Chapter 2

The Best-Laid Plans

Ruby wasn't exactly sure what proper protocol for thanking heroic huntresses for apprehending international criminals was, but she was pretty sure locking them in an interrogation room wasn't involved.

She squinted against the blinding white light directly above her, barely able to make out the vague form of the interrogator pacing threatening circles around the table at which Ruby was seated. "Glynda Goodwitch, Beacon academy professor," was the only introduction Ruby had been offered before being subjected to the most violent tirade of a lecture she'd witnessed in her admittedly short fifteen years of experience.

"I hope you know," Weiss tittered, "that I'm enjoying every second of this."

Her earbuds and mic were state-of-the-art tech: miniature, extremely durable, and nearly impossible to notice at a glance. While this made them invaluable for the vast majority of situations that Ruby found herself in, it also meant that they went tragically undetected when she was brought in.

I need to investigate the possibility of a mute function.

Her interrogator finally ceased pacing, instead opting to plant her hands on the table and lean towards Ruby menacingly, finally giving the girl a clear look at her face. Her most dominating features were piercing green eyes, the severity of which was emphasized by the small spectacles that framed them. Short blonde hair and grim-set lips completed the impression of a stern disciplinarian, and one who was clearly not finished with chewing out the girl before her.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, young lady?" Glynda hissed, face only inches from Ruby's. The small girl shrunk back.

Well, I've stopped a robbery and apprehended an internationally wanted criminal. How about you?

"Stopped a robbery?" Ruby replied meekly. The things I do to get into schools.

"Stopped a robbery?" Glynda echoed incredulously. "Stopping a robbery, Miss Rose, would have been calling the police. No, no, what you performed was nothing short of unrestrained brutality on auraless men!"

Ok, not going as planned.

"Do you know where those men are? What you've done to them? All of them are in the hospital, undergoing intensive care. The doctors suspect one of them will die, miss Rose."

Probably the first one. I knew I hit him too hard.

"There is a reason, Miss Rose, that huntresses are meant to fight the Grimm," Glynda continued ruthlessly, unaware of Ruby's internal quips. "Your aura bears a heavy responsibility, and your conduct tonight speaks very poorly of your ability to handle it. Were you one of my students, I would have you immediately expelled for severe lack of discipline."

"But they started it!" Ruby protested, voice tinged with just the appropriate amount of indignation.

"And you could have stopped it responsibly, without resorting to unrestrained vigilantism!" Glynda roared. "Those men were auraless, Miss Rose! They stood as much chance against you as a mouse against a cat. While your subduing of Roman Torchwick was skillfully handled, you have demonstrated a dangerous disregard for the value of human life!"

An uncomfortable silence dominated the wake left by Glynda's rampage. Ruby's mind operated in overdrive, trying to come up with something, anything to say that could still salvage her chances of getting into Signal. Uncharacteristically, nothing came to her.

"I'm sorry," Ruby finally said. The lie slipped smoothly from her lips, supported by the perfect undertone of timid shame. "I just wanted to help."

Glynda leaned back, and the inferno in her eyes diminished to a low burn. "Intention does not make right, Miss Rose. Nonetheless, I appreciate the sentiment."

She turned and opened the door. It slid into place silently.

"You've heard my piece," she sighed. "Were it up to me, there would be repercussions for your actions tonight, but someone else has other plans."

A man walked into the room, and Ruby's heart skipped a beat. He was tall, so tall that he had to stoop under the low door frame, with a head of medium length grey hair and a pair of spectacles that gave him a very academic appearance. Ruby recognized him instantly.

Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon.

It was frustrating, being so close to her mark and unable to act. All she had to do was reach out and she could practically touch him, but there was no way she could take both him and Glynda on and win. She was a devastating force, but both of them were very experienced hunters, and incompetent people didn't live long enough to claim that title.

"Hello, Miss Rose." Ozpin's voice was deep and soothing, almost slow, but just the sound inspired respect and attention.

"I've contacted Cinder," Weiss informed her in a whisper. "She's assembling whatever forces she can, but I don't think it'll be much. Assume you're on your own."

Guess I'll have to play along.

"Hi," Ruby responded nervously.

"Do you know who I am?" the headmaster asked, pulling up a seat directly opposite her.

Somebody I really want dead.

"You're the headmaster," Ruby said. "Of Beacon."

"Indeed," Ozpin affirmed. He leaned in slightly, and Ruby reflexively shied away from him, intimidated by the scrutiny of his gaze.

"You have silver eyes," Ozpin mused, half to himself. "And a unique family name."

Ruby felt a thrill of uncertainty course through her.

Why the random comments? Is he probing my reaction? Or is he subtly telling me he knew my mother? What should I do? He hasn't really given me anything I need to react to. Just wait for more?

She looked back at him with uncertain discomfort, a reaction that required no acting: she was unnerved.

Weiss let out an irritated hiss. Ruby barely restrained a startled jump. It wouldn't do to make the two Beacon professors even more suspicious.

"Adam refuses to commit the White Fang. He's calling it a waste of life and resources. You're completely on your own," Weiss growled.

Which was unfortunate, because Ruby had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to act. Luckily for her, Ozpin steered their conversation into more easily navigated grounds. He motioned to Glynda, who gave him a scroll that he promptly revealed to Ruby. The screen played a repeating loop of her fight with Roman and his goons, and now that she saw herself from a third person perspective, Ruby had to fight back a wince. Glynda was right to have been so hard on her; despite the fact that she had fought unarmed, the barely restrained lethality with which she moved spoke of long experience in killing. Forget getting into Signal, she would be lucky if she didn't prompt an investigation into her past. Weiss's forged documents were good, but neither of them wanted to find out how they would handle strict scrutiny.

I shoulda held back more, Ruby thought ruefully.

"And how did such an adorable girl learn to fight like this?" Ozpin asked, and Ruby heard the subtle accusation, even though his tone was neutral: Why do you feel so dangerous?

"My uncle taught me," Ruby said cheerfully, deliberately misunderstanding the headmaster's question. "I was complete garbage before he took me under his wing, but now I'm all like hwaachaaaaaaa!"

Her words were partially true. Uncle Qrow had been a tough, extremely effective teacher, but he had only taught her how to use her scythe, and with the expectation that she would become a huntress who used her skills for good. Unbidden, the image of her other teacher jumped to mind: a small frame and sadistic smile, casually twirling a parasol as she ruthlessly beat the incompetence out of her student, mercilessly ignoring the pained cries of the young child.

"Indeed?" Ozpin said, and Ruby wondered if he had detected the half-truth. He was an opaque man, and she was having a terrible time trying to read him. "And why did you choose to learn from such a dusty old bird?"

So he knows uncle Qrow. No surprise there.

"I want to become a huntress," Ruby said seriously. I want power. "I want to do good, to help people." There's so much evil unseen in the shadows while the world watches the Grimm.

"Besides," she gushed, and the words are ashes on her tongue. "Being a huntress is just so cool! I mean, the police are good, and there's plenty of ways to help people, but they're not so romantic!"

I will cleanse the rot that took my mother.

"I see," Ozpin said. He cast a sidelong look at Glynda, who huffed in resignation and looked away. "Then I have a proposition for you, Miss Rose."

"Yes?" Ruby said, and she felt a faint hope blossom. Against all odds, had she managed to make it?

"How would you like to be a student at Beacon this semester?"

No. No no no no.

"Beacon?" Ruby responded weakly. "Not Signal? Aren't I too young?"

If she went to Beacon, all eyes would be on her as the young prodigy who got in three years early. She needed time to build trust with Ozpin and establish a support base, not have the attention of an entire academy!

"You've demonstrated skill that is more than sufficient for Beacon," Ozpin said, and for a moment Ruby thought she saw a steely glint in his eyes. "I'm sure you'll find that you fit in."

"You'd really take me?" Ruby stammered, eyes wide.

Accepting was crazy, foolish even. But if she turned it down, there was almost no chance she would make it in any other way.

Ozpin smiled. It was a gentle smile. "It would be a pleasure to have you, Miss Rose."

Checkmate.

"In that case, I'd love to."

All lies.

::-::-::-::-::-::

"Again."

His shoulders and legs burned with exertion, sweat ran down his face in stinging rivulets, and his breath tore itself from his chest in agonized, shaky gasps, but Jaune Arc did not complain. He knew better. An Arc did not complain; it was beneath him. Instead, he obeyed.

"Yes sir," his mouth instinctively reacted.

How long had he been going? Four hours? More? Six? Eight? The sky had still been a sleepy shade of pale pink and orange when he had awoken, but in the constantly shifting light of the Arc family training room it was impossible to tell the passage of time.

Around him, machinery whirred as training dummies lumbered into place once more. Makeshift walls slid around him, yanked by unseen hands, and the lights dimmed one by one until only a few remained, feeble beams of illumination in the oppressive gloom. When, at last, the mechanical puppeteers had finished their craft, Jaune found himself in a wide, makeshift clearing, barely illuminated in a murky facsimile of twilight.

Another dummy moved behind him. Where its peers were made of wood and metal, durable materials meant to strike and be struck, this one was floppy and delicate, a patchwork collection of cloth and string. Any blows it took would be readily apparent: cruel scythes in overripe grain. This one represented the mark.

Killing others was easy. Protecting oneself only marginally less so. The real difficulty of combat came in protecting the weak, the panicked, the clueless. Every Arc understood this truth.

"Are you prepared?" the steely voice of his father rang out. The question was a formality. He cared not whether or not his son was prepared. Neither would an assassin.

"I am," Jaune intoned.

"Then do honor to your name."

The words still rang through the chamber when the dummies sprang to life.

Half a dozen of them moved as one, charging forward in an ungainly float, brandishing the wooden mock ups of weapons. Behind him, the mark fled, a simulation of the panic that often gripped the untrained. Jaune kept pace cooly, shield braced in preparation as he backpedaled. A wooden arrow flew at him from the darkness, then another. He deflected them with his shield, heedless of the vibrating ring that traveled through his arm. The mark finally stopped, trapped by the edge of the clearing, and Jaune stood in front of it, an implacable gargoyle in the face of the tide.

The mob reached him. Jaune did not care.

He moved with methodical efficiency, blocking a blow from a wooden sword and striking the dummy on the head at nearly the same time. It withdrew, sensors registering the hit as lethal. The others crowded around, some rushing at him, others at the mark. He prioritized the latter, dispatching them with clean, powerful blows from his training sword or smashing them away with his shield if they got too close. He took a few hits, but such a fact was meaningless. He had aura. No Arc would fall from a few measly attacks.

More dummies had gathered into a second attack wave as Jaune finished off the first, and they hit him before he had a chance to catch his breathe. Despite his exhaustion, Jaune kept his motions tight, exerting no more energy than was strictly needed. One, two, three, four, his blows fell in meditative rhythm, a song of stability in a fray of chaos. His eyes scanned watchfully for the sneak attack that would inevitably attempt to brush it's way past him, and a faint glint of metal in the dim light revealed the stealth of a dummy that had broken away from the pack.

It did not reach its target.

And then it was over, his foes broken before him, and where lesser men may have felt pride Jaune surveyed his handiwork with cool acceptance.

"Well done. You are a credit to this family."

He turned to face his father. A steely, unflappable man, Sebastian Arc was a man who had seen much and lived through all of it. Grim blue eyes and a face dominated by hard lines drew attention away from a perpetual limp, a memento of a mission gone bad.

Jaune shoved aside his weariness, forcing his body into ramrod attention. "A shield to the helpless."

"And a sword to the wicked," his father completed the family motto. "We must end your training for today. I have received word that a distinguished guest desires to speak with you. Make yourself presentable and show yourself to the parlor within an hour."

Jaune bowed. "By your command."

Cleaning himself up was a simple affair. A quick shower was all he really needed. The hardest part was determining the clothing he would wear. His father had not mentioned who he would be meeting with, likely a deliberate test of his ability to prepare for many possible situations. Eventually, he decided on an Atlas academy uniform. Formal enough to be suitable for all occasions, and it would emphasize both his youth and subtly suggest the power and discipline he held as a member of the Atlesian elite. After a few minutes to ensure his appearance was up to his father's strict standards, Jaune realized that he still had half an hour left. Since his father would likely appreciate the time to suitably greet the guest, he settled down to wait, only leaving for the parlor when three minutes remained.

The Arc family parlor was unquestionably the most comfortable part of their home, but even then it shared the same sense of spartan functionality that characterized the rest of the household. It was an open, well lit room with large windows and muted curtains, but sparsely decorated, with only a heavy wooden table and a small vase with a few flowers. Sturdy but relatively comfortable chairs surrounded the table, one of which was occupied by his father. Another was occupied by their guest. She rose to her feet when he approached.

She was a tall woman; Jaune was six feet tall himself, but she beat him in height by an inch or two. Her movement was precise and controlled, and her eyes were sharp and focused. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun. This was a woman, Jaune was sure, that his father would approve of, a woman to whom discipline came as easily as breathing. He bowed towards her, making sure the movement was crisp and from his waist. She nodded to him in response, then held out her hand towards him. He grasped it.

"A pleasure, madam. I am Jaune, first son and third child of Sebastian Arc."

She offered him a faint smile in response. "Hello, Jaune. I am Glynda Goodwitch, professor at Beacon Academy. Your father speaks very highly of you."

Her words surprised him. Beacon? Wasn't that in Vale? Why would a Beacon professor be visiting an Atlesian family?

"Beacon is in Vale, is it not? How was your journey?" Jaune said. He glanced at his father from the corner of his eye, but the man remained as distant as ever. At least he wasn't cringing.

"Uneventful, thank you. Your Armada does an impressive job keeping airborne Grimm at bay. I made it here in only a few hours."

"I'm glad to hear we were of service," Jaune said politely. Idly he noticed a teapot and two empty cups on the table. His father had already offered refreshments, then. Glynda motioned towards a chair, and Jaune took a seat next to his father. She followed suit by taking a seat in her own chair.

"What brings you out to Atlas, madam?" Jaune said when they were both settled, taking care to ensure his tone was politely neutral, void of any subtle accusations.

"I have need of a young hunter with great skill, and the Arc name is highly regarded." Glynda responded, and Jaune could sense her faint approval of his conduct. "Your father assures me your skills are sufficient, should you be inclined to accept."

That the request fell to him caught Jaune by surprise. At 18 years old, it was only a matter of time before he was assigned missions, but a Beacon professor? That was a very high profile client. He glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye, but the man gave no hint. Surely one of his older sisters would have been selected instead…

Unless they were too old.

"Does this have to do with Beacon?" he asked.

Glynda nodded slowly. "Essentially. I suspect Headmaster Ozpin is in danger this semester. I think a bodyguard is a wise investment, but he's a stubborn man. He is unwilling to entertain the idea."

"But a bodyguard posing as a student could go unnoticed," Jaune finished. Glynda did not respond, instead choosing to eye him appraisingly.

"It is a very difficult assignment," she finally said. "Far more than a normal bodyguard. While going unnoticed is not necessary; it is very important you go unsuspected. The manner in which you achieve that is ultimately your choice, although you would of course have my support."

"Would Beacon even accept me?" Jaune asked.

"I'm in charge of admissions. Most of the time, anyways," Glynda said with a dangerous grimace. "It won't be a problem."

"How long will you require my services?"

Glynda shook her head. "I'm not sure. I think many of the political battles that make the Headmaster a threat will conclude by the end of the year. You will likely not be needed longer, but I make no promises."

Jaune looked at his father for confirmation. He received a silent stare in response. The choice was his.

"You are familiar with my family's rates and policies?" he asked to stall for time.

"I am. Your father and I spoke at length. Suffice to say there are enough people interested in the headmaster's well being that money will not be an issue."

Jaune could find nothing wrong with what the professor was proposing. In fact, he should be honored that such a high profile client was his first. Even so, a part of him wished that he could have taken time building his skills and confidence. He felt a flash of uncertainty, but quickly slapped it down. Such emotions had no place in an Arc.

"Then I see no reason to refuse. It will be an honor to work with you, madam."

Arc or not, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he wasn't ready for this.

::-::-::-::-::-::

A/N: Wow. I'm really blown away by chapter one's reception. Thanks to everyone who favorited and followed, and extra thanks to those who reviewed!

Polarity will (very) loosely follow canon until initiation. After that, everything's fair game.

As you've probably figured out by now, character personalities may vary wildly from canon, although I try to keep it logical within the grounds of the AU.

As always, I'm very open to feedback and constructive criticism. Please let me know what you think!