A/N: First of all, a hearty thank you! The story has reached fifty reviews! That's awesome, guys! I know a late update isn't the best way to thank you for that, and I have to ask your forgiveness. This chapter was a great joy to write, but, as a result, ended up longer than any of the previous ones. That's not really an excuse, but it's all I've got. I'm looking very forward to the next chapter for…reasons, so I'm hoping I find the motivation to get it written on time for the regular Thursday update.

Blake fidgeted.

She did this in a variety of ways that were altogether unlike her. Her teacup – which, in its own uncharacteristic fashion, went largely undrunk – had become something of an instrument for her as she alternated between tapping idly on its side with the tip of her nail or running the pad of her finger along its rim. She likewise tapped out a continuous, arrhythmic beat with her right foot that would have no doubt grated on the ears were it not floating aimlessly in the middle of the air as she did so. Her eyes never rested, hopping to and fro like an overexcited child, missing a beat – alongside her heart – every time she caught sight of a mop of blonde hair. Worst though, was her bow. Not a minute went by she didn't reach up to touch it under the pretense of fiddling with her hair or not-so-subtly check that it was still there in the reflection of the café's mirror-like windows.

She was doing it now, actually – making a show of tugging at two random strands of hair as if they mattered before creeping up to the top of her head. The tips of her fingers brushed cool, silken fabric. She sighed lightly, only for the held breath to immediately begin to build back up to a crescendo of nerves that would, ultimately, result in her checking on the bow again in no time flat.

Time passed…

…Perhaps thirty seconds.

Blake turned her head towards her reflection.

"It's fine," Jaune blew out a breath beside her, attracting her attention in an instant. It was the first he'd spoken since they'd left Beacon.

Jaune had stayed on the phone with his mother – and, if the brief period of monosyllabic responses had been any indication, his father – for nearly two hours the night before, and he had done it all within the confines of Team RWBY's bedroom while Blake watched supportively on. She had meandered between reading her book or brushing her hair or twiddling on her scroll, but she had never left the room. Jaune had looked like he'd have a panic attack if she so much as went to the bathroom, so she had made sure to stay close by. Through the course of the conversation – which had been hijacked by one of Jaune's youngest sisters for about a half an hour – an appointment had been set up. That was Jaune's word for it, at any rate, but Blake might have called it 'brunch' if she'd been asked.

In a coincidence of cosmic proportions, Jaune's parents were evidently in Vale for the Christmas season, spending the holiday with Jaune's sister, Thyme who was playing reluctant host to her visiting parents after having just moved out. Those were Jaune's words, not his mother's, but Blake was inclined to trust his perspective on the issue. As such, when prodded, Jaune had been unable to think of an excuse to not have brunch – the 'appointment', Blake mentally corrected – with them. She believed it had been dinner at first, but Jaune had stuttered out some horrible lie about having prior plans and deferred to the midday meal they were presently about to enjoy. It had been something about 'breakfast not being stressful', but Blake had honestly only been half listening by that point, having almost fallen asleep three times over the course of the conversation. She was overwhelmingly happy she'd managed to get through to Jaune in regards to contacting his family, but it had still been a very long phone call.

That was, perhaps, how she had somehow been convinced to accompany Jaune to his 'appointment'. She still wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed that, but he'd shown up at her door promptly, and she had already been awake and dressed, and Jaune had been smart enough to choose a café that was rumored to serve a delicious seafood spread at brunch. She hadn't said no.

Across from her, Jaune was the opposite of fidgety. He had been when he'd first knocked on her door that morning, but he'd gone rather stone-like in appearance the moment the bullhead had departed from Beacon. He didn't smile nor frown. Every movement was precise and direct, lacking in his typical clumsiness. He didn't speak, either, which had been rather annoying when the waiter had taken their drink orders, and she had, had to improvise what she thought he'd enjoy. It really was good tea, too, and he was just wasting it.

In response to his words, she arched a single eyebrow at him, and almost smiled at the immediate return of his normal, nervous, stuttering self.

"The bow, I mean. It's-it's fine, it looks good. You look good! Great, even! I–" Jaune stopped, the syllable of his next word groaning out as a single, indecipherable high pitched noise. Again, Blake almost smiled, and her eyes danced with amusement. Jaune cleared his throat. "My parents don't care about…you know, that anyway."

A frown pulled lightly at Blake's lips, and she returned her attention to her cup. "I care," she said softly.

Beside her, she heard him sigh. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't–"

"I know, Jaune," she cut him off, looking up at him again. "Just…it's not that easy."

For a long moment, amber eyes stared into blue. He blinked first. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'll–"

"You don't have to do anything," Blake cut him off again. "You're great, Jaune. About…this," she made a show of twitching her ears just enough to wiggle her bow even as she ducked her head.

She could feel the hesitancy in his touch as he reached across and squeezed lightly at her…wrist. Her eyes flicked over his grip. His fingers had grazed her hand first. Her eyes followed the length of his arm back to his face.

He smiled. "Thank you for coming with me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she did. "Yeah, well," she conceded, "it is kind of my fault we're here."

"Yeah," Jaune agreed, "it kind of is."

Blake turned, poised to strike with the retort on her lips, only for the words to die a choked, gargling death in the back of her throat. Her eyes widened somewhat dramatically as they caught sight of four – four! – heads of blonde hair making their way into the courtyard of the café with varying expressions on their face. The youngest of them – a girl who could be no more than eight – had a look of palpable excitement on her face as she looked all about her, practically spinning in place. There was a girl who looked not much older than her – pushing, perhaps, twenty-two – who's vaguely irritated expression panned across the whole of the courtyard in a manner of seconds. This woman saw them first, and Blake observed the oddest mixture of relief and fury pass over her face when she spied the back of Jaune's head. Behind of both of them were two unmistakable figures and not just because she had traced her eyes backwards and forwards across their photos a couple nights ago. Jaune's resemblance to his father – minus the musculature and hard-set jaw – was undeniable, although Nicholas Arc had his hair cut short on the sides and glazed back with so much gel it looked like it would crunch to run a hand through it. Stood beside one of her oldest daughters – Saphron or Thyme, if Blake was remembering correctly – Violetta Arc could be nothing but the mother of the two girls and, by extension, Jaune himself.

Blake's eyes flitted away from them, catching Jaune's in an instant of panic. They were behind him, and he had not yet turned to see them. She could see in his eyes the recognition of her panic, and she observed in real time as his stone-like façade took hold of him again.

Only for it to shatter into a million pieces as a frizzy-haired, blonde missile impacted his side at the speed of sound, the overjoyed cry of, "Jaaaaauuuuuunnnnnnee!" trailing after her like a lovesick puppy she had outrun. Jaune grunted but held firm as the younger girl wrapped her arms tight around his midsection and squeezed with all her might. Jaune's arm wrapped around her back almost out of reflex, and the smile that broke across his face seemed to be a built in response to his little sister's presence.

"Hey, Ginge," he smiled into her hair.

Ginger Arc pulled away from him with a frown and, wearing a look of confusion, lightly tapped on his stomach with her knuckles. "You feel like Dad," she told him, her voice filled with suspicion, as if she didn't properly believe in what she was saying.

In response, Jaune leaned down and rapped his own knuckles against her stomach, eliciting a surprised giggle from the girl. "You don't," he grinned.

"Duh!" Ginger replied in a tone that suggested she thought he was stupid. "I'm not a boy."

"Well, neither is he, Ginge." The older of the two Arc sisters present wandered into view beside the table, taking advantage of Jaune's seated position to tower over him intimidatingly with a fierce scowl on her face. It worked, too, as Jaune shrunk away from her heated gaze. "Jaune's a real man, all grown up and on his own, huh?"

Jaune gulped. "Hey, Thyme," he said softly.

Smack! Thyme's hand connected with the back of Jaune's head, creating a noise loud enough to draw the attention of more than one of the café's other patrons. "Idiot," she muttered softly, shoving Ginger out of the way as she bent to hug him in much the same way her younger sister had.

"Hey!" Ginger cried angrily, beating roughly on Thyme's thigh.

She went ignored as Thyme pulled away, running her hand slowly down Jaune's arm. She squeezed his bicep with a raised eyebrow. "Damn, Joan. She's not wrong."

Jaune blushed then, in a way that Blake had never seen before. The crimson red spread out from his cheeks and down his neck as he ducked his head. Blake had never seen him react in such a way. Bashfully, yes, whenever Pyrrha praised him at the table or even embarrassedly whenever one of his stunts to woo Weiss went just that too badly, and the Schnee Heiress responded just that too harshly. Never like this, though.

Blake raised an eyebrow, momentarily forgetting where she was and who she was with. "Joan?" she asked, before she could stop herself. She immediately regretted the decision as three sets of blue eyes turned onto her an instant. Jaune looked as if he had momentarily forgotten she was here – and, indeed, that he presently wished she wasn't – while Thyme and Ginger both looked as if they hadn't yet noticed her. Blake shied briefly away from the look of evil glee that crept up into Ginger's eyes, only for it to be turned on her older sister as Thyme's hand clamped over her mouth like an iron brace before she could speak.

Ginger began to struggle mightily, pushing against Thyme's wrist and arm with vain strength while making all sorts of inaudible noises from beneath her palm, Thyme seemed unconcerned. The older woman had her own sort of evil glint to nurture just now as she looked Blake in much the same way a lion looks at a gazelle.

"Joan of Arc," Thyme explained with a grin that was swiftly turned onto a once more blushing Jaune. "Jaune may be our brother, but he's as much a part of the Arc sisterhood as me or Ginger or any of the others. Needed a better name for it, though."

Ginger said something, but it came out as unintelligible garbage from beneath Thyme's hand.

Seeing as how Jaune was still preoccupied with his burning face, Blake took a breath, summoning up the courage to look Thyme in the eyes. Blue eyes, exactly the same as Jaune. Blake tried not to think of the odd dichotomy of fear and comfort she felt when looking into Thyme and Jaune's eyes respectively. "Didn't Joan of Arc…die?"

Thyme nodded somewhat too happily, Blake thought. "Sacrificed for a noble cause," she grinned. Her eye shifted down to Jaune again. "Like…makeup practice."

Blake looked immediately at Jaune. "Did you–"

"Ginger, stop licking my hand!" Thyme cut her off shrilly, turning her evil eyes onto the still struggling eight-year-old beneath her.

Ginger pushed again against Thyme's wrist, but the older girl's discomfort afforded her the ability to actually get a word in this time as she all but snarled, "Then let me go!" Thyme did, and Ginger rounded on her in an instant, that same evil glint still sparkling in her eyes. If Thyme's eyes incited uncertainty and nervousness in Blake, Ginger's inspired terror. "Are you Jaune's girlfriend!?"

"Ginger!" Jaune cried in what could only be called a scandalized voice at the same time that Blake, in much the same voice, exclaimed, "No!"

Thyme remained silent, content to let her younger, monstrous little sister reap and sow the oats that she, as a 'mature' adult, was not allowed to.

"Quit making a scene, girls," a new voice cut in, not altogether different from Thyme's own, if a bit older and wiser. It spoke with command, though, and all three Arc children straightened almost imperceptibly in response. Blake's eyes sparkled with amusement at Jaune, who slowly relaxed in his seat, realizing the command had not been directed at him. The voice continued, stepping into view, "It's so good to see you, baby."

Jaune stood this time, and Blake blinked stupidly at the height difference on display. Ginger obviously looked like a shrimp when compared to Jaune, but he also had half a foot on both Thyme and his mother. Jaune's height was not something she had ever considered before. Mentally, she measured herself as compared to Thyme and found that she was, in fact, a few inches shorter than the girl. Did Jaune really tower over her in such a way? How had she not noticed that? More importantly, why was she noticing it now?

"Where's Dad?" Ginger asked, looking around for him as eagerly as she had for Jaune.

"Making sure he gets the bill," Thyme sniggered, earning a reproachful glance from her mother.

"Thyme!" Violetta chastised.

Thyme only smirked back at her, undeterred. "Am I wrong?"

Violetta had no response to that.

Jaune sighed heartily. "You guys didn't have to do that," he all but whispered, averting his gaze.

"Hush," Violetta turned her – admittedly softer – chastising tone onto him, briefly running her fingers across his cheek. "Jaune?"

He looked up, and his mother made a not-so-subtle gesture with her eyes in Blake's direction that inspired a blush to blossom across both her and Jaune's cheeks, albeit for different reasons.

Jaune cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Right...uh, sorry. Mom, girls, this is Blake Belladonna. Blake this is my mother, Violetta and my sisters Thyme and Ginger."

Thyme and Ginger both gave an identical half-wave, eyes sparkling with amusement as Blake practically vibrated with nerves in her seat. Violetta smiled widely at her, extending her hand. "It's lovely to meet you, dear."

Blake gulped in what she hoped was a subtle, quiet way. "You too, Mrs. Arc," she managed to say without stuttering.

Violetta made a show of waving her off. "Please, dear, call me Letta." Jaune and Thyme's necks snapped towards their mother quick enough to pop, but the reaction went largely ignored by the older woman as she soldiered ahead with her conversation. "Are you one of Jaune's teammates."

Blake's gaze lingered briefly on Thyme and Jaune – the latter of which had begun to blush rather brightly in a way Blake had not yet seen – and she answered, somewhat slower than normal, "No, ma'am. Just a friend. I'm a member of Team RWBY. We're kind of…sister teams with Team JNPR."

"JNPR?" Violetta cocked her head.

Jaune cleared his throat, his face still beat red. "M-My team," he explained.

"More sisters, Jaune?" Thyme snickered.

"Don't you have enough?" Ginger pressed in a pale imitation of her older sister's more refined, teasing tone.

Violetta continued to ignore the sisters' antics. "Anyone from your Team joining us?"

Jaune narrowed his eyes at her slightly, confused at her emphasis. "No."

Violetta nodded, her eyes finding Blake's. Eyes that, Blake noted, now held the same glint of teasing humor her daughters had been sporting since they'd arrived. "Interesting."

For reasons unknown to Blake, that one, simple word splashed a mighty wave of embarrassment over her, enough to elicit her own, beat red blush. It was – the three Arc women noted with amusement – the exact same shade of red as Jaune's own when he got truly flustered.

"There he is!" a deep-throated masculine voice cried moments before a second blonde missile – this one far larger and weightier – collided with Jaune, eliciting a winded grunt from the boy as a far stronger pair of arms wrapped tightly around him. "Look at you! All toned up and hard! That's my boy! It's good to see you, son!"

Something akin to a smile pulled at the corners of Jaune's lips. He returned the hug after a moment's hesitation. "You too, Dad."

Quick to make his headcount – being the father of eight children tended to instill in one the need to constantly be sure all family members were accounted for – Nicholas Arc balked lightly at the inclusion of an extra head, an altogether rare occurrence. Never mind that this one had deep, black hair. "And who is this lovely lady?" he asked jovially in that same deep-throated voice, jostling Jaune teasingly as he asked.

Blake was beginning to understand where Jaune's deep-seeded self-esteem issues came from. There was an awful lot of teasing in this family. More, indeed, than Blake wanted leveled at her anytime soon.

Violetta stole the reigns from her son, stepping forward to slip her arm around her husband's waist. "Nicholas, this is Blake Belladonna. Jaune's friend."

Nicholas turned sharp, pointed blue eyes onto her, and Blake saw in an instant what kind of man he was. Kind, yes. Jovial, perhaps on a good day like today. But the man was, first and foremost, a hunter. Not a Huntsman, but a genuine, frightening hunter. His eyes ran up and down the length of her body in a manner of seconds, appraising her every inch in a variety of ways that left her feeling exceptionally exposed despite the lack of ulterior motive in his gaze. At a glance, Blake knew that this man understood her now. Not who she was as a thinking, rational person who could formulate ideas and opinions, but as an opponent. As a warrior he may yet have to fight someday. As prey. He knew how she would move, how she would fight, how she would run.

Blake's eyes ran up and down the length of Nicholas Arc's body – standing beside Jaune, he was only barely taller than his son – and she was increasingly unnerved by the lack of information his body language supplied her. Blake was typically quite good at reading people. She could see by the way that Jaune held himself so loosely despite his jitteriness that he was exceptionally happy to be in the presence of his family, however nervous he was. Likewise, Thyme and Ginger were both radiating Auras of intense curiosity that was focused almost entirely on their brother. Ginger was more obvious about it, enamored by the gleaming sword Jaune held on his hip even now – a Huntsman is never off duty, Port was fond of reminding them – but Thyme was broadcasting her own subtle interest, keen to see what kind of man her brother had become in his absence. Violetta was an open book too, and Blake tried hard not to think too much on just how interested the older woman was in her. Nicholas, though, was a blank slate. It was exceptionally off-putting.

So too was the dichotomy of this blank slate man's jovial, happy expression as he raised a curious eyebrow at her. "One of his teammates?" he asked easily.

"No," all three Arc women answered at the same time. Jaune sunk a little into his father's grip.

Nicholas met his wife's eyes briefly, a curious expression on his face that morphed slowly into a mirthful smile the longer he held Violetta's gaze. He nodded. "Interesting."

One word. One wave of embarrassment. Two blushes.

"Let's eat!" Jaune squawked.

And so they did.

Brunch was an assorted affair of breakfast food and lunch food, divided almost unilaterally by age. Ginger enjoyed a hot dish of chicken fingers and French Fries while Thyme and Jaune both ordered the steak-and-eggs, eggs over-medium to Blake's stomach-churning disgust. Blake herself ordered a shrimp kebab with a side salad, and Nicholas and Violetta agreed to split a platter of eggs and bacon, with a side of biscuits and gravy for Nicholas that Violetta ended up eating half of anyway.

Over the course of the meal, they talked. It was innocuous stuff for the most part, about names Blake had never heard from Jaune's hometown. She made a show of paying extra attention whenever one of the Arc sisters was mentioned – a difficult task, given how the girls tended to weave in and out of stories that otherwise featured people Blake didn't know – and supplied her own answers to questions given about her upbringing. Blake was exceptionally thankful that both of the Arc parents were far more interested in reconnecting with their AWOL son, and the questions posed to her were polite at best. If any of the Arcs present aside from Jaune had the faintest hint of curiosity about her bow, they didn't show it. Unfortunately, Blake found herself all too busy coming to the aid of Jaune in answering questions he would otherwise deflect if not just ignore.

Question after question and question came from all four members of his family, ranging from the teasing – "Sharing a room with two girls, Jaune? Meow." – to the curious – "How much time do you get to yourself?" – to the intense – "Have you faced live combat yet?" – to the potentially embarrassing – "Any girls caught your eye, son?" The last question had been Violetta's, and Blake had been too preoccupied with the newly arrived shrimp to notice the way the older woman's eyes lingered on her. Most infuriating, however, were his father's questions, all of which Jaune seemed practically allergic to answering, and Blake, for reasons unknown to her, felt compelled to answer for him.

"What's your ranking in Battle Class?"

"He started off pretty rocky, but he's improved leaps and bounds under his partner's tutelage. And he performs among the best in the class versus non-human combatants."

"Have they insisted you modify your weapon to include a firearm?"

Jaune shook his head almost violently, answering for himself this time. "Professor Goodwitch tried to convince me, but I…didn't think I had the right to modify Crocea Mors."

Nicholas held his son's gaze for several long seconds, chewing his eggs with deliberate slowness. At length, he put down his fork and extended his hand. "Let me see it," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Blake's ears twitched as they registered the sound of Jaune gulping, inadaudible no doubt to his parents' human ears. His hand shook lightly as her untied Crocea Mors from his waist and passed it across the tablet.

"Dad, at the table?" Thyme complained like an embarrassed bystander, but Blake saw her gaze flit back and forth between Jaune and her father in the space of seconds, worry coloring her blue eyes.

Nicholas acted as he hadn't heard her, withdrawing the ancient Arc family blade in a single motion that filled the air with the ringing of steel. Something almost imperceptible darkened his gaze as he looked up and down the length of the blade. "Take care of your weapon–"

"And it will take care of you," Jaune finished under his breath.

Nonetheless, Nicholas heard him, and he turned disparaging eyes onto his son. "Then why haven't you been? The blade needs polishing, and it looks like you haven't sharpened it in weeks."

Jaune hung his head.

Violetta patted her husband twice on the arm and said, almost dismissively, "They're on break, Nicky."

"A huntsman is never off duty," Blake, Jaune and Nicholas all said at the exact same time.

Jaune had said the words as loudly and as clearly as she had, but it was her that Nicholas turned his eyes onto. "Do you have your weapon with you, Ms. Belladonna?"

Gambol Shroud was, in fact, running up the length of her back, tucked within the fold of her shirt with its ribbon hanging out in what was meant to be a fashion statement but that Ruby had one referred to as her 'tail'. The Faunus leveled her most disinterested gaze at the older man.

"No."

"You didn't think you might need it?" he asked, his tone just as bored, but in a way that more condescending than disinterested.

Blake's tone remained neutral. "I was unaware I needed to fear for my life at brunch with a friend's family."

"That kind of thinking in the mark of a poor Huntress."

"Dad!" Jaune snapped harshly, the anger in his tone drawing the immediate, surprised glances of all four members of his family. His fist was on the table where it had impacted in his anger, upsetting the positions of his plater and silverware. "Apologize."

Nicholas Arc held his son's gaze for a long, protracted moment. Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. Blake felt the need to speak, to assure Jaune that an apology wasn't necessary and that the man hadn't offended her – he had – but she was unwilling to interrupt what was clearly a very important exchange between father and son. Violetta, Thyme and Ginger likewise held their breath, although Thyme and Violetta did so with more awareness and shock than Ginger did. Nicholas blinked first.

Crocea Mors slid back into its sheath with the same ring of metal as Nicholas handed it across to Jaune who took it without comment. The rage in his eyes had not died down as he continued to stare across at his father. "I apologize for my crass comment, Ms. Belladonna."

She bowed her head in acceptance, but kept her words to herself.

"And I'm sorry to you, too, Jaune," he turned back to his son. "I'm treating you like a Huntsman, not a son, and that's not why we're here today. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Jaune dismissed him, tying his weapon back to his belt with stilted, angry movements of his hand.

The table quieted. Jaune finished his work. Ginger took a bite of her food. Nicholas and Violetta released a breath. The moment had passed. The topic had been forgotten. That was, Blake decided, unacceptable.

"It shouldn't matter."

Five sets of eyes turned onto her with varying expressions. Thyme and Ginger both looked curious and somewhat frightened, as if challenging their father was an unheard of event. Nicholas regarded her with the same cool condescension he had only moments ago apologized for. Jaune looked panicked, and Violetta…she seemed to be smiling with her eyes, if not her mouth.

"Jaune is your son, and you should be proud of that. But he's also a Huntsman and you should be just as proud of that."

"Blake," Jaune hissed warningly. Worriedly, Blake thought that his tone was not altogether too far from the tone of voice he'd had when she'd shoved his deepest guilts and shames down his throat a couple nights ago.

She soldiered on regardless. "He's a phenomenal leader, and a great strategist, even if his combat needs work. His team is devoted to him. I've never seen a group of people more willing to break someone's legs for a friend."

"Blake!" Jaune cried again.

She ignored him, her voice rising. "On the day of orientation, he took command of a group of people he barely knew the names of and orchestrated the killing of a full-grown, half-crazed Deathstalker when he himself could barely swing his sword! Jaune is a Huntsman. And he deserves just as much respect from you as I do. Sir."

It was her turn to hold the Arc Family Patriarch's gaze now. Jaune, Thyme and Ginger looked back and forth between her face and his with the attentiveness of a hyperactive tennis crowd. Violetta, though, only had eyes for her and the smile had moved down from her eyes to take hold of her lips. For the second time in that day, Nicholas blinked first.

He turned his gaze onto Jaune. "Is that true?"

Jaune shrugged churlishly. "It was nothing."

"It was not nothing!" Blake snapped at him furiously. She herself was fairly close to hitting the table now. "Deathstalkers are a Class 3 Grimm. Goodwitch and Ozpin didn't know it was in the vicinity when Orientation began. We weren't supposed to deal with something that strong on day one, Jaune, let alone kill it!"

"Blake, it was nothing! Ruby beheaded a Nevermore."

Blake threw her hands up into the air in exasperation. "With all of Team RWBY's help! Her plan! Our actions! Same thing with JNPR! It takes a village, Jaune."

Jaune scoffed lightly, pushing at his eggs with the tips of his fork. "We're not raising kids, Blake."

The sound of Thyme clamping her hand over Ginger's mouth again was audible and attention-grabbing. Thyme smiled over the sounds of Ginger struggling, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Beside her, Violetta did not look altogether different. "Well, orientation sounded…fun. You guys go on any other cool missions, Jaune?"

Jaune's gaze passed along the length of the table, taking in the expressions of his family. Violetta smiled at him encouragingly, and even if his sisters' eyes were glinting evilly with what he knew to be their blackmail look, he could see the pride in Thyme's eyes as well. For his part, Nicholas continued to stare across the table at Blake with a quiet sort of intensity. He didn't look condescending anymore. More curious than anything else.

Jaune sighed. "About a month ago, Ren and I had to clear out a pack of Beowolves outside of Vale."

Jaune continued with a series of stories she had heard before in varying degrees of intensity and realism – Nora always put a Hollywood spin on the missions she was involved in. They were small, tiny little away missions the First Year class had been assigned to. Simple things like Grimm execution or caravan defense or even, once or twice, teaching elementary classes the basics of what to do in the event that a Grimm showed up. Team RWBY had been on half a dozen of those missions since the Mountain Glen incident, and Team JNPR had been on even more, having signed up for the maximum that the school was willing to give out. Sometimes the Teams worked as a whole and sometimes they worked in pairs of two. Once or twice, for the non-combat missions, they even went alone. Blake was asked for her input here and there on the joint missions Teams RWBY and JNPR had worked on together. Jaune and Blake had never been assigned as an isolated duo together, but she had, more than once, been put under his authority in the field by Ruby. She was always quick to complement his skills as a leader when the opportunity came up, something cause him to blush, his mother to grin and his father to lightly smirk.

Oddly enough, the incident of Mountain Glen and the fallout in Vale went unmentioned, despite the extensive assistance Team JNPR had offered that day. They were the first Huntsman team to arrive to assist Team RWBY, and, without them, the city would have suffered more damage and casualties than it had. Yet Jaune never even touched on it, and Blake didn't know why. Unbeknownst to her, Jaune was purposefully steering away from the topic. He knew that if it was brought up, his father would pry into ever facet of the mission – the fact that he was not doing so with the smaller missions Jaune had been recounting lent credence to how much Blake had shocked him with her outburst – and Jaune didn't want to have to explain Team RWBY's involvement in the incident. Those details would surely reflect badly on his sister Team in his father's eyes and, for some reason, the idea of his father looking down on Blake any more than he already had filled Jaune with a deep, abiding rage.

Time passed, and Jaune's stories ran out. His sisters and mother – Nicholas had tuned out of the conversation some time ago – had stopped asking questions almost two hours ago, content to let Jaune flow from one story to another as he was wont to do. Blake began to take a more active role in the storytelling as well, correcting Jaune whenever he made an error using details supplied either by herself as a firsthand account or Ren as a reliable secondhand account.

The stories shifted after that, moving onto plainer tales of everyday school life. He deftly avoided the topic of grades with a nervous chuckle, distracting his mother instead with the story of his dress-wearing escapades at the school dance. The laughter he'd earned from the three of them had been uproarious, and it had only been fueled by Blake whipping out her Scroll to show them all the pictures she'd taken of the event. Even Nicholas had chuckled at that, and it had evolved into a full-bellied laugh when he watched the video of Team JNPR's actual dance.

"I guess those dance lessons paid off," Thyme smirked, and they all laughed anew.

Jaune passed a hurt glance to her from across the table, an expression she met with a smirk and a smile of her own.

"Who's the girl in the red dress?" Ginger asked excitedly. "She's pretty!"

"She is," Thyme agreed overenthusiastically, glancing up at her brother.

Violetta slapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Hush," she chastised her. "You know he prefers black hair."

Even Jaune and Blake were not so oblivious as to notice what was an obvious attempt to tease the both of them, and the beat red blush they shared sent the Arc Family into a third and final peal of laughter.

From there, brunch winded down. The plates – and the three further helpings they'd ordered over the course of the reunion – were cleared and the check requested. Jaune tried again to nab the check from his father.

"The school gives me an allowance!" he insisted.

Nicholas, preoccupied with signing the check even as he chuckled, shook his head at his son. "A monthly allowance," he deflected. "You don't need to be spending it all here." He looked up briefly, his eyes finding Blake again. "I'm sure you have Christmas gifts to buy."

The embarrassing comment deflected Jaune's attention enough that it was too late to intervene when Nicholas handed over the check. The Arc Family began to pack up their things.

"Do you have my address?" Thyme asked Jaune as their mother packed her pocketbook away in her purse.

"Huh?" he asked dumbly.

Thyme tsked. "You're coming over for Christmas, dummy. It's not even a half hour trip for you. I was planning on inviting you anyway." Thyme glanced sideways at her parents and bent across the table, stage whispering in a manner that ensured they would hear her. "I need your help to survive these two, anyway."

Jaune laughed at the sounds of protest his parents made and took down Thyme's address with no reluctance and no shaking hands. From there, there were hugs and kisses and handshakes and patted backs and another quiet apology from Nicholas that Jaune took more to heart with his anger having subsided. Jaune promised to call more often and to answer Thyme and everyone's texts more often, and the four heads of blonde hair departed in much the same way they'd arrived. Blake released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, laying her head down in her arms with a groan that was muffled by her appendages.

Jaune laid his hand across her back. She tensed briefly at the unexpected physical contact, but relaxed quickly enough as he began to rub soothing circles into her tensed muscles. "Thanks for coming with me."

Blake lifted herself up, trying not to think on the odd sense of disappointment she felt as he pulled his arm away. "It was nice," she smiled at him.

Jaune scoffed. "Dad was a dick," he said angrily. "I'm sorry."

Blake shrugged. "He apologized. Being a Huntsman isn't easy, I guess. It's dangerous. It's hard. It can't be easy watching your child do it. I think he just wants to be as sure as he can that you'll be okay."

Jaune smirked. "I'd say you helped him do that." The smirk fell away, replaced by a more genuine smile. "Thanks for saying all that. You didn't have to."

She shoved him lightly. "It was the truth. It's not hard to say the truth."

Jaune nodded, his smile turning a little dopier. "So, what do you want to do?"

Blake checked her scroll. Brunch had begun at eleven, and it was now nearing three o'clock. She had no doubt that the café staff had long since grown tired of them, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to go back to the school yet. She didn't know why. Social interaction like this usually left her exhausted, but she didn't quite feel up to going back to her room alone just yet.

"Well," she said slowly, "you did tell them you had dinner plans."

He looked across at her oddly.

She shrugged. "We could walk around Vale for a little bit, and then have dinner. There's a great seafood place a couple blocks up." Blake tried hard to keep the happy hope out of her voice, but she clearly failed as Jaune released a long peal of laughter.

Blake liked his laugh, she decided. It was deep-throated and warm. It wasn't anywhere near as forced as his father's was.

"That sounds great."

He smiled at her. And she smiled back.

A half-dozen steps behind his daughters, Nicholas Arc nudged his wife with his shoulder, careful enough of their height difference to not catch her in the face. "You told her to call you Letta," he whispered into her ear with a smirk.

She matched the expression.

Violetta could count one hand the number of people allowed to call her 'Letta'. It was a special name, reserved for special people. Her dear father could, and her mother could have when she was still alive. Nicholas refused to call her anything else. The only other person allowed was Terra, her oldest daughter's girlfriend of three years, whom Violetta became more and more convinced each day would one day become another of her daughter's.

"And he didn't stop me," she whispered back with the same tone of amusement. "The usual bet?"

Nicholas scoffed. "Double it. There's no way he's got enough confidence for that."

They shook on it.