The Gal With The Silver Eyes

Author's Note:As the first chapter, some of the dialogue is lifted from Spider Robinson's writing. I do not own the Callahan's series, just like the RWBY one.. Names have been changed in places to better meet the CNR.

Only those who needed Callahan's found it. This was a good rule of thumb.

Mike Callahan was a mystery. Nobody knew if he was born before the Color Name Rule, or if his parents simply thought it was nonsense that was self defeating.

One thing was for sure, though.

He had a DAMN fine bar.

Oh, it was a weird place. He only accepted paper Lien, and only in singles or coins. Fortunately, he was near a bank, and they still technically had to carry them even if nobody used them these days.

But it was rather fun there, and that's without taking into account the sheer number of times that we've all chipped in to help someone with their woes.

You see, that's what we do. We aren't some lousy, or even good support group. We don't pry. We're simply...there. And if you choose to confess your sins, or your troubles, to us, then we'll move heaven and earth to help you overcome them.

Of course, there are always those who are beyond accepting help, but that one's a story for another time…

[line]

I remember that day like it was yesterday, even though it's been a few years. It was pretty active up at Callahan's, and we were going to start running out of beer nuts.

I stepped inside with a pocket full of singles and a grin that threatened to fall off the sides of my face if it got any wider.

I nodded at Joe Taser, who had married two women; Marten Matthias, ex-gambler, and Doc Webber who were all involved in a rather chaotic square dance.

I drifted up to the bar. "God's Blessing on me, Mike." I place the customary single on the bar, which is quickly replaced by a Irish coffee.

[line]

Now, there was a figure in the corner that hadn't moved, and I'd started to think that perhaps one of the people had set it up for a gag. Perhaps Webber. He's always good for a gag. After a while, I actively ignored them so as to make the gag better, which is why I was so shocked when they finally did come up to the bar. But we're not there yet.

[line]

Tamarisk(Tommy to his friends) Janssen entered the room, and I tensed up. It wasn't that he wore his hair long, or smoked pot. Hell, I'd done the latter, and I could do the former whenever I wanted. But this kid'd used heroin, and he'd robbed and got disowned for it. According to the gossip mill, he was still using, but he'd never been caught.

What the hell's Janssen doing here?

He placed a bill on the bar, nodded at a bottle of bourbon, and walked to the chalk line near the fireplace. Conversation started to grind to a halt all around him in anticipation of his toast.

The toast was a tradition at Callahan's. You drank, you toasted, you tossed your glass in the fireplace. Or you collected back half a lien and returned your glass. Mike went through a lot of cups.

He raised his glass, and spoke loudly and clearly. "To smack!" He cried, and what little conversation had continued died instantly as he downed his bourbon.

His shoulder cracked as he threw the glass, shattering it on the bricks in the fireplace. His body was racked with a sob, and he was glaring about him for our reactions.

Callahan bellowed immediately, "Amen!" echoing through the room. Tommy glanced at Doc, who moved over and started fussing with Tommy's sleeves. Tommy simply stood there as they were rolled up, then turned his arms up to show us.

Unmarked. Skinny, white, but unmarked. He'd been clean.

We waited, giving him our respect and attention. After a minute, he said, "I heard about this place."

Mike responded quietly, "Then you must've needed to."

"I hear you get some answers in from time to time."

"Now and then. Some of the damndest questions, too. What's it like, for instance?"

Dangerously close to breaking his own rule, Callahan was. You see, prying was strictly banned from the Place. It just was.

"You mean smack?"

"I don't mean bourbon."

"It's…" His eyes glazed over a little, and he almost smiled. "It's like being dead."

"Whoo! That's a good feeling, indeed." Interjected Chuck(As in beef chuck or woodchuck. We never could figure out that one for terms of his color.) Samms. I watched Tommy.

"Well, what the hell do you know about it anyway?!"

"Me? Why, I've been dead, that's all."

"It's true." Callahan confirmed. "He was legally dead for five minutes before Doc got his pacemaker working. Bastard died owing me money, and I never had the heart to dun his widow.

"Sure was a nice feeling, too. More peaceful than naptime in a monastery. If it wasn't so pleasant, I wouldn't be nearly so damn scared of it." His voice was on edge, but as he spoke again, his voice was soft once more. "What the hell would you want to be dead for?"

Jannsen couldn't meet anyone's eyes. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Like you said, pops, peace. A little peace of mind, a little quiet. Nobody yammering at you. I mean, if you're dead, there's always the chance someone will mourn, right? Make friends with worms, dig their side of things, maybe be a poltergeist, who knows? What the hell, didn't any of you ever want to just run away?"

"Sure," Mike says. "Sometimes, I do it too. But I usually run somewhere I can find my way back from."

Slippery Joe Taser asked, "Run away from what, son?"

The kid exploded. "From what? Dust, where do I start? They wanted me to be a Huntsman, see, but I couldn't make it. And then there's college, i mean, they want you to care about this education shit, but they don't care enough themselves to make it near as attractive as a casino. There's assholes who won't leave the Faunus alone, the frontier towns keep falling like flies," Here I saw the mannequin twitch out of the corner of my eye, but paid it no heed, "The car costs more to run than a job will pay, and the rent is more expensive than the jobs would pay in the first place if you could get there without one! And you're askin' me what the heck I'm running from?"

I blink. Hell, things aren't THAT bad, are they? Okay, so everything he's said is right, but…

Oh god things really are that bad.

"Man, I've been straight for seven months, and in those seven months I have been all over this fucking city like the Grimm themselves and there is NOTHING for me. No jobs, no friends, no stable living place, no money, and nobody that doesn't call me a fucking junkie when I pass for seven months, and you ask me what I'm running from? Man, I'm running from EVERYTHING. Just everything."

[line]

It wasn't until then that I really NOTICED the girl in the corner. Her silver eyes never left Tommy, her attention fixed on him.

I glanced about and I saw that Jake had noticed her too.

None of us could come up with a response for Tommy

We'd all heard these things enough, enough to become cliche. When did we let this shit become cliche?

Perhaps that girl in white in the corner had similar issues.

But I couldn't be more wrong.

She wasn't there because she was wondering whether life was worth living.

She was there because she was wondering whether death was worth dying.

[line]

The girl seemed to be both stricken and relieved by our lack of response, settling into her chair and looking guiltily pleased.

Callahan broke the silence. "So run." He said. No expression, no tone. He locked eyes with Tamarisk Janssen.

The kid pulled out a black case and opened it, holding it up. The needle inside seemed to glimmer tauntingly in the bar's light. It didn't look used; he probably only just stole it.

He held it up the light, looking up his arm at his, the unblemished, unmarked, perfect skin seeming to taunt him for a second.

Then he hurled it into the fire. He followed it with a baggy and I winced as I realized the contents.

Dusted Cocaine. Specifically, probably Wind Dust.

The powder burned hot, and the girl suddenly looked now only stricken, not like she was of two separate minds.

Callahan vaulted the bar instantly, handing Tommy a beer. "Welcome home, Tommy!"

Just as things were starting to get warmed up again, the girl stood up.

Everybody felt the Aura roll off her as she did, and we shut up and looked at her.

She was pretty, in her mid to late twenties if I had to guess.

She pulled out four singles from her cloak and laid them on the bar.

Callahan met her silver eyes, then walked around the bar. They were the eyes of a person who cannot come to a agonizing decision.

He poured four shots of hard whiskey.

With a grimace, the girl drank one, walked to the chalk line, and said, "To Hunting."

She shattered her glass harder than Tommy had his, or than he'd thrown his needle.

She drank the second and returned to the line, scowling. "To legends." This one makes me flinch slightly. Which…?

After the third and her return, she said with a sad smile, "To family." The brick was starting to chip.

The fourth, she followed with, "To sacrifice." She turned abruptly to face us.

We stood in silence, watching her.

"My name is Summer Rose, and I am a Huntress and the mother of two beautiful daughters, with a third child coming in about eight months." She begins. "And I have been given a task that could end the Grimm forever."

Oh, yeah. Four drinks and she's the savior of Humanity.

...Also, we're not letting her make a habit of this. A few drinks once in a while won't do anyharm, but any more than that…

She continues, ignoring the looks of mild scepticism.

"In a week, I am to be sent to the very center of Grimm infested lands, where we suspect we will...find the source...of all Grimm." The only time she triggered my bullshit senses were when she said 'find the source', and I'm not prying on that. But I'm pretty sure Grimm come from more than one physical location, considering their distribution. "The odds of success are slim. The odds of survival are slimmer." She pauses. "I've been spending the last two weeks trying to figure out if I should be selfish, or I should stake everything on this."

"Why you?" Asked Mike.

"...I'm one of the only ones who has even a slightest chance." She says bluntly. "There are four others, but it would have to be all four of them instead of me, and if they failed then the problem would be much greater, and that's if we could even find all four of them." She pauses. "Further muddling the issue is that my descendants may also stand a chance…"

I simply quirk a eyebrow. No way in hell is she being that analytical. She's rationalizing her mixed feelings of fear and bravado. She's afraid of being seen as a coward, not seeing her children ever again and what could happen to her.

Not to mention losing her third child.

"Well," Drawled Mike. "Isn't a low-risk sure shot better than a high-stakes immediate bet? I'm sure that most of humanity wouldn't be pleased to be doomed forever because you failed once, right?"

"B-but…" She seems near to tears. "Then it'll be MY fault!"

What.

"It'll be MY fault the next time one of those frontier towns is destroyed, o-or a Grimm bites someone's face off!"

What. The heck.

"That's bullshit. You can't take all that on yourself. Look, there isn't a time window or anything, right?" I cut in.

"Well...no…"

"So stay." I say bluntly. "Stay and watch your children grow up. Become stronger. And then, one day, before you start to grow old and deteriorate, you can walk into the sunset, kick the ass of whatever eldritch monstrosity is creating all the grimm, then come back in time for your grandchildrens' birthday parties." I'm intentionally making light of the situation. "Or if you fail, at least you lived long enough to meet your grandchildren, maybe even see them grow up if your Aura lets you get that old without getting out of your prime." I pause. "Besides which, just because you have the ability doesn't mean you have the responsibility. And who's to say they won't come up with some kind of Dust mixture that does the same thing as whatever the fuck it is you can do? Or some other technological thing! Hell, if they had to, they could take a blood or egg sample from you, freeze it, and use it to clone you a few hundred times to take care of this issue once cloning is fully developed." I pause meaningfully. "You don't have to do this. Frankly, you shouldn't. Because if you fail, then that's also one less Huntress for Vale, which means that many more Grimm around."

Summer's shoulders shake and it takes me a second to realize she's crying.

"...Hug?"

"I...I don't think I should, sir."

"Actually, I'm not a guy."

"W-what? You're a girl?!"

"...Noooot at the moment, no."

"...What."

"Ah," Mike interjects. "Fusch here doesn't usually answer to just one gender pronoun, mostly because they shapeshift." He shrugs. "...Unless they're trying to hook up with someone they know the gender preferences of." He comments.

"Women bleed from their crotch sometimes, and men have involuntary physical responses in the same general area that can be inconvenient at times." I deadpan. "It is simplest to be neither." I wink.

"O-oh. That's...a...interesting...semblance." She pauses awkwardly. "What were you originally?"

"..." I refuse to reply to either thing she just said.

"Ah, miss Rose? Prying questions are off limits as long as you're in this here bar. Fusch here is tight lipped about that, er, particular." Mike interjects.

Thanks, buddy.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She exclaims, gasping and pressing her hands to her face. "I didn't think that'd be a sensitive question."

"Anyway," I drawl. "Parenthood is a sacred responsibility. I would not wish for even my worst enemy to have grown up without two caring parents. Mike," I segue seamlessly. "My cup appears to have sprung a leak. Another God's Blessing, if you would." I stand up with the cup I just emptied, tossing a single out. I take a second to remove all traces of my tear ducts from existence before pitching my cup from where I was.

"To Motherhood." The glass shatters on the fireplace perfectly. "When it's almost time, come look for Doc Webber here." I nod at him. "He knows the best doctors of every kind, and he's the greatest damned surgeon ever to walk this damn planet. He can set you up with nurses, and if you need a Caesarian, he's your man."

"...Thank you." She smiles softly. "I...I couldn't tell Tai when I found out. Not knowing that I could be going off to die." She admits, looking a little ashamed.

"Well, by all means, give the man the mixed news, and give him the chance to buckle down for another few years of parenthood." I smirk. "I have it on fairly good authority that children are a handful."

I tilt my head thoughtfully.

"Take home a bottle or two for your man if he's the celebrating type."

"...Make that twenty if Qrow gets wind I'm bringing any back." Summer groans. My ears rather literally perk up.

Mind you, I also just gave myself fox ears for the purpose of perking them up. When I have fox ears, I call myself Fuchs!

Summer tilts her head. "Oh, you aren't limited to human biology! That's cool." She says cheerfully. Jeez, nothing can keep this girl totally down.

I wiggle my new fox ears at her. "It...is." I say. A little flatly, but still. "Anyway, I recommend sending this Qrow here. We'll make sure he doesn't kill himself with the cheap drinks." I cough awkwardly, looking around to try to phrase this delicately.

The Doc beats me to the punch. "And for Chrissake, don't keep drinking like you did today!" He half-roars. "I understand that you're a Huntress, but your aura will only do so much to protect your child from outside substances! Because you're a Huntress, it should be safe to have one or two drinks a day, but any more than that and you're taking your child's health into your hands!"

Summer wilts, looking guilty. "I, uhhhh…"

I jump in to save her. "You're good this once, miss Summer." I say. "The same way someone without Aura can occasionally indulge sparingly, this one time won't do anything much. Just be careful from here on out." I shrug. "But feel free to roll on in here and have non alcoholic drinks, or to drop in after they're born."

"...Thank you." She says. "...I need to go talk to someone. I'd stay, but it's kind of important."

"We understand, Summer." I nod and Fast Eddy cuts in.

"And if 's de bastard dat tol' you dat it wuz your job t'do dat, givvim hell!" He exclaims and there's a murmur of assent.

"...I'm sure Ozpin only wants what is best." She mutters. "But I think he spends so much time looking at the big picture that he forgets it's made up of a lot of smaller ones." She shakes her head as she leaves.

"You got a little personal, Fuchs." Mike comments. I wince slightly.

"You know me, Mike. I never could stand the thought of someone bailing on their kids."

"...Willingly or not." He rumbles.

I sigh and drain my God's Blessing.

I don't mind if it's something like a divorce with visitation, but simply being gone, forever? That hits me hard.

"To parenting." I say and smash my glass in the fireplace, vanishing my fox ears. "I'm heading home, guys."

I leave among a chorus of farewells.