Chapter Text
Atlas was quiet at night, for the most part. People went to bed early, for city folk. The streets were almost empty after the sun went down. From what Qrow understood, it had taken all of Yang´s considerable skills to locate a club worthy of her time and attention. What made this club different from any other, or better, was beyond Qrow. Muted, the heavy bass of the music bled into the silent street, making Qrow´s head ache. The world got that way sometimes, especially when he was sober. Too loud. Too much. It made him wish for forests and clear skies.
Following the girls was habit as much as it was concern. It kept him busy and he could occasionally lend a hand in the sisyphean battle that was keeping them out of trouble. It was a cold night, but when wasn’t it cold in Atlas? Qrow hunched his shoulders against the chill and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, trying not to think about the building he was leaning against.
Despite himself, he could practically feel the bar behind him. It would take four steps to get to the door, then, from the glance he’d had earlier, half a dozen more steps to the quiet bar. The bartender didn’t know him, no one in the place would recognize him. He could order one drink and maybe if he just savored it, really took his time, one would be enough. Just to take the edge off. It wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk, not from just one drink.
He shut his eyes and pressed the back of his head against the brick. No one would have to find out. He could roost in a tree for the night— Yang had no idea he was following her, and Ruby was happily watching a movie. It would be so easy. No consequences, no—
“Qrow?”
Clover’s voice broke Qrow’s reverie. Qrow opened one eye to verify that the other man was, in fact, standing in the street, eyes lit with… delight? When was the last time anyone had looked happy to see him? Qrow wondered, and then felt guilty for the thought. That was unfair. Ruby was always happy to see him.
“Hey,” Qrow said, opening his eyes. He glanced around, assessing, but there was no immediate threat. “Aren’t you a little high ranking for night patrol?” He looked at the club. “Or are you here to—“ he tried to remember how Yang had phrased it. “Get your dance on?”
Clover’s lips twitched at that, his eyebrow quirking slightly. “Yang?” he guessed. When Qrow nodded acknowledgement, Clover shrugged. “I was just heading back. What are you doing out here?”
Qrow looked at the club and thought about telling the truth— that the habit built over years of watching the girls and trying to find the right distance between protecting them and endangering them was a hard thing to break, even if he thought he should. He could invite the other man to join him for his one drink. He could invite him for more than just one.
“Enjoying the weather,” Qrow said, instead. On cue, it began to sleet, making Clover laugh and duck under the bar’s awning with Qrow. They watched as it began to sleet in earnest.
“You don’t have to,” Qrow said after a while. “—Stay.”
“I know,” Clover said. He made no move to go, shifting his weight slightly so their arms pressed against each other, but his attention was on the sleet and the street before them. Despite being sleeveless, or maybe because of it, his arm was warm against Qrow’s. “Neither do you.”
Qrow glanced at him in question.
“It’s standard procedure to keep track of high ranking assets,” Clover explained with a shrug. “Even if the girls weren’t currently surrounded by off duty Atlas guards, I’m sure they can handle themselves. You deserve a night off as much as anyone.”
Qrow looked down at their feet. Clover’s boots were polished to a high gloss, a stark contrast to his own, beat to hell, boots. He exhaled a laugh at himself, a soft sound of self-depreciation. Of course the girls could handle themselves. They didn’t need him watching out for them, like some grubby guardian angel.
“You’ve got a better idea?” he asked, shrugging his own shoulders, just to feel the warm slide of Clover’s muscles against him.
“I can think of a few ways we could pass the time that would be…” Clover barely paused. “Warmer, at least.” He seemed absorbed in evaluating the downpour, but his fingers brushed Qrow’s.
Qrow cocked his head at Clover, studying him as he would any shiny thing that caught his eye. Clover did shine, too, the polish of his brass alluring in so many ways. Clover kept his gaze on the club in front of them, a faint smile on his lips, and gave nothing away, otherwise. It was something Qrow liked— the way he used his affable friendliness as a wall, giving nothing away except what he chose to share. It made him one hell of a card player.
“Yeah, okay,” Qrow said, finally. “Lead on, lucky charm.”