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Clover has always been an observer, even as a child. He’s constantly scanning the room; checking body language, entrances and exits, for who is watching him. His mother used to tease him about it, saying he would run out of room in his head if he kept up.
With the arrival of teams RWBY and JRN, as well as Oscar Pine, Huntress Calavera, and Huntsman Branwen, Clover has had plenty of new things to catalogue. Out of the more recent observations, one has piqued his interest; Qrow Branwen is incapable of staying still.
He paces and shifts on his feet. Rerolls his shirt sleeves. Destroys an unbelievable number of pens and pencils. One of the more memorable bouts of restlessness resulted in a small pile of miniature origami animals made from a torn up set of meeting notes.
It’s an odd trait for a huntsman of his caliber to have, especially someone who specialized in long-term spy work. Sitting and staring at the same spot for days on end might as well be second on the job description.
That’s the other thing that intrigues him. From what Clover can remember of the first couple weeks after the gaggle arrived in Mantle, Qrow didn’t used to exhibit these behaviors. It’s not like he was statue-still before, but he certainly wasn’t this active. It gets the cogs in his head turning.
Qrow has offhandedly mentioned his drinking problem a few times, but only ever in the past-tense. At first, Clover assumed he was talking about a long passed period of his life. It didn’t take long before it became clear that Qrow wasn’t a recovered alcoholic but a recovering one. He was still counting his sobriety in days, not years or even months. The moments when Qrow would reach into an empty shirt pocket only to pull back bashfully or try to pick up empty space on a tabletop start to make a lot more sense.
He isn’t bored, he’s trying to keep himself distracted from the impulse to reach for a flask or a glass.
Since Clover connected the dots, he started paying special attention to Qrow’s growing list of habits. Before long the harmless, occasionally even amusing, quirks shift in a direction Clover struggles to shrug off.
The change starts with nail biting, a very common habit and not inherently negative. Once there’s nothing left to bite at, the picking starts. Hangnails get pulled out, cuticles are ruined. When the wounds scab over those too are scratched away. Clover receives one too many documents with little blood smears to ignore.
The pair have grown quite close in these last few weeks. Not as close as Clover would like for them to be, they’re currently somewhere between ‘friends(?)’ and ‘too afraid to talk about it’. But Clover is not one to disregard a friend(?) in need.
Which is what lead the Ace Operative to last night’s issue. He laid awake long past when he usually falls asleep, unable to stop the flow of plans and possibilities running through his head. A little (maybe not so little) part in the back of his head wanted to walk up to Qrow after hours with a wink and say ‘Come to my place tonight and I can give something to do with your hands.’, but that feels a bit too much like taking advantage of the guy for the rest of Clover’s mind to get on board.
What he settled on (mostly to appease the rush of ‘or maybes’ and ‘what ifs’ so he could gets some damned sleep) isn’t much higher on the Normal Things To Do With Your Friend(?) And Colleague scale than full on propositioning the older huntsman. He tells himself he’s just doing what any highly decorated and respected military officer would do when assisting a fellow huntsman (who happens to be the most kind and skilled and beautiful person Clover has ever met, but that’s not important right now).
Except he doesn’t get to use his perfectly crafted plan. Fate, as seems to be the status quo recently, has another idea. It happens during a routine patrol— one that Clover may or may not have asked Weiss to swap assignments with him so he could accompany Qrow on it.
--
“I thought I would be used to the cold by now.” Qrow gripes. The older huntsman has been doing most of the talking since their patrol started, and Clover is more than happy to listen. “I’ll never understand how you can pull off the sleeveless thing.”
“Well when you grow up here, it’s a bit different.” They’ve had this conversation a few times, but it never stops being amusing to rile the other huntsman up.
“Sure.” Qrow scoffs. “I grew up sleeping on the ground but that doesn’t mean I want to if there’s a perfectly good bed available.”
“If you’re so cold, why don’t you pull your sleeves down? They can’t being doing that much rolled up all the time.” Clover pokes.
“Well—”
The easy banter makes the walking go by quickly. Before long they reach a checkpoint and settle for the time being, gazing out into the blinding white of the tundra. Clover allows a few minutes to pass before sparing a glance in Qrow’s direction. Sure enough, Harbinger is propped up against Qrow’s hip while his hands hover awkwardly in front of him. He’s scratching at a half-formed scab from a paper cut. This is the moment he’s been waiting for.
It’s now or never, Ebi. Clover hypes himself up, ready to reach out and take the other man’s hand in his own—
Thunk!
His hand rushes to his head instead, pressing against the stinging spot of impact.
“What— Holy shit, are you okay?”
With a groan, Clover opens his eyes and glances around. He quickly spots a sizeable chunk of hail on the ground nearby.
The weather was supposed to be completely clear today.
“That was quite the bullseye.” Clover tries to joke, but Qrow doesn’t seem amused. “I’m fine.”
Pulling his hand away, he isn’t shocked to spot a smudge of blood. Welp, so much for brushing it off.
“Let me look at that.” Qrow demands immediately when he sees the smear of red.
“I’m okay! I swear!” The Ace Op tries to reassure.
“Sit.” Qrow points to the railing.
Clover acquiesces, leaning back against the barrier and tilting his head forward so the top is easier to reach.
His eyes flutter closed the moment Qrow’s deft fingers start parting their way through his hair. Every motion is gentle and precise. It takes genuine effort to not groan; partially because that would be embarrassing, but also in an attempt to not worry the other further.
Minutes start to pass and it does not slip his notice that this is taking quite a bit longer than it should. Based on the way he steps back, hands shoved in his pockets, Qrow noticed as well.
“Sorry—” His eyes are glued to the ground. “It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches. You’ll definitely be sore for a bit.”
“Don’t apologize! It was kind of nice, actually.” Clover plasters on his brightest smile to hide that he did not mean to say that last part out loud.
“If you say so.” The cold-induced flush of his cheeks grows a little darker. “You should probably still have a real doctor look at it when we get back.”
“If it’ll make you feel better.” His smile is genuine this time, softer. “How about we keep moving along, hm?”
“Please.”
—
A week after the indecent, Qrow seeks him out.
It’s well past sunset, but Clover is still cooped up at his desk finishing up paperwork he’s been avoiding. It’s dark aside from the dregs of moonlight and his dimmed desk lamp. A hesitant knock at the door pulls his attention away.
“Come in?” He calls when the knocking doesn’t continue.
The door opens slightly and Qrow peaks in. “Are you busy?”
Yes.
“No! Not at all!”
Qrow approaches his desk, unease clear in every muscle of his body. He takes a breath to start talking, but he stops before he can even start. He’s looking at the mess of papers and scribbled out notes covering the surface.
“What are you working on this late at night?” He asks.
“I’m in charge of making the midterm combat trial pairings.” Clover answers.
“I thought match ups were randomized?” Qrow asks, head tilted.
“Most of them are. Some of the higher level classes use manually determined pairs to challenge the students, putting them against someone with a weapon or semblance that counters them.” Clover explains.
“Why is that your problem?”
“It isn’t always. The operatives and specialists take turns.” Clover says. “We’re an unbiased party, we can’t play favorites if we don’t know any of the kids. But, that also means basing everything on notes from professors which makes it a bit more difficult.”
“Can I take a look? I was a teacher for a while. It was a lifetime ago at this point, but if you want another pair of eyes…” Qrow offers.
“If it means I get to be done with this soon, I’ll take what I can get.” He gestures to the mess in invitation.
Qrow steps around the desk, standing behind his chair and leaning forward to see over Clover’s shoulder. The older huntsman begins to read silently.
Distracted by the radiating warmth of Qrow standing so close to him, Clover almost fails to suppress a startle when he feels something brush against his neck for a fleeting moment.
“What if you changed—”
Clover doesn’t catch the rest of Qrow’s suggestion, something brushes against the hair on the back of his head again, making him freeze. It takes a moment for Clover to place the sensation and lean subtly into it.
Finally, Qrow’s fingers start running properly through the hair at the nape of his neck. Still just as gentle and tentative as he remembers.
It doesn’t take long for Qrow to notice Clover went rigid and realize what he’s doing. Just like last time, he pulls away and puts a bit of space between them.
“Sorry— sorry, I wasn’t thinking—” He rushes to explain. Clover doesn’t want to hear any of that right now, he’s tired and that feels so nice.
“Keep going?”
Even in the low light Clover can see Qrow’s throat dip as he swallows.
“Uh.” Qrow blinks as the question registers. It takes a beat, but some of the discomfort in his posture slips away. “Okay.”
Qrow returns to his spot behind Clover’s seat, leaning in to continue reading. This time, his stomach presses against the back of Clover’s shoulder. The heat, unimpeded from the lack of sleeves (See, Qrow? There is a good reason to not have them) on his uniform burns hot against his skin.
Slender fingers settle more confidently into denser hair on the top of Clover’s head, soothing the strands back. Blunt nails scratch against his scalp on occasion, sending shivers all the way down Clover’s spine.
“As I was saying—”
Even if his first plan didn’t work out, this is an alternative Clover is more than satisfied with for the time being. So, mission accomplished?
"—What do you think?" Qrow finishes, looking to him expectantly.
Man, he is never getting this list done.