Work Text:
Weiss tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn’t quite find a comforting position, and each time she moved, the antiandrogen shot hurt again. It usually wasn’t this bad, but she almost missed the date this month, and had to inject herself in their dorm’s bathroom. It made Weiss nervous. Her hand trembled, she tensed up her leg, and it took her a bit more time to inject it all.
A recipe to make the intramuscular shot hurt for the rest of the day and so far, now most of the night.
She sighed. This was getting her nowhere. But as she stared at the underside of the bed hanging over her, Weiss had to admit that the pain of the shot wasn’t what was keeping her up.
It was the person sleeping on that bed, and on the one next to Weiss, and on the bed mounted above that one. Ruby, Blake and Yang. Weiss’ team, and if she dared to say so, her first and only friends.
No. No ifs, ands or buts. They were her friends, and even her new family. That was clear as water.
Especially after the incident with Sun and the White Fang. Blake trusted them with her secret. She trusted Weiss, despite everything between them. And that made Weiss feel more guilty for not sharing her own secret.
It’s not that she owed them her identity. But it was still her identity. Part of who Weiss Schnee was, and worked hard to be. But more importantly, it was something she wanted to share with them. Only she didn't know how to bring up, or to whom first.
Realizing she had a lot to think about, Weiss decided that the bed was not helping. So she silently got up and put on a night robe, careful to not make a single sound as she exited their dorm for a midnight stroll.
As she made her way down the hallways, dimly lit by the moon’s light, Weiss began considering how to manage her secret with her friends. She knew Yang either already knew, or at least suspected something. She had caught Yang looking in her direction when taking her morning dose of estrogen, and a couple of days later again when taking the nightly ones. So, it was only a question of if Yang knew what those pills were, and why Weiss was taking them.
But either way, Yang hadn’t changed. She never asked questions, or pushed Weiss to speak about it. It was clear Yang was respecting her space, even when trying to approach. Weiss had taken note of how Yang would always put a hand on her shoulder, or gently pull her closer when sitting together.
Yang was an affectionate person, and Weiss didn’t know how to respond most of the time. At first, she had resisted the approaches. But as time went on, she began to lean more into the comfort of it. Every reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. Every easy smile. Every moment Yang casually closed the distance between them.
And probably helping her keep her secret.
Weiss couldn’t tell if Yang was simply being herself, or if this was her quiet way of saying that she knew and that it changed nothing. Sometimes, Weiss worried that if she relaxed into that warmth too much, she would eventually let everything spill out.
Then, there was Blake.
Weiss winced as she thought about their relationship. At first, Weiss figured out Blake was the only other sane person she could talk to. Then she felt so betrayed when Blake revealed herself to be a former terrorist. And then… There was an understanding.
They cared for each other like sisters, that was out of the question. But Weiss had some hard truths to learn, and some prejudices to unlearn, and so did Blake. The SDC had abused Faunus, and the White Fang had killed people. These facts didn’t make a zero sum, but they did give them something to think about.
In a way, Weiss considered she could tell Blake and expect acceptance, if only out of some sense of fairness from her. But that wasn’t true. The truth was that she knew Blake was a kind-hearted girl who would bleed herself dry just to protect one person. If Weiss made herself vulnerable to share such a secret, Blake would care for her.
But she didn’t want that. She wanted to be Blake’s friend because they wanted to be with each other. Not out of shared guilt and responsibilities.
Friends. Weiss had one ‘best friend forever’ now, right?
Ruby Rose. The little girl that had no indoor voice. Who often fell asleep during the earlier classes. Who jumped head-first into most situations without looking, and then shot her way out. And Weiss’ first true friend.
If there was anyone who wasn’t just safe to share her secret, but who would actually care for Weiss first, regardless of her condition, that was Ruby.
In all honesty, Weiss had been about to tell her a couple of times. Usually when they found themselves alone at the training room, or Ruby stayed up late studying for the classes she fell asleep in. But something always held her words. Weiss wasn’t sure why she kept hesitating, but she did.
Maybe it was fear of being rejected, or maybe she didn’t want to burden anyone with her secret. Maybe it was just the uncertainty of how Ruby, or Blake, or Yang would react.
Or maybe there was no need to tell anyone. She was still Weiss Schnee, with or without her own secrets.
A sharp noise interrupted her thoughts.
It sounded like metal cutting through air, followed by a grunt. Then again, and another. Like someone was under a heavy strain, while swinging something heavy and sharp– a weapon!
Weiss considered her options. She could go back to their dorm and pick Myrtenaster, maybe even get one of the girls to help. But then she heard a louder clang of metal against stone, and she began moving in the direction of it. Upstairs, towards the rooftop above the dorms.
As she got to the door to the rooftop, Weiss pressed herself to the wall next to the door, as she heard more grunting and swinging. Ready for anything, she carefully pushed the door open to see what was happening first.
She was not expecting what she encountered.
It was Jeanne, swinging Crocea Mors left and right. Weiss had caught her before, training with Pyrrha on that same rooftop. When Blake came out clean to the team about her past, she and Ruby agreed to include Team JNPR too, which ended up in Jeanne confessing a secret of her own.
It turned out that Arc had entered Beacon on forged transcripts. Weiss didn’t know how to take that news at first. Though, she had to admit that, if her friend was a former White Fang terrorist, another one committing minor fraud was considerably less impactful.
So, she knew about Jeanne using that rooftop for nightly training, as a way to catch-up for her lack of education previous to Beacon. But there was something different about how she conducted herself that night.
For starters, Pyrrha was nowhere to be seen, and Jeanne was wearing headphones, with her eyes closed.
But also, she wasn’t doing the exercises she usually trained with. No thrusts, swings, stabs or blocks, or anything that looked like attacks. Instead, she was moving in wide arcs, extending and contracting her arms with each spin. The movements weren’t sharp, but were strenuous. The way she swung her weapons, Crocea Mors’ weight pulled Jeanne along.
It didn’t take Weiss too long to realize Jeanne was following a rhythm; eight tempos. Something was eerily familiar for Weiss, reminding her of her own fighting style mixing ballet and fencing, but she couldn't place what piece was Jeanne dancing to. It was frantic and janky, as if she was fighting herself over it, grunting or gasping when extending too far or too hard.
Until the final tour jeté, when Weiss finally placed the piece and Jeanne landed on her feet, bowing towards the Beacon tower. After holding the reverence for a few seconds, she had to rest her hands on her knees, panting, before taking the headphones off.
Weiss couldn’t help herself from giving a small clap at the performance, making Jeanne finally notice her without the sound of music in her ears.
“Weiss!” Jeanne reacted by covering herself with her sword and shield as if she had been caught naked. “So-sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s okay, Jeanne, I was already awake.” Weiss adjusted the robe over her shoulders to better shield herself from the cool night air. “But I must ask, what were you dancing to?”
“Oh, that,” she straightened up, folding Crocea Mors’ shield back into a scabbard and sheathing the sword part. “I was, y’know, unwinding.”
“Unwinding?” Weiss raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, y’know, doing something light for a change.” Jeanne rubbed the back of her neck before sighing. “Pyrrha thought I was overtaxing myself, so she gave me the free night.”
“And to unwind…” Weiss remained standing, but relaxed her posture. “You did a ballet routine while holding heavy weapons in the middle of the night.”
Jeanne laughed awkwardly.
“Yeah, I guess it looks weird. But it’s been a rough week.” She sat down against the wall next to the door. “What about you? Are you okay?” The tiredness on Jeanne’s face immediately left and was replaced by worry. “Do you need help?”
Weiss got caught off guard by Jeanne’s offer of helping. She usually brushed off the girl’s attempts at courting as just performative. But there was something in her tone then, that made it clear it was not an attempt to get close, but simple, honest worry.
She carefully leaned her back on the wall next to Jeanne, internally wincing from dirtying her robe.
“I have a… conundrum.” Weiss settled for. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
“I understand,” Jeanne nodded, again surprising Weiss for not pushing. “Just ask for help if you need it.” She looked up at her. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about not asking for help when in need.” Then she gave a dry laugh, looking down again and sighing.
There was a silence Weiss used to think about Jeanne’s words. How could she ask for help with this? To whom? As far as she knew, she was the only woman like her in Beacon. And even if she wasn’t, the closest people she could ask for help were her team, and they were what the problem was about. It wasn’t like she could ask Ruby about how to come out to Ruby.
“Speaking of,” Jeanne derailed her train of thought. “I never thanked you for keeping my ‘transcripts’ secret.” She was looking up at Weiss, grin small but honest.
“Think nothing of it,” Weiss waved a hand dismissively, still standing up. “Call it mutually assured support for you and your team keeping Blake’s secret a secret.”
“What?” Jeanne tilted her head in confusion. “Of course me and my team would keep a friend’s secret.” She looked down again, her gaze getting lost in the horizon. “I’d never betray someone’s trust, much less by exposing their identity.”
In the way she said that, Weiss believed her.
There was something in Jeanne’s voice that convinced Weiss she was speaking in all honesty. As if Jeanne really did consider betraying a friend’s trust the biggest of transgressions. But there was sadness in it too. A melancholy that Weiss was almost sure she’s felt before, but couldn’t place it at the moment.
“Still,” Jeanne again felt the need to fill the silence with words. “I know how you all worked so hard for this.” She breathed slowly. “I understand if you’re angry I got in by lying my way in.” She rested her head against the wall, avoiding Weiss’ gaze altogether.
One one hand, she’d never seen Jeanne this vulnerable before, and it made her worry. Despite how much the other girl’s efforts to ‘court’ her drained Weiss’ patience, she didn’t hold it against her. But on the other hand, there was something she didn’t understand. And Weiss hated not understanding. It was what made her and Blake’s relationship so complicated until recently.
Weiss felt another wince for her poor robe as she sat down, but she wanted to be at eye level.
“Why did you, though?” Her question made Jeanne look back at Weiss with a mix of pain and guilt. “I mean,” Weiss quickly corrected herself. “Why wouldn’t you just go to Signal, like Ruby and Yang did?”
That got a chuckle out of Jeanne.
“Well, for starters,” she said, her grin already fading. “It would have been a hell of a commute from Mistral to Vale every morning.” She snickered again, but Weiss kept her silence, only nodding to Jeanne to continue, which made her sigh in defeat.
“Truth is,” she ran a hand down her braid over her shoulder. “My parents really didn’t want me to become a Huntress.” She adjusted herself, again avoiding Weiss’ gaze, as if escaping it. “It has to do with me being a…” Jeanne trailed off, hesitating, clearly considering what she could and couldn't say. “Well, women in my family are held to a high standard.”
“Standard?” Weiss asked, already guessing what it may be, but letting Jeanne say it at her own pace.
“‘Arc women lead, and Arc men fight’,” Jeanne finally recited, staring into the night sky the same as if she was under the judging gaze of her ancestors. “Women in my family, we’re supposed to guide, to teach, to preserve.” She closed her eyes. “Only Arc men are meant to go out, protect others and fight to their last drop of blood.”
Jeanne unstrapped Crocea Mors from her belt, holding it in front of her face and staring at the crossguard. “Only Arc men are even allowed to wield our family sword.”
“I see,” Weiss said, mostly just to let Jeanne know she was listening. “I’m guessing your parents weren’t too supportive about coming to Beacon.”
“Now that’s an understatement,” Jeanne finally looked back at Weiss, smiling sadly. “They signed me up for anything that would keep me away from combat training.”
“I guess that explains why you knew that ballet routine,” Weiss returned the small grin.
“Yeah,” Jeanne continued. “Not to brag, but I’m rather good at dancing and playing the guitar.” She ran her finger up and down the sheat of Crocea Mors. “I have a good eye for sketching landscapes and structures, as well as the basics for astronomy and cartography.” She shrugged. “Useful skills. Just not the ones I wanted.”
Her grip tightened slightly on her weapon.
“But this?” Jeanne nodded at Crocea Mors, then back out at the dark horizon. “This isn’t something I can just… let go of. It’s not a phase, or a fixation, or whatever my parents thought it was that I needed to outgrow.” Her voice steadied, firmer now. “It’s just… who I am.” She inhaled, smiling again, but this time wider, more sincere. “And I am going to be a Huntress.”
Her words hit Weiss heavier than she expected. Because she understood far more than Jeanne could have expected. Far more than Weiss wanted to admit.
Jeanne’s was a sentiment Weiss knew pretty well. The roles assigned by her family and gender. The need to be strong to face them, to the expectations of her family. Even the smaller stuff Jeanne didn’t say, like the precarious balance between who she was allowed to be, what she needed to be, what she wanted to be, and what she already was.
Weiss Schnee understood Jeanne Arc so much, and she wanted to say it.
She wanted to tell Jeanne that she understood exactly what it meant to have your life negotiated with those around you. To see how only parts of herself were allowed to exist, and how others were just ignored, or worse, rejected. How much she had to hide of herself, just to be allowed to exist as herself, even in such a contradiction.
Her lips parted, then closed again.
She couldn’t say it.
Instead, Weiss crossed her arms under her chest, measuring her voice, but careful to come out softer than usual.
“I understand,” she finally settled for.
Jeanne looked up at her, surprised. Not at the words, but at the tone. Weiss looked away first.
“My family,” she began carefully, fingers tightening around the fabric of her robe. “They weren’t exactly supportive of my choices either.” The words felt strangely heavy once spoken aloud. “Not all of them, at least.”
She could feel Jeanne’s attention sharpen, even if she didn’t say anything.
“There were expectations,” Weiss continued. “About who I should be. What I should be.” She made a pause, steeling herself. “What I was allowed to be.”
That was it. That was enough to make her point across. Even if she wanted to say more, she couldn’t. Even if Weiss wanted to tell Jeanne that she understood exactly what it meant to have your existence treated like a disappointment. To become an argument people had around you instead of a person they listened to.
But she couldn’t.
Not yet.
Jeanne’s expression softened immediately, the earlier melancholy replaced with an honest recognition of what Weiss was talking about. And genuine concern for her.
“Weiss,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
The sincerity in her voice almost hurt more than pity would have. But before she could think of a proper reply, Jeanne opened one arm slightly in invitation, which caught Weiss entirely off guard.
For a moment, the memory of Jeanne Arc from their first day flashed in her head. The weird girl who immediately flirted with Weiss, who cried for help without a landing strategy. Who was so far behind everyone else, and still tried.
Who was now showing nothing but honest concern.
Weiss opened her mouth to refuse automatically. To insist she was perfectly capable of handling herself. That she didn’t need to be held together by someone else’s kindness.
Yet, again, the words refused to come, and instead, Weiss shifted closer, letting Jeanne embrace her shoulder and pull her in.
Jeanne wrapped an arm around her shoulders carefully, as though worried Weiss might change her mind halfway through. The warmth of it seeped through the robe almost immediately. And it surprised Weiss how much the world seemed to quiet when being held by someone else.
No.
Not just someone else.
By a friend like Jeanne.
“Thank you,” Weiss whispered, allowing herself to relax and close her eyes for a brief second.
Jeanne smiled softly. “For what?”
Weiss hesitated, then very quietly added. “For being a friend.”