After The Rain (ep)

2-DAY EARLY RELEASE FOR ALL MY PATRONS! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

A wrap-up, now in the present (as of vol 5's) canon timeline.

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.

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													Epilogue. Solitude Of Rain

She still remembers all of it clearly.

As if it were only last week when he'd found her freezing beneath the gazebo, picked her up off the streets and taken her in.

She still remembers how she'd felt, the crushing nervousness coupled with the passionate curiosity.

She'd glimpsed him in passing, then sighted him more and more frequently until they'd wound up face-to-face.

She still remembers the fire he'd lit in her, not only in satiating her hunger, but in another way as well. She couldn't explain it then, but now she understood it.

He'd given her the companionship she'd never known she'd always wanted.

It was compassion, but not excessive fondness. Just the pat of his hand on her head or his coat around her shoulders. Gentle acts of kindness no other person had ever deemed her worthy of.

She still remembers that first morning when she'd woken up in his apartment, dazed and startled before she'd recalled her situation.

She remembers the first breakfast he'd made her, omelets and toast with strawberry jam with a cup of coffee.

She remembers him taking her out to go shopping for clothes, how she'd timidly selected each piece of her outfit and added it to the articles he was carrying.

She hadn't chosen a lot. She hadn't wanted to be too selfish.

But he'd paid for it all, the clothes, the boots – everything.

Of course he hadn't actually paid. As promised he'd started off getting back at the town with counterfeit money, and the shopkeep was none the wiser until days later, after the two of them were already lost in the wind.

She remembers getting dressed in the bathroom into those new clothes, how refreshing and new it had made her feel.

That's part of the reason why she'd tried her best not to change the articles she wore over the years. She would wash them, mend them, replace them if she had to, but only with facsimile pieces. Because they were another gift he had given her.

She remembers how he'd trained her, first in sign language, then in combat. That warehouse they'd called home had been plenty spacious with ample room for her to practice her skills. He'd taught her a good amount of hand-to-hand combat, which she could hold her own with if she had to.

But her semblance was and still is her biggest asset, and she'd often be able to avoid any opponent with a simple blink of her eyes.

She'd discovered and honed in on new skills, unlocked potential that had been hidden away for so many years until he'd come along and been the one to bother to challenge it.

She became unparalleled in her tricks, small-scale and large-scale.

She remembers the day he'd told her he had nothing left to teach her in terms of fighting that way, but then had suggested getting her a weapon of her own. Upon witnessing what other fighters used as their weapons, she'd instantly been able to decide what she wanted.

She'd crafted it herself, the same tool he'd given her so many years ago that cold rainy evening.

She equipped the umbrella with a blade and made it so that it was like a part of herself, an extension of her own body.

Everything she did echoed what he had done for her. She was always at his side.

Through countless shady business meetings, robberies, plots and plans of who to steal from, when and how much.

She was beside him through the fights with fellow thugs when violence broke out, which was not a rare occasion. She would defend him, protect him with the life he had given her, do anything and everything possible to get him out of harm's way. They'd always manage to limp home together somehow and collapse side by side on the bed.

When the huntsmen and huntresses started posing issues, she would fight them as well. She would fight the Grimm, the people, the elements. Anything for him. She'd always been there for him.

All but one time.

And that would turn out to be the only time that mattered.

The last time.

After the fighting with the Beacon huntresses, she looked everywhere for him. Through the steaming ashes of his fallen air ship, through the masses of injured people bleeding through the streets.

She searched through all of Vale, through all of the alleyways and nooks and crannies she herself had ever hid in, hoping to find him. Even if he were injured, she just hoped to find him.

She never did.

She still hasn't.

Even now she searches.

Even though it's been years. She searches.

She searches all the places she'd already searched, hoping beyond hope he might show up where he hadn't before.

He never does.

But that doesn't stop her from looking. From hoping.

The people they'd worked with and for in their heists haven't come looking for her, and so she doesn't go looking for them.

She still goes home to his warehouse, his apartment, the place she'd been allowed to call home.

She still sleeps in his bed, prepares the meals he always had, listens to his radio.

And when it rains, like it is today, she always goes to the ice cream shop.

In every other sense, and every other store or restaurant or market, she still holds true to his beliefs of getting back at this no-good town. She still steals from these people, gives them bad money, does every subtle thing within her limited power to make their lives more difficult.

All except for this place.

She comes into the shop to take shelter from the light drizzle outside. The windows and walls are still decorated with colorful posters and images of ice cream. Ownership had changed, and instead of a nasty old man the person behind the counter who greets her is a young woman with kind eyes. She's clearly surprised to see business on this cold rainy day, but as soon as she recognizes the customer that shock disappears.

She must be used to her by now. She always comes when it rains.

And she wordlessly buys a cone of her namesake ice cream, and she pays with genuine money.

Only this place. This is the only place she'd ever known him to spend real money.

She accepts the cone with the three colored scoops and turns for the door. It's colder outside than it was inside, but she doesn't care. She heads for the gazebo across the street, vacant as always, and sits down in the very same spot where she'd once huddled in fear of him.

She eats her ice cream in a much different manner than she first did. There is no more desperation to satiate a starved stomach. Thanks to him.

Now she eats slowly, savoring every taste, every flavor, every memory of him.

She still believes he might come back. She still hopes he will.

Even long after she finishes the last bite of the cone she sits there. She sits and listens to the rain as it picks up, until it's pouring, pelting.

She doesn't move until she feels she has to, until she knows he would've come by now if he were ever going to.

She picks up her umbrella and opens it, to protect herself as he'd once done.

She holds it over herself now as she limps home, shivering.

Without the weight of his trench coat on her shoulders, or his hat on her head, or his warmth in her heart.

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A/N: Thanks to Tom once again for the opportunity to write this story. It's one of my favorites, I have to say. I had a great time theorizing and expanding upon Neo's and Roman's individual and shared backstory. I hope all my readers enjoyed.