She had been dead for three days. Three days and... well, Jaune didn't know how many hours, exactly. He hadn't been there.

Which made it easy, initially, not to believe. But Ruby was there, and Weiss. Ruby and Weiss, who were supposed to have saved her. Well, he was the one who was supposed to have saved her first. Not that he could have. Even if she had wanted him too.

None of it was right. She shouldn't have needed saving at all. Maybe it would've felt better, he thought sometimes, if her death served some kind of purpose. It didn't help to dwell on that.

No greater good was worth losing her.

It didn't matter either way now.

It was funny, how each day managed to reach a new low. First day, Ren and Nora, hospitalized. Ruby, comatose. Yang, missing a goddamn limb. Their uncle, making travel preparations and refusing to take either of his nieces to a hospital, arguing about it with Weiss. Blake and Yang, devastatingly quiet through it all. He was quiet, too, now that he thought about it. Blake left that night, and something in Yang snapped. She wouldn't speak a word. Not to him, not to Weiss, not to her uncle. It would've been easy to resent Blake, but Jaune understood the impulse wholly. He'd run too, if he had somewhere to go. Second day, visiting Ren and Nora. Trying how to explain how he let her die. Trying to convince himself they didn't blame him. Ruby and Yang gone by then. Weiss calling him, saying her father was insisting she go home.

Maybe he thought Ren and Nora would rather be with each other than with him. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was just being polite. For whatever reason, on the third day, he went to go see Weiss.

As he buzzed into her apartment, something clicked. Jaune was beginning to appreciate the rare it was, the chance to say goodbye.

"You decided to stop by after all," Weiss observed coolly, as she opened the door. She'd be expecting him much earlier. He'd forgotten.

"Yeah, I mean... I didn't have anything— that is, I wanted to... you have a nice apartment?" he finished weakly, hoping this was a scenario where it was the thought that counted.

"Oh. Thanks, I suppose," Weiss answered distractedly, "My father thinks it's handy to have property in all the kingdoms. Sort of a contingency thing."

Rich and vaguely creepy. He sounded like he could be related to Weiss, all right.

"You want anything? Water?" She led him through the kitchen, grabbing a glass before he could answer. "Because I'm having water."

It was only as she began gulping down water without pausing to breathe that Jaune realized she had been red-faced and maybe slightly out of breath the entire time.

"Been training or something?" Jaune asked, when she came up for air.

"Well," said Weiss, as she led him through the hall, "I was supposed to be packing. But the packing turned into me breaking things, which turned into me doing chin-ups so I would stop breaking things."

Jaune raised an eyebrow. Maybe if he worked out when he got pissed he'd be as buff as the rest of his friends. "And how'd that work out for you?"

"None of my stuff is packed and I'm sweating like a pig. Less broken possessions, though."

He smirked. "Can't leave if you don't pack. That's a classic. Pretend you can't find something important."

Weiss sniffed haughtily, opening the door to what was presumably was her room, though it was exceedingly sparse, save for the opened luggage running over with unfolded clothes.

"My father doesn't particularly care about what I consider important."

Jaune settled sort of awkwardly on the floor, feeling strange towering over Weiss in her own room, as strange as it was to consider the stark white cell a place that anyone could call their own. Silence hung between them. Weiss peeled off her structured white jacket, tossing it carelessly behind her head and cracking her back for good measure. He couldn't help but note the bizarre image of the put-together Ice Queen sweating and sore in a tank top. Even in the battle she had been untouchable. Before.

"So, Jaune," she intoned, making uncomfortably deliberate eye contact, "Maybe we're not best friends," Jaune snorted, then pointedly avoided her gaze. She shot him a withering look in vain, and began to shake out her hair. Weiss went on. "But maybe for tonight we could be, ah, drinking buddies."

Jaune cocked his head, confused puppy-dog style. Both at the suggestion, he realized, and her words, slang sounding as out of place in her mouth as diamonds in a paper bag.

Weiss opened one of her dresser drawers, producing a flask with a theatrical flourish. He stole a glance at the drawer's remaining contents, and was shocked at their normalcy. Ribbons, worn books, loose photographs… it was all the teen girl stuff that was so visibly absent from the rest of the place. It was stuff that reminded Jaune of his sisters, and of Nora, and… well. Anyway. He felt stupid and guilty and sort of mean in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. Jaune had put Weiss on a pedestal a long time ago, but he always resented her for being there. It freaked him out, when he stopped to realize just how badly he wanted to think of her as remarkable.

Jaune took a stupidly long time to speak. Had he ever seen her hair down before? He must've, he decided, but not like this. Not so messy, not so close. Her end-of-the-day smudged makeup bled into the bags under her eyes. The effect was dirty and dangerousness strangely appealing. She wasn't so perfect. Maybe that's why he said yes.

"Where did you even get a flask?" Jaune found himself unable to ask, after he choked down his first sip.

He had sort of expected that question to earn him an eye roll, but instead Weiss just grinned at him, a little nastily. "Haven't you heard? I always get what I want."

Same as always, that attitude. Strange, when everything else was different. Like her eyes, glittering with boldness and alcohol and looking right at him, or through him, maybe. Jaune didn't know quite what to do with that.

Weiss, laughing as he sputtered and coughed. Weiss, snatching the flask from him. Weiss, throwing her head back to drink, exposing the white column of her neck. Jaune, watching her swallow.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to wait your turn, princess?" he said, with mock indignation. She let out a prissy little, "Hmph!", which didn't exactly help her case.

"After all, we are supposed to be drinking buddies." Jaune was nudging her, pushing his luck, "I think that calls for a little sharing."

"If you want it so bad, come and get it," Weiss said primly, shaking the tin above her head.

Some toxic mixture of alcohol and loneliness and stupidity must've been pounding in his veins, because without even thinking, Jaune tackled her, and began prying her fingers from the flask, one by one.

"Ugh! I was kidding, you big oaf!", she protested through gritted teeth, "I'm sending you the hospital bill for the lung you just collapsed."

"Collapsed lung, huh?" Jaune asked, grinning. He eased off, but was still straddling her, which should have made him more uncomfortable than it did. "Guess I don't know my own strength!"

Weiss cocked an eyebrow, and before he could fully process that particular expression, his back was hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"Yeah," she said, dusting herself off unnecessarily as she stood, "You really don't." With a shake of her hair and a hand placed squarely on herself, she was back to the Weiss he knew. Only, generally, she was only stepping on him metaphorically.

"You might want to opt for pants in the future," he said boldly, as her heel dug into his sternum, "If you start making a hobby out of this 'stepping on dudes' stuff."

Surprisingly, instead of piercing his heart with her stiletto, Weiss let out a little bark of a laugh as she walked away.

"Don't be vulgar, Jaune," she chided him, as she slid off her shoes and sat on her bed. "And you'll excuse me if I refrain from taking the fashion advice of a boy who's always wearing the same ratty sweatshirt."

Jaune sat up then, instinctively defending himself, though he didn't really care. Arguing with her felt like sparring. Well. What he imagined sparring was like for people who were actually skilled fighters.

"What's wrong with my sweatshirt?" So easy.

"Do you want to start with the fundamental concept of the sweatshirt, or of the dubious hygiene of the one you wear? Either way, I wouldn't sweat it," Weiss said glibly, patting his cheek, "It's part of your charm."

She tipped the flask in his direction. He drank.

They settled in, legs intertwined, passing the flask in between them, then the bottle, once the former had been satisfactorily drained. Jaune's hand closed over her's, over the neck of the glass. Her fingers, surprisingly warm. Not made of ice, after all. But she still seemed sculptural. Not to be carved, but to be molded. He drank and liquid heat throbbed, made everything beautifully blurry and dull. It barely hurt at all.

In fact, it had never been so easy to talk to Weiss before. Jaune couldn't imagine now what had made it so hard. But even as much as he must have annoyed her, they had enough good between them for nostalgia. They talked about all the good stuff, all of the stupid jokes, and irresponsible things they did and inexplicably weren't punished for. What it felt like to do good and still feel safe, invincible, on top of the world. Remembering with someone else somehow felt sacred, reverent. It was a gasp of air for the drowning. But there was always that bitter undercurrent, that feeling that all the of the good was behind them. Even when they had nights like this, where they could breathe and laugh and remember the right stuff, it would never be the same again. It was all just stories now. Entire people, just common recollections.

Jaune and Weiss eulogized their friends the best they could, the dead and gone and in between alike. It was the only thing they could do.

"Huh. It got late," Jaune noted idly, swirling around the paltry remains of the bottle.

"Need to get going?" came the kind response, maybe too kind, because Jaune forgot to pretend like he had somewhere other than the hospital waiting room to head back to.

"What? No! I mean, nah, I don't— I haven't—"

"Jaune…" Weiss started, adopting a disturbingly motherly tone, "Where exactly have you been staying? I assumed you were with your family but— Jaune, do they even know you're alive?"

Jaune felt his jaw clenching, muscles tightening. He couldn't stand to look at her.

"Yes, they know I'm alive, not that it's any of your business. We aren't exactly on the best of terms right now is all."

Weiss jutted out her chin, crossed her arms. "Because what would I know about family conflict, right? My father is only dragging me off to another continent against my will."

"Look, Weiss," he sighed, "it's a bit of a story."

"And that's different exactly how from what we've been doing all night?"

Weiss was right infuriatingly often.

"Fine, fine. You asked for it. But I'm gonna need—" he drained the bottle with a few deep swallows.

"Why, yes, Jaune, you can finish that bottle. Thank you for asking."

"So!" Jaune started, ignoring her, "don't know if you picked up on this, but I'm not exactly the most qualified student Beacon has ever had,"

Weiss coughed primly.

"Oh, shut up. Telling a story here."

She looked at him with big eyes. "Jaune, I didn't say anything."

"Sure. Anyway, I didn't go to combat school, okay? But it's not like I… I mean, I deserved to go to Beacon— I—" Jaune stopped. "Well, I thought I did, anyway. You of all people know how much family legacy stuff can mess up your head, right? And my parents, my grandparents, they all hunted Grimm. I just thought…"

Jaune inhaled. If he wasn't looking at her then it was like he wasn't talking about it at all. Like it wasn't real.

"You know I have a bunch of sisters, right?"

Weiss nodded.

"Well, I had a brother too. Or I guess I almost did. He died, same day as my grandfather. My mom was so torn up when it happened, she… well, she had been taking care of the baby by herself. The baby was sick, my dad was away on a mission, my grandfather too. She was already worried about her baby and being alone and my dad coming back in one piece, and when the bad news came... something in her sort of broke. The Grimm were crawling around the place in a heartbeat. An Ursa Major, a couple of Deathstalkers, I think. And there's my mom, unarmed and trying to protect her kid, and they just keep coming as she gets more and more desperate. She tried but…" He trailed off, licked his lips. No one needed to know all that. Why couldn't he stop talking? Why wouldn't all the hurt stay inside him, where it belonged?

A small hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You can stop, you really don't have to— "

"Just stop it! I don't need— " Jaune screwed his eyes shut, forced himself to breathe. He was strangely lightheaded. "No, I'm sorry. I'm… I haven't… I didn't mean to yell at you."

Weiss' expression was tight and unreadable. She nodded again.

"Anyway, you get the picture. With all that. You can imagine what that did to my parents. But me, I didn't know about any of this for a long time. My sisters can remember back when my parents were more, you know, messed up about it. They never really had a problem with the "no combat school" edict. But by the time I came around, I'm the new son. I'm the do-over. So, of course, I'm the one off recklessly endangering myself because I think I need to prove something, some family legacy thing. Like, as if my parents just think I'm weak. They were just worried about me. And with all of this… it's stupid, but I don't want to admit to them that they were right."

"Speaking of reckless endangerment," said Weiss, finally, carefully, "May I ask how you even got into Beacon at all?"

"Oh!" Jaune said, with some amusement, "I didn't."

For a beat, Weiss just looked at him incredulously. Pinching her temples, she asked, "Then how...?"

"You know, they do still teach you things at normal school."

"Such as?"

"Such as hacking. Well, it's not exactly on the syllabus or whatever, but I went to, you know, one of those tech schools. Basically, I got into the Beacon application database and compiled a transcript that was a composite of their best entrants."

"But! But!" Weiss began gesticulating wildly. "The hard copies of those transcripts have to have watermarks! They have to have signatures!"

Jaune just shrugged, eating it up. He was dizzy still, but the good kind. Empty and easy.

"Your last name doesn't have to be Schnee for you to have connections."

Weiss shook her head, and he couldn't tell if she was chastising him, or just in disbelief.

"It would have made more sense to present himself as an average candidate. No offense," (Jaune rolled his eyes) "but you didn't know what aura was when you got here. How Ozpin and Glynda didn't figure you out— "

Weiss trailed off, leaving them in an uncomfortable pause. The fact of Ozpin's absence pervaded the air unbearably.

"You know," Jaune mused, to break the silence, "Looking back, they probably did. Maybe I got points for creativity."

"You mean deceitfulness."

He shrugged, bristling slightly.

"Deceit is a skill," Weiss said, insistently, "And a useful one. Honestly, Jaune, did anyone on your team even know what you could do?"

Jaune was quiet. A slick dread started seeping into the pit of his stomach.

"Pyrrha did, didn't she?" Weiss asked in a small voice.

"No, actually," Jaune spat, with venom that surprised even him, "I told her I was a liar and a cheater and, shockingly, she had no follow up questions! Pyrrha didn't see my character flaws as something to exploit! Don't know how she missed that one!"

Weiss didn't flinch at his yelling in the slightest, eyes widening just by a fraction.

"I... I won't to apologize for not being Pyrrha."

Jaune sighed with unrestrained impatience. The veins behind his eyes were throbbing. "You know that isn't what I meant. I just can't deal with— with that," he

finished vaguely.

With knowing there was more he could have tried? Ways he could have helped? Thousands of millions of things he should have told her?

Weiss' eyes were far away. Jaune wasn't sure he really cared.

"Ruby said she was— " she swallowed hard "Well, that she was— that by the time she got there, it was already too late. You get to go on knowing that you called for help right away, but I was there. We could've been faster. How could you— don't you think I feel responsible too?"

She looked up at him, blinking rapidly, eyes beginning to brim over with tears. His fault, too. Jaune resented this, despite himself. Or who he wanted himself to be. But he was already drowning. How could he possibly keep her afloat?

"Weiss…" It wasn't really an apology at all. But she would project onto it what she needed. Maybe that would be enough.

She sighed, rested his head on his shoulder and Jaune's eyes snapped shut. If he closed his eyes, he was back. None of it had happened. It was dark and he could still save her. She should have let him save her.

"What happened between you too?" came the quiet voice— wait, had he been saying all that out loud? It didn't really matter, he supposed, not with a mouth so close, so hot on his neck.

Yes, hot, that was right, she hadn't been cold after all. Weiss was remarkably warm and small under his hands Jaune found, as he started rubbing her back. Smaller than— small. Maybe he could hold onto something this small.

Jaune kissed her, which was funny, because it was actually the answer to her question. What happened between you two? What will never happen between you two? It didn't matter because Weiss was more eager than he could've anticipated, if he had ever stopped to anticipated such an impossibility. But why shouldn't she be? She was alone now, too. And leaving. Jaune wrapped his hands around her waist and— oh! — his fingers touched, this was different. He could hold her completely. They would have time. She opened her mouth, and that was different too. She sidled onto his lap, his brain whiting out. They came apart for a horrible second to breathe. Their distinction was unbearable. But Jaune knew— he knew —he could make it last this time. He turned his attention to the crook of her neck, inciting in her a ridiculous little breathy noise that he suddenly needed to exploit. He kissed his way from her sharp jaw to her perfect collarbones, driven by the sweet thrum of her low, heaving breath, by the rhythm as she rutted into him. Jaune sucked a bruising kiss on that pale neck, now there was proof, and she was almost whimpering. Ravenous. He needed so much. The lips and the neck and the slim legs around him, the thighs he had never before even imagined his fingers digging into, which was crazy. And she was on him, touching his face, his chest, she wanted him too, insanely, inconceivably, as if this wasn't impossible enough but she had never made noise in his dreams before and he couldn't imagine a thing so soft he couldn't have made something this good in his head. Her small hands in his hair and her body melting into him obscenely, completely, and it was truly too much, it was so much more and she said his name in her high, cold voice, shattering it all.

This was Weiss.

Of course it was. He knew it was Weiss, and hadn't he dreamed of this before? For ages, months, even, if he had given up or moved on or forgotten who could fault him with everything else and with what almost happened and almost was everything but who cares when this was even more than everything and he could make it last and never have to leave this oneness this warmth this—

This was Weiss.

Pyrrha. He wanted Pyrrha. He was supposed to choose her, even just her memory. That should be enough for him. That was everything.

Jaune had known that the kiss was all they were ever going to get and he had ruined it. The last person who kissed him would have always been Pyrrha. She'd be with him. And now she never would be. Never really was.

It all kept going without her. He kept going without her. It wasn't fair. If he couldn't have Pyrrha no one else should be enough.

So why did this feel like enough?

Because he was selfish. Because he was weak.

"I have to go."

She pulled away from him at once. Like she'd been shocked.

"Okay," said red-lipped Weiss.

Shouldn't she be more upset? Jaune sort of wanted her to be more upset. To argue, to be hurt, to show him something. But this was Weiss, Weiss who he could not even begin to understand. He had never even really tried to.

Weiss stood, gathered her hair, tying it back with a snap of elastic.

"Then go already."

Good. Fine. Coldness was all he should expect from her. All he should want.

"I'm gone."