A/N Spring haha, the thawing ie massive, unashamed emo. Possibly angstier than AC, but do enjoy please!

Spring you're suddenly there, and so is he, and you don't know the why to either. You spent the day in the open, wandering the crumbling sun-bleached paths. They wind about like a skeleton, like the whole place was once a living, breathing organism now reduced to an empty frame.

You didn't know why you were there. You'd thought that you'd finished up all your business there long ago, or at least by now you should have. You were so sure that you'd let go, that she was gone for good and you could face that, but then you were back, steadfast in the past and you didn't know how not to be. There'd just been one more argument, or one more barrage of Tifa's complaints landing flat against your silent deference, and why didn't you ever respond Cloud it was like talking to a wall and didn't you feel anything?

You supposed you must but didn't then, hadn't there, so you left that night and then somehow were here. The land was as stark as Tifa must think you were inside, and you thought maybe, you were here because you were called. Maybe you'd been called here to die, to just settle down mutely and join your bones with the land's, here where you'd lost all that you had left to give, before you'd even realised you had anything.

But then if you'd been called then so had he, and he had no intention of dying, not here, not now, not ever. And that was a shame, because when you saw him, thigh-deep and whistling in that water where she was, you couldn't help but attempt to deliver his end to him.

He looked up and you saw surprise give way to shock give way to momentary fear before he could slap on that cocky grin and jump back, away from Ultima Weapon, and make a clumsy, off-balance block.

"Hey Strife, what's up?"

You ignore his smug banter, fall into the comfortable rhythm of block step thrust block step thrust, not even thinking except that he's in her water and wasn't he dying last time you met? Moot point you supposed, we're all dying and him always more than others; he was the best at it, by now, at everything, only not fighting, not this until he's got you down in two feet of water and Ultima's gone from your hand and you're only breathing because he's letting you.

"Now," he says, kindly, warmly, for all the world like a friend except that his fingers are wound through your hair and he's not trying particularly hard to keep you above the water, 'Now, Strife. What's up? What's really up?"

"Fuck you," you try to say, only it comes out as "Nrfflgh" and a lot of bubbles and spluttering, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"I mean, since when are you some piss-weak little pussy who just lets people win? Lets me win?"

He jabs at his chest with both hands, and that's when you realize that he isn't even holding you anymore. You think you see Ultima glinting a few feet away and you lunge for it, but then his foot is on your spine and you're underwater proper, pressed flat against the bottom and possibly now you are dying, but you just lay your face against the sandy-rough floor, close your eyes and whisper "Sorry."

Your apology rises to the surface in a flurry of bubbles, and he yanks you after it by your collar, then thrashes back through the water and dumps you unceremoniously onto the sand – only it isn't sand, it's sharp shell-grit and it bites into your cheek. She's down here on this forever, you think,you made it her final resting place.

"Christ, Strife," he breathes, looking at you with mild alarm. You can't imagine how you must look, or again, why he's here.

You don't know what you stammer in response; you don't understand your own words, but he seems to.

"The Ancient girl?" He rolls his eyes in exasperation, "What is it with her? Zack, Tseng, you… you're all reduced to fucking babies when her name is mentioned, and she's been gone for years."

It strikes you as odd, his mixture of past and present tense, when she's dead and Zack is dead and Tseng is… well he would know that better than you.

You cough up some water, the water she lives in now, but lie weakly on the shore without replying.

He crunches across the grit and sits beside you. "No really. What was so fucking amazing about her that I missed? I mean, your thing for Fair – I gotthat. Crushing on Fair was pretty much compulsory for every Shinra initiate. But some pink-dressed bint? Doesn't compute."

"She was just," you croak, but can't think of any way to finish it. "She was Aeris."

"No shit," he replies at length. He throws a stone into the water, and you wonder, does he know that this is where she is? You don't see how he would but then he's a Turk, knowing everything is pretty much his job.

"And your thing for Sephiroth was, you know, natural. But even the great Sephiroth was affected by her enough to come down or, or to send that monster to or something. Now that's shit's not right."

"It is," you tell him, because your explanation should have been enough, and would have been with anyone else. "If you knew her…"

"I did." He sounds surprised that you would question this, and when you briefly raise your head he's staring at you in confusion. "Strife, she was my job for years. Surveillance, retrieval, information-collecting, she was pretty much my induction, training and promotion assignments."

Some part of your stomach hurts, like you've had it clenched for hours. The thought of Reno having known her longer than you did by far, this life that they shared, you don't even know how it makes you feel, only that it hurts. "But you were just watching her-"

"Nah. We talked." He doesn't elaborate, even when you haul yourself up to sit beside him.

"And?" you press, not really expecting him to offer you much even then.

"And. She was just a chick, Strife. She wasn't dumb, sure, and she had an occasionally wicked sense of humour but I sure wouldn't rush out and kill myself for her. I'm certainly not still letting her dictate my life post-mortem."

"She doesn't dictate it," you mutter half-heartedly.

"Sure." He stares at you a while. "Do you really think she wants you to live like this though? Throwing away your life – you know, the thing that you only have because she doesn't – just hanging out waiting for it to end so you can go back to her?"

You don't like philosophical on Reno, or insightfulness or caring, but you can't deny he wears it well. You feel like a child being scolded, beaten then scolded then abandoned, because he rises and painstakingly brushes the grit off his suit. "Anyway, charming though this has been, I do have things I need to get done."

"Why are you here?" you ask him at last.

"Because I was sent." Apparently he's finished talking. "You all done dying now?"

You nod distractedly, and stare out into the lake as he saunters away. Really, you're not. No one is. And you never will be. But you suppose maybe you can slow the rate, if you try. If you want to. And you're willing to concede that maybe, there would be reasons that you do.