The kitchen had grown smaller. Or maybe the room had simply become more crowded, though Qrow’s arrival had less to do with that than the weight of everything left unsaid.
The afternoon light had deepened into the golden amber of early evening, and shadows stretched long across the worn floorboards. Dust motes danced in the slanted sunbeams, drifting lazily through the silence that had settled over the room like a blanket.
With tired eyes, Qrow Branwen looked at Summer first. Then Marika. Then the two Leyndell knights standing outside the cottage window, their golden armor catching the fading light, and their crimson plumes stirring in the salt breeze.
Then back to Summer.
The flask hanging from his belt swung gently, the metal catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows across the table's scarred surface. He had not drunk from it yet. That, more than anything, was a testament to how completely this had thrown him.
"...Uh," Qrow said.
A beat passed, then another, and finally, he pointed directly at Summer. "No."
Summer blinked. "No?"
"No." He shook his head emphatically, the motion sending his untidy gray-streaked hair across his forehead. "Tai, I know you've been through a lot, but this joke sucks."
Taiyang frowned, his brow furrowing in that particular way it always did when he was trying to figure out how to respond to something absurd.
"It's not a joke."
Qrow snorted, the sound dismissive and sharp. "Really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like somebody found a woman who looks exactly like Summer, dressed her up in some fantasy convention outfit, hired a couple of extras in gold armor, and somehow convinced themselves this was healthy." He gestured vaguely at Marika. "And I don't even know what to make of her."
Summer folded her arms across her chest, her white cloak pooling around her shoulders like a second skin. The fabric was travel-worn, stained in places, but it still held a certain… aura to it.
"...Long time no see, Qrow."
His expression didn't change. "You even sound like her."
"I am her."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Summer sighed, the sound carrying the accumulated exhaustion of a woman who had already explained the impossible far too many times that day.
"Qrow."
Something in the way she said his name finally gave him pause, the familiar cadence carrying that little exasperated emphasis she’d always used whenever he was being particularly stubborn. It was an inflection filed away in his memory alongside a thousand other small, irreplaceable details.
His brow furrowed, the lines around his eyes deepening. "...Summer?"
She smiled sadly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Hi."
He stared; the denial was still there behind his gaze.
"...No."
Ruby groaned from her spot at the table. "Uncle Qrow."
"I'm serious!"
Yang tried to cross her arms, then realising she couldn't, huffed and looked away. "So are we."
Qrow looked from Ruby's earnest, tear-filled expression, to Yang's guarded but steady gaze, and finally, Tai's exhausted patience. None of them looked amused or like they were playing along with some elaborate prank.
His gaze drifted toward Marika, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
"...Who're you?" Qrow asked, his voice flat.
Marika inclined her head with grace, the motion regal despite the humble setting. Her golden hair caught the light, and for just a moment, she looked almost ethereal.
"I am Marika."
Qrow blinked. "...Should I know who that is?"
"Queen Eternal of the Lands Between."
A beat of silence.
Qrow chanced a glance at Summer before looking back at Marika.
"...That answered absolutely nothing."
Summer pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture so familiar that it made Qrow's chest ache. "I'll explain later."
"No," Qrow said immediately, the word final. "Explain now."
"I've already explained more times than I can count."
"Good.” He pulled over the nearest chair, a wooden thing with a slightly wobbly leg that looked like Tai had been meaning to fix for years, and dropped into it with a graceless thump. “Means you’ve had practice."
Taiyang chuckled, the sound hollow but genuine.
Summer looked toward the ceiling, as though searching for answers in the water stains.
"Why is today happening..."
It took nearly an hour for Summer to condense ten years into something Qrow could reasonably follow. Even then, she skipped battles, deaths, and the worst memories entirely, reducing entire kingdoms to little more than bullet points. He knew her well enough to recognise when she was carefully steering around something she had no intention of discussing. So he didn’t press her on any of it, and throughout the entire explanation, he never interrupted once.
Even after she finished, he simply sat there, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped loosely between them. His faded red eyes were fixed on the floorboards, his expression unreadable. The half-empty flask at his belt remained untouched.
Eventually, he rubbed both hands down his face, his palms scraping against the stubble on his jaw, and when he lowered them, his eyes were red-rimmed.
"So..."
Summer braced herself. "So?"
"You died."
"Yes."
"Woke up somewhere else."
"Yes."
"Became... whatever an Elden Lord is."
"Yes."
"Married a goddess."
Summer visibly shrank, her shoulders curling inward like she was trying to make herself smaller. "...Yes."
Qrow looked at Marika.
Marika gave him a pleasant smile. It was not a warm smile, but it was not hostile either.
"...Huh." That was all he managed.
Summer snorted, the sound finally breaking the tension. "That's about how they reacted."
“Makes sense."
Summer's lips twitched. "Yeah..."
Qrow sat with that for a while before finally standing.
Without saying anything, he crossed the room to stop in front of Summer, close enough that she had to incline her head back to meet his gaze.
Summer looked up. "...Qrow?"
He studied the lines around her eyes, the slight hollows beneath her cheeks, and the way her shoulders carried an unseen weight that had not been there before. She was older and harder in ways he couldn’t begin to understand, but the stubborn set of her jaw was familiar. So was the way she looked up at him, wary and uncertain, as though she still expected him to reject what was standing right in front of him.
Without another word, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her into a crushing embrace. Summer froze against him for barely a second before her arms closed around him just as tightly, and that nearly broke whatever remained of his composure.
She was warm. It was a stupid thing to notice, but Qrow noticed it anyway. Warm, solid, and breathing against his shoulder, nothing like the ghost his mind had spent years constructing whenever he drank too much and let himself remember.
“…You idiot,” he muttered into her shoulder.
Summer laughed weakly, the sound muffled against his coat. "I've been called worse."
"You were dead."
"I know."
"You couldn't even send a letter?"
"I tried."
Qrow's grip tightened, his arms pressing her closer.
"I know you did," he whispered.
After a long moment, they finally separated. Qrow pulled back quickly, his hand rising to wipe at one eye with the back of his sleeve. He blinked rapidly, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.
"I'm blaming dust."
Summer's smile was watery. "There isn't any dust."
"Then I'm blaming emotional manipulation."
Summer laughed, and this time the sound escaped before she could temper it into something more dignified.
Qrow knew that laugh.
“…Fair.”