A/N: He's an early thing for you all. Why? Because I plan to actually end this one day. So, expect more than one chapter per month.

RhoMarck: Thanks for your support. The lemon will be posted shortly in another story posted by myself.

VGBlackwing: Neither! Francisco couldn't do jack shit. Ruby is missing an eye currently. Couldn't be me.

Atomicboo131: No com.

The promised Lemon will come later today. In another story. Hope you enjoy this one.


Morning dawned upon Beacon Academy. The early morning skies are blocked by gray clouds and a soft drizzle. Cold winds carried the promise of Winter soon to come.

Fred stirred in his bed, lazily opening his eyes to check his scroll. 4:55, It told him. He forced himself up, pushing away the blanket that protected him from the cold proved a bit difficult, but he managed anyway.

Three beds were vacant. Penny, his leader, is scheduled to return today. Francisco is currently on a mission in the outskirts of Vale, near the coast. And Bemaia…

Fred double-checked Bemaia's bed, completely empty. "Did he wake up early...?" That didn't seem to be the case. No way he'd wake up earlier than 5 in the morning. Another theory came to mind. "No... He just didn't sleep here." Another impossibility, unless he slept in the kitchen of his own food stand.

His morning routine is straightforward. Get some exercise, take a bath, eat, and study. The exercises part came and went pretty quickly, as there weren't any of his teammates to distract him.

The bath part was rather quick too. There isn't anyone taking one-hour baths before him, so again, pretty quickly done.

At 7 in the morning, Fred made his way to the cafeteria. An atypical hour to go eat, but since teams are currently on missions, there are no classes during this time of the day.

Halfway in, however, something caught his eye as he moved through the Campus. A group of colorful girls stepped out of a bullhead that just stopped by the heliport.

"They are back." He says aloud, diverting his path to go meet them. "Just two days... I guess team RWBY is pretty good at their job." Well, disconcerting Blake of the equation, of course.

However, there was something odd about them, something that grew apparent with every step he took closer to them.

Weiss looked distraught. Her once pristine hair had been completely messed up, not to mention the fact she was still in her pajamas. She looks horrible. She clutched her weapon close to her chest.

"What happened?" Fred spoke, with a hint of worry.

Then came an older man with a very grumpy face. He didn't seem happy in the slightest. The way his weapon is lazily attached to his back means he is a pro-huntsman.

Yang stepped out of the vehicle, she was also in her pajamas, and she looked pissed. Bags under her blood-red eyes, fists clenched as she looked behind her, inside the bullhead. As Fred approached, he saw her extending her hand to someone still inside.

Francisco is the one to take her hand with a fleshy tendril. To put it bluntly, when he stepped out of the bullhead, Fred felt as though Francisco had been run over by a car. Dry blood covered his face and white shirt. Knowing him, that blood wasn't his.

At least, that's what he thought, until he noticed him limping. Fred sent himself into a sprint. "I'll help!" He yelled, finally closing the distance, and taking Francisco's hand from Yang's. "What happened?!" Now Fred's voice carried genuine concern.

Francisco didn't say anything. Nor did Yang, or Weiss. "Alotta shit, that's what happened." The older man spoke, taking a swing of a flask.

Before Fred had the chance to reply, he noticed another person clutching Francisco's arm, almost clinging to it to stand up. His eyes traveled to them.

A dirty bandage and a silver eye stared back at him, for but a moment. Small hands clutched his partner's shirt. She wore Francisco's black coat over a bloody medical gown. Did he hand it over to her for comfort? Since when did Francisco care so much about the girl?

Still, what happened to her? Did she hurt her eye? Did-

Francisco interrupted his thought process. "I'm sorry..." He spoke, and he sounded saddened.

"Come here... Let's take you to the infirmary" Fred told him, allowing him to put his weight over Fred's shoulder.

"I gotta tell Ozpin what happened," Francisco spoke. "And I can walk by myself, thanks." He stubbornly pushed Fred away.

The pieces were falling together nicely in his head. 'They fought someone... An ambush. That explains the pajamas on Weiss and Yang. Ruby was kidnapped, which explains the medical gown, but why though?' Fred observed as Francisco walked away towards Beacon Tower, where Ozpin usually stayed. Ruby closed behind, clutching him close, without speaking a word.

"Well, fuck you too." Fred spat at the notion of him slapping away his offer of help. "Still, doesn't explain what happened."

The older huntsman grew agitated. "What the hell is your problem, punk?" He snarled. "Can't you see they've been through shit? Get lost!" His rasping voice sounded like he's been yelling all night long.

Fred doesn't mind it though. He takes a deep breath, rubs his eyes, and says; "Oh well." And returns to his day-to-day actions.

Although mildly pissed at the boy, Qrow could only snarl since he found himself on Beacon grounds. Putting his hands in his pockets, Qrow could do nothing but follow his niece and Francisco.

Yang and Weiss mess that they were, wanted nothing but a bath. So away they went.


Francisco walked, and Ruby followed.

The gravel crunched beneath his bare feet with every limping step, a sound far too loud in the otherwise quiet morning. The drizzle painted the world in wet gray, turning the stone paths into slick mirrors and the campus itself. Between the storm-colored clouds above and the cold wind rolling in from the mountains, Beacon felt like it was holding its breath.

Classes were suspended due to the ongoing missions, but not all students had left. Here and there, some lingered, first-years, second-years, a handful of upperclassmen who hadn't been sent out or who had just returned. They gathered in pockets beneath awnings and trees, sipping hot drinks or rubbing their hands for warmth. A few practiced stances in the courtyard, their voices light and joking, if tired.

Then they saw him. And her.

A white social shirt soaked in blood and rain. A black coat draped around narrow shoulders, dwarfed by its size.

Conversations stuttered. Some stopped altogether. A few students turned to watch with confused curiosity. Others whispered.

"Is that... That damned Baldie?"

"Who's the girl? Is that Ruby?"

"What the hell happened to them?"

"Is that blood?"

No one dared speak loud enough for the two to hear.

Francisco didn't flinch. His expression was carved from stone, only broken by the occasional twitch at the corner of his mouth or the tightening of his jaw whenever the wind slipped past and stabbed his open wounds. His shirt and pants flared with each step, dragging across the puddled ground, leaving red water in his wake.

The limp in his step made it clear he was running on fumes, pure spite, and muscle memory, nothing more.

Ruby was quieter than usual. Smaller.

She didn't speak. Didn't look at anyone. Her gaze was locked on the cobblestones in front of her, one hand clutching the edge of Francisco's coat like it was the only real thing in the world. The silver of her remaining eye stared blankly ahead, dull with something between exhaustion and numb disbelief. The other eye… hidden beneath a dirty, half-bloodied coat, that belonged to Francisco.

She wore no cape. No armor. Just the black coat, too large for her frame, and a medical gown stained with dried blood. Her shoes; Rather, the shoes Francisco handed her, squelched with each step. Their size a few numbers higher than the ones she's supposed to wear. She didn't care.

Francisco's arm twitched slightly whenever she stumbled. He didn't look back, but he didn't let her fall either. He kept just enough pace that she didn't have to think about where to go.

From the edge of the training hall, a small crowd had gathered, murmuring louder now.

"That's definitely blood."

"Why's she in a hospital gown, did she get pulled out of a hospital mid-mission or something?"

"Did they get ambushed?"

"Why didn't Ozpin warn us something like that could happen?"

"They don't even look like students…"

Francisco said nothing. He kept walking.

The bridge to the main Beacon Tower stretched ahead. It was quiet here, always was, save for the ever-present rustle of wind tugging at the tower's spire, and the soft tap of water dripping from stone to stone.

Ruby followed, one hand still clenched around his coat.

More students passed them now, early risers making their way back from breakfast, or heading toward the library. Some stared openly. Others averted their eyes quickly, like looking too long would invite something wrong into their own day.

One girl dropped the Scroll in her hand when she saw the blood on Francisco's face. Or maybe it was the increased number of eyes that stared back at her?

Another student, a boy with a bulky red scarf, took a step toward them, then stopped, unsure what he would even say if he opened his mouth.

No one asked them if they were okay. Everyone could see the answer.

Francisco's eyes never lifted to meet theirs. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't want questions. He wanted to get this over with, say what needed to be said to Ozpin, then disappear for a while.

Maybe a long while.

Maybe forever.

He wasn't sure yet. All he knew was that his body ached with the kind of pain that wasn't going to be fixed by any infirmary visit. That was the pain of complete and utter defeat.

They passed by a stone bench beneath a small garden tree. A trio of second-years had been sitting there, sipping hot drinks and comparing notes. One of them muttered a curse under his breath when he caught sight of the blood and the bandages. Another stood up, a girl with bright green hair and tired eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ruby glanced at her, just for a second.

The girl sat back down without a word.

The only thing more suffocating than the silence between Francisco and Ruby was the silence around them.

Everyone had questions.

But no one wanted to be the first to ask.

When they finally reached the bottom of the steps to the Beacon Tower, the drizzle had soaked through their clothes completely. Francisco's shoulder burned where the wound hadn't quite closed. Ruby's hand trembled slightly, even as she kept holding onto his coat. She didn't seem to notice, or didn't care.

Francisco stopped at the base of the stairs.

The wind howled low through the open courtyard as he placed one foot on the first step.

But no words came.

The climb up the stairs was slow, his limp more pronounced now that the adrenaline had cooled in his blood. His legs ached with each shift of weight. His shoulder throbbed, fire lancing through the muscle where something had been torn and never given time to heal. The damp fabric of his shirt clung to him like a second skin, chafing raw where wounds pulsed beneath.

Ruby followed, quiet as ever. She didn't glance around anymore. She didn't need to. She knew where they were going.

The doors to Beacon Tower loomed ahead, wide glass framed in steel and stone. Normally, they stood grand, indifferent. But now they felt more like the gates to... Well, the gates to the Library.

Francisco reached out, ignoring the sting in his arm as he pressed a hand to the door's push bar. It gave with a soft clack, swinging inward.

Warm air met them at once, a stark contrast to the rain-soaked chill of the outside world. The lights inside were soft, golden. The interior is as polished and professional as any corporate office. The smell of clean tile and subtle perfume replaced the scent of iron and wet gravel that clung to them.

And there, behind a semicircular reception desk of brushed aluminum and frosted glass, sat the woman who managed Beacon Tower's appointments and visitor logs.

She blinked once.

Her eyes scanned Francisco. Then Ruby.

Her expression didn't shift. Not a twitch. Not a single sound escaped her as her gaze lingered on the blood, the medical gown, the bandages, and the pain neither of them tried to hide.

Slowly, she reached to one side and pressed a button on her terminal. The indicator light for the private elevator lit up with a soft ding.

That was all.

No name asked. No ID scanned. No "Do you have an appointment?"

She'd seen them go up too many times to question it.

Francisco gave her a slow nod. Not polite. Not grateful. Just… acknowledging. Ruby didn't even look. She just clutched his coat a little tighter as they walked past the desk, their wet footsteps leaving a trail of darkened stone behind them.

The walk to the elevator felt longer than it should have.

The hallway was silent. No professors, no staff. Just them. Just the low hum of overhead lights and the steady, mechanical thrum of the lift waiting at the end of the hall. Each footfall echoed softly.

Clack. Squish. Clack. Squish.

Francisco reached the elevator first and hit the call button with the side of his hand. The blood had dried on his fingers, caked in the seams of his knuckles, flaking as he moved. Was this blood his? Morello's? The doctors'? Ruby's? He couldn't tell.

The elevator responded with a muted chime. The doors opened with mechanical precision, spilling white light across the floor.

They stepped inside.

The doors slid shut behind them with the soft hiss of pressurized hydraulics.

The ride was long.

Francisco leaned against the railing, his eyes locked on the floor display as the numbers ticked upward. Ruby stood close beside him, never releasing the edge of his coat. Her head was slightly lowered, gaze unfocused, as if she were somewhere else entirely.

Floor 3… Floor 4…

No music played. Beacon Tower's elevator had music. Why didn't it play?

Just the faint hum of the motor. The distant whir of cables.

Floor 9…

Francisco's grip tightened slightly on the railing. The pain returned in bursts, like broken waves against the shore of his nerves. He blinked slowly. Focused on nothing. He didn't know what he'd say to Ozpin. Or how. Or if he'd even be able to.

Ruby hadn't said a word since she left the bullhead.

Her fingers were still trembling.

Floor 10.

Ding.

The elevator slowed to a crawl, then stopped.

The light above the doors blinked once.

A moment passed.

The elevator doors parted with a soft hiss of release, revealing the circular expanse of Ozpin's office. Walls made of glass curved like a beacon. The storm-muted sunrise washed the room in an eerie gray light.

A quiet chime announced their arrival. No footsteps followed.

Inside the room, two men stood facing away from the elevator.

Ozpin, ever-poised in his dark green coat and long scarf, stood near his desk with a steaming mug in hand. His back was straight, but the fingers wrapped around the cup were tense, white-knuckled, twitching slightly. The faint scent of coffee and dust mingled with the sterile air of the tower.

Across from him, General Ironwood stood like a marble statue carved from fury. The hard lines of his jaw were tighter than usual. His voice, low and rigid, had just finished biting into a sentence.

"-on Vale's doorstep, Ozpin. A prison ship. My personnel. My responsibility. My special operative!" He turned just as the elevator finished opening. His eyes scanned the approaching pair, then stopped.

Then narrowed.

His breath caught, just for a moment, and his spine stiffened.

Ozpin followed his gaze, slowly turning.

Neither man said a word.

Francisco took one step forward. Ruby followed, one pace behind, hand still clutched in the folds of his coat.

Their footsteps broke the silence. Wet fabric squished and slapped with each motion. The soft red trails they left behind glistened on the polished floor like spilled ink.

Ironwood's eyes dropped to Francisco's arm.

The fleshy one.

Gone was the sleek black casing of high-grade Atlesian tech.

In its place was... That thing.

A long, blood-red limb swayed slightly as he walked. The flesh didn't hold to one shape, muscle slid beneath itself like liquid beneath silk, flowing rather than flexing. The fingers were long, boneless-looking things, writhing in slow coils, never quite still. It looked like skin, but it wasn't. Looked like tendons, but didn't behave like them. It shimmered faintly where the light caught its surface, with gloss or sheen.

Colorful veins pulsed near the wrist but didn't follow any known path. They shifted and rearranged themselves under the surface like roots searching for purchase.

Jagged bone piercing outwards from the mass of viscera in odd angles. Eyes too, all with differently colored irises, seeped from between the flesh.

One of the fingers twitched and snapped upright with a jagged jerk, then curled in on itself like a dying spider.

Ruby's hand was very carefully wrapped around Francisco's other arm.

Ironwood didn't speak, not immediately. But the way his jaw clenched made it clear: he had questions. Urgent ones. He took a half-step forward before catching himself.

Ozpin, however, had frozen completely.

He hadn't looked at Francisco's arm yet. His eyes were on Ruby.

On the girl in the oversized coat, soaked in blood and rain. On the medical gown peeking from beneath. On the trembling fingers.

And then, finally, on her face.

More specifically, on the bandage. On what wasn't there.

His brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

The tension stretched between the four of them like a wire pulled taut. No words. Just breath. Just the faint creak of Ironwood's metal hand slowly curled into a fist.

Francisco didn't stop walking until he reached the base of the staircase. He didn't ascend. He didn't say a word. Just stood there, half-soaked, his writhing arm flexing subtly like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Ruby stayed at his side. Her breathing was light and uneven. She blinked more than she should have.

Finally, Ironwood broke the silence.

"What happened to your arm." His voice was a low growl, precise, and tight as a blade pressed against a throat.

Francisco looked up, meeting the general's stare. Not with defiance, nor submission. Just exhaustion.

"Gone," he muttered. His voice cracked like he hadn't used it in hours. "Didn't hold."

Ironwood's expression twitched. "Didn't hold? That was a reinforced composite casing. I had that fitted by my own engineers, with stabilization protocol meant to contain that thing inside you."

The thing inside his arm twitched, as if it heard the accusation.

Ruby swayed slightly where she stood. Ozpin noticed, his mouth opening slightly, perhaps to speak her name, but nothing came out.

Francisco's hand, the one not made of writhing, living flesh, lifted slowly to steady Ruby by the shoulder. She didn't react.

Ozpin took a cautious step forward, his eyes still on the girl.

"Miss Rose…?"

Still, no answer.

Just her breathing. Just her eye, singular, dull silver, unfocused, flicking toward nothing.

Ironwood exhaled through his nose, sharp and deliberate. "And the girl?"

"She's alive," Francisco said simply.

"She doesn't look it."

"Neither do I."

Ozpin raised a gentle hand. "That's enough."

Ironwood didn't relax, but he didn't push further.

Ozpin's gaze lingered on Ruby's bandaged eye for another moment before it drifted slowly to Francisco's arm. The movements beneath the skin. The pulsing lines. The finger twitched in a way fingers weren't meant to twitch.

He said nothing, but the lines on his face deepened. The soft clink of his mug setting down on the table was the only sound.

Francisco met his gaze for the first time.

There were no words, just the quiet understanding that something had changed.

Ozpin looked back to Ruby, and then to the coat wrapped around her like a blanket.

And the medical gown beneath.

And the blood that wasn't hers.

Ozpin's fingers hovered just over the rim of his mug, frozen as if afraid that the next movement would somehow shatter the moment, or confirm what he was already beginning to piece together.

Francisco stood at the foot of the stairs, unmoving. His throat tightened. Every breath scraped on the way up.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"The... mission," he said slowly, voice dry and low, "started simple enough. Clear objective. Four students. One professional huntsman."

He glanced toward Ozpin. "Find the one responsible for the murders going around in Rubica. The first day wasn't very fruitful. I'm sure Qrow will let you know about it."

At the mention of the town's name, both Ironwood and Ozpin sharpened.

"We... Ruby and I went to see the bodies. Nothing impossible. Though... At night shit hit the fan."

He paused there.

But the word didn't feel right. Nothing felt clean.

Francisco took a breath, one that stung down in his ribs.

"While Qrow and I were just in another room," he continued, "the girls were taken. Weiss, Yang, and Ruby."

His words grew quieter. Harder. Like every sentence was another step through thick mud.

"We were staying at a local hotel. Temporary lodging. I wasn't with them. Neither was Qrow. We figured it was safe." He didn't say who figured it.

"We weren't in the room. That's why they got taken and we didn't."

Ironwood's jaw flexed. But he said nothing.

"It was a Syndicate," Francisco muttered. "Well-organized. Had money. Led by a man named Morello. He used his semblance to teleport them outtathere."

He hesitated for the first time, eyes flicking toward Ozpin, just briefly, as if searching for a reaction that never came.

"We followed a trail, but we were ambushed halfway. The culprit. Qrow managed to kill 'em I think. The place I went had nothing." He sighed.

"Qrow and I eventually managed to find where they were hiding the girls... Thanks to his sister." Now that pulled a reaction from Ozpin's poker face. So he knew Raven.

"Not sure what they wanted, at first. Thought it was a ransom situation. Or revenge for something. But… no."

His eyes dropped to the floor.

"They wanted Ruby."

A thick silence fell across the room. Francisco's voice didn't rise. But something in it had cracked open.

"Specifically… her eyes."

Ironwood blinked. His head snapped toward Ozpin. But the Headmaster didn't react. Not externally at least. Only his fingers, curl around the edge of his desk.

Francisco kept speaking, now barely louder than the hum of the lights overhead.

"You told me about the legend, remember? A while ago. Silver-eyed warriors. What they were capable of. What she might be."

He didn't sound accusatory. Not even bitter. Just… tired.

"Don't know if that's what tipped them off. Don't know if you told someone else. Don't know if they just knew on their own. But Morello's Syndicate… they were after her eyes. Plural."

He shifted, slowly reaching into the soaked inner pocket of his coat currently worn by Ruby. The motion made his flesh-arm twitch. The eyes along its length blinked at random, unaware of the moment's gravity.

From his coat, tucked deep in the inside breast, Francisco retrieved a small, cylinder.

It looked sleek. Clean. Out of place against the backdrop of his bloodied state.

He held it for a moment. His hand trembled.

Then he walked up the steps, until he stood across from Ozpin's desk. With a breath, he placed the container down on the wood with a soft clink.

Ozpin's eyes didn't move at first. He stared at Francisco's face.

Then he looked down.

He already knew what it was.

But when the weight of the object registered his shoulders slumped. A subtle, imperceptible motion to anyone but the man across from him.

"She still has the other one," Francisco said, barely audible now. "They didn't finish the surgery. I tracked the surgery room quickly enough. We were lucky. But… not lucky enough."

He stared at the desk. At the eye that no longer saw.

"They used professional surgeons. Equipment meant to preserve the optic nerve if I understood correctly what Qrow told me after searching the place for himself afterward."

He swallowed.

"I don't think she felt it. She was sedated when we got there."

Ozpin lifted the container with careful hands, delicate, reverent like it might break apart from being acknowledged. He didn't open it.

Francisco stepped back.

"There's no one left to bring in," he said after a beat. "Everyone involved is dead."

He didn't list names. Didn't explain the bodies. He didn't need to.

"Morello killed most of his own. That was when he teleported a moving car into me during our fight. I killed the surgeons right then and there... And for Morello..."

His hand flexed, and the tendrils in his other arm mirrored the motion.

"Ruby killed him."

Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "She what?"

Francisco met his gaze now. Calm. Cold.

"She's the one who dealt the final blow."

The general looked toward the girl in question. Small, wrapped in too much fabric, standing like a wisp of a person barely tethered to her own body.

"She defended me," Francisco added. "I wasn't able to win alone."

The room went still again. No sound now but Ruby's shallow breaths.

"She doesn't remember much," Francisco said, barely a whisper. "She was sleeping while I dragged her about the place."

Ozpin closed his hand around the cylinder. His eyes never left the girl.

Francisco didn't speak for a long moment.

The morning light cast pale streaks across the floor, but none of it reached far into the silence hanging between the four of them.

Then, quietly, like it had been clawing at the back of his throat the entire time, he added:

"Right before I killed one of the surgeons… one of them said a name. Torchwick said that name too, back in Mount Glemm."

Ozpin's eyes shifted ever so slightly.

Francisco looked at him.

"Cindy."

Neither Ozpin nor Ironwood spoke, but their expressions shifted in that subtle way experienced men shift when a potential lead makes itself known. Ozpin's brow twitched. Ironwood's eyes narrowed.

"Cindy?" Ironwood echoed. "As in a codename?"

"Could be. Could be a real name. Doesn't matter. They said it like she was the one who started it. Like she's the one who put the bounty out." He glanced at Ruby. "On her eyes."

The name meant nothing to either of them. But both men knew it was something. And in matters like this, something was always better than nothing.

Ironwood looked as though he was about to explode. He finally managed to find a hint of something too large to even understand, but he couldn't ask the guy because Torchwick was on the ship that crashed earlier today. Dead.

Ozpin however filed it away without a word. He'd follow that thread when the time came.

His eyes returned to Ruby.

She hadn't moved much. Her fingers still clutched the coat around her. The weight of the medical gown beneath it had begun to drag on her posture. The bandage over her eye had begun to peel slightly at the edge, dark from old blood and rain. She hadn't said a word through the entire debrief. She barely blinked.

Then Ozpin spoke again, gently this time. As if any louder would shatter her.

"Miss Rose…" he said again, softer now. "Are you… okay?"

The question hung in the air for several seconds. Not a demand. Not an expectation. Just… a space left open for her.

Ruby's grip on Francisco's coat faltered. Her head tilted, slightly. Her one good eye turned toward Ozpin. And then she spoke.

"I don't know." Her voice was small. Hoarse.

That answer was enough to make Ironwood glance away, exhaling slowly through his nose.

Francisco let out a slow breath too, as if that response had cost him something just to hear.

There was nothing else to say. No further information to give. No vengeance left to chase. The enemy was already dead.

Francisco turned slightly, his shoulder rolling with pain, and started walking toward the elevator. He'd said what he came to say.

But Ironwood wasn't done.

Not with him, with her.

"Miss Rose," Ironwood said, his voice stronger now, more commanding. Like he'd remembered who he was.

Francisco paused. Ruby didn't.

"You did what needed to be done," the General continued. "When your partner was about to die, you stepped in. You protected him. You made the right decision."

Ruby stopped in her tracks.

The elevator was still behind her. Its doors open.

But she didn't move.

"You were injured. Severely," Ironwood added, taking a step closer, not looming, not threatening, just present. "But you still stood. You still carried out your duty. That takes strength."

There was no malice in his voice. Just respect.

And it didn't sit right.

Her voice came again, even quieter than before.

"I killed him."

Ironwood's expression didn't falter. "You saved someone."

"I killed him," she said again. The trembling in her fingers became visible now.

"You did what a Huntress must do," Ironwood said, his voice still calm. "You acted. You survived."

She turned to face him, just slightly. Her eye met his. The silver in it was dulled by more than exhaustion now.

There was no heat in her voice. No defiance. No anger. Just a single question:

"Then why doesn't it feel like I won?"

Ironwood didn't answer.

There was no answer that would land clean.

Ironwood lingered for a beat after Ruby's question.

Then, without a word, he crouched slightly and pulled a steel suitcase from where it rested beside Ozpin's desk, partially tucked beneath the edge. He clicked it open just enough to check the contents, then shut it with a soft snap and turned toward Ruby.

His expression had lost its edge. "This is for Miss Schnee," he said, holding the handle out for Ruby to take. "Make sure she gets it."

Ruby didn't move at first. Her eyes flicked down to the suitcase. Then to Francisco. Francisco gave her a slight nod, quiet and slow. So she stepped forward, hands hesitant but steady, and took the case from the General.

It was heavy.

Ironwood said nothing else.

Ruby held it close to her chest, fingers tightening around the handle.

Francisco waited for her to turn, and when she did, he walked beside her, silent as ever. The elevator doors closed behind them with a soft hiss.

Only when the last sound of machinery quieted did Ironwood finally speak again.

"I didn't want to believe it," he said, still facing the elevator. "But I knew it the moment I saw the report."

Ozpin didn't respond.

"The black box from the prisoner ship is missing," Ironwood continued, voice low, restrained. "Pulled out, clean. Before we got there."

That made Ozpin's jaw tighten slightly.

"We recovered most of the bodies," the General went on. "Prisoners. Guards. Torchwick."

Now Ozpin turned to look at him.

"But Winter…" Ironwood's voice faltered, just slightly. "She didn't die in the crash." He stared down at the floor.

"She died an hour after. Combat injuries. Severe lacerations, and punctures. From a fight, not a fall. The medics said she bled out trying to get to the comm room on foot. Maybe to warn someone."

Ozpin didn't move.

"She fought someone," Ironwood said. "And she lost."

There was nothing else to say.

Ozpin turned back toward his desk, gently setting the container holding Ruby's eye beside his mug.

The office felt colder now.


The elevator hummed softly as it descended, its interior bathed in dim, sterile light. The quiet was... not uncomfortable, but not comforting either. Just... quiet.

Francisco leaned his back against the wall, breathing through the ache in his side. The shirt clung to him, soaked through with rain. Beside him, Ruby stood with the suitcase hugged to her chest, eyes on the numbers as they ticked down.

Neither of them spoke, not right away. The only sounds were the distant hum of the motor and the soft creak of wet fabric shifting as they adjusted their stances.

Finally, Francisco spoke. His voice was low. Not hesitant, just careful.

"You holding up?"

Ruby didn't answer at first. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the suitcase.

Then, quietly; "I don't feel anything."

Francisco blinked once, slowly. He turned his head to look at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Her eye stayed on the floor display.

"I thought I'd feel sick," she said, her voice steadier now, but distant. "Or angry. Or relieved. Or… something."

She finally glanced at him, just for a second.

"But there's nothing. Just… cold. Like it didn't happen to me. Like it was a dream."

Francisco shifted slightly, his monstrous arm twitching once at the elbow.

"That... bothers you?"

"Yeah." She gave a short, humorless breath. "I feel bad that I don't feel bad. Isn't that messed up?"

He thought about it. Thought way too long.

Then shrugged.

"Could be."

Ruby blinked at him.

He kept going, eyes forward again.

"Could be shock. Could be trauma. It's common as far as my experience goes, but... Don't know. Not qualified to say."

Another twitch in his arm. A lazy ripple along the flesh like a muscle dreaming beneath the skin.

"But if you think it's a bad thing," he added, "then… maybe it is."

Ruby lowered her head again. The light from the display cast pale shadows over her face. Her eye caught it just enough to glint faintly.

"And if I'm not sure?"

"Then figure it out."

His tone wasn't cruel. Just honest.

The elevator continued downward.

"I don't think I want to be the kind of person who kills someone and feels nothing," Ruby said after a while, her voice even softer.

Francisco nodded slightly. "Then don't be."

The answer was simple. Almost too simple. But in the silence that followed, Ruby didn't push it, she just held the suitcase tighter.

Ruby let out a dry chuckle. "Remind me to never ask you for your opinion on anything related to feelings ever again." She spoke, leaning her head on his side.

Francisco smiled at that. "As if you'd stop." He spoke, scrambling her hair with his one good hair. "You did good. Is fine."

A soft ding echoed in the elevator.


The rain had slowed to a light mist by the time lunch rolled around, though the skies remained blanketed in that same overcast gray. Beacon's cafeteria was quieter than usual, half the student body was still scattered across missions, and the others had learned not to linger too long in these weird transition periods.

Today was one of those days.

But there, at a corner table by the tall windows overlooking the soaked courtyard, sat a gathering that had drawn more than a few passing glances.

Team RWBY, or at least what remained of it. Weiss and Yang. Both freshly showered, freshly dressed, and freshly exhausted. Fred was beside them, tray balanced with ridiculous efficiency on one hand, while his other hovered near his Scroll, locked and unused for now. And sitting across from them, Bemaia.

And next to Bemaia, Blake.

That alone was enough to pull more than one second-year into a slow walk-by. People whispered. Some squinted. Yang even rubbed her eyes a few times, as if waiting for the illusion to drop.

Blake Belladonna, who not a day ago would sooner suffer a migraine than willingly sit within arm's reach of Bemaia... was leaning on him.

Leaning. Not just sitting next to.

She wasn't touchy, not overtly. But she was close. Closer than anyone ever sat to Bemaia without getting side-eyed into oblivion. Her shoulder brushed his once, twice, then stayed. Her tray had been placed a little too neatly beside his. Her eyes, when not darting down to her food or away from Yang's scrutiny, flicked toward him, quick, unsure glances like she was checking to make sure he was still there.

And Bemaia?

Bemaia didn't care.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't make a sarcastic remark. Didn't so much as glance sideways in warning.

If anything, he looked more like his usual self. Tired, vaguely alert, his expression unreadable under his hooded eyes. Except for the wing.

The wing, draped lazily over the back of his chair like a living mantle, occasionally shifted of its own accord. It twitched like a tail, brushed against the floor once or twice. It cast strange shadows on the tiles. A few passing students made an effort to not look at it.

Fred stared at the scene with a furrowed brow, like someone trying to decode a language mid-lecture. His scroll was forgotten on the table, fork halfway to his mouth and not moving.

Yang squinted harder.

"So… are we not gonna talk about this?" she asked aloud, jabbing a thumb in their direction.

Blake didn't look up.

Bemaia took a bite of his sandwich.

Fred finally blinked. "That's what I was wondering! Like, am I dreaming this? Did I get body-snatched during the night? Blake hates him, right? Like, hates?"

Weiss, arms crossed, leaned ever-so-slightly forward, eyes narrowed like a scientist evaluating a volatile substance. "I mean… she used to glare at him just for breathing near her, or just breathing in general."

"I'm right here, you know," Bemaia said, voice flat.

"Oh, we're aware," Weiss snapped, folding her arms tighter. "But since you're clearly in a sharing mood, would you care to explain what the hell is going on?"

Blake said nothing.

Bemaia's eyes slid toward her, just for a moment, then back to his food.

"I'm pleading the fifth." he said simply.

"The fifth? What the fuck is the fifth?" Fred echoed, flinging his hands in the air.

Weiss shook her head, "I'm impressed he's read the Constitution of Vale. He's invoking his right to remain silent."

"You can't just no out of this, man! Something's up. Blake's acting like she-like she likes you or something!"

"She's sitting," Bemaia replied, chewing idly. "You're the one making it weird."

"I am not-!"

Yang cut him off with a sigh, resting her head in one hand and swirling the remains of her pasta with the other. "Okay, but like… when did this happen? Yesterday? You two were here, right? While we were on the mission?"

Bemaia didn't answer.

Blake continued picking at her food, saying nothing.

Fred looked from one to the other, as if waiting for a camera crew to pop out from under the table and yell Gotcha.

Weiss, however, was watching more carefully now. Her voice came out colder.

"Did something happen while we were gone?"

There was a long pause.

Then Bemaia leaned back just slightly in his chair. The wing shifted with the movement, curling upward for a moment before relaxing again.

"Winter Schnee stopped by," he said.

The words were dropped like stones into still water.

Weiss froze.

"...What?" Weiss said slowly.

"She came by Beacon," Bemaia said, reaching for his drink. "Asked if you were around. I told her you were on a mission. She asked me to tell you she was looking for you."

"When?" Weiss asked, her voice a little sharper now.

"Yesterday morning. After you left."

Weiss stood suddenly, fingers clutching the edge of the table. "Why would she-why didn't she-"

"She didn't leave a message," Bemaia added, still calm. "Just said she'd catch up with you soon."

The table went silent.

Fred's fork clinked gently against his plate. Yang leaned back, frowning. Blake had gone still.

Weiss sank back into her seat, staring blankly at her tray. "She was supposed to be deployed to Atlas' southern coast," she said under her breath. "She wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Vale..."

Bemaia didn't comment. He just took another bite.

Fred finally broke the quiet. "Okay, but still, this," he motioned to Bemaia and Blake, "is like watching a cat curl up next to a snake and neither one is freaked out."

"You calling me a cat?" Bemaia muttered, still chewing.

Fred gave him a look.

"No, seriously, though," Yang said, narrowing her eyes at her partner, "Blake. You've barely looked at any of us since we got back. Now you're stuck to him like you're glued. Did something happen? What did you two do while we were gone?"

Blake slowly lifted her gaze. It passed over Yang, Weiss, Fred, and settled on Bemaia.

He didn't look at her. But he didn't flinch either.

"…Nothing we want to talk about," she said at last.

Yang frowned, but didn't push.

The silence that followed was heavier than it should've been. It stretched over the table like fog, only broken by the occasional scrape of utensils or the shift of Bemaia's wing, casting faint ripples across the reflective tiles.

After a while, Fred leaned in and muttered, "Okay, but like. Are they dating now? Or is this, like, a hostage situation where she's too afraid to say anything?"

"Shut up, Fred," Bemaia said flatly.

Blake just smiled, tiny, but unmistakable.

Weiss blinked at that, unsure if she was hallucinating.

The cafeteria hadn't gotten any louder. That low drone of student chatter still hummed in the distance, but it barely touched the table where Team WBY, Fred, and Bemaia sat.

A few more seconds passed in silence, broken only by the sound of Bemaia tapping his cup against the table.

Then Blake spoke.

"How was the mission?" Her voice was calm. Neutral. But her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of her tray.

Yang glanced at Weiss. Weiss didn't look back.

"Well," Yang said, exhaling through her nose, "it sucked."

Blake blinked. "That's… vague."

"Oh, I'll get specific," Yang muttered. "We walked around town all day, found nothing. Sketchy vibes everywhere. Then night rolls in and boom! Kidnapped."

Fred made a noise between a gasp and a groan.

Weiss took over from there, speaking with the precision of someone replaying the events in her head whether she liked it or not. "We were staying at a hotel. We thought it was secure. We thought we were safe. But while we were sleeping, someone used a teleportation semblance to snatch all three of us. Just like that."

Blake stared. "All three?"

"All three," Weiss said coldly. "They had us separated. No weapons. No semblances. Some kind of medical compound. Drugs. They kept Ruby sedated." She paused. "They wanted her eyes."

Blake's lips parted, but no words came. So it wasn't a scam, that call Bemaia received.

Yang leaned forward now, her voice colder than before. "They tried to take them. Not metaphorically. Literally. She was on an operating table when Francisco found her."

Fred's face scrunched. "What the hell…"

"She lost one," Weiss continued flatly, her hands folding on her lap. "Just one. That's the only reason she's still breathing. They didn't get to the other before Francisco tore the place down."

Silence. Even Fred didn't know what to say.

Yang added the final blow. "And she killed the guy. The one who ran it. Morello. Ruby killed him herself."

Blake's shoulders tensed. "She… she what?"

"She was defending the baldie. They were cornered, I think. I didn't see it happen, but… yeah. She killed him." Yang looked away. "He's gone."

Blake sat back, visibly shaken.

Bemaia, on the other hand, didn't look even remotely surprised. In fact, he looked mildly annoyed.

"Ah," he said, voice thick with sarcasm. "And I'm guessing none of you thought to thank the guy who made sure Francisco was even there to begin with."

Weiss glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

He set his drink down with a louder-than-necessary clack. "Your dad. Mr. Schnee. He called me. Asked if I'd seen you. I hadn't. So I called Francisco. Woke him up. The bastard would've slept through the whole night like a corpse if I hadn't. But hey," he added with a scowl, "you're all welcome."

Weiss blinked. "You… you called him?"

"Yeah. Because your dad did first." Bemaia leaned back, his wing twitching lazily behind him. "He's my money bag, and he called me late at night to tell me to go rescue your ass, again! I swear, I'll start asking for a more stable salary at this point."

Fred whistled low. "Well… that explains the timing."

Weiss' brows furrowed. "I didn't know Dad even reached out to you…"

"He did. I guess he liked how I dealt with the Fang back in that train to Atlas." Bemaia muttered. "Almost didn't answer too."

Fred took the moment to look between them again. "Okay, so… Ruby's down an eye, killed someone, Weiss and Yang got kidnapped, and you're telling me all this like it's a group project gone wrong. Are you… okay with that?"

"No," Weiss said simply.

Yang, after a pause, shrugged. "We're not okay. But we're handling it."

Blake set her utensils down and looked up again. Her eyes were sharp now. Focused. "Can I go see her?"

Weiss didn't hesitate. "We were just about to go. She's in the infirmary... I think." Weiss' eyebrows twitched. "If she isn't, I'll have to kill a certain bald armlet!"

Yang nodded. "Come with us."

Blake stood before they finished the sentence. Her tray still full, barely touched.

Bemaia didn't move.

She paused, looked down at him. "You coming?"

He didn't look up. Just shook his head.

"It's not my problem, and I'm busy." he said.

Yang muttered something under her breath. Fred scooted to the side, letting the girls pass. As Blake walked past Bemaia, her fingers brushed his sleeve once, just once, but he didn't flinch.

He watched them go with his usual blank expression. But his wing twitched twice.

Fred, once the others were gone, finally exhaled and leaned over the table.

"So..." he said slowly. "You and Blake, huh?"

"Fred."

"Yes?"

"I've been mauled by a beast twice in the same day. Gimme a break."