this newfound freedom has done you some good."

A cheeky grin, Weiss boarded the ship too. Winter exhaled shortly, trying to shake off her newfound doubts about the strict firmness of purpose she'd adhered to; upon which she'd relied on so staunchly to keep Robyn at bay.

—TBC