Chapter Text
“You… you really came.”
Qrow winces, opening his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings a little at a time as his brain finally adjusts to the intensity of the light shining through the air. A million and one sensations fill his mind, bombarding him with information so quickly he can barely adjust.
First and foremost though…
It is warm.
His fingers reach out, gentle at first before they scrabble at long, unruly grasses, shoots bending and snapping underneath his weight; he stands shakily, hearing stems crack as he moves about. He shifts his weight, oddly taken aback by the lack of pain in his bones. His hand flies up to his chest, to his throat, but there is no wound nor gash nor heartache to be found.
Once he is content with these quick examinations, a large, callused hand slips into his, squeezing gently, these fingers filling the spaces between Qrow’s without hesitation. They fit perfectly together.
Trembling, Qrow turns to the side to look at this figure who stands before him underneath golden rays. His free hand hesitantly reaches up, brushing soft, dun brown hair that is almost strawberry blond thanks to the sunlight out of jade eyes which stare directly into his heart. The man’s other hand catches his touch, turning Qrow’s palm inwards so he may press thin, wide lips against his skin. “Hi,” Clover breathes, his voice coming from these lips which Qrow has loved for years, not a sword nor clock face in sight.
Qrow takes in a deep, deep breath, eyes filling with tears, voice choking in his throat as he turns, finally registering the world around him. He wonders idly whether Clover has made it look like this for him; it is not the bleak, oppressive thing which he had seen with Ozpin.
The user shapes the world.
He snorts. Perhaps this is what he has always truly wanted, after all. There is no animosity in that thought, however, for he finds that he does not mind the fact that when he lifts his chin upwards, he can see the tiles in the sky. He does not mind the fact that, if he is correct, he is simultaneously closer and farther than he could ever be to the graves he left behind all those years ago. He does not mind the fact that he can see the hurt in Clover’s eyes- that he knows that he has a lot of reparations to do after causing Clover the grief and heartache of striking that final, painful blow.
After all, they have time. They are within the Harbinger, but within this little world of theirs, they are standing in pre-war Patch, with a forest of green and a field of flowers and a sun of gold around them. There is the sound of the ocean’s waves gently splashing against the cliffs in the distance- perfect for Clover’s fishing, he thinks wryly- and the singing of larks in the air.
There is a cottage a hundred feet away, with the reconstituted, whole, smiling figures of his precious nieces standing in the doorway, holding their arms out in wait for him. They are here.
He sighs, moving closer to Clover, relishing in the sensation of strong, corded arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him not as a weapon, but as a man. He had been right to sing that song- to wear Clover’s pin- to not give up hope. Somehow… he’s found his way back home.
He smiles, kissing that pin on Clover’s lapel before looking up into creased, contented eyes which have never looked away from him, no matter what. The brooch on Clover’s lapel matches his eyes. It always has. It always will.
“...Hey there, lucky charm,” he breathes at last. He is home.
-fin-