Chapter Text
Clover felt weightless. Static. There was no stinging chill of the dense snow or the striking flash of panic in his veins. There wasn’t even that awful hot bellowing pain in his chest, or the heavy numbness that had slowly engulfed him as his vision blurred; a cruel, foreboding, relief that he wished he was strong enough to fight against, but knew he couldn’t bring himself to reject.
Beyond that; the lack of all the excruciating cacophony of feeling that had seemed to command every part of him only moments before, Clover couldn’t even actually feel himself.
The awareness was there; the immaterial existence of himself, his mind; the indefinable isness of being Clover. But there was no tangible point of being; no physical body to feel himself in or with.
There was no sense of cold or warmth against his skin; no faint pulse of blood within his veins; no steady rise and fall of his chest or flush of air within his lungs; no weight of his mass bearing down upon his feet; no buzz of silence that demanded to be heard. Not because of feeling, but there being nothing to be felt, and nothing to feel with even if there was.
He was here, in this place. But ‘here’ was nothing; no sense of reality; no perceptible existence beyond the fact that he knew he was there. It was an unnerving, confounding lack of sensation he couldn’t quite comprehend. It wasn’t pleasant or uncomfortable, but just strange, in an existential, negative space kind of way.
But what bothered him most, was the definitive absence of Qrow’s presence beside him, or anywhere at all within this endless nowhere of in-between being.
Everything else, even in its unintelligible state of existence, could start to feel like a blessing if he let it. A reprieve from the pain that had felt so interminable just moments before.
But that; Qrow’s absence?
That made Clover’s still, seemingly nonexistent, heart twist sickeningly. That he felt. That unattributable, unrelenting, contorting, agonizing, remorse.
A part of him was relieved that he could no longer see or feel or hear his partner’s distress, utterly powerless to do anything to relieve it.
He couldn’t see the desperate, terrified, inconsolable regret in those soft crimson eyes; the way scarred, pale, hands had hovered, unsure of whether or not to touch him; the cruel dissonance of the heartbreaking despair on the familiar face - worn with so much more experience than could ever have been fair - backdropped by the softness of snow and the calm blooming colors of sunrise. A breathtaking vignette that, under any other circumstances, would have been a precious memory. Here, Clover couldn’t feel the trembling panic echoing through the lithe frame kneeling next to him. And he couldn’t hear his partner’s labored breaths, or his anguished sobs, punctuated by quiet regretful, angry, broken pleas.
There was a selfish relief in not having to witness just how much pain he had caused, how immensely he had hurt his partner.
But there was a deeper pit in his not-real-stomach that far out shadowed any consolation that might have been.
He was here, and Qrow was not. Clover had let the one thing he had sworn to himself he would never let to happen, the one thing he had wanted to protect him from more than anything else; Qrow was left completely alone. Again.
Qrow needed him, and Clover was here, wherever or whatever ‘here’ was. And he could feel throughout his entire being just how endlessly, inescapably, far away he was. From Qrow, or anyone else.
Here in this nothing, Clover was alone.
And then, he wasn’t.
It wasn’t sudden, or startling. It just, was. Like it had never been any other way.
One moment he could sense the immutable desolation of this ‘not-quite-here-not-quite-nowhere’ he was in. And the next, he felt the sure presence of something else, someone else, somewhere in the nothingness around him. And as soon as he processed that fact, that presence, he was… somewhere.
It was still featureless, empty, but now he felt like he was actually, solidly ‘there’.
He looked down and could see himself, his body. He could move his fingers and still not quite ‘feel’ the tangible existence of bones and nerves and tissue and blood and skin that he was used to. But there was still a form, a definitive acknowledgment that he was there. Not just a concept or flicker, but standing there, facing out into the rest of the nothingness.
That other presence was there too, behind him; now that he had oriented himself, being in just one place at this one moment, rather than everywhere always.
Clover took a deep ‘breath’ - the movement useless in effect, but familiar and normal and calming - and then he turned to face this new unknown presence.
For a split second, as he took in the person standing about 10 feet from him, watching him patiently, he felt… what he could only describe as his blood running cold, even though he knew that here, in this place of only almost existence, there was no blood to chill. But it was that same exact feeling, just without the actual physical process.
In that short moment, the memory of a heart in his chest felt strangled at who he thought he saw in front of him, here in this something not quite still life. But details cleared and that knee-jerk panicked recognition faded as he really began to see the person standing across from him.
And then, a voice; gentle and warm and rich like honey; soft and calming but trimmed with endearing notes of wit and spark and strength and unshakeable resolve.
“Hello, Clover. It’s nice to finally meet you.” a subtle thoughtful chuckle resonated in the space before continuing “Well, not exactly ‘ nice ’, under these circumstances but,” a lighthearted shrug.
"You know.”
Clover just stood there, still reeling a little, processing.
There was a patient smile, and a few slow steps towards him, and now nothing but gentle guidance found in the kind voice.
“Clover… I know this must be a lot to take in, and I’m sorry we don’t have more time to let you adjust, really I am.”
Clover caught a flashing look of sympathy, an old sadness, and a dense sense of encroaching significance. Then, with a few more steps, there was only a couple of feet between the two of them.
“Clover? Do you know who I am?” the question just as patient, just as gentle, but faintly dipped in that sad, heavy, importance.
Clover didn’t know what to call the strange mix of nerves, disbelief, comfort, trust, fondness, awkwardness, sadness, joy, respect, and shame all jumbled up and bouncing and colliding inside him at that moment.
He looked down, letting their eyes meet, and thought to himself how even the similar height had been a factor in his moment of horrified recognition earlier.
Of course, he knew; regardless of the fact that he had never even seen this face in a photo, let alone in person. There was no one else it could possibly have been. Not here, not now. Not with a face so almost familiar.
That split second of soul-crushing recognition he'd had as he turned around was perfectly understandable.
That cold wash of fear at the unacceptable thought of seeing any of them here - where only one thing could have brought them - had faded quickly as he looked closer. Relief had flooded through him as his fear was quelled; it was not one of Qrow’s brood who had found themself in this place, come to share his sad fate.
No. It hadn’t been Ruby he had seen as he turned to face the new arrival. But the resemblance was striking, and he couldn’t help but smile faintly as he saw it for himself.
It wasn’t that she looked like Ruby. No. Ruby looked like her.
Clover nodded gently and almost offered out his hand, before realizing he wasn’t sure they could actually even touch things here.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He had expected the gently unamused glare that prompted and returned it with a just faintly smug grin.
“Despite the circumstances, and my having absolutely no idea what is going on, I can honestly say; it’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Rose.”
He stifled a chuckle as familiarly silver eyes narrowed in lighthearted annoyance and then waited expectantly.
“I mean, Summer.”
The smile that followed was almost familiar. Not quite a mirror image of the kind, excitable, courageous, strong girl he had become so fond of over the past couple of months.
But it was impossible not to see just how much Ruby Rose took after her mother. And even as that warmed one part of his imaginary heart, it started to break another.