Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Weiss' mouth was taut, eyes checking the lines of the man before her. Grey hair, green scarf, black and brown suit, a cane resting solidly against their table, and -

Sssssiiiiiiiiiip. Her left eye twitched.

- and his coffee cup.

Tick, tock, tick, to-

Paper shuffled as Ozpin exhaled. "So, Miss...Snjór is it?"

"Yes sir, it is."

Brown eyes drifted back down to the documents, roving steadily from left to right, "and you seek a position here at Beacon Academy, correct?"

Freshly dyed black hair tickled her neck as she nodded. She hated it. "That is correct, sir."

One nod, two, and another sip from the man across from her. "May I inquire as to why?"

To stop it from falling, to protect the Maiden, to save you - "I've always wanted to teach," she lied, "my own teachers probably had a hand in inspiring that. I want to make sure that the next generation of Hunters will be the best they can be. I can do more here, maybe not in the short run, but in the long run I could make our Hunters better. Better Hunters means more lives saved."

Headmaster Ozpin nodded as she spoke, chewing over each syllable with a tap of his hand and a sip of his drink. "I can certainly empathize with that, Miss Snjór, but I must confess, it is odd for a Huntress to apply for a teaching position at an age as young as yours. To most it is a retirement position. So, why teach now?"

You've got to sell it, her mind whispered, straight back, straight face; she forced a smile, making sure to show its strain. "I...recently lost both my legs while eliminating a hive of Deathstalkers with my partner. I could use some time to...get back on my feet." She could feel Yang slapping her on the back for that one. "No pun intended."

Pity worked its way into Ozpin's eyes, and, though he hid it well, there was a smidgen of hope there too. Wants to keep me here even after I "recover," maybe?

"Pincer?" he inquired in a somber baritone, brown eyes not leaving her own blue.

"Landmine," she corrected, and smiled at the glint of surprise she saw sparkling in the brown. "A relic of The Great War or Faunus Rebellions probably, maybe even a local trying to protect their family," a small shrug of her shoulders accompanied by the intrusive tickle of hair, "these things happen."

"That they do." Ozpin's lips quirked just the tiniest bit upward, but whether it was from something she'd done or the taste of his coffee she didn't know. "Your resolve to not dawdle in the pain of the change is admirable, given how fresh it must be."

The candle of her pride grew a bit taller at that, and she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face despite the wild inaccuracy of the timeframe. "I appreciate that, sir; it certainly hasn't been easy."

"I don't doubt that," the man across her replied, the mid-morning clouds coasting lazily on the breeze behind his head. "But, back to the matter at hand: were you looking for any specific position?"

"Not one in particular I suppose," her gaze drifted over to the window taking in every brick and beam of the Beacon campus she could. She still had a hard time believing it was there, and, based on the looks she'd caught from Jaune, she wasn't alone in that. 'We're never alone,' he'd respond.

It was the sip of coffee that forced her out of her reverie and back to the, very important, situation at hand. Careless. "My most extensive and helpful expertise lies with the manipulation of - and science behind - Dust. Its uses in combat, history, and theoretical applications are my forte, so an ideal position would allow me to impart that expertise to the students somehow." The clouds lazed on, and the shadows on the stone of Beacon weren't much different. "I don't care if it's through an assistant role or through my own course, as long as I'm not useless," there was a bite to that word, despite how she tried to swallow it, "and can teach them about it."

Ticking filled the vacuum of sound her words had left behind, swallowing her whole as her eyes drifted back to the window, to Beacon. Ozpin didn't seem to mind, his own focus on the stack of papers before him again.

It was on the sixty-seventh tick that they blended into one, and her thoughts slipped away from the moment and to the past week. Beacon's scenery had always had that effect on her. It was comforting to welcome it back. One week since the incident at the Docks, about two since she and Jaune had found themselves…'back in time.' It had been zero seconds since that whole idea didn't sound absolutely ludicrous. Frankly, she still wasn't sure if it was some sort of shared hallucination. But even if it is...well, she'd get the most out of it.

Anyway, they'd decided that sinking back into the alley and watching the docks from the rooftops was the best option. After Weiss had torched the way they'd came with a wave of fire dust, but, as she had told Jaune, that was always her reaction whenever Sustrai would try her mind games. It was instinctive.

'Tell that to the roasted rats,' he'd said.

They'd gotten a hotel room, as the lien they carried on them was still valid, but since their bank account didn't technically exist yet, they didn't (don't) have anything more than the money they'd had on their persons. They'd...talked didn't seem like the right word, but neither did 'argued'...discussed their situation for hours, and it was Jaune's idea to not launch into search and destroy mode straight away, despite her objections. They had knowledge of everything that was going to happen for a while. The details of their year at Beacon before it fell were mutually fuzzy, a lifetime or two ago for them both, but the gist was still there. Plus, seeing it all again has already jogged a few details, the beauty of Beacon's campus perhaps being the biggest.

To make a long story short, they decided that being at Beacon as often as possible was essential to finding the ideal time to act, but they were both too old to pass as students so Professors or TAs it was. That was the ideal at least. Security, or just plain freeloading on campus were other options, but they were banking on Beacon hiring temps to gear up for the influx of students from the Vytal Festival.

As for her "new" hair...well, her old snow-white shade was simply too rare to tolerate. She already resembled her past self enough, it wouldn't do for anyone to pick up on rumors of a bastard Schnee child teaching at Beacon.

That didn't mean she had to like the change though. It clashed with just about everything about her, and she didn't realize how much she loved her natural hair color until she was doused in the polar opposite.

So, here she sat, jet black hair bound in a ponytail as her eyes scanned the drifting clouds and swirling leaves of Beacon Academy while its zombie headmaster interviewed her for a job. A teaching position where she'd be educating younger versions of almost everyone she cared about, and all the while trying to protect them from a women that had died years ago.

Surreal didn't quite do it justice.

It was the clip of Ozpin's voice that focused her thoughts again as her eyes glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes of silence. Oh. "Well, Miss Snjór," finality laced his voice, and her neck tensed up, "there is one more step before we officially welcome you to the staff here at Beacon -," a sigh slipped from her lips, and she let herself relax "- and it is a vital one. But, should all go well, I'd be more than happy to sign you on myself."

A nod, and that damned tickle of hair.

"Seeing as this is a teaching position we would like to see how you handle a classroom of students and a day's worth of material, as well as evaluate your expertise in Dust and its uses. In short, we need to see how you teach."

"Yeah, Ozpin told me the same." A pause as Jaune's brows furrowed, "though with strategy and analysis instead of Dust." Bread, meat, and cheese filled his mouth not a second later, but his eyes were zeroed in on the facades of the buildings around them.

"It makes perfect sense, I don't know why I'd never considered it as part of the process before." Legitimately, am I dull? How did I not see this coming? "Of course they want to evaluate your teaching skills if they're going to hire you as a teacher." She sighed at herself. Some comfort was provided by Ruby and Yang's uncle Qrow managing to snag a position at Signal, but surely Beacon would be more rigorous than that!

Right?

"I donf't knowfsh 'ow we didn' shee id cohming," Jaune remarked, before a pale hand smacked his own. "Shorry," his brows shifted down and his cheeks puffed out, eyes wide for half a second. Sheepish, that was the word.

"Honestly, did nobody ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?" Not that it mattered if they didn't, it'd just be a few more years of bad habits to tear down before she could bring him out in public. He was lucky there wasn't food during the interview, or Ozpin wouldn't have understood him enough to even know what he was applying for. "I suppose it doesn't matter either way though, we've got to get it done and do it well."

Blond hair bounced up and down in the lilting breeze as Jaune nodded, chewing twice more before the sandwich disappeared in a single gulp. "I think we'll be fine honestly, Beacon seems to ah, 'tolerate eccentrics,' pretty widely. I'm just worried about the setting y'know? Will it be in a normal lecture hall, or are we going to be in a sparring room like combat class was?"

Pink lips stretched into a thin line. "I don't know, but I...I'd assume mine will be in a lecture hall, though it could be sparring." One finger tapped the table with as much force as the wind. "I could see yours going either way."

A few stray crumbs slipped from Jaune's lips as he nodded slightly again, eyes trailing the cast-iron railing separating them from the city. She'd traced them a thousand times before, but still found herself following the lines of his face. To gauge his thoughts. Of course.

Air tripped through her throat with a cough, and Jaune's gaze drifted back to her. Damn food going down the wrong way. "It wouldn't be too disastrous either way, but it requires preparing two separate lectures. Just in case." Icy irises eyed the purple of the evening sky, as deep and rich as the Major Lakes of Atlas on a Spring night. Cold air nipping at the nape of her neck forced a shiver out of her. If only it was Spring. "Speaking of which, we should get back to the hotel before the light fades completely." They needed rest, and stalking through the city at night was not a risk she wanted to take again. Especially if Cinder and the White Fang are back. She'd be twitchier than Ironwood at a gun convention.

Jaune grunted in agreement before slamming the last of his sandwich into his mouth. Weiss Schnee rolled her eyes, but couldn't stamp out the smile that played on her lips.

The walk back to their hotel (The Wandering Beowulf as it was called) was over before they realized it. One second they'd been going back and forth with ideas and lecture plans outside the cafe, and the next she was trudging into their bathroom for a shower.

Jet black hair came down in a torrent as she undid her ponytail, whispering its thanks as it tickled her neck and elicited a growl. The bits of plate came next, followed by her boots and combat pants. Coat, shirt, then underwear all joined the motley folded wardrobe with a sigh.

It took her far more time than it should have to figure out the shower. Why couldn't they just be standardized? What purpose did every hotel having a different shower mechanism possibly serve?!

At least left is still hot, it had been an exercise in willpower to not rip that whole building's plumbing out of the ground - scalding water slammed into her back -, but Ruby and Yang had managed to talk her down.

Ruby. Yang. Blake. They're alive.

She...she didn't know what to make of that to tell the truth. They'd been dead for so long and her grief had been buried, then dug up and dealt with alongside Jaune's before the festering rotted them both away. Different people. They were different people, all of them.

And now they had a chance to assure they'd be almost unrecognizable. Snip the war in the bud before it had the chance to begin, rip all that pain away from their friends, from themselves. Let them live.

Did that make her own life invalid? Did it matter if she died if there was another her waiting to live a good life?

Footsteps on the hardwood, and a knock on the open door. A switch clicked, and the fan overhead inhaled the blanket of steam that clung to her. "You okay, Weiss?"

Hot water rushed over her lips as she nodded. And waited. Curtain you idiot, he can't see you. Her throat braced and her lips coiled to say yes, but…

It wouldn't come.

"I...do we matter, Jaune?" The skin on her back burned, but a chill she couldn't shake had settled in her spine. "Did we live through all that we did as some sort of extended premonition? Are we just an example of what could go wrong, what needs to be prevented?" A crack in the timbre of her voice. "Was someone or-or something not satisfied so it just slammed the reset button and is using us as insurance to make sure this time is the right time?"

The water began to cool.

"If...if we fail, and it all happens again...would we just get sent back again? If we - you and me - died, but our -" she swallowed, "- younger selves live...then will they get sent back too? A-A-And -"

He couldn't take it anymore. The crack in her voice, the despair in her tone, the confusion, the hopelessness, the loss. It tore his insides apart more than any Grimm ever could, and not just because he felt it too. Because it was his partner.

Because it was Weiss.

Jaune Arc threw back the shower curtain with a swipe from his right arm while his left drew Weiss into a hug. Soaked hair curtained along his undershirt, and the water permeating the back of her frame slid along the skin of his arms.

There was no revelry in seeing her form, he'd seen it a dozen times, and she'd probably seen his more. It was difficult to explain to civilians, or parents, or hunters-in-training, or anyone that had never dealt with the way a Beowulf's claws sliced through plate and cloth and into flesh. Anyone who'd didn't make a habit of ripping bloodstained clothes off a body to field-dress a wound regardless of its placement. It wasn't sexual, it wasn't lust-filled, and, honest to The Brothers, it didn't even cross his mind. It was skin, it was blood, it was organs, it was metal, and they - like his own - were so, so fragile.

The only thing occupying his thoughts, that beat against his skull with each methodic pulse, was how he could help, and what he could say.

Nothing came to mind, so he pulled her closer.

It was another two days before their test lectures, but it still went by in a heartbeat. She just...there was so much to do, so much that needed discussing and planning and preparing, but there just weren't enough hours in the day.

Her's was the earlier of the two: 11am - 12pm to be precise. Jaune's was going to be from 1:30pm - 2:30pm that same day. Ozpin had mentioned that they were both allowed to observe the other's lecture, but not to interfere or intervene in any way, and, should they be hired, they probably wouldn't have enough time to make a habit of that.

She was fine with that, and grateful to know a more-than-familiar face would be present. Well, besides the ones that were over ten years too young. A frown split Weiss' face for what must've been the fifteenth time that day as she shuffled her notes and papers yet again. There was no guarantee she'd see her old friends, though she'd be surprised if her past self didn't leap on the opportunity to take a special lecture on the mechanics of advanced Dust usage in combat. If that was the case then it was about a fifty/fifty split on whether the rest of RWBY would show up. She probably would've placed bets with Jaune if the thought of seeing their faces didn't unsettle her so deeply.

You'll have to see them eventually, might as well do it early and get it over with.

The room before her was almost identical to the fuzzy memories of Beacon's lecture halls that she could manage to scrape up. Several rows of amphitheatre style wooden desks with her, her desk, and her board serving as the focal point of the room. The only difference she could see was that the broad, arched windows were on the student's left instead of their right.

Leather scraped against leather as she shifted in her seat once more before standing up. Jaune shot her a smile and a thumbs-up from his seat next to Ozpin and Goodwitch at the back left. A smile worked its way onto her face in return before she turned.

It was then that the door first opened, they were tall and broad shouldered, but ultimately nobody she knew. Probably a third year or higher. Blue eyes flicked to the clock. 10:54am, a little early. The board groaned as she wrote on it, knuckles as white as the stylus she held by the time she was done. One breath with closed eyes had the trembling in her limbs slow, two had it stop, and a third swallowed her nerves. Just like a concert, you've done this plenty of times: "Ms. Snjór," shone in the top left corner, and below it rested "Advanced Dust Mechanics and Combat Techniques."

It sounded very official, very proper, as it should.

One step back as her blue eyes roamed over the handwriting. The knot of unease in her gut eased that much more. It looked - felt - right.

The equations and basic rules she wrote next had all but been ingrained in her brain over the past two days. They were honestly simple equations, but the principles she wrote beside them were a little more advanced material. Not by much, though most Huntsmen don't find them important. A scoff slipped from her lip at that.

Information is vital in combat. Any information. One last glance at the clock: 10:59:40. Might as well get started…

Deep breath, again, and again. Black hair whipped as she spun. Chin high, back straight, hands behind your back. One sole slammed against the tile as she strode forward and -

Brass crashed against the wall with a blend of stone and shouts. Warning bells blared in her head as she snapped to face the threat, muscles coiled and taut with her left hand grasping for the hilt of -

Silver eyes. Silver eyes wide as saucers stared straight through hers. Weiss' mouth went as dry as the Vacuan wastes in a single hitched breath. Icy eyes drifted behind the silver to meet amber, glacial, sapphire, and emerald.

Ruby, Blake, Pyrrha, and - is that what we looked like then?

A cough from the back left of the room snapped the chains around her. Her back straightened again with enormous effort, hands unclenching as her eyes sought any pair but those of the much too familiar mass in front of her. The muscles in her neck were still hard as stone.

"Please," her voice was unfamiliar and distant, almost cold. "Take your seats. You're just in time."

It hurt to look away, but it hurt even more to look at them all. She wasn't quite sure why that was. The turn back to the lecture hall was stiff and robotic, the words that had been on the tip of her tongue a moment ago had been buried under emotions behind eyes and faces. She coughed. A good thing I covered my scar.

"Before we begin," her voice had somewhat returned to normal, and she was pleased with how easily it filled the lecture hall, "can any of you tell me how many different types of Dust there are?"

Awkward shuffling as her eyes scanned each face that sat in her (that felt good to think) hall. Most flicked down to a scroll or notepad when eye contact reared its head, others dug into their backpacks for a pencil, but one hand rose in her peripherals. She flinched when she saw the blood-red hair it was attached to.

"Yes, Ms...?"

"Nikos," Pyrrha responded, her voice sliced back to memories that Weiss hadn't thought about in...how many years had it been? Nine? Eight? "There are four basic types of Dust: Burn, Water, Lighting, and Air, corresponding to the colors red, blue, yellow, and white."

Weiss put on her best faux-smile. "Correct, Ms. Nikos. Do you also happen to know how many secondary combination types there are, as well as their effects?"

The redhead's brows scrunched together, lips morphing into a small frown. "I do, but...I'm afraid I can't list them off the top of my head, Professor."

Professor Schnee, she gave a curt nod to Pyrrha as an alabaster hand shot up to the redhead's right, that sounds rather nice. Blue eyes shifted and met a mirror image of their shade, though with a bit more fire and youth in them. It was herself, well, her younger self (gods, that still didn't sound right) clad in an immaculately pressed Beacon uniform. It rode up a bit more than she thought it had. Weiss gave a quick nod to Weiss, and she felt herself die a little inside.

Red and brown fabric rustled as the young woman - girl really - straightened up and smiled a triumphant smile. "There are six secondary Dust types, known colloquially as 'mixes.' Cyan, Aquamarine, Glacial, Orange, Forest, and Purple. Steam, Typhoon, Ice, Magma, Plant, and Gravity respectively."

"That is correct, Miss…?"

Young Weiss' spine somehow got even straighter, her smile peaking in self satisfaction. That was me. "Schnee," the girl with snowy hair said, "Weiss Schnee."

Older Weiss let a neutral hum escape her lips at that, turning back to the board as she did, one arm outstretched towards the 'Principles of Pure Dust Usage'. There were fifty pairs of eyes in the room before her, but she was only aware of the five that burrowed into her gut from the left. Her voice found steel.

"Discipline. Control. Willpower. Imagination." Each word met a new pair of eyes, and each pair of eyes in turn met their pencils. "The four key requirements for Pure Dust Manipulation. Without discipline you'll drain your aura in under ten minutes, and die immediately after. Without control you will kill a friend, a civilian, or yourself. Without willpower you cannot control the Dust, and it will destroy you. Without imagination then you might as well go back to using Dust Bullets, because that'll be all you can do with Pure Dust Manipulation."

A few pens and pencils scratched paper as she paused, but only a fraction of those in the class. Suppose that's my lot when they don't have a test. None of her old...friends? No, that was too familiar, she hardly recognized herself, let alone the others. Team. That works. None of her old team made to write, though it looked like Ruby was doodling happily. It hurt to see that again, even though it shouldn't. Her eyes snapped back to the board and her muscles quivered with adrenaline, fingers taut and muscles primed. She couldn't stop her eyes flicking back to a much, much younger pair. A pair of sapphires.

It was going to be a long hour.

The 11am bell rang not even a second after she finished the last sentence of the last part of her lecture. A few students who had the nerve to pre-pack their bags almost shot out of the room, but most simply slogged up and trudged out, clutching their collective stomachs as they growled. The adrenaline had stopped pumping about halfway through the lecture (though there were still spurts whenever she made eye contact with her old team), so her muscles were more sore and stiff than they had any right to be.

White, chalky lines divided the board into eloquent portions, with arrows, diagrams, and overhead maps for combat encounters sketched exactly where they needed to be. It was honestly a shame that she had to erase it. Shoes clacked on the tile behind her and the voices of fifty-odd students talking and laughing with their friends all blended into a single wave of noise. Except for five that is, five voices that slit her memory with every syllable.

Heels clacked behind her, and someone cleared their throat. Don't be one of them, don't be one of them, don't be one of them.

Weiss turned, and three wom-girls- stood before her, one with white hair, one with raven hair, and one with crimson hair. The cringe she swallowed almost made her choke.

"Hello!" Pyrrha's hand shot up right alongside the pitch of her voice, morphing into a wave far too delicate for the girl. "We just wanted to know, well," Pyrrha's voice hitched a little bit, "if you'll be teaching here again?"

Younger Weiss pounced on the pause, all flashy smiles and perfect posture, "the subject is of tremendous professional and personal interest for all of us," one palm rose to her chest, bent slightly in that 'look at me' way. "Especially me. It would help my combat skills immeasurably if you continued to lecture."

Ligaments went taut, the muscles of her wrist and throat tensing into stone. She wondered how much it showed. "I would like to," it shouldn't have been as much of a struggle as it was to keep her voice flat. Years and years of public speaking, Weiss, put it to use. "But I'm afraid any future lectures lay at the discretion of Headmaster Ozpin," a nod to the man still sat in the corner of the room, and Pyrrha and Younger Weiss' eyes widened ever so slightly. The amber eyes still locked on her narrowed, and the mouth below them opened.

"You're applying for a position at Beacon?" The black bow twitched.

"I am," she stated, "as is my partner, John."

All three of their eyes snapped back to the least busty blond doing his best to sink into the wall.

Glacial eyes picked apart each of their reactions. Blake's blow twitched down and her shoulders straightened, Pyrrha gave a little 'huh,' and Younger Weiss...the muscles in her cheeks tightened, but nothing else showed.

"He'll be teaching the Combat Strategy and Improvisation course later today. It should be more interesting to the average student." Her eyes moved back down to theirs. "And it may save your life, just like every class here. Did you have any other questions? Any on the material?"

Gentle, midday light streamed through the windows and into the classroom, bouncing off every tile and board. The door, propped open as it was, allowed an endless stream of shuffling, shouting, hungry noise playing on a loop to drift into her classroom. It was surprisingly calming, and it allowed her to relax for the first time since she woke. She sighed, turning left towards the windows for a second before twisting back to the girls with a genuine, albeit small, smile. "Forgive me if I seem curt or distant, this is my first time teaching outside of a village square."

And that had been on basic first aid, not Dust-Aura manipulation.

"It's quite alright," Younger-Weiss (Weiss 2 maybe?) responded with a flourish and a wave. "The content of your lecture and your skill at communicating it has quite made up for any accidental breaches of courtesy. Though…" Weiss 2 glanced towards Blake, and then towards the baby blue sky.

"Yes?"

"Nevermind. It's nothing of importance." Weiss 2's smile tightened ever so slightly, "Have a nice day, Miss Snjór."

"And you, Miss Schnee, Miss Belladona." Words accompanied by a nod that was intended to also have eye contact, but instead ended up ricocheting off the pair's backs and smacking her in the face with indignation. Pyrrha lingered, but Weiss' attention was fixed on the approaching trinity of adults from the back row.

"Do you need anything, Miss Nikos?" Her pupils were forced towards the redhead, but still her focus remained on the procession in her peripherals. Pyrrha's hands knotted together, and her laugh was just a hint too strained to be genuine.

"No, no, no! I just wanted to, well, wish you luck on the job! I would love to be in your class if you do get it." A wave, a mumbled apology, and the dead girl was gone. It was odd that her voice still drifted in Weiss' mind. Up to something or paranoia?

She didn't have time to ponder it, barely a second later Ozpin's cane met the lecture hall tile as he strode toward her. He was smiling for Glynda, and Jaune was pondering for her.

Weiss prepared for the worst. Just in case.

Lunch was a quick affair for Jaune, and not just because his stomach was empty. The familiar faces and voices practically shoved him and Weiss from the room in under ten minutes flat, and what a miserable ten minutes they were. Every bite it seemed he caught himself staring at his old friends, caught somewhere between dread and wistful longing. Part of him wanted to rush over and introduce himself, tell them all to run far away, and shake Ozpin until he either broke or mobilized the Kingdom's military himself.

He couldn't though, and that was his own idea.

It made lunch taste bitter.

They didn't talk as they made their way to the designated sparring room in which Jaune would teaching. There was too much on his mind, too many nerves about the powder keg beneath them all waiting to blow, and that wasn't just his class. His eyes darted to each and every door as they walked, waiting for a student to turn into Sustrai or Black and attack them both on the spot.

His hand kept drifting to where the pommel of Crocea Mors should be. Its absence didn't do anything for the nerves. It was good then that Weiss' hand always caught his on the way there, squeezing twice before letting go.

Glynda was waiting for them, lips ever so slightly upturned. "Mr. Pucelle, Ms. Snjór. Welcome to Combat Hall 12." Her mouth formed a legitimate smile at that, "you'll probably want to familiarize yourself with the arena Mr. Pucelle. Professor Ozpin and I will be on the railings above if you'd like to join us, Ms. Snjór."

The room was large, but nothing special as far as sparring rooms go. There was a sunken, hexagonal arena, spectator bleachers around that, and the ground floor walkway and railings on the upper borders of it all. The only unique aspect was the domed skylight above that the sky peered through.

For a brief second, he closed his eyes and let the sunlight wash over him. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. Let the nerves slip away. You can handle seeing them. This is how you help them. You'll get it done.

Weiss was straightening his collar when he opened his eyes, lips pursed and brows crinkled. He smiled. "Was it crooked?"

The ice in her eyes twinkled with sunlight and something a little bit more. "You might as well ask if the sky is blue, Professor."

"Speculative Professor," he corrected with a frown as the sunlight faded. One hand moved to run through his hair for the umpteenth time.

It was intercepted by another, smaller hand, pale as the clouds. "Only for another hour, Mr. Pucelle. After that," she smirked and shrugged her shoulders, "well, I suppose I'll have to finally teach you how to tie your tie."

A squawk of indignation, "I can tie a tie!"

Her hand squeezed a heartbeat on his own, and one eyebrow rose in challenge. "Oh? I suppose you'll just have to prove it to me then."

Glynda cleared her throat as the doors opened and the chatter of students began to fill the hall. Blue eyes picked apart each and every one. How many of them had died? How many had he known, but forgotten? Could they save them all? He didn't notice the muscles on his back clenching.

In a split second there were lips at his ear, the whisper drowning everything. "It's just another mission."

Black hair fluttered as she turned and processed away just as fast, eyes locked on Ozpin and Glynda as she walked.

Just another mission.

He closed his eyes again, and inhaled.

Just another mission.

He could hear them. Somehow he still recognized their gaits.

Just another mission.

An exhale.

He expected to find Pyrrha or Ren staring back at him, maybe even himself. He'd heard each of them come in among all footfalls.

Instead there was Cinder Fall.

A/N: Hey y'all, been a while hasn't it? Sorry about the wait, everything just sort of got away from me. Summer was lacking in enough medication to get me focused and able to write, and last semester, well, last semester was a doozy.

I guess I won't go too much into it because I doubt y'all want to hear it, but the short of it is a lot of identity shit, relationship stuff, depression, paranoia issues, etc. Writing was sadly pretty low on the priority totem pole compared to all the shit in my life so I wasn't able to get basically anything done. And I guess it did lose a bit of its luster, but I feel like that's back. Shit's pretty worked out here now, and writing is fun again honestly.

This chapter has been stuck just short of completion for a long time, and I think that helped in the wait. It was enough that I could be like "yeah, can finish that soon," and never actually really did. I said fuck it today though finished up what I had because bullshit.

Anyway, this chapter was difficult. The more I write the more I struggle to characterize Older Jaune. He's a tough one for me. He's just so...I dunno. Nuanced, I guess? Always takes me a while to think on how he'd act and what he'd say. Weiss to a lesser degree, but she's also a tough nut to write. I don't want to essentially create OCs because 'o guys tehyve been thru soo muuuuch!11!' I want them to be the characters we know, just older and having been through some not fun stuff, and I would seriously treasure any feedback y'all give me on how you think I'm doin on that front. Really any feedback at all honestly, I'm easy.

I guess that's it? If any of y'all read Sanguine then just know that it's on its way. I wrote like three different versions of the next chapter, but scrapped them all because it was OOC and crap. Anyway, hopefully I'll be able to update a lot more consistently now. Gonna try to get used to writing daily. See how that goes.

Thanks so much for reading, and stay safe out there guys/gals/enby/etc!