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It all happens so quickly. The call, the crash, and suddenly it's him and Clover and Tyrian in a fight that Qrow really doesn’t want to be in. Emotions are running high and Qrow can’t shake the feeling of how absolutely wrong this is.
How could Clover side with Ironwood on this, how could he turn his back on all of Mantle? He’s fighting feelings of betrayal just as much as he’s fighting the two men in front of him, parrying a blow from Kingfisher and jumping back, only to get launched forward, back into the fray, by a push from Tyrian’s tail.
“Fuck, we’re wasting time here, Clover!” he yells as he lets loose a fluffy of slashes. “James is going to leave your whole kingdom to die, while we’re here playing in the snow.”
Clovers eyes are hard as he blocks his blow, jumping back, but he doesn’t back down.
“I have my orders,” he says and Qrow knows he’s not imagining the sadness and regret in the man’s voice. Still, it’s apparent he’s made his choice, and that choice isn’t Qrow. “It’s nothing personal.”
Nothing personal? Qrow grits his teeth and tries to ignore the rage the words ignite in his chest. They had been partners, hadn’t they? Comrades in arms in the fight against Salem and the Grimm and whatever else came their way. How could this be anything but personal?
No, this was a betrayal. This was a betrayal against him, his nieces, and all the people that they as huntsmen swore to protect. It was a betrayal of the friendship there’d built upon games of cards in transport ships, smiles and jokes shared between missions, and looks that lingered just long enough to make Qrow wonder if he and Clover could ever be something more. A betrayal that led to him with his back to a murderer, facing off against a friend.
“You’re making a choice here, Clover, and it’s going to get people killed!”
“It’s the right call, Qrow. This is war!”
“You’d abandon thousands just because James says so!?”
“I trust James!” Clover shouts. “And I wanted to trust you too!”
Qrow takes a step back, the words hitting him like a physical blow. Distantly, he can hear Tyrian cackling, clearly enjoying the show.
“Well I trusted you,” he responds. “I relied on you. I believed in you and I was wrong!”
Now it’s Clover’s turn to be taken aback, but Qrow can’t bring himself to care through the rage and hurt that’s assaulting him. He’d trusted Clover, changed because of Clover, only to be burned in the end.
But this wasn’t the end, it couldn’t be. He had more battles to fight, a kingdom to save, and a ragtag group of young huntresses and hunters to protect.
Clover blinks in surprise as Qrow levels him with a fiery gaze and suddenly the man is in front of him, a comet of black shooting forward and closing the distance between them in a flurry of dark feathers. The upward blow to his jaw launches him upwards, an explosion of pain and confusion because how had Qrow done that? Speed wasn’t his semblance.
He twists in the air, and launches Kingfisher’s line towards Qrow as he recovers, looping the wire around Qrow’s body, but he’s no longer there, his afterimage fading as the huntsman flips backward, landing on the snow and blasting a round of shotgun shells at him, hitting Clover dead in the center of the chest, shattering his aura.
Clover hits the ground hard, and it takes him a bit to get back on his feet, but by then Qrow has shifted his attention to Tyrian.
“Out of my way!” He snarls, swinging at the scorpion.
“But we’ve only just started having fun!” Tyrian cackles, striking at him with his tail.
Clover readies his weapon again. Qrow’s back is turned, he can restrain him, then take on Tyrian and -
He doesn’t get to finish his thought as a ghostly red knight rises up before him, knocking Kingfisher out of his hands with its sword, before kicking him in the gut and forcing him to his knees.
Meanwhile, Qrow is fighting Tyrian hand to hand, matching him blow for blow. From his position, blocked by the summon, Clover can only look on, watching as Qrow quickly gains the upper hand, each blow seeming to stagger Tyrian a little bit more. It may have been a trick of the light, but Clover could have sworn that Qrow’s eyes were glowing a brighter red than usual as he struck the final blow, Tyrian’s face hitting the floor with enough force to crack the ground, aura dissipating in a purple burst as the man is forced into unconsciousness.
Huffing, Qrow turn to face Clover, his knight fading with the battle won. They stare at each other for a long moment.
“So when were you going to tell me your semblance wasn’t bad luck?” Clover asks with a tired smile, breaking the silence.
“It was when I met you,” Qrow replies.
“But it’s not now?”
Qrow crosses his arms and huffs. “They say that a person’s semblance is a reflection of their character, and I’d like to think my character has change a lot since we first met. I’m in a better place than I was then and a lot of it is thanks to you. You got me to open up, learn to rely on others, trust people a little more. I guess my semblance grew to reflect that.”
Each word is a stab to Clover’s heart.
“Is that why your semblance looks like copies of your team’s? Because you trust them?”
“Could have probably copied yours too, but I don’t think there’s any chance of that right now. Just my luck, huh?” Qrow pauses before he meets Clover’s eyes with an indecipherable glance. “But who knows? Crows are great at mimicry.”
Hope springs in Clover’s chest, even as Qrow turns away, the man’s form disappearing in a flurry of feathers, replaced with the shape of a bird soaring towards the horizon.
Maybe one day Qrow would trust him again.