A/N: People! Change! Clothes!

Week Five

'You know, this bumfuck town isn't so bad.'

The regulars were at the bar, and for once he was behind it, polishing glasses and keeping people topped up. Sure, he couldn't drink and work, but the vapors and the antics of the sloppy drunk were enough to give him reason to stay sober.

The sun set through the windows. A black cloak trimmed in vines sat down. 'That's trouble.' He tapped his elbow on the greatsword on his back, making sure it shone in the light.

Bull horns, a red wool jacket covered in black vines and rose petals, a over-sized hood over his face. 'Never mind. It's a circus.' He didn't bothered to quiet his footsteps, stopping in front of him. Watching the red and black sheathed sword hidden beneath the cloak.

"You know, I didn't expect to see you again." He let himself revert to the hard stops and hitches of his native tongue, scanning the bobbing and talking heads for a fresh dye job.

The young man lifted his head, face folded on the glass-top. "Qrow? You're alive?"

"Don't say that too loudly."

A smirk ran across Adam's face. "Going by Onyx again? Not the first time you've faked me out."

"I should slap you, but you wouldn't be able to see it. Why are you here?"

"I'm passing through. Looking for Blake. Have you seen her?"

"Who?" The kitchen doors swung open and closed, steam rolling from bowls of stew. The younger man's stomach complained. "What do you eat? And no, I won't poison it."

"The panthera. Gold eyes. Black hair. And...vegetables. Bread. Oil. That's it."

"Your woman." He walked hard to and from the kitchen, setting the bowl of soup and croutons at Adam's fingertips. "I haven't seen her."

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill me yet."

Qrow shuffled from racks to bar, pouring drinks and taking them away, before returning to Adam who made lazy circle in the bowl with his spoon. "Why? That wouldn't do anything for either of us. That life...is over."

"So is yours..." He retrieved a large format Scroll from his pocket, padding through the screen, the light enough to reveal the transparent black ribbon tied over his eyes. "You're in the Scarlatina Times."

The scroll clattered lightly on the glass-top as Adam stirred his soup, a image scanning into view.

In a forest clearing, ringed in stone pavers, with a low altar at its feet stood a statue of him, Harbinger open at his back, its head dug into the ground. Clad in the three piece suit of his glory days, black feathers embossed down the cloak, his eyes closed as if to sleep, hood hanging over them at the right distance. A woman with black hair and matching feathers that split its fall down her white robes laid crumpled at its base.

"Why?"

"You're missed. And you're crying."

"Um...is this a bad time?" He looked up from the glass, Winter looking at him with wide eyes.

"I fucked up."

Week Six

'Qrow?'

She nudged the bedroom open, and chattered at the cold.

The window was open to the bitter cold and wind, a heap of blankets on one of the bed, a pair of pants on the chair, a grey shirt on a desk. She rushed at the window, yanking it closed, leaning over the aging dresser. "You sleep like this, you idiot?"

"What do you want, Winter?"

She looked over her shoulder, a mess of hair and red eyes glaring at her.

"I want you to get out of bed and start living your life again."

"No." He retreated into his nest.

She cracked her hands, peeling off blanket after cover after duvet. "You are acting like a three year old."

"Can't a grown man mourn his bullshit?"

"No. That's called regret. Which we are too old for." She got down to the last three, his grumbling more pronounced as she went.. "You need to eat. I made fresh granola."

"What?" He squawked. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"Get out of bed. Clean up. Come downstairs. Then you get granola."

He mostly fell out of bed, sweatpants and thermal shirt tight on him, black shoes a savior against the chilled floor.

'He looks like shit...' She tiptoed out of the room. 'Maybe I'll be bothered to cook tonight.'

The hunting contracts he sunlighted at in the neighboring town brought it enough money to afford to rent a cottage and with the turnover at the tavern growing lesser by the day, the leftover pile waned. But there was always bread and game. And with him around, a strange assortment of seeds, mushrooms and "things I found in the forest, hey Snowball, try it, it's good for you."

She never did.

The granola sat on a tray, already cold. The fire crackled in the hearth.

'I should have told him already.' She added another log. He creeped down the stairs, wearing a different grey shirt and white pants, hair wet. A few feathers clung to his neck. And so did everything else to damp skin as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.' Huh. So that's where all of the fat is on him.'

A log tumbled off of the stack, then two more.

"Snowball, take a picture, it'll last longer." Her cheeks burned. He came back munching on a bowl of granola, topped with his strange nuts and seeds, a vacant stare in his eyes at nothing in particular, standing in the middle of the floor.

"I figured that'll cheer you up. You're a bitter ass, but you're my bitter ass."

More mindless chewing. Another mouthful.

"I'll see you later?" She pulled on a blue cloak over her overalls, then heavy gloves against the chill.

More mindless chewing. Another mouthful.

"Qrow?"

He squawked at her.

She hid her laughter in her scarf. 'He's not the brightest bird in the flock...I should tell him what he said all those years ago. "You know, I would love to come back to this beach house someday with you. Maybe...we could retire here. There's two houses on the propert- Wait...stop laughing at me! I'm- I'm not asking you to marry me. Gods. Woman. Not today. Someday in the future, if we're still old and alone. And you give a shit."

The hike to the lodge was long since remembered and the bone chilling temperatures meant working in the barn for the next six weeks, which was over yet another hill. 'Well, it's just one house...and the beach is leagues from here. But here we are, dead to the world. We were young and stupid, and did little but flirt and eat between Sabyrs and Tritons. An- well. We're not married. I'm getting old. He's getting dusty. Perhaps it was time anyway. Footsteps at seven?'

She stopped, drawing her ever present longswords. "Who goes there?"

A few Fauni stopped as she did. "Friends, sweetheart."

"I'm not doing this today. Leave before I give you reason to."

They approached anyway. "Listen, I just cam-"

"I'm not interested in any of you. Neither of you. Leave or I start swinging."

So they stood in the snow. A errant leaf blew by.

"Good thing I followed you..." A familiar rasp crunched up the path, wearing a worn red cloak. "I shouldn't be this good at this."

"It's Onyx. Hello there, old chap-"

"Back off. She's not interested. It's a three-on-one. It isn't fair. It's the ass crack of dawn. No one is coming out here but her to get to work. You're holding a gun into your back pocket, to a sword fight. You're not smart." The three started to draw weapons. "Bitch, I serve your drinks. Don't try that. Get lost."

They scuttled off, spitting curses. Qrow pulled off the azure cloak from about her shoulder, replacing it with his. "Don't travel this path again. My feathers ain't ruffling to save your ass again."

-.-.-.-. * -.-.-.-.

She didn't on the way home, holding branches for firewood, dropping them in the trough outside the door and trudging through the ice into the tavern.

He was there, stood behind the bar, slinging drinks. He didn't even look up at her, just passed her her drink of choice, hot chocolate with a kiss of coffee liquor. "How was work?"

"You don't have to protect me."

"Oh gods, here we go."

"I am- I was...enough to lead fleets. I'm sure a couple of scalawags with a hard on won't bother me."

He left to deliver another round of drinks and came back with her refill. "I'm sure a couple of scalawags know what Atlesian military stances look like. Especially out here, where everyone and their goat comes out here to retire."

"Are you retiring? In this comfy life? You, a bartender? Me, a logger? Moonlighting as hunters in the next town over? 'Onyx and Aquamarine, at your service?"" She spun the mug in her fingertips.

"I have to find Ruby. If we save enough, we can buy new Scrolls in the Heights. I can-"

"Answer under a dead man's name?"

He sighed. "I'm alive. I have to get back out there. Fuck the machinations of old mystics and priests. I swore as a Huntsman to protect the peoples of Remnant to my dying breath. I'm not dead. So I'm going to keep going. You?"

"My military career ended with a sixteen gun salute and a empty casket. I'm sure I'll manage as a Huntress."

And the night wound out and the tavern closed as quickly as it opened, the scattered moon long since overhead.

"Snowball."

Snowball was holding a honey whiskey bottle by the throat, half laying on the bar. "Yeah?"

"You want to go fuck up some Ursae?"

"No. I want the dying screams of my squadron to stop being so loud."

"I want the dead to stop asking me questions."

"Why," She chugged a few ounces. "do the dead think the living can help them?"

The bourbon bottle laid just out of arm's reach. "The dead believe that the living are sworn to them. To ride them throughout their lives too. Hold the torch or keep it lit, one day you'll be forced to drop it."

"Do you want to drop it?"

"I tried. Twice."

"Thrice."

"Oh good, we're both fucked up." The bottles clinked in lieu of glasses.

Week Seven

A blizzard swept through town.

The fire was stoked high, the oven was lit, and the door to the staircase was finally shut.

They both curled next to the fireplace, her in her favored living chair. he was draped over the couch, the shadow of his socked feet dancing on the wall.

And she curled into the cushion, firelight turning her eyes a dance of colors, thumbing through a book, hair stained a fading gray. "How long has it been? Six years? Five since that stupid beach? We were younger and even more stupid then. She...doesn't really seem to age. Sure she's gone wide, but h- stop that train of thought, you'll end up in the showe-"

"Feathers, take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Feathers?!" She chuckled into her book. "Gods, no. Anything but that. Wait..." He ran a hand through his hair.

"They fall out after you shower, in your bed, in your clothes. Like regular hair. It's cute."

"...uh...sorry. Wait...cute?"

"At this rate, I'll have a Qrow pillow."

"No." He threw a throw pillow at her, the blanket about her legs turning into a shield, giggling seeping through the weave. "You want to be weird like that, I'll throw you out."

"Why do you try to hide it? Well, as best as you hide anything..."

"What?" The signature squawk. Another round of giggling, and a pair of slippered feet walking to and from the kitchen, tossing a iron kettle by the fire.

"That...that right there gives you away to anyone that's ever heard a crow."

So she fell back into the chair, reading her book, with a small smile on her face. He watched her look at him. Then down. Then the usual frown.

"Winter."

"Hmm?"

"What are you hiding from me?"

She closed the book, marking it with a flat chip of wood. "What do you mean?"

"You have this tendency to look me in the face, and then you look like someone kicked your puppy, and then you fuck off into the middle distance and mope."

She put her legs back in the chair. "Do you remember all those years ago when we took the same mission to kill Grimm at some rich guys' beach houses?"

"Yeah, you were fresh outta basic and I was young and stupid. Why?"

The kettle interrupted her. Coffee swirled through a mesh filter and into a carafe. His with bourbon. Hers with cream liqueur.

"You remember saying how you wanted to retire there? Us two idiots in opposing houses after we retired and got done with living life?"

"Oh...yea. Why? Those houses probably washed away by now."

"You saved me then from a rabid Manticore, and here you are saving me now from both boredom and a blazing ship. A washed out, dead to rights alcoholic with no plans in life. Just like my mother."

"Oh good, I thought turning out like your parents was just a Human thing."

"All you have..." She got up to stomp out a exuberant spark before it catched on the rug. "is your parents. Or, if you're unlucky, what little they leave you with. My father is a emotionally absent, manipulative, abusive piece of shit." She sat in the opposing wedge of his couch, the squawk in his throat put on pause by delight, as he had too much fun wiggling her toes.

"Qrow, they're toes."

"I don't have these."

She grabbed his ankle, pulling off the sock, against his protests. A tug of war over the offending tube of fabric ensued and aquamarine won over onyx. Underneath was jet black skin that roughened at the ankle and over the toes. There were only three on either foot ending in sharp talons. She looked up, his face red as his eyes.

"SO THIS IS WHAT SCRATCHES THE FLOOR!"

"I'm sorry, Ice Queen, we've got bigger problems!"

She threw the other sock across the room. "You don't have to be anyone but Qrow. Even if that makes being a secretive ass." She buried her face in her hands as he resumed playing with her toesies.

"I've outlived my father. My mother is a sage-woman up in the hills. I haven't seen her in years."

"Wait...outlived?"

"My birthday passed. I hate cake, so I didn't say anything. 35. Officially a old man."

Week Eight

The jeweler looked better than the case. Small holes were drilled into each ridge of the impala Fauna's horns displaying her craft, the cases filled with pieces large and small. A pile of champagne bottles and glasses sat behind her on a table.

"What do you need, human woman?"

"That's racist."

"You're in my shop. In the Fauni side of the hills. You're the weird one. Now, again." She sat down, waving her over. "What do you want?"

"I..." She shuffled in, careful of the snow and the wet navy cloak. "Was looking to buy something for someone else."

"Wife?"

She looked the lady dead in the face. "Excuse me?"

"You have that kind of aura about you. Spun the other way, if you catch my drift."

She ignored the heat rising into her face. "Well no, it's for a guy."

"I was right. What's he like?"

"Uh..."

"Honey." She got another chair and sat her in it. "You're lucky business is slow. What's he like? Ain't no point in you coming here to buy him nothing cheap." She crashed back into her own chair, the legs tall enough to match hers.

"He's stubborn and dismissive."

"Okay. Who is he?"

"I just told you."

"No, sweetie, you told me who he is when he's in front of other people. Who is he when you're alone?"

"I don't understand why you need to know that."

The impala handled another transaction and waved the buyer out of the door, some peculiar salute passing between them. "You wanted a piece of jewelry? There's plenty of that below you. You want me to give you what you're looking for? Then tell me who he is."

"He says everything and nothing. You have to pick his brain for clues. It's not because he's mean or a prick."

The jewelry got to work, selecting both mundane and magical gems. "Go on."

"He's just used to not having a level playing field. And now, that we're here and there's little to do but talk, he's got nothing to say. I wish he'd let me in, without needing to be drunk or behind a wall. Some days, I'm scared he's going to fly out of the window and claim he's doing me a favor."

"You'd wish he'd let you love him? And, honey, you love him."

Golden green met watery slate. "Honey, I've been doing this for twenty years. You do actually have to tell him. Not the story that you tell yourself either. Let me guess, you don't know whether he wants you or not?"

She sighed, burying her face into her hands. "I didn't intend for this to become therapy."

"We all are gems, honey. The gods give us form and color. But it is up to us to shave off our own rough edges, so people can see us as we are. You mind looking at me?"

She unveiled her face. In a tray, the jeweler had set gems out, some glowing, some not, in a splendid array.

"I'll have it done by frost's break. For now, I'll have 100Lien now and 200 when it's done."