Archive of Our Own ^beta

James found the box on the kitchen counter; his name scrawled on the top. 

It wasn’t his first sign that his husband had returned home, no, Qrow’s boots were by the door, his field backpack was hung in the cupboard with his, he’d seen it as he hung his own coat next to it. Harbinger was leant against the wall, his husband was home.  

The house was silent.  

This wasn’t a surprise, not really. Hardly the first time that Qrow had come home from a mission exhausted. Come home with shaky legs or trembling hands, swaying slightly and eyes fluttering, holding himself up on willpower alone. He'd come home in the came condition more than once, most Huntsmen did, it was the downside of their missions and their duties. Sometimes missions stretched on, often Qrow’s missions stretched on, and they were tiring by nature. Hunting criminals, destroying grimm, saving innocents, it was not easy work. 

He paused with his fingers lingering over the ribbon of the box, before stepping away. 

Quiet steps led him up to their bedroom, and he lingered in the doorway, just taking a second to watch his beloved husband. Qrow was face down in the middle of the bed on top of the covers, still clothed, breathing softly. His hair was a mess, the bags under his eyes were visible even in the low light, but he was here and safe and home. He was in the middle of the bed, like his body had mostly managed to fall on his own side but his face had ended up on James’ pillow instead. Safe and warm in bed.  

James padded quietly over to the wardrobe, quietly swapping his uniform for comfortable grey pyjamas. He pulled out a second set and set them on the pillow next to Qrow. That his husband hadn’t woken when he came into the room was a sign of how exhausted he was. Qrow was easily the lightest sleeper he’d ever met, he usually woke at every noise or movement, unless he was truly tired. He had not stirred at all at James’ entry, or his movement around the room, or his sinking into the bed next to him. He wasn’t joining him just yet, he wasn’t tired yet, it was only early evening, he needed dinner. He imagined Qrow did too, not that he had any intention to wake him.  

First, he had something more important to do. 

He unclipped Qrow’s cape first, gently pulling it free and folding it carefully. He moved to the shirt next, rolling Qrow back onto his lap to reach the buttons, brushing a hand through Qrow’s hair as he did, oh so gently. Qrow didn’t stir here either, but his face twisted slightly into a soft expression, one that always warmed his heart to see, and he shifted slightly to a more comfortable position. No fear or anxiety in his sleep, no mistrust of the person holding him as he slept. Soothed by his presence. He'd feared Qrow would find his prosthetics uncomfortable to rest against, so much metal where flesh had once been, but it never seemed to bother him at all, and now was no different. 

It didn’t take much effort to get Qrow out of the shirt, though his hands stilled at the sight of angry red lines across his chest. New, fresh marks, from claws most likely. He let his fingers hover over them for a second, before returning to his task. The shirt, he didn’t bother to fold, tossing it at the basket in the corner. Gooseflesh rose where the cool air met Qrow’s bare skin as he turned his attention to his husbands trousers, still snow damp. In an ideal world he’d wake Qrow, shove him into the shower to warm him up and get some food in him, but Qrow needed the sleep more than anything. If not, he’d have woken by now. His fingers gently brushed over the purpling bruises under his ribs, checking lightly for any breakage, relieved to find none.  

The trousers joined the shirt in the basket, and he pulled the covers from under Qrow to around him. Unconsciously, Qrow nestled deeper into the bed, pulling the covers closer with his face pressed deep into James’ pillow. For a few moments, he let himself stay there, basking in his husband’s warmth and presence, bushing his fingers gently through his hair. After almost a month, he was home, safe and sound in their bed. After almost a month, he could breathe.  

His stomach grumbled. He’d skipped lunch, and only managed a small breakfast. He needed dinner.  

He didn’t want to leave Qrow’s side, but Qrow wouldn’t be happy to find out he’d been skipping meals. They were both hypocrites on that front.  

Qrow never took enough care of himself on missions, James never took enough care of himself on duty. Qrow, his brave, selfless love, threw himself into looking after everyone else, but he always came home to him. He threw himself into his work, taking care of huntsman and huntresses in the field, and soldiers and students, even if it meant skipping a few meals or working into the evening. He missed field missions, it felt like he never had time for them any more, but he could do so much good from behind a desk, just as Qrow could do so much good travelling far and wide.  

‘How does it work?’ Arthur had asked him once, ‘how do the two of you do it?’ He hadn’t thought it was a fair question, huntsmen all over Remnant had families, partners they left for days or weeks or months so they could do their jobs. He and Qrow were no different to them. They took missions, they worked hard, and then they came home. That was the key, to always come back home.  

He hadn’t known Qrow was coming home today. It wasn’t uncommon that he just showed up, but he usually called first, let him know his mission was over and he was on his way back. Between that and using his clearance to flag Qrow’s name on passenger manifests, he usually had a good idea of when his husband would return to his side. He hadn’t had a clue this time, not a sign that Qrow was coming home today. He wasn’t ungrateful, he could never be sad that his husband was home, but he was curious about how exactly he’d slipped across the border. It was Ozpin’s work, no doubt, the man seemed to have reach everywhere, and how hard would it really be for someone that powerful to get someone on a flight under a fake name or something to that effect. 

“Sleep well, my love.” 

He tucked the covers a little tighter around Qrow as he slipped back out of the room, heading back down to the kitchen. 

He warmed up leftovers absentmindedly, watching the sun set from the kitchen window. The weather was clear, save a light breeze that gently rustled leaves and flags. Once the sun was down, the stars would be easy to see, and the aurora would surely follow, painting the sky with colour. On their first dates, at the Academy on that exchange program so many years ago, he’d taken Qrow out to show him those stars, to show him the lights. Broken curfew just to show Qrow a night's sky different from the one he’d been raised under; on those nights he couldn’t sleep. They wouldn’t necessarily be able to take a blanket up onto the academy roof again, but they had their own garden now, their own roof, their own lives. Not just the dreams of students, but real and solid and all theirs. 

His eyes turned back to that package on the counter. Oh so familiar packaging, a logo he knew well on the side. Even before pulling on the ribbon, even before flipping the lid open, he knew exactly what lay inside. He knew his husband well, his husband knew him well.  

A large slice of cake sat within the cardboard. 

Exhausted as he’d been, his husband had stopped on his way home to pick up this little gift. His favourite flavour, from their favourite bakery, carefully brought home and left neatly for him to find. He thought about the leather bracelet he’d had commissioned, sitting up in the draw by the bed, awaiting Qrow’s return. It could wait until the morning. 

His husband was home, and that was the best gift of all.