Chapter Text
Clover had been just about to fall asleep when he heard it.
A scream that split through the calm night air, almost seeming to echo down the empty academy halls.
Clover couldn’t tell who it was, or where it was coming from, but it immediately sent him into motion. He leapt out of his bed, grabbing Kingfisher from its spot against the wall. He didn’t even bother to get dressed, still only in an old grey tank top and boxers — the continuous agony of the crying from beyond his door being urgent enough to ignore modesty.
Racing out of his room, he looked frantically down the hall, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. His teammates were bursting from their rooms as well, weapons already drawn.
The screaming was too close to be coming from Ironwood’s office or personal quarters, or even from the shared rooms where the kids were staying, on the other side of the main hallway.
Clover’s chest seized up for just a moment, as he registered where exactly it was. Down the corridor, just beyond the Ace Ops’ special private quarters, towards the general private rooms.
And there was only one person currently staying there.
“Qrow!” Clover cried out, reflexively, and without even acknowledging his teammates, he was racing toward his partner’s room. He was suddenly very glad of his suggestion that Qrow stay in one of the private rooms nearest the Ace Ops’ wing.
Clover had never so much as heard Qrow cry, and the pain — the fear — that now bombarded his ears, was so extreme that he was sure that each step he took was only carrying him closer and closer to overwhelming tragedy.
The seasoned soldier’s chest felt like it was about to collapse when, suddenly, the scream cut off and the hall was filled with a deafening silence. He had only been running for a few seconds, but it felt like each moment dragged out even longer than the last, as the knot in his stomach grew tighter and tighter. His racing thoughts kept feeding him countless, horrific versions of what he might be about to find, and he could feel his jaw clench with fear.
Clover realized, for the first time, that he was worried about Qrow’s semblance. While Qrow was concerned about it putting the people around him in danger, Clover was grappling with the idea of just how vulnerable it could make Qrow himself, and not just in battle.
As it had many times before, something curled in Clover’s gut at that thought. Not quite an anger or a sadness, but a prickling unfairness.
Finally, he reached Qrow’s room, pounding the override entry code into the keypad and throwing the door open, Kingfisher poised to strike as he did. Teal eyes widened with fear and a boiling, protective, rage — that would have worried him at another moment — building beneath his ribs, as he tried to find the hidden threat within the dark room. The rest of his team was already behind him as he entered.
Clover’s eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, with the help of the hallway light spilling in, and his stomach dropped, his blood running cold, as his eyes found the bed.
It was empty, except for a tangled mess of sheets and, to Clover’s ever-mounting horror, a smear of blood trailing off the side farthest from him.
And then he saw Harbinger, untouched, at the foot of the bed. His mind was racing, reeling at the idea of Qrow being attacked, unarmed... injured. But the older huntsman was nowhere in sight.
“Qrow?!”
Clover should have been embarrassed by the raw terror in his voice; he should have tempered his emotions in front of his team — kept his composure and followed protocol — but it was simply beyond him at that moment.
He’d had a long day. He’d had so many long days recently. And he’d had so much to worry about. So many people to worry about. And Qrow always seemed to be at the forefront of his mind lately, especially when it came to worrying.
Clover was predisposed to worry. He might hide it well, but he was a tightly wound, paranoid, perfectionist. He’d always been a little shocked at people’s perception of him as cocky, though he couldn’t help but be a little proud of how well he had fooled everyone.
That was the mask he tried to keep up around others; the put-together, smooth-talking hero, who always came out on top without even breaking a sweat.
What they saw as overly confident risks, Clover knew to be very carefully calculated stunts.
He was Atlas’ Golden Boy. And part of that image was making it look easy.
People expected him to be perfect, charismatic, quick, coordinated, perpetually calm.
And he was. But to do so meant he was constantly analyzing his surroundings, and himself.
People might see his plethora of good luck charms as a fitting gimmick, a representation of his semblance — and the confidence they assumed it lent him — but he knew their real meaning.
They were fail-safes. Attempts at stacking the odds in his favor as much as he could, so that if he fucked up somewhere, he’d still have options. Or at least the illusion of them.
People depended on him to be perfect, and he did everything in his power to not let them down.
That was the person his team knew, not the screaming, frazzled man before them now.
And Clover… didn’t care. It wasn’t even a blip on his radar. Because all that was in his head at that moment was that they should have been safe here. He’d thought this was where he could let his guard down some.
And he’d been wrong. And now, something had happened to Qrow. His partner. The person whose trust he had worked so hard to gain, to earn. Whose trust, openness, synchronicity with him, had stoked something in Clover.
The feeling that this was important. That this man, this connection they had, was significant in more ways than either of them could know.
He should have been more vigilant. He should have been closer to Qrow. How had he let himself relax and not notice some danger lurking?
How could he let this happen?
How could he, after everything, let himself fail Qrow like this?!
At any other moment, Clover would have stopped at that thought. Would have scolded himself for falling into the same self-deprecating spiral that he tried so hard to pull Qrow out of. But he couldn’t. He just had to find Qr—
Clover froze, breaking his train of thought, as he suddenly heard something above the blood rushing in his ears. A ragged whimper, followed by labored, much too fast and shallow breathing, and muffled mumbling. He stumbled towards the bed and finally; he was able to see the trembling form in the far corner of the room, previously hidden by the bed.
Clover practically dove over the bed, ignoring the ringing clatter of Harbinger falling to the floor behind him, as he landed a few feet from Qrow. His throat closed up for a moment as he saw the inflamed scratch marks — fresh blood still present — on Qrow’s neck and chest. His voice was a hoarse, whispered plea as he rushed towards the other man.
“Qrow! What happened?! Who did thi—”
He was cut off as Qrow heard his voice, and his gasps abruptly stopped. Qrow slowly lifted his head, his face even paler than usual, and stared at his partner.
Clover stopped in his tracks at seeing his expression, nearly losing his balance. Qrow’s pupils were completely blown, darting back and forth over Clover’s face, and then lingering on his chest. The Ace Ops leader had never seen such a look of pure, agonizingly heartbreaking, terror.
The heat of a protective rage was now pounding in Clover’s throat. That look of absolute fear striking a chain of matches within him, that he was sure would quickly grow beyond his control.
“C-clove— ”
The choked off syllable was just barely loud enough for Clover to catch, but it was like a punch to the gut. And it was enough to pull him out of his shock, immediately dropping Kingfisher as he scrambled to close the distance between them, his hand flying out instinctively toward Qrow’s wounds.
He hadn’t noticed Qrow’s eyes dart to the silhouette of Harbinger on the ground behind him, but he caught the cry that then tore from his throat.
Right as Clover was about to touch him, Qrow violently flinched, shrinking away from his hand like a frightened animal.
“No!” Came the forced, sharp cry; seeming to surprise Qrow just as much as it did Clover. It was a sound much harsher than anything he had ever heard from the older man before.
Qrow curled in on himself again, hands fisting tightly in his hair, unknowingly smearing a faint trail of blood across his cheek. Clover could just barely make out the sound of a mumbling repetition. A pleading ‘no’ over and over.
He did lose his balance then, falling backward, shocked at Qrow’s outburst and unsure of what to do.
Unsure.
He hated that. He always did everything he could to never be unsure of himself in battle, and the adrenaline was still telling him to be ready for a battle here.
But his head was clearing slowly, and his heart rate beginning to even out. Something was still very wrong, and Qrow would need some medical attention, but he was alive.
Qrow was alive.
Clover couldn’t breathe for a moment, as he realized just how scared he had been that that wouldn’t be the case. But it was. He’d let his anxieties get the better of him; create all the worst possible outcomes before he even knew the situation.
Shit. How did the fear of something happening to Qrow — of losing Qrow — have the ability to throw him off his game so immediately?
He was just exhausted, he told himself. He just wasn’t on his A-game, wasn’t able to keep the act up like he usually could. Not that that was okay, not that he wouldn’t admonish himself for that later, but that’s all it was… It had to be.
He’d been close to people, cared for people like this before. Or he thought he had. But this electric, dizzying, suffocating fear was new.
Clover was pulled from his racing thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Marrow standing over him, looking concerned, but not urgent.
“Clover? There’s no one here… No one’s been here. The windows are locked. There’s no sign of forced entry or a struggle… Should we raise the alarm?”
Clover sighed and clicked it off. The racing thoughts and panic were only a distraction here. A little forced dissociation was called for at times.
He could tell Marrow was on edge, likely thinking of the chaos and panic on election night; of the threat of another attack on their home turf. He felt bad for the kid, but he was too busy figuring out what to do for Qrow right then, to worry about Marrow.
Clover took a moment, standing, and stepped around Harbinger, lying where it had fallen when he knocked it over. He placed a gentle hand on Marrow’s shoulder, the little comfort he could currently provide, and looked around the room.
Nothing aside from the bed was disturbed. The blood smear he’d seen before looked like it’d been left by a hand dragging across the sheet, leading toward Qrow’s spot on the floor. He looked back to Qrow, seeing the blood on his fingers, and the pattern of the scratches on his neck — and the similar but less severe scratch marks on his forearms and chest. Clover was slowly piecing things together, and his hands relaxed as he accepted the fact that there was no current threat.
He hadn’t noticed his nails digging into his palms until that moment. The chilling fear was fading, but concern still sat nestled in his chest, as he broke into a cold sweat.
Apparently, he hadn’t shut it off as well as he’d thought.
Clover turned to his team standing behind him, waiting for instructions, and spoke softly, thankful that he could at least keep his voice steady and calm.
“I think I know what’s going on. I’ll stay here with Qrow. Harriet, go find Ironwood and let him know that there was an incident, but there isn’t any security risk. Elm and Vine, if you see any of the kids, especially Ruby or Yang, tell them that something happened, but that Qrow is okay and I’m handling it and… and that I’ll talk to them later. And Marrow, I need you to bring me a first aid kit from the training room.”
The team nodded and headed to the door.
Marrow had just stepped into the hall when he turned and called back to Clover.
“Uh… Clover? I think the kids heard.”
Clover could now hear the stomping of eight sets of feet, and then seven. And suddenly, in a storm of petals, and a gust that came close to knocking him off balance, Ruby was right in front of him. Crescent Rose was extended into full scythe form at her side, far too big for the room. Her eyes, which seemed, to Clover, to be a sharper, crisper, purposeful silver, darted around the room. Until they settled, panicked, on her uncle’s crumpled, quaking shape in the corner.
“Uncle Qr—”
Clover saw her start to move and rushed to her, carefully catching her by the arm and pulling her back gently, his eyes wide but soft.
Okay. So he would have to deal with them now… It wasn’t ideal. All Clover wanted to do right then was go to Qrow, but he knew the kids wouldn’t back down until they were sure their guardian was safe.
And he knew that Qrow would never forgive him if he let his nieces continue to worry, just so Clover wouldn’t have to leave him alone for another moment.
“Ruby! Hey, hey. Slow down, alright?” He lowered his head, making her meet his eyes, trying to reassure her. “He’s okay. I... I don’t think he was attacked.”
He was startled as Yang burst into the room, and Clover would have sworn that her eyes had the faintest hint of red, though she couldn’t have been using Burn. He saw behind her, where the rest of the kids were crowding the door, all with weapons drawn and expressions hardened in a protective fury.
Elm and Vine were trying to calm them down, reassure them that there was no current danger. Harriet and Marrow were already gone, one headed to Ironwood’s office, the other towards the training room.
Something deep in the back of Clover’s mind warmed at the image of these kids, Qrow’s kids, coming to his aid so vigorously. He marveled, sadly — as he had countless times before — not at how much Qrow meant to the people in his life, but at how seldom the man himself was able to see it.
Yang was at Ruby’s side in an instant, taking her sister from Clover’s grip and looking frantically between her and their uncle. She pulled Ruby closer to her side, guiding the younger girl to lower her weapon, that furious glint already fading from her own eyes.
“Clover? What happened?!” Her voice was as steady and firm as Clover had ever heard her.
He started to feel a little calmer. Yang, for as short a time as he’d known her, tended to be a little more than hot-headed. But he could see her gears turning as she watched Qrow. She seemed to catch on pretty quickly that while there was no present danger, something was still very wrong.
Ruby collapsed Crescent Rose and slowly, without waiting for Clover to answer her sister, she walked towards Qrow, dropping to her knees in front of him. Clover wanted to protest, to suggest she not crowd him, but she was family. And as Yang watched her uncle, Clover thought it looked like she might be piecing together what was going on. Maybe they had seen this before, maybe they would know how to help Qrow better than he could.
So Clover watched, apprehensively, as the younger girl approached Qrow.
He had retreated back into himself and was pulling at his hair with enough force that Clover had to actively keep himself from rushing over to stop him.
Ruby had apparently noticed all of this as well, as she looked back at him and Yang, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks — obviously scared — before she turned back to Qrow.
Clover was impressed with how steady her voice remained.
“Uncle Qrow? Uncle Qrow… can you hear me? Please, Uncle Qrow… What’s going on? What happened?”
Clover was about to step forward, to tell her to slow down, just go one question at a time. But before he could, Qrow moved.
He had frozen immediately as he heard her voice, and then his hands fell from his hair. He slowly looked up at Ruby and, for a split second, Clover thought things might be okay, as he saw a flash of recognition wash over Qrow’s face. But that hope was dashed by the sound that ripped from the man’s chest as the recognition turned to a heart wrenching, painful, despair.
It wasn’t a cry or even a scream. It wasn’t loud. Just a whimper. But Clover knew that it hit both of the girls just as hard as it had him, seeing them both flinch at the tortured sound. He and Yang both stepped forward after recovering from the initial shock, but they froze as Qrow’s voice, ragged and soft, reached them.
“S-summer?”
Clover saw Ruby’s shoulders stiffen. He felt Yang tremble slightly by his side, her hand going to cover her mouth. She looked at him, pleadingly.
She hadn’t seen this. Neither of them had seen their uncle like this before. And they were just kids. Scared and confused kids.
And then Yang let out a quiet sob, and he turned back to see Qrow starting to reach toward Ruby’s face; a sadness in his eyes that caused every hair on Clover’s body to stand on end.
“S-summer? H-how...”
Just as suddenly, Qrow yanked his hand back, gripping his wrist, his nails digging in firmly, before pressing his hands to his chest. To Clover, it looked like he’d just realized that if he were to touch her, she would shatter.
“No. No. Nonono… You-you’re not. Y-you can’t be… here. You’re not real. This isn’t... I... I can’t go there again! Not again. Not now. Not after I promised them...”
Clover watched as Ruby, visibly shaken, pushed through and spoke slowly, leaning forward again, her hand hesitantly raised towards Qrow.
“U-uncle Qrow... It… It’s me. It’s Ruby.”
And any piece of Clover’s heart that had managed to survive until then, crumbled, as he saw the sound of her voice, her name, crash over Qrow, devastatingly. He looked up at her again, and Clover saw all the air rush out of him violently.
“Oh... Oh, gods no— R-ruby! I… I’m sorr— I’m so sorry!”
Qrow fell back against the wall, his hands flying to squeeze over his mouth, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he stared at the floor between him and Ruby.
Qrow’s voice had felt like an open flame on raw flesh. Clover could feel his skin on him so much… Shit. No. He couldn’t get caught up in that right now. He didn’t need to be aware of himself. He needed to help Qrow.
Clover turned towards Yang, but she was no longer beside him. She had rushed to Ruby, cradling the shocked, stammering kid to her chest as she stepped back towards Clover. She stared at him, on the verge of panic herself.
“W-what’s happening, Clover?” Her voice was the least steady he’d heard, but still firm.
But Clover could see that all the color had left her face and her prosthetic hand trembled ever so slightly on Ruby’s arm.
He gently guided them a few feet further from Qrow, dropping his voice.
“I… I’d hoped that maybe you two had seen something like this before, and might know how to help. But I get the feeling you haven’t…”
Ruby shook her head, staring up at Clover from against her sister’s shoulder. Yang said nothing, staring single-mindedly, at her uncle. And Clover saw the gears turning again.
When she finally spoke, it was careful, understanding.
“He’s having a panic attack… or a flashback or something like that. Right?”
Yang didn’t acknowledge Ruby as she looked up at her, surprised, she just kept looking still at Clover.
“I… I had a few back on Patch… after I lost my arm.” She huffed a contemplative laugh. “Once woke up thinking I was still at Beacon, looking for Blake… or Adam.”
She looked back to Qrow finally, a soft, sad look in her eyes, “Dad helped. He knew how to help. He... he said he’d gotten someone through it before, but he didn’t say who it was... Makes sense though. But... mine were never this… They were never like this.”
Clover nodded, his right hand going to the rabbit’s foot on his hip, kneading it anxiously.
“I think so, yes. I don’t know what caused it but…” He paused, unsure of how they would react to what he was about to say.
“I think I can calm him down. I’ve dealt with— I think I can help. But I’ve got to be careful. I don’t know what will help and what might make it worse. And I don’t think he knows where he is. For now…” Clover sighed, hoping desperately that these girls he’d known for such a short time, would trust him with this.
“Look, girls… I-I know he’s your uncle, and you still barely know me, but… I just want to help him. I think I can, I just… Could you two wait outside and let me see if I can talk to him myself?”
Clover had never seen the two young huntresses look so shaken; he wasn’t sure if he’d seen them look shaken like this at all, actually. It struck him again, just how young these kids were, especially to have been through all that they had.
For a moment, he imagined what it must be like for Qrow; to watch these kids he’d known since they were born, these girls he’d helped raise, prepare for war. He thought he might have an inkling of what it must feel like — to have fear and pride be so entangled like that, for someone you… cared about. Yeah… he just might have had a good idea.
“If it doesn’t work, or it looks like he needs you specifically, I’ll come get you right away. I promise. But the more people around him at once, the more overwhelming it could be… I just… You can trust me with this…”
Clover didn’t say ‘with him’ but something told him that they understood it all the same.
He waited patiently, more anxious than he’d ever admit, as he watched the two sisters. This was ultimately their decision. Their family. He had to respect that. No matter how badly he wanted to stay with Qrow.
He kept darting his eyes over to check on Qrow, as he waited for the girls to answer. Finally, he noticed them shift and looked up, making eye contact with Yang as she nodded agreeingly, one hand still around her sister’s shoulder.
Clover was glad he had such a solid game face, because the wave of relief, of desperation to act, was something he didn’t want the two girls to see right then. He doubted that that kind of vulnerability, instability, on his part, would be the most reassuring thing for them at that moment.
He followed them to the door, looking back over his shoulder, making sure he never broke his line of sight on Qrow. Yang sat down against the wall opposite Qrow’s room, Ruby following, and the two girls pressed in close to each other. He noticed that Vine and Elm were nowhere to be seen, along with the rest of the kids. Hopefully they’d been convinced to go back to their rooms, get some sleep.
Something he knew better than to suggest to the two girls before him.
Clover swallowed and kept his voice soft, grateful, “I… I’m going to leave the door cracked, in case I need to call you, okay?”
Yang put her arm back around her little sister and looked up at Clover, holding his gaze for a moment. He could feel her assessing him one more time. Finally, she seemed satisfied and flashed a small, appreciative smile, nodding for Clover to go back in, before resting her cheek against the top of Ruby’s head. He could tell that, as well as she held it together, her eyes were glassy, barely holding back her own tears.
A part of him wanted to stay there with them. It felt wrong leaving two scared kids to cry alone in an empty hallway after… that.
It was clear to Clover that there was a lot more to the situation than he was aware of. But he knew that Summer was Ruby’s... their mom. And that they’d both been very young when she died. It was obvious why they would both be significantly shaken by what had just happened.
But the only person who could explain what was going on, who could ease that childhood pain that had been stirred up so suddenly, was Qrow. And to do that, he needed someone to help him right now.
The girls had each other. Qrow was the one who needed him.
Clover glanced at the girls one last time, before slowly closing the door, leaving just a sliver of light still slipping in.
He absentmindedly hit the light switch, only just realizing they’d spent that whole time in the dimly lit room, which was even more so now that the door was closed.
Because Clover was watching him so closely, he noticed Qrow immediately stiffen, flinch, turn away from what must have felt like an overwhelmingly harsh light. The younger man quickly turned them off and finally walked back towards the other.
“Okay! No light. It’s okay, Qrow….”
Clover gently nudged Harbinger from where it had fallen behind him earlier, till it was resting on the floor at the foot of Qrow’s bed, out of the way, and then he sat in front of his withdrawn partner.
He forced himself to stay a few feet away, keep his distance for now, regardless of how much his chest felt a pull, a need, to be right at Qrow’s side. From everything he’d seen so far, Clover had a strong suspicion that touching Qrow at all might not be the best thing right then, let alone when he didn’t even seem to be aware of his presence.
The room was almost silent now, Qrow having grown quieter while Clover spoke with the girls. But it was painfully obvious that the quiet did not mean that things had improved. Qrow still shook with wave after wave of breathless sobbing. And Clover could just barely make out the covered whisper again; a repetitive, habitual string of one word over and over.
“No. Nonono.”
Each distraught syllable made that pull in Clover’s chest a little stronger, but he ignored it.
Instead, he focused on Qrow’s hands, wringing aggressively at his wrists. He again noticed the red scratch marks on his arms and chest and kept a close eye on every movement, ready to reach out if it seemed like he’d hurt himself more.
The injuries, as minor as they were, turned his stomach. Not because Qrow had done them himself, but because Clover was almost certain that he wasn’t even aware of doing so. His movements didn’t seem like conscious outlets, but rather the attempts of a mind, overcrowded with panic, trying desperately to find anything that would ease it, and finding the smallest relief in the repetitive motion.
“Clover? I uh… I brought the first aid kit.”
Clover nearly jumped, having let himself get so caught up in his thoughts as he watched Qrow, that he hadn’t heard Marrow come back into the room. He turned around right as Marrow was lifting his hand to flick the light switch. He shook his head quickly, motioning for his teammate to stop.
“Leave it off.” He whispered.
Marrow pulled his hand back from the light immediately and, with only a moment of pause, crossed the rest of the room to Clover. He handed his boss the first aid kit he’d asked for, a warm washcloth also placed on top. Clover smiled gratefully back up at him.
“Thank you, Marrow… Would you mind staying close by? Make sure the girls are okay out there?”
Marrow nodded reassuringly, before glancing back behind Clover at Qrow. There was a subtle tightness to his brow that Clover noticed. Worry.
“Is… is he...”
“He’ll be okay… I just need some time to talk to him.” Clover’s voice was quiet, fond.
Something about seeing his youngest teammate, still calm but concerned, bolstered something in his chest. Made him sit a little taller, slip back into the cover of confidence, assuredness, which he carried for… because of his team.
He was Clover Ebi. Captain of the Ace Operatives. Atlas’ Golden Boy.
He could do this. Qrow needed him to be able to do this. That, more than anything, spurred him on.
Marrow nodded and left quietly, leaving the door cracked once more. Clover could just barely hear him settle in the hall near the girls. At least now he could be sure they weren’t alone.
He turned back to Qrow and set the first aid kit on the floor next to himself. His first instinct was to tend to the wound at the base of Qrow’s neck. But touching him still seemed like a bad idea. His worry eased a little though, now that he was close, calm enough to get a good look at the scratch.
It really was just that. A scratch, just barely enough to draw blood. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared; the spread of blood caused by Qrow’s own movements rather than the injury itself. Clover knew though that, right at his collarbone like that, it would be an annoyance to heal, even with aura, as every turn of Qrow’s head would pull at the shallow wound.
Clover looked away from the scratch, sighing and pulling in a long, deep, breath.
He was there. Now he just had to move. He had to help.
He had no idea where to even start.
As Clover sat in that dark, silent room — his distraught partner in front of him — his thoughts started to race, to try to analyze every bit of the night at once. He had to remember this, not do that, keep an eye on all these things, make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing, watch his every move towards Qrow, calculate every touch.
Qrow needed him to know how to do this. He should know how to do this. He’d felt so confident just moments before, seeing Marrow.
His team. He led his team. He jumped into action, coming up with the next best step, on the spot, in battle.
And this wasn’t even a battle. He wasn’t responsible for keeping anyone alive here. As much as he knew Qrow might feel like he was dying, he wasn’t. Clover wouldn’t get one of them killed if he made a mistake.
And yet, everything in him screamed just how important it was that he not make a single mistake now. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to help the scared, inconsolable man before him. But the fear in his own chest reminded him over and over just how easy it would be to end up hurting him more.
Clover had only known Qrow for a few months. He knew so few details of the things he had been through in his life.
But he had seen where he was when he first arrived in Atlas. He had seen how hard he was trying to pull himself back up out of a well: one that Clover could only guess how deep it went. He had heard the hesitation, the regret, the guilt, the self-loathing in his voice. And he had seen his protectiveness, his devotion, his pride, his unwavering love for those kids, all of them. He had seen his skill and his intelligence in battle. He’d seen his wit, his snark, his kindness to those around him once he let his walls down. He’d seen the shy flush in his cheeks, the natural softness of his smile, heard the gentle lilting sound of his laugh.
He may not have known the exact extent of the hurt that Qrow had been burdened with throughout his life. But he knew it was immeasurably more than he deserved.
Clover might have been scared of doing the wrong thing at that moment. But Clover’s fear was not what mattered then.
Qrow was what mattered. And what Qrow needed right then, was for Clover to pull his shit together, and be a steadfast mooring for him while he weathered whatever storm it was that was trying to pull him under.
He watched as Qrow’s shoulders continued to hitch; his breath stuttering over and over in his throat, his fingers straining against himself as he pressed his hands to his chest — as if he thought the pressure might push out whatever was stuck there, keeping him from breathing.
Clover squared his shoulders and closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more and looking at Qrow with a gentle, aching, care.
He could do this. For Qrow… Clover felt fairly sure he’d do anything.
So. Step one: get his breathing steady.