AUTHOR'S NOTES: The plan was to write the big Penny vs. Cinder fight (no, the other one), but then I realized that I needed to get the reason why that fight happens arranged first. I also wanted to answer a question canon RWBY hasn't-just what did happen to Gretchen Rainart?

It's another short, somewhat talky chapter again. It's also late. It's been a very long week, as I'm helping some family move, and it's not easy to pad out a few thousand words after you've been loading boxes all day.

Schnee Manor North

Zagan, Republic of Poland

2 September 2001

"She's stable." Dr. Reinhard Schurz sat down heavily at the huge table of the dining room. The dawn streamed in through the windows. Across from him sat Weiss, May Marigold, and Ruby—the latter scarfing down chocolate chip cookies at an alarming rate. Then again, Weiss thought, watching her with a mix of revulsion and fascination, Ruby had earned her somewhat disgusting breakfast: as promised, she had donated a lot of blood to keeping Nora Valkyrie alive. "Leutnant Valkyrie is out of danger."

Weiss breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Doctor. I know it was difficult, being rushed over here into a war zone in the middle of the night."

"Not an issue," Schurz assured her. "The Schnee family has been paying me a very generous retainer for over a decade. When you call, naturally I will answer." He smiled. "And it was an honor to help save the life of a brave pilot. Not everyone in Germany is merely hoping this Salem person will go away."

"That's nice to hear," May put in. "Considering we're the only thing standing between Germany and her."

"May, please," Weiss said. She'd noticed that the Happy Huntresses seemed to have a collective chip on their shoulder. "What's the next step, Doctor?"

"My team and I will keep her under observation for the next 24 hours, but as I said, she's no longer in danger of dying from blood loss or shock. She's young and in exceptional shape, so she will make a full recovery. Her leg was not broken, so that was also some luck." He toyed with a napkin set on the immaculate table. "Leutnant Valkyrie will need to undergo several operations in the future, though—skin grafts. Her right leg was sliced open to the actual bone. She also suffered some nerve damage and cut tendons in her arms—we repaired those, but she may still have some minor loss in feeling, at least for awhile."

Ruby paused in her eating. "Scars?"

Schurz nodded. "They will be extensive. There's nothing I can do about them, either…she'll need a plastic surgeon to hide them, and even then. Thankfully her helmet and mask spared her face, and her survival vest protected her vitals."

"She'll fly again, right?" Ruby asked.

"It will be some time, but yes, I should think so."

Weiss stood, leaned across the table, and offered her hand. "Then, Doctor, on behalf of our squadron and the Schnee family, we thank you for saving our friend's life."

Schurz took her hand. "My pleasure, Hauptmann—though you should thank Hauptmann Rose there as well. Her blood transfusion made the difference. Make sure you get your blood sugars back to normal, fraulein."

"No worries there," Weiss said, as Ruby returned to demolishing the cookies.

"We've turned the guest bedroom into an operating theatre and recovery room. Give your friend about eight hours, then you can see her." Schurz advised them, then he paused. "I understand the hospital at Swidwin was full of other casualties, but why move Leutnant Valkyrie here? Why not the military hospital in Berlin?"

"She's safer here," Weiss replied. "Get some sleep, Doctor. We've reserved the rest of the guest bedrooms in the annex for you and your staff."

"I'll do that." Schurz got up and left the room.

"I think we all need to get some sleep," May said. "Robyn wants me to stick with you guys until you come back to Swidwin…which will be when, exactly?"

"24 hours, no more," Weiss told her. Technically, it was Ruby that would make that decision, but it needed to be done as soon as possible. Nora would be safe here, just in case Salem was looking for more prisoners. It was why Weiss had insisted on bringing her to the Schnee summer home: after losing Oscar, they couldn't be sure if Salem now was personally headhunting the 77th TFS. "We're also going to be working on fitting out the Gulfstream for Ruby's plan."

"Oh yeah, that," May nodded, without much conviction. She got out of the chair. "Got a barn or something I can bed down at? With you Schnees, even that's probably more luxurious than the barracks."

Weiss let the insult pass; the Marigolds weren't exactly hurting for money themselves. "You can take my bed, May. I'll take the couch in the main living room."

"Couch suits me fine. Reminds me of college. Good night." May walked out of the room.

Ruby offered Weiss the last cookie, and the former heiress gratefully took it. "Want some coffee?" Ruby got up to grab a mug.

"No, and you shouldn't either, Ruby. You're going to be wired as it is." Weiss ate the cookie. It was excellent, courtesy of one Klein Sieben. Exactly one hour after Jacques Schnee had been hauled off to prison, Whitley had rehired the butler. She licked her fingers and wished Ruby hadn't eaten the rest. "I'm off to bed. I hope you don't mind bedding down in a sleeping bag in my room. Blake took the other guest room." The manor held quite a few bedrooms, originally for Nicholas Schnee's boar hunts. Jacques had used it for politician junkets.

Ruby poured herself a mug of coffee and followed Weiss. "Nope. Wanna make a tent?"

Weiss laughed. "What are you, twelve?"

"No. Do you want to make a tent or not?"

"I have a canopied bed, Ruby!"

"So you've already got one. Cool." She noticed Whitley coming towards them. "Welp, see you in a bit."

"Ruby," Weiss called after her, "did you get hold of Yang?"

"Couldn't get through; lines are jammed. I'll call her later—Robyn will tell her and Pyrrha and Ren where we went." Ruby waved, slugged back the coffee, and went upstairs.

"Guten morgen," Weiss greeted Whitley.

"Guten morgen," Whitley replied, switching to German as well.

"Sorry for what I did when we got here. That was…probably out of line."

"Shoving me to one side and telling me to get the hell out of the way?" Whitley shrugged. "Your friend was in danger. Still, yes, you could've simply given me a second or two." They began to walk down the hallway. "You still haven't explained why you brought her here. Dr. Schurz would've met you anywhere."

"One of our friends was taken prisoner by Salem's people." Weiss explained the Hound's raid. "She's not likely to look here. We're not taking chances."

"I understand." He put his hands behind his back, slightly dropping his shoulders; Weiss recognized a mannerism of their father. She had seen a lot of Jacques Schnee in Whitley, too much for comfort. Weiss felt ashamed that she had simply assumed her brother would become as rapacious and power-hungry as their father, and abandoned him to an empty house with a father who didn't care and a mother who was a drunk. No wonder he wanted to stay in Britain, she thought. It was the only place he felt safe.

Weiss was about to say something when they heard a distinct thump from the sitting room, a reception area Jacques used for smaller functions. Weiss and Whitley both rushed in that direction; his eyes widened as she drew her PPK from its shoulder holster—Weiss was still wearing her flight suit. They reached the room and Weiss flung open the door, leveling the pistol.

There was no mysterious redhaired Faunus or special forces team in the room. There was just Willow Schnee, lying sprawled on the rich carpet, a mostly empty bottle loosely held in one hand. "Oh, no," Weiss groaned.

"Verdammt," Whitley cursed. "And she'd been doing better. It must have been the stress of seeing your friend…or something else." He brushed past Weiss and went to make sure their mother was still breathing. Weiss holstered the gun. Her mother was a binge drinker, the kind of alcoholic that could take just one drink…and then be unable to stop. If she could resist taking that one drink, she would be fine, but if Willow had so much as a shot glass of schnapps, she would then empty whole bottles. From what Weiss saw on the sideboard, her mother had indeed emptied three of them, and they weren't small bottles, either.

"I thought she had stopped," Weiss said.

"She had been dry for almost a month. Ever since you got back." Whitley shook his head. "I don't know. With her, who does?" He peeled back one eyelid on her; the blue orb instantly rolled back. "She's out. Well, help me with her."

Weiss almost went to go get Klein. The sight of Willow Schnee like this, wearing a nightdress similar to Weiss', brought back so many bad childhood memories. At least Willow was clothed this time, and she wasn't raving: though their mother usually just quietly drank herself into oblivion, there had been a few times she had become a raucous drunk, walking into Jacques' dinner parties in her underwear, or no clothes at all, just to make her husband look bad; once or twice, she'd even become a fighting drunk, attacking Klein. It was long the butler's job to keep Willow under control, while Jacques kept Willow's excesses out of the press. But seeing Whitley struggling to get their mother to a sitting position was enough to get Weiss at his side, helping him. Willow came around enough that she was able to get her feet somewhat under her, and they were able to drag her from the room. Weiss wrinkled her nose at the stench: her mother smelled like she had bathed in schnapps, and given the wetness of the front of the nightdress, she'd evidently accidentally poured some down it.

Klein saw them dragging Willow out of the sitting room. He dashed ahead of them—not that the somewhat corpulent butler was particularly fast—and motioned them towards the guest bedroom. Weiss knew why: there was no way the three of them would be able to get Willow to her bedroom upstairs.

The butler knocked twice and opened the door. "Pardon me, Captain Belladonna? I'm quite sorry to disturb you, but I need you to gather your things and come outside, quickly."

"What's going on?" Weiss heard Blake say, her voice thick with fatigue. As soon as Nora had come out of surgery, Blake had gone to bed.

"Please, miss. It's rather urgent."

"Okay, give me a minute." Klein closed the door. True to her word, Blake opened it again less than a minute later; being a fighter pilot and Marine had conditioned her to waking up quickly. "What's going…oh." She saw Willow slumped between her children, and turned away. Weiss turned red in embarassment for her mother. "Do you need some help?"

"No, we've got it," Whitley replied, and helped Weiss move Willow into the guest room.

"Please take Frau Schnee's bedroom this morning," Klein told Blake. "And please, Captain Belladonna…don't speak of this. I am sorry that you had to see it."

"No…not at all." Blake looked at Weiss sympathetically, then left.

Once they got Willow on the bed, Klein shooed them off. "I will take care of her," he insisted.

"God knows you've done it plenty of times before," Whitley said. "Klein, once you've gotten her cleaned up, I'll wait up with her awhile. Make sure she doesn't start puking all over herself." He turned to his sister. "Weiss, she'll be all right. Go to bed, huh?"

"Of course," Weiss replied. She watched as Klein gently pulled off the nightdress, then turned away to give her mother some privacy. Whitley had done the same. On impulse, she reached out and hugged him, fiercely. "I'm sorry." She was surprised to find herself nearly in tears. "I'm sorry."

He was surprised just as much, even as he returned the hug. "For what?"

"For everything." Then Weiss did something she hadn't done in a long time: she kissed her brother's cheek. "I love you, Whitley. You're a good man." Then she left, wiping her eyes.

Whitley rubbed his cheek, and saw Klein smiling. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing at all, Master Whitley. It's just good to see something decent come out of this mess."

Weiss nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner to find Blake standing there. "Sorry," the Faunus girl said. "Didn't mean to scare you." She looked down. "Also didn't mean to see your mother like that."

Weiss sighed. "It happens. We thought she was doing better, but…I don't know. Maybe seeing Nora all torn up made her go for the schnapps."

"Thinking it could have been you," Blake finished. "Or Winter."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Weiss admitted. She was about to say something more when there was a loud knock from the front door. Weiss' hand darted for her PPK, but Blake put a hand up. "I'll get it. I doubt it's anyone bad."

"How do you know? It could be Salem's bunch again!"

Blake snickered. "Weiss, speaking as a former terrorist, we didn't exactly knock on the front door." She went to the aforementioned front door and opened it a little, then all the way.

"Hi," Maria Calavera said, pushing Blake aside and walking in, leaning on her cane. Behind her was Pietro Polendina, who looked apologetic, and Rissa Arashikaze, who didn't.

The Palace of Culture and Science

The Ruins of Warsaw, Republic of Poland

2 September 2001

Oscar Pine leaned up against the brick wall of the cell, spent. He had, at least, been freed from his position on the wall, and his hands and feet were no longer bound; the redhaired wolf Faunus had evidently been instructed to take off the zipties. He had also left Oscar a fresh bottle of water. When he had asked the Faunus if he could be taken to the bathroom, the Faunus had merely pointed to a corner of the cell and left. Any time Oscar started to nod off, there would be a solid kick to the door and a shout of "No sleep!" He was still naked, and the cell's damp coolness had begun to seep into his skin, providing yet another bit of pain.

Oscar took a drink of the water, but only a small one, not knowing how long the ration would have to last. He hurt all over, and he could only see out of one eye. The other was swollen shut. Hazel had done as ordered, and never punched Oscar in the stomach. He'd merely punched him everywhere else. Any movement was agony, because several of Hazel's blows had been below the belt, and glancing down, Oscar could see that his testicles were badly bruised and swollen. There were also at least three teeth lying on the brick floor, and he could feel several others that were loose. One ear was ringing as well. Still, Oscar reflected, it could be worse. Hazel had lost his temper and exhausted himself, just beating Oscar; his fists gradually lost their power, and several punches had missed or glanced off of him. Realizing that made him think he might just be able to outlast Hazel.

Of course, Oscar reflected, Hazel might just be the least of his problems. Salem wasn't kidding when she said there were other ways to break him; Oscar had read and heard the stories at survival school of physical torture so horrific that men had gone insane with the pain. The most effective torture of all was the one he was probably undergoing now: being allowed no sleep. Oscar knew after 72 hours of no sleep, he would probably tell Salem everything, just for ten minutes of rest. Exhaustion would break him far sooner than physical torture—though if some of the horror stories were true, Oscar knew he couldn't handle those, either.

He looked up at the cell door, and gave it a try, closing his eyes. There was no sound, and he thought he might have gotten away with it when there was a clanging kick and the familiar "No sleep!" Oscar wondered what would happen if he just ignored the Faunus, but then he heard the door locks drawn back. Oscar opened his eyes and let his head thump back against the wall. It was Hazel. His hands were bandaged again, but not as thickly; in one hand, however, he held something that looked terrifyingly like a fan belt.

"Oh, shit," Oscar groaned as Hazel grabbed him and flung him against the wall. Against that strength, there was nothing he could do as he was made to face the wall, his hands brought up over his head, and fastened to the overhead hook, leaving him dangling again, his toes just brushing the floor. He steeled himself for the bite of the fan belt, knowing there would be no way he could stop from screaming. He heard Hazel slam the door shut, and the heavy footfalls of the big man. He wanted to cry, knew he shouldn't, and tried to think of something pleasant, like the Nebraska farmland after a good thunderstorm, or when he'd graduated from Pensacola, or Ruby's naked skin under his fingers—

Abruptly, Oscar realized that Hazel was not hitting him. He dared checking over his shoulder: the big man was just standing there, the belt in one hand, but not coming any closer. Finally he reached out and spun Oscar around to face him. To his surprise, Hazel regarded him with almost pitying eyes. "Just give her what she wants," he rumbled. "You can't hold out forever." He held up the belt. "I don't want to do this."

"You sure did earlier," Oscar reminded him.

"Yes. Because you're the only thing of Ozpin's that I can hit." Oscar winced, knowing he'd just reminded Hazel of why he was here.

"Wait, wait," Oscar pleaded. "Hold on. Why the hell do you hate Ozpin so much?"

Hazel paused. "You don't know?" Then he rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't. Ozpin would never have admitted it, not even to his brat."

"Hazel," Oscar said, "I never knew him. I never even met him. I didn't even know he was my father until a few months ago, when the CIA told me. I thought my father had died in a car accident. My uncle on Mom's side helped raise me."

Hazel stared at him for a moment. "You weren't at Beacon?"

"No! I was in Pensacola, training. I heard about it—we all did—but I was nowhere near there!" Oscar couldn't believe it, but his desperate gambit to keep from being beaten more seemed to be working. What made the situation even stranger was that he was telling the truth. "I don't know why you hated Ozpin. I mean, he dropped this crap in my lap, Hazel! I probably hate him nearly as much as you do!" The latter was something of a lie—Oscar resented his father, but could not bring himself to hate him.

Hazel was silent for a long minute, then walked over and leaned against the wall. "Her name was Gretchen," he began. "Gretchen Rainart. My sister. We were both Air Force—US Air Force. I was ten years older, but Gretchen…she wanted to follow in big brother's footsteps." He looked at Oscar intently. "Why did you want to become a pilot?"

Oscar tried to shrug, which was rather difficult, dangling naked from the wall. "Mom did tell me my father was a pilot. My grandpa flew Hellcats in World War II. So I took some flying lessons from my other uncle, who had this old Stearman cropduster. Fell in love with it. I decided to go Navy." Oscar wondered if he was giving up information that he shouldn't under the Code of Conduct, but then decided this fell into giving the enemy something—he'd certainly made Hazel work for it.

Hazel nodded slowly. "Small world. Our granddad flew Corsairs. Marines, VMF-214." Oscar knew the squadron: the infamous Black Sheep. "Flew Sabres in Korea. Dad went Air Force, flew F-4s. Me…well, I guess you know how it is. I ended up in A-10s." Hazel seemed lost in thought, and Oscar wondered if he was aware his prisoner was still in the room. "Gretchen was a fair pilot. Not great, but fair. Not good enough to be a fighter pilot, so they pipelined her into C-141s. She didn't want that. She wanted to be like Granddad, Dad, and Big Bro." His hands tightened into fists. "She lobbied the Air Force hard, then tried to transfer into the Navy. That's when Ozpin noticed her. So he pulled some strings, got her into F-15s. She did all right. Not great, but all right."

"What happened?" Oscar asked.

"He chose her for Vytal Flag," Hazel said bitterly. "She wasn't ready for it. Nowhere near. But he pushed her. Said she had potential. And she crashed on her second training sortie. Split-S too low and dived into the ground. A more experienced pilot wouldn't have even tried it, but she did…trying to impress him." Hazel bared his teeth. "Trying to impress Ozpin. And he killed her." Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking better of it. Hazel walked over to him. "What do you have to say to that, Oscar Pine? What was left of my sister, my beautiful little sister, filled a plastic baggie."

"You're right. She shouldn't have been in that F-15," Oscar agreed.

An eyebrow rose. "Then you're saying Ozpin was wrong."

"Yes. Probably."

Hazel suddenly grabbed Oscar by the jaw. "You're just saying that to avoid a beating!"

What the hell, Oscar thought with resignation, he's going to beat the shit out of me anyway. "If I was," he struggled out, "I wouldn't say that she was also trying to impress you."

"You little fuck!" Hazel punched Oscar, catching him in the nose. Blood erupted from his nostrils and dripped to the floor. "How dare you!"

"She was!" Oscar insisted. "Listen to me, Hazel!" He was punched again. "Listen, for God's sake! Maybe I joined the Navy because I was trying to impress a father that I never knew! Ruby Rose—she's trying to impress the ghost of a dead mother!" Oscar knew that would be no news to Salem, who had undoubtedly murdered Summer Rose. "And Yang—she's making up for the failures of her deadbeat mother!" Hazel's next punch stopped halfway. "God, Hazel, we're all doing this to prove something!"

Hazel blinked. "And what was Gretchen trying to…" His voice trailed off, as he realized what he was saying. His hands dropped. "Ozpin still got her into that situation," he argued.

"I agree. And I'm not just saying that so you'll stop hitting me." Oscar licked blood off his lips and spit it onto the floor. "Though I would appreciate it if you did."

Hazel barked a short laugh. "At least you're honest." He stepped back from Oscar. "Listen, kid. You can't stop Salem. No one can. Believe me, the first thing I did after she captured me was take a swing at her. She threw me to the ground like I was nothing. And then she did it again. I've seen her army, Oscar. I've seen everything. There's nothing on this planet that can stop her. The best thing you can do is give her the password to that damned computer. The sooner you do that, the sooner I stop hurting you, and the sooner the war's over."

Oh God, Oscar thought, hanging his head. That I can't do. The thought of Salem with access to JINN made his blood run cold. She wouldn't have access to the Maidens, but she'd have access to everything else. "I can't," Oscar said, his voice breaking. "I can't."

Hazel bent down and picked up the fan belt from where he had dropped it. "You've got guts, kid." He raised the belt, then stopped, and lowered it. "I'm not going to use this. Not yet." He reached forward and wiped Oscar's nose on his sleeve. "Give her what she wants, Oscar. Just do it. Don't make me use this. I don't…think Gretchen would approve." Then he left the room, leaving Oscar dangling in the cell.