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Finally.
Qrow stepped out of the shower and got dressed quickly. After a long day of working outside in the blazing heat, moving heavy furniture in and out of a house larger than Beacon, all Qrow wanted was a good meal, cold shower, and time with Oz. With two of those boxes checked, he was at least starting to feel like a person again. He dried his hair off as best he could and stepped into their bedroom, hoping to check off box number three.
Qrow peered around the bed and stifled a laugh at the sight of his partner laying on the floor with a mat and a pillow, like a little kid at a sleepover. Qrow plopped himself down on the floor next to Oz to join him for his physical therapy routine.
“Hey, handsome,” Qrow teased.
“Hello, my love.” Oz tried to smile back, but it crinkled into a grimace as he pulled his right leg up to his chest.
“How did your appointment go today?”
“It was alright,” he grunted as he held the position. “Just a routine check up.”
Qrow looked up at Oz’s bedside table and saw the visit summary sheet hanging off. He grabbed it and skimmed as he guessed, “He give you some new shit to work on?”
Oz managed a laugh, “Yes, indeed he did.”
“Did you take it easy today like I told you to?”
Oz switched legs without saying a word.
Qrow lifted his eyes from the page. “Oz.”
“I told you that I couldn’t. We had the fundraiser to set up for.”
“I know, but you have staff for a reason,” Qrow insisted. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know.”
“I’m not helpless, Qrow.”
“I never said you were.”
Qrow flipped through the instructions for exercises in the packet. According to the sheet, Oz was only on the second recommended work out. “What did your doctor say about the extra activity?” Qrow asked.
Oz kept his eyes ahead, stretching as if Qrow hadn’t said anything at all. Qrow knew what that meant. The doctor didn’t give his opinion, because Oz didn’t tell him.
Qrow set the summary sheet down on the floor. “Alright, well,” he grunted as he reached behind him, “looks like you’ll need this next,” he said as he presented the rolling foam massager Oz used on his back.
Oz returned to his resting position. “Qrow. You don’t have to do this.”
Qrow leaned over, hovering just above Oz’s lips to whisper, “I’m not spotting you because I have to. I’m doing it because you’re my partner and I love you, you dork.”
Oz smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I love you, too,” he said, gently caressing Qrow’s cheek. Qrow pressed his lips to Oz’s firmly, with purpose, a message passing between them: You are not a burden. I will take care of you until the end, Oz.
The whole routine only took about forty five minutes. Not bad at all, Qrow thought as he helped Oz up. Qrow took another glance at the instructions to make sure they didn’t skip anything.
“Looks like there’s one more recommendation on here,” Qrow said.
But it wasn’t an exercise. The treatment recommended having “a trusted caretaker” massage Oz’s back.
Oz shrugged as he gathered up his yoga mat and pillow. “Yes, I normally just skip that part. I never have anyone to ask.”
“You have me.”
Oz stopped, but only for a second. “No, that’s alright, I couldn’t ask you to-”
“You’re not asking,” Qrow reminded him. “I’m offering.”
Slowly, Oz put his equipment back in his closet, the sheepish, pensive look on his face saying more than words ever could. Oz wanted to say ‘yes,’ but he didn’t want Qrow to feel like he had to offer. It was a conversation they had many times before.
Finally, Oz slid his closet door shut. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
Qrow bowed, “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”
Oz laughed, his cheeks turned a brilliant red. “Thank you, my love.”
Qrow’s heart soared.
“Don’t mention it.”
Qrow rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of lotion, returning quickly for fear that Oz would change his mind. He took a seat on the side of the bed and waited patiently. Oz hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again. Qrow swore that Oz was going to change his mind right then and there, until finally, he turned around and took his shirt off.
Qrow’s gasp was involuntary.
Qrow had heard that Oz had surgery on his back when he was a kid. He saw how it affected him every single day- the way he sat, the way he would lay down, how often he stood, how long he could walk. He felt how Oz’s muscles would tense up from the pressure of a tight hug. But he never imagined that the scar on Oz’s back would be so vicious.
“Not what you expected?” Oz asked.
The sound of Oz’s voice snapped Qrow back to reality. “No- I mean- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s alright,” Oz chuckled. “I know it’s shocking at first. I first saw it in a photo my mother took at my insistence. Morbid curiosity, I suppose.”
Qrow stood up and approached cautiously. “How- how old were you?”
“I was ten when the surgeries happened. Eleven when I asked to see it.”
Amusement danced through Oz’s voice, but darkness lurked just underneath it. The use of the plural almost knocked Qrow on his ass.
“Surgeries?”
“Four, to be exact.”
“Fucking hell, Oz.”
The scar stretched down Oz’s entire spine. Exposed, tender, scared skin tissues created a web of pink and white and red. Thirty fucking years and it still looked like this?
Qrow’s scars were always visible. The one on his neck, the three on his arm. Even the several on his back could be seen when he wore a tank top- at least the ones near his shoulders. Oz had run his hand over Qrow’s scars many times. Traced them. He knew the story behind every mark on Qrow’s body.
But all this time, Qrow never realized the scar that Oz was hiding underneath.
“Why…?” The rest of the question died on Qrow’s lips.
“Why did they have to do it four times?” Oz clarified. “Well, the first one didn’t go so well. The other three were an attempt to fix their mistake. I was in the hospital for a whole year, trying to recover. I was in a wheelchair for three months while the incision healed.”
Qrow pictured a small, scared, ten-year-old little Oz trapped in a hospital room for a whole year all because some idiot with a medical degree couldn’t do his fucking job right.
His teeth clenched.
“I was so angry at first,” Oz mused.
That makes two of us.
“But my parents and I knew the risks. The truth was, the doctor’s expected me to be in that wheelchair for the rest of my life. It’s a miracle I’m even standing here today.”
Qrow’s jaw relaxed, if only a little. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his partner’s scarred flesh. “Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Sometimes. It burns, with a cutting, searing pain. Usually without cause.”
Gently, Qrow reached out, using his index finger to trace the scar, all the way down Oz’s spine. A wound that was torn open again and again and again.
A pain Qrow wished he could take away.
“Come here,” he prompted. Qrow resumed his seat on the bed, beckoning Oz to join him. Oz sighed and shook his head before silently conceding. As Oz gingerly lowered himself onto the bed between Qrow’s legs, Qrow slipped his arms around Oz’s waist.
Qrow hugged Oz close. “I’ll always be here to take care of you, Oz.” He kissed the highest point of Oz’s scar, etching the words into Oz’s skin. “I promise.”