Work Text:
abuse of power is not something to be taken lightly.
he knows this.
x
twelve
x
He finds Marrow crying after the massacre at Robyn Hill’s party. He does not say a word to the younger, despite the fact that sobbing in a shadowy corner of the Ace Ops’ office is not the best way to go about this.
His hypothesis is right, however; Marrow Amin does fit perfectly into his arms. He always knew the younger man would. He just wishes it hadn’t been like this, with the younger in tears, wracked with guilt and frustration and shame that no one will ever be able to erase. His tail does not wag in Clover’s embrace, even with the elder calming him down, as gentle and professional as he can be within the circumstances. Marrow is too wrought with grief. He is too broken.
Clover can’t even blame him. All Marrow has ever wanted is to be a good Huntsman. Now, innocent people are dead, and none of them could have been saved, and Marrow shall have to live with that forever.
x
one
x
The possible recruits watch him with such professionalism and strictness that he has to pause, biting back his smile and his urge to bother every single one, ready to poke holes at the chinks in their armour. Their steely gazes are all too familiar, quickly shifting from stoic to hilarious in his mind’s eye. How in the world is he supposed to evaluate any of them like this if they all appear to be cut from the exact same cloth, with nary a stray hair to differentiate between them?
Then, his eyes catch movement. He frowns, walking over to the end of the rank. A young man stares straight ahead, light blue eyes fixated upon the horizon, thin lips pressed into a grim line, mimicking all the others in his file. Clover watches him carefully, narrowing his eyes- the young man’s uniform is not spotless, he realizes. There is hair everywhere.
He peers into a dark-skinned face, curiosity lighting within his heart. He takes one look over the young man’s uniform; other than the hair, it is certainly up to standard, aside from a small scuff on one boot. Clover does not care about that tiny mistake, for no one needs to polish their shoes in the Ace Ops. He is looking for fighters, not for ceremonial guards.
Mildly, he offers, “Good work, cadet.”
“Thank you, sir,” the younger replies immediately, his voice a lilting tenor. Clover pauses, sensing movement again, but the boy’s eyes remain staring past Clover’s face and onto the far wall, as it should. It is strange, seeing him so fixated upon the wall like his colleagues.
Clover leans over. He’s… a Faunus?
A short, fluffy tail wags excitedly from underneath his tunic. The young man notices his incredulous expression and immediately freezes- except for the tail. The tail keeps wagging, and the longer Clover watches, eyes transfixed upon the motion, the more he can see little hairs flying up, landing upon the uniforms of himself and the other recruits in his rank and file, much to their chagrin.
His skin is dark enough that any embarrassment is hidden away- almost, at least. His ears burn red, and there is a quiver in his lip, suddenly highlighting the stark contrast between him and his peers. He seems to be far younger than any of the other Huntsmen and Huntresses here, for all the newer recruits were likely cut by earlier application rounds.
Clover smiles, marking down this rookie Huntsman’s nametag. Amin. He’ll have to look at his file later.
With that, he finishes his inspection and moves on with his day poring over files. No one stands out as much as Marrow Amin, he finds. He’s not surprised, though- it would be hard to ignore anyone whose tail began to wag so earnestly like that.
x
seven
x
“You’re awfully protective of the rookie, aren’t you?” Harriet Bree murmurs. There is no judgement in her tone- merely simple curiosity. “Any reason?”
Clover’s movements do not falter, although his heart surely does, dread washing over him instantly. How has he been spotted? He has been so careful-
“You know how the other Huntsmen view his promotion,” he replies mildly, sorting through the documents upon his desk and reaching for the next pile. “They say it is due to him being a Faunus, not thanks to the fact that he earned the best scores during the application and tryouts.”
“He’s not bad, I’ll give him that,” Harriet says, pausing as she looks up from her own pile of Ace Ops work. “You really couldn’t have stuck him with Elm, though? Or Vine? It really had to be me?”
The raised brow he sends her is enough of a response, and they both know it. Elm would teach him far too many bad habits to trust her with the rookie, and Vine’s patience, already so stretched thin thanks to Elm and Harriet’s usual banter, would snap instantly if presented Marrow’s wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm all the time.
Harriet sighs, relenting to his silent assertion. “Okay, I guess you’ve got a point.”
After a moment of working diligently, however, she adds, “Well, why not just put him under your own wing? Your fighting styles would complement better than I do, and he idolizes you so maybe the kid would actually listen-“
“It’s better to be with you,” he says succinctly. “If he’s with me for too many missions, those who want to kick him out will gain ground, as shaky as it may be, to claim nepotism or something. He needs to prove that he is part of the team, without the help of the one who hired him.”
She sighs again, clearly exhausted. “Fair, I guess. Still sucks though.”
He frowns, finally look up properly from his work. “Why’s that?”
“Because he never stops talking about you whenever we’re on patrol. Frankly, I’m gonna start losing my temper if he keeps-“ and she continues on, unleashing a tangent upon Clover which he never could have expected as she lists out Marrow’s faults all in one go. A part of him focuses upon her words, silently grateful that she never once mentions his tail in the list of reasons to dislike him; all her complaints are little things, nothing that will ever raise alarm beyond the fact that their rookie is young at heart, despite his capable nature on the battlefield.
The majority of Clover, however, hones in on something else. He never stops talking about you-
Marrow thinks of him- talks of him. Clover is not just his commanding officer. He is something more.
The want which that thought stirs strikes such shame in Clover that he excuses himself early from the office. He needs time to think- time not listening to someone speak of a handsome young man who wants nothing more than to please Clover, than to receive praise- praise which, he is realizing, Clover would be far too happy to give, if given the chance.
He cannot receive a chance. He mustn’t.
x
four
x
“I like you, kid.”
He is not lying as he says this. There is something strangely charming about Marrow Amin, about dark eyes shining so brilliantly, umber skin always seeming to glow with a warmth that he cannot locate within Solitas. White teeth which always seem to be exposed in bright, easygoing smiles reflect none of the hatred and insecurity which he knows is thrown Marrow’s way due to his Faunus heritage; the young man simply continues to hold his head up high and perform to the best of his abilities, never giving up.
It has been countless missions now, fighting by the younger man’s side, and yet, Marrow still faces scrutiny from other Huntsmen and civilians alike. If anyone else was facing such doubt, Clover has no doubts that they would be unable to bear it.
And yet, Marrow maintains his sunny smile, although he tries biting it back and hiding it away behind the thin veneer of professionalism he puts up in an attempt to be more like Vine or Harriet. He is never successful, though- his tail always gives him away. Harriet scolds him for his childishness every time, but Clover never corroborates.
After a few weeks of seeing that tail every morning, he’s come to find it rather cute. He won’t tell Marrow, though. He clamps down on those feelings, putting himself into an almost meditative state whenever the younger is around, ensuring that not even his heart can give him away. Those thoughts are for Clover alone.
x
ten
x
As Amity nears completion, there is less and less time in the day to spend doing little things. His routine gets thrown out the window, days turning into nights turning into long stretches of nothing but work, and Clover is trying his best to stay calm and simply not lose his mind.
He is fairly good at it. It is easy to do, as Qrow is always there to provide a grounding support. He is grateful for this ally he has found, finding himself being far more vulnerable around the elder than with anyone else in Atlas- allowing his breath to catch, his heartbeat to run wild, whenever he sees Marrow while with Qrow, for the jealousy and frustration is too much to bear otherwise.
He likes his partner. He does.
It’s not the same.
After pushing it off for weeks, he cuts off his runs with Marrow in the mornings. He doesn’t tell the younger he needs to stop; he simply stops going, stops heading out as the sunlight begins to creep over the distant horizon. Marrow never brings it up, so he assumes that it’s all fine.
It’s all fine, isn’t it?
…he almost wishes Marrow would say something. Marrow’s always been far more courageous, more open, than the rest of them. It is wishful thinking, but he does not have the luxury of freedom of voice, so all he can do is imagine a world where he could put aside his work and focus on footsteps beating into the pavement in time, the cadence perfectly aligned with their heartbeats.
x
two
x
Tryouts are a gauntlet, grueling and grim as they pit rookie again rookie, new recruits falling under the pressure and more senior, veteran officers crumbling despite their experience. It is not an easy thing, to enter the Ace Operatives; especially not with what they know. They cannot risk having a teammate who would be unable to handle Salem’s army.
To his surprise and eternal amusement, the one person excelling is the one person whom he knows the rest of the adjudicators have already written off- Marrow Amin, the canine Faunus man who had so awkwardly left an impression upon the parade square. The bright-eyed young man may have been a mess in ceremonial garb, but he is clearly dedicated and capable, his endurance keeping him steady after every arduous test. His written and oral examination marks are exemplary as well, and as Clover looks over his old records and reports from previous missions, there is nothing to betray any sign of poor performance. In fact, he has been flying through the examinations with a confident smile on his face, a level of ease in his gait that no one else seems to be capable of, considering their stress levels in taking these tests.
His demeanor piques Clover’s curiosity. Is he truly so confident in the face of adversity, or does he honestly believe he will be capable of it all?
Or, more importantly… does he doubt his own ability to achieve his goal- perhaps even thanks to his heritage- so much that he no longer worried about performance, for there is no way to succeed?
By the end of the trials, Clover can sense the bias he is going to have to cut through in order to make this fair. “Any reason why you’ve all been giving him lower marks?” he asks the other ranking officers who have come to assess the entrance exams. He keeps his voice level and steady, smile light.
After all, he already knows the answer. He just needs to point it out, to put an end to it openly.
One older Huntsman clears his throat as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “He doesn’t have the kind of professional attitude we require of the Ace Ops,” he states gruffly.
“Hm, that’s strange,” Clover thinks aloud. “I recall him stating protocols perfectly.” He makes a game of checking his Scroll, opening up his marking sheets. “Yup. He was the only one.”
A Huntress across the room shoots him a weary glare. “Look, Ebi, we understand what you’re saying. No one is going to take someone like him seriously.”
“Like what? A younger Huntsmen? He’s got two years on the field already, and the mission logs are quite exemplary.”
“You know,” another Huntsman sighs, waving his hand dismissively.
Clover happily continues to feign innocence. “…what’s wrong with people from Mantle? I think it’s quite an inspiring story, actually.”
“Don’t play games,” the Huntress insists.
His smile falls. “Are you referring to the fact that he is a Faunus?”
“He is a mutt.”
There are hums of agreement, nods and muttered huffs which fill the air, a disgruntled chorus of passive aggression all aimed against one innocent Huntsman.
So, Clover grins. “Thank you for your input.” And he promptly fills in his final evaluation form without waiting for their deliberation as a team, for he has made up his mind after season the plentiful candidates over the past few days, and his heart has settled on baby-blue eyes and chestnut skin, already imagining how his team’s attacks can coordinate with that giant bladed boomerang-turned-rifle which the young man seemed to use.
In his notes, he adds that the other adjudicators wanted to avoid Officer Amin thanks to his heritage. The general can do what he will with that information, for Clover does not care; he just wants capable officers who won’t be painful to work with, and something tells him that Marrow Amin is worth the hassle.
x
six
x
With the weather growing even slightly warmer, he decides it is time to finally brave the early mornings to go for a run. He loves this practice; for only a few months of the year, he indulges himself, tying up his shoelaces and throwing on running clothes before heading out into the frigid morning chill, ready to go a few laps around the academy grounds, or perhaps the training track. It keeps him limber, alert.
To his surprise, he does not find solitude as he steps outside the front door of the barracks. Instead, he sees familiar pale eyes standing out even more brilliantly in the darkness of night from dark, smoky skin. “Marrow?” he murmurs, approaching the figure.
Marrow Amin turns to look at him, startled and confused as he registers who is approaching him. Then, his face lights up, tail wagging immediately. “Sir! Good morning!” he cries brightly, saluting despite the fact that they are both in civilian attire.
Clover chuckles, waving off his politesse. “It’s too early for that,” he croaks, voice hoarse, not really ready to speak so far in the morning. “What brings you here?”
Marrow bounces on his toes, an energy thrumming through him that puts Clover’s determination to shame. “Going for a run, sir!”
He smiles, a seed of warmth blossoming within his chest. “You do this every morning?”
“And evening!” Then, strangely enough, panic flits across his face, and suddenly Marrow stops his jubilant movements and instead looks down, shame oozing from every pore. “For- for health reasons,” he adds lamely.
Clover is about to ask what is wrong when he sees the way the Faunus man’s tail has curled between his legs, almost as if fearing reprimand, punishment, and his heart sinks to the floor, realization washing over him in a nauseating wave that leaves him reeling.
…what have people said to you in the past, Amin?
“…may I join you?” he says at last.
Marrow’s face lifts, breathless hope filling his eyes.
“You’re my subordinate now. We should get to know one another, right?” Clover offers, his eyes twinkling.
And Marrow’s expression just bursts into a beautiful smile, and all Clover can do is look to the skies, focusing on the wind in his hair and the icy air biting his cheeks which are suddenly too warm to be healthy. This becomes common practice for him, and he learns the skyline of Atlas Academy far too well over the next months, for Marrow’s joy is enough to heat him up far better than any run ever could.
x
eight
x
He looks at himself in the mirror, wiping off steam from the glass in order to see himself. He looks weary, fatigued- as can be expected with the end of the world riding upon their shoulders. He needs to toughen up, to stay strong.
Exhausted, he attempts to smile, his usual mask of calm confidence slipping into place. It works. He looks ready to take on anything. Okay. That’s a start.
A start is all he can maintain, however, for he cannot ignore the fact that his heart is nowhere near ready, his mind nowhere near clear enough to go back into the briefing room. Not after that night- not after wanton dreams of lithe, supple flesh, pliant and parting under his fingers as they become one, his cool skin growing unbearable hot as flushed umber, almost mahogany, presses against him, all sweat-streaked and wanton and-
Those blue eyes match his green perfectly. He hates it. Marrow Amin may be a capable Huntsman, an intelligent soldier, a staunch ally, a fiercely loyal man- he is still Clover’s subordinate. If they had been in different units, then he could’ve pushed aside the ten-year age difference and the looks he knows he would receive for being with a Faunus and broached the topic with the younger, for it wouldn’t have been anything uncomfortable- and, based on the way he knows Marrow has begun to live to please him, he knows the younger would say yes in a heartbeat.
But Clover is his superior. This cannot happen-
Brothers above, Marrow…
-no matter how much Clover longs to hear, “Yes sir,” spill forth from dark lips within his bedroom.
x
three
x
The first ten seconds after passing on the news are the most beautiful ten seconds Clover has ever experienced.
All manner of professionalism slips away, those eyes growing shockingly-wide and almost pleading, brows furrowing in disbelief, mouth falling agape; he breathes, “Sir, is that true?” with a quavering voice.
When Clover nods and holds out his hand, murmuring, “Welcome to the team,” all traces of doubt fade away from Marrow Amin’s face. He lights up, a brilliant smile overtaking his face; but more than that, his tail starts wagging with such a ferocity that it kicks up his tunic violently, the back of Marrow’s poor uniform taking a veritable beating without Marrow’s awareness.
Clover laughs and grins and shakes his head ruefully, for never before has he seen someone so genuine in their incredulous, amazed joy. “I’m expecting you to work twice as hard as during the application process, got it? We are the elite.”
“The elite,” Marrow breathes, nodding determinedly. He bounces on the balls of his feet, as if waiting to go, to get started, to go save the world.
That reminds me- we need to schedule in a meeting with General Ironwood to share the truth.
Finally, it seems that Marrow realizes that Clover has been waiting for him to shake his hand. The younger grabs onto Clover, his own palm fitting surprisingly-well within Clover’s; he shakes his hand enthusiastically, brimming with energy and disbelief. “I just can’t believe I did it,” Marrow keeps murmuring under his breath. ”I actually got in.”
Clover shakes his head ruefully. “It’s not going to be an easy ride, but I have faith.”
Baby blue hardens in a heartbeat. “I won’t let you down, sir.”
The intensity of those words catches Clover off-guard, then makes his heart tremble and glow with warmth. This kid has spunk and energy and a life to him. He respects that.
Idly, he wonders whether he has made the right choice with Marrow; not because he doesn’t think the young man can do it- he has no doubts about his ability- but because perhaps, if Marrow is in the Ace Ops long enough, he’ll lose that spark in his eyes, in his smile.
Then, Clover wonders how to guard that light. It has been far too long since he has seen it in Atlas.
x
nine
x
Qrow Branwen is a strange fellow. He’s handsome and capable, an air of mystery about him as they plan their first joint raid now that he and the rookies from Beacon Academy have settled into Atlas. It is still baffling to know that Clover had authorized cuffs to be thrown upon their now-allies, but circumstances had led to certain decisions, and there’s no point in worrying about it now. At the very least, Qrow is amicable, and they built a level of trust between them that is surprisingly easy.
Perhaps it is that Qrow is an outsider, always vocal in how much he dislikes Atlas. He has no filter. It provides Clover with a level of freedom, he finds, for he can murmur his thoughts and ideas freely to Qrow, never fearing judgement. It… it feels good to have an equal.
What is frustrating, however, is seeing how easily Marrow grows attached to the rookies. The youngest Ace Operative latches onto them, despite all of his denial and embarrassment, and Clover cannot even blame him, for they treat Marrow with the same easy kindness that they treat Blake Belladonna; and for once, Marrow has a Faunus ally with whom he can work alongside, and Clover cannot even fathom the way it must feel for the younger man.
He is happy to see Marrow’s tail wag more often. It stings that it isn’t for him, though.
x
five
x
Other Huntsmen refuse to work with Marrow. Marrow plays it off as a joke, then admits that this is normal- no one wants to work with him, simply due to his tail. He does not appear offended, merely tired.
Clover spends a lot of time throughout the first few months of Marrow’s work in the Ace Operatives writing up other Huntsmen for harassment and misconduct and racist behaviour. He’s memorized the forms now. It’s the best he can do to help the younger man- he wishes he could do more, for there is no world in which Marrow’s face should bear such guilt for delaying missions when bigotry is to blame, and not him.
x
eleven
x
The amount of gratitude which shines in his heart that Qrow Branwen is his partner is unfathomable. After all, with the elder around, Clover has the perfect excuse to avoid the officer’s mess- he doesn’t want to hurt Qrow in his quest to quit, after all. He’s just being a supportive teammate, a good friend.
He does not need to drink anytime soon, for his dreams of Marrow have grown far more frequent as of late, and he refuses to put himself in a position where those wanton desires may slip unfiltered from his lips. He cannot risk that. It would put everything in jeopardy.
And, more importantly, it would hurt Marrow. A year into being the youngest member of the Ace Operatives, and Marrow still receives the least amount of respect from soldiers and civilians alike. He cannot ruin what little groundwork Marrow has been able to build so painstakingly with each mission; he cannot hurt the younger man like that.
After all, Marrow doesn’t even know how he feels. He refuses to allow himself to destroy it all before it ever has the chance to begin- what ‘it’ refers to, he doesn’t really know.
x
last
x
Their allies are now their enemies. Qrow Branwen is a fugitive. Team RWBY are all fugitives. Team JNPR are all fugitives. Oscar Pine is a fugitive.
Life is a strange, strange journey.
He realizes faintly what this truly means; his team will likely be responsible for bringing in Team RWBY and JNPR. Marrow will be implicit in bringing in his friends.
Half of him says that it shall not be an issue. The other half of him knows that this shall break Marrow’s heart, that Marrow has always been a little softer than the rest of them, a little sweeter, far too young to be-
No, he thinks to himself, straightening his shoulders as he stands from the bench, looking at Qrow calmly. Just as he will be able to bring Qrow, his partner, his friend, his comrade, into custody, Marrow shall be able to do the same. Marrow has always been able to do more than anyone gives him credit for, anyways.
Maybe he’ll be the one who doesn’t shed a tear.
The thought brings a smile to Clover’s face. He hopes that Marrow continues to maintain his pride in the Ace Ops, even after this crushing situation. He deserves it, more than anyone.
He deserves it.
I should tell him that. He’ll like that, Clover thinks faintly, the idea floating across the back of his mind as he watches Qrow draw his weapon. Focusing on Marrow’s bright smile is the perfect distraction to avoid the fact that he has to take down his own friend, that he is losing the safe place he has built within the bond of trust between himself and Qrow Branwen.
At least now, he has something to look forward to. After this is cleared up and Clover’s heartache has been put to rest- he knows already that Qrow’s betrayed expression is going to haunt him for a long, long time- he’ll go to Marrow and tell him that he’s proud of him for doing so well as part of their team.
Marrow’s tail will probably wag at that, even if he tries to hide it. It’s been a long time since it’s wagged for Clover. He cannot wait to see it again, even if just for a moment.
-fin-