Break My Fall
Qrow has memorized every pore and divot in his paper coffee cup by the time the briefing comes to an end, not daring even once to lift his gaze to the front of the room. It is bad enough that Clover's voice is so resonant, each syllable ringing through his ears as the Ace Ops' leader speaks authoritatively while he assigns missions to the awaiting audience; every breath sends Qrow back to the night before, and by the time they are dismissed, his empty cup has holes punctured in the sides from where his nails grip on far too tightly in an attempt to distract himself from the truth. He does not need to see the figure of the man who had embraced him so relentlessly the night before; he does not need to remember his want, his desire, his shame.
It is both a relief and a curse that his mission is naught but a patrol followed by paperwork. The children have been struggling to figure out exactly how to perform these tasks to Atlas' rigour, so he and Clover have been tasked with cleaning up the mess left behind in threads of half-finished forms. These tasks for him are mindless, albeit annoying; he does not need to use any real brainpower, but they are enough that his body and mind shall remained preoccupied, and for that, he is grateful. He has enough on his mind as of late.
However, the moment he finds himself waving goodbye to Ruby as she, Penny, Harriet and Marrow head off to the loading docks for a supply run, Qrow feels his heart sinking into the soles of his feet, taking a beating with every step forward. The silence is palpable- not due to any tension in his heart towards the other man, but due to the fact that Clover's eyes fall guiltily every time Qrow glances his way. There is no reason for Clover to feel guilty about any of this; his apologies have been plentiful, both in his words and in his actions, and while the memory of that first night puts a disgusting taste in his mouth, he has come to terms with what has happened. Hating Clover will not change the past.
It also won't change the fact that the only thing that seems to sate the unquenchable thirst in his throat is Clover Ebi.
Finally, Clover breaks the tension that has been held taut between them, clearing his throat and attempting to bear an air of lightness. It does not work. "You weren't there this morning."
"Are you upset about it?"
A part of Qrow begs for Clover to reject him, to say that of course it does not matter, that he has no ill feelings towards the elder. Clover never reacts the way he expects him to, though. "…No," he murmurs, just as Qrow had hoped. Yet, his eyes scream the opposite, and judging by the way Clover takes in a deep breath and attempts to pull on his usual wide, unaffected smile only to fail spectacularly, Qrow knows that his words are just a lie.
Quietly, Qrow adds, "I'm coming back tonight, if… if that's alright."
"That's fine. I'll wait up for you."
The earnestness in Clover's voice makes Qrow dizzy.
The rest of the day is spent in near silence, the duo only exchanging words to finish their work faster. It is a good thing they are efficient, too; near the end of their patrol, a storm warning is issued in Atlas for that night. It shall not be an easy evening for anyone, it seems, for soon enough the orders for pilots to ground their vehicles and for external support to return to their bases begin to roll into their Scrolls.
They manage to get back to Atlas before the docks are shut down properly, and by nightfall, everything is squared away. Qrow is quick to head to the door for the pressure with the oncoming storm only adds to the ache in his skull- although Clover does not allow him to leave before confirming hesitantly, "I'll… I'll see you soon?"
"…yeah."
And yet, the moment he is alone in his chambers, Qrow's head begins to pound even more. It is always in the evenings that his cravings are worse, he finds; his body is far too used to him imbibing enough liquor to kill a lesser man each night after missions, and now that he is going without, his body's expectations cause his heart to race far more than during the day. It quickly escalates from a simple throbbing in his skull to a pounding headache, the sensation begging him to give in, to take one little drop-
Before he knows it, he is a bird, desperate to escape the sensation. He just wants to fly it off- to be free, to soar on the wind and to feel less like he is naught but a miserable pile of mistakes.
Flight is quickly deemed impossible, however; with the storm brewing, the violent downbursts shear at his wings, nearly wrenching them out of their sockets. Only a few strokes out of his window and he already knows that there is no way he can possibly climb to the highest peaks of Atlas tonight, for the wind gusts far too violently to even think, the sound of whistling through the tall structures filling the campus screaming in his ears-
Suddenly, a gust knocks him completely off-balance, flipping him upside down, head over talons. His body cannot right itself, the entire world spinning in a blur of steel-grey skies and pristine white architecture. He cannot save himself, the cold and the biting wind sapping away his strength.
The next thing he knows, there is a collision- there is pain wracking his body- there is a bitterness in his mouth as he realizes just how foolish he had been. He cannot tell where he has landed, aside from the fact that the base of his wings ache terribly and that his head is spinning and that he is not okay, but wherever he is, it is out of the wind, and for that, he is grateful.
Fate is never kind to him, though. It takes but a few seconds for the balcony door behind him to pop open, a familiar voice cutting through the screams of the storm. "Brothers, it's that bird! Is it injured?"
Before Qrow can protest, strong, large hands lift him up easily, clutching him with surprising tenderness. He struggles for but a breath, clawing at Clover's hands and arms with his talons, but everything aches far too much in his tiny body for him to be able to put enough force in to properly escape. Let me go- I'm not a fucking pet-
But the relief granted immediately as he is brought inside, away from the cutting winds and biting cold, is breathtaking. He clicks and coos, his muscles slowly relaxing as warmth begins to heat up hollow bones. Even hotter than the heat generator in the room, however, is Clover himself, his large hands burning even through his gloves as he gently presses Qrow's body, taking note under his breath where Qrow reacts in pain; then, he cradles Qrow until the bird no longer protests due to discomfort, then continues on his way. Each touch is hesitant and unsure, and Qrow faintly realizes that this must be the first time he has ever held a creature like this.
Clutching Qrow carefully to his chest, Clover finishes up what he was doing in the office (for of course he had managed to crash smack into the window of the Ace Operatives' office) with one hand and returns back to his own quarters, his gentle, yet steady, grip on Qrow's body preventing the corvid from attempting egress. Or perhaps it is that Qrow has simply given up, for Clover's heat sinks into his body in a way that is so soothing that it seems to ease even the pain in his wing.
However, as Clover takes a seat by his coffee table, Qrow begins to grow uneasy. Clover remains upright in his seat, his fingers stroking the back of the bird gently, eyes shining with curiosity and expectation; those eyes do not focus solely upon the bird, though. They flit between the bird's red eyes and the door, an energy thrumming underneath his rosy skin which proves his excitement.
He wants to show me this crow, Qrow realizes, his heart sinking into his feet. He's waiting for me.
But Qrow cannot leave, cannot escape the younger's grasp. What is he supposed to do? Maybe once he falls asleep, I can hop out and transform- he'll let me go, and-
Clover does not let him go that night, though. His grip on the bird remains steady and strong, his eyes hopping back and forth between the bird and the door, waiting for the elder Huntsman to appear even as hours pass. When Qrow never arrives, however, Clover's ministrations upon the bird's feathers grow more persistent upon Qrow's tiny form until he is lulled to sleep even through the discomfort and panic and guilt.
Halfway through the night, Qrow awakens due to Clover shifting in his seat, the bird opening its eyes only to see a look of strain and weary acceptance upon the younger's face as he looks out of the window. When Qrow trills softly to capture his attention, green eyes soften in response, that normally-confident tenor now husky with sleep-deprivation as he murmurs, "Shh, buddy. Sleep."
He trills again, confused.
Clover's smile which had emerged automatically upon meeting the corvid's red cracks a little bit. "I just- I was going to meet with someone tonight," he breathes. "He never came. I…"
I wanted him to be here.
The unspoken words hang so heavy in the air that Qrow's breath is clogged in his beak, forcing the corvid to eventually bury its face against Clover's chest to push away the tension. Clover's smell has become familiar at this point, cutting through Qrow's anxiety effortlessly.
It is easy to ignore what is going on when he is so wholly surrounded by Clover, after all.
When Qrow awakens the next morning, he tests out his aching wing, finds that it is strong enough to carry him home, and flies out the open window into the calm morning air yet again, leaving Clover all alone. This time, however, he does pause to look back. The younger man's eyelids are puffy and red, his lower lip bruised from anxious biting, his arms poised so perfectly to hold another.
The guilt lancing through his heart cannot be eased by staying as a corvid, unlike his headache. So, he flies off, knowing fully that he shall act as if he is none the wiser- that he does not know that Clover Ebi waited nearly all night to embrace Qrow Branwen, and not the crow.
While he changes into a fresh set of clothes before the morning briefing, Qrow can only shiver as one thought rings around in his head, repeating over and over again like a cursed mantra meant to crush his every last hope.
What would he do if he knew the truth about me?
Qrow does not want to know.