In the early hours of the morning, before the sun has even begun to rise, Willow finds herself sequestered in her private room. Clutched between her fingers sits her Scroll, still displaying a long, detailed message, the source of which she does not know. Breath hitching, she curls in on herself, pressing the device to her chest, her heart racing with anxiety. The contents of the message play on repeat in her mind, both a warning and a request for her aid. Someone knows of her husband's shady dealings, or at the very least suspects him of wrongdoing, and has reached out to her for help in seeing him brought to justice.
The proof of all his meetings has sat hidden away for some time now, each and every one caught in full detail on camera. She has everything needed to stop Jacques right in the palm of her hand. Whoever it is that has contacted her has offered her the opportunity to take action for once in her life.
The thought of going out there—of allowing anyone, let alone the General himself, to see with their own eyes what the man who married her has been doing—utterly terrifies her. What will happen to her family if she does? What will Jacques do once he discovers her treachery? With his money and influence, it would require no effort on his part to see her punished. What frail peace she has managed to cling to will no doubt be shattered.
And yet, could she live with herself if she sat back and let it happen? If she just turned a blind eye to it all?
Unfurling, she stares down at the screen, her hands trembling. This is her only chance.
She has to do something. She has to.
~0~
The world shudders, the sound that of a failing heartbeat. Metal groans fill the air. Stone splinters and breaks, lost to the darkness below. The death throes of an empire echo around him, evidence of his failure to protect what he devoted his life to.
A familiar face stares up at him, thrown in sharp relief in the blue light of the vault's sanctum, pale skin stained with blotches of purple and painted in streaks of red. Crimson eyes blaze with anger and fear, and bloodied lips curl back in a feral snarl. Hands scrabble uselessly at his wrists, a futile attempt to force him to release his iron grip.
He will not. This man—no, this traitor does not deserve to live. Not after betraying his trust in such a way. Not after forcing his hand.
His fingers tighten around the neck he holds.
The waking world drags him into its unrelenting clutches. With a ragged cry, James bolts upwards, fingers still curled as if crushing a windpipe. Red eyes hover ever-present in his vision, drained of the light of life. Dead at his hand. Acid burns his throat with an awful twist of his stomach, rising with the icy panic flooding his veins. Chest heaving with painful breaths, he throws his legs over the side of the bed and hunches over, pressing his left hand against his mouth in an effort to fight the nausea. It does nothing but remind him of having his hands wrapped around a throat, of muscles spasming under his touch with each choked gasp. Instead he tries to ground himself by digging his prosthetic fingers into his knee, applying more force until pinpricks of pain jolt through his leg. It offers only a modicum of relief to the dread and disgust churning inside his chest.
Why? Why would he have such an awful dream?
And why did it feel more like a memory than a dream? Like he had done it before?
The crushing weight in his chest worsens, lungs constricting, breath leaving him in a pitiful wheeze. Just as he thinks the downward spiral will claim him again, sharp, incessant ringing fills the air. Jolted from his thoughts, he snaps his head to his nightstand, his gaze falling on the brightened screen of his Scroll.
Letting out a sigh, he scrubs his face with his hand and reaches over to grab it. A distraction, at least.
"General Ironwood speaking," he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir," Clover says, "but we received an anonymous tip that warrants a meeting."
That causes James to frown. He climbs to his feet, moving to gather his clothes. "What was the message?"
"That is what we wanted to discuss."
A more urgent matter then, not to be mentioned over a call. "Understood. I should be there within twenty minutes."
"Roger that, sir."
The call ends as abruptly as it began, and James pinches the bridge of his nose, placing the Scroll back onto the nightstand.
No time to dwell on the nightmare; there is work to be done. That is the mantra he repeats to himself as he staggers into the bathroom for a quick five-minute shower, trying to bury it in the back of his mind. Once done, he gets dressed, not bothering to style his hair. He is too exhausted to care about his appearance at the moment, though he is given pause when he catches sight of himself in the mirror and sees the beginnings of dark rings under his eyes. It reminds him of Qrow, the thought of which makes him close his eyes and turn away.
He arrives just within his estimation, nineteen minutes after the end of the call. Clover and Winter move to stand at attention when he enters the room, both sporting rather perturbed expressions, mouths set in grim lines.
"My apologies for this, sir," Winter says. "We thought it best for you to see the information yourself."
Acknowledging her with a sharp nod, James comes to a stop beside the desk, folding his hands behind his back as Winter activates the display. As he starts to read the message, his mouth drops open. Within the first sentence, he finds himself stunned into silence by details of Mantle having been infiltrated by members of Salem's inner circle, with specific mentions of what was thought to be glitches in the city's systems instead being caused purposefully via hacking. There is only one person he knows who could do such a thing, and a chill runs down his spine at the thought.
It is what he sees next that truly takes his breath away.
"One's been dealt with."
A grisly picture follows, one of a mangled corpse with the face of none other than Arthur Watts. Judging from the wounds covering his body, it seems whoever killed him did so with a large blade. It is accompanied by an address, the location at which they can find it.
Someone had already known Watts was in Mantle and sought to take care of him themselves. The question is who it could be and why they did not share that information.
The phrasing of the message is somewhat vague, worded in such a way that James cannot pinpoint who it could be from by language alone. He has his suspicions, however, due in part to the knowledge the sender has. There are only a handful of people aware of Salem and her lackeys, and while there could be others, James is fairly certain that he knows everyone who does.
Having such extensive knowledge of their enemies explains why Watts would be targeted first; the threat his technological skills posed to both Mantle and Atlas couldn't be understated, and regardless of how careful he was, the site of the hacks themselves could be pinpointed through system records and witness testimonies. No doubt a person with the appropriate tracking skills could use that information to determine his location, and James personally knows someone with that caliber of skill. With the weapon seemingly having been a large blade, that narrows his choices down to only a few. There is only one of those James feels would be the culprit, due to the man's absence.
Qrow.
That leaves him with more questions than answers.
There is no doubt that Watts did his best to conceal his presence. Did Qrow learn Watts was in Mantle when the hacks began, or did he know about Watts before then? Just how long did Qrow have the information, and why wait until now to take action? Unless he hadn't been certain, and it wasn't until after he left Atlas that he could confirm it. If he had known prior to his departure, though, why not tell James and the others to at least let them know? It could be explained by Qrow wanting to ambush Watts, since more people being aware of him would have led him to take extra precautions, but surely Qrow knows that James would have listened to him about such an important thing.
Then again, Qrow had made it quite clear that he felt he couldn't, to the point that he refused to talk about his own personal issues. Given the way James went behind Ozpin's back during Beacon and the disaster it caused, and the years of tension between them before then, is it any wonder that Qrow struggles to have any faith in James?
Could it be that it had been Qrow's intention from the start to go rogue and deal with Watts on his own, or was it a more spontaneous decision driven by recent events?
Did James himself cause this?
Fingers tightening. Fearful eyes and choking breaths—
Shaking his head to rid himself of the image, he takes a step back and rubs his eyes. He needs to focus on the present. This situation needs his attention.
It is Clover clearing his throat that finally drags James from his thoughts, and he turns to see the silent question in Clover's eyes. No doubt he has come to the same conclusion as James.
"Send a team down to collect the body," James says. "Once it's secured, I want an immediate check of the surrounding surveillance cameras. Ask to see system records and diagnostics. I doubt Watts would have been careless enough to cause any lasting damage when trying to remain covert, but it is better for us to be certain of it. Any information that can be gleaned from it would be helpful, considering Watts's accomplice is on the loose." He pauses, glancing at the gore still displayed on the screen. "Try to keep this under wraps. We don't need to cause any undue panic."
For a brief moment, Clover lets his shoulders droop in relief, the tension on his face easing. He is quick to right himself, standing straight. With a quiet, "Yes, sir," he salutes, then spins on his heel and marches out of the room, ready to get to work. Unsure of what to make of the reaction, James brushes it aside and turns to Winter, prepared to issue an order before the ping of her Scroll interrupts him. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she pulls it out to check it, only for her face to twist into a rather sour expression with the faintest hint of concern in her eyes.
"What is it?"
"...My mother is here," she mutters.
What odd timing.
She pockets the device with a soft huff and glances at James, uncertain. Knowing her history with her family, he can understand why she hesitates. If she is uncomfortable being alone with her mother, then perhaps James should go with her.
"Would you like for me to accompany you?"
Eyes widen at the suggestion. "That—" Clearing her throat, Winter steadies herself. "That won't be necessary, sir. I shouldn't be long."
Though he would rather not be alone with the dark thoughts plaguing his mind, he says nothing as Winter leaves. Once she is gone, he slumps against the desk. The knot of tension in his chest tightens, as if his heart itself is being throttled. Like a beast lurking in the shallows, the nightmare rises to the surface, dead red eyes once again flashing in his vision. The sensation of Qrow's throat being crushed in his hands is far too real and present. A pained groan slips from his lips as he drops his head into his hands, but the cold touch of his metal prosthetic serves as nothing more than another reminder, and he jerks it away with a sharp breath.
Another memory comes unbidden, one of that day in the hangar, when Qrow had stared at James as if he were a threat rather than a friend. How Qrow's hands shook the next day, still afraid. How he believed that James saw him as nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard. The wariness that followed, with Qrow reluctant to even look at James, let alone be near him, has sat heavy on his chest since the beginning. Despite all his attempts at showing Qrow that he cares, nothing has worked.
"You gonna shoot me if I don't?"
Qrow thought James would hurt him for a reason, and after having that nightmare, a distant, dark part of James wonders if it is true. His breath catches, and he tries to bite back the returning nausea. He never thought the strained relationship between him and Qrow would upset him this way. The stress must be affecting him more than he first thought.
His eye catches the screen.
In spite of his feelings towards James, Qrow decided to keep them all informed. That has to mean something.
His fingers curl against his thigh.
He wants to trust Qrow. He truly does. It is his only option, because the alternative is far too sickening for him to even consider.
Only a sparse seven minutes pass before Winter returns, a brief glimpse of her approaching the door through the glass his only warning. He cannot afford to break, not when a threat lurks in Mantle. Not when one of his closest friends—even if Qrow may not agree—is throwing himself into danger. Forcing his struggling lungs to work, James takes in a deep breath and straightens, running a shaking hand through his hair and using the other to shut off the display just as his subordinate enters.
Winter spares him a brief glance before stepping to the side. Standing in the doorway behind her is Willow, who stares at him with wide eyes akin to that of a startled doe. The way she keeps her arms pressed tightly against her chest, partially folded in on herself, makes it seem as if she wants to disappear. Sympathy seeps into Winter's expression when she turns to her mother, easing some of the strain twisting her face. With a gentle touch, Winter presses her hand against a trembling shoulder in a show of support, and Willow drags her gaze away from James to instead look at her daughter.
They exchange quiet words, whispers that James can't hear, and then Willow follows Winter, keeping her eyes downcast. When she hesitates just a few short steps away, Winter urges her with a soft, "It's okay."
With a shaky breath, Willow pulls her Scroll out and holds it towards James, doing so quickly to not give herself a chance to back out. "I—I was told to give you this."
James regards her for a moment, taking in the fear radiating off her and the way her eyes skitter away to stare past him instead of at him. What has Jacques been doing to leave her this fearful? His stomach clenches, but he takes the device from her.
"I...I got a message. Asking for help," Willow explains, voice trembling. "I don't know who it was from, but..."
"Is it alright if I read it?"
She nods, and James does just that. Sure enough, it uses the same vague wording as the one they received.
"This is from the same sender," he mumbles to himself, and he can see Willow tense. "Nothing to be worried about at present. Just a concerned citizen who informed us of trouble in Mantle."
Not quite the truth, but not entirely a lie. Winter glances at him with her mouth set in a thin line.
"There's—recordings," Willow says, forcing out the words. "Of Jacques in meetings, talking about the election."
The look on her face is all he needs to know that those meetings had been suspect. With the kind of man Jacques is, him planning to engage in illegal activities is one of the few things James has heard of late that comes as no surprise.
Though he does wonder how Qrow came to the conclusion that Willow could have evidence.
That she continues to tremble has him push aside the thought. He sets the Scroll down and reaches out, slow and careful, to give Willow a chance to move away if she wants. Though she goes rigid, she remains where she is, so James places a hand on her arm. When she finally brings herself to look at him, he offers her a small smile.
"You'll be safe here," James says. "We'll make sure of it."
Tears gather in her eyes, and she takes in a shuddering breath, the quake in her shoulders growing stronger. Winter hesitates, conflicted, before she wraps an arm around her mother's back and gently ushers her to a chair on the far side of the room. The two fall into another quiet conversation, with Winter keeping a gentle grip on Willow's shoulder, clearly fighting to keep her expression from slipping into a scowl. He hears snippets of it: a mention of Weiss, which makes Willow flinch, and a soft but doubtful reassurance from Winter that has Willow giving a shaky nod. Winter looks down to use her Scroll, waiting for a few moments before pocketing it and turning her attention back to Willow.
What he hears more clearly is Winter saying, "I still have work to do. Will you be okay for now, until she comes to get you?"
Willow nods again, wiping her eyes.
Winter does her best to smile, though Willow keeps her gaze lowered, and steps away to approach James.
"I asked Weiss if she would be willing to come get Willow," Winter says. "It shouldn't take her long." Her expression grows forlorn, brows knitting together. "She told me she left Whitley at home since she wasn't sure if she could convince him to go with her. It seems Jacques has sunk his claws deep."
"To be expected from that man," James grumbles. When he notices her glance down, he sighs. "Winter, you are not to blame for your father's actions. There is nothing you could have done."
Though the desire to argue against his point is clear on her face, she chooses to close her eyes. "We should get to work."
Later then, he decides. He may not want to shelve this particular discussion, but he knows she is right. Now is not the time for it.
Biting his tongue, he turns away and places Willow's Scroll onto the desk, opening the recordings and putting them up on the display. Were it not for the fact that Willow is the one who brought this to him, he would wait for her to be taken from the room, but seeing as she did, there is no harm in viewing the videos with her here. From the corner of his eye he can see Willow tense, her head tilted enough to look at the screen. Just as he contemplates asking her if she is alright with them watching with her still in the room, she shifts to stare down at the floor once more.
Having received her silent permission, he presses play.
It begins with a view of a room familiar to James, the portrait hanging on the wall above the rich mahogany desk a sight he has seen on more than one occasion. A hidden camera, he realizes, had been positioned perfectly in the corner of the ceiling to capture the entirety of Jacques's study. For one reason or another, Willow had thought it necessary to collect potential evidence against her husband. Cold rage coils in his chest, a fire that demands kindling. Forcing aside the violent thoughts circling his mind is a struggle, but the sight of Watts stepping into view snaps his focus back onto the video. The two men settle into a friendly discussion with ease, chatting over tea like old friends.
Evidence of Jacques planning to work with Watts plays out before him, each of their scheming words captured in perfect clarity, laying out their plans to rig the upcoming election.
"I see he wasn't content with familial abuse and the mistreatment of his workers," Winter mutters. "Of all the things... I suppose there are no lows that man won't sink to."
James spares a glance at Willow, who remains in the same position, her shoulders hunched and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It is no secret that Jacques is a terrible man. Of those who know him on a personal level, James doubts that anyone but the man himself would ever deny that fact. Still, to see with his own eyes just how afraid Willow is leaves him with a burning desire to instill even greater fear into Jacques. Let him be the one cowering rather than his family, the ones he should have protected but hurt instead.
No wonder Qrow encouraged Willow to come here. Distancing herself from Jacques was the best course of action.
It takes a beat too long for James to rein in his bloodlust, and it is only thanks to him pressing his knuckles against the edge of the desk that he can, the pressure giving him a foothold to focus.
"We'll have to send this in for analysis," James says, causing Willow to finally raise her head. "Protocol. This can't be used as evidence without official confirmation that the video is genuine."
"I... I see."
"For what it's worth, I do believe you."
Silence follows. Though James wishes he could reassure her further, there is little else to be said until the situation has been dealt with. Instead, he shuts off the screen and picks up the Scroll. Just as he does, the door opens to reveal a rather frazzled Weiss. Her eyes shift between Winter and Willow, shoulders tensing at the sight of her mother sitting there, before she draws herself up and rushes over to her sister.
"What's going on?"
"We have a bit of a situation regarding Jacques."
The scowl is immediate, Weiss's mouth twisting sharply downwards. "What has he done now?"
"We can't give you information at the moment," Winter says, causing her sister's eyes to narrow, "but once we confirm the validity of the evidence, we will. For now, could you take Mother to the guest rooms? As you can see, she is rather...shaken."
Weiss glances at their mother, pursing her lips. "Alright." Her brow furrows as she turns back to Winter, lowering her voice. "But you owe me."
It earns a soft laugh from Winter. "Of course. I can take your team out to eat, if you want."
Weiss stares at her for a moment before nodding. "Fine, but don't complain about the expenses."
With that, Weiss moves to usher Willow up and out of the room. There is a fond smile on Winter's face, one that quickly falls once her sister and mother are out of sight.
"I wonder how Qrow knew."
"He could have assumed she had evidence, but judging by the message, he was certain she did," James says. There are a number of ways Qrow could have stumbled upon that information, unfortunately. "With how things have been of late, who can say? It seems that we'll just have to ask after we've dealt with this mess."
"If he would even answer," Winter mutters. "And that's assuming he'll return at all."
James hides a grimace. Would it be for the best to let him go, James wonders, if it means he can find some inkling of peace of mind? Trying to keep him in Atlas under watch did nothing but distress him. As much as James wants to help, nothing he nor anyone else tried had worked. The mere thought of simply giving up sickens him, but short of outright imprisoning Qrow, there is nothing he can do to ensure his friend's safety. Not that imprisonment would actually help; even if James wanted to—he certainly doesn't—Qrow would most likely let himself starve in protest, and James suspects Qrow could find a way out of it regardless.
Lowering his gaze to the Scroll in his hands, he sighs. One of Salem's underlings is gone, and should this be given approval for use as evidence, Jacques will be stopped from any further criminal activity. James could take at least some bit of comfort from that, were it not for the fact that Qrow is out roaming the streets in search of Watts's accomplice alone.
The sooner this is all resolved, the better.