Opus
"You can't be serious," he deadpans, propping one hand upon a bony hip. A groan leaves his lips as he takes in the resolute expression which stands firm upon James' face; the elder does not budge an inch, despite Qrow's clear disbelief at the request.
"I firmly believe," James begins diplomatically, voice even and kind, "that you two would be best-suited for this mission-"
Striding up to the large bureau behind which James is seated, Qrow demands, "Well, shouldn't I just go on my own?! It's not as if I don't know how to do recon; that's sort of all I ever did for Oz, remember?" His chest heaves as he speaks, the man desperately trying to choke back the desperation spurring on his words. He is haunted by far more than desperation, however.
He has lost too many comrades on the field. How can James risk the leader of the Ace Ops, good luck or not?! The reasoning does not make any sense to him! There are others who would be far more suited to the task, anyways, if James insisted that there be at least two Huntsmen on the mission. Hell, even two of the Ace Ops would provide better support for one another than the inevitable suffering Qrow would bring-
Qrow hates the ensuing silence this declaration welcomes into the headmaster's office at the top of Atlas Academy. It lingers, stagnant and heavy, stemming from James' tightly-gripped, interlocking fingers, his furrowed brow, and Qrow's anxiety, palpable and raw.
James breathes in. Qrow's breath stops short.
"I'm standing firm, Qrow. I really do believe you and Clover would be the best-suited for this; if our reports are right, then we are going to have a huge problem on our hands if this Grimm nest is not taken out soon. If no one can track down its location, though, we'll never be able to launch a pre-emptive attack.
For a moment, Qrow thinks of fighting back. A fleeting fantasy, embedded into the back of his brain after years of fighting alongside James, urges him to go so far as to pull out Harbinger; he had picked more than enough fights with Winter Schnee before the Fall of Beacon, always imagining that he could get away with venting his anger on James' favourite subordinate if not the Atlesian general himself. There is no other way to express his sheer disbelief, his disgust, his absolute, unwavering dread.
"You'll be fine, Qrow," James adds, his expression softening. "Besides, I need two of my top soldiers, and you know that there are few people on Remnant I trust more than you two."
That line is a stab straight into his gut. What in the world is Qrow supposed to say to that? "Thanks for the support, also Ruby and I and the rest of the kiddos have lied to you about this pointless battle"?
He cannot. Still, even he knows when to concede, and based on the resolve in James' eyes, it is clear that he will accept no substitutes for this upcoming mission. All that remains is to gather his own supplies, find Clover, and head out.
He prays it shall be alright. He crosses his fingers and sends a silent prayer up to the Brothers, fully aware that they are certainly not listening; he has to, though. If he is to be alone with Clover, then how will his Semblance react?
Or, more importantly… who's Semblance would be stronger after days on end of exposure?
If he looks at it in a perfect world, he knows that it would be Clover who would prevail. Clover is well-rested, not suffering from withdrawal and fatigue and self-doubt every waking moment of the day. Clover is not plagued by nightmares filled with demons and inadequacy and the burden of the truth. Clover knows exactly where he fits into society, having found his perfect little niche in which he can flourish and inspire. Qrow hasn't felt at home since his family had shattered- since his sister had left- since his best friend had left for a mission and never come home.
In a perfect world, Clover's Semblance would win. Maybe it'll work out that way, Qrow thinks longingly.
What they see upon the battlefield after setting out that evening, however, is anything but a perfect world. Time and time again, Qrow's misfortune comes to play tricks on them; anytime they try to use stealth, the Grimm end up accidentally finding them- when the odds look even on whether or not an injury will be sustained, it always get worse and then some-
Clover's Aura is more plentiful, but Qrow's original assessment is correct. He has always been the better Huntsman, and the potency of his Semblance is proof enough of that. Misfortune always falls upon those around Qrow eventually, good luck charms or not. Three days of tracking a herd of Grimm back to a teeming, writhing nest in the middle of the tundra is more than enough to trigger enough bad luck to last a lifetime for a regular person.
But neither man dies. For that, at least, Qrow is thankful.
Eventually, the required data has been acquired and sent back to Atlas, leaving the two men little to do but rest before their later departure back to Mantle's wall, where they shall be picked up by Atlesian ships. They have half a day's worth of travel to do, but over a day to arrive, leaving the two men little else to do but relax for a bit once they are an adequate distance from the teeming hordes.
Qrow does not speak once they find a small, rocky outcropping under which they can hide and take shelter from the frigid winds of Solitas. He merely sits upon the opposite end of the covering, staring out wearily into the distance, careful to keep his eyes roving across the horizon constantly in order to ensure his misfortune does not act up again. It is not out of necessity that he remains so vigilant, in all honesty.
He just cannot bear to look at the bandage covering Clover's Aura-exhausted body anymore, the makeshift sling having rendered the man unable to fight properly after a nasty fall that morning.
Yet, he is not allowed to sit with his sorrow for too long. A warm, powerful body slides in next to him, close enough for the heat emanating off of his form to soak through Qrow's clothes despite the distance separating the two. "I'm alright, Qrow," Clover murmurs. "And the mission was a success. I'd call that a victory."
Tight-lipped and ashen, the elder cannot reply. He had told James, after all. There is only one fate awaiting those who linger around Qrow Branwen for too long.
Realizing that Qrow is in no place to speak, Clover bites back the next words he wants to say. Qrow hears him open and close his mouth a few more times, searching for the best way to break the tension; he never dares to, however. For that, Qrow is grateful. He does not need false sympathy or feigned acceptance of who he is.
He works better alone. James should've listened.
And yet, Qrow finds that his bitterness about the whole affair fades nearly-instantly the day after their return to Atlas. His goal is to merely grab a few teabags from the stash Clover has somehow managed to build up within the Ace Ops' office space; before he can enter the room, however, familiar voices greet him, engaged in lively discussion and thoughtful banter.
Marrow, Harriet and Clover are discussing their leader's injuries, the broken arm still mending thanks to his greatly-weakened Aura. Harriet calls Qrow a liability. Marrow says that it is a good thing Qrow was there.
Clover says, without an ounce of hesitation, that he enjoys working with Qrow. He does not blame Qrow.
Qrow does not drink his tea that evening. There are very, very few people who have felt the impacts of his Semblance and still talk of Qrow with any kind of respect. The thought that one such ally is in Atlas is more than enough to keep his cravings and heartache and frustration at bay, if for but a night.