Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.
Qrow detested the jungle.
Out of all the women in his life, Mother Nature was his least favorite. Just the thought of thorny brambles and snaking vines had him instinctively reaching for his flask. Without the sky, he felt trapped.
But now, as he stood in the wooded definition of anathema, his blood boiled and his regrets writhed at accepting a mission in one of the most loathsome places on Remnant. The current stormy conditions didn't help his frustrations one iota. Every fiber of his being yearned for the sky, but letting his wings do the walking was out of the question in the face of such hurricane-like winds.
And so, he remained grounded, hacking his way through the thickets and foliage and cursing under his breath every step of the way.
He took a swig from his beloved flask and then immediately spat out the drink, followed by another curse. He must have left the stopper open, for the torrential downpour had leaked into his sweet repose. The liquid was now a watered-down abomination, an anemic imitation of Mistral's finest. He pocketed the now useless flask with a heavy scowl.
Just his luck.
Lightning flashed overhead, and the accompanying thunder gave a dark chuckle at his situation. Even the weather seemed to taunt him.
Qrow channeled his vexation into his sword and carried onwards.
As branches and ivy fell victim to his blade, Qrow wondered for the umpteenth time how he had ended up in this forest. Thoughts of Ozpin's summons came to mind.
"I've got a mission for you," Ozpin had said.
"What is it this time, Oz?" he had asked. "Hopefully something exciting. Perhaps a stake-out in Vacuo, at a poolside bar with a woman on each side."
Ozpin had ignored his comment. Qrow knew he only heard what he wanted to hear. At least, that was the case if the words came from his mouth.
"An Atlesian military shipment was intercepted on its way to Mistral. The aircraft was shot down in the center of Anima, between CCT towers. The ship contained a platoon of Atlesian Knight-130's, high-grade Dust crystals, Lien, and classified documents." Qrow's Scroll chimed, the mission information likely already downloaded and encrypted. "The last in the list is what General Ironwood and I are worried about. We'd like you to retrieve the documents, now stored in the ship's blackbox."
"Why me? This sounds like an Atlas problem, not a Qrow problem."
"Atlas is sending one of their operatives. But that's not why I chose you for this mission."
"Go on."
"I chose you because an eyewitness account at the crash site reported strange activity. Activity involving red portals and a masked individual."
"I'm in."
Ozpin had laughed. "If you manage to find her, give her this." He handed Qrow a Scroll. "You two have a history of getting on each other's nerves, but hopefully she'll give her dear old headmaster a listen."
"Let's hope so."
Qrow checked to make sure the Scroll was still in his pocket. Although it was surrounded in a waterproof casing, protecting it from the elements, dropping it in the forest would be a nuisance at best. Every moment he spent in the jungle was one he could not spend at a bar, replacing what the rain had robbed from him.
Oh, what he did for Ozpin.
Due to the weather, Qrow and the Atlesian operative had to land at different ports. A rendezvous point was set near the crash site, and both set off into the woods. He wondered how his companion was faring. Perhaps he could find solace in a higher Grimm kill count.
He smirked. Even the jungle couldn't dampen his competitive spirit.
Gathering whatever shreds of willpower he could muster, Qrow pressed on.
When her introduction had been a steel blade through the backside of a rearing Ursa, he thanked Ozpin for managing to pair him with a competent fighter. Most of the time, the Atlesian military didn't know the difference between a champion and a chump, and somehow his luck had turned to score him a member of the former. The Atlesian operative knew her stuff.
As the two of them thinned the Ursai pack, a wordless rhythm was established, one Qrow felt was pleasant and, although he was loath to admit it, exciting. The newly forged partnership was a refreshing respite from roughing the wilderness on his lonesome.
It was, that is, until she spoke.
"Your form is sloppy," she said. "Who trained you?"
"My name's Qrow Branwen, thanks for asking," he said. "And improvisation is an art form, one Atlas seems to have neglected in their drills."
"If you had proper form, you wouldn't need to improvise anything," she barked back.
Now that the Grimm were all ash, Qrow took time to study her. Her white and blue uniform looked out of place in the greens and browns of the forest, but who was he to complain? His grey jacket and red cape was little better.
But it wasn't her clothes than began to wear at his nerves, it was her comportment, her way of speaking. Military rigidity echoed through her every action, her every word. Slowly but surely, his prejudices against the Atlesian military began to seep into his evaluation of the soldier in front of him.
He hoped something of her character would redeem her. His sanity wouldn't survive otherwise.
"What's yours?" he asked, sheathing his weapon on his back.
"My name? It's Crystal," she replied.
"Just Crystal?"
"Yes. Crystal."
He rolled his eyes. "We both know that's a load of bullshit."
"It's Crystal," she insisted.
"I'm giving you a chance here."
"I've been instructed to tell you—it's. Crystal."
"Fine," he said. Two can play at that game. "Don't expect me to be your friend. You're here to get your precious military secrets. I'm here to have a meet-and-greet with my beloved sister."
Crystal quirked an eyebrow. "She doesn't sound like it."
"You've no idea," he said. "But she's family. Even if she's the most bullheaded person on the planet, aside from yours truly."
She gave a solemn nod. "I know what you mean."
"Whatever you say," he said, returning to the underbrush. Crystal followed, and Qrow soon discovered that two swords made better time than one. He'd take a small victory when it presented itself.
A metronome of slices ticked by as the seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours. All the while, their destination inched closer, ever out of reach.
Qrow detested the jungle.
The small clearing offered a good place to rest, and while neither party wanted to admit it, a rest was needed. Aura could only do so much for muscles before fatigue began to make wielding a sword a chore.
And so, tacitly, the two sat on a log on opposite ends of the clearing.
Out of habit, Qrow's flask appeared in his hand, but it quickly found its way back into his pocket in favor of a canteen of water. The small knapsack above his weapon's sheath held rations and water, but, unfortunately, no brandy. Still, he needed a drink, and water tasted as good as whiskey when thirst racked his throat.
With his thirst quenched and a sandwich in hand, he watched Crystal across the way. Judging from the grimace on her face, Atlesian field rations tasted like the cardboard they were rumored to be made from. Qrow suppressed a grin. At least he had some decent grub.
"What has Ironwood told you about the crash?" he probed. While the Kingdoms were technically at peace with one another, he knew Ozpin would pocket any information readily. Although their one and only conversation showed Crystal was anything but loose-lipped, he fished for info nonetheless.
"Type III emergency. Video footage shows a strong blast striking the aircraft, followed by a free fall. The pilot aimed the craft towards an unpopulated area, then ejected. No other casualties were sustained. Monetary damage, unknown. Other damages, unknown," Crystal intoned.
"Yeah, I got that part, but why? Who could be attacking you?" Qrow asked through a mouthful of a BLT on rye.
"Mistral is known for their black market and abundance of thieves. Analysis points towards one gang in particular, called the 'Foxgloves.'"
Qrow hummed. "A flower mafia, then. Why do you suspect them?"
Crystal gave up trying to ingest the clearly inedible and packed up her meal. Qrow tossed her a half of his sandwich, which she caught easily. Although she glared at him, he swore he saw a thankful expression cross her face, if only for a millisecond.
"The Foxgloves have been active in this region for several months. The location of their base of operations is unknown, but Atlesian intelligence pegged it not far from here."
"So you flew over their airspace," he said. "But Atlesian aircraft aren't Nevermores. What I don't understand is why they'd risk bringing the wrath of Atlas down to their little corner of Mistral for a hunk of metal and a few Lien."
Crystal scoffed. "Many are jealous of the wealth and technology Atlas has attained. It's only natural the Foxgloves want some for themselves," she said.
Qrow shook his head. "But the black market in Mistral is easier, cheaper, and less risky. Believe me, I've been there."
"Great, Ironwood has me serving with a scoundrel," she muttered.
"Watch it, missy. This scoundrel has saved Ironwood's hide loads of times. If it weren't for me, Ironwood would be more metal than bone right now."
Crystal's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Don't talk about the general like that."
"Oh? And why can't I? It's not like I can be demoted or anything."
"I'll mention this in my report. I'll make sure Ozpin hears about this," she threatened.
"I'm not scared of Ozpin, either. He and I both know I'm a terrible person, but I'm a terrible person that gets results," he said.
Crystal huffed. "If you're such a terrible person, why'd you want to become a Huntsman?"
"That's none of your business, missy," Qrow said tersely.
"It clearly is," she shot back. "I'm going to be your partner for the next twenty-four hours—at the minimum—and I need to know that you won't snap in the middle of a firefight."
Qrow readied a retort, then realized fighting her wouldn't appease her. He decided to mollify her, but sans details.
"Fine, missy."
"It's Crystal."
"Crystal, then. I'll talk." He sighed, gathering his thoughts. "My sister and I were raised by a tribe of bandits."
"So you are a scoundrel."
Qrow winked. "Born and raised. They taught me how to fight, how to fend for myself, and, most importantly, how to survive in this harsh, unforgiving world.
"Beacon was next. Both my sister and I sought strength, but for different reasons. She saw strength as a way to ensure victory, while I saw it as a way to avoid defeat. At the end of it all, she returned to the tribe, and I stayed with Ozpin."
"By choice or by force?" Crystal had calmed somewhat, or at least her combativeness had dropped to reasonable levels. Apparently, talking was the winning tactic with her.
"More like out of necessity."
"How so?"
"Necessity, Crystal. I had to."
She was clearly dissatisfied with his answer. "Nobody has to do anything. You had a motive, a reason for staying and abandoning your family."
Qrow raised his eyes up the sky. The storm clouds no longer looked foreboding, but the rain continued to fall. "Family. Funny you'd say that," he said.
No response came, and when Qrow looked at Crystal, he found pursed lips and a cold stare. And he thought he had placated her enough.
"Family is what caused me to stay."
Two more hours of trekking had Qrow's muscles screaming to retire for the night. Given the dying light and the growing sense of tension between him and his Atlesian partner, Qrow decided to stop at the next clearing. Crystal must have come to the same decision, since they simultaneously reached for their tents at the next opening in the trees. Trading a look with Crystal, Qrow shrugged and began to erect his shelter.
A series of practiced movements and a bit of fire Dust earned him a dry dome, albeit a very small one. Seeing as Crystal had yet to finish constructing hers, Qrow spent a few minutes gathering the requisite tinder and lumber for a fire. More fire Dust rewarded him with a roaring flame, one he gratefully used to warm his hands and dry his cape.
"Your turn," he said.
Crystal sat on the ground opposite from him, legs crossed and back ramrod straight. Her sword lay across her thighs, glimmering in the firelight.
"My turn?" She looked genuinely confused, but Qrow offered her no help. She'd figure it out soon enough. When realization finally dawned on her face, Qrow leaned back.
It was story time.
"You're not the only one who's lived a harsh life," she began.
"We've all lived harsh lives," Qrow said. "The only ones who don't are the Schnee and the Kingdoms's Council members."
Crystal gave him a hard stare, before turning her gaze to the flames. "Greatness comes to those who desire it. From a young age, I wanted greatness, so I thrust myself into training to become a Huntress."
"There are other ways to achieve prominence than by becoming a Huntress," Qrow said. "Especially in Atlas. Technology seems a lot safer—and a lot more lucrative—than fighting Grimm."
"STEM isn't for everybody," she said. "I wasn't destined for STEM."
Qrow raised his eyebrows. "Destined? A strange word, coming from someone who told me a little while ago that… what was it again? That 'nobody has to do anything'?"
Crystal scowled. "Look, Qrow, do you want to talk about your family, or do you want to hear about why I became a Huntress?"
Qrow crossed his arms. "Fine. Keep talking."
"I graduated from Atlas Academy and enlisted in the military. The Atlesian military was an attractive option for me—everything was ordered there, including the pathway to greatness and power. Black and white personified," she said.
"Nothing's that simple," he said.
"It was simpler than anything else," she said.
"So you sought simplicity."
"I sought the quickest path to the top."
The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air. Qrow followed them as they floated away before they winked out of view. "What's so precious about the top?" he asked.
"What's so precious about family?"
Qrow snorted. "You're one to talk. Do you even have any siblings?"
"No," she said firmly. "And from what you've told me, I'm glad I don't."
Qrow smiled. "You're right. They're a handful and a headache. But they're all you have. And that's why I'm here."
After his comment, the two of them sat in silence, one only interrupted by the snaps of the fire and the sounds of the jungle. Qrow was about to retire to his tent when Crystal spoke.
"Reaching the top means I've accomplished something. It means I put in the work and reaped the rewards," she said. Her eyes were downcast, and her spine had regained some of its natural curve.
"See, that wasn't so hard. We all have a cliché for our motivations," he said.
"They're cliché because they're all too often true," she said. Then, her eyes locked with his own. "Remember what you said about strength?"
"That I saw it as a way to avoid defeat?"
She nodded. "To me, strength is the ability to seek higher ground."
"Victory, then."
"Not necessarily victory. Moral higher ground. Metaphorical higher ground. A better place."
"Higher ground, huh? Interesting," Qrow mused.
Silence reigned once more, and when the fire died to glowing embers and coals, Crystal slipped into her tent. Qrow threw dirt on the remnants of the fire and sat in the darkness. His thoughts churned.
There were details he had omitted to tell Crystal, details that resided too close to his heart for what amounted to a stranger. But now that he was alone, he could let his thoughts wander to why he had stayed.
He stayed with Ozpin because of family, that much was true. The headmaster had let him teach at Signal to be closer to his niece, and soon, nieces. Without their mothers, Qrow knew he had to step in and fill that void the best he could.
When he wasn't with the girls, he was working for Ozpin. Ozpin's missions helped the headmaster stave off the darkness and keep the world in balance. Qrow completed each and every one, not out of the goodness of his heart, but for the goodness in everyone else's.
Especially his nieces's.
Despite his Semblance, he was the luckiest uncle in all of Remnant.
His tent welcomed him with its tiny flaps. He fumbled for his sleeping bag's zipper, and he eventually cocooned himself in its wool-lined interior. His descent into sleep was a quick one, hastened by a day of slashing vines and conversing with his newfound companion.
He still hated the jungle. But it was more bearable now.
Qrow awoke to the aromas of freshly cooked meat and a variety of spices and herbs. His stomach growled.
Perhaps Atlesians weren't so useless after all.
Emerging from his tent, he found Crystal on the ground, in the same spot as the previous night. A fire burned before her, and additional firewood lay behind her. In her hand was a frying pan, which she deftly used to prepare some unidentifiable bird she must have caught. Beside her sat another one, complete with leafy garnishing and various fruits.
"Good morning," Qrow grunted. He was never a morning person.
"Good morning, Qrow," Crystal replied. She seemed chipper, or at least not as mired in the dregs of sleep as he was. Lucky her. Qrow could never escape them before noon without a proper cup of coffee.
Qrow moved to his log and took a seat. "What are you cooking?" he asked.
"Pheasant," she answered. "I set some traps at daybreak. Apparently, there aren't very many humans around, since these two tripped them right away."
"See any Foxgloves?"
"The only ones I saw were a nice shade of purple. I thought to make a bouquet for you," she said.
He rolled his eyes. "Glad so see your sense of humor didn't wash away with the rain," he said.
She offered him a smile and a plate of pheasant. He took it with a word of thanks and dug in. While it was no omelet and hash browns, Crystal was a decent enough cook.
Who was he kidding, her food was excellent.
"Any idea how far we are from the crash?" Qrow asked.
"I'd estimate about an hour. Although, when we draw closer, we'll need to scan for Foxglove traps and patrols, slowing our progress," she said.
"Figures. I wouldn't want anyone touching my treasure, either," he said.
The two ate their meal in near silence, broken by the occasional question or detail concerning their operation. When both had finished, they extinguished the fire and dismantled their tents. Bearings were taken, and the pair set off into the jungle once more.
True to her word, an hour's journey revealed the first of many Foxglove traps. While Qrow could have spotted the hastily made tripwire from a mile away, he was still surprised to encounter it. After miles without a single indication of civilization, one suddenly made itself known in the form of a 'do not disturb' sign.
Things were about to get interesting.
In typical Qrow fashion, a hidden knot caused Crystal to stumble and call out, alerting a nearby Foxglove patrol. Then, on the their way to investigate the sound, a pack of Beowolves descended upon the patrol. A scuffle broke out, allowing the pair to skirt past them effortlessly. Qrow considered telling Crystal about his Semblance, but decided to hold his tongue.
Let her chalk it up to chance.
Minutes passed, and then another stumble, this time committed by Qrow, attracted a second patrol. Without a ready distraction, he knew they would have to incapacitate them. He told Crystal as much, and the two dropped into fighting stances. Anticipation crackled in the air as the Foxgloves bumbled their way through the underbrush.
"I think it came from this way," someone yelled.
"Quiet, you could scare 'em off," a second voice called.
"Well, sorry for telling you where the sound was," the first replied.
"Just…keep your safety off and keep movin'," the second said.
The bushes continued to rustle.
As soon as the first head popped into view, Qrow whirled into action. The flat of his wide blade smacked into the Foxglove's masked face, knocking him off his feet. He followed up with a pommel strike. When he was sure that the Foxglove was unconscious, he looked to Crystal, who he found in a similar situation.
"Only two?" Qrow asked. His Foxglove looked thin, perhaps even malnourished. Qrow plucked the purple fox mask from the motionless figure's face for inspection. The mask was hastily made, with paint peeling at the edges.
"It appeared so," Crystal said, examining her combatant. She extracted a handgun and clips of ammunition from his various pockets. "Minimal to no Aura training, basic weaponry."
"They look malnourished," Qrow said.
"Indeed." Crystal pulled back her Foxglove's eyelid. "The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, and his skin is slightly yellowed. Signs of drug usage."
Qrow kneaded his temples. "Great, a flower mafia that likes their drugs. Just what we needed."
"Perhaps that's why they downed the Atlesian vessel," she said.
He scoffed. "They thought your ship was carrying crates of stimulates and hallucinogens? That's quite a stretch."
She shook her head. "They shot at the vessel to acquire the Lien to purchase more drugs. Without a flow of Lien or drugs, gangs grow unstable. In order to stave off a coup, the Foxgloves may have grown desperate," she theorized.
"And so they decided to poke one of the greatest powers on the planet," Qrow said. He hummed. "Yeah, these druggies aren't too bright. Let's tie them up."
Qrow procured his roll of duct tape, and the Foxgloves soon sat back-to-back, their wrists bound and their mouths taped shut. When Crystal was satisfied with his work, he stowed the tape in his knapsack and ran to catch up with his receding companion.
Dust, the girl needed to slow down sometime. Stop and smell the foxgloves or something.
Crystal was the first to notice the charred trees. Qrow joined her and viewed the carnage in front of him. Great furrows were scored into the earth, but these claw marks weren't from a giant Nevermore. The trees to both sides were blackened, their tops devoid of leaves and branches.
The aircraft had crashed through this burned corridor, and none too subtly. A second's evaluation pointed him towards the crash site. The duo stuck to the destruction's edge, trading stealth for speed.
The noonday sun radiated brightly, a smattering of clouds providing the occasional blot of shade. Qrow was happy to see the storm pass. He had had enough rain.
A bit of smoke in the distance marked the location of the aircraft. As Qrow and Crystal grew closer, the thin trail of smoke expanded into a pillar, billowing in the gentle breeze. Qrow wondered how there was still a fire in the ship after all the rain, but then he recalled the Dust aboard. When destabilized, fire Dust crystals could explode spontaneously, but when a canister of fire Dust grew unstable, a small opening could result in smoke that lasted for ages.
Qrow felt hesitation creep into his steps. Destabilized Dust meant a possibility for cataclysmic explosions. Especially when he was around.
Perhaps he should tell Crystal about his Semblance after all.
They arrived at a gigantic clearing. As Qrow peered from behind a boulder, he spied Foxglove cronies crawling all over the place. At the perimeter stood a few sentries, rifles in their hands. In all, the Foxglove presence was no mere recovery party.
Qrow pondered the force in front of him. Even if each and every Foxglove had no Aura training, it would be no picnic to storm the aircraft and take control. Add on the fact that the Foxglove superiors might very well be retired or ex-Huntsman, and the job just got near impossible.
Fortune favored the bold, but no amount of boldness could turn his luck.
"Got any bright ideas?" Qrow asked. He studied Crystal's face as her eyes darted about, scanning the clearing. Her features betrayed no apprehension as she viewed the challenge ahead of them.
"What's under those tarps over there?" Crystal pointed towards a cluster of green tarps. Underneath them were many oddly shaped bundles. Given that no Foxglove was anywhere near them, Qrow's curiosity piqued.
Time to spread his wings.
"There's a pine over there you could climb. Why don't you get an aerial view?" he suggested.
"But what about you?" she asked.
"I'll skirt around to the other side, get a different look. Report back in five," he said. With that, he dashed to the right, keeping his head low.
Once Crystal was out of sight, he tapped into his hidden power, one independent of his Aura. It flooded through him, hollowing his bones and reshaping his body. With two hops and a flap of his newly formed wings, he was airborne.
Flying never lost its charm. Qrow found it incredibly difficult to stay troubled by all of the horrors and harsh realities of the world when the sky stretched before him, boundless in its domain. He abandoned the heavy half-truths he tolerated and the factitious masks he wore with his human form.
No Grimm. No bars. No Kingdoms. No wars.
Just the ground and the sky.
Simplicity incarnate.
Qrow tore himself away from the tantalizing thermal and refocused on the mission at hand. Tarps needed to be checked, and partners needed to be informed. A slight bank of his wings routed him towards the tarpaulins, and a bit of aerial acrobatics whisked him through a small opening.
His avian eyes readjusted to the dim lighting quickly, yet the snowflake emblem of the Schnee Dust Company, printed stark white on black metal crates, needed no such night vision to view. He estimated a million Lien's worth of Dust crystals, easy, lay under the tarps. The noticeable lack of smoke indicated the crystals were not unstable and were likely going straight into the coffers of the Foxglove higher-ups.
Qrow would have curled a lip if he had one. Corruption was never pretty, regardless of which side of the Dust-coated, blood-soaked coin it was on.
But he had greater things to worry about at the moment.
His reconnaissance finished, he exited the tarpaulin and flew to a spot out of view to all parties. After trading wings for arms, he returned to the boulder from before, where Crystal was waiting.
"What did you see?" she asked.
Qrow shrugged. "Probably the same as you—Foxglove minions crawling out the wazoo and crates full of Dust and Atlas tech."
Crystal nodded. "While I waited for you, I attempted to initiate a wireless communication with one of the Atlesian Knights using my Scroll, but to no success. Some hacker of theirs must have disabled their wireless features."
"Or some zealous bozo with a monkey wrench smashed the computer chips."
Crystal's dagger-eyed stare could have cut diamonds, but Qrow saw her near-imperceptible smile anyways.
"So, miss Atlas, what's the battle plan?" Qrow asked, unsheathing his sword.
"I'm working on it," she replied, furrowing her brow.
Qrow smirked. "Do you need a distraction?"
Crystal gave him a suspicious look. "And what would that entail?"
His smirk grew wider. "Just a little bit of improv."
"Improv? Only an untrained ruffia—"
In one swift movement, Qrow whipped his arm out to the side, released the bottom half of his sword, and fired his gun. The bullets whizzed across the clearing and tore into the tarpaulin.
The explosion would have been one of the greatest Qrow had ever seen, but watching Crystal's face devolve into sheer astonishment was the better prize by far.
Their eyes locked for a brief moment. Hers were the picture of fury. Qrow was sure his were the textbook definition of smug.
And then she was gone, a flash of cloth and steel to meet her foes head on. Qrow joined her a heartbeat later.
If distractions were liquor, then his was 180-proof—powerful, fiery, and filled with promises of headaches and blackouts to come. But instead of alcohol, every Foxglove got the taste of a fireball and a sharp steel blade, courtesy of Atlas and Vale's finest.
Havoc was too light a word for what followed.
But as Qrow dished out his own brand of havoc, his thoughts were not filled with concerns of possible backup. He did not consider where Foxglove superiors might be huddling on the aircraft. He paid no mind to the salvageable Atlesian valuables or the surviving robotic parts.
No, the only thing on his mind was where the hell his sister was.
When Crystal's blade had impaled an Ursa back in the jungle, he had thought it his friend.
Not so much now. Cold metal pressed to his neck erased all delusions of the weapon—and the owner—he had once held.
He wondered how he could fast-talk himself out of this one. After all, he'd been in worse.
"What possessed you to engage in such folly?" Crystal spat. "Your idiocy may have damaged the blackbox. Your foolishness may have killed Foxglove senior officers. Your brash disregard for all things sane may have gotten us killed." Crystal practically foamed from the mouth.
Qrow was about to make a retort when her blade drew closer to his jugular.
Easy there, Qrow, easy.
"You have ten seconds to explain yourself," she grit out.
Qrow met her murderous gaze with what he hoped was nonchalance. "You said you needed a distraction."
"I needed a distraction, not a conflagration," she said.
"Well, it worked."
"Perhaps a bit too well."
Qrow let out a sigh. "Look, Crystal, as much as I like the taste of metal, could you please remove your sword from my neck?" Her reluctance simmered off of her in droves, but she sheathed her blade nonetheless.
"Thank you," he said. "As for the distraction, I knew that the explosion wouldn't damage the aircraft. There was far too little Dust to reach the ship."
She scoffed. "And how could you possibly know that?"
"Lucky guess." When Crystal's hands twitched to her weapon's grip, however, he knew he would have to provide more than a passing remark. "I saw a grunt pass underneath the tarp, giving me a look at the Dust crates. I estimated the size of a possible explosion from that."
Crystal raised an eyebrow. "So you gambled."
Qrow shrugged. "More like an educated guess. I've extensive experience with working with Dust."
"As do I. Inherent instability in Dust's molecular makeup makes it impossible to properly predict the size of an energetic discharge," she said.
"That's bullshit. A few dozen explosions is all the experience you need," he said.
She harrumphed. "Still, your little experiment cost us millions in Dust."
"It netted us the blackbox."
"It might be in a hundred pieces, for all we know."
"Catch." Crystal snatched the object from the air. Surprise flickered across her face, and then she reached for her Scroll. She tapped the device's surface a few times, reading whatever text appeared on the screen. She looked at Qrow. "It's all here," she said.
"Great, mission accomplished."
"No thanks to you."
"I tend to disagree."
Crystal looked ready to respond when her gaze snapped to Qrow's left. Turning his head, Qrow saw a masked individual step out of her trademark portal.
Look who finally decided to show up.
Her portal closing behind her, Raven removed her Grimm mask and rested it at her hip. Ignoring her brother, she opted to study his partner. Crystal watched on with a disinterested stare.
"You have interesting taste in women, brother, but a Schnee?" Raven clicked her tongue. "I expected more from you."
Qrow frowned. "She's not a Schnee, she's—"
She gave a solemn nod. "I know what you mean."
"I wasn't destined for STEM."
"Reaching the top means I've accomplished something. It means I put in the work and reaped the rewards."
"To me, strength is the ability to seek higher ground."
Memory crashed into him. Headlines proclaiming the disowning of the eldest Schnee, the heiress to the company. Exclusive interviews detailing the former-heiress-turned-soldier's enlistment into the military. Tabloid murmurings of a soldier's meteoric rise through the ranks.
How had me missed such a connection? How had he forgotten such a face?
A Schnee? A Schnee?
His Atlesian prejudices paled in the face of his bias against the SDC. And now, those biases were aimed towards Crystal. Or, should he say, Winter.
"Looks like the alcohol's clouding your brain again," Raven taunted.
Qrow growled. To Winter, he said, "My sister and I need to talk." To Raven, "Let's go." Raven grinned, sliced open a portal, and walked through it, her brother in tow.
Raven's portal spat him out on some sort of a clifftop. Qrow spotted the smoke from the crash as a thin trail far in the distance.
"What brought you here?" Raven asked.
"Ozpin," Qrow replied, handing her the Scroll. "He wants you to call home."
She sneered at the proffered device, even as she accepted it. "Beacon isn't my home, you know."
"Seems Oz hasn't gotten that through his old head of his yet."
Raven's hard stare softened. "The tribe misses you, Qrow."
He snorted. "I'll bet they do."
"I'm not lying. They want you back," she said.
"Who would ever want me?" he cried. "I'm a walking tragedy."
"You're also one of the most skilled fighters I've ever seen."
"I don't play that game anymore."
Raven crossed her arms. "What game?"
Qrow gave a derisive laugh. "You know full well 'what game' I'm talking about. I'm not a mercenary."
"Ozpin certainly treats you like one."
"He treats me like a Huntsman. I fight monsters, not innocents."
"The strong survive, the weak perish."
"And you're making us weaker."
Tension thickened the air. Silence was the only thing holding back swords.
Raven sighed. "Come home."
"I could say the same to you," Qrow shot back.
"Beacon isn't my—"
"Patch, Raven."
She paused. "That's not my home either."
"It's more home than anywhere else on this wretched planet."
This time, the silence no longer felt paper-thin.
"Your daughter wants to apply to Beacon," he said.
"I know she does," she said.
"She thinks about you every day."
"I worry about her, too."
"You certainly have an interesting way of showing it."
She glared at him. "You know my rules."
"That's bullshit, Raven. Stop deluding yourself."
"I'm not delusional."
"Sometimes I wonder," he mused.
Raven pivoted to face the smoke. "I figured you'd show up eventually."
Qrow ignored the bait. He needed some questions answered first. "Why are you here, Raven?"
"Like the Foxgloves, I came for the ship. I stayed for the gang intel. I figured I could swoop in and steal their Lien when they weren't looking. Then, when infighting broke out, the rest of the tribe could overrun their defenses."
Qrow was surprised. The tribe must be close-by. "And so you'd make off with guns, Dust, and a padded wallet."
"Exactly." Raven turned back to Qrow. "But then you showed up."
Qrow grinned. "Sounds like a stroke of bad luck."
Raven's lips twitched upwards. "So it would seem."
A sudden slice through the air ripped another portal into space. "This will take you back to the crash," Raven said. "I'm sure someone is eager to see you."
Qrow stepped to the portal and was about to walk through when he spun to face his sister once more. "I've news about the Fall maiden."
Raven didn't show it, but he knew she was interested. "And?"
"Her name is Amber," he said. "Ozpin has high faith in her abilities."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
"…I'm not so sure."
She smiled. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
"And when she falls, Raven, remember your family."
Without waiting to hear her reply, Qrow stepped backwards through the portal and back to the crash site.
He had a Schnee to find.
He found her in the cockpit, reading on her Scroll.
"Crystal, Winter—whoever you are—start talking," he said.
"I do not need to apologize for my actions," she said.
"The hell you don't."
She turned in the copilot's seat to face him. "I was sent here on a mission. Ironwood warned me about you, so I took a pseudonym."
"And why was that?"
"Because of promotion."
Qrow sported a faux look of understanding. "Oh, so a promotion was worth all the lies?"
"What do you have against me, against my name?"
"Aside from the Grimm, the SDC is the most villainous force on Remnant. Thousands of lives are sacrificed in the name of economic progress, and the citizens accept their blood-soaked gifts with a smile and a nod."
"The SDC used to be good."
"And then old Nick died and Jacques slithered his way in," he said. "And you were next in line."
"I'm not anymore."
"And why would any Schnee voluntarily give up the golden key to riches and power?"
"Because I sought the higher ground."
He sneered. "Your 'higher ground' is barely above the waterline, missy."
"Are you insulting me?"
"I'm insulting the Atlesian military."
"Why? The general is a good man."
"There are no good men," he said. "The only good man out there is Ozpin. Once you accept that, the world becomes a darker, but a more bearable, place."
Winter studied his face for several seconds. "This isn't about my lie, is it?
Qrow wished his flask was full. It would have made this conversation a whole lot easier. "No, it's not," he said. "It's about losing sight."
Winter tilted her head. "Go on."
"I knew Jimmy back when he was just a Huntsman. Like you, he wanted to join the army because of its black and white, because fighting the enemy there was so well defined.
"Then, like you, he rose through the ranks. When the previous general retired, he was there to take his place.
"But leading an army apparently wasn't enough for Ironwood. Rather than sticking to fighting the true enemy, he turned to politics. After all, a commanding position in the military brought with it some degree of power.
"He claimed he could do more good with seats on the Council. So, he was rewarded two. And with the Council came the SDC.
"Ironwood still clung to his principles of black and white. But black and white was lost in a sea of grey. And so, grey colored his perception.
"Ironwood has lost his way."
Winter processed his story quickly. "What does this have to do with me?"
"I may not be the greatest of role models—"
"Not even close."
"—but if I can inspire just one honest soul, then I've done my job."
"So I'm a charity case."
Qrow disregarded her comment. "How does it feel to have your family abandon you?"
"They didn't abandon me, it was a mutual severing of ties."
"But Jacques cut the rope first."
She crossed her arms. "That might be. But I let go, too."
"And look where that's gotten you."
The animus in the air was palpable.
Winter sighed. "My father might be a vile man, but my siblings and I aren't. Don't blame us for my father's transgressions."
"And how do you know the apple didn't fall far from the tree?"
"I managed to get away," she said. "And I visit when he's away."
"But is that enough to get them out of the hole they're in?"
Qrow's statement seemed to cause Winter reason for pause. She stared at a point in empty space, likely in introspection.
"I fight the system, Winter, like I fight the Grimm. The system changes you, so you have to change it first. And right now, you have that chance."
She simply looked at him. The fire had died from behind her eyes, but her ambition hadn't.
"But, if the next time I see you, you've fallen victim to the system, then I'll have no choice but to fight you like I fight it."
Seconds passed before she responded. "Understood."
Qrow made to leave, then turned back around. "If you do end up picking that bouquet, and I'm not around…" Qrow winked. "Then you can leave it with Ozpin."
He left the aircraft without another word. As he crossed the smoking clearing, he felt Winter's gaze track the back of his head from behind the cockpit windshield. He didn't look back.
Once he had crested a small hill and made sure he was out of view of the aircraft, Qrow melted into his avian form. A beat of his wings launched him into the thermal's embrace, and soon he was circling high in the atmosphere. Pointing himself to the coast, he relinquished himself to the winds and simply soared.
He was flying back to Vale.
Back to Patch.
Back to Yang and Ruby.
He had stayed for family.
She had left for it.
But perhaps she would return for it.
For the higher ground. And for her sister.
Just like he had.