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Qrow opens his eyes to a slate grey ceiling--the same one he's been looking at for a month now. The shock of it all never really seems to wear off; that he's here at all, honestly. That his family's with him, that they're alive and as well as they could be. In the face of all this horror.
Qrow himself is... less alive. Actually, right now, he'd rather he weren't at all--either his head is pounding from a headache, or from guilt. Probably both.
He sits up. Definitely both.
He's awake right now for a reason, though. It's the same every day; more missions as they steadily encroach on their goal. So many missions. So many goddamn missions.
Sometimes they're with Ruby or Yang, though, so it's not a complete loss. The Ace Ops aren't so bad either. Clover is quiet enough not to be a nuisance, even though he looks at Qrow like that. Like he sees through Qrow's bullshit with no effort, and doesn't even mind what he sees when it's gone.
He'll mind if Qrow shows up to the meeting room like this, that's for certain. He feels like he's pulled an all-nighter; probably looks the part too. Even now, his fingers itch for a bottle, but he's been dealing with that for a month now, and the guilt is much more pressing.
Qrow rolls out of bed and into the bathroom, washing his face, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. Even as he readies himself for the day, his thoughts follow him. He'd promised Ruby. Not in so many words, but he did, just to keep away her disappointment, and he broke his goddamn promise. Weeks of work--gone.
He makes it into the mission room half a minute before the day starts. Everyone else is there already, talking amongst themselves. Qrow pauses briefly when Ruby looks up from pestering Weiss and grins at him--it feels like a bag of bricks has been dropped on his back, and he barely avoids stumbling.
Clover stands up next to the mission board and Qrow's eyes snap to him; for a second it seems like he's looking back, but Qrow blinks and the moment is gone. He hovers behind the other huntsmen, waiting out of the light.
"Morning, folks. Let's see what we have today." Clover taps the mission board and it hums to life, emitting that Atlas blue glow. "First up, clearing out an evacuated mine, Grimm infestation--three or four people..."
Qrow's focus slips away from Clover's words. He's very tired; up too late, drank too much--drank at all--, too much disappointment on his shoulders, hopelessness sinking its claws into his skin. A certain kind of... apathy.
Qrow shudders away from the thought and stares at Clover instead, studying him. His bright blue-green eyes, crinkling at the edges, lashes brushing his cheeks when he blinks. The wrinkles under his eyes that are more smile lines than shadows. A slight smirk on his lips.
"That alright with you, Qrow?" says Clover, looking at him. Qrow startles.
"Uh, yeah," he says, voice hoarse. Clover raises an eyebrow at him for a moment before addressing the rest of the group.
"That's all then, folks. Get to it."
Qrow hovers as everyone else disperses with lively chatter; luckily--or possibly unluckily, it's hard to tell sometimes--Clover only walks over to Qrow, pausing with one hand on his hip. Qrow looks back hesitantly.
"Ready to go?"
Qrow opens his mouth and closes it before settling for shrugging. Clover narrows his eyes, though his lips are twisted in amusement--but he doesn't say anything. Just tips his head to the doorway and walks past Qrow, hips swaying.
Qrow scowls and hurries to catch up to him. He's too sober--no, too hungover--to deal with Clover's thing; he refuses to call it flirting. That would make it real. Instead he keeps his gaze forward and thinks unflattering things about Clover's unprofessional attitude. As if he has any ground to stand on when it comes to being professional, but when has Qrow ever denied being a hypocrite?
They make it all the way to the airstrip before Qrow gives in, turning to face Clover only slightly. "Soo," he says, tapping a finger on Harbinger's hilt, "where are we going, again?"
Clover's steps falter for the briefest moment, and his gaze flicks to Qrow's and away again. "While I'm sure you already know," Clover replies, one eyebrow raised, "we're patrolling Mantle's eastern wall for a few hours. There have been unusually frequent Grimm reports on that side."
"Right," Qrow replies, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. Clover taps on the door of the nearest airship until the it swings open and he exchanges words with the pilot. Qrow tries to rub the tiredness out of his eyes, squinting in Clover's direction when the cargo door opens and he hops in.
"Come on, Qrow," Clover says, holding a hand out. Qrow shakes off the lethargy and begrudgingly takes it, yanked up with force onto the floor of the airship, stumbling into Clover's embrace. Casually Qrow puts space between them, though his hand remains pleasantly warm, and he feels somewhat like there's a magnet in his chest and Clover is holding the other end.
Qrow sits down by a window and watches Atlas get smaller and smaller--belatedly he notices Clover's taken a seat next to him. His reaction time only spells disaster for this mission; he should have taken a day off, probably. But they don't have time for that.
This is his own fault, anyway. It always is.
"You good?" Clover says, eyes flicking to Qrow and back to the window. Qrow runs a hand through his hair.
"Peachy," he says, somewhat dry. Clover's lips quirk.
"Got it. Hopefully it'll be smooth sailing from here on out." They sit back in tentative silence; occasionally Clover will reply to something on his earpiece and Qrow will get a message from Ruby or Yang on his scroll. Weiss just took out four Grimm at once! his scroll exclaims, as the airship slows to hover above Mantle's walls.
Clover turns around and dives off of the airship with ease, though his glance lingers, and Qrow follows hastily. He lands too heavy on his feet and blinks rapidly as he readjusts to the freezing temperature.
Clover only brushes off his shoulders and inhales deeply. "That'll wake you up," he comments, scuffing a boot on the thin layer of ice on the ramparts. "The heat doesn't really reach this far out. Thankfully we have enough Aura to keep us nice and warm."
"Oh, sure," Qrow rolls his eyes. "Nice and warm. That's how you'd describe this?" He eyes the icy tundra in front of them, spread out as far as the eye can see.
"Practically a hot summer day," Clover declares. "I'd visit the beach if it weren't frozen over."
"You could go fishing," Qrow suggests. He feels the slightest urge to smile--a sharp contrast to the ache that's been plaguing him since he woke up. With a gesture to Kingfisher, he says, "Probably even break through the ice with that thing."
"Probably?" Clover scoffs. "I absolutely could. Nothing like a little ice fishing to get your heart rate up."
"Uh huh." Qrow sends a skeptical side eye Clover's way. Sometimes he wonders just how this man is the leader of a special ops division--and then he remembers his battle prowess, his planning tactics, his encouraging optimism; Qrow could go on. "You do a lot of that?"
They set off on their patrol, side by side, Qrow peering out into the white expanse while Clover keeps a critical eye on Mantle below. "Some," Clover says amiably. "I only started fishing when we left Mantle, since we were on the coast, but I've tried it out here in my spare time."
"Doesn't it get... boring? Or cold?"
"Probably would if you tried it; I don't know if you'd ever get anything on the line." Clover's eyes crinkle in a smile, and Qrow snorts. He's damn lucky he's never been forced to. "But I usually catch more than I want to keep, if I'm trying. Besides, it's not really the fishing I enjoy. Just the nostalgia. Reminds me of... simpler times."
Clover glances down at Mantle, his eyebrows furrowed. Qrow bumps his shoulder and he looks over--when they make eye contact, Qrow offers him the strongest smile he can drag up past the ice in his limbs and heart. Clover's expression softens and he bumps Qrow's shoulder back, but they soon fall into silence, worry tugging at their heels.
The cold is not helping Qrow stay awake. Neither is the warmth of Clover next to him, nor the steady rhythm of their footfalls. The only thing keeping his heavy eyelids from sliding shut is the guilt; the bitterness that says you failed you failed you failed and knowing this you will not rest. With the silence setting in, he has nothing to distract himself from his shame.
Maybe it's Clover's luck, then, that something dark catches his eye, even through the blurriness. His hand goes to Harbinger automatically, and he hurries over to the edge of the wall--sure enough, a pack of sabyrs roam below, momentarily unaware of the presence of Huntsmen. Qrow pulls up Harbinger and sets the Grimm in his sights.
Four shots--the recoil force travels all the way down to his ankles, shaking his bones. Qrow grunts and reloads as Clover unhooks Kingfisher from his belt and hurls it down at the three remaining sabyrs. He yanks the line so that the harpoon is angled just so to go through two of the sabyrs. Qrow takes the last one out with a meticulously placed head shot.
Clover reels his weapon back in, catching it one handed and turning it back into the compact fishing pole he usually carries. Qrow sets Harbinger in its holster on his lower back and shakes his ankles out as discreetly as possible. Doesn't stop Clover from sending him a concerned look, but he stays quiet aside from that, and they continue their patrol in the cold stillness.
Qrow would walk closer to Clover if he had the courage; it's warmer there.
"Are you liking Atlas at all?" Clover offers into the silence. Qrow's shoulders lose some of their tension automatically at the sound of his voice, and he grits his teeth at the weakness.
"Not much more than I did before," he says honestly. A complicated expression crosses Clover's face, but it's gone before Qrow can figure out what he's thinking. "This shit with Mantle--it's going to send this whole place to the ground. You know that, right?"
Qrow's not sure why he said that--of course Clover knows. It's in the way that he holds himself when everyone else looks away, the way he keeps quiet out of respect that frankly, Qrow doubts Ironwood deserves. He's just salting an open wound. Damn it.
"We're just trying to fix all this," Clover says, bringing a hand up to trace the edges of his pin. "I have to believe that we will. If I don't--"
"No," Qrow interrupts, voice tight, "I'm sorry. I know you're trying. It's just..."
"I get it. Good luck, optimism--bad luck, pessimism, right?"
Qrow barks a laugh. "Guess that's it. Hard to think that something good will happen when your life has been one long unfortunate event."
Clover taps his pin. "Hey, not everything in your life is unlucky. You're still here, aren't you? You have a mission. You've got nieces who love you very much."
"And how could I forget you?" Qrow rolls his eyes, figuring he should get it in before Clover does--but when the silence goes on for a beat too long, he glances over to see the other Huntsman wide-eyed, cheeks dusted pink from the cold.
Clover blinks and looks at down his feet for a moment before rolling his shoulders back. "Of course. Don't forget me."
"I would never," Qrow says with decidedly more sincerity than intended. Dangerous territory, his mind warns, but Clover only brushes their hands together and smiles to himself. Qrow pushes down the warmth that spreads through him.
"You even quit drinking," Clover says, because Qrow can never keep a good thing for long. "That's something to be proud of."
The warmth is gone before he even has a chance to savor it. "I'm--I'm," he looks down and curses his stumbling mouth. "Yeah," he settles for mumbling, right before something that looks like a Solitas-breed manticore soars up from the tundra and lands in front of them. It's quickly followed by another, but a glance around reveals no more in close proximity.
"I'll take the one behind," Clover says, all confidence in battle. "Let's take them out. Go for the underside."
Qrow would usually have something to say about advice--he's an experienced Huntsman, after all--but he's tired, and he can accept that Clover really just meant to be helpful. He nods instead and triggers Harbinger into scythe form, setting his feet wide into a fighting stance. Clover readies Kingfisher next to him.
"Now," Clover urges as the first manticore makes a flying leap towards them. Qrow darts forward and hooks Harbinger around its neck, flinging it upward and taking a shot at its stomach. Clover rushes past him and the distraction makes his shots go wide; he curses as the manticore dives for him, claws outstretched. They snag on his cloak and he spins around to slide Harbinger across the ground, catching on the manticore's other front leg and sending it sprawling forward. One more well-placed shot at its throat and it disintegrates into a black cloud that's quickly swept away by the bitter Solitas breeze. Following its path, his eyes land on Clover, retracting Kingfisher and hooking it back around his belt.
"Guess they weren't kidding about the Grimm warnings over here," Qrow says as he catches up. Usually patrolling Mantle's walls is a relatively uneventful job.
Clover gives him a long, appraising look. "Guess so," he replies eventually. "You okay?"
Qrow ignores the twinge in his shoulder where the manticore's claws grazed him. "Of course. You're talking to a professional Huntsman here."
"Right," Clover rolls his eyes discreetly, but Qrow still catches it. "I don't know why I bother."
Qrow eyes him narrowly. "I can hold my own," he retorts. "I could probably even beat you in a fair fight."
Clover looks off into the distance as they resume walking, though Qrow knows he can see Qrow's scowl in his peripheries. "I wasn't asking if you finished the job," he says, "I was asking if you were okay."
All of Qrow's fight bleeds out of him and he stares at the ground. "Well, I--I am." It sounds halfhearted even to his own ears. Clover doesn't even dignify him with a response; he feels as cold as the Solitas air. Qrow isn't... used to dealing with people like Clover. People who can look at him and see good things. It's why he's caught off-balance by Clover's presence, left unguarded and hesitant. But the silence is still hard to break.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, the wall starts to tremble a few minutes later. Qrow stumbles into Clover--goddamn Semblance--and Clover grips his shoulders, holding him upright. They make eye contact; more Grimm, Clover's eyes say. Qrow nods and steps away from Clover, closer to the edge, to peer down.
A few sabyrs ram themselves against the walls. They're strangely agitated, almost crazed. One of them twists its head up and meets Qrow's gaze with its own red pupils; a moment later, it screeches. Qrow jumps at the unholy sound and his foot catches on something--an uneven piece of stone maybe--sending him forward. He can feel his Semblance flare and he flails for something to catch, but it's too late; he's sent over the side of the wall, hurtling towards the Grimm below him.
"Qrow!" Clover shouts, eyes wide, skidding to a halt at the edge of the wall. Kingfisher is raised, poised, as he searches for his partner, but Qrow seems to have all but disappeared.
A moment later, a crow swoops upward away from the sabyrs, who glance up at Clover and turn away, choosing to sprint after the crow instead. Clover's knuckles go white around Kingfisher and he hurtles it towards the pack; they don't even notice as their pack mates are run through with a harpoon one by one.
The crow turns back towards Mantle, bringing the sabyrs closer. One of them takes a leap and catches the crow's wing; it cries out in pain and Clover yanks Kingfisher back to him, taking a moment to realign his aim before hurling the harpoon just so the sabyr is punctured at the base of its neck. The crow flaps upward as soon as its wing is freed and flies crookedly back toward the wall. Clover takes out the one remaining sabyr and looks up just in time to see the crow transform into something much larger, much more human, and stumble on the top of the ramparts, unable to stop his momentum as he gets closer and closer to the edge on Mantle's side--
Clover grabs Qrow's hand and pulls him back. They stare at each other for a long moment, Qrow bent over, sucking in frantic breaths, Clover so still he could be frozen.
"...Clover?" Qrow asks, unfolding himself and wincing. He can feel his ribs aching, skin above them ripped and studded with puncture marks, and one of his pant legs is torn and the skin sliced open below it.
The sound of Qrow's voice kick starts Clover into working again. He lets out a breath and runs his free hand through his hair; Qrow furrows his brows at the fact that he's so obviously shaken. Clover had struck him as someone who was... well, unshakable. At least where other people could see.
"I thought--" Clover shakes his head, "you could've..."
His expression hardens, and he starts to let go of Qrow's hand until Qrow tightens his grip. "It would've been nice to know you could do that before your life was in danger," Clover settles on, giving a small, strained smile.
Qrow rubs the back of his neck. "...Sorry," he says, looking down. "It's not usually something I just... go around telling people. I mean, then they start asking you questions. Like, wow, is magic real? And you have to explain things--no, not really, but sometimes... it's a hassle."
At least that gets the pinched expression off of Clover's face, though he still looks uncharacteristically distressed. "Well, maybe we can talk about it later, but as long as you're okay..." he pauses. "You are okay, right?"
Qrow snorts. How many times is Clover going to ask him that? Until he's honest? "I'm fine--"
The moment he tries to take a step, his ankle gives out. He crumples to the ground and Clover follows a second later, hands wrapped around his wrists. Qrow laughs weakly through the spike of pain. "Um, guess I should take a minute," he says. "Sorry 'bout holding you up."
Clover sighs and sits forward. "Look, Qrow, I don't want you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. But I also don't want you to die because you keep attracting Grimm." Qrow's shoulders hunch as a familiar surge of guilt sweeps through him, but Clover holds up his hand--"This is not about your Semblance. This is about the fact that you've been off all day and you're giving off negativity in waves, and you're going to get yourself hurt--" he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a breath through his nose.
Qrow stares at him. He knew Clover liked him, at least on the surface. It just--he didn't know Clover cared that much. The knowledge warms something in him, something that's been cold for a very long time.
All at once his defenses drop. Qrow is abruptly tired of fighting something--someone--that has nothing but good intentions. "I drank yesterday," he mutters, and Clover's teal eyes open, softening as they meet Qrow's own. "It's been over a month. I just--" he rubs his temples. "I thought I'd kicked it. Unlucky me, huh?"
"Hey," Clover interrupts. One hand squeezes Qrow's own. "Nobody's progress is linear. Everyone makes mistakes, bad luck Semblance or no."
Something about the way he says it makes Qrow wonder if he's struggled too, but maybe that's a conversation for another time. "I do know that," he says, free hand playing with the red ascot around Clover's arm. "It doesn't make it easier when it happens."
Clover smiles. "Well hey," he says. "You're going to keep getting better. You're strong like that; I've seen it. And next time, maybe you can come to me. If you feel like it." His eyes stray away from Qrow's, and Qrow feels his cheeks get warm. Brothers, he's too old for this. He shouldn't be acting like a lovesick teenager.
Still. The idea is... appealing. "I might take you up on that," he says, and clears his throat when his voice comes out hoarse. The declaration seems to bring back Clover's confident persona, and the Ace Op leans over to squeeze Qrow's shoulder--Qrow's breath may or may not catch at his close proximity.
"I look forward to it," Clover says, eyes sparkling. Qrow rolls his own. "Think your ankle's good enough to start walking again?"
Qrow shrugs. "Sure," he says, and it only twinges painfully for a moment when Clover helps him up, so he calls that a win.
"You know, Qrow," Clover side-eyes him as they slowly resume their patrol of the ramparts, "my door's always open to you."
"Yeah," says Qrow. Stepping a little closer. Keeping that warm feeling in his chest. "I know."