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The Aegean Sea was vibrantly beautiful as the first hints of sunset started to filter in through the horizon, the brilliant gradients of gold and red mingling with the deep blue of the cloudless skies above.
With a lighthearted hum, Reinhardt set down his supplies on a sturdy outcropping of old stone masonry shaded by a withered olive tree. With a few efficient movements, the old man set up a cushioned folding chair that he’d found tucked away in a storage closet back in Gibraltar and set to his side a small cooler full of chilled beer and fish bait. After that he opened up his tackle box, picked out the proper hooks, sinker, and bobber. Once the necessary pieces were set up onto a fishing rod that was probably as old as he was but still serviceable and in good condition, Reinhardt let the line cast out into the distance and disappear into the shimmering surface of the sea.
Reinhardt sat down on the folded chair with one hand curled loosely around the fishing rod and stretched out the aching muscles in his legs. After a moment, he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath to ease the ever-present tension coiled in his back and shoulders.
In no time, Reinhardt found himself drifting off…
…and the faint, achingly familiar scent of rosewater had him opening his eyes once more.
“Ana…”
“Ahlan, Reinhardt.”
The gentle smile on her face, half-hidden by the shock of white hair peeking out from underneath the hood of her armored cloak, was just as he’d remembered from so many years ago. The lines creased around her uncovered eye seemed deeper and wearier, no doubt hiding unsolved shadows and unsaid troubles, but Reinhardt said nothing as he prepared to get up from his chair in order to offer it to the woman.
A gloved hand carefully rested onto his shoulder. “It is just us here; you do not need to offer your chair up.”
“But—”
“Hush, umri.”
The whispered endearment had Reinhardt’s mouth snapping shut.
Ana slid gracefully down onto the grassy spot next to Reinhardt’s chair, tucking her legs underneath and resting her biotic rifle across her lap. She stared out towards the sea with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes.
Reinhardt’s fingers clenched from around the fishing rod, the metal creaking dangerously in his grip. “I mourned you. For years, I have wondered what could have been the outcome had I accompanied you on that mission… but now…”
“I know.” Ana reached over to put her hand on top of Reinhardt’s, squeezing softly. The difference between their sizes – pale, well-calloused fingers bold against the black of her gloves – was stark.
“You’ve returned to me seemingly no worse for wear, spatzi. I cannot…” Reinhardt could not hold back the sob that choked at his throat. He dropped his fishing rod and reached out for Ana, curling her into his hold.
Ana, with her face buried into the older man’s broad chest, wrapped her arms back around him and let out a low sigh the best she could. Her biotic rifle had slipped to the ground next to her. “I’m sorry, Reinhardt. I needed time, after everything…”
Reinhardt blinked furiously, his vision blurred by the tears building up in his eyes as he pulled Ana even closer. “We mourned you… I mourned you…”
“I know, umri, I know.” Turning her head into a better position to rest against Reinhardt’s collarbone, Ana simply squeezed back as hard with all of her strength and closed her uncovered eye.