I hate the Oxford comma.

Jaune could accomplish many things. He fought super mutants, survived in irradiated wastelands, wielded a chainsaw sword and defeated grimm. The challenge currently before him, however, was not one he felt quite ready for.

"It'll be fine," Pyrrha assured him with a pat to the back. "All you have to do is smile and wave. And shake Sparrow's hand after he puts the medal on you. Then shake a few more hands."

"Hmph." Jaune adjusted the tie around his neck for the umpteenth time that evening. The suit he wore felt just a little too tight, a little too warm.

"Just pretend like everyone out there is naked!" Nora told him.

"And how is that supposed to help?"

As it were, JNPR was behind a big curtain in Beacon's formal hall. It was the very same room where the dance had been held. He and his team were hidden up behind the stage where, during the dance, the band had been. Now, however, there was a very different group of people out there at the moment than reveling teenagers with their chaperones.

JNPR and RWBY were about to be given medals for their courageous actions during the Breach, which already felt like it happened a year ago. Everything since that fateful day in Mountain Glenn, that furious battle on the train, that disastrous destruction in the city… it had all been a big blur. Time had whipped on by, full of training, tears, fear, anxiety, happiness and recovery.

It had certainly taken a while for this all to be arranged. Apparently, Sparrow and other significant people in Vale had their hands full dealing with the fallout of the Breach, leaving little time for ceremony. Not only that, but a deluge of special security was required for this. Undoubtedly, the Enclave and the White Fang would take whatever chance they could to attack those who had foiled their plot.

Consequentially, Beacon had been abuzz with Atlesian soldiers, police from Vale, hunters that Ozpin had asked to come by and the private security for some of the notables who attended.

They had been handed a dizzying list of all the people who would be there and… well, it was certainly the most important people in Vale. Ozpin, of course, would be attending along with Miss Goodwitch. General Ironwood would be there as well. A representative from Vale's largest faunus rights organization was there. The chief of police in Vale. Several senior ranking hunters. An ambassador from Mistral. The general of Vale's small army. A few major philanthropists.

Also the single most prominent man in Vale.

"Ah, hello ladies and gentlemen," came a voice from the other side of the curtain. "It is my greatest pleasure to address you all tonight…"

Prime Councilor Sparrow.

The man had met with them briefly after he arrived at Beacon. He looked even older in person than he did on television. His forehead was creased with wrinkles, and his whole face was narrow and nearly emaciated. When Jaune had shaken his hand, it felt more like he was gripping a skeleton, so thin was the man's skin, so spindly his fingers. He leaned on a cane while he walked, an antique wooden one that clacked loudly against the floor.

One might have thought of him as a weak and sad figure. Until you met his gaze, that is.

When they shook hands, Jaune had looked Prime Councilor Sparrow in the eyes, and that had wiped clear the impression of feebleness that his physical condition originally inspired. His irises were such a deep brown that they appeared practically black, mixing perfectly with his pupils; it felt to Jaune like he was looking into two bottomless pits. Yet these voids still radiated such intensity of attention and focus that the man's gaze was practically a physical touch. Jaune could have sworn he felt something pressing into him. It was a look honed over the course of decades navigating the lower tiers of Vale's political jungle, then decades more spent at the very top of it.

He spoke clearly and with a grandfatherly voice. He used soft tones when he mouthed his words. Every sentence was a compliment or a congratulation. His teeth were white as fresh-fallen snow, certainly fake dentures.

Yet all through that, Jaune did not believe the man blinked so much as a single time. Those eyes were hungry. His gaze did not feel like something you could avoid.

Such it was that Jaune could not help but think that everything the man said, he said under the impression of that hunger. He spoke and moved always with machinations in his mind, with calculations going through his head. He had mentioned multiple times how this event was going to be on every channel in Vale, how he was so glad to be associated with young heroes such as the fine huntsman and huntresses before him.

Jaune was left with the impression that he was being appraised like some product at an auction.

Vale's next elections were, after all, just a couple years away. All the better for Sparrow to have heroes in his pocket.

"I feel a little… weird," Pyrrha had said after meeting him. Jaune had agreed.

He had not forgotten the things that Victor had told him. Sparrow had been in charge as far back as the fall of Mountain Glenn, a disaster which was as close as Sparrow had ever come from losing his grip on power. Even that, however, had not managed to shake him from his place. The voting districts were drawn in a way that favored his party and allies in his party's ruling coalition. Polling places in neighborhoods and areas that were less inclined to vote for Sparrow's Unity Party were sparse. Sure, everyone agreed that Vale was hardly as authoritarian as Atlas or oligarchic as Mistral, but to what extant was the people's power true? Sparrow had made some reforms in welfare, education and social security—because of that, there were thousands of legitimate supporters who believed he was doing a good job. He was also good friends with the richest men and women in Vale, people who regularly provided cash for his party's robust campaigns. The Sparrow also supported many pro-business policies was coincidental. He had survived as Vale's Prime Councilor for thirty years due to an ultimate shrewdness and keen ability to manipulate both on the individual and mass level. He also took advantage of the fact that people were afraid of change; in a world surrounded by grimm and vicious threats, most just wanted stability and continuity. In every campaign, he savaged the "inexperienced" and "incapable" opponents who would bring in the unfamiliar.

The man in question continued to speak behind the curtain, going on about unity in hard times and whatnot. Despite being so old, his words did not waver; they felt stable, calm and worthy of attention.

All of this helped make Jaune all the more uncomfortable as he waited. The thought of being before a crowd was itself disconcerting, let alone in front of tv cameras that would broadcast it to thousands more, let along with a powerful man of questionable moral standing.

"I feel like," he muttered, "something… I don't know."

"Hm?" Pyrrha, standing beside him, was the only one to hear that he said something. Nora and Nora and Ren were chatting about something further away, and RWBY had yet to arrive—cutting it close, as usual.

"I don't know," Jaune repeated. "I just feel like… I mean, I never asked for this. Did you?"

"What, the awards?"

"Yeah," Jaune said with a furrowed brow. "I mean they just sorta declared it."

"That they did…"

"Feel like I've just been swept up in all this, never had a say," he said while crossing his arms and frowning. "All of this being decided for me. Give the me the medal, sure, but why do I have to be put on primetime? What's with the concert? I mean, I thought we tried to tell them that we didn't want it…"

"We certainly did," Pyrrha said with a sigh. "I don't feel very comfortable with this fanfare. A smaller ceremony, a few pictures, that would have been enough. This is…"

"A show?"

Pyrrha nodded. "I think Sparrow may be using this for himself."

"I think I agree…"

Jaune had wanted to unleash the full force of his stubbornness and refuse to attend this, but the others had convinced him it was for the best to simply get it over with. So, all he could do now was wait for the speech to end. Then he would have to step out there… with cameras from every news station in Vale trained on him.

Jaune wiped a hand across his forehead to get rid of some of the sweat. It was not hot in the room.

Millions of people are going to see him. All of Vale. People from all around the world—

His thoughts were interrupted by a door swinging open behind them. What he saw blew his worries away like a breeze scattering dead leaves.

"Hello, hello," Yang said. Hands on her hips, she proudly strode into the room with her white dress. She spoke in an excited whisper, trying to convey her excitement without interrupting the speech on the other side of the curtain. "The crew is all here to get our trophies!"

As nice as it always was to have Yang around, Jaune looked straight past her.

Ruby came in behind her sister somewhat meekly. She shuffled on her feet for her lack of skill with heels. She looked just like she did on that night at the dance, with hair, makeup and dress all in order. Jaune found himself walking to her right away.

"Hey there," he said, "you're almost late."

Ruby had a small smile as she neared him, went up on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his for just a second, a short and sweet kiss that said "hello" and "I'm happy to see you."

Then she shuffled back a couple steps, blushing slightly, and said, "Well, the right shade of red finally came in, so we had to paint it before this. It just feels better."

"Right shade?" Jaune was confused for a moment, before he looked down and realized that Ruby had been holding her hands behind her back since she came in. "Can I see it?"

Ruby hesitated; for a moment, a light of uncertainty flashed in her eyes. She looked down at the floor, then slowly brought her right hand out.

Where once the Atlesian prosthetic had been a pure white, now it was painted a strong crimson. The shade of red was indeed perfect for Ruby, as it matched her cape and Crescent Rose exactly. No longer would she have a jarring bone-white break in her color.

"It's a lot more fitting," Jaune agreed. Without hesitation, he grabbed her robotic hand with both of his own. The steel plates were cold and hard. Jaune had always loved the feeling of Ruby's soft, slim fingers.

Yet when he held the prosthetic, Ruby squeezed his hand in her grip; it was light but firm, no different in power or compassion from how her hand of flesh and bone would have grabbed him.

Jaune smiled, because it still felt like her.

Then they heard the voice from beyond the curtain. "Now I won't take up any more of your time words. This night, after all, is not dedicated to me but to the young heroes who risked their lives to divert tragedy."

The words made Jaune's skin crawl. Being a called a 'hero' still felt unnatural to him. He had done so many awful things… but they were in the past, weren't they? Could he really move on?

Do I really deserve what I'm getting?

He glanced to Ruby, and from the nervous look on her face, he could tell that she was thinking things much the same. After all, she had flatly denied the mantle of hero for her performance at the Breach, even if Jaune and everyone else would say that she earned it.

"Alright, you're up," said a stage attendant. She motioned for them all to head out through the curtain and into the limelight.

Jaune squeezed Ruby's hand one last time before letting go. They had mutually agreed to keep their relationship a secret from the public, lest it bring down even more popular attention to their personal lives.

Jaune shuffled up to the little gap in the middle of the huge stage curtain. He stopped just before it, feeling a lump of trepidation in his stomach. All eyes on him. God, how we would rather be facding down a beowolf in this moment.

Pyrrha came up beside him, and when he looked over, she gave him a thumbs up. That helped ease some of the tension in him.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He stepped through the curtain.

"He looks extremely uncomfortable," Miss Goodwitch said. She sat at a small table in Beacon's grand hall, sharing it with only General Ironwood and Headmaster Ozpin. They all looked at JNPR and RWBY as they walked around the other tables in the room, shaking hands with the most important people in Vale. They wore shining medals around their necks, each one a gilded print of the seal of Vale. The hall had been in constant applause as Sparrow gave them each their own in turn, and now it was time for the teens to come out and greet their audience.

They met businesspeople, politicians and even one of the Achieve Men, who had spearheaded efforts to raise funds for families affected by the Breach. Several of the girls were keen to take pictures with him in particular.

Among them all, however, was Jaune Arc. His smile was practically nonexistent, being little more than strained malformation of his mouth. His shoulders were hunched, awkwardly creasing his suit. He snapped his head just a bit too quickly whenever someone new addressed him, startling a few people.

"Well, this is certainly one of the only situations that I think can truly put him on the backfoot," Ozpin replied. "He quite quickly gave me the impression of someone who hates attention."

Miss Goodwitch frowned. She had half a mind to walk across the room and help shepherd him to his seat, warding off more would-be conversers. The press only made it worse, for a dozen different photographers scurried around in the periphery or uncomfortably close; their cameras clicked a thousand times a second in a din reminiscent of cicadas in summertime.

"He'll be alright," Ironwood said. "This is nothing more than discomfort. He'll keep dealing with this through the tournament."

"Unfortunately, you are correct," Ozpin replied. He brought his mug to his lips and sipped; not even at a formal event such as this was he to be separated from it. "I know Mr. Arc is certainly mysterious enough for people to be only further intrigued by him as a celebrity."

"A shame that acts of heroism are repaid by a theft of privacy," Goodwitch said.

"It's certainly difficult to be suddenly thrown into this," Ironwood agreed, "especially at for children."

Any further conversation was cut off when a man in Atlesian guard came up to them. He swiftly went to the general and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, Ironwood made no change of expression. He promptly replied to the man under his breath. The attendant then nodded and hurried off and out of the room.

"An update on security?" Ozpin guessed.

"Indeed," Ironwood said with a sigh. "It's certainly an added difficulty, coordinating Qrow, the other hunters, my personnel, the police and the personal security. Thankfully, the red tape has proven the most difficult part of all this. All of Beacon's grounds and the perimeter miles around is completely secured. There will be no more party-crashing like what happened at the dance."

"Excellent," Ozpin said simply. "We must keep our guard up as long as the Enclave, the White Fang and… others are still active. The risk of reprisal is too high."

Both men noticed that when Ozpin had mentioned "others", Goodwitch had tightly balled her fists and grit her jaw. Neither mentioned it.

"Well, our position is only getting stronger, Ironwood said. "Further personnel, including top specialists, will be here soon."

You know, Sparrow is not based off of any irl person. If anything, he's a bit inspired by Scrooge, at least in terms of a thin old man driven by self-interest. Fantoche isn't inspired by anyone in particular either, but more by the trope of "unusually young politician coming to the forefront."

And poor Jaune, suffering from success.

Feel free to leave comments, reviews and questions! See you soon!