SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Adventures in Babysitting (New)

Adventures in Babysitting

It was a little later in the morning; everyone was showered and dressed, and the table had been cleared away after breakfast.

It was at that point, with the whole family gathered in the dining room, that Sky chose to say, “Oh, Jaune, that question you were asking earlier about why we thought River might be having cravings? She’s pregnant.”

The whole room fell silent. River looked at Sky. “Really? Really?”

“You would have forgotten to tell him,” Sky said. “You had forgotten to tell him.”

“That … okay, that’s fair enough,” River muttered.

“You’re … you’re pregnant?” Jaune repeated. “You’re having a baby?”

“That is what being pregnant means, yeah,” River said. “And why so surprised? I am married.”

“I’m not surprised!” Jaune squawked. “I just…” He let out a laugh. “This is great! Congratulations!” He spread his arms out wide. “Can I give you a hug, or will it hurt the baby?”

“You can give me a hug,” River said, holding her arms out in turn and allowing Jaune to embrace her in a bear hug, even as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in turn.

“This is incredible,” Jaune said, as he lifted her up off the floor for a moment. “I’m going to be an uncle for the second time! Cool Uncle Jaune.”

“Again,” Sky said, “one of those words is correct.”

Jaune put River down on the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Things happened to get in the way,” River replied. “You know, first, you were back, and that was a big thing, and then you were fighting with Sky, and … well, like Sky said, at times, I’ve forgotten that I hadn’t already told you. I mean, everyone else found out days or weeks ago.”

“Really?” Jaune said. “Days or weeks?”

“If you didn’t want to be the last to know the family news, you shouldn’t have run away from home, baby brother,” River said, reaching up a little to flick him on the nose. “Although I probably shouldn’t have told Pyrrha before I told you.”

Jaune stared at Pyrrha. “You knew?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to hear it from me instead of from River herself,” Pyrrha murmured apologetically. “I didn’t think that River would want you to hear it from me instead of from her.”

Jaune sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s not your fault.” He looked at River again. “It’s yours.”

“But you can’t stay mad at me because I’m having a baby,” River declared. “It’s a rule.”

“That is not a rule!” Jaune cried. “But it is true.” He paused for a moment. “I take it that means I missed the celebration?”

“We’re having a party in just a couple of days; you can celebrate then,” Kendal reminded him.

“Great,” grumbled Mister Arc, “that makes me feel appreciated.”

“You know what I mean, Dad,” Kendal said. “Of course it’s your birthday, but this year, it feels like we’ve got so much more to celebrate too.”

Mister Arc made a wordless sound that could have meant any number of things.

“It will still be your party first and foremost, Dad,” Sky assured him. “Anyway, right now, I need to head out. I have to go and see the—”

“Sheriff!”

“Hello there, Mister Mayor, come on in; the door’s open,” Sky said smoothly as a man, as yet unknown to Pyrrha, entered the dining room via the hall.

The presumable Mayor of Alba Longa was a short, somewhat rotund beaver faunus with a pair of exaggerated front teeth sticking out of his mouth; he had more than one chin, and the dark brown hair on top of his head seemed subtly different than the hair around his crown. He was dressed in a brown suit with a white shirt and a red bow tie.

“Sheriff Arc,” he said, “what’s this I hear about a grimm attack on the outskirts of town?”

“I was just about to come and see you about that, Mister Mayor,” Sky said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to worry—”

“No reason to worry!” the mayor cried. “There was a grimm attack! On our town! It destroyed the McKinley farm!”

“And then it died,” Sky reminded him. “And there is no evidence that there are any more of them out there.”

“For now!” replied the mayor. “You don’t know that there won’t be more of them coming soon. Our town has been safe for now, but it seems that time is over!”

“That’s an assumption; it might be as long until a grimm next shows up as it was before that one did.”

“So is that your plan, Sheriff?” the mayor demanded. “To do nothing and hope that this is an isolated incident?”

“No, I’m going to hire a huntsman to take a look around, kill any grimm that might be in the area, and provide some recommendations on how we can protect ourselves.”

“A huntsman?” the mayor repeated. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s not a bad idea, but their fee is going to come out of your budget, Sheriff.”

“Of course, Mister Mayor,” Sky said. “That’s a sacrifice that I’m prepared to make.”

The mayor was silent for a moment. “Your brother-in-law came to see me earlier this morning,” he said.

“Is he the one who told you about the attack?” Sky asked.

“That’s not important,” the mayor said. “The point is, the point he made to me is, that we’ve got a lot of fine fellows in this town who know how to shoot, and we could—”

“Mister Mayor, last deer season, Ned Gansevant shot Jimmy Prescott by mistake because he saw something moving in the trees and fired at it; Jimmy was lucky not to die or lose an arm. It’s the reason why I hate deer season, and it’s the reason Sheriff Pearl hated it too; we have too many close calls already. Now I know that you and Ruben think that this is a good idea but I guarantee that if you tell people there is a reason to be scared and they need to go out and find that scary thing and shoot it we will be burying one of our neighbours regardless of whether there are any grimm out there.”

“Hmm,” the mayor murmured. “Some of our boys can be a little bit trigger-happy. We wouldn’t want any accidents. That wouldn’t help at all. Still, are you sure one huntsman will be enough?”

“I can try and find the money to spring for two,” Sky suggested.

“If you could spring for ten or twenty, that would make me happy,” the mayor said. “A grimm. A grimm! That this should happen when I’m mayor.”

“You have been mayor for twenty years, Mister Mayor.”

“And I still have a lot to give this precious town,” the mayor insisted. He paused for a moment. “There are a lot of anxious people out there, Sheriff. Word’s starting to spread.”

“From Ruben?”

“From the McKinleys, and the Kents,” the mayor said. “Everyone knows that they’ve been made homeless. I’ve decided to call a town meeting. You can tell everyone what you plan to do about this, and hopefully, it will convince people to stop worrying. We can also decide how we can all help the McKinleys in their hour of need. After all, we’re like a family here in Alba Longa.”

“I’ll be there,” Sky promised.

“One hour, in the town hall,” the mayor said, before turning away. He stopped, turned back, and bowed his head. “Good morning, Mrs. Arc, I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.”

“Not at all, Mister Mayor,” Mrs. Arc replied. “And how is your wife this morning?”

“Nervous, like everyone else,” the mayor said. “Hopefully, our Sheriff can soothe her agitation.”

He turned away again, and this time he did walk away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. There was the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Sky drew back her shoulder. “Okay. I guess I know what I’m doing today.”

“What we’re all doing,” Mister Arc said. “We’ll all go to the meeting. After all, this is our home.”

“But I’ve still got so much to do,” Rouge protested.

“There are a few things that are more important than my party, and this is one of them,” Mister Arc declared. “Besides, if we don’t show our faces, people will wonder why.”

“I know, Dad, I know,” Rouge murmured. She rested her hands on the table, then looked up at Jaune. “I’ll just have to work harder once the meeting is over.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, sweetheart,” Mister Arc said. “I mean, I’m not perfect; why should my party be perfect?”

Rouge smiled. “Thanks, Dad. But I want to try anyway.”

“Hey, Jaune,” Saphron said. “You don’t really live here any more, so there’s no need for you to go to the meeting; would you mind watching Adrian for me?”

“Uh,” Jaune said, the blurted word falling from his lips. “I mean, yeah, sure, I’d love to, but … I mean, you don’t live here either—”

“No, but Terra and I can find … something to do,” Saphron said. “And you can spend some quality time with your nephew. You didn’t really want to take Pyrrha to a town meeting, did you?”

“I mean…” Jaune glanced at Pyrrha.

Pyrrha, for her part, said nothing. She didn’t feel as though it was her place to say one way or another; this wasn’t her home, after all. Admittedly, the idea of a town meeting didn’t sound particularly inviting, but if Jaune wanted to go, then she wasn’t going to stand in his way. Perhaps the people of Alba Longa might want to hear from a huntsman in training.

On second thought, perhaps not; it seemed unlikely on the evidence thus far presented that the people of Alba Longa would wish to hear from Jaune Arc at the present time.

To be honest, she would not have minded spending a little time with Adrian; he was a very cute child. And she had been wondering what they were going to do here in the days leading up to Mister Arc’s party.

But again, this was Jaune’s home and Jaune’s choice.

Jaune must have realised that she was not going to intrude her own opinion into this, because he turned back to Saphron and said, “Babysitting sounds great.”

“Awesome!” Saphron cried. “And don’t worry; it’ll be a cinch.”

And so, an hour later, Pyrrha and Jaune found themselves in the Arcs’ living room, where a red settee sat against the back wall of the wood-panelled room, together with a couple of large stuffed armchairs and one or two smaller, lighter chairs besides. There was no television, Pyrrha noticed, although there was an upright piano in the corner of the room and a couple of bookshelves standing against the wall nearest the door, along with a liquor cabinet.

Pyrrha and Jaune sat down together on the settee, side by side, as Saphron and Terra came up behind them.

“Here you go,” Saphron said, holding out little Adrian to Jaune; he was facing away from Jaune, arms outstretched towards his mother, who said to him, “Now you be a good boy for Uncle Jaune, okay? He’s going to look after you for a little bit while Mommy and Mommy are away.”

Adrian made a noise, but he continued to reach for Saphron even as she handed him to Jaune. Jaune, for his part, took the little boy almost reverently in his grasp, holding onto him with both hands and lowering him quickly to sit upon Jaune’s lap, resting upon Jaune’s slightly faded blue jeans as though he were afraid that if he tarried too long, he might drop his nephew.

“And here are his things,” Terra said, holding out a zip-up bag to Pyrrha. “We’re not going to be gone so long that you’ll need half of this stuff, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“Of course,” Pyrrha agreed, taking the bag from her unresisting hands. Inside – it was not zipped up — there were some toys, a storybook, a blanket, and a few other things buried underneath that Pyrrha couldn’t quite make out. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me; you’re the one doing us a favour,” Terra said. “I love him, but it is a little exhausting having to be a mom all the time. Not that he’ll be difficult in any way, I hasten to add before you change your mind.”

Pyrrha chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll be a little angel,” she said. “Won’t you?” she asked, reaching out towards Adrian with one finger. “Won’t you?”

Terra grinned. “We’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks again,” Saphron added as she and Terra retreated towards the door.

“Oh,” Terra added, turning back in the doorway. “He likes the airship best at the moment.”

“Have fun, you two!” Jaune called, as the two of them retreated.

They left, and the house was quiet. Silent, in fact; everyone was out, either at the town meeting or else enjoying the break. In the whole house, there were just the three of them: Pyrrha, Jaune, and Adrian, and they were all in this room together.

Jaune glanced at her. “Sorry about this,” he said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Pyrrha assured him. “I don’t mind.”

“Really? Because I’m sure that whatever you expected … this trip so far hasn’t been what you expected, has it?”

“It’s fine, Jaune,” Pyrrha insisted. “It’s true that things got off to a bit of a rough start, but that was much more directed at you than at me, and … and I think it’s safe to say that things have improved a lot since then.” She looked into the bag. “The airship, huh?”

There it was, near the top: a toy Atlesian Skyray, and very faithful in modelling to the real thing, she had to say. Some toy manufacturers didn’t bother to get the details right, but whoever had made this had clearly gone the extra mile. She reached in, grabbed it, and pulled it out of the bag before she put said bag on the floor by her feet.

Adrian gasped when she sat the airship, reaching for it with both his small hands.

“You want this?” Pyrrha asked him. “You like this?”

She held the toy by its tail, positioned in such a way that the airship looked as though it was flying horizontally towards Adrian. As it approached, and as he reached for it, Pyrrha pulled the airship upwards as though the pilot had suddenly yanked back on the controls, sending the airship rising up into the sky. She found herself making a little whooshing noise as she lifted the toy Skyray up into the air.

“And here comes Rainbow Dash, flying to the rescue,” Pyrrha said as she turned the airship in a swooping dive, turning it in an arc through the air of the living room. “Will she be in time to save the day?”

The airship dived towards Adrian once again, but he didn’t reach for it this time; he simply watched the toy coming towards him with big, wide eyes.

Pyrrha mimicked the airship flying around him a couple of times, before slowing down for a moment, feeling the weight of the toy in her hands. “Jaune,” she said.

“Yeah?” Jaune asked. He had a soft smile on his face as he watched her.

“I think there’s metal in this toy,” Pyrrha said.

“So?” asked Jaune. He blinked. “You mean?”

Now it was Pyrrha’s turn to smile, and her hand was surrounded with a faint black outline as she touched the model Skyray with her semblance.

And she let it go.

The Skyray did not fall. Adrian’s beloved toy did not clatter to the floor. No, with only a little black around it which did nothing to obscure Adrian from seeing the airship, it hovered in place as though it were a real airship suspended by gravity dust awaiting orders.

Adrian gasped. He seemed to understand that an airship ought not to be hovering like this. His mouth opened, hanging wide.

Pyrrha could not resist a chuckle. “Watch closely,” she said, and she set the airship flying.

Pyrrha’s control over her semblance was absolute. It was a scalpel in her hands. It might not be too effective a bludgeon, since she had never trained to use it on a grand scale, but when it came to small things like weapons, or toys, there was very little that she could not do. And so it was easy for her to make the living room her sky, the sky in which the Skyray ruled absolute, as it flew around just below the ceiling, dived down to the floor below, almost but not quite hitting the deck, pulling up at the last moment, as it rolled and looped, as it did things that would surely have impressed Rainbow Dash if they had been done by a real airship.

And, being done by a toy, they impressed Adrian. He gasped. He clapped his hands together. He cried out in wordless, gleeful delight. Jaune stood up, holding tightly onto Adrian, and carried him into the centre of the room, lifting him up at times to get him closer to the toy, even as Pyrrha ‘piloted’ the Skyray closer to him, waggling its wings in a sort of salute when it passed near to his face.

After a little while, the appeal of the flying Skyray seemed to wear off a little — at least for now — but by then, Adrian seemed to find the very fact of being lifted up into the air by Jaune fun, and he laughed as Jaune lifted him up, raising his arms — but bending his knees, lest he bang Adrian’s head against the ceiling — over and over again as though Adrian himself were the airship rising into the sky.

“Whoa!” Jaune cried. “There you go!”

Adrian laughed, then his laughter turned into a leonine yawn as his mouth gaped open wide, and his brown eyes fluttered for a moment.

“Tired, huh?” Jaune asked as he lowered Adrian down. “You feel like taking a nap?”

Adrian’s eyes opened, and he pouted as though to suggest that the very idea was preposterous.

“Uh, okay,” Jaune said as he and Pyrrha retreated back to the settee.

“How about a story?” Pyrrha suggested. She hesitated for a moment. “Jaune… could I … could I hold him, for a little while, please?”

“Uh, sure,” Jaune said. “Just, be careful, okay?”

“Of course,” Pyrrha murmured as she reached out and put her hands around Adrian’s waist. He did not protest as she lifted him up off Jaune’s lap and down onto her own; rather, he giggled a little. “Hello again,” Pyrrha said, her voice a gentle whisper.

Adrian beamed up at her. Some of Pyrrha’s long red hair had fallen over her shoulder, and Adrian grabbed at it, giggling to himself as he tugged at it.

Pyrrha chuckled and started to rock him gently back and forth in her arms.

“Once upon a time,” she said, still speaking in that hushed whisper of a voice, “in a ramshackle old cottage deep in the forest, beside a mighty river, there lived a cold, old man. He lived alone, dwelling in shadow and darkness, with only a single small window out onto the world. And yet, one snowy day, as he looked out of the window, the old man saw something strange and new, something he had not seen before.

“For there, outside the window, beneath a great old tangled tree, there sat a fair young maiden, dressed in robes of blue with sable trim, and her hair was as white as snow. The old man thought he must be dreaming, for he had dwelt in this house for many centuries, and not once in all that time had he received any visitors. Yet, there she sat, with her eyes closed, as though she were asleep.

“The old man opened his window, feeling a blast of cold air on his face, and demanded to know who she was and what she was doing. The maiden replied, ‘My name is Winter, I have been on a journey, and I am waiting here for my sisters.’ The old man still did not understand why she was sitting there beneath his tree alone, but the maiden replied that she was not alone, for she had her thoughts with her, and there were times when they were good company enough. And with that, the maiden closed her eyes once more and resumed her meditation.

“The old man grumpily thought to himself that the girl was a fool, and yet, foolish as he thought she was, the sight of her sitting out there in the snow and cold stirred something in him, and he told her to come inside and warm herself by the fire before she caught her death. The maiden accepted and came into his dark home. The old man could not remember the last time he had eaten, or felt the warmth of a fire, but nevertheless, for the sake of his guest, he set a fire in the hearth and cooked a bowl of soup for her — and soon realised that he, too, was very hungry. As they ate, he asked her what she had been doing sitting out there in the cold beneath the tree, and the maiden replied that she had been meditating, and offered to show him how. Many months passed, and the old man found that his mind became clearer than it had been in years, and as his friendship with Winter thawed the old man’s heart, so too the frozen forest began to thaw around them.”

“One day, the old man woke up to find that Winter was no longer in his little cottage. It seemed that she had departed without bidding him farewell. Disappointed, the old man went to the window and saw that outside, the grass was green, the leaves had returned to the great old tree, and the maiden once more stood outside, now joined by another. She was clad in green, with leaves and flowers in her hair, and upon her arm, there hung a great and bountiful basket of fruits and flowers. ‘And who are you?’ the old man asked. ‘My name is Spring,’ the maiden replied. ‘I am on a journey, and I am waiting here for my sisters.’ She walked to his window, and from her basket, she offered him fruits and flowers.

“‘Is this to repay my hospitality to your sister?’ asked the old man. ‘No, sir,’ replied Spring, ‘this is from nought but kindness, and because I believe you would appreciate them.’ The old man opened the window and received the gifts that Spring provided with a gratitude that surprised him. It had been many years since he had had anything so beautiful as these lovely flowers in his house, and as he looked at them, he began to wonder if it had not been too long since he had had such things. He turned away, placing the flowers where they might brighten up his dark home, but when he returned to the window, he found to his astonishment that Spring was tending to his garden, and that what had been a bare and barren patch of earth was now a place from which life would surely blossom.

“‘You have done too much,' the old man said, to which Spring replied that she had hardly begun. The old man bade her come inside when she was weary, and Spring, like Winter, joined him in his cottage, sharing his hearth. But there was no need to share in what little food the old man could provide, for each day, Spring laboured at the old man’s garden, and not only beautiful flowers but bountiful fruits and vegetables sprung out of the ground to liven up their mealtimes.

“Months passed, until one day, the old man awoke to find Winter and Spring both gone, but laughter coming from outside. And the old man walked to his window and saw that a third maiden now stood there, tall, with sunlight in her golden hair. The old man begged her to introduce herself, and she said, ‘My name is Summer, I am on a journey, and I am waiting here for my sister.’ And then she laughed again, and the old man begged her to tell him what was so funny.

“The maiden replied that the source of her amusement was him, for he stood in that dark house, watching the world out of his window as though he were a captive prisoner, when the door by which he might leave the darkness and step out into the world was right beside him. The old man felt a fool; why did he need Spring to give him flowers through the window when he could go out and find them for himself? And so, after a moment, the old man opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. And with the sunlight came new energy, so that when Summer begged him to come and dance with her, the old man found the strength to accept. And as he danced and frolicked, the old man found that he scarcely felt like himself.

“He felt better.

“All summer long, the old man spent every waking moment out of doors, sleeping under the stars with Winter, Spring, and Summer. One day, as the leaves turned golden and the hot days drew to a close, Summer proposed a great feast. Winter set the table, Spring supplied the crops, Summer prepared the meal, and the old man? Well, the old man was the happiest that he had been in many years.

“But, as he sat down at the head of the table, the old man noticed another guest had arrived: a fourth maiden stood beneath his tree, delicate, with sunset in her hair of red. The old man begged her to join them and to introduce herself. ‘My name is Fall,’ she said, ‘I have been on a journey, and I am here to meet my sisters.’ The other three maidens, Winter, Spring, and Summer, welcomed her joyfully, for now they were all together once again. But then Fall asked, ‘But who are you, sir, who have welcomed my sisters while they waited for me?’

“The old man said, ‘I am just an old hermit, and my story is not very interesting. I have little to my name and no one to love.’ To the old man’s surprise, Fall smiled at him. ‘But sir,’ she said, gesturing to her sisters and to the world around him, ‘don’t you see? You have so much. I beg of you, be thankful for all that you have and all that you have been given.’

“The old man vowed that he would, for his eyes had been opened by the kindness of the four sisters. And yet, he begged to know why they had chosen to bestow such kindness upon him. And Fall replied, ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but we did not do these things for you because you are special. We do what we can for everyone, because we are able.’

“‘Then let me repay you as I can, because I am able,’ the old man said, and he bestowed upon the four sisters incredible power, begging them to continue to help others all over the world. They graciously accepted and promised to share their gifts with the people of Remnant until the very end of days. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, the four seasons.”

Adrian’s eyes were closed, and he let out a snort of murmur, but as he curled up in Pyrrha’s lap, still clutching at some of her long red hair, it was clear that he had fallen asleep.

Pyrrha smiled. “Sleep tight, little one.”

Jaune put his arms around her, shifting closer to her. “You told that from memory?” he asked.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Pyrrha said. “From time to time, I can appreciate a gentler sort of story, one that doesn’t involve proud warriors trying to kill one another.”

Jaune smiled, although the smile swiftly faded from his face. “Incredible power,” he murmured. “Do you think—?”

“Jaune,” Pyrrha said, gently but firmly. “Would you mind if we didn’t talk about such things?” She hesitated. “This place is … so peaceful. It feels … it almost feels wrong to bring the darkness here, even by speaking of it.”

Jaune nodded. “You’re right,” he said. His smile returned. “And besides, it feels like we should be allowed a little time to not have to think about that stuff, doesn’t it?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Pyrrha replied, looking away from him and down upon the slumbering Adrian. With one hand, Pyrrha stroked his forehead, brushing his hair a little out of the way. “Jaune,” she said, “do you ever think about the future?”

“'The future'?” Jaune repeated.

“Our future,” Pyrrha explained. “Our future … together.”

She felt as though she were stepping onto thin ice. Sunset, she felt sure, would have told her that she was being absurd, too insecure, letting her fears get the best of her, but nevertheless, Pyrrha was afraid. What if Jaune told her that he didn’t think about their future together because he didn’t see one, that she was an entertainment for him, not a future? Yes, Sunset would undoubtedly have ridiculed such fears — well, perhaps not actively ridiculed, because Sunset never laughed at her — but Pyrrha, though she could recognise how unlikely it all was, though she knew that Jaune had brought her here to meet his family, his family … she could not banish worry from her heart.

Perhaps it was that fear, that fear of silence, that desire to fill up the space in the conversation, that drove Pyrrha on, saying, “Do you ever think about … about where we might live or what we might do or … or whether we’ll ever have children of our own, like Adrian?”

“Two,” Jaune said, after a moment’s pause.

Pyrrha looked at him. “'Two'?” she repeated.

Jaune shrugged, or sort of shrugged, as best he could while he had his arms around her. “When I’ve thought about it,” he said, “I think two children would be a good number to have. More … when you have a lot of children, there’s always someone who gets left out. Either the oldest kids have to grow up faster and become almost like other parents to the younger ones, or else the younger ones don’t get to grow up at all, because the older siblings don’t stop babying them. Or both, it feels like, in my family: Rouge and me and Violet. But at the same, with only one kid … what if they end up all alone? At least with a brother or sister, they’ll never be really alone, you know?”

Pyrrha didn’t know, but she did know what he meant about an only child ending up alone, especially an only child born into the line of Nikos. “So you have thought about it?” she asked, a degree of amusement creeping stealthily into her voice.

Jaune smiled sheepishly. “A little bit, yeah. You?”

Pyrrha looked down at Adrian, slumbering peacefully in her embrace. “All of Mistral would rejoice if I were to have an heir,” she murmured. “Someone to continue the line of Nikos after me.”

“But what do you want?” Jaune asked.

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. “I would … I would love to be a mother,” she confessed, or at least it felt like confession. She looked into Jaune’s eyes. “I would love to be a better mother than my own, to let my child or my children, our children, decide for themselves what path they wished to follow, what destiny they wished to pursue. To give them nothing but love and affection, to let them know that they could always return to my arms whenever they wished to.”

Jaune chuckled. “I think that you’ll be a great mom,” he told her.

Pyrrha smiled at that, but nevertheless, she said, “But there are times … there are times when I also think … I wonder if it’s selfish, to bring a child into the world, knowing that you could, that you might leave them at any moment.”

Jaune frowned. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about the dark stuff?”

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha said. “But … I’m not sure that it can be wholly avoided.”

“I know what you mean,” Jaune admitted. “My Dad quit after Rouge was born for just that reason. He … he didn’t want her to have to grow up without a father. But, on the other hand … I don’t know, saying that you shouldn’t have kids if you’re going to continue to do the work? I mean, Ruby misses her mom, but isn’t it better that she exists and that she has some memories of her mother, than that Summer Rose had decided to never have children because she might die? Isn’t it better that you exist than that your dad decided to never marry or have children?”

Pyrrha chuckled. “How can I argue with the fact that, by my own argument, I wouldn’t be here?”

“Would you keep doing the work then?” Jaune asked.

“I … I don’t see how I could walk away from it, at least, not for a while,” Pyrrha replied. “Knowing what we do, this thing that we’re not going to talk about, for all that I’m not the most necessary to our efforts—”

“Don’t say that,” Jaune said.

“I don’t have Sunset’s magic or Ruby’s eyes.”

“No, but neither of them have your sheer unbridled skill, and that counts for something, right?” Jaune asked.

“Perhaps,” Pyrrha murmured. “Either way, the point is that I don’t think that I could turn my back on all of this, at least not for a while, not until the next group of the … of the chosen were ready to take on the burden from Professor Ozpin, just as we did.”

“And when they do?”

Pyrrha hesitated. “Who can say? It might depend on what I’ve done, or what I think I’ve done. I don’t know. I … I don’t know.” I don’t know what I want out of the next few years, let alone further on than that. “Perhaps I’ll retire, like my mother did, like she has, devote myself to running the Nikos estates and raising our children. I mean … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that we’d live in Mistral—”

“It makes sense,” Jaune admitted. “All of your land, that big house—”

“We don’t have to live in the big house.”

“Maybe not, but it seems like a pretty nice place to grow up,” Jaune pointed out. “And … well, did you ever lack for anything when you were a kid?”

“Nothing that money could buy,” Pyrrha replied.

Jaune grinned. “Is it wrong for me to say that I want that for our children?” he asked. “Not … that almost sounds like I’m interested in you for the money.”

“I know that isn’t true,” Pyrrha assured him, reflecting that he might have a similar reaction if she confessed her fears to him.

“But if we have the chance to give our children every luxury and comfort then … it seems kind of silly to throw that away just so we can live in Vale instead,” Jaune pointed out. “Or anywhere else other than Mistral. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure that Mistral would start a war if you didn’t come home at some point.”

Pyrrha laughed, and holding Adrian as she was, she wasn’t even able to raise a hand to stifle her laughter. “I think you might be exaggerating,” she said, “if only by a little.” She took pause for a moment, until the laughter died. “And you? Would you think about giving up being a huntsman, like your father did, or would you keep going?”

Jaune did not answer for a moment, nor for the next. “My Dad told me, when we talked last night,” he said, “he told me, or at least he made it seem, as if he didn’t know what he was going to do until he was holding Rouge in his arms, looking down on her. So I guess … I suppose my answer is I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll make up my mind when I hold our baby in my arms.”

“If,” Pyrrha murmured.

“Huh?”

“If you hold our baby in your arms,” Pyrrha said softly. “If I—”

“When,” Jaune insisted. “You’re not going to die, Pyrrha, not to Cinder, not at school, not for a long time to come. And neither am I. We’re going to live; I guarantee it.”

Pyrrha stared at him. “How can you be so sure?” she asked him softly.

Jaune drew her in and kissed her on the forehead, just below her glittering circlet. “Because I’m going to be right by your side, always,” he said, “and I know that no matter how bad things get, together, we can make it through, I know it. I … I might not be able to be a hero, but I’ll be your hero, and you’ll be mine; that’s my promise. Because … because I love you, and there’s no way in Remnant I’m going to let you go.”

Author's Note:

Art by Artsbysmarty

Comments

[Mastermind4892]

This was so delightfully symbolic with just the right amount of foreshadowing. The Four Maidens was a nice touch as well.

[Mister Morden]

So many death flags... But at least this story diverts from Canon!

[Scipio Smith]

11316045
I love teasing Pyrrha's death safe in the knowledge that it will never happen.

[Iacs]

11316185
Unfortunately.

[Cyrus Windstrider]

11317087
Well, that's jaded. But especially considering these are rewritten and inserted chapters we already know well enough how the fall of beacon goes this time around, so why the bitterness? Dislike of Pyrrha as a character, the lack of tension about it due to knowing the result, something else?