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It was ten years after Qrow disappeared.
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On that night, Clover had awoken abruptly from death. Warm arms shielded him from the cold of the earth, and he could barely make out a faint mumbling from above him. As he gasped for his first breath in what seemed like years, he was pulled in by those shaking arms, and felt the delicate warmth of tears falling on his face.
My tears, or...
Willing his eyes open, he saw the blurry image of Qrow, in tears, and they locked gazes. Seafoam meeting vermillion again. It felt like years since he’d seen those eyes...
He tried to choke something out. He had to say something.
Where are we?
Am I alive?
Are you… dead?
But he couldn’t get anything out except sputtering coughs, jerking forwards into Qrow’s embrace as his body shook.
And then, quite suddenly, it was all gone. He felt a chill in his palm, and warm hands closing around it, and the sudden cold of the concrete below him. He blinked briefly, readjusting his sight, and opened his eyes again just to catch Qrow’s red cape floating around the corner and out of sight. The only trace he left was the green and silver pin he had folded into the Atlesian’s palm. He’d been left to lay in one of Mantle’s many dim alleyways.
In some respects, this felt colder than the day he’d died.
Clover threw himself into his work. Readily volunteering for the most dangerous missions, he’d routinely come back with the scars of someone who was being a little more than reckless in his fighting. He’d stay up night after night in the cafeteria, pouring over reports and plans until his eyes wouldn’t stay open. Occasionally he’d hear a “glad to see you back,” and think,
I don’t want to be back. Not without him.
He struggled with why Qrow had left him, cursing the man but hating the way people talked of him. The higher-ups were adamant that he and the kids were escaped convicts, and nothing else, and that mindset trickled downwards like toxic waste, seeping through the ranks. The General wouldn’t even speak of Qrow. But sometimes, when he’d see a foreign airship enter the airspace above the city, his heart would flutter and he couldn’t help but picture vermillion eyes and the kind smile. That maybe he’d be on that ship.
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Clover stood at the edge of an Atlas ballroom, the largest of the few still standing after Salem’s attack. He was dressed to the nines, a white button down shirt hugging his frame like it had been crafted on him, and deep green dress pants. He held the matching green suit jacket over his arm. As the last few guests began to trickle out of the room and into the open night air, he waved his goodbyes.
General Ironwood had retired, and Clover had been appointed as his successor. And, as was the way of Atlas, an extravagant party had been held. A party which was finally coming to a close, to the new General’s relief. It was a grand event; hundreds of people were in attendance, there was enough food to feed Atlas twice over, and music played for hours.
Clover had spent the majority of the gathering on the sidelines, occasionally receiving congratulations for a job he didn’t ask for, or invitations to dance. Both of which he accepted gracefully, if only out of respect. But gods, he couldn’t help thinking of how much more he’d enjoy this if a certain brooding huntsman had been at his side. The fun they’d have, circling the dance floor, tasting the expensive Atlas food, stealing away to one of the balconies for a moment or two of peace.
Qrow should be here…
He frowned.
Gods, I bet he doesn’t even know.
The thought was overwhelming. He needed a break.
Turning to his left, caught Harriet’s eye and motioned her over.
“I’m going out for some air, can you keep things under control in here?”
“Of course, General Ebi,” she replied, and then paused. “And if anyone needs you?”
“Send them out, I suppose,” he sighed, looking towards the doorway and throwing the jacket in his hands over his shoulders. He turned back to face Harriet once again, and mustered up a small smile. “Thanks, Hare.”
“Sir,” she smiled, and nodded back.
As he walked through the doors and out onto the balcony, Clover felt the breeze on his face. He breathed it in, closing his eyes and imagining the older huntsman beside him. Imagined turning to take his hand, taking him by the arms, cupping his face.
Kissing him.
Gods, Clover missed the feeling of those lips against his. The rough stubble grazing his chin and lithe hands carding through his hair. He missed the way the silver in the huntsman’s ashen hair shone like threads of stars in the moonlight. The warm smiles and the gravelly way he’d laugh at just about anything Clover would say. He missed Qrow.
Clover rested his arms on the balcony railing, and looked up into the sky for a moment before closing his eyes again.
Qrow, I hope wherever you are, whoever you’re with, you’re better off than you were when you left Atlas.
Left me.
Love is all I ever wanted for you. Maybe you’ve found it with someone else.
He opened his eyes to see a bird had perched on the rail beside him. Sleek and black with red eyes, it cocked its head towards Clover as though expecting something. The Atlesian looked at it for a moment, before patting his breast pocket and pulling out a small cookie wrapped in a blue and white napkin.
“I was saving this one for when I got home, but I suppose you and I can share it now,” he whispered to the bird, as he unwrapped the napkin. “They’re my favourite, so I hope you enjoy it.”
He broke the cookie in half and smiled as he handed a piece to the bird and popped the other piece in his mouth.
“You know,” he said, “you remind me of an old friend.”
The bird looked up from its pecking at the cookie, and blinked before directing it’s attention back towards the food.
“He had the most stunning pink eyes, a bit like yours,” he went on, “and I suppose one of your kin might’ve been his namesake.”
He folded the napkin in his hand, and shoved it back into his pocket.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, of course. He was really a remarkable man.”
The bird looked up again and cawed.
“Had a bit of a tough time with luck,” he chuckled, “but always cared so much for others. Sometimes it was almost like he was trying to care away its effects on the ones he loved. I’d hoped I’d meant more to him. We understood each other. For our semblances being perfect opposites, you couldn’t find two people more closely entwined with one another,” he sighed, and ran his hand through the mess of greying waves that he’d begun to let grow on his head.
“I think he meant well when he left, that he thought he was ridding me of some great burden that was somehow his fault, but good intentions don’t always make for good decisions,” he sighed. “I think of him every day. GOds, when I wake up, I think of how groggy he always was at morning debriefs, and the way he liked his coffee. Sometimes I even drink mine black, almost like if I do the things he loved, it would bring him back.”
He paused and looked up, admiring the stars again.
“So far, no luck,” he chuckled, “not even with my semblance.”
He heard the flapping of wings, and when he looked down, the bird was gone.
I guess I’m destined to lose every reminder of him that comes into my life.
A buzz came through on his earpiece, and he heard Harriet’s voice.
“We’ve got a guy in here who really wants to see you. We’re sending him out there now.”
Clover’s brows furrowed, as he thought of who might want to talk to him this late. Who would be interrupting their General during his time alone. The closest he’d ever get to time with Qrow at an event like this.
What he didn’t expect to hear from behind him was the gravelly voice he’d been clinging desperately to in recordings from their missions and debriefs. The nickname he’d only heard in dreams for the past ten years.
“Cloves?”
He froze.
How?
“If this is some sort of cruel joke,” he sighed, “cut it out.”
Silence.
“No joke here, Clover. I promise.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t dare disturb the feelings he felt. It was as though if he moved, Qrow would disappear. But the feelings of joy he’d felt moments ago soon turned to the frustration he’d held on to for years. Taking a shaky breath, he spoke.
“You left. You made your choice. Why are you here now?”
A shaky breath from behind him.
“You… you don’t want me here?”
Clover could hear the other man’s voice waver, could picture the way his shoulders had dropped, without turning to see.
“I…”
He gripped the railing hard, knuckles going white. Tears formed in his eyes, and he looked down.
“You left me,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. “You left me on the streets of Mantle, left me to take care of the General. To learn how to breathe again, walk again, fight again.” he said, voice growing louder. “Left me to pick up the pieces. Alone,” he yelled, voice cracking on the last word, betraying his anger for sorrow.
He whipped around to finally confront the man, release his anger, scream the words he thought the other man believed he deserved.
But green eyes met red, and that was the end of those thoughts.
Qrow stepped forwards, brows knit, and tentatively reached out a hand.
And Clover took it.
And he collapsed into the older man, sobbing.
“I wanted nothing more than you…” he cried, “I wanted nothing more than to open my eyes again every morning and see your face beside me. I…”
He took a shaky breath, and felt the huntsman’s warm hands cup his face, pink eyes meeting his own again.
“I loved you, Qrow.”
Pink eyes turned misty as Clover realized his mistake.
“You… loved me?” he asked, placing heavy emphasis on ‘ loved’ .
Clover looked into those glassy vermillion eyes, brows knit with guilt.
“Qrow I-”
“So you don’t want me here.”
The older man closed his eyes and turned away for a moment, removing his hands from the brunet’s face, and taking a shaky breath. But Clover didn’t miss the shine of tears on his cheeks.
“Cause gods know it’d be easier for the both of us if I just left,” he sighed, “I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”
He began to drop his arms from around the younger man, but only felt strong arms grip firmly around him.
“I still love you, you bastard.”
With that, Qrow leaned in, grabbing the collar of his coat and pulling him into a kiss. Clover tensed for a moment, and then melted into it, relishing the taste of salty tears and the familiar grazing of stubble on his chin.
Qrow broke the kiss for a moment, only to murmur,
“That cookie was really good, by the way.”