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Qrow’s never heard Clover sound anguished.
He’s been in pain before -- a hell of a lot of pain, if Qrow’s opinion on the subject was ever asked -- but in the time he’s known him at least, Clover’s never sounded anguished. He’d grunt at the pain with a grin and go on fighting, no matter how bad the injury was.
But he never sounded anguished.
It just makes that first scream of pure agony all the worse for Qrow to hear.
“AUGHHHH!”
The small Grimm Qrow was tearing apart becomes nothing to Qrow mentally just seconds before it does physically.
Right now, Qrow has something so much worse to face.
Qrow’s a second too late to catch Clover’s body as it hits the rough floor.
Immediately, Qrow can tell what happened as blood leaves Clover’s chest.
Poison. Clover’s been poisoned.
And in the same damn way he was.
Now wasn’t that just his luck?
Tyrion laughs at their anguish before being called away by another of Salem’s goons.
They’re alone.
Everything’s so cold.
“Clover,” Qrow says, begging more than anything for a response, for Clover’s semblance to kick in, for anything to happen that will nullify this twisted bit of fate.
He can tell Clover’s trying to say something, but the poison is acting fast, too fast to give his vocal cords any freedom to speak.
“Help!” Qrow shouts. He repeats the word again and again, louder and louder. He’s not sure if anyone can hear him.
He hopes someone can.
But for now, he ignores all else, his focus remaining unwaveringly on Clover.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, entwining their fingers, and holding his quickly chilling hand tight. “I-I was cured of his poison. And I went through a hell of a longer trip to get it.”
Even as he says it though, he can tell that this is a different case. Perhaps Tyrion got stronger in the interim between the two fights. Perhaps Salem gave him a bit of her magic.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
He’s going to lose Clover.
That’s what matters.
Hot tears flow from his face and splash against Clover’s.
Words won’t leave him until Clover breathes his last breath.
When they finally do, Qrow’s too overwrought with grief to be surprised at their sheer volume.
“Clover! Clover! Say something! Clover!”
()()()()()()()()()
“Clover!”
With that singular name, a pair of crimson eyes open in a snap.
The dark, crowded city that entombed Qrow just a moment ago is replaced by the warmth of the comforter that sits atop him and the solitude of his room.
Qrow’s had nightmares since the day he unlocked his semblance, but in all of those years, he’s never once called out something in his sleep...let alone someone.
Clover’s had one hell of an influence on him.
Clover…
Qrow jumps out of bed. Ebony still litters the sky outside his window like white over a fresh canvass, but Qrow heeds it no mind as he runs out of his room.
He’s 90% sure that Clover’s fine -- that his fate was one for the realm of his dreams alone.
But he’s not going to even chance that 10% that he’s wrong.
He needs to see Clover now -- alive and well -- before he even thinks about sleeping.
The Ace Op’s suite is a couple of floors down, and the elevator is painfully slow. Well, that’s a lie -- it’s quite fast, actually, but Qrow knows his feet are faster, especially now and he can’t bear to wait idly by even if he wasn’t.
Qrow’s arrival at the Ace Op’s suite comes with three panicked knocks on the door.
A frustrated groan escapes an unknown member’s lips. It’s not Clover’s -- Qrow can tell that right away. So he answers the groan with another knock, now more forceful in its tone than panicked.
Harriet answers. Her face gives away her mood.
“It is four in the morning,” she groggily states.
“I need to see Clover,” Qrow insists.
Just then, another door in the suite opens.
Clover exits it.
He looks completely fine.
Qrow’s never felt more relieved in his life.
“Qrow,” he says, sleepily, but readily. His eyes take a crescent shape as they mold into an expression of concern as his hands gesture to Harriet to let Qrow enter the suite. “Is everything okay?”
A verbal answer doesn’t leave Qrow’s mouth.
But as he pushes himself into Clover and surrounds him in his arms, he knows that a physical one will suffice.
As two hands collide with the small of his back, and gently rub it, Qrow’s given the final confirmation that Clover’s alive -- that this is indeed the Clover he knows and loves.
Loves…
He loves Clover.
Does he love Clover?
That’s one hell of a question.
But then again, it’s been one hell of a night.
Qrow knows the answer is yes, but won’t push his luck tonight.
Clover’s alive, and that’s enough -- more than enough, really.
That fact just about means the world to Qrow tonight.
Satisfied yet somewhat reluctantly, Qrow breaks the hug, though he and Clover remain intimately -- almost unbearably -- close. Clover’s hands move up from the small of his back to the back of his shoulders. He can feel Harriet’s presence no longer here.
Qrow can’t blame her. After all, it’s -- What did she say? -- four in the morning.
Oh God, he woke Clover up at four in the morning.
And now he has to answer for that action.
“Is everything okay? Do you want to talk?” Clover offers.
A squeak come out of Qrow in place of an answer.
In truth, he does want to tell Clover about his nightmare, but it’s four in the morning and he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe the horror that it contained, let alone all of the feelings it subsequently let loose.
Well, Clover could probably guess by now at least one of them.
Clover must have psychic powers as some kind of freaky second semblance he’s never told Qrow about because he seems to know that his request is just too much for him to handle right now.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he suggests instead. “All of the rooms here have a second bed, and I’m alone in mine.”
Finally, the fog in Qrow’s mind fully dissolves, allowing him to speak.
“Y-yeah.” He realizes that Clover’s the only person he’s ever hesitated around like this.
He then gulps at that realization.
Oh God, he loves Clover.
“Thank you,” Qrow hastily adds, as to not seem rude.
Clover seems relieved just to hear him speak. He gestures for Qrow to follow him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Clover says, letting a yawn escape him as he leads Qrow to his bedroom.
It’s a bedroom they’ll be sharing tonight.
Even if they’ll be in different beds, that pretty intimate.
Qrow decides not to focus on that. After all, it’s four in the morning, and now that he knows Clover’s alive, his need for sleep returns with a vengeance.
Instead, he focuses on how that air of levity in Clover’s voice lulls him. The ‘good night’ Clover’s bound to give him will probably soothe him to sleep entirely on its own.
This may have been one hell of a night, but at the end of the day, it’s one Qrow’s thankful for all the same.