Chapter 32

Carry On

XXXXX

This was bullshit. Everything about this was bullshit. "Let me get this straight," he said, head pounding in frustration. "I went in with full armor and now it's just dead?"

Winter was sitting across from the table he was sitting at, an unbearably smug grin on her face. "Yes," she said, reaching across and removing the piece on the board game they had between them. "As it turns out, a full burst from an Ultra AC/20 rips a medium mech in half. Now you know." James ground his teeth.

Winter has suggested this game to pass the time, some weird thing with giant robots, dice, and a hex-based board. She had given him sheets with the weapons and armor of his machines and said the goal was to destroy all units the other player had. To his surprise, she had started with two while he had four. Initially, he had thought this was her going easy on him.

Now he was down two while hers were barely scratched. Hers were better in nearly every way. He should've suspected something when his pieces were bland gray while here's had an elegant paint job that resembled a starry night sky. "Your turn, we're at the end of the firing phase after this."

Grunting, he looked at one of the two machines he had left, a long-range artillery thing. "All right. Three shots at the big bastard then, the one who just opened the Viking funeral. We agreed that it's eleven to hit." He rolled once. A miss. A second time. Another miss. Winter's smile was unbearable. Third time. A hit.

"Well, that's one PPC on my Kodiak," Winter said, in a voice completely devoid of worry. "Not that it'll penetrate my armor. Roll to see where it hit-," her voice trailed off as the dice clattered onto the table. Double sixes. She stared, silent.

"Isn't that a cockpit shot?" James got no response. "Doesn't my shot have enough damage to pierce your cockpit?" She nodded. "And didn't you say we're in space?"

"I did," Winter said softly. "So yes, my Kodiak pilot is dead." As if every last second was causing her intense agony, she reached up and took the figure, which resembled an upright bear, off the table. "Did you cheat?" she asked sharply.

"I thought about it," James said idly, "but no." It was true. You didn't hang around Vegas for as long as he had without picking up a few tricks, as Junior's empty wallet could attest to. If you flicked dice just right, you could get them to land how you wanted. But Junior had tried to cheat him out of a particularly large wad of cash, Winter had merely challenged him to a game. A game she knew better than him, one with leverages that were being used against him, but she was playing fair and square. She wasn't playing nice, but she was playing within the rules. He owed her the same.

Besides, knocking her down a peg like this felt so much better when he knew it had been clean.

She blinked. "You know tricks with dice then?"

"A few, most of what I know is with cards though." To demonstrate his point, he pulled out a deck of Lucky 38 playing cards. Pulling the top card off the deck, a seven of diamonds, he showed it to her. "The simplest one is the injog shuffle." Putting the seven of diamonds back in the deck, he started to shuffle. "You take one card you want to keep track of and pull it back ever so slightly." Halfway through his first break, his thumb nudged the seven of diamonds ever so slightly. Finishing the break, he turned the deck so Winter could see where one card stuck out by a millimeter or two. "You make sure it stays that way as you shuffle," he continued, shuffling again as he did. "You want to make sure you don't do it too fast, throw anyone watching off. And when you're ready, you position the injogged card on top of the deck…and viola!" Finishing the shuffle, he drew the top card and triumphantly placed it on the table. The seven of diamonds, as he knew it had been.

"This is the most basic trick. You can add to it by having the injogged card be a marker for other cards, but that requires getting everything in the right place. And in the middle of a game of poker that's tricky to pull off." Sliding the cards away, he grinned. "Marked cards also work. Some asshole tried to cheat me with someone peeking at my cards, a prick called Junior. So I used my nails to mark a strong hand to draw it again when I shuffled."

Winter had been watching him with laser-focused precision ever since he had pulled out the cards, doubtless committing his movements to memory. At the mention of Junior, however, she cocked her head. "Junior Xiong is a low-level but rather notorious criminal. Compared to Cinder, Caesar, and even Torchwick he's nothing, but how much money did you cheat from him?"

"Five thousand," James answered honestly. Winter relaxed a little bit. "Assuming he even knows I cheated him, I'm gonna assume he can't afford to go around killing people who win his backroom games without scaring players away. But I'm giving his club a wide berth to play it safe."

"Good," Winter said firmly. "Have you taken money from anyone else when I wasn't looking?"

It was mostly a jab with a tiny hint of concern. James couldn't help himself. He cracked a crack cocky smirk. "No. But if you feel like losing money later, I could fix that."

There was a moment of heavy silence. "I'm sorry, it sounded like you said you would beat me at cards," Winter said.

"I mean, I'm on route to beat you at your game," he said, idly gesturing to the board game. "I think I can beat you at mine."

Eyes narrowing, she grabbed up her dice, ready to start a fresh round. She wasn't going to let that setback stand, she wanted to put him in his place. He welcomed the effort. Things were stacked against him, but if she wanted him to lose, she was going to have to earn it.

Sadly, their game was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was probably for the best, Winter was getting a look in her eye that said she wanted revenge. Both of them stood up. "Come in," Winter said briskly. There was a slight bit of disappointment in her eyes, but she didn't let it show elsewhere.

The door to Winter's private quarters opened up and Ozpin stepped in, a steaming mug in hand. James blinked. He looked like death. His eyes were bloodshot and half-lidded, his hands were noticeably shaking, and standing up straight seemed to be quite an effort for him. Despite this, he managed a genuine smile. "I'm sorry to interrupt the recovery time that you've both earned, but there are important matters that require your attention. First, a minor one. We recovered this off of Vulpes Inculta when Ms. Belladonna captured him." Holding up his hand, he showed James a pistol. "It's quite unlike typical Legion weaponry, can you shed some light on this?"

James didn't answer right away as he stared at the pistol. He knew this weapon. A 9mm pistol with elegant engravings, marble white plating, and the Virgin Mary on the grip. "Benny's gun," he said, more to himself than anyone else. Ozpin cocked his head in confusion. "Benny. Used to lead one of the three head families back in Vegas. He…jumped me." He gave the bullet-embedded Platinum Chip a short tug. "Over this." He could still remember it like it had happened yesterday. The crunch of soil beneath his knees, the coarse ropes biting into his wrists, the glint as the pistol aimed at his head. Closing his mind, he shook the dark thoughts off. Benny was dead, he wasn't. He was in a better place, and if there was a Hell Benny was stuck there.

"It's a trophy Vulpes took when they caught him, nothing more." Ozpin nodded, moving to put the pistol away. "Wait, Professor." Ozpin paused, looking quizzically at James. "I've got a lot of 9mm rounds from Earth that can't be chambered in Remnant weapons. That one can handle them. May I have it? It wouldn't be much use to you anyway." It felt a little odd, asking for permission to keep a weapon someone else had captured. But it was true, ever since Vance's SMG had been broken a good portion of his munitions had been dead weight. And for all his problems with Benny, he seemed to maintain his weapons well.

Ozpin blinked, looking more confused than offended at the request. "Certainly," he said, handing over the weapon. James popped the magazine and checked the chamber, making sure it was truly empty, before storing it in his rucksack. Using that thing after it had bored two holes in his skull filled him with a certain kind of bitterness, but a weapon was a weapon. It hadn't been the one who had made the hairbrained scheme to try and overthrow House with one chip that he knew nothing about, no more than the White Fang SMG at his side had been the one to plan terrorism. They were tools, and now they were in better hands.

"Now is the second, more important matter of The Scattered." That broke James out of his inner thoughts. His back straightened up, as did Winter's. "Qrow was able to track them after they captured you and gave us detailed instructions on how to find their base. The Ace Ops were sent to investigate, but when they got there the base was deserted. The armory looked as if they had emptied it or everything they could carry and all computer terminals were wiped."

Winter made a noise of frustration. "They must've been ready to run for a long time," she said. "They were ready to abandon Remnant and head back to Earth."

"Speaking of which, the portal," James said, speaking a little faster than he meant to. "Did you find the wreckage of it?"

Ozpin shook his head. "The Ace Ops found no trace of anything, damaged or otherwise." Dread slowly began to creep into James's stomach.

"It's unfortunate, and we could've handled it better," Winter said briskly. "But in the grand scheme of things we're on level playing grounds now. They can get to Earth, but so can we." Winter wasn't wasting time feeling guilty. He did his best to follow her example.

"Yes, James is planning to capitalize on that, particularly as we still have the element of surprise there,'' Ozpin says. "The Ace Ops and a few other hand-picked operatives launching a lighting raid into the Legion's home territory should work wonders. At worst we force them onto the defensive, we doubt they have enough Aura users to maintain a two-front conflict. But hopefully, this will be a chance to eliminate Caesar as a threat. You two were selected for this mission. Qrow spoke highly of how you two handled yourself in the Scattered base, and James approved of you two joining the Ace Ops and Qrow on this raid."

"Qrow? Speak highly? Of us?" James shot an incredulous look at Winter, receiving an identical one in return. "Did Hell freeze over?"

Ozpin gave an amused look. "Qrow is outspoken, opinionated, and occasionally confrontational, but he's never been one to underestimate others. We're planning on launching this mission tomorrow. James? We'll need you to guide the team through Earth without provoking non-Legion forces. If possible, we will attempt to form friendly ties with local forces, but the attack takes priority. Diplomacy can always come later."

James nodded, plans already forming in his head. "We can check in with the forwardmost NCR Ranger bases and get updates on border activity," he said. "I'll give the Rangers the quick and dirty version, and worst comes to worst they can get me on the horn to Chief Hanlon. They won't say no to taking out Caesar."

Ozpin nodded. "Excellent. There are just two more things. James is requesting your assistance with Róta Bloodaxe. She's stable but uncooperative. We're hoping she'd prove more agreeable to you in telling us what the rest of The Scattered have planned."

James privately thought that was a long shot, but nodded nonetheless. "Thank you. And as for the other thing, Specialist Schnee? General Ironwood wants a word when you have a moment."

"Of course," Winter said. "I'll go after I show James the holding cells. James?" She stepped forward, clearly indicating him to follow.

"Just a minute," James said. He looked at Ozpin. This was the first time he had been face to face with the man in a while. He hadn't known what to think of the man when he had first met him, a mysterious benefactor who had given him a place to stay. Now it was a bit more complicated. Ozpin was less a wise old teacher and more a general in a shadow war, one that he was in the crossfire of. "Am I in on the big secret now? Salem, Maidens, Relics, all of it? Is Winter, for that matter? Han gave us the outline and Qrow filled in a lot of the gaps. But are we in the know now?"

The tone shifted. Ozpin had looked exhausted, but somewhat at ease. Now, he noticeably tensed. His back straightened, and his jaw tightened. James was venturing into the realm of sensitive and confidential topics. He had only been here once or twice before, and it had never been with someone who confided in him idly. "I will have to consult with the others about this, these are very sensitive matters. I'll make you aware by the end of the day."

Despite everything, a pulse of anger flared in James. He had told Ozpin everything about the Legion, from the moment they had met. He had been kidnapped, mutilated, held prisoner, nearly killed, and Ozpin had to check to see if he was trustworthy. Fucking senile old prick. Did he have any idea what he had seen and done? I've handled shit you can't even fucking comprehend!

He was gritting his teeth before he could stop himself. Ozpin noticed. At once, James forced himself to go slack, but he couldn't make Ozpin unsee his flash of frustration. An awkward silence filled the room. "Is there anything else you need, Professor? If not, I'll go see Róta." He couldn't fully keep the anger out of his voice. Ozpin shook his head, stepping aside. The look he gave James was understanding, considerate even. It made James want to cuss at the old fuck, acting like a sympathetic parent giving their brat time to cool off. Asshole.

He left the room without a backward glance. Heels clacked behind him and he knew Winter was a foot away at least. Sure enough, within seconds she had fallen in line with him. "You're frustrated," Winter said. It was a statement, not a question.

His first impulse was to deny it. But she was right. "Yeah."

"It's understandable," she said. Her tone had traces of sympathy, but it was mainly the stern, neutral voice she had used when they had first met. "OPSEC in general often feels like a lack of faith in your abilities. When I was freshly enlisted, when I wanted to make a name for myself, being kept in the dark felt like being treated like a child. But it's standard operating procedure." She gave her head a slight cock, her face stern. "You've done a lot here, but you've barely been in Remnant a month. You weren't expecting to be the trusted confidant of the most powerful officials of the planet that fast, were you?"

James's simmering anger, which he had been holding onto so tightly, slipped through his fingers. It stung a little bit, made him feel like an idiot, petulant even. He sighed. "I guess I'm not in the Mojave, am I?"

"No, you're not, and you'd do well to remember that," Winter said. Never the type to pull punches, was she? "Ozpin won't cast you to the side, neither will General Ironwood. Give them time." Here and only here she let a bit of warmth into her voice. Despite everything, a grin slid onto his face. Winter wasn't one to deal out affection freely, but the times she did? She made them count.

He gave a gruff laugh. "I was acting like a spoiled brat, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were. Now that this is settled, I'd rather talk about something else. What are your weapon's names?" Winter said idly. "I realized I never asked."

James looked at her incredulously. "Your swords have names?" He had thought that might've only been something the students did.

Winter looked as if he had asked if she was sure her hair was white. "Of course they do." She drew her sword, bisecting it. "Schneeregen," she gestured to the larger one. "Eis," the smaller one. "Schneeregen und Eis when they're together." Combining them, she sheathed it. "A weapon is important to a Huntress, we make it ourselves and use it the rest of our career. A name is only natural after that." Her eyes moved up to the rifle on his back. "You must feel the same way, you've been using that one ever since you arrived here."

"It's good and reliable," he said, patting it. "And I do what I can to take care of it, kind of like I take care of that gauss rifle and power armor I've got locked up. But where I'm from, weapons break fairly often and it can be hard to repair them. A lot of the guns I use are old, the rifle in particular predates the Great War. Hell, I've lost three guns since I got here. It sucks that it happened, but I go through these things too quickly to get overly attached."

Winter was silent for a moment. "That's a bit impersonal, don't you think? A weapon is a part of you. The measure of whether you succeed or fail. It's only normal to take pride in it."

"I never took you for a romantic," James said, a hint of teasing managing to slip into his voice. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You've had those for a long time, then?"

"Since I was thirteen," she said, lovingly stroking the pommel. James could understand having a weapon that young, he had been around that age when his dad had bought him his first pistol. "They've never left my side since if I can help it." There was warmth and affection in every touch she laid upon those blades. He couldn't claim to understand it, but he would have to be blind to not see that Winter's affection for them ran deep. Part of him felt it was a stupid and pointless attachment, as they would doubtless one day be worn down or broken. The rest of him told that part to shut up.

Before he could get another word in, they were at their destination. A pair of guards stood at either side of a door reinforced with Gravity Dust braces. They snapped to attention as Winter approached. "At ease," she said crisply. "I believe we're expected?" Answering with a pair of affirmatives, they punched a code into the doors and made way as it opened.

As he followed Winter in, he took the room in. The design was spartan, a room filled with little else other than simple beds at regular intervals. It could've been mistaken for a barracks if the one-occupied bed wasn't enveloped in an energy shield and surrounded by a quintet of soldiers. Róta was lying on the bed, the bandages that had been covering her injuries no longer there. Between the auto-doc, Remnant medicine, and her Aura, she had fully healed within days.

"Status report?" Winter said, coming to a stop in front of the soldiers.

A handsome, well-built man that wore a smile as naturally as most people blinked, answered. "She's clamming up. Not answering us anymore. Half the time she's not even making eye contact, she's just pretending we're not here."

"We're wasting our time with her," a woman to the rear said. She was surprisingly short, around Ruby's height, with a weird pseudo mohawk that made James think of Raiders. For some reason, she was wearing shorts and had what looked like half of a power armor's internal frame hanging from her back. Well. He had seen weirder. "Clover, let's just call it. Spend more time with the Vulpes guy, he's the real problem."

"Orders are orders, Harriet," Clover said. That got Harriet to nod and fall back into attention. "Not much else to report, Specialist. I'll leave her to you." Nodding and winking at the both of them, the flirt, Clover gestured and made to leave the room, his men right behind.

As they trudged out, James took quick mental stock of the others. A beast of a woman that was just as wide as Lily and a mere foot shorter, a lanky man with pale skin that made James wonder if he got much sunlight, and a younger man with a wolf tail hanging between his legs. He still had a hard time not thinking of those animal parts as mutations.

"Elm, Vine, and Marrow," Winter whispered, pointing at them in order. "Ace Ops, best of the best in Atlas." James nodded. The five of them all wore unique uniforms tied together by unifying principles. Primarily white and dark blue and a splash of red somewhere, a sash for Vine, a belt for Elm, an ascot for Marrow. Aside from Harriet's shorts, there were other variations, such as Elm having short sleeves and Clover forgoing sleeves altogether to show off his well-built arms. It was certainly a departure from Rangers and Centurions.

As the door closed, the pair of them faced Róta. She had shifted into a sitting position and almost looked happy to see them. "James. Winter. You do…are you doing all right?"

Winter's eyes widened. Ah. Shit. He had forgotten to tell her. "I meant to bring this up," he said. "The autodoc back at Big MT had a spare voice modulator and installed it when he was fixing her up. I got held back because he was asking me about it. It flew my mind with everything that's been happening."

Winter nodded absentmindedly as she watched Róta get to her feet. "It's a relief," the tattooed woman said. Her voice was still the same soft whisper that didn't match her powerful body, but it was more firm and no longer raspy now. She gently stroked her neck, a vague look of contentment filling her eyes. "No more pain. I don't have to talk like a child anymore. I can feel it, it's like a swollen Adam's apple. But it's worth it." Standing to her feet, she eyed both of them, her good mood fading. "But this isn't a friendly visit, is it?"

Winter shook her head. "You might've helped us escape, but you were still an accessory to kidnapping and false imprisonment. Depending on how you are charged, you could be facing twenty years in prison, possibly more." If this bothered Róta, she was very good at hiding it. Her eyes remained firm and level as they met Winter's. "I'd be more than willing to make calls to get you a reduced sentence. But you need to let us know what Han and the others are planning."

As if on instinct, Róta turned away from Winter the second Han's name was uttered, folding her arms. Winter let out a noise of frustration. "Róta listen to me, you're an Aura user that's committed a felony. In Atlas that gets you automatically sent to a maximum security prison. Do you really want twenty years of that?" Róta didn't respond. "Whatever they're planning it's not going to work. They lost their base of operations and everything with it. Don't be stubborn and let them run off and die on a fool's errand." Still, she said nothing. James could see Winter's rapidly growing frustration. This wasn't getting them anywhere. So he took a gamble.

"Ròta…I was wrong. Caesar isn't dead. He's here on Remnant. And he has the portal." A noise somewhere between a choke and a gasp escaped the tribal's mouth as she rounded on him. "He must've gotten the tumor removed. More times than I can count, he's doubled back on his technology ban when it suited him. Probably used an auto-doc to get it removed. Róta, if Han is going to do anything that'll disrupt our attempts to stop Caesar, we need to know. He has a Semblance that mass empowers his soldiers with Aura, we need to make sure he can't get back to the Legion.

Róta fidgeted, noticeably tensing as she did. James waited. He had given her everything that she needed to hear, pushing her more might cause her to lock up defensively. Winter's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, her gaze narrow and calculating.

Finally, the tribal woman broke the silence. "I don't know," she said. "We planned for a lot, but never for a situation this bad. But if I had to guess? They're planning on doing one of two things. Going after the Legion to destroy the portal…or launching a rescue mission to get me back."

"They'd be hard-pressed to get you out of Atlas," Winter said. James wondered if she knew how much pride was in her voice. "Even if they're talented fighters, they don't have any way to penetrate the air space of the capital city. Sneaking in won't be an option either, you and Han were the only members who didn't give away that you were from Earth."

Róta idly nodded, as if she was only half listening. "They'll try anyway. Han will try. Anna will try."

James sucked in air between his teeth. He could see Han going either way, but Anna? Yes, he could see that. Anna would probably kill both him and Winter out of spite while she was at it. Róta didn't need to hear that right now.

"Is there any way you can get in contact with them?" he asked. "We both want to keep Aura spreading through the Legion. If we come to blows it'll just be what Caesar wants, us softening each other up for him." Taking a step forward, he stopped just before the barrier that separated them. "Róta. You saw what Lanius is like now."

She had been wavering before that, but his comment about Lanius cinched it. Shaking her head wearily, she said, "We use burner scrolls to avoid being traced. But we have virtual dead drops for situations like this. I'll…I'll write them a message. I'll tell them I'm being treated well and that they should focus on the Legion. Han should've let us handle this problem a long time ago, but I was outvoted whenever I brought it up."

James nodded, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. Winter, however, was frowning. "You don't like the idea?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.

"No, a truce in this situation has merit," she replied crisply. "But you haven't established what'll come after. James. These people wronged us. You and me. You were mutilated and you had to recover in a dirty cell without a proper doctor or nursing staff. And that's just what they know they've done." Her attention turned to Róta. "Anna can copy Semblances. Where from? Where did she get that plant growing Semblance from?"

Róta winced as Winter asked the question. It was a restrained movement, no doubt born of self-control. But it was still there. And when Róta spoke, it was with pained reluctance. "Prisoners. We capture criminals and others who won't be missed and store them in cryopods. We were planning on going after the Blue Bill before he was killed."

Winter gestured to Róta. "And there you have it, James. Human trafficking of Aura users to exploit their Semblances is a rare but well-known criminal enterprise. Tell me. Did you buy any of your prisoners?" Slowly, Róta nodded. "I suspected as much." James felt like a bucket of ice had just been dumped into his stomach. Oh. That was fucked. That was Vault experiment levels of fucked.

"We tried to stick to the despicable and vile," Róta said, sounding as if the thought brought her little comfort. "You'll find the pods in the lower levels of our old base." She paused for a moment, looking around. "Maybe I belong here."

Winter, for her part, didn't look happy at being proven right. But she pressed on anyway. "Pardoning Sienna Khan was one thing, she can be characterized as fighting for an oppressed people, even if she uses horrific methods and her philosophy has elements of racial segregation. A pardon there would at least have the potential to reduce racial tensions. But human trafficking? James, we can't let that go unpunished. We can't say that this is a forgivable crime."

James was at a loss for words. The reality of the world was that sometimes you had to bury the hatchet where there was bad blood. The NCR had been forced to make peace with the Kings, Khans, and Brotherhood of Steel instead of just shooting all their problems away. While some with grudges in the upper brass had grumbled at unfulfilled revenge fantasies, they had avoided a couple of hundred dead soldiers and had gained local allies in the Mojave. It was the nature of things. But Winter was right in that some things couldn't be swept under the rug. James couldn't forgive the Legion or the people who supported it for the myriad of atrocities they had committed. And while he badly wanted to make peace with the Scattered when Caesar and Salem had to be dealt with, this was a bridge too far.

"…Is five years enough?" Róta said. Both of them stared at her. "Five years is enough that we aren't getting off easy, but we'd still have a life after. Is that enough?" James didn't respond, waiting for Winter to speak.

With a hint of hesitation, Winter nodded. "General Ironwood would accept that. Jane will be a complication as our legal system isn't designed with mechanical life in mind, but we can work on that. Would the Scattered agree to this? To turn themselves in after the Legion is dealt with?" Her eyes narrowed. "We'll be expecting the names of all slavers you've dealt with in the past."

"I don't know," Róta said. "Possibly. Han might be convinced to give up the fight if Aura has already entered Earth. Or he might double down. I'm not sure."

Winter made the softest sound of annoyance. "It's worth a try," she said. "This virtual dead drop. How does it work?"

The conversation stretched on for the better part of an hour. It quickly turned to technical details that James understood very little of. Heaps of specifications on private servers, back doors, firewalls, and other matters that he couldn't parse. He thought he knew computers, but Remnant technology was a cut above. Eventually, after far too long standing there like a slack-jawed idiot, Winter seemed satisfied.

"All right. I'll take your message and deposit it. 'I'm being treated well, this isn't a fight we can win, we need to make peace and face the consequences for our crimes. We have been promised leniency in exchange for cooperation.' Sound good?" Róta nodded. "Good. I'll run this by the General." Gently, she took a step forward. "I know I've made my distaste for the Scattered clear, but you did let us go when the time came, and you advocated for us. I won't forget that, and I'll try to repay it as best I can."

Róta smiled. "You're an amazing woman, Winter Schnee. Thank you."

Just a little red in the face, Winter turned away. "Thank you for your cooperation. James, I think we're done here." The walkout was brisk. Winter has adopted her practiced neutral expression, but James could spot a tiny hint of fatigue in it.

"You ok?" Idly, she nodded. "You don't think this is gonna work, is it?"

"I think it's improbable," Winter replied. "20% tops. Han is a stubborn man who kept us in a hole because he didn't see any other way to succeed other than his own. But seeing as the effort is minimal on our end, it's worth trying." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I'll be glad when this crisis is over. In the meantime, I have to report to General Ironwood. Sorry," she said, and she did look genuinely apologetic. "We'll have to pick up later."

Grinning, James leaned in and lightly pecked her cheek. A healthy flush of red filled her face, but her expression stayed composed. Even as a content smile spread across it. "I told my friends I'd meet up with them when I was free. Word through the grapevine is they're throwing a little "glad you aren't dead' party in the rooms they got set aside. Drop by when you get out!"

"I'll think about it," she said, before returning the kiss. "Have that card game ready. I've been eyeing a new pair of civilian shoes and I could use some spare change."

"Fucking bring it." With a laugh and a wave, she rounded the corner, leaving his sight.

For a moment, James stood there. Things weren't great. But they were getting better. The students were recovering, he wasn't stranded, and they were working on mending bridges. He felt good. Better than he had in a long time.

The sun was setting out a nearby window. Tomorrow he would have to head back to Earth to put the NCR on alert and snuff the Legion threat in its crib. He'd probably need an ambassador from Remnant to help smooth things over. Maybe Ozpin. They NCR would probably need Aura of their own to defend themselves.

But that was for tomorrow. Cass probably had her special moonshine ready to go. Tonight was a night of celebration. And drinking his friends under the table.

XXXXX

Author's Note: This story has had a lot of really hard stuff lately, so I decided this chapter needed some more light stuff to balance it out a bit.

The weapon conversation that James and Winter had is something I've been wanting to write for awhile. Something I've noticed lately is that Japanese media and western media have very different takes on main characters and weapons. Japanese characters lean towards unique, iconic weaponry, usually only one or two, while western ones tend to have a wider variety to access, tending to take a sandbox approach. Now is this an ironclad rule? No. Just look at Link in Breath of the Wild. But it's very much the case in Fallout vs RWBY, what with RWBY having heavy roots in anime and Final Fantasy. The Courier can use any type of weapon they can get their hands on. Knives, axes, SMGs, pistols, rifles, flamethrowers, DEWs, rockets, the works. RWBY characters near exclusively use their iconic weapon. It speaks to a difference in culture that I wanted to explore.

Also, a big worry I have with writing romance is the tendency to oversimplify characters to make things more ideally saccharine. Winter does have affection for others in her, genuine and warm affection. But she's also a hard ass who never struck me as the type to sugar coat words or tell comforting lies over harsh truths. I don't think her dynamic with Weiss is how she treats everyone, it's been heavily implied her tough love there is her way of making her sure Weiss is ready for the world and it's why she eases up a bit in Volume 7 when Weiss has proven she knows what she's doing. That's a dynamic that's not quite there with James considering James was already a seasoned fighter by the time they met. But if James fucks up, and he has a fair few fuck ups under his belt, she's gonna let him know. See the aftermath of him fighting the Hunters.

To me that makes romance feel more real. When they have distinct personalities and don't just fall all over each other in a pile of vague, mushy fluff. That can be fun, but it feels sharper if they have distinction, disagreements, moments where they screw up, and after all that they still want to be together.

(Also yes, they were playing Battletech. Winter was using custom built Clan mechs while she just tossed James the starter set. She's merciless like that.)

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