Wednesday night was study night for team JNPR.

Ren sat on the ground cross-legged, back leaned against the foot of his bed, surrounded by a neat semicircle of books and notes. Nora had noticed this, of course, and had taken the natural course of action in commandeering Ren's bed. She lay on her stomach with her feet in the air and scowled at her copy of Introductory Dust Theory: Volume 2 with determined concentration.

Jaune was sprawled out on the floor in the middle of a mess of papers and books, alternating between staring at An Illustrated Guide to Grimm Anatomy and staring at Pyrrha out of the corner of his eye. She was busily writing a paper about how Grimm invasions influenced public policy, or something equally boring.

It was amazing, really, how she made even that look appealing. Her long red ponytail swayed ever so slightly as her pen scratched smoothly across the page, and her circlet glimmered in the light of the desk-lamp.

He sighed mentally, forcing his attention back to an analysis of Deathstalker exoskeletons. He had to work, not think about Pyrrha. He had to work so he didn't fail, so he didn't have to go home and explain to his father how an Arc couldn't even complete one year of hunter training. The thought alone made him shiver.

Nora shut her book and crawled to the end of the bed. "Ren?" she said. "I'm hungry."

Ren looked up from his note in the margins of "Basic Field Medicine" and reached up to flick her nose. "Not now, Nora. Give me half an hour?" he said gently.

Nora pouted, clearly put out by the idea of trying to study while she was hungry. Fortunately for her, Beacon was generous to its students. It was only 8:00, and even if the kitchens were closed there were always granola bars, fruit, cookies, and other foods out for students who studied late. It was a bit of a walk, though, and Jaune didn't blame Ren for wanting to finish his work first.

Nora sighed dramatically, flopped backwards onto the mattress and opened her mouth to complain, "-

"I'll go with you!" said Pyrrha. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched. "I need a break anyway." She looked across the room at Nora and smiled. "Dining hall, right?"

To Jaune's surprise, Nora shot up with a grin. She normally waited for Ren in such cases, but the lure of instant gratification apparently beat whatever weird, unclassifiable relationship she shared with him, at least tonight.

"Ren, Jaune, do you want us to bring you anything?" asked Pyrrha, as Nora skipped out of the door.

"An apple would be nice," said Ren.

"Jaune?" said Pyrrha as she stood and turned to follow Nora.

Jaune beat back the warm glow that bloomed his chest when she said his name.

"Uh…no," he said, feigning nonchalance as best he could. "I'm good."

As soon as Pyrrha stepped lightly out of the room to chase Nora, Jaune slumped over and rubbed his eyes. He had to do a better job of concentrating around her. His future at Beacon was far too uncertain as it was, and if he kept spending study time mooning over his partner he would definitely be going home for good. Right now, though...maybe he could get a few minutes of good work in while she was off with Nora. Then he could sleep. Dust, how he needed sleep.

"...You could just tell her, you know. It might make things easier."

Jaune turned, startled. Ren looked back at him with a slight smile.

"What?" Jaune said. Surely Ren didn't mean...

Ren rolled his eyes. "Pyrrha. You should tell her how you feel. Just get it off your chest."

Jaune's heart dropped, cheeks flushed. He thought he had completely hidden his crush on their teammate. She was so far out of his league…it was just better that way.

If Ren knew, who else might know? Ruby probably didn't, although even if she did he trusted her to keep his secrets. He doubted that Nora paid enough attention to notice, but Blake saw everything. She would keep it to herself though, right? She was quiet like that. On the other hand, Weiss might realize it. What if she decided to get revenge for all of his failed attempts to woo her? No. The heiress would probably think that was beneath her. That left...

Yang, he thought with a wince. Yang would play with him like a mouse on a string. She would make his life hell with insinuations and puns that meant more than they seemed to mean. If she knew, he could pack it in - it was amazing the entire school didn't know already.

But what if SHE knew? The idea made his stomach churn. If she knew, and hadn't said anything…what if those late-night training sessions on the roof, or her whispered commentary on the fights in combat class, her kind words and ready encouragement had all been given out of pity? What if she thought of him simply as a bumbling, inept tagalong that harbored a naive crush, more a burden than a partner? He fought down a growing wave of nervousness and looked up to find that Ren had moved to sit next to him, his forehead creased with concern.

"Jaune, are you ok? Actually, no. Something's bothering you. What's up? I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Jaune took a shaky breath. "Who else?" he croaked.

Ren looked confused. "Who else knows that you have a crush on Pyrrha? Everyone. I mean, all of RWBY and JNPR at least. Sun. Neptune. Maybe a few others. It's not that hard to see."

Jaune tried to swallow the knot in his throat, but it stayed stubbornly put. He stared silently at the ground. This was so much worse than he had thought. Everyone knew? It was pity, then, from Pyrrha and from everyone. That explained why Yang hadn't teased him mercilessly - she knew he didn't have a chance and she didn't want to rub it in. RWBY knew, his teammates knew, AND she knew.

Of course he wasn't good enough for Pyrrha to like him; he had never been good enough. He was a fool to think he could be a Huntsman, even a bad one. The school year ended in three more weeks, and then he would go home. Maybe he could be a blacksmith or something, if anyone would trust him around a forge. Three weeks. He could live with their sympathetic glances for that long.

Ren leaned forward to place his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't let that worry you," he advised. "If it helps, everyone thinks you should ask her out. Yang is even taking bets on how long it will be before you two are a couple."

Ren sat back crosswise and put his hands on his knees.

"Come on," he encouraged. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Jaune put his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about it, but he always felt better after his talks with Ren. The boy was wiser than his age would suggest, and he had a calm poise that made even the largest problems seem manageable.

"It's Pyrrha. I like her. A lot." He shook his head. "But she's...Pyrrha, you know?"

Ren's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "As in Pyrrha Nikos, the world-famous prodigy?"

Jaune groaned. "No, that came out wrong. It's not that she's famous or talented. I mean, she is, but that's not what I'm worried about. She's Pyrrha, Ren. She's my partner, my friend. My best friend, along with you, and Dust knows she's my best girl friend. I mean, not best girlfriend like we're dating or anything, or like I'm some jerk with multiple girlfriends, or...oh, forget it." He flopped backwards on the floor and stared at the ceiling. "You know what I mean."

Ren nodded. He knew.

"Then why don't you ask her out? You already know that you work together," he said.

Jaune scoffed. "What, and get embarrassed like every other time in my life?! Only this time, I have to see her every day afterwards because she's my partner. I know I'm not the coolest guy in the world, but even I couldn't deal with that kind of awkwardness."

"You don't think Pyrrha likes you?" Ren asked.

Jaune flipped on his side, facing away from him. "Don't be dumb, Ren."

He wished that he could just crawl into bed and forget this whole thing. Maybe he was in bed, and everyone didn't really know that he liked Pyrrha. Maybe...wait, was Ren laughing? He sat up. Ren was wearing a huge grin, shoulders shaking as he chuckled. Jaune frowned. He didn't see what was funny about this. "Ren, what?" Ren tried to stifle his amusement, but this caused him to start coughing. He waved his hands instead and held a finger in the air.

Jaune waited.

"Dude," Ren said when he regained control of his lungs, "Pyrrha totally likes you."

Jaune froze. She liked him? No way...but he trusted Ren completely. If Ren said Pyrrha liked him, then Jaune would believe him. He moved to stand up, a hope long ignored burning again in his mind.

As he stood, his hand brushed his textbook. Grades, his mind whispered, and he collapsed back to the floor.

"It doesn't matter," he moaned. "I don't have time to ask her out anyway. I have to do well on these exams or I won't be coming back to Beacon next semester."

Ren stood briskly. "We can do that. Let's see. You've got Weiss helping you with Dust Theory, right? I know Pyrrha helps you with Goodwitch's combat class, and you've got History of Remnant down cold. That leaves..."

"Grimm Anatomy," Jaune sighed. "I've got most of it, but the bit on consensus joints in Deathstalker exoskeletons and the chapter on King Taijitu scale variants are killing me, and Port as good as told us he would ask about them on the exam."

"Ok," Ren said. "Tell you what. I do need to study those a bit more, but I've pretty much got them down. How about I help you?"

Jaune's eyes lit up. He hated asking for help, but if Ren was offering...he was one of the best in Grimm Anatomy. "Really?! Ren, you're a lifesaver."

"Don't thank me yet," warned Ren. "I'll help you, but I've got one condition. If - no - when you find out you're coming back, you have to tell Pyrrha how you feel."

Jaune narrowed his eyes. "Traitor," he accused. Ren simply looked at him. Jaune thought quickly. Honestly, it didn't matter. He probably wouldn't be back anyway, so why not? He would take all the help he could get. "Deal."

Ren smiled. "Excellent! Now, about those Deathstalkers..."

The door to Professor Goodwitch's office gave a satisfying click as it shut behind him. Jaune stopped and breathed a sigh of relief. He was coming back to Beacon after all. The last few weeks had been a flurry of studying and training, a constant struggle to perform through the haze of dread that he would fail, that he would have to go back and see the disappointment in his father's eyes when he learned that an Arc was too stupid and clumsy to be a Hunter.

He gave his head a small shake and walked down the hall in the general direction of JNPR's dorm. All that was over now. He had just received his end-of-term grades and he was coming back, so there was no reason to worry anymore. Jaune pulled his transcript out of his pocket and studied it again.

His best class had been The History of Remnant. No surprise there - he had trouble remembering dates, but the rest of the class came naturally to him, particularly the portions on the early Human-Faunus wars and the Anti-Grimm campaigns of the Middle Era. Beacon was a combat academy, so the history department tended to focus on wars more than peace. Jaune didn't mind this at all; he had an almost instinctual knack for strategy that made it easy for him to understand and critique the tactical decisions of past wars.

Conversely, Dust Theory had been his worst class. He barely scraped by with a D-, and that was with Weiss tutoring all of RWBY and JNPR on Thursday nights. It was probably the practical exercises that hurt him the most, he mused. There was no way that almost giving your professor frostbite by spilling ice dust on her hand could help her see your performance in a charitable light. Or maybe, he thought, it was the theory. There were so many numbers and equations and structures it made his head spin. How could Weiss keep them all straight? Oh well. He gave up the whole thing as a bad job and looked back at the sheet of paper. Grimm Studies had turned out all right, though, with a solid B. He had even pulled a C- in combat class, thanks to an almost unbelievably good performance on his final. He still didn't know how he blocked that last hit. It must have been his training with Pyrrha paying off.

Pyrrha. The thought of her set off an all-too-familiar churning of emotion in his gut.

Jaune frowned as he stuffed the paper back in his pocket. He should be happy right now, not nervous. He knew beyond a doubt that he liked her, and Ren had assured him that she liked him as well. Now that he knew he would return to Beacon next semester, he could begin to imagine a future with Pyrrha in it. He swallowed hard. It was a thought he had not allowed himself to think in case he failed out of the academy. He had even started spending less time with her in a stupid attempt to protect him from the pain that would result if he had to leave. But now...well, now he would have to find out how she felt, wouldn't he? He didn't have any other choice. Ren had forced him to promise that he would ask Pyrrha out if he was allowed to return.

Why did he make that stupid promise? Maybe without it he could just let the whole thing blow over. It wouldn't be the first crush he had hidden until it died. But no, he had to go and promise Ren that he would talk with Pyrrha, and now he would be forced to embarrass himself and probably get rejected again. This time, though, it would be infinitely worse because he was her partner. They would have to see each other every day until graduation, day after awkward day. He groaned.

Jaune turned down the hall that held JNPR's room. He hesitated when the familiar door came into view, and almost turned to walk in the other direction. It's not that he didn't want to know how Pyrrha felt, but...if only there was a way to read minds. What if Ren was wrong? He knew Ren would never lie to him, but even the wisest people made mistakes. Jaune steeled himself, walked to the door, and opened it.

Ren's eyes flicked up from his desk, where Stormflower sat in neat pieces. He immediately dropped his tools and shot upright. "Well?" he demanded.

Jaune raised his eyebrows. He rarely saw Ren this agitated. In fact, the only time he could remember his friend this disturbed was when Nora had gone missing after a chocolate binge at the Vale Carnival. He could have fun with this.

"Well what?" Jaune asked, feigning ignorance.

Ren laughed. "Well, that's good then." He crossed the room and clapped Jaune on the shoulder. "I told you it would work out."

Jaune pouted. "Really, Ren? How did you know?" he whined.

"You would be completely bummed if you weren't coming back," he pointed out, "and you're not."

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever be able to hide things from Ren. He doubted it.

"You know what that means, right?" asked Ren.

"Yeah, I know," Jaune moaned. "How could I forget?"

"Don't be a baby. I'm telling you, she totally likes you."

At this, Jaune looked wildly around the room, only to find it conspicuously and gloriously empty.

"Where are the girls?" he asked with a sigh of relief. Ren hadn't thrown him under the bus. Yet.

"Nora is talking with her parents about getting home for break," Ren said. "I was hoping you would know where Pyrrha is."

Jaune's forehead furrowed in thought. "Oh!" he said. "She's in a meeting with the Pumpkin Pete's guys. Something about extending her endorsement."

"Ah," said Ren, satisfied. "Well, Nora wanted to go to the firing range in a bit, so I've got to leave now if I want to get there first."

Jaune shuddered at the thought of an unsupervised Nora. "Please," he said feelingly.

Ren punched him lightly. "We'd better be celebrating more than the end of the year when I get back," he warned, and returned to his desk to reassemble his weapons.

After Ren left, Jaune collapsed on his bed. Pyrrha would be back soon. What would he say? His usual over-the-top show of confidence wouldn't work. After all, it was just that: a show. Pyrrha was too important for that, anyway.

"Hi Pyrrha," he mimicked sarcastically. "How was your day? Guess what?! I didn't fail out! By the way, how do you feel about dating a guy who can barely make it through freshman Hunter training?"

He made a noise of disgust and sat back up, dangling his legs over the side of his bed. One heel bounced absently against the bed-frame, which began to crack and squeak in protest.

An electronic chime interrupted his thoughts. He glanced towards his nightstand at his scroll, its notification light flashing rhythmically. A spark of nervous energy shot through him. That could be Pyrrha, or it could be someone else. He wasn't sure which was worse.

After a moment of consideration, he leaned over and picked it up. A quick skim of the preview message made him sit back in confusion. Ozpin? The message was short:

Mr. Arc,

Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience.

Professor Ozpin

Headmaster, Beacon Academy

What? Was there a mistake in his grades? Why would Ozpin want him?

He got up, pocketing his scroll. There was only one way to find out. He could always talk to Pyrrha after he got back.

The elevator doors slid smoothly open. Jaune stepped out hesitantly, glancing around the room as quickly and surreptitiously as he could.

Professor Ozpin was sitting behind his desk with his hands folded in front of him and an impassive look on his face.

"Mr. Arc," he said.

Jaune looked around for a chair. Finding none, he stood in front of Ozpin's desk, feeling small and out of place under the silent ticking of the massive clockworks.

"It has come to our attention," Ozpin began, "that the terms of your acceptance to Beacon Academy were not altogether in order."

Jaune's eyes grew wide as the meaning of Ozpin's words flooded through him. This was it. They had found out about his transcripts.

He was about to be expelled.

He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become.

"In light of this, I regret to inform you that you will not be allowed to return to this school in the fall. You have until tomorrow at noon to collect your things, at which point you may no longer remain on Beacon property." Ozpin paused and looked sharply at Jaune over his glasses. "Do you have any questions, Mr. Arc?"

"N-No, sir," he squeaked out.

'That was it, then?' he thought. He had always imagined that being caught would be more formal, that it would take more time. Apparently it only took one email and thirty seconds.

Ozpin nodded. "Good day, then, Mr. Arc."

Clearly dismissed, Jaune turned and walked quickly to the elevator, fighting the burning in his eyes. As soon as the doors slid shut, his control broke and he fell back against them, staring vacantly at the back of the elevator.

His dream was over. No Hunter school in the world would take him, not with an expulsion from their sister academy on his record. And in the end, he had no one to blame but himself. He should never have paid that forger. He would rather his application have been rejected from Beacon in the first place than have to feel like this. And Pyrrha.

Oh Dust, Pyrrha. His heart contracted painfully, and tears began to trail down his cheeks. He had been about to...it didn't matter now. He hoped - he prayed - that Ren was wrong, that she didn't like him after all. A phrase sprang unbidden into his mind. "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Jaune would have scoffed, but it wasn't even remotely funny. How ridiculous. Whoever said that obviously hadn't been on the losing side of love.

The doors slid open, and he toppled out of the elevator before picking himself up and running towards the dorm. Pyrrha wouldn't be back yet - the room should be empty. There was enough time for him to get his things and find a hotel for the night. He could talk to his team tomorrow - he couldn't do it now.

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't see the figure in front of him until it was too late. Jaune crashed into him and glanced sideways into the wall. This earned him a growled, "Watch it, kid!" from the man, but Jaune was past hearing. He stumbled onwards, blind to the world.

Ozpin swirled the dregs of coffee in his cup and stared at them moodily.

If there was one thing on which he prided himself, it was his judgment. His memories contained the stored experience of lifetimes, and while that had its share of drawbacks, it made for excellent decision-making.

It was obvious from the beginning that the Arc boy's transcripts had been modified. There was simply no way that a student with grades so stellar would have references so forgettable. It took only a phone call to determine that the boy had never attended the combat school listed on his paperwork.

Still, he had seen the potential for Jaune to be a good Hunter, even a great one. The boy had drive, a purity of intent that so many lacked. Even more, he had the skill. Few could enter first year training lacking the preparatory experience given by the combat schools and keep up. It was incredible, really.

He drained the last of his drink and grimaced. It had gone cold.

He growled in disgust, tightening his grip on the mug, then gave up and threw it across the room. Ignoring the sound of shattering porcelain, he spun his chair around and looked out the window.

A deep, gravely voice interrupted his thoughts. "Whoa there, Ozpin. What was that about?"

Ozpin sighed. There was only one person who would enter without knocking, and he knew that voice better than almost any other.

It continued, "I almost get chewed up by a bullhead turbine on the flight over here, and then I come up and find you taking out your personal issues on bits of pottery. What'd it do to you, anyway?"

"The problem, Qrow, is that people are interfering with my school," Ozpin bit out, "and I do not appreciate it."

The distinctive thud of boot heels on wood sounded over the ever-present ticking of clock gears. Ozpin winced, knowing that Qrow had just put up his feet on his desk. A sip of coffee provided the necessary fortitude to ignore it.

"And who decided to do that?" The huntsman's tone made it quite clear what he thought of the idea.

"Winchester."

"Ass," Qrow observed, taking a swig from his hip flask.

Ozpin spun his chair around, making no attempt to hide the smile that flitted over his face. Qrow was as unorthodox as they came, and while that was a liability in some respects, it could also be remarkably cathartic.

"Quite," he agreed. He ran his hand over the glass of his desktop, letting the friction tug gently at his fingertips.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

"You are familiar with the Arc boy, I imagine?"

"He's a friend of the girls. Seems fine, if a bit forgettable."

Good, he thought, pleased with his foresight. Qrow never had been one to let formalities like privacy law get in the way of his protective streak. Or perhaps Taiyang had asked him to check up on whom his daughters chose to associate with.

Tick. Tock.

No matter.

"He got on the wrong side of young Winchester-"

"And daddy couldn't let that go, could he?" interrupted Qrow, again pulling the silver flask from his belt.

"Apparently not," said Ozpin tersely. "As I said, he got on the wrong side of the Winchester boy, who managed to find out that Mr. Arc had arranged to have his preparatory school transcripts...altered. We knew this already, but I had offered him admission regardless in light of his significant potential. Unfortunately, Winchester told his father, who saw no reason that Mr. Arc's education should be allowed to continue."

Whiskey sloshed as Qrow grunted his understanding into the mouth of the flask.

The older Winchester, much to Ozpin's displeasure, occupied a position on Beacon's board of directors. While he had attempted in the past to remove students he found distasteful - faunus students, by and large - Vale's extensive anti-discrimination laws had blocked his efforts. The Arc boy, regrettably, wasn't protected by such legislation, and the effort it would take to fight the Board on his expulsion simply wasn't worth the political capital it would take to counter it.

"So what you're saying is that you wouldn't have kicked him out."

"Decidedly not. But enough of my troubles. What news of your search?"

Qrow leaned forward on Ozpin's desk and scrubbed at the smear left by the sole of his shoe.

Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

After a moment, he spoke. "I couldn't find the Queen. That lead in Vacuo ran dry. If she was ever there, she's gone now."

Ozpin grimaced. Today was a day for bad news, it seemed.

"And what do you intend to do now?"

Qrow stared at the desk for a minute longer, then looked up. "Cast a wide net. Roam the Wilds, see what I can find. Signal has me on sabbatical this year, so I can go where I like. I've heard rumors of shipments…"

Qrow continued, laying out the clues he had gleaned in his travels and explaining his plans for the immediate future. Ozpin listened with complete attention.

At least, at first.

The rhythmic tock of clockwork in the background of his office was growing louder. It was subtle at first, enough that Ozpin brushed it off as a flight of his imagination, but as it began to drown out Qrow's explanations it grew past the point of dismissal.

TOCK

"…around the Atlesian…"

TOCK

"….dust, although I'm not..."

TOCK

TOCK

TOCK

It grew until the very air trembled under the force of the time-march, and it seemed as though the great clockworks themselves must burst asunder.

It grew, and in the space between They came, whispering.

It was the old voices, stirring from the deep recesses of his mind, hinting at the ragged threads of possibility. They moved, murmuring and shifting restlessly for his attention. They knew something, and would not rest until They told it - something that could be, perhaps, or that had been once and might yet be again.

In front of him, Qrow still talked, unaware of how reality twisted around him like a heat-wave.

The shine in Ozpin's brown eyes dulled as his mental energies focused inwards, leaving his body to manage business with Qrow while he sank into the depths of his mind. Bits of memories and scraps of forgotten wisdom flitted around him as he descended, hints at ends and means that were neither decided nor even fully imagined.

He reached out thought-fingers to probe the time-smoke around him, ever cautious. This part of his mind was not quite…his. It would be closer to the truth to say it was Theirs: a space shared by him and those who came before. It was part and parcel with his lot, the cost exacted from the privilege of his position.

His predecessors were dead, of course, and in most cases forgotten, but that did not mean that They were gone. They left behind…fragments. Shadows of lives and tattered remnants of thought snatched from the jaws of oblivion and preserved for those who followed. Preserved for him.

Truncated scenes flashed before his eyes, almost too quickly to follow. Structures old and alien in form, dark plumes of smoke, pages from scrolls that crumbled to dust as he watched, and the constant whisper of urgent words streaming beneath.

The signs were there, just like they had been in centuries past. The constant tension that existed between light and the darkness drew to a head, and it would not be resolved without a fight. A skirmish, if they were lucky, a brief and desperate sally by the advance guard to beat the dark back into its lair.

If they were not lucky, then it would be war - the kind of war that shook the world only once in a millennium.

In either case, they would need soldiers.

"You want to travel alone, I assume?" Back in his office, the words flowed from Ozpin's mouth not entirely of his own volition.

Qrow furrowed his brow, confusion evident. "I always work alone. Why?"

"Take the boy with you."

"Arc? Ozpin, that's not-"

"Just for the time being." Ozpin's brown eyes shone brightly over the thin lenses of his glasses once more. Why the old ones wanted this was not entirely clear to him, but he had never been led astray by their guidance. "I will attempt to work something out for Mr. Arc; one of the other academies, perhaps. However, for the moment, he would benefit much from your instruction."

Unsaid was the fact that Qrow himself would benefit from Jaune's presence. Too little company made the man retreat into his bitterness. It would be a mutually beneficial partnership.

"I don't like it," Qrow scowled. "He's a kid. He's got no business in the wilds."

"It's for the best," insisted Ozpin gently. "Trust me, Qrow."

"…This is one of those things, isn't it?" The black-haired man realized with a dark growl. "They told you."

"Yes."

Qrow grimaced.

"…Fine.

"Wonderful!" he smiled. "You will have to ask Mr. Arc, of course, but I believe he will accept. Give him some time to collect himself - I will send him a message to let him know he can trust you."

Qrow grunted his understanding as he took another drink from his hip flask. Replacing it under his cloak, he stalked over to the windows to glower out over the school.