Chapter Text
There is no way young people these days make any sense at all, Clover thinks, running in the snow, weapon in hand. Why do they see danger and start running head first towards it? Trained military and Huntsmen, Clover can understand - but civilians? Why are they all rushing to the site of the Amity Colosseum as the news announced some dust crystals supporting the stadium started to crumble and fall, instead of away from it? Is it despair, the hope to grab even a handful of raw dust without paying the ludicrously high prices set by the Schnee Dust Company? Is it mistrust, to check with their own eyes what the broadcasts reported, to make sure it’s all really happening, and not doctored footage, with all that’s going on these days?
But it’s all really happening, and it’s all a mess. The teams on site have to limit damage due to falling Dust, protect civilians running and panicking under the Colosseum, and fend off the Grimm their fear is rounding. All that while praying for the Amity tower not to fall. On that last one, Clover can only count on his luck, as his fingers reflexively stroke his pin, the familiar cold metal like a calm anchor amongst the chaos.
The Ace Op leader swings the hook of is weapon, catching the tusk of an Alpha Boarbatusk and sending the creature flying. On the corner of his eye, the blade of Harbinger enters his field of view, curving into its scythe mode. Qrow cleaves the boar-like Grimm in a single strike, earning a nod from Clover. Retracting his weapon into its broadsword form, he holds it up as a shield before a handful of civilians, blocking an incoming rain of small dust shards.
“Put these scrolls away,” Qrow mutters under his breath, “no time for selfies.”
“That’s so mean,” Clover pouts jokingly, “they just wanted a pic with the dashing Huntsman who saved their lives...”
Clover cannot help but notice how the scythe-wielder gapes slightly -and entirely too adorably, he might add- before retorting, no doubt still surprised anyone would even compliment him.
“Speak for yourself, pretty boy.”
“Did you just -”
“Hey boys!” Harriet’s sneers from just above them.
She lands elastically, using the flat of Harbinger as a springboard to propel herself toward a large Griffin overhead. As she catches the Grimm in a chokehold, she winks at her teammate as if to wish him good luck. Winter Schnee simply shoots the Ace Op leader her sharpest disapproving glance before raising her weapon, producing a series of spinning glyphs in mid-air for the speedster to rebound on.
Clover clears his throat in feint embarrassment, before calling out through comms in his most professional voice:
“Ruby, can you take these civilians to safety? We’ve got a group of three adults and one teenager. Sharing our location. Do you copy?”
“On it!”
A fraction of a second later, a gust of rose petals envelops the small party Qrow was protecting, dashing away from the shadow of the collapsing Colosseum.
“Alpha, this is Jaune Arc,” Clover’s comms chirped again. “All civilians are now removed from the field and secured. Confirmed by camera footage. Ren and I are shielding them so they’ll stop attracting the Grimm.”
“Good job, both of you,” the Ace Op replies immediately. “Anyone injured?”
“Nothing critical, some sprained ankles… still working on it,” the blonde replied with the slightest twinge of frustration.
“Glad to hear, keep up the good work!”
“Thanks, sir!”
Clover grins inwardly as he can practically hear the proud smile on Jaune’s lips.
“So now it’s just us and the Grimm?” Qrow asks as he shoots a falling Lightning Dust crystal, deflecting it to collide with a small Nevermore.
“Looks like it, let’s clear out that vermin and then go home,'' the Ace Op responds as he dances his way through the swarming Grimm toward his partner.
Beside them, Vine reaches out with his Semblance, catching the Lightning Dust fragment and tossing it onto Nora with one elongated Aura arm. The redhead shatters it with one swing of Magnhild, sparks flying in the cold air. Using the recoil of her weapon, she launches herself straight toward a sizeable Ursas, only leaving a cold breeze and small shards of Dust in her wake.
Clover sees it before it can happen - yet, still too late. A civilian woman crouches down in the snow, hand outstretched toward the Dust crystals. He throws the hook of Kingfisher, snatching her away just before a pack of Ursas can trample her.
“Stay!” Marrow yells, his Semblance flaring out before any more civilians can run toward danger.
A dozen people freeze mid-motion as the Dog Faunus stands, still like a statue, unable to move as a shadow descends upon him too quickly … Looking upward, Clover can see a large collapsing debris from the stadium in freefall toward where his youngest Ace Op, whose Aura is quickly dripping down. He knows that if he moves Marrow, the people he keeps in place will be freed, which may result in even more damage. Still, he has to try, he can only rely on his luck for the manoeuvre to work out. He caresses his lucky pin and raises Kingfisher -
A punch to the chest sends Clover tumbling on the snowy ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Before he has time to sit up, he finds Harbinger in its sword form inches from his face, pointed at him without intention to harm him but preventing him from springing back into action.
“Sorry, pretty,” Qrow murmurs with his usual snark, “you’ll thank me later.”
And with that, he vanishes into a flurry of feathers. Before he can track the small shape of a black bird amongst the mess of the sky crumbling over their heads, the operative already knows where Qrow is headed for. The massive piece of stadium is a mere hundred feet above Marrow, a behemoth amalgamation of torn rusty steel and shattered Dust crystals the size of a small house, tumbling down at increasing speed. As he soars past the debris, the shapeshifter morphs back to his human shape in mid-air, his pepper and salt hair windswept, the blade of his scythe outstretched.
Clover’s heart misses a beat. It all happens too fast. The jarring sound of metal ripping through metal resonates in his very bones like nails raking against a chalkboard, sending shivers down his spine as Harbinger swiftly shreds the debris. The pieces fall, missing Marrow - but not Qrow. A bright flash of light, a puff of smoke, and the impending smell of burnt Dust wafts to the Ace Ops’ nostrils. The Huntsman’s Aura shatters into a dozen red sparks, and he plummets.
He plummets down through the sky. He plummets, and Clover’s heart is beating again, so strong, so fast as he sprints straight ahead. Overhead, the translucent silhouette of a Queen Lancer flutters its wings, its prehensile dart catching the shapeshifter and slowing his fall without managing to stop it. The Ace Op leader dashes forward and drops to his knees, barely catching Qrow in his outstretched arms before he hits the ground.
“Qrow! Qrow, can you hear me? I got you. Seems to be my second job is to catch you these days, don’t you think?”
He shakes the Huntsman’s slumped form in his arms, gently then vigorously, but to no avail.
“Come on, you’ve gotta wake up. Come on, my luck can’t run out, you can’t leave me, you can’t do that...”
His voice is just a hoarse whisper, because everything is silent; everything is too loud but his mind is like a prison. The Queen Lancer above him vanishes into a sprinkle of silver snowflakes, the Grimm snarl at the raw emotion drifting off every pore of his skin, Fetch whistles past his ears, slicing at the monstrous claws, talons, and fangs surrounding him, but none of that even registers to Clover’s mind, none of that even scratches the surface. Marrow is barking at him, trying to say something while shooting his gun and waltzing a lethal waltz through the snow to cut down the circle of Grimm around them. But it doesn’t matter, because his partner lay lifeless in his arms and it can’t be and Qrow isn’t hurt no he cannot be hurt and he will come back he has to come back it’s so unfair it’s not possible -
“Awaiting your orders, sir.”
There is something rippling at the back of Clover’s mind, very, very far away in silence. He knows Marrow and Jaune are calling him through comms, but it sounds too distant. A veil of tears descends over his eyes, and he shakes his head violently because there’s nothing else he can do, he doesn’t know what to do. A flight of crimson petals drifts past his eyes, and a blink of an eye later Ruby is crouching by his side, her hands all over her fallen uncle.
“Is he injured? We have to move him out of here. Can we safely move him? He doesn’t look injured, other than minor burns from the Dust explosion…”
But Clover senses something is very wrong. His hand wraps around Qrow’s back to lift him up, and he feels something that shouldn’t be there… a part of his back that shouldn’t be detached and hanging downward like that… no no no no no… he has to move him out of harm’s way he can’t afford to look at the damage under that cape he doesn’t want to look… he can’t look now he has to be strong for Qrow for Ruby...
“I’ll take him out of the way. You and Harriet have to circle the perimeter, as fast as you can, to create a vortex that will contain any falling debris inside. Harriet, this is Clover, do you copy?”
“Yes sir!”
“Yes sir,” Ruby immediately echoes with a rushed imitation of a military salute before running off in a storm of petals.
“Schnee, prepare to catch any big fragments of Dust or debris falling from up there and slow them down so that nothing explodes. Can you do that from afar, without standing directly under the Colosseum?”
“Which Schnee?” Weiss and Winter chirp in unison.
“... Both of you. Marrow, cover me.”
“Aye, on it.”
A pallid armoured knight emerges from the ground in the middle of the stadium’s shadow, surrounded by a pack of silvery Beowolves, all rising to several feet over Clover’s head. As the canine Faunus clears the way, the older Ace Op places Qrow over his shoulder, a pang of worry clutching at his throat as he fears that might hurt the unconscious Huntsman’s back further. But he needs his other hand to fight the Grimm: he lassoes some metallic debris on the ground with his weapon and sends it flying against the herd of dark creatures on his way. He pulls back the pole of Kingfisher, thrusts at the Grimm’s eyes, slashes at their paws, hooks Marrow’s boomerang to propel it onto its lethal course, moving like an automaton along a well-rehearsed, well-oiled choreography. Because it all fails to matter and all that matters is Qrow’s faint heartbeat just against his shoulder too slow too weak too cold…
He doesn’t know exactly how they get out of there, but they do. It’s like they emerge from a long, dark tunnel, and the Amity Colosseum’s shadow doesn’t loom over their heads any more. Jaune, Ren, and Vine are around them, chattering quickly as Clover falls to his knees, carefully depositing Qrow’s limp body onto the snow. He thinks Jaune said he was off to assist the Weiss and Winter with their summons, and it’s a good thing, the boy makes a pretty good leader. The distant sound of gunshots and slashing blades echoes through the thin air; Marrow and Ren must be leading a last skirmish against the remaining Grimm. There is an eerie stillness as if a storm rises, because a storm is rising. The speedsters circling the Colosseum started a small cyclone, capturing all the falling debris into its centre, into the eye of the storm where the summoned creatures stand, ready to catch them. And they do catch most of them, Clover notes as he breathes out slowly.
The Ace Op blinks - and a loud crack echoes, bringing a large chunk of the stadium crashing down with its load of explosive Dust. No no no this can’t be happening I have to do something the summons won’t last long… Clover stands up, ignoring everyone around him and stepping toward the storm like a moth drawn to the light. The kids shuffle uncomfortably, but Vine stops them from intervening, understanding only his leader’s luck can limit the impending chaos when all that Dust hits the ground. The Colosseum might not be standing any more, the buildings around might be brought down, civilians may be injured… only Clover’s Semblance could make a difference at this point.
Clover stands at the brink of the storm, as if at the edge of the world. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing, like a puppet on strings, as the world all but ends right before his eyes. A high-pitched buzz rakes at his eardrums in the aftermath of the deafening explosion, amidst the sudden silence. For infinite seconds, all that’s left is the flash of bright light imprinted on his retinae. When the whiteness subsides, he’s not sure if he’s dreaming, or even dead; for among the dissolving summons he can distinguish the small shapes of Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses. Fiona Thyme holds her palm stretched out, basking in fading emerald Aura after the tremendous effort that must have been absorbing all of that debris into her Semblance, drastically limiting the damage and saving countless lives in the vicinity. The Faunus Huntress stumbles to her knees, supported by her teammates. Clover’s eyes meet Robyn’s dark, inscrutable glare, an unspoken gratitude, a burden eased off his shoulders like a bird taking flight. Then the Ace Op swivels around and darts back to Qrow’s side.
The transport back to Atlas is eerily silent. At the back of a truck, Clover is already writing his mission report, filling colourful boxes and charts on his Scroll. He has placed Qrow’s head on his lap, Jaune having done his best with whatever was left in him - he has to admit, the boy was a powerhouse - to restore Qrow’s Aura to decent levels. The older Huntsman still lay unconscious, and Clover has to force himself not to think about it, instead focusing on the report. The mission was just short of a complete disaster. The Colosseum had fallen apart, delaying the works to set up the Amity tower by months at least. The budget would skyrocket, and so would the hardships on the people of Mantle. With the help of Penny, some of that could have been salvaged, but the Council issued a vote of no confidence on Ironwood’s robot, essentially assigning her to house arrest, the General barely able to prevent them from having her shut down. Some civilians were wounded, and collateral damage to surrounding buildings was considerable. Without the last-minute help from the Happy Huntresses, massive casualties would have been inevitable. As much as Clover resents to admit it, his career and the fate of Atlas owed everything to Robyn Hill in this very moment.
And all that because he’s been reckless, because he panicked and let his feelings take control. If he hadn’t left the field after Qrow was injured, letting Ruby or Harriet evacuate him instead, his Semblance would have played its part, preventing the collapse of the Colosseum. Heck, if he hadn’t been so over-confident, if he’d paid more attention to the whereabouts of everyone under his command, maybe Qrow wouldn’t be hurt right now, his life hanging in the balance…
“Ever been told you work too much?” the shapeshifter mumbles in raspy tones, looking up at Clover through the incomplete mission report on his transparent Scroll screen.
“How are you feeling?” the Ace Op prompted, a mixture of surprise, relief, and worry pooling in his gut as he stares at the dark red eyes blinking open.
“You look gorgeous,” Qrow whispers breathlessly.
“You have a concussion, you’ve been hit by a Dust fragment the size of this truck. And...”
“Marrow?”
“He’s safe. Thanks to you.”
“I told you so. Hope I didn’t hurt you too bad,” the Huntsman muses, pressing his palm against the chiselled chest he had punched just before taking flight.
“Only my pride,” Clover snorts back, his heart electing an erratic pace just under the gentle pressure of Qrow’s hand.
“I had to make sure you didn’t do anything reckless.”
“I should have made sure you didn’t do anything reckless and risked your life...”
He chokes on his words as the older man suddenly sits up in his lap, pressing his forehead to his for stability and anchoring his hands around his shoulders.
“What did you expect? I’m me, reckless in my middle name. But you, you’re too perfect for that. And too innocent and cute.”
The heat, the proximity is simply intoxicating, the intensity of crimson eyes and enticing lips…
“Easy there, birdie. Must be the concussion talking… you should take it slow,” he murmurs, swallowing with some difficulty.
“I’m fine, really. Just a headache, I’ve seen much worse. You’re talking like I have some grievous injury somewhere...”
That must be Qrow’s version of ‘do I have something on my face’, and Clover just wants to kiss that smug grin off his mouth, but he first he has to tell the truth.
“Your back...” he says reluctantly, remembering the flesh hanging not the way it should when he’d touched it through the blood-red cape.
“What about it? It doesn’t hurt. It just feels a little… weird. Can you check?”
Clover suppresses a gasp as Qrow swifty springs to his feet, discarding his tattered cape and equally damaged shirt. He only catches a brief glimpse of lean, defined abs before Qrow turns his back to him - and he has to do a double take.
For on the shapeshifter’s back, instead of a mess of blood, were clean, smooth, dare he say beautiful, jet black feathers covering immediately recognisable appendages.
“Is that it? Do I still have… wings?” Qrow says shakily, trailing pale fingers across feathery surfaces he can’t quite reach.
He spins on his heels to face the Ace Op, who barely manages to produce a small, short nod. Clover only has time to see Qrow’s suddenly glassy glare fixating vaguely into the distance and the Huntsman slightly swaying on his feet, before his partner slumps into a dead faint straight into his arms in a flutter of feathers.