Remnant's Calling

3x6: Breaking Down

"What the fuck did I just watch?"

Fritz stared in utter confusion at the screen as he took a drink. Of all fights he caught, this one was by far the weirdest.

"They're either the luckiest or dumbest assholes I've had the chance to watch." Johnny turns from the TV to the pair. Qrow throws back the bronze liquid with a frozen expression while Fritz takes it slow and steady, his face puckering as the bitter liquor burns his throat.

"Thanks for the drinks, Johnny boy! I owe you one," Qrow says. Both Fritz and the drinkslinger snap to the doorway. The two glanced at one another and then back at him, but he wasn't there.

Johnny shakes his head and takes a long breath through his nose. "Guess that's something else going on the tab." He gestures to the door. "You're free to leave, bud. Not going to make you pay for him."

Fritz nods in gratitude and rises from the stool with a slight bit of wobble. He gathered himself before leaving. His eyes constrict from the burning horizon sun. As he adjusts, he steadily lowers his arm and pauses at the sight of the sunset. He emanates a soft hum and then turns, leaving for the Vytal Festive grounds.

⋯

A ghost town. The empty streets and barren sidewalks cast a grim and ghastly reminder of Miami's condition. The long grey face of Don Juan slid into Fritz's peripheral, her arm wrapped around his and her head shifting to his shoulder.

"You're doing better." Her soft, gentle voice spoke.

He stayed quiet, his thoughts even more silent. "Am I?" He asked finally.

She giggled. The image of her bright smile flashed through his mind. "Of course." He hums softly and relaxes. "Something on your mind?"

"No. It's nothing," he says on instinct.

"You don't have to lie to me, Fritz. Not anymore." Her voice stings his heart.

He hesitates for a moment. "I'm fighting again," he states. "And I'm not sure if I can win this time."

Don Juan is quiet for a long while. "Losing is not necessarily a good or bad thing."

"Yet the cost of either one feels like they're gettin' greater and greater every day."

"Sacrifice is inevitable, Fritz, you know that."

A beat. "Yeah... better than anyone, I suppose."

Don Juan hums and looks up at him. Her invisible smile chips away at him. "It was never your fault."

The words tugged at his heartstrings, and the screams of his thoughts died almost immediately.

"Sarah, I-"

She grabs his hand and swings in front of him, grabbing his other hand. "Promise me something, okay? That you won't run away when the end comes?"

Fritz stares at her, the seconds ticking down. Then, finally, he draws a breath and speaks, "I promise."

The mask rots and breaks apart, Sarah's soft, pale face gleaming in the rising moon's light. A sharp and pulsing pain grows in his chest, its sting increasing as more of her features grace his vision. "You look so beautiful right now." His voice was thin, like taut suffocation.

She giggles, averting his gaze and pulling a strand of golden hair behind her ear. An empty smile extends across his face as he watches her. And then, the expanding stains of crimson catch his eye, and his heart jumps. 

"It's okay," Sarah whispers. She can feel her legs going numb and slack, and she collapses into Fritz's arms. His features are becoming hazier and hazier while blood starts to pool beneath her.

They sink to the pavement. The fast and sporadic pounding of his heart reminds her of a clock's ticks. 

"No, no, no, no, no, Sarah, please, just- just hang on, okay, please."

A mild ringing reverberates in her mind while the warm silver light washes over them. 

"Please, please, I-I can't lose you again. Sarah, please!"

Drops of water rain down on her face, and the bitter smell of salt bites her nose—Fritz swings into view, and his hand cups her cheek. 

"Sarah?" He calls, his voice is brittle like already fractured glass. 

She smiles at him and reaches up; her hand trembles as she does so.

"I love you."

Jacket watches her hand fall to the pavement; his body, mind, and soul suddenly freeze. And then, it all shatters, and his vision blurs like static, then he's up and walking again—Sarah's body rests alone on the cold asphalt behind. 

⋯

Mary eyed the flatscreen television, her eyes gleaming with wonder. She witnessed dozens of tournaments and yet they always find a way to steal her attention.

"Hey, your noodles are getting cold, ma'am." The feminine voice speaks. Mary perks up and glances at the massive bowl, side-long.

"Sorry about that," She stammers, picking up a pair of chopsticks.

"You don't have to apologize," says a gravelly voice.

Mary snaps toward the direction, and a soft smile stretches across her face.

"Hope I didn't take too long," says Fritz. He's walking down the dirt path six feet from her, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket's pockets. The off-duty waitress eyes him while he walks up, taking the seat beside her. "Did I miss anything while I was gone?"

"Oh, not much, darling," Mary tells him with a vibrant smile, "other than front seats to the fight."

Fritz chuckled. "I suppose you're right." His head tilts up to the moon while he lets out a short sigh. 

Mary stirs the massive bowl for a few moments, then turns to him. Yet she pauses upon seeing his pale expression. This is different; she can't point out how, but it is. 

"Are you okay?" Her voice tugs at his heart and mind.

He pauses, and his head gradually tilts down until, eventually, he's staring into the nothingness in front of him, and it stares back intently. And then, something weighs on his left shoulder and then tampers off to his right. Jacket glances down, seeing Mary's arm wrapped around him. His vision clouds, and something cold and wet run down his cheeks. Salt wafts into his nose soon after.

"Am I crying?"