Raven had always made fun of him for being a romantic. For looking for Mrs. Right in all the wrong places, for waiting for his latest partner to wake up so he could take them out to breakfast and try to see what sort of person he'd just slept with. She thought it was stupid, like playing with your food. Once the sex was over, what was there left to talk about? She thought it was a fight, a matter of taking what you wanted and moving on before they got their hooks too deep into you.
Him? For him it was those mornings in the diner that mattered. First there were the stories, little stories, about how they were like as kids. There were stories about their jobs, about their hobbies, about anything at all, a glimpse into their world. Then there was how they acted once the dead was done, when the only people watching were other tired souls in search of sustenance or the near-sleepless beings that served them. Some of his partners blushed as the waiters eyed them knowingly. To reassure them, he'd smile and tell them not to give a damn. That they were jealous that he'd been lucky enough to be able to buy her a meal. Sometimes they teased him, batting eyes free of makeup and asking if this dusty old crow was ready for round two. Those mornings went on a little longer, and no matter how long they were he always managed to get more done in the afternoons.
He'd stick around for a few days to see if the wanderlust had finally left him. Hoping. Praying. If (when) it didn't, he picked up another job and left on good terms. The reverse of a regular relationship, where it started with sex and ended with a smile. He'd gained more than a few friends that way. No one he'd wanted to let make him an honest man, but more than a few people he didn't mind bumping uglies with as he passed through the smaller cities.
Those were the good mornings, the ones where the bottle called a little less strongly and the Grimm always seemed a little less dangerous. On the other hand, his love life wasn't all sunshines and daises. Some people really were just looking for a quick fuck and a warm body to make the night a little less cold. While he'd never say no to a less-empty bed, the mornings after...
They were rough.
Sometimes they just ate in silence, payed their half of the bill, and left without another word. Sometimes they were the ones who were gone in the morning, and he'd wake up clutching at empty sheets and colder than he had any right to be. Most of them didn't leave a number, and the ones that did he didn't bother to call. Instead, he'd go out for coffee, added a shot of whiskey, and catch the first Bullhead to anywhere else. If that didn't get him to a different location in twenty-four hours, he flew.
Dramatic? Yeah. But it let him pretend like he wasn't quite as affected by the judgement. Like he hadn't hoped that he'd finally found someone special.
His optimism couldn't last. He knew that. Already he'd started spending more time at the bar and less time on the dance floor. He'd noticed himself missing hungry eyes and feather-light touches, obvious in hindsight. Every time he left a girl behind he felt a part of himself go with her, wondering if he shouldn't just turn around give it a shot, and to hell with the promise he made when he saw Tai weeping on the floor. Every time he was dozing on a red-eye or weaving between branches, he asked himself why he bothered, if it even mattered at all. A Hunter's days were numbered, so why spend any of them tied down?
Then something would happen. A cup would break, he'd bend down to pick up the pieces, a hand would meet his, he'd look up, and just like that they'd hit it off, chatting until her supervisor yelled at her to get back to work. He'd be sitting at a bar, playing with his empty glass, and then a woman more beautiful than he deserved would slide up next to him and buy him another drink. He'd learn a few more names, pick up a few memories for those lonely, lonely night out in the middle of nowhere.
He hated his Semblance sometimes. It made it damn near impossible to stay in one place and in team fights he was as likely to mess with his allies as with his enemies. On the other hand, it seemed to know when he needed a break, to recharge his batteries and remember what the damn point of fighting so hard was. It didn't ever turn into good luck, not really, but it did let him simply live from time to time.
Those were the nights, when the sweat had cooled and he could feel a slightly faster heart beating next to him, different eyes and different lips curling in the dark, those were the ones where he felt that made him keep trying. The ones that made him put on his rings and necklace, shave, shower, and generally get his shit together before he went out to face the day. Those nights and those mornings made it all worth it. That, and the dream he'd seen made real when Summer had put Tai back together for those four wonderful years. He had a hope, as stupid and naive and romantic as it was, and at the end of the day?
Sometimes that was enough.
"Name's Qrow Branwen. What's yours?"
"Alice Lyes. Are you here to dance or drink?"
"Like 'em both well enough, depending on if I have company."
"So you walked over to the loneliest corner of the bar, right next to little old me?"
"Gotta be the right type of company, otherwise what's the point?"
"I like the way you think. Two Blue Lagoons."
"You're buying?"
"These are for me. You seem more like a whiskey guy. That, and isn't the man supposed to be the one buying the drinks?"
"Heh. You're not wrong."
