Seventeen Years Ago

As much as life in the Ever After was so often a struggle, it had its better moments.

One of those was playing out in front of Jaune right now, as he watched Pyrrha guide a pudgy, red-haired toddler through slow, fumbling steps in the soft earth.

It still sometimes seemed like a dream to him, these past three years; arriving in the Ever After, meeting Pyrrha again…immediately knocking her up…and everything that had followed since.

They had ended up building that cabin like they'd talked about, not far from the beach where they'd first met; scavenging building materials from the more built-up acres hadn't been too hard, and Jaune knew enough of how to handle himself around tools and lumber from rural living to make their efforts not totally wasted. Pyrrha's semblance had helped a lot, too. It turned out that heavy construction equipment wasn't really needed when your pregnant wife could levitate the roof into place with her mind using the nails hammered into it.

It was a good thing they'd gotten it built, too—Pyrrha's pregnancy had wasted no time in making itself known. She hadn't had too rough a time of it, thank the Brothers—the nausea had gone away quickly, she hadn't gotten sick, and none of the many, many things that could have gone wrong did.

Really, the only side effect had been that, as her belly grew, she got…well, she got horny. Really, really horny. But honestly, waking up to find your seven-month-pregnant wife pinning you to the bed with a look in her eyes that made it abundantly clear who was the predator and who was the prey wasn't exactly a problem, as far as Jaune was concerned.

After everything they'd been through, the birth itself had almost been easy. Pyrrha might've disagreed, of course—but she was more than used to pain, and Jaune had been there for her, and they'd both had enough basic medical training from first aid classes at Beacon to not be complete bumbling idiots who fainted at the sight of blood.

They were lucky that nothing had gone wrong, of course…but some things were out of their hands. They'd both accepted that. And Jaune thanked the Brothers every day that both Pyrrha and Ruby had come through it fine.

It had been a long road to get here—and the road would be so much longer still. But now, Jaune could sit in front of the home he and Pyrrha had built, and watch their daughter take slow, stumbling steps as Pyrrha guided her along. And that was worth any amount of pain.

Pyrrha looked up at him as Ruby toddled along. She saw the look on his face, and tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Even now, her emotions often grew too strong for her—she felt so deeply when it came to Jaune, just as he did for her.

"I love you," she murmured as she held their daughter.

Jaune felt his heart burn in his chest. Part of him idly imagined what all the agents and the managers and the spokespeople and the brand ambassadors who had once ruled Pyrrha's life would think of her now, cradling the result of a teenage pregnancy with an up-jumped country bumpkin so tenderly. The rest of him was too busy answering "I love you, too" to care.

And of course, that was the exact moment that two figures crashed through the brush into the open clearing.

Pyrrha was moving before Jaune even knew they were there. She had her spear in hand and was charging the intruders in the literal blink of an eye, while Jaune scooped up their daughter and groped for his own sword, which he knew better than to ever leave out of reach.

A cry of alarm filled the air as Pyrrha, who always swung first and asked questions later when it came to the Ever After, thrust her spear outwards towards the nearer figure, who stumbled backwards, toppling onto their back in shock. Pyrrha stood over them, ready to plunge the spear downwards.

Then, just inches from connecting, she stopped herself. Jaune looked up to see why—and then his own eyes went just as wide as Pyrrha's.

The two figures who had appeared out of the woods weren't Afterans. They were human. Vacuan, by the look of them—a boy and a girl, clearly siblings. The boy had gold-rimmed glasses, and the girl's hair was tied up with a blue bow. The girl was the one Pyrrha had nearly stabbed.

Pyrrha lowered her spear. Slightly. The girl stared numbly at the jagged, twisted spear point made of Jabberwalker horn, as if she hadn't quite realized how close she'd come to dying.

"You're human?" Pyrrha asked slowly. "From Remnant?"

The newcomers glanced nervously at each other. "Are you…going to stab us if we say yes?" the boy asked.

Pyrrha raised an eyebrow, though she was spared from answering by Jaune approaching, Ruby in one arm and his sword in the other.

"Nobody's going to be stabbing anyone," he said slowly. "Look, sorry for being a little jumpy, it's just that neither of us have actually seen other people here in…well, ever since we got here. Guess our manners are a little rusty."

The girl who Pyrrha had nearly stabbed rose to her feet, dusting herself off with a harrumph. "I'll say," she agreed indignantly. "I mean, really! Who just tries to stab somebody?"

Pyrrha's other eyebrow went up. At a gentle touch from Jaune, she finally lowered her spear.

"The name's Pyrrha," she said. "Pyrrha Nikos."

The boy nodded. "I'm Lewis," he said. "And this is—"

The girl huffed, though she did manage a rather charming smile. "My name is Alyx," she said. Even though she smiled, her eyes never left Jaune—or the gleaming sword he held.

Jaune glanced back towards the cabin. In his arms, Ruby yawned loudly, beginning the telltale grumble that would inevitably lead to a tantrum if she didn't get her nap.

"Why don't we all continue this inside?" he suggested. "It'll be nice to talk to humans again."

Pyrrha looked more skeptical, but said nothing. Instead, she lowered her spear, and followed her husband and their new guests inside.

Nobody noticed the gleaming eyes peering at them from the brush. Curious, curious eyes.

Present Day

As it turned out, breakfast in the Nikos-Arc (or Arc-Nikos) household was every bit as chaotic as dinner.

Even as Ruby ducked flying shards of eggshell from the younger kids flinging food at each other, she couldn't help but smile a little at the sheer life around her. The laughter, the shouting, the sight of Weiss Schnee with half her face smeared with fruit juice by a six-year-old who bore her name—it was almost enough to make her forget all about the Curious Cat's words.

Almost.

As Pyrrha finally wrangled the kids into behaving themselves—seriously, it was terrifying to watch how quickly and easily she managed to get a gaggle of strong-willed, mischievous children to sit quietly and eat their food—Ruby heard footsteps behind her. She turned, and found Jaune there, flanked by his eldest daughter.

Ruby Jr. looked rattled. There was really no other way to describe it. The confident, almost cocky grin she normally wore had been replaced by a grim expression. She looked almost apologetic as she followed her father.

Jaune…Jaune was worse. For as long as Ruby had known Jaune Arc, she'd always been reassured by his sheepish grins and ready smiles. Jaune was just a naturally smiley person, seemingly always wearing some kind of pleasant expression. He'd smiled less after Pyrrha died, yes, but even then, Ruby had cherished every smile, taken it as reassurance that, maybe, not all was lost.

Jaune wasn't smiling now. His jaw was set, his eyes were dark, and his body, oak-hard from twenty years of rough living, was coiled like a spring. With his beard and his shaggy hair, he towered over Ruby like a thundercloud.

And even then, his voice was still Jaune, still kind and steady and understanding, as he spoke.

"Ruby," he said. "We need to talk."

Ruby set down her fork. "Okay," she said. "Will you tell me about Alyx?"

Across the table, Pyrrha's head snapped up. The fork that Ruby had set down began to rattle, then float a few inches up into the air.

When it fell back down, the clattering noise it made echoed into a deadly silence. Everyone was quiet—the kids, Ruby's team, even Jaune.

Pyrrha's eyes had those hairline cracks again, the ones that spoke to just how deeply she'd been broken, once. But there was something else there, too. Hate.

It wasn't aimed at Ruby. It wasn't aimed at Jaune. It was aimed squarely at a name—at a girl Ruby had never heard of before.

Pyrrha fixed those crackling eyes of hers squarely on Ruby. Then, she glanced at Jaune.

"This better be good," she growled. "You're going to tell them about her, Jaune?"

Jaune nodded his head at their eldest daughter. "She told me that the Cat came sniffing around last night," he replied. "I figured that…they should know why he can't be trusted."

The moment the word "Cat" had left Jaune's lips, Pyrrha's horn-spear sailed across the room with a shink, snatched out of the air with the kind of practiced grace that told Ruby that Pyrrha had lost none of her deadly skill or precision over the years. For a moment, Pyrrha looked like she was about to go to war. Only when he finished speaking did Pyrrha seemingly manage to take a deep breath and lower the spear again.

"Fine," she said, before glaring firmly at Ruby Jr. "But later, you and I will be having a conversation about sneaking out at night, young lady."

Ruby Jr. went very, very pale. It would have been funny, had Ruby not been slowly feeling her stomach curdle with unease about the way Pyrrha and Jaune were acting.

Jaune sat down at the table, shooing away the kids as they finished eating and, correctly, determined that Grown Up Talk was about to commence. He ran his fingers through his hair, and Ruby realized that he looked tired. Tired, and old.

That scared her. It hadn't really sunk in before that Jaune Arc, the silly, broad-shouldered goofball she'd met so long ago, was now a father and husband, a man firmly into middle age with the beginnings of gray in his beard. He really had changed. So had Pyrrha. Not irreversibly, and not completely…but he'd still changed.

"I'll tell you about Alyx," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We met her when Ruby—our Ruby—was about two years old…"

Seventeen Years Ago

Jaune stared out into the unnatural night of the Ever After, unsure what he was looking for, but knowing he wasn't finding it.

How had Alyx and Lewis already thrown him off so badly? The first real human people they'd met here, and they were friendly! That should've been a cause for celebration. Instead…it had left him questioning everything.

The creak of the rough wooden door behind him—the one to the cabin he and Pyrrha had built with their own two hands—drew his attention.

Despite himself, Jaune smiled. The sight of his wife always did that to him—brightened his life, made him remember that even with everything the Ever After had taken from him, it had given him something precious—the life he had once thought he'd never get to live with Pyrrha Nikos.

The past few years had been kind to her; her body was rounded out by the lingering effects of motherhood, a layer of softness added to her hips and chest, but she was still strong, still solid, still every bit as powerful as she'd always been.

She wasn't carrying Ruby in her arms. That surprised Jaune; last he'd seen Pyrrha, she'd been putting their two-year-old daughter to bed.

Seeing his confusion, Pyrrha just smiled. "Ruby went right to sleep," she told him. "Must've really been tired out."

Jaune smiled back. "That's our little gem," he said softly as Pyrrha sat down beside him, her red hair scratching against his cheek as she laid her head on his shoulder.

He and Pyrrha were faced with a challenge of epic proportions, trying to raise a child in the Ever After, he knew that: this place was so strange, so dangerous, so split between the acres and the mistrustful residents, that there were simply too many things to keep track of when dealing with a two-year-old's natural grabbiness and curiosity. Add in the fact that they had no support network, nobody to watch the baby, nobody to ask for advice or help or even just a moment's peace, and being such young parents on top of it all, and they were constantly on the edge of it all falling apart.

They managed, though. Somehow. Or at least they had until now. But Alyx and Lewis…they could change things. And maybe not for the better.

For now, though, Jaune just sat there with Pyrrha, basking in the night, feeling the warmth of her body against his, and knowing that that made all of it worth it.

At last, Pyrrha spoke. "You can't get Alyx and Lewis out of your head, can you?" she asked. It wasn't really a question—she knew him too well by now, had had nearly three years in the Ever After to study him, to learn his thoughts as well as he knew them himself. Better, sometimes.

Jaune sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. "I just…I wonder if we're doing the right thing."

Pyrrha hummed in understanding. "We let them stay the night," she pointed out, gesturing with her head towards where the two were sleeping back in their cabin. "That's the right thing, I think."

Jaune frowned. "But Alyx wants more from us than that," he said. "I think she…wants us to come on their journey with them."

Pyrrha nodded slowly. Her piercing green eyes—the ones that saw so much, even things that weren't real—seemed to bore into him. "She does," she agreed. "Or at least, she wants you to. I don't think she likes me much."

Jaune smiled softly. "You did almost stab her," he pointed out. "She'll get over it."

Pyrrha shrugged. "Anyway," she said. "What do you think of them?"

Jaune was quiet for a long time. At last, he said, "I think they're hiding something."

Pyrrha nodded again. "Yeah," she agreed. "I saw it too. But in the end…do you care?"

Jaune once again fell silent. Slowly, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Pyrrha smiled at him. It was a sad smile, tinged with the weight of all that had happened to her. She normally bore the pain and the ghosts with such grace it was almost possible to forget that she'd died and spent three years alone with only monsters for company. And then there were times like tonight, when the arms of the forest closed in and all Jaune could see in the eyes of the woman he loved was a girl lost in her own fractured soul.

"I know you, Jaune," she said somberly. "I know how much being the hero matters to you. And I think that's what Alyx wants. She wants a capital-H Hero. She wants a Knight."

Jaune winced. He thought about the armor in the cabin, the rusted but still-good metal that symbolized a part of his life that seemed to fade further into memory with each passing day. He thought, too, about the helmet Pyrrha had found on one of their scouting trips, tarnished to match her own armor, perfectly sized for her. As if it had been waiting for her all along.

Still, he tried to protest. "I wouldn't leave you and Ruby," he said. "Not to go off on some adventure."

Pyrrha smiled again, but it was wan. "Jaune," she said, "You've never been able to say no if someone asks for help. It's one of the things I love about you. You can't stay on the sidelines."

Jaune opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a memory burst into his mind—the Vytal Festival, a locker, a shove, a goodbye kiss. He fell silent, and only the warmth of Pyrrha against him stopped him from screaming just at the echoes of the pain that he'd felt, then.

"I still wouldn't leave you," he insisted. "Not alone. Not in this place."

Pyrrha raised an eyebrow, though her eyes were still sad. "Not even if it might help us find a way out of here?" she asked pointedly.

Jaune had nothing to say to that. What could he say? Could he deny the truth of Pyrrha's words—could he lie to her about his own soul? She knew him better than he did, it seemed.

As if sensing the pain she'd caused in him, Pyrrha snuggled closer to Jaune, her head drooping down to rest against his chest instead of his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, and his heart swelled with how much he loved this girl. The Invincible Girl. The mother of his child.

And then Pyrrha spoke again. "I saw Cinder again today," she said softly.

Jaune's heart went cold. The scars of her three years alone ran deep in Pyrrha's psyche; even now, almost three more years since Jaune had arrived and given her a new stable foundation, she still struggled with reality at times. She'd been getting better, slowly but surely, but there were still days where she couldn't tell the difference between the figments of her imagination and the real world, days she spent talking to herself or stabbing out at imagined enemies, days where she isolated herself from Jaune and their daughter, locked away in some place he couldn't reach. Once, he'd come home from a foraging trip with Ruby in tow to find her huddled in a ball in the middle of the cabin, eyes hollow and sightless, sobbing helplessly to herself; somehow, she'd convinced herself that his absence, along with their daughter's, meant that the entire past three years had all been an incredibly elaborate hallucination, and it had just…broken her. He'd had to spoon-feed her for two days—she'd simply refused to eat otherwise—and it had taken weeks for her to believe he was real. It had set back her healing by months, and since then, Jaune and Pyrrha had always gone foraging together. Never alone. Never again.

But that episode had been the worst by far. Most of the time, her flareups were smaller. Less dramatic. She heard voices sometimes, saw familiar faces in the woods. And sometimes, Cinder Fall peered out at her from the trees, her cold eyes burning with hate as she aimed for Pyrrha's heart.

But it had been months since the last time Pyrrha had had a hallucination. Jaune had started to hope that maybe she'd finally healed. To have that hope again taken was…it hurt.

Pyrrha spoke again before he could figure out what to say. "I knew she wasn't real this time," she assured him. "She went away quickly. But seeing her…it made me realize something."

Jaune wrapped his arm tighter around her. "What?" he murmured.

Pyrrha's eyes stared off into the shadows. "I don't know if I want revenge like you do," she said softly. "Not even on Cinder Fall. I just want to live. I want to have a family with you. I want peace."

Jaune's jaw tightened. It sounded like such a wonderful dream—no Grimm, no wars, no need for Hunters. Just peace. Just a little cabin like this one, with a crib for Ruby—and maybe some extra space for future kids—and just the two of them. This place might almost have been perfect—if not for the fact that it was only them, and they still had loved ones they cared about back on Remnant.

"I know," he sighed. "I just…I don't know if it's possible for me. Not with Cinder still out there. Not knowing that our friends are still fighting somewhere. That Nora and Ren are still fighting."

Pyrrha hummed. "You think they've gotten over themselves yet?" she asked lightly.

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Pyrrha's lips twisted into a smirk. "Did you really never put the pieces together?" she asked. "Are you telling me you spent three years running around Remnant, and they still never bucked up and kissed?"

Jaune winced. "Nope," he admitted. "They're…still doing their weird thing where they don't talk about it."

Pyrrha pursed her lips. "Shame," she declared. "Ruby could use a playmate, if we ever make it back to Remnant."

Jaune went utterly silent. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to Pyrrha talking so casually about children. Then again, she was a married woman and a mother now. Maybe being a bit baby-crazy came with the territory.

At last, he said, "Y'know, there's a lot of things I want to say to that. But you've just put the image of pregnant Nora with mood swings in my head, and now I'm terrified. I'm not even in the same dimension and I'm terrified."

Pyrrha's laugh was like a bell's chime, light and loud and clear as day. After their dark conversations, it felt like a balm on Jaune's soul.

It couldn't last forever, though. As Pyrrha settled back down, her head still on Jaune's shoulder, she murmured, "When Alyx asks you to go with them, you're going to say yes, aren't you?"

Jaune went stiff. He wanted to deny it—wanted to say he would never leave her, that he'd never even risk her and Ruby. But he couldn't. He knew himself too well.

He sighed. In a guilt-ridden voice, he admitted, "Yes."

Pyrrha, bless her, didn't get mad. She didn't even seem disappointed. She seemed to know there was no point—or perhaps she just loved that part of him, that heroic soul, too much to stop, even when it hurt.

And besides, she was still Pyrrha Nikos. She still had steel in her soul. She raised her head, set her jaw, and solved the problem.

"Then I'm coming with you," she decided. "We're coming with you."

Jaune blinked. "We as in…who?" he asked.

Pyrrha met his eyes. "Ruby," she said simply. "You, me, and our daughter are going with them. It'll be a nice little family vacation."

Jaune could think of a lot of reasons bringing a two-year-old on a dangerous expedition into unexplored territory might be a bad idea. But he'd already learned the number one rule of married life, especially when your wife was Pyrrha Goddamn Nikos: the wife is always right.