A/N

Of course, this is a non-profit work, and the original idea does not belong to me. Don't sue me please.

I kind of just wrote this up in a few hours from the urging of my tiny friend. SO, this is somewhat dedicated to her. Or you, if you're reading this, midget.

There's also a brief Gattaca reference in there. If you don't spot it, you either need to rewatch it, or watch it. It's one of my favourite films of all time. So understated, so simple, yet so powerful and meaningful. I'm not going to say more other than it's a solid 9-9.5/10 for me. (And I'm a harsh critic usually)

Also, highly inexperienced here with uploads and formatting. A lot of my formatting took a hike without my permission; I hope my adjustments here stay. :((

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy.

Though Winter was born and raised in the frigid climate of Atlas, she had never felt so cold. As a soldier, and more so as an Atlesian Specialist, she had grown numb towards the deaths of her subordinates by seeing them as cogs in a machine, by withholding herself from developing any meaningful relationship with them. But this time, there would be no hiding behind military protocol, no protection offered by composure and discipline. It wouldn't be a simple matter of writing letters to families and moving names around in registers.

Because bleeding out into the trampled snow in front of her was Qrow – her mentor, her rival, and her lover.

She knew that as huntsmen and soldiers in the endless war against the Grimm and the blackness in the human heart, their time would be earlier than most; she'd lost enough to have learnt that lesson a thousand times over. But no matter how deeply she thought she understood this truth, nothing remotely prepared her for this.

Seeing his piercingly bright red eyes gaze beyond the sky, Winter felt her world begin to shift again for the first time since her mother died, the shattered pieces drifting irreversibly apart like the fragments of the moon.

All it took was a smirk, a couple of deprecating remarks towards Ironwood, and a mention of her 'daddy' (along with several generous swigs of his flask) before they were fighting again, faces alight, feral grins fixed firmly in place. It had happened so many times already, but she never learned – never did want to learn – because there was something so relieving, so cathartic, in letting him shred her façade of clinical indifference, laying bare the passions of her heart beneath. He tore down her composure like he drank from his flask, the deep red of his eyes burning away all memory of military discipline; they always darkened with secret pleasure as her rigid posture melted and her face flushed.

This time, her sabre's keen edge pressed insistently on his jugular, while his massively oversized scythe curled around behind her own neck. Her breath came in short, desperate puffs, but her eyes shone with pride and delight; she didn't always succeed in forcing him to fight with his full potential, but it'd been happening more and more recently. His own eyes reflected his joy – joy for her – and she made the mistake of swallowing in anticipation. His grin widened further, taking on a predatory – and somehow also smug and self-satisfied – quality.

"What's the matter, Ice-Queen?" He was always challenging her, and she always rose to the occasion as high as he led her.

"Nothing. You're imagining things, you drunkard," she said as evenly and disdainfully as she could manage, stepping away from him while gauging his reaction carefully. He had other ideas, however, his scythe stopping her short in his tracks, before reeling her back in like a fish.

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd already broken down her barriers, but she couldn't fight the different kind of flush from taking her face, or the way her pupils dilated in desire. It was clear as day that he noticed it too, and after a moment longer of pretending, she gave in.

She drew closer to him as he also stepped towards her until his stubble almost tickled her forehead, his aura forcing her sword away, and suddenly, she was inordinately grateful that they had taken their fight away from a public area before things really escalated. Now, with the privacy and freedom to let go of their inhibitions, their lips met hungrily and forcefully. Neither knew when next their circumstances would push them together, so they made the most of what time they had, every time they could.

She realised as she grabbed his dark hair and his roaming hands slipped under her shirt that every time they fought, she opened up more quickly and more willingly, but she pushed this thought to the back of her mind. She would have plenty of time to consider the implications once he was gone.

They were in a private booth, at a bar of his choice. She was trying out some fancy, colourful cocktail, but found herself wishing for his glass of straight whiskey. It was either the atmosphere, the drinks, or his company – or more realistically, a combination of those – but they were laughing at their superiors' expense freely (mostly Ironwood, because Qrow got a real kick out of mocking him), and at the blatant propaganda broadcasting on a few of the televisions. There wasn't much room for lighthearted humour usually, knowing and seeing what they did, so they relished the chance while they could.

Sometime in the night, they had scooted closer to each other, and she ended up leaning against his shoulder in a rare show of open affection as he chuckled at something or other. She loved how she could feel his deep voice this way as much as she heard it. It didn't really matter what it was that was said just before; they were there to enjoy each other's company after months of tiring missions and life-threatening operations.

Her hand intercepted his, snatching his glass, and she took a long draught from it under his amused gaze. He gently pulled it away afterwards, placing it on the scratched table and pushing it away.

"I think that's enough for tonight, Ice-Queen," he laughed. "Not even you flush this red just by being near me."

It really was infuriating how he never seemed to get drunk. Or, at least, more drunk.

"One of these days, I really will remove your tongue," she said, and as a testament to how much time she spent with him, she clenched her fist, knowing in her heart with equal parts dread and exasperation what he was going to retort with as soon as his eyes crinkled mischievously.

"If I lose my tongue, who's going to lick where y –" She punched his jaw with enough strength to snap his head aside despite the awkward angle, but true to form, he turned back immediately, his eyes sparkling all the brighter.

On the way back to her temporary apartment, holding onto him for support, she laughed to herself as she recalled her father's aneurysm upon seeing her and Qrow. More quietly, she wondered if she was more thankful of her choice to join the Atlas Military for letting her escape from under her father's shadow (for the most part), or for giving her the chance to meet the man currently holding her up while she tottered in her heels.

Kneeling, she settled herself into his line of sight, her knees barely registering the icy slush underfoot. His mouth cracked open, his eyes sliding over to meet hers excruciatingly slowly. He managed a weak smile as he recognized her, and she gripped his hand tightly in hers, their thick gloves lying discarded beside her.

"You'll finally get to see Summer again, you old coot," she whispered, fighting the tremor in her voice. "I hope she gives you hell for not visiting her. Heaven knows you deserve it."

He laughed feebly before groaning in pain, but after a moment, he opened his eyes to meet hers again.

"It's funny, after I find a way to leave this world after all these years of… of searching," he rasped, fighting to be heard over the desolate, howling wind, "I finally find a reason to stay."

When he fell quiet again, she never felt more robbed – robbed of all coherent words, robbed of her one chance at a happier life, and a warm home to return to.

She sat alone at her booth, cradling her glass of whiskey with both hands. She talked pointless nothings to the air opposite her, and then beside her, her voice lost in the din of the bar. After a particularly grueling mission, or when she was feeling inconsolably lonely and tired, she used to visit his grave to talk to him; but since the capital of Atlas had fallen to the Grimm and his resting place became inaccessible, she had taken to frequenting bars more than befitting her station. Not that anybody could fault her; among the losses were the ancestral Schnee family home and her father, and as much as she resented him and all he represented, his death still hung heavily on her mind. They assumed she was mourning for her family, and quietly left her to it. And in a way, she felt like she was mourning for her family, albeit one that had never existed.

Usually, she didn't allow herself to think about such things, but she wondered what things would be like if they had managed to conceive before that day. Would the responsibility of a child have prevented them from taking that particular mission? Would he still be around? She imagined a feisty girl, imagined teaching her to be strong so she wouldn't have to learn for herself the way her mother had to. Would she have burgundy eyes and platinum-blue hair?

The idea of a child had seemed too soon, too different from what they were comfortable with and prepared for. Only now, it was far too late.

"I wonder if you'd have made a good father," she said.

Of course! Didn't I say before? Deep down, I'm a family man. She heard his replies straight away most of the time. She knew it was true; he'd stuck around for Ruby and Yang, and even indulged them with spars and games and trips into town despite always groaning about how they had way too much energy, even when things grew tough and his job demanded ever more of his time.

She would never have guessed that he had it in him from when they first got to know each other. Back then, he was an experienced hunter showing his disdain for her training and her methods, always challenging her to be her own person and to step outside of Ironwood's shadow.

You're always hiding behind something. Your pride and discipline, old Ironwood, daddy, you name it. Stop playing at being a huntress, Ice-Queen. You're barely more than a little girl.

She'd vowed to make him eat his words by applying herself to her job tirelessly and earning more promotions and awards than the rest of her graduating squad combined. Ironically, his words proved true in the end, and it was his training that saved her life as she was assigned the higher profile, more dangerous missions.

She leaned back with an inaudible sigh.

"What would you say about who I am now?"

In her mind, he replied not in words, but in the intensity of the pride and love in his crimson eyes as he looked down at her.

She left much later than she'd expected to, but also with a lighter heart than in weeks. There was so much to be grateful to him about; even in death, he was guiding her along, holding her up when she was weak and tired.

She usually slept like a baby in his arms, his warmth and presence offering comfort and security not unlike the warmth she barely remembered from her earlier childhood, when her mother was alive, and her father hadn't lost touch with his humanity. So it was with surprise, and a unplaceable glow deep inside her that she opened her eyes to see him completely relaxed, an occasional rumble escaping from deep in his throat. Without his piercing eyes and his face completely relaxed, he looked far younger and more innocent.

She traced the heavy lines of his brow to his sharp nose, following them to his mouth, for once not set in a smirk. Tracing them back up, she studied his hair, slowly reaching the salt-and-pepper stage despite how he tried to ignore his encroaching old age.

Instead of getting up or moving, she just stayed next to him, legs intertwined and her head resting on his arm, scrutinizing his face with something suspiciously like contentment in her heart.

And in response to the dark warnings at the back of her mind, she prayed for the first time in decades that she could wake up like this, every day for the rest of her life.