but where's your heart? - Chapter 1 - Nullibi (2024)

Chapter Text

Uncle Qrow is drunk again.

Ruby squints at the back of his head, grinding her teeth together. Two days she’d been away on a mission, and she couldn’t wait to be back!...

...Until now.

She’d set up camp at the Xiao Long-Rose cabin while everyone was elsewhere – even though she was technically also watching Blake and Yang’s cabin, only a few minutes’ walk away. About a week ago, those two had asked Dad to keep tabs on it while they were out in Menagerie, visiting the in-laws and seeing how the place they're building out there is coming along. The island’s climate doesn’t cause Yang’s residual arm to ache as much as Patch’s storms do. Plus, it’d been a while since they’d been out that way, and Blake wanted to be closer to her family for a bit.

They’d begun the work when things started settling into their new normal: No Salem, no Relics, no Maidens. Auras are barely present nowadays – everyone has had to rely on more conventional methods of healing. Dust and Semblances still worked, though the loss of Mantle meant less Dust. Because of this, Yang and Blake had decided to use manual labor, with Kali as their liaison whenever they weren’t on-site to oversee things. It was slow going, but the place was finally starting to come together. It’d been a little over a decade since their current one had been built, and they were excited to take their style in a new direction.

Ruby had been innocently sitting there eating cereal when they’d swung by. Since Dad couldn't house-sit, he had volunteered her instead by jabbing his thumb in her direction, nearly causing her to choke. Besides, he had his own plans out on Anima for the next few weeks – actually, while they were on the subject, would she be able to keep an eye on the old home front as well? She’d been pleased to accept – she’d needed a break from the housemates, anyways!

Dad claimed he was seeing where the winds would take him when Ruby had asked him about it a little later, and then that he wanted time to process his grief when she pushed him. Closer to the truth, but probably not the entire answer.

She bets he’s actually tracking Raven’s whereabouts, and will show up with her in tow, all sheepish and imploring… and yeah, having her back in their fold makes sense, considering what was coming. But Ruby doesn’t want to think about that now. Doesn’t want to think about saying goodbye again just yet. Doesn’t want to remember.

Well, so! She’s super-excited to watch both cabins! It’s not too difficult – they’re only a few minutes’ walk from each other. She’s always coming back to visit, and they do have those monthly dinners, too… And it’s not like she’s that far away, but still… it’s always nice to crash in her room and wake up to good food and Dad’s laughter at one of Uncle Qrow’s stupid little quips, or to the garden hose spraying against her front-facing bedroom window, or to the roar of Yang’s motorcycle as they drop in on the way to town. It’s nice to be together like that. Even if they’re all a little quieter these days. More weary.

But, honestly, she’s so lucky to have this set-up… awesome housemates, her family within reach, and her mission-running. Remnant is still being put back together, and while Grimm aren’t as numerous, criminals still exist. Clean-up is needed. Order needs to be kept. And she enjoys it, being put to work. Meeting others (and their weapons!) on the road. Falling in love with her life all over again, even if another transition was maybe coming up.

A few months ago, Yang and Blake had actually floated the idea of moving out to Menagerie on a more permanent basis once the house was finished. While they both love Patch, there’s a great wide world out there, and they want to see it again. Taiyang had joked that Uncle Qrow and Ruby should spin a Lien to see who takes over the cabin. Ruby had declared Uncle Qrow should have it – she was perfectly happy with her housemates. No way, he’d argued, he’s not one for settling down.

Yang had cut in then, rolling her eyes and reminding them this was all hypothetical at this point, and they might just use Menagerie for vacations and not as their new home base. Still, it would be nice, Ruby thinks. As it was, she was planning on gardening, random chores around both cabins, and running drills with Crescent Rose. Can’t let herself get rusty. Can’t become complacent. And, if she did linger at their cabin, picturing her furniture inside… well, who’s to know? It can be her little secret.

And she doesn’t mind that watching the cabins is a one-person job, either… as much as she loves people, sometimes it’s nice to get away. But she’s been noticing more and more that when she’s alone, things get loud in her head. Memories, regrets, thoughts of people that aren’t around anymore... But watching the sun set helped with that. There are a few minutes where the sky is still luminous and the stars start twinkling into view that Ruby especially loves.

It reminds her of souls, floating past. Of glowing gateways and glimmering paths and the sensation of falling into a more present way of being. Of a voice, giving her the space she’d needed to choose herself again. It’s about then that her mind calms down and she can relax.

Tonight should have been much of the same, but no.

Instead, Uncle Qrow is there in the darkness, having lost track of both dignity and decorum, ruined what neatness he once might have had. As Ruby’s eyes adjust to the darkness and as she crouches down to a better vantage point, she can see bottles scattered around his feet and both tables.

They surround the chair, that couch, and a few have rolled so far away they’ve come out the backside of the couch. The porch light had caught upon those as she stood in the doorway, the faint gleam drawing her eye and her consternation. They encircle him like a nest would, and they’d provide a far softer landing than the one she is thinking of giving him.

Ruby drops her things in the entryway and toes off her boots, her shoulders hiking upward at the prospect of dealing with him. The stress of it hollows her out and leaves her shivering despite the temperature. It spurs her to pull her mother’s cloak tighter and pull its hood up so she can cling to it with trembling fingers.

She’d lost the back half of her adolescence and the beginning of her young adulthood to the horrors of war. After Beacon fell, nights devoid of sleep left her restlessly wondering if all the trauma would stunt her somehow, growing up as fast as she has. Would she, like Yang, tap into rage? Use her wit as a weapon, as Weiss would? Drift through life, silent and sensible, like the Blake they first met? Or would she make her own way and take pride in who she’s become?

It’s been half a lifetime since the onset of that cataclysm. The intervening years and the reckoning in Ever After did grant her some measure of steadiness. Some measure of patience.

But maybe not enough.

When the door swings shut behind her, Uncle Qrow doesn’t even move. He’s still in his customary lax slouch, mouth open slightly. She sneers as he snores, a single eyebrow raising as he twitches into a better position, his foot nudging one of the many bottles. She watches as it rolls into and bounces off the table leg. The faint clink does nothing to rouse him, and she rolls her eyes.

No dreams tonight, then. It looks like he’s sleeping peacefully for once, and of course it’s on the night she comes back. Well, better that than dead-eyed vacancy or, even worse, belligerence. No confrontation necessary, it seems. Good. Good... But–

But how long has he been here, anyways? There’s no way he could have had all of this in one day. He’d be dead! She stares at the mess he's left her with. Honestly, he’ll be close to dead by the time she’s done with him…!

Ruby stands there in shadow, trying to get herself under control enough to approach him. Why didn’t it occur to her he might be here? He’s always dropping in randomly! She should have known; why didn’t she think, of course he’d swing by and stay, right when she absolutely does not want to deal with any of his stupid drunkenness! If he stayed at the Xiao Long-Belladonna cabin instead, none of this would be her problem. But he knows he’s allowed here, no questions asked. Stupid Dad and his soft heart! Stupid Uncle Qrow and his… his… his everything!

Summer is right outside the door, hot and heavy, and she yearns for the solid weight of it, for what escape it might bring. She’s so damn cold. Cold, cold, cold – She doesn’t think she can get warm again, not like this. Ugh! Why today of all days? Why now? Why, why, why!

She drags in a breath and tenses, the pressure building in her skull as her jaw grinds. There’s no outlet within reach here except to speak, but if she opens her mouth, she might scream. She might cry. And she can’t– she can’t do that. No, no, no.

So instead, she’s going to handle this using a little trick Weiss had taught Yang: Three breaths. Normalcy, normalcy, normal. There.

Whew, that’s better. Okay! Okay.

She drifts deeper into the room, taking a few purposeful steps around the table and chair, so she can face him–

“S-Summer–”

Ruby is arrested by the plaintive note in his voice, by his glistening eyes – He’s, he’s awake? – And then, for a split second, summer does surround her. But she’s a child again, catching fireflies with Yang. She’s got popsicle sugar drying sticky on her wrists, each streak sweeter than tears. It’s June-July-August, as hot as anything, with the backdrop of cicadas acting as a counterpoint to their raucous roughhousing. Their glee is interspersed with silent shivers of fear whenever she catches the eyes of a Grimm, speculatively assessing the scene from the safety of the looming trees. But then the joy hits again, her cupped palms glowing green…

Oh, but no. It’s the curling scent of roses instead. Soft fabric caressing her cheek. Long, cool fingers enveloping her own. Mercury eyes, reflecting back all the love and adoration her tiny little body can hold. Musical laughter, the warm press of lips against her forehead, that lilting voice– Summer, Summer, Summer.

Ruby had exhumed an old chest of her mother’s a few weeks ago, driven by a longing that no one’s stories could fill. That’s where the cloak she’s clutching with numb fingers came from.

And the grief of Summer is a tangled knot, complicated further by the fact Ruby is a woman grown, coming into her own without her mother. She’ll keep growing and changing and evolving, while Summer stays frozen, faithfully recorded by those who knew her best – until even those memories start failing and fading, dying just like she did. She had twenty-eight years here, which is more than could be said for so many of Ruby’s comrades and friends. But, even so–

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing her mother’s weirdly intact clothes and her old cloak – it’s distressing how alike they must look. She spends two days trying to convince herself she’s doing this just to feel closer to her mom, to give the wardrobe a new lease on life – but if she’s being honest with herself, she’s not sure exactly who she is or where she stands right now.

Ever After had given her a reprieve, but the new life they’re forging here is causing all the same old questions to bubble up again. So… while she’s figuring all that out, maybe it’s enough to wear Summer’s clothes around the house, to secure the cloak to her whenever she is out and about or mission-running. See exactly who she is underneath everyone’s first impressions. Their expectations. Their assumptions. Only when Dad and Yang are gone, of course. Only when she knows she’ll be alone.

Oh, but she hadn’t counted on Uncle Qrow.

Ruby blinks rapidly and lets go of the back of the chair. Uncle Qrow had straightened from his boneless sprawl during her reverie. She half-watches as unsteady hands scrub his face, wipe ineffectually at his shirt, and slide through his hair. She blinks and focuses in as he starts sweeping bottles under the couch and chair with his foot as quietly as he can. She scoffs silently. Like that could hide the evidence! What was he thinking? She’s right here, isn’t she?... Watching him?

She’s still trying to catch her breath when he speaks again, the clatter of bottles overshadowed by his voice.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Qrow croaks before clearing his throat. “But can you relax when talking to me this time? Don’t need all that–” he waves his hand and grimaces, “–that sh*t again. I know I f*cked up. You know I f*cked up. No point in rehashing it, alright? It’s all up here, anyways,” Pale fingers tap his temple, and she blinks at him. “You think you’re the only one talking to me? Hounding me? Huh?”

What?...

He sighs. “Look. I don’t know how to make you stay. Make you less, well, f*cking pissed. Used to be, I didn’t let myself care about what or who I hurt. Thought it was all bullsh*t, until you and Tai.”

Ruby grows still, finally honing in on what he’s saying.

“But it’s different these days. I’ve got people I care for, and I’m letting them down. Easier to look away and shove the guilt off to another day. I thought it’d be different by now, after Oz and Salem and all the sh*t you weren’t here to see. But the days just keep coming, and where does it end, huh? Summer, where does it all end? Everyone’s got… got a place, ‘cept me. Where do I go? Huh? I… I gotta know. Please.”

He clamps his jaw shut, the click of teeth carrying a note of finality. His eyes are intent on her face.

Oh, that’s new, getting mistaken for Mom! That’s never happened before… the cloak is probably causing part of this. She shifts, bites her lip a little. Should she answer? Clear the air? No, he’d get embarrassed, wouldn’t he? Especially after what he’s confessed. She reddens and thinks about all the times she’s asked him to lean on her. Who knew all she needed to do was don Mom’s cloak?

Even in the darkness, Ruby can see he’s squinting in her direction. She inches back even more into shadow, grateful for the anonymity the outfit is granting her. Her heart rate shoots up. Should she?...

She watches him struggle to keep her in his sights, swaying a little. Wow, he must be really sloshed. Well yeah, duh. He can’t – and he won’t! – live without his alcohol there lubricating him. Insulating him. Absolving him of, of, of everything! She can taste it in the air now, knows its byproducts are seeping out of his pores. It’s on his tongue, his teeth, his fingertips. It’s there on his shirt, drying in rivulets down his arm – Is it as sweet as sugar, or as bitter as tears?

And she experiences a spark of pure rage that he would do this to her, would put her in this position again. How many times has she caught him out like this, in a bad moment? How many nights had turned from fond to maudlin in an instant? Where the tension tastes like copper in the back of her throat, tacky against her teeth? Tension that will thicken with each ill-advised swallow, with every slurred word out of his mouth?...

Any second now, the dam will break, and they’ll be awash in his sorrow again. Sorrow and then mortification, the moment he clocks it’s her.

And she knows how sorry he’ll be in the morning, once he gains his feet again. How he’ll try and put to rights yet another ruined night. How he’ll do little chores around the house, joking around as if that would erase it.

It wasn’t always that way. He used to make it everyone else’s problem as loudly and as obnoxiously as he could, and he didn’t give two f*cks about the aftermath or the clean-up. But now, it’s different. And it’s been such a slow change that, looking back, she’s not entirely sure when it happened. After Atlas, for sure. But when?...

Well, either way, he’ll track her with those bloodshot eyes, wearing that hangdog expression. It’s so pitiful, she usually relents and bumps shoulders with him, letting him know without words that it’s okay.

Even though it’s not. It really, really is not.

And she’d tried over and over for years to get him to stop drinking. She’d tried appealing to his sense of shame, his sense of honor, to his competitive nature. She’d tried cajoling and pleading and then just plain hiding the bottles, stashing them in places he’d always invariably find in the world’s most messed-up scavenger hunt.

It occurred to her far too late that any hiding place was probably his, since he’d helped build the cabin. How embarrassing. How humiliating. He was in charge of the blue prints, wasn’t he? But he never said a word to her about it, and eventually she gave up on that, too. There’s a kindness in his lack of confrontation. Kindness due to like, necessity, but still.

So then she’d tried distracting him with training, with board games, with household chores– with buying ingredients for Dad’s dinners, with finding presents for him or Yang, or bringing in more firewood– but it always fell apart, sooner or later. Then they’d be back to the start again, with him inebriated and her enraged.

Eventually, Ruby let her temper get the best of her and unleashed all the contempt and fear into sanctimoniousness. She remembers how the air tasted, the first time she’d ever done that. How her words let loose like arrows. How the heartache and the hurt blooming in his eyes had rocked her to her core, turning her muscles to iron, injecting self-righteousness into her veins. Uncle Qrow’s voice had dipped when he told her he’d stop. Oh, she knew he was sneaking pulls from his flask still. Knew not to trust him at all at his word. But he’d tried for her. For them. For himself. She remembers how proud she was when he’d rejected the wine at that soirée, and how gratified he’d been at her effusiveness.

That was a wonderful day.

But then there came the fall – their precipitous split (with her hurtling downwards and him somewhere up above, watching for them helplessly–). He was blackout drunk the moment he touched down and was within reach of alcohol again. He’d fight anyone who got too close, anyone who tried to talk sense into him. Whatever had started with Clover had accelerated with them and General Ironwood, and by the time they were back, he was a husk, some shell of the Uncle Qrow they’d known. More prone to outbursts. Given to erratic behavior. He was constantly running on too little sleep, because of how haunting his dreams were. Dreams of Summer and Clover and all those he’d loved and lost.

Dreams she was so sure she’d walked in on just now. And maybe she had. She’s Summer to him, isn’t she? She is. She's–

–Anyway, he’d stopped imbibing for a single day, once they were back within his reach. But the moment the tears dried from their ebullient reunion, his flask was back in hand. There was no time for confrontation or discussion during the continuous slog and grind of combat, battle after battle after battle, endless until the end. Even the truce didn’t give them enough breathing room to talk to him about it. What if Salem struck while he was going through withdrawals? They’d be down an able-bodied fighter, and they needed everybody they could get. So they waited, and then– And then suddenly there was the everything that came after, and… they were all so tired. Let him have his vices. No need to fight anymore…

But that was a while ago, and they’re all sick of it. Sick with anger and sick with worry. The dreaming and the drinking were both spiraling out of control, and it’s something they’ve all sat down and discussed without him. Intervention plans, ways to head him off at the pass, what to do to try and snap him out of it…

But, well, everyone else is gone for now. She might be able to broach the subject more gently this time; get his guard down since it’s just her here, with no expectant crowd at her back. He might be willing to listen, may be receptive to her counsel, especially when it comes to untangling how the drinking feeds into those dreams of his. She knows a little something about having the dead haunt the edges of every thought. Knows how sleep sometimes isn't the reprieve it should be.

Only time will tell, but tomorrow might be as good a time to start as any… And if not, then they’ve got at least a few days here alone – a week at most. She’s sure she can manage without Dad and Yang. And wouldn’t it be nice to make headway? To spark even the tiniest of changes in him? Make him a little more hesitant to reach again (and again, and again) for the alcohol?

She’s lost in her thoughts as she tracks the changes in Uncle Qrow’s hair, his face, his body. He’s more silver than grey now, the shadows throwing his crow’s eyes into stark relief. As he shifts, Clover’s pin catches the light and flares silver over his heart. She blinks and touches it with her fingertip, then keeps looking. There’s fine little lines around his lips, he hadn’t edged his five o’clock shadow in what looks like a week straight, and his clothes are rumpled all to hell. He’s a mess. Grief and alcohol and who knows what else, but mostly… it’s the alcohol.

If she could go back in time and strike that flask out of his fingers, she would. Knock the flagon from his fist. Toss it down the sink. Scatter it into the grass. Smash the bottle to smithereens and crush it beneath her boot... Rid him of his need for liquid courage; excise him of his insistence on a slow grinding death at the hands of something so mundane. So unworthy. He’s faced down Grimm and Salem and Hazel, and this is how he chooses to go?

Ruby shifts, her heart kicking up more the longer they face each other. She wonders how she must look to him, the cloak shrouding her in serenity while she simmers underneath. There’s an energy buzzing beneath her skin, but the impulse for violence is just as strong as the impulse to gentle and soothe. She’s disgusted with herself for her part in this, for being complacent. Complicit. Willing.

And she’s disgusted with him for flaunting his grief, for the luxury that it affords him. That he could sink every spare ounce of energy into drowning like this, invest every leftover Lien card towards finding oblivion. She’s so f*cking tired of trying to pull him back from an edge he’s straining to hurtle himself off of. How dare he.

She’d loved Uncle Qrow like she loved the sun as a teenager: he was steadfast, he could be taken for granted without question, and he’d be warm always. He was badass, brave, and poised. Not only that, but he had the coolest stories and souvenirs whenever he found the time to drop in during her Signal years, after he’d left his teaching post. She loved him bright and laughing, loved that his arms could toss them both screaming into the air no matter how big they got. She loved him for being sardonic and witty, the perfect counterpart to Dad’s boisterousness. The lighter reflection of his twin. A complement to her mother, maybe–

So for him to spin and scatter into his memory, to let the alcohol blur his words into meaninglessness, to tilt him into toppling deadweight braced against her, now falling at her feet… Oh, she hated it.

Hated it like a cracked mirror, shattering her reflection. Hated it like bottles, shattering underfoot. Hated it like reality, shattering all her expectations. Hated having to hold him back from fights, prop him up over toilets, push him down into beds and couches and chairs– and then come away smeared in alcohol, with vomit, and in tears. Hated him for his helplessness and his regret and his singular, burning love.

Hated him for dragging her into this, over and over again. For wasting her adolescence and a majority of her twenties on this, on him, on this stupid f*cking farce– and now, too! It’s been thirteen years since they’d started losing people left and right. But her mom, especially, has been gone for going on twenty-five years. Twenty-five years!

Twenty-five years’ worth of birthdays, of milestones, of happiness and hunger and hatred. An entire lifetime has been lived in the spaces Summer had left behind. The rest of them had managed, hadn’t they? So why couldn’t he? For fifteen years she’s known him, and he’s only gotten worse with age. And yeah, maybe they lost a bunch more more recently, but. But. She doesn’t want to give him that out. She doesn’t want to excuse or condone what shouldn’t even be happening in the first place. Who does he think he is? Why can’t he get it through that thick skull of his that this really isn’t the way to go?

Ruby leans forward until she catches herself, catches her lip on a canine tight enough to puncture and sting. An exploratory swipe of her tongue reveals the tang of copper. The pain grounds her and snaps her out of her agitation. She inhales, tries to make it smooth and unhurried. In and out, in control. Normalcy. Normalcy. Normal. There.

Now she’s aware when she steps forward. Now she can choose each action, just as easy as breathing. Each finger uncurling from a fist, one by one by one. Her heartbeat, resuming its slow sway–

Ruby had stood outside in their garden that evening. It was late June, which meant long, languid days full of vibrant birdsong. She’d tracked the sun’s descent as she rubbed rose petals absently between her fingers, thinking of Summer and everyone else they’d lost. How they would have enjoyed the coming night and its summoning of a new day. How hard it was to let go of them all. How hard it will be to say goodbye again. It was a little past eight when she finally walked in.

The scent of roses persists even now, and maybe that’s why Uncle Qrow is so sure she is Summer, despite her own Semblance. But Mom was always working in the garden and could usually be found with a cutting in hand. It’s not so crazy for him to think of her instead, Ruby supposes, lost as he is in the past. Does she even exist for him right now?

Or does she only exist as a reflection?

Because… because sometimes, she’ll see Summer instead when passing by a mirror, catch her dad unaware in a certain light, or Yang in a certain mood. It’s no surprise they’re all preoccupied this year, the closer they get to mid-July. Summer had left, then. She had walked down that pathway, never to darken their doorstop again. Years before Ruby and the rest knew of Salem. Years before Torchwick and Cinder and Adam and– well, everything that came after.

But it’s not just her they’ve been thinking of. Oh, no. There’s so many losses within their ranks now: Professors Oobleck and Port. Joanna and Fiona. Yatsuhashi. Elm and Harriet. Teams sundered like JNPR and BRNZ had been, with only a few left standing: losses within Teams FNKI, CFVY, SSSN– Countless civilians. Hunters and Huntresses, both students and alumni from every academy. Ozpin, as he was. Penny. Pyrrha. Clover. Vine. She breathes in. She doesn’t want to say goodbye.

Their villains had fallen, too. Ironwood and Hazel. Roman and Adam. Arthur. Tyrian. Leonardo. Cinder is as lost to them as Salem, now– Ruby sees a flash of sleek fur, a checkerboard cheshire smile– Her heart clenches, and she can still taste the tea in the back of her throat. How bitter. How sweet.

How damned she felt, beheld by her team in her weakest moment. By Jaune. By Little–

Oh, Little. How little Ruby understood.

There was so much pain, then. Then, and after too. She remembers the eyes of Salem on her, assessing everything within her with an inhuman gaze. She remembers the Relics, ranging from fond to indulgent to indifferent to fierce. Their creators, the brother gods: so regal and capricious with their whims and directives. The warm weight of the Maker, whose voice urged her to find her own way… The soft whispers of her mother, smiling from afar–

It took Salem upwards of three years to get Beacon’s relic, thanks to Ozma’s trickery. She’d leveled the kingdom of Vale to get it, and drove the Valians directly to Vacuo in the process. Ruby had just celebrated her twentieth birthday shortly before, there in Vacuo with all the rest. It was imperative that Salem get the Relic of Choice first. The centuries away had lessened Oz’s insight into her – he wasn’t sure what future choice she’d needed envisioned. The only thing he was certain of was her hunger for oblivion – both hers and his.

By that point, Humanity had mostly banded together to fortify Vacuo and Shade against her – and the words of the gods rang in Ruby’s ears whenever she got too distraught over their prospects. Unite and live; divide and die. Well, they sure as hell were united here…

And Salem knew it, too. She was trapped in a stalemate with them. But, with the help of her lieutenants, with the pressures of resource scarcity, with class and cultural tensions between the upper crust and those they deemed expendable – their resolve began to crumble. She struck, then. And though they fought and persevered and battled her for all they were worth, she still succeeded, snuffing out broad swaths of them with her might and her Grimm.

So the Relics were gathered…

…And the gods did not come.

They had expected she would level their planet. That they’d all be wiped out completely. That she’d burn, rage, and destroy until nothing was left. But she couldn’t, because she still needed humanity for their judgment day – she couldn’t afford to start anew again. She needed them so she could face the gods and their reckoning. So they could give her the gift of nonexistence. So she could take Ozma down with her. So she could finally, blessedly, die.

So she withdrew back to her lands, calling off the Grimm assault with the flick of a wrist. There they all waited in a foreboding truce, until one day they all woke up to the unreal light of the brother gods, hovering above Remnant, turning night to day. Meting out their judgment. Marking the end of a nearly ten-year war.

But the more things changed, the more things stay the same. Remnant’s moon remains shattered, with the Grimm relegated to the wilds, to the dim corners, and to what parts of the world that remain unconquered. There’s less of them now, and what survives of them are colossal… and ancient. As far as she knows, none have been born since the end – the pools stay still – though she imagines they may be born again if existing numbers drop low enough. She shivers. For now, there are no more marauding creatures, bent on keeping the population conscious of their negativity. But that doesn’t mean the danger is ever truly gone. Instead, it’s a warning to not spread too thin and take more than they can guard and keep. To not venture somewhere they can’t return from.

The scourge of Salem has left its mark on their world, but now their world is slowly but surely being restored, in brick and glass and wood, in stone and in steel – Atlas and Mantle reborn as Adonis, Beacon and Haven rebuilt from the ashes, Shade growing stronger by the day – and it’s only now they’ve been able to come together to lick their wounds and trade stories of war and their glory days. It’s only now that they can gather to remember and grieve for all who have fallen.

Celebrations of life are happening all over Remnant, from single households to tiny villages to the remaining capitol cities. Everyone had their own way of doing it, and Ruby imagines it will become tradition, when given enough time. After all, it’s not every day one can lay to rest a threat that has plagued them since before their inception. It’s not every night they can witness the rebirth of their world, one more time. But they’re still here. Still living, and breathing, and rebuilding. Taking what they can, giving what they’ve got. Making something new from the ashes. Making something new of each other.

In fact, they’re going to have a celebration of life of their own in July, at Yang’s insistence, on the anniversary of Summer’s disappearance. She was the first of many, after all. After much discussion, they’d settled on hosting it at the Xiao Long-Rose and the Xiao Long-Belladonna cabins. They’re centrally located, the weather is more forgiving than out in Vacuo, there’s less chance of interpersonal Faunus-human conflict than on Menagerie, Haven is a little too remote, and Adonis is too much of a fledgling settlement to host anything. Having it here also keeps them close to the rebuilding efforts happening on Vale, which is something they’re all involved in.

They’ll be not only remembering Summer, but everyone else who wasn’t able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them at the end of the world, awash in the light of Salem, the god-brothers, the cosmos and forge-light of Ever After– And as much as Ruby does not want to admit it, that’s why Dad is on Anima. It’s going to take a lot to convince Raven to come, but if there was anyone who could do it, it would be him. Not her, not Yang, and certainly not Uncle Qrow.

But maybe it’ll help that they’re doing this. It may be what they need to heal. To mend their fences. To stop turning away from each other. To be family once again.

She knows Dad’s been working on Raven, trying to get her to let go of her banditry, but, well... Ruby has noticed people hold onto what they know the further out they get into a new life, taking comfort in the old routines and patterns of what came before. That’s why Raven is still raiding, why Dad is mentoring the upcoming generation, and… that is why Qrow is still drinking.

It’s the same for her too, she supposes. Her team is still tight with each other and with Jaune’s team. At this point, they’re basically one large team, anyways – RWNBRYJ, she calls them. (“Rowan Bridge?’ Ruby, that is so lame–” Weiss had scoffed, to which Ruby had protested, “Nooo! It symbolizes protection and connection! Just like us!”) – And why wouldn’t they be one team by now? Look at what they lived through! Look at what they survived!

And… look at what her mother could not. There’s a tension there, the closer they get to July. The stories come easier, the smallest reminder launching them into nostalgia. Taiyang laughing exuberantly and then getting misty-eyed; Yang sharing what she can remember of Mom, embellishing her tales with flourishes in her voice, her hands. And Uncle Qrow withdrawing, growing darker and sadder with each telling, his flask flashing silver in the light.

Maybe it’s because they can all hear echoes of Summer in Ruby’s laugh, in her love, in her duplicity. Maybe it’s because she’s the same age her mother was when she left, and she’ll officially be older than her in a matter of months – a fact Taiyang keeps bringing up in a mixture of pride and bewilderment.

Or maybe it really is just the cloak, Ruby thinks wryly. But it’s a relief that she’s wearing it. It protects her from her worst impulses, like the compulsion to strike out, to draw first blood, to burn it down so they can start anew. Atlas had taken something from her, something she’s still struggling to regain even now. Steadiness. Patience. Lenience–

But the cloak is bright like a new day, white like what passes for purity. Clean slate, second chance, no questions asked… There’s a crossroads here, and she must choose.

She sighs and looks at Uncle Qrow. He’s fast asleep, his features gentled into smoothness. It’s a far cry from how they usually find him, pretzeled-up and trembling. They’ve all known since Atlas that his dreams are visceral, vivid, and full of the usual suspects: Mr. Ebi. Professor Ozpin. General Ironwood. Lionheart on occasion. Professor Oobleck. Professor Port, sometimes. And, of course, her mother. All a little too real. All hitting a little too close to home. His hallucinations are acute and solid, with a gravitas and weight that almost rivals the living.

That Uncle Qrow actually imagines them as flesh-and-blood is distressing, not least because Ruby can actually see Summer, too. But… She’s a different facet or reflection than what Qrow imagines, drunk in his head. And it’s only her mother, no one else.

Yeah, Ruby will catch Summer striding down the hall or lit up in the winter sun. Hefting Sundered Rose. Watching them all with fond eyes. Ruby had finally broken down and mentioned it to Professor Oobleck while they were there in Vacuo. It could be grief, he’d mused. A side-effect of what Neopolitan had done to her. Could her apparition manipulate objects? Can she lift things? Has she ever touched Ruby? Ruby had shrugged. Well, not to worry! He’d beamed. It will probably fade in time.

It’s been eight years since that conversation, and Summer shows no signs of leaving.

Ruby had asked Uncle Qrow about his Summer once, when he was in one of his lighter moods. He’d told her this: that she stands just beyond his reach, silent and censorious. That sometimes she’s content, and other times she even smiles at him. The night prior had been a good one, considering how loose he was. How quick he was to smile down at her. That day, he didn’t even reach for his flask once.

But this year, as the date had grown closer, Summer had gained her voice again. Whispered pure vitriol at him, a rancorous singsong about how it was he who’d let her down, that it was his bad luck that’d made sure she’d never find her way back to them again. That he was the cause of Raven’s departure, of Ruby’s motherlessness, of their collective sorrow. That it was due to him Tai had lost his second chance at love, that the family had splintered, that Yang had grown up as angry as she did…

It used to be that it was General Ironwood cutting him down. An incessant reflection of how he saw himself, from a man who’d meant so much to him for more than half his life. Then Oz had spoken to him about it in Vacuo. Whatever he’d said had struck a chord, and Uncle Qrow seemed more at peace after that. Less likely to listen to whatever half-truths General Ironwood was dropping in his ear.

But… That Summer was speaking up like this was a new development. New, and worrying. And this revelation came out bit by bit in sleep-locked gibberish, or in screams that sounded like Uncle Qrow wanted to die rather than face what he was hearing. They’d only put the pieces together in the last month, but there was nothing that could be done. No one could reach him when he was like this, not even Dad with his steady reasoning and even steadier embraces. No, Uncle Qrow internalized it all instead and drove himself closer to the edge with every swallow.

None of them knew how to help, and to Ruby’s discomfiture, she, like Uncle Qrow, found it easier to look away. Tonight had only driven that home, and she feels jittery and useless.

But looking at him now slowly turns her onto the idea that there may actually be an opportunity to set things to rights here. He hadn’t reached for the alcohol that next day because his Summer had been generous with her esteem – a direct counterpart to the nights where she’s brutal and cruel and he almost always blacks out, brought low by her. His drinking is both dependent and shackled to his dreaming, and no one out here in the waking world could interfere. At least… until now.

So what if… what if there was a way for her to… to embody Summer’s forgiveness? Would that succeed? She can’t do anything about anyone else haunting him, but maybe Summer is within her jurisdiction. She is her daughter. And as Uncle Qrow’s niece, as someone who knows him well, she might be able to say what he needs to hear. Do what needs to be done. Make it just a little easier to bear…

Not once has he ever mistaken her for Summer. But tonight is different. It’s late, late enough that he’s swaying with exhaustion. It’s dark, he’s drunk, she’s the same dimensions as Summer was – she’s got her cloak, her eyes – if she stays quiet and plays this right, she may be able to help him. She just might have the key! She’s suddenly glad she didn’t speak up. That she drew back instead. Kept to the shadows.

And… this could also stave off the rage that is always one step away from immolating her, choking her senseless whenever she ruminates too deeply about the alcohol. Rage runs in the family, and she should know. But… Tai put in the work, didn’t he? So did Yang. Yeah. Eyes of flame, turning from carmine to lilac in a blink, the tension dissolving as Yang untied herself from her anger– Mm. Was her mother angry? Or is Ruby more similar to the Branwen twins than she’d like to admit? She’s worked through what she could, she thought. But maybe not enough. Not if keeping her composure is this hard. Keeping the peace. Keeping her silence.

Ruby can be kind too, though, and to be kind is always so much more difficult. She hadn’t realized that as a kid, hadn’t quite realized that what seemed second nature to her – so routine it went unremarked upon – was actually a choice every time.

It wasn’t until Atlas and Ever After that she’d realized what a burden that was, too. The kindness is heavy, but the anger is heavier still. And she’d rather make something good come of this.

She can’t be sure the circ*mstances will ever fall together quite as neatly as they have now, with the others gone. This may be her only chance.

She searches his face, watches as his eyes roll beneath his eyelids. Is this Summer he’s dreaming of Taiyang’s wife right now? Is she a mother yet? Does he know she’s gone? How far does this go, and should she even risk digging in? He thinks she’s Summer now, but where’s the line? When will he realize? If he stays asleep, or… drunk enough, it won’t matter. It’s hard to tell – but he might be at the point where he’s not going to remember a single godsdamn thing, anyway. Just the feeling this is going to evoke, which… she hopes is happiness. Contentment. Hope.

She’ll kiss him on the forehead, she decides. She’ll sweep his hair back and kiss him while standing within arm’s length. Not so close that he can see it’s her, but not so far away that he feels spurned. It’ll be tricky, but she can manage! She’s got to keep her expression placid and her eyes peaceful… No furrowed brows here, no sir! She might even squeeze his shoulder if she can swing it. Take his hand. Lull him into soft sleepiness and slip away when he’s not looking…

Yes, it’s all coming together now!

Because… surely he was close like that to Summer in their school days, before it all spun out of control. Right? From when they were both single, leader and member only, before Raven and Dad and then Yang? Before Dad let Mom step into Raven’s old role? Before she herself came along and caused Uncle Qrow to flee? Surely Mom touched him casually, like she’s planning to do in just a few short minutes?

If she wanted to really dedicate herself to this, she could grab her boots later on and sneak upstairs, then back downstairs in the morning while he’s still asleep. Then she can act like she’d just arrived once he wakes up, right? Well, no, that’s deceitful. More deceitful than what she’s doing now?... Hmm. This needs thinking…

Well, the boots are coming upstairs with her no matter what. No need to spoil the ruse right away… And should she even tell him immediately if it works? Or should this just be one of those well-meaning secrets she can keep close until they’re far enough removed from now that they can laugh about it? Should she wait until after the ceremony, or will he take one look at her tomorrow morning and pull it out of her? Well, either way… Future Ruby can deal with all that. One step at a time!

He emits a little snore, and the pitch of it causes her to snort so loudly that it startles him back to life. She covers her mouth as he comes to with a gasp, looking around wildly before blinking up at her.

Oops! Well, she hadn’t kissed his forehead yet, so this is fine, actually. Sorry, Uncle Qrow!... She lets her hand fall, and he tracks it.

Summer’s cloak is still swirling around her, the hood shading her face just enough for him to reach out. Ruby feels a cool drip of trepidation as Uncle Qrow captures her wrist, the gentleness belying his almost ardent desperation. She wants to pull away, break his hold on her, but–

Well, wait, wait, maybe this is okay! She’s not trapped here. The additional… gentleness…? she can provide here can shore up his well-being and add even more weight to the kiss. And the longer they’re here like this together, the less likely he is to drink, right? She hopes so, at any rate. Because, oh boy, now that she’s here, she’s realizing what a tough balancing act this is. When will he realize? Where’s the line?

Uncle Qrow shifts his fingers until they’re resting in the hollow of her palm, his thumb on the back of her hand. His rings are cold. She can feel his trembling start up again. Just a couple inches more, and he would be holding her hand.

…Which, weird. They’ve never held hands except by sheer necessity, and it’s clicking just how little she’s thought this through, how little she knows about his and her mom’s dynamic. But… This is just holding hands. He’s not squeezing tightly, and– this is harmless. It’s basically harmless. So, really, it’s okay. This is fine.

But Ruby knows even then what he wants. She knows if she chooses to hold his hand tighter, he’ll sag with relief. But would she, as Summer? Should she, as Ruby? What is the best way forward?

She’s still paralyzed with indecision when he shifts his fingers closer. She stares down at their hands, her breath caught almost without noticing. When did he become so brave? Or is this… is this normal for him and Mom, like she was hoping?...

Is this commonplace enough that he’s not going to realize she’s… she’s not her?

She examines him. He seems like he’s just… enjoying the moment. Eyes closed, face peaceful. He’s not pushing it or anything; he’s not seeing how far he can go. So… surely this is fine, right? She holds her breath again as she slides her hand against his. Cups his palm in hers and warns herself not to tremble.

Now he’s holding her loosely so his rings won’t cut in, and she notices that kindness, too. Oh, so warm. She squeezes without thought, and his eyes sweep open for a breath. Ah–? Then he’s squeezing back, his eyes closing again. She swallows and blinks, then lets out a breath.

This is nice.

This is… so nice…

Even at this distance, Uncle Qrow doesn’t smell as overpowering as she thought he would. If anything, he smells almost clean, cedar and woodsmoke cutting through the lingering smell of beer and bourbon.

And now that she’s closer, she can see that he isn’t as sloshed as she thought. And, oh! He might not even be drunk at all – but it’s hard to tell in the shadows, despite all the experience they’ve both had dealing with him like this. Is the swaying from exhaustion instead? Surely he’s not still that drunk?...

Ruby squints down at him, tilts her head. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say it’s his clothing that harbors the smell. In fact, she’s almost certain of that, now that she’s stepped further into his space. So maybe it wasn’t a drunken stupor she was rousing him from, but actual sleep… He’s been sleeping this entire time, just about. If that’s all this is, that makes her feel even better about the whole thing… Maybe he just had enough to take the edge off, didn’t get wasted like he usually does. That’s her hope, at least. It’d make him easier to talk to in the morning, too.

But for now…

She brushes back Uncle Qrow’s hair, capturing the strands between her fingers and cupping the side of his head. His hair is soft beneath her fingers. He must have forgone his normal hair gel routine, which means he really must have thought he’d be alone tonight. Oh, him and his armor. She catches him as he’s raising his head to look at her. She refuses to hold his gaze as she presses her lips to his forehead. It’s so quiet she can hear the click of his throat, a strangled little exhalation of air.

Clemency. Tenderness. Absolution.

He looks so startled by this she can’t help the little giggle that escapes. At her chuckle, Uncle Qrow brightens, the corner of his mouth lifting into his signature smirk. But his eyes are so soft it’s more of a smile instead, and he’s looking at her like– like–

The laughter dies in her throat. His eyes are sweeping closed again, fond smile still playing around the edges of his lips, but it’s still too much. Too much, now.

Ruby starts to disentangle them, holding her breath just-in-case. There was no need for it, she knows. But she has to hurry, because the strain is starting to set in again, locking her back muscles and winding her neck tighter. She doesn’t know how much longer she can manage this, balancing between a lie and the truth.

It’s not her he’s seeing. It’s not her he’s being soft to, and yet–

Even now, she wants to linger in this moment, and share a smile with him, as herself. Not as her mother, not as his first love (was she his first love?), not as his team leader or confidant – not as anyone else but Ruby.

The thought floors her, stopping her cold. It’s not like they haven’t had nice little moments before. Haven’t bantered, or shared stuff, or hugged. Fought and laughed and cooked together. Hell, he’s carried her more times than she can count at this point.

So what is making this so difficult? Why is each moment harder than the last? She’s losing her motivation to hold true and inhabit the mask.

What gives? Focus! This is all because of the alcohol! Remember, that thing she wants him so desperately to give up? That thing he’s drowning in, night after night? But… one little smile from him, and she’s wavering like a mirage.

Why! Why, why, why!

Ruby cannot believe she is softening toward him. But that’s always been the problem, if she lets her guard down: how endearing he can be. How charming, and provoking, and funny–

And damn it, she hates seeing him hurt. Doesn’t want to be the cause. Doesn’t want to do that again.

Well, it’s only a few moments more, and then she’s done. Everything will turn out well, she’s sure of it. Just one final little push, and then she’s done, she’s home free, she is in the clear.

Just as long as he doesn’t realize. Just as long as this silence lasts. As long as she can walk away with her dignity intact, she’ll consider this a success. It would be humiliating for him to figure her out. Wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that just be mortifying?

She blinks down at him, watches him slip deeper into sleep. Well, really, those things aren’t so bad, are they? Would it really be as embarrassing for him to figure her out as she fears? Her as close as she is, having done what she’s done? Holding hands, a forehead kiss? Lingering where she shouldn’t?

The worst that would happen is they’d have to slog through his bafflement or his rage or his amusem*nt, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. He’s not going to hate her for this, at any rate. He might even get it, if she explains it right. And wouldn’t that be a relief?

And… maybe, just maybe, she kind of sort of does want him to see through her disguise. Maybe she wants someone to tell her she’s not her mother. It’s not the same, coming from Dad or Yang. Raven is still inapproachable and aloof, though she’s thawing more by the year. But they’re not close, not the way she is with Uncle Qrow.

The more she thinks about it, the more she wants him to know it’s her. To reassure her they’re different. To ask she call off this silly charade. To laugh and punch her in the shoulder and suggest they hit the hay and talk about it in the morning instead. To see her. To really see her.

Ah, but she’s nearly through here. No need to want anything more – like him catching on. There will be no need for a disguise after this. She’ll be fine.

Once they’re through here, she can talk to her roses, the ones that have scaled up the side of the house to border their bedroom window, the ones Summer had planted before she went away. She can talk to them and figure out all the identity issues this has awoken in her. Pretend they’re Mom, or the Maker, or Maria…

But she’ll wait for him to go, first. To withdraw, to let her escape, let her flee, let her leave–

She pulls back even more, feels their contact start to give. He’s passed out completely, and their hands had grown slick with her sweat. She’d be disgusted if it wasn’t lessening the friction. Still, ew. She shifts down so his hand will land gently in his lap once she’s gone. He’s pressed against the back cushion again, snoring gently. Maybe it won’t even wake him!

Uncle Qrow reflexively tightens his hold, then lets go, fingers slipping from hers slowly. It lands in his lap like she figured it would, and she holds her breath as he shifts, surreptitiously wiping her palm dry on her skirt. Then he is still again, settling low.

She’s buoyant with relief, exuberance flooding her limbs. She may have actually pulled this off! This could be exactly what he needs, might even be enough that he can last through the night dream-free! A few signs of affection from Summer? No fury, just gentleness? Let this be enough.

It will more be enough, she’s decided.

In fact, he’ll wake up tomorrow without the urge to submerge himself in alcohol again! They’ll have an adult conversation about his dreaming and his drinking, one that won’t devolve into bawling and slamming doors and someone leaving the house in a snit. He’ll be completely sober through it all; he won’t throw it in her face by reaching for his flask again, sneering at the contempt he’d find in her eyes as he draws deep, right in front of her...

Instead, they’ll hash it out peacefully, and then go sit out on the porch and bird-watch. She’ll joke about how each corvid they see is a distant relative of his, in-between his running commentary on how fat the squirrels are getting and how daring the wildlife, each day bringing some brave enterprising soul closer to their back door at the prospect of food, maybe…

Then he’ll spin some ridiculous yarn about training one of the woodland carnivores to heed his beck and call in exchange for the island’s best breakfast hash-slash-steak combo… how the critter and him’ll team up together, with him in his crow form, to go on adventures and wreak havoc wherever they go… They’ll be the coolest duo ever!

She can just hear him now, struggling to keep his voice steady and not ruin the very serious scenario he’s constructing with his laughter. And they’ll smile at each other, happy the weight has been lifted. Happy to face a new day. Just, happy! That’s them, alright! Happy… heh. Please.

Well, she can dream.

But maybe he really will be well-rested, having had this wholesome little interaction with, with–

Her mind cringes back now, because she’s still thinking of her and Uncle Qrow, joking around. She’s thinking of a future where Summer isn’t a specter of all the wrongs he’s committed – just keeper to soft recollections instead. Where Clover and Ironwood keep their silence. Where Uncle Qrow can actually sleep…

Yeah, Ruby’s thinking of Uncle Qrow seeing her as her, and not her as her mother. She’s thinking of them tomorrow, no trickery present. Past the weirdness of tonight. Smiling and as phantom-free as she can get him.

Him thinking she’s Summer is a fair assumption he’s making, and one she’s counting on. But she’s realizing she can’t hold onto that premise the way she thought she could. That she can’t commit to it the way she should.

Ah, no.

The yearning comes back in full force, a surge that leaves her shaken. She wants him to see her so badly. It’s almost frightening how much she wants that. Her hands are shaking from it. If only he could see her, despite how well everything is working in her favor. If only he could do the impossible and shatter this little bubble she’s crafted.

No, Ruby can’t think of her mother right now. Can’t bear any reminder, not until she’s safe in her room again. Then she can hang the cloak and bury Summer again, talk to her roses, breathe out until all the heaviness has left her.

Then Ruby will open the window and breathe in their scent, let it fill her room and her dreams. She’ll recall then what she’s done not with shame, but with a sense of accomplishment, won’t have to justify it to her mother or to herself. She’ll have made tomorrow better for Qrow and her… They just have to get through tonight first.

Tonight, tonight, tonight. Ah, she has to get away from here. She has to. If she doesn’t, she’s going to break the silence, demand Uncle Qrow acknowledge it’s her. Beg him to see her. Pull the hood off and reveal herself. And she can’t do that. She can’t. She has to make her escape now, while she still has control. While the anguish is still being held at bay. Why did she do this? Why did she think she could? What is the matter with her?

And why, why, why won’t Uncle Qrow see her for who she is? But she should not be expecting something so impractical from him, or from herself. She’s hiding still, isn’t she? Using her mother as a shield and as a bludgeon? How could she ask anything more of him?

He’s doing the best with what he’s got, isn’t he?

And this is what she wanted. It is. She wanted him soft and approaching happy, wants to use this as a bridge to total sobriety. Wants him to see he can still enjoy life without… without the alcohol. And the first step to that is for him to make peace with Summer. Everyone else can come after, so she’s not going to focus on them right now. Just Mom. That’s why she’s here. That’s why she’s concocted this hare-brained little scheme. Now she just needs to call it quits and get out while she can.

She is this close to losing it.

She’s drawing still further away when Uncle Qrow startles awake and pulls in a breath, and the beginning susurration of her mother’s name has her lunging forward and silencing him with her mouth.

They’re both motionless. Then the moment bottoms out, and Ruby can’t believe she’s done this, just to stop the rising crescendo of, no! I’m not her I’m not Summer, I’m not her I’m not I’mnotI’mnotI’mnot, no–!

This entire plan was a mistake, what was she thinking, why–

The instant their lips touch, Ruby runs hot, then cold. Oh no, what– this isn’t what she– she just wanted to shut him up for a second so she could think, buy them both some time to get out of this mess, why didn’t she use her palm or better yet, just Petal-Burst away, why did she kiss him–!

She jerks away with a gasp, horrified at herself.

Summer dissipates the very next instant, leaving Ruby totally bereft. She squeezes her eyes closed for a moment, disoriented, before forcing herself to face him again. She catches his eyes sweeping shut. No, no, gods, no– Was he looking at her? Did he see, or did the darkness protect her? Keep her safe from discovery?

There’s a moment of silence so profound she can hear the house settling beneath their feet. The horror of it has rooted her to the spot and turned her limbs to lead.

But then Uncle Qrow’s fingertips are on her jaw, stroking and then pulling slightly. She lets him guide her down, and then he’s brushing his lips against hers softly. She barely registers it until he presses in more firmly before pulling away. She chases his mouth, forgetting herself in the time it takes for her to kiss the corner of his lips.

He breathes her in, nudging against her nose with his. Another deep breath, then–

It doesn’t hit fully what she’s done until his hands span her hips, coaxing her onto him. She follows, her mind screaming at her as she straddles him. He’s warm, so warm. It’s a body blow, how well their mouths slot together as she settles into his lap and kisses him again. Her hands are on his shoulders, and then she’s pressing him back into the couch, reeling in astonishment– What the f*ck is she doing? This isn’t for her, and it’s Uncle Qrow for gods’ sake, she needs to–

Sh-she needs to–

Once they’re seated there, she almost puts a stop to it. She nearly pulls away again to let him know it’s her, consequences be damned – even though it does feel rather wonderful despite her torn mouth, what the f*ck? – but then he changes the angle of his lips, and she’s ignited.

She’s aflame and wants closer, closer, closer still. He’s devouring her now, and she’s taken aback by the intensity. No one else has kissed her like this. No one else has ever made her feel so remarkable in her own skin, so extraordinary right from the outset. Gods. She’s melting from the heat of it.

It’s Uncle Qrow, she tells herself rather firmly as she shifts closer. It’s Uncle Qrow, she thinks as he captures her chin and licks into her mouth. It stings as she opens her mouth wider, but the pleasure soon overtakes the pain. She can taste the bourbon now. As she probes deeper, it’s chased from his tongue, from the corners of his mouth, from inside his lips. It’s his alcohol, and he’s her uncle, she thinks faintly. It’s Uncle Qrow, it’s him, he’s kissing Mo– She smothers that thought down to nothing. It’s nothing. Summer is gone now. It’s just her here, and it’s been so long since she’s been touched like this. It’s been more than a year since she’s been laid, and–

He groans, wrapping his forearm around her in a shock of heat. An instant later he is bearing her down. Their hips lodge together, and then she’s being crushed close. She pants into his mouth, is jostled against him as he scoots them forward. Now her knees have enough room to rest, to brace, to push down without the back cushions getting in the way. She must have made some sort of noise during all that because he’s letting up now, thumbs stroking her hips as he lifts her up and readjusts her. He’s being considerate of her, with his gentle hands and his gentle mouth. She shivers at the heat of him, squeezes as close as she can. She runs her fingers through his hair. Gods. Gods.

Then she tugs firmly, wrenching out a long, drawn-out groan from him. She shivers as she dips down to press her lips to his neck. He hums, and she feels the vibration. She wants to sink in, press her head to his heart and hear it resound. Wants it to ground her to this moment.

Now she knows what being invited into Qrow’s confidence entails. She knows how soft his lips are, a direct counterpoint to his sinew and bone, all of which were straining towards her. Knows the soft sounds emerging from down deep, falling into her mouth. Knows how soft his hair is, running like silk through her fingers.

He’s kissing her like she’s the only thing in the world, like he could spend all his days here, with her, doing this. It is so lovely it doesn’t matter this isn’t intended for her, not yet. She can push the guilt off for one more moment of this, and then another, and another–

She’s like their shattered moon – reflecting a light that isn’t her own, one that could never be hers to keep. And if that is the case, she should absorb what she can, bear the attention until it goes. She doesn’t want it to go. Doesn’t want him to know. Can’t let him know, not now. Not here, like this. He’s kissing her like he’s taken in by her, but it’s not… it’s not her he’s drawn to.

He doesn’t know it’s me, I want him to know– I don’t want him to know it’s me, I can’t let him see–

But he hasn’t seen, has he? No, he’s kept his eyes shut the entire time, except for the very beginning. She draws back just long enough to touch his fluttering eyelashes, to feel his breath ghost against her fingertips. She shivers at the intimacy of it. Did he see anything, during that initial collision? Or is he just using this as an escape, too?

She cups his cheek, draws a thumb across his lower lip. He kisses it as it hovers there, and she flushes with warmth. Maybe he’s using her just as much as she’s using him. No need to puncture the pretend quite yet, then…

So Ruby inches closer, shivering in terror and anticipation, until it feels like they’re fused together by the heat between them. Now she’s digging in with her fingertips and her thighs. Clutching him as close as she dares. He’s pulling her in, widening his knees slightly so that she’s now completely flush against his co*ck.

Oh–

“f*ck,” He whispers, strained and fond.

She flinches at the sound of his voice, and he immediately loosens his grip on her and shifts his hips back so she’s not on him quite so directly. Desire and apprehension are building up in her veins already, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to escape the agitation. His voice is making this a little too real. She doesn’t want to face that it’s him. Uncle Qrow. Uncle Qrow. No.

Uncle Qrow lets loose a tortured hum against her lips as she rolls her hips once, twice. She feels him beneath her, coiling into a deeper heat. She grinds down, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths as she does so, his fingers digging in again.

This is all that exists. Only this.

Now he’s trailing his lips from the bloodied corner of her mouth down her jawline and onto her neck. She drops her shoulder and tilts her head to grant him easier access. Uncle Qrow brushes her hair away from her neck as he finds her pulse point. She shivers and bites back a whimper as he nips it, so he soothes it with his tongue. Then he nuzzles her, huffing slightly at her tightening fingers. He slides his arm back down, captures her hips in his palms and grinds up into her as he bites her jaw lightly.

Ruby’s moan breaks out onto open air, and she surges against him, knees nudging wider apart with each circular press. He’s meeting her now, unselfconscious and unerring, keeping their rhythm regular, eyes squeezed closed.

There’s sweat sluicing down her spine, and she can see it dotting his forehead and collarbone. She drops a kiss to his neck, his jaw, tastes the salt and alcohol both.

Ah, the alcoh– No! Don’t think about that now–

Uncle Qrow cradles the back of her neck with his palm and tilts her head, sets his teeth against the cord in her neck. Then he nibbles on her earlobe and breathes hot air into her ear.

“Qrow!” Ruby gasps.

Then she gasps again in horror as his hips stutter, as his eyes open for the length of a single heartbeat – he’s pulled back enough to stare at her shoulder, at her mother’s pin, brow furrowing – before the connection is broken and they’re sweeping shut again.

Then he’s leaning forward and kissing her again, tongue pressing against the torn corner of her lips and swiping the blood away. She shudders, swallowing back a moan – will that give her away? Ghosts don’t bleed. They don’t bleed, they don’t have warmth or weight, and they certainly don’t kiss. She’s completely f*cked if he opens his eyes and actually takes a look at her. She’s on thin ice here.

But then he’s dragging her closer again, thrusting up just once. Her relief mingles with euphoria – he didn’t catch on! – Her fingers find his jaw, his cheeks, snags on his scruff. She gets a fistful of the hair at the back of his neck and tugs. The sound he utters when he drops his head back is almost holy. As he does, she sucks a bloom onto the tender skin above his collarbone, drags her lips up until they’re kissing again. She got away with it. She can tell him on her own terms. They’re golden.

Eventually they both break away to pant, and Ruby presses her forehead into the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. Uncle Qrow skims his hands up her sides and back down her back, echoing the pace with their hips. She moves just enough to meet him with the barest of pressures, unable and unwilling to stop as she presses her lips into his neck.

But each pass becomes more sedate and intentional until he’s moving slow as honey, and then his hips are still beneath her.

She comprehends the change and lifts her head; she wants nothing more than to prod him into forcefulness again. If they slow down, if they stop– She doesn’t want to think about any of this. All she wants to do is feel. So Ruby kisses him again, presses against him futilely.

But no, Uncle Qrow is still bringing his hands up to frame her face, and the spell is broken. He’d be gentle again, and that is not what she deserves. He’s already touching her like she is worthwhile, like she is Summer. And she is Summer to him. The violation of her presence is enough to kill the rest of her aspirations. She jerks away as his fingertips graze her cheek, still breathing hard.

This had woken a storm inside her, and she feels doomed, like she’d been mauled by a Grimm, no way to escape, her weapon hopelessly out of reach–

Uncle Qrow takes in air with a ragged burst, and they share a single breath before she pulls away for good, settling back onto her feet and shivering. He holds on to her wrists and then her palms as she goes, making a little noise in protest, and then she’s breaking away from his fingers. She watches as his hands settle onto his knees and curl in, nearly trips over a stray bottle as she draws further away.

Oh gods. She doesn’t want to go.

The moon is out in full force now, its light seeping in through the windows and illuminating them both more and more as it rises. The light inside her is flickering out, doused by the knowledge of what she’s done here.

She must flee before he catches on, has crouched in preparation for springing away silently, but– oh, then Ruby looks. And that is her undoing.

Uncle Qrow is enraptured, glowing from the inside, limned with light. If that kiss was his supplication, then he’s been pardoned by the god of life, bestowed with new vitality. The weight that had curved his shoulders has fallen away, and his head is unbowed. He’s shed the years, and she’s shocked by the change, can’t stop herself from hungrily tracking the transformation.

It’s like looking at the Uncle Qrow from her adolescence, accomplished and assured. He looks like a man who’d stumbled into the happiest moment of his life. Like every single f*cked-up, horrible happenstance, every fickle twist of fate, has led him to this moment. Everything he’d had coming to him, all that he’d earned, what he’d deserved – it amounted to this, right here.

To see him now was to see a man whose luck had turned to good.

The horror is creeping in again, deluging Ruby just as firmly as the cool air had, once they’d parted. She’s done that to him. No… not her. Never her.

Who was she, to wish it could be her, and her alone, granting him this? Who was she, to beg him silently to open his eyes, see who she is, and still choose this?

Who was she, to wish he’d known it was her from the beginning?

There’s a beat of silence, and Ruby can sense it when the air shifts. She still has time enough to flee – to escape, but where? Stairs’ too noisy, TV is blocking her straight shot to the kitchen, she can’t duck behind the armchair and crawl to safety due to all the bottles, so – but it doesn’t matter, she just needs to go. She can do this. Just run. Run!

He’s tensing up, hands clenching into fists. His head his bowing, shoulders curving forward – it’s because Summer is gone, surely – she needs to f*cking move, or all this will for nothing–

It’s too late. She’d only managed a single step when Uncle Qrow slowly opens his eyes, blinks. Focuses, sees her there. Her hood had stayed down in the shuffle, and it only takes a moment before he sees her in the moonlight.

Ruby is flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen and aching. Caught in the crosshairs. She watches the light gutter out in a snap. No–

“Ruby–”

Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no.

A single heartbeat and Ruby is across the room, rose petals littering the air and floor. They’re drifting down onto the table, catching in his hair, sweeping under the chair and couch– More petals are balancing on his arm and fluttering from his fingertips, which had been in the act of reaching out–

He’s on his feet now, and even in the dimness of the room, she can see the struggle on his face, the trembling. His chest is heaving, fingers grasping for and gripping his face, his hair. She watches him take a step back and nearly stumble into the couch. He sways, regains his balance, and she takes a step back herself. He’s got a hand over his mouth now, and she can hear his ragged breathing from here.

Is he going to scream at her? Leave? Throw something? Is– is he going to confront her with what she’s done? What they’ve– nausea hits, and she’s trying so hard not to lose herself to the blind panic threatening to overwhelm everything. Oh gods. Oh gods.

Uncle Qrow takes a steadying breath, another. She can see it, the sound of her own panting drowning out his. But she echoes him, breathes in just a little softer, and softer still. His shoulders are relaxing bit by bit, and she can see he’s squinting down at the path of petals now. Slowly, slowly, he reaches over to turn on the lamp.

Light floods the room, and he grimaces and blinks as his eyes adjust, hands falling to his sides again and clenching into fists. She blinks a few times as well, before the horror reasserts itself, and she suddenly can’t catch her breath again. Oh gods, he can see her. He can see everything.

Why didn’t she just use her stupid Semblance to get away? Did she really think he’d appreciate the fact it was her? What a moron. What a f*cking idiot. She’s f*cked this up, she’s a f*ck-up, everything is totally f*cked…

Now she’s panting, gagging, choking, trying to get herself under control. She hadn’t eaten in hours, and thank the gods – she might vomit all over the floor otherwise. The emotional intensity of the last several minutes enact their toll, and she tilts sideways. At her stagger into the wall, Uncle Qrow is moving towards her. She looks up at his approach, then turns to face the wall, shoulders curving forward.

She can’t bear this.

Don’t yell at me. Don’t hate me. Don’t show me how disgusted you are, it was disgusting, I’m, I’m disgusting– why, why, why did I–

He stops a few steps away, shifts onto his back foot so she doesn’t feel crowded. She flinches away, and he backs up a couple more steps, his swallow loud in the silence. Oh gods… he doesn’t want anything to do with her… what has she done…

“Ruby... hey,” Uncle Qrow’s hands are open and his voice is soothing, like she’s some kind of prey animal. Like she’s something to be calmed. Wrangled. Subdued.

She closes her eyes. If only it were hours from now. If only it were any night that this one.

“C’mon. Let’s get you settled. Can’t have you passing out here, now can we?”

She squints in his general direction. Uncle Qrow is waiting on her from a safe distance away. She can’t do much more than nod. He’s backlit, features obscured. He steps closer, his shadow falling over her – she cringes, and he stops, draws himself back and turns so she can see his face, fully lit. She refuses to look at him, doesn’t want to see the expression on his face. His life is hellish enough without her complicating everything. Gods! All this for a kiss! For one wretched, doomed kiss– all this for– ah, all this to soothe herself, never mind him, ah, gods, gods–

Moments pass as Ruby sucks in air, filling herself up with steadiness until she can straighten and turn towards him. He tries for a smile, and she shrinks away from the softness, pressing against the wall for support. His face falls as she shifts from foot to foot, and she can see him withdraw yet another step in her periphery.

He’s being kind. Why? Why, she doesn’t deserve that, why isn’t he– no, no, it’s not real. Can’t be. It’s a lead-up towards something worse, a buildup to tears, and screaming, and rage and, and, and– She just has to watch for it. Wait for it to hit. Brace herself–

Uncle Qrow scratches the back of his neck, blows out all his air. A few more rose petals flutter to the ground. He captures one and rubs it between her fingers, and they both watch the repetitive motion. The scent breaks out into the air, and they both breathe deep.

“So… Tai had told me they’d all cleared out for the month, said you were in and out on your missions. Told me he’d like me to watch the place while you’re gone, maybe trade off a little. Like how we used to run it, you know the stories. ‘Course, back then there were more of us, so there wasn’t really any need for shifts. Guess there isn’t really the need now, either, but eh, it’s been a rough past couple months for all of us…”

The rose petal, crushed and wrinkled, flutters off his fingertips. Oh, he’s still talking! sh*t. Ruby squeezes her eyes shut and struggles to focus. She should have known he’d start that up again.

What even is this? No mention of the kiss? She figured that’d be the first thing out of his mouth, but apparently not. Guess the night is still young. She bets he’s lulling her into a false sense of security, get her to relax her guard. That’d be the perfect time to strike. Disarm her, get her complacent and pliant, wait until he can deal the maximum amount of damage. She’s seen him fight enough to know how good he is at that. How easy he makes it seem–

Ah, but.

She swallows. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d… He wouldn’t hurt her like that. It’s fear making her think that way. The desire to be punished for what she’s done. But it won’t be coming from him. She knows that. She knows he’s safe. She swallows again. Gods.

“I also get the feeling he probably didn’t want either of us here alone, considering how I get around alcohol and how you get around… eh, silences that last a little too long. What can I say? The man knows us like the back of his hand. But uh, guessing from your expression, he didn’t tell you this at all, did he?”

Ruby wants to throttle her father. At no point was any of this even alluded to in the weeks leading up to everyone leaving. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have been quite so unguarded, coming back tonight. And now look where they are. Ruby digs her fingernails uselessly into the wall behind her, grinds her teeth together.

Uncle Qrow sighs at her, “That’s what I f*ckin’ thought. Damn it, Tai. Look, for what it’s worth, I didn’t know you’d be coming home tonight. Thought I’d have time enough to have my little bender, get the place cleaned up and aired out–”

The scoff bursts out of her, and she slams a palm to her mouth, mortified. The answering throb from her lip tempers her shock at herself, but he’s laughing at her outburst. There’s some kind of discoloration on his chin, his neck – but she’s too distracted by the pain and the embarrassment to linger.

“Hahaha, yeah, shocker. Grand plans, huh? As if I f*ckin’ clean up. Well–” he pauses and levels a look at her. “Hmm. I was going to mention something about the clean-up, but I can kick that can on down the road.”

Whatever. She shrugs. He’s quiet now, eyes caught on the corner of her mouth. She’d been probing at her torn lip with her tongue. She’s still bleeding, had wanted to stop it from dripping down. Kissing furiously and then slamming her fingers into it didn’t help matters at all. She touches at it lightly, squinting up at him. Actually, now that she’s getting a good look at him, that discoloration is– he’s smeared with blood. Her blood. O-oh. Must mean she is, too.

She rubs at her jaw, her neck. It’s dried now, comes off in flakes onto her palms. He watches her with inscrutable eyes, growing still. Then he’s doing the same, scrubbing until all traces are gone. She swallows as he wipes his mouth, the tip of his tongue touching his smudged fingertip – there and gone. It’s clean now.

f*ck.

Ruby can see now she’s bruised him, catches the mark as he swallows. She flushes, feels the sting again. Gods.

He clears his throat, “…Anyways, I was gonna sober up. I know the anniversary is coming up, and…”

She coughs. “You wanted to try and get a headstart on, on being sober? Sobriety? Do you mean for now, or… permanently?”

“In it for the long haul this time, kid. Wanted to get it knocked out here while no one was around to uh… interfere.”

She hums, eyes narrowing.

“–Anyways, I wanted to greet Summer’s headstone with head held high. I know it’s been difficult, these past few years. That I’m difficult to care for. So… thank you, for doing that.”

He pauses for a long instant, looking at her expectantly, but she stays silent. He sighs and continues. “I’ve done a sh*t job of it, myself. I need to actually talk to your dad about that too, I keep putting it off–”

Ruby struggles to keep her face neutral, takes an even breath. Oh, does he want her to rush to reassure him? Promise him, oh no, Uncle Qrow! Of course not, I absolutely adore having to clean up your messes. It’s my favorite thing to do, ever. I just love hauling you around, pushing and tugging at you while you’re absolutely no help at all, you crappy deadweight. I love having to do all this even though you’re usually strong enough to– strong enough to–

“–talking up a storm right now about what seems like kinda random sh*t, but I wanted to provide some context, and I also want to put you at ease before we discuss the uh, Goliath in the room. Which is pure white. Guess that makes it pretty f*cking noticeable, huh? Neat little Oobleck factoid for ya, haha, uh. Miss that guy. Anyways, as I was saying–”

She has flashes of Uncle Qrow tossing her around casually whenever they’d spar. Pulling her after him in a fight, pushing her out of harm’s way, tugging her to her feet so effortlessly the momentum almost always sends her past him, even when he’s trying to account for her weight…

“–gonna lie, if I’m right and he’s bringing Raven, we’re gonna have some words. She’s got the right to be here, goes without saying, but there’s no way th–”

She is recalling being pressed tightly against his hips, bending backwards under the force of his kiss. She imagines, for a split second, a world where he’d actually want her to the point he’d toss her into her bed and pin her there. Thinks about how safe he is, no matter what, and feels a burgeoning rush of shame at her uncharitable thoughts. But it’s not enough to erase the image of him hovering over her, slowly lowering his mouth to kiss her jaw, the corner of her lips...

“–Blake, and even then, why would we even want that kind of discord in our–”

He’d feel absolutely lovely, wouldn’t he? Pressing her down into her bed? Or… would she be on, on top?... Doesn’t matter, as long as they’re just as close as they were. Just as, as intimate– Ruby swallows. His lips on her. His hands, his, his– She presses ineffectually on the goosebumps littering her skin. Oh, oh– She’d swanned off in her head and probably missed something important.

“–wasn’t actually drunk. Not then. Well, not saying I didn’t drink a f*ck-ton yesterday, but I was slowing down today. Had a swig just before noon ‘cause I’d planned to run out right about then.” He chuckles, sighs. “I know, I know. But I also knew you were–”

She cannot get mad about the damned alcohol right now. That– the kiss had ruined any sort of high ground she had. She’s on thin enough f*cking ice as it is. Why did she think impersonation would solve his alcoholism? What kind of an idiot is she?

“–may’ve misjudged exactly when you were set to show, which is stupid of me. But you gotta remember that Tai never f*ckin’–“

She’ll tell him he needs to stop, once they’re… once they’re through this kiss thing. Would he hear her out, though? Would he listen, or would they just be going over the same old ground again? Can she even break through to him how dire this all is?

“–run through the rest of the supply immediately, or pace myself and hope to drink it all before you get here… And if not, then at the very least, drink enough that what’s left wouldn’t taunt me too bad. Not like you wouldn’t just immediately toss it. I know the drill, we’ve–“

She… she could say the kiss was a last-ditch effort to stop his drinking. She squirms a little. No, she shouldn’t. It was impulsive and foolish and lovely, and it… it had no bearing on his drinking. That was all her, and she has to own that.

“–guess somewhere in the middle of all that I’d fallen asleep. You actually caught me um, sleeping, not– not unconscious. Well. We’d talked about it before, the dreams. About um. Well, anyways. I was with, erm…”

Ruby focuses in, stares. Uncle Qrow casts his gaze away, then flicks them up her body, lingering on the edges of that cloak. Ruby would tease him for that blush if the situation wasn’t so damn awful. She nods a few times, swallows. Her mouth is dry again for some reason.

“May have passed out. I have vague flashes of Summer – of you?… And then I was asleep again.” His mouth flattens out. “Dreaming, until I wasn’t.”

Oh. Well, so she was right. She’d been banking on that, hadn’t she? That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? But there’s no relief in this, only emptiness. Her throat hurts, aches. She swallows a couple times, licks her lips. Then she blinks longingly at the couch. Uncle Qrow catches the look and tilts his chin towards it, raising his eyebrows.

She nods and offers her hand without thinking, and he stares at it. Then he’s dragging in a breath, and there’s something flickering across his face, across his eyes, too fast to catch– disgust? fear? And then he’s bracing himself, shoring himself up to touch her again.

…Oh! Of course he wouldn’t want to, what was she thinking? Stupid, stupid of her to– to…!

But as she’s yanking her hand back, he’s lunging forward, reaching for it, catching it as it goes. For an instant he’s holding on, and she’s caught– they both breathe deep at the heat of contact, eyes locked–

Then he’s shifting his hand until he can loosely corral her wrist. She shrinks in a little. He doesn’t even want to hold her hand. Well, why would he? She’s a detestable little creature who kissed him. It’s amazing he’d even go so far as keep his hand on her.

She should be grateful. Cherish what she can, since she’s ruined the rest. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Now he’s walking them towards the light, his hold on her so delicate she can barely feel it. She examines his fingers as they move, feels his calluses catching against the fine bones in her wrist. They’re juxtaposed by the smoothness of his rings, tapping against her with each step.

She wishes suddenly he would shift his grip, entwine their fingers, press palm-to-palm the way they had, earlier– No. It takes her a moment to realize he’s on her pulse point, that he can feel the rush of blood. Might be he knows her heartbeat better than his own, right now. Can feel it racing, racing against his fingertips.

Ruby cuts her gaze away to the floor, swallowing dryly. Uncle Qrow. Uncle Qrow. Well, not really her uncle, now is he? He’s Yang’s. He’s part of her sister’s actual family, right? Yang’s known him her whole life, anyways, and Ruby only met him half a lifetime ago, so–

Well. But.

There’s no neat way out of this, this life of theirs. They’re family too, and she can’t wish it all away. No matter how good the, the kiss was. The kiss, gods. What was she thinking? How can she even begin to?... She squeezes her eyes closed.

They’re not blood-related. At least, at the very f*cking least, they have that going for them. Going for them, ha. What a nightmare.

They stop a few feet away from the coffee table, and he remembers their original course of action only after the silence has stretched a little too long, after she tenses a little too much in his hand.

Ruby sighs shakily when he nudges her towards the chair instead of the couch. That’s fine, then. Nothing happened on the chair. She’ll have her own space here. She takes those last few steps and then grounds herself by leaning the backs of her knees into the seat cushion. It’s only then she realizes he still has a hold on her.

Maybe that means he– maybe he– She shakes her head to clear it of any stupid hopes, and then moves her eyes from his wrist, to his elbow, his shoulder, up-up-up… his cheek. His ear. His eyes.

He’s cataloging her face, looking at her like he’d never seen her before.

Nope! She was wrong, she can’t be here, not this close to him. Not here, at the– basically the scene of the crime. She swallows, swallows, swallows again. The urge to vomit recedes, but only just. She bounces on the balls of her feet, debates tugging free. She wants the safety distance had granted her.

He notices. Now he’s dropping her as if she’s burned him.

She curls her fist in, swallowing. Now she is free to just back away, crawl upstairs and into bed, and he’d let her flee without comment. He’d let her go and this – whatever this is – could end here.

No acknowledgement, maybe. No confrontation later. Making nothing out of something. Letting it all go. He’d probably want that. Probably doesn’t want to acknowledge what a f*cking creep she is.

Qrow refuses to meet her eyes. Instead, he stretches his limbs out, huffs out a faint groan as he scrubs a hand over his face. She misses the contact immediately. But she does not deserve it, not now. He lets his hand fall, and she can see he looks worn again. She wants to kick herself for making that worse, too.

She could flee, let the silence speak for itself… But she knows she must be brave. Three seconds of courage. Three breaths, in and out. Normalcy, normalcy, normal.

“I know,” Ruby shifts a little, pushing her toe into the rug.

“What?”

Oh, more time must have passed than she’d thought. She bites down on the inside of her cheek in a vain effort to keep her voice steady. “The dream. I know that you... I knew that.” she hesitates. “I knew you were thinking of her. Mom,” she clarifies, blushing. “That’s, um, no surprise. I... that’s why I– I mean, I was already wearing her cloak, and– and so I. so– um.”

She can’t finish the sentence. She tries for a smile, then lets it drop. Nope, that smile was a terrible idea. She’d wanted breezy, not sociopathic. So she flutters her fingers vaguely instead, shrugs like that answers everything.

Qrow has gone still, watching her. “Did you mean this? Did you mean to do this? Was this... planned?”

She can tell he’s trying to keep himself level, but his voice breaks on the last word anyways. She flinches.

“No! Well, I– Yes, but it was going to start and end with the forehead kiss, maybe me holding your hand–” No, she’s going about this wrong, he’s going to get the wrong–

“You were trying to seduce me. By acting like your mother.” The thought sends him back a step or two, and he sinks down into the couch. “If that’s the case, then why did you–”

“No! No, I… No, I mean, yes, I was acting like… I was hoping you’d–” She groans. “No, look, I was hoping you’d have, I don’t know, sweeter dreams or something. Find yourself some peace. Not have Mom haunt you quite so bad…”

The skin around his eyes is tightening, the furrow deepening in his brow. Ruby shifts from foot to foot, then takes a step back. Qrow glances down, then his eyes snap back to her face.

“…What?” There’s a note of tension in his voice, one that could turn to rage in just one shift.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you, I swear! I just, I, you were going to say her name again, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“Ruby–”

“I… I panicked. Because how could I explain myself, dressed like that, as close as I was? I kissed your forehead! How could I even look you in the eye afterwards?”

He makes an incredulous noise, and she coughs.

“Yeah, I know, considering what I did right after that. So um. I’m sorry. I should have never done this. I don’t know what possessed me… Qrow, I’m so sorry…”

He just shakes his head, gaze sharpening.

Ruby trails off and swallows in the wake of the silence that follows. She feels faint, senses a buzzing somewhere beyond the edges of her hearing. There’s static encroaching on her vision. She has to set to rights what should have never happened, smooth things over as much as she’s able. After that… in the privacy of her room, in the seclusion of her dreams, she can remember what he felt like, and grieve for a door that’ll never open again.

Bile hits the back of her throat, but she chokes it down again and thinks about deflection. Rejection. Running. Thinks about the truth, taking them somewhere they won’t be able to return from.

His eyes are locked on her face. Each breath seems like it’s costing him. His irises are the color of violence, of blood splatter; of a fire, consuming everything in its path– He’s carved out of stone, knuckles white on his knees. His teeth are bared. She can’t look him in the eye.

Ruby shivers, hoping against hope he won’t raise his voice until afterwards. She’d deserve every bit of it, but she’s not sure she could handle the disgust she’s sure is lingering behind his eyes, running through muscle and bone – She has to get this out before the horror of it silences her.

She drags in air. “I should have told you it was me. I should have, but I didn’t! So scream at me, curse me out, please, gods, I can’t be alone in this, please–”

“How could I? I knew it was you!”

They both flinch back at his volume, then it registers and she gapes at him. He’s panting, and she watches as he grows still, the blood draining from his face in the wake of his confession.

“I… I knew it was you.”

What? He knew? He knew it was her?

“What? And you… you kissed me back?...”

When did he know? When, when, when, what– what–

She’s trembling now, euphoria sweeping over her so strongly she’s nearly dizzy from it. She wants to cry with relief. Then she wants to scream until her throat is torn to shreds. She wasted their entire kiss worrying needlessly when she could have just enjoyed it for what it was. What the hell is wrong with her? He knew! He– she gasps. Wait.

He is unable to face her gaze, dragging in air in a great hacking gulp. Both of them are now caught up in the same sticky horror. She stares at him, at the anguish in his eyes, in his trembling mouth. If he knew, did he… how long had he wanted that? When did… how… what–

She can’t catch her breath.

Because it hadn’t even occurred to her what the logical conclusion to him knowing would be. Has he wanted her for years? Had he been waiting? Did she give him permission to finally make a move by k–?…

…Oh. Oh, gods–

Understanding comes in a flood, and she twists and flies for her bathroom, knows he’s lunging similarly towards the kitchen sink. Wonders if they’ll make it in time. Wonders if they’ll make it out of this.

Then she can think of nothing else for a while but of catharsis. Of purging, of benediction. Of black wings, fluttering near the ceiling, pulling her out of herself and into somewhere else, free of this. Free of him – Oh, but to think of flight (to think of deliverance) is to remember Qrow. Even then, she orients towards him.

Even in the act of leaving, there he remains.