As a child, James Ironwood had always been sensitive. He'd cried over other people's pain, always wanting- needing- to fix it and never quite knowing how. He'd stammer over his words because he never knew what to say. At night the tears rolled down his face onto his pillow as he searched for solutions for everyone's pain and suffering.

When he cried in the day, his mother always tutted, wiped his tears away with her thumb and scrubbed his face with the corner of her apron. His father on the hand, scoffed in disgust whenever he saw James's tears. James's father was steadfast in his belief in strength, leaving no room in his mind for his son's perceived weakness.

James had never understood this philosophy. He believed that everyone deserved a fair chance at life. Living in one of the poorest areas of Atlas he saw too much unfairness for his liking.

To combat this, James turned to the path of a huntsman. He could save people and make the world better and maybe his father would be proud of him if he stood up to the monsters. By the time he got to Atlas Academy, he'd nearly perfected the art of holding back his tears. He could keep them falling, though he could never quite stop them from pricking in the corners of his eyes.

When half his body was torn away, James stopped his crying entirely. Once he'd truly felt pain, the splitting agony of his life slipping away and being yanked back from oblivion, everything felt so trivial. Both his own pain and the pain of others couldn't stir his petrifying heart. He'd used to let the tears slide down his face nearly every night when his father's stony face flickered behind his eyelids. Now, when his father couldn't even look him in the eye anymore, James found he just didn't care. What did it matter if his father didn't approve of him? He never had and he never would. There was nothing more to it.

His mother cried a lot after his… accident. Sometimes he'd catch her staring at him, only to look away, her eyes glistening. He wanted to laugh. After so many years of exasperation, she now understood why he'd cried so much as a child, but she never apologised. James loved his mother. She'd stood by him and supported him, but he couldn't help but feel bitter about how she'd helped him learn to shove his emotions deep inside his chest.

James felt numb.

All the time and it scared him. Sometimes he'd lie awake shaking- but never crying- when he realised how little he felt.

But he still felt fear.

Sometimes he resented this, wished he could feel something other than a thudding chest and cold sweat on his brow.

Sometimes he was thankful for it. Fear made him human, not the cold robot everyone though he was. Or maybe the cold robot everyone wanted him to be.

He wasn't sure anymore.

He did know that he didn't want to be a robot. He tried to be nice and friendly, but he still didn't know how to say the right thing. He didn't always feel the right thing either. He was clunky, awkward, and unwieldy, but no one ever offered to help him learn to be normal and he just couldn't figure it out. He was always wrong, always out of step with everyone else.

Then he learned about Salem.

He didn't sleep for nearly a week.

After he lost his body, Ozpin had come to him. Told him the truth and said his sacrifice had earned him the right to know. Somehow James knew that Ozpin understood what it was like to be ready to die and having it taken away before the immortality was even brought up.

James became general and went from teacher to headmaster and joined Ozpin's inner circle and they were the best years of his life. Being general allowed him to realise his plans and actually put them to use and he was doing good. He hadn't thought he'd go into teaching, but his old teammate suggested it when a space opened up in Atlas. He found himself enjoying it. Somewhat ironically he liked technology and robotics and being able to share his passion with others breathed new life into his existence.

Ozpin's inner circle were some of the best friends he'd ever had. Ozpin understood his disconnection with other people and heard out his ideas. Though they didn't always agree, Ozpin took the time to guide James through his plans and ideals, never told him he was wrong. Didn't tell him to just stop crying.

Qrow hated James, but James found he didn't really mind. Anything was better than his father's quiet disinterest. And while maybe Qrow never tried to understand him, he did at least look. If it was for weapons to use and weaknesses to exploit, well that was irrelevant. James found a strange comfort in bickering with Qrow. He always knew where he stood, what to say and how to feel. He liked that.

Glynda couldn't have been more different. She always managed to knock the ground out from under him. James didn't think she meant to, but she did. She was suspicious of him when he first joined, which James felt was reasonable. Ozpin managed to restrain her in the quiet way only he could do, but she still quietly tested James. He floundered under her gaze, never sure what she wanted from him. Until his mother was diagnosed with cancer; too far gone for treatment. He'd been in Vale when he got the news. He tried to go back to Atlas, but of course, Glynda tried to stop him. He'd pushed and pushed but she was an unshakable wall and eventually he crumbled before her.

Too overwhelmed and lost to do anything but sob, he expected to be cast aside. His weakness had been revealed and there would be consequences. There always was. He never expected her to hug him. To hold him until he was calm and give him tissues to dry his eyes. Then she let him return to Atlas. He swore her to secrecy, and she seemed to understand that she had seen something James had never wanted anyone to see.

He made it back to Atlas in time to spend one last day with his mother before he passed out.

Glynda became his best friend.

He could have loved her, James thought, had things been different. Had he been different.

James blinks. The budget report sits in front of him, still unfilled out. He blinks again, bringing his hand up to rub his temple. His pulse thuds away in his ears like thunder. He nearly groans. What time is it? He looks to the clock on his scroll, but the numbers blur. James rubs at his eyes. His vision is still hazy and grey around the edges. Well shit.

A migraine's coming on.

James sighs miserably. The last thing he needs is a migraine when he has so much to do. There's no time for him to be out of action for something so pathetic as a little headache. The thought of trying to work while his head's exploding actually makes groan aloud. Once again, he's caught between a rock and a hard place. Pain spikes up from behind his eyes. James shudders, his military posture slipping as he hunches in on himself.

He's thankful for the dim light in his office, although his eyes are painfully strained from trying to read as the migraine builds. He just hadn't bothered to interrupt his work to turn on the light.

The door slides open and James flinches from the light that floods in. It knives his eyes and his skin prickles.

"Why are you sitting alone in the dark?"

James rubs his hand across his face. He knows the voice, but his brain is slow to connect it to a name. His distorted vision isn't helping any.

"Qrow?" he finally mumbles.

"Who else? And you didn't answer my question."

What? "Is there anything I can help you with?" James tries instead.

Qrow sighs heavily. James grimaces as the sound reverberates painfully around his skull.

"I don't need anything. I just came to check on you. You've been in here all day."

"Oh. Well I appreciate the thought. How are you?"

Qrow sighs again. James has no idea what he's doing wrong now, but he doesn't have the energy to work it out.

"You are really bad at avoiding, you know that?"

"I'm not avoiding anything." James's voice sounds unsure and questioning even to his own ears, but he really doesn't understand what he's supposedly avoiding, and just doesn't have the energy for any of this.

"You're sweating." Qrow says.

James frowns. Qrow's right- the cold sweat clings uncomfortably to his skin. He doesn't know how he didn't realise it before. "It's the coat." He lies.

"James, it's freezing in here."

"Qrow…" James mutters weakly. He stands from his desk, but the floor sways under his feet. He grabs at his desk to keep his balance, reminding himself that it's not the room moving, but just his mind.

"James?" Qrow exclaims.

James blinks and suddenly Qrow is at his side and holding his arm.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"James. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Something in Qrow's voice makes James waver. Its so different to what it used to be: warm and open, with no sarcasm or bite. Sobriety is good for Qrow, even if it has blown James's understanding of their relationship out of the water. He doesn't know how he's supposed to respond to Qrow now. He doesn't miss the fighting, but it was a dynamic he could understand. But he's very sure that Qrow wants him to share what's wrong, hopefully James isn't wrong that Qrow wants the actual answer.

"Its just a migraine. Nothing to worry about."

Qrow's hands tighten on James's arm. Its his flesh one, so he can really feel the change in pressure. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

"A migraine?" Qrow's voice is distinctly quieter, which is a mercy on James's head.

"Shit, James. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because its not important. I'll just get some water and then I'll finish in here."

"James…"

Qrow sounds so horrified. James doesn't know where he's gone wrong. His eyes prickle. For a heart stopping moment, he thinks he's going to cry.

"You need to stop doing this to yourself."

Why does Qrow sound so gentle and kind? He's meant to be angry.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed. You need sleep."

"Qrow," James protests as the shorter man tugs lightly on his arm, "Really, I'm fine. I have work I need to finish."

"It's 9 'o'clock, James. You've been in here all day, it's time to call it a night, especially if you're not feeling well."

"Qrow…" James tries to protest but his whole body is shaking, and he can't keep his eyes open anymore. Qrow slides under his arm, just before he falls.

"Come on," Qrow says softly, "You need to be in bed."

The pain in James's head has reached excruciating levels. The only thing he can do is shuffle along with Qrow. He hides his face from the light of the corridor in Qrow's shoulder. He knows how weak and pathetic he looks, but he just can't stop it. Qrow's touch is kind and warm and James can't keep himself from drinking it up. It's been too long since he felt something like this.

The walk to his quatres is short. He can't bear to be far from his office for something so trivial as sleep.

"Can you unlock the door?" Qrow asks in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Squinting, James types in the code to unlock the door. Then he slumps back against Qrow, as the shorter man leads him inside. The apartment is blissfully dark, and James relaxes a fraction. It doesn't take long for Qrow to find James's bedroom. The curtains are already closed by some mercy. James pulls away from Qrow to crawl onto the bed. Before he can curl up and die, Qrow grabs his shoulders and starts pulling his coat off.

"I know you feel pretty shitty right now, but let's get you comfortable, alright."

James huffs, but lets Qrow slide the coat off his arms, take off his belts, jacket, tie, and shoes and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Qrow laughs quietly.

"What's with all the layers?"

"'s Atlas," James mumbles as he finally curls against his pillow, "'s cold 'n it's a waste of aura to try and keep warm constantly."

Qrow hums. "Hot or cold?"

"What?"

"What helps you more? Heat or cold?"

"Oh… cold."

James hears Qrow's footsteps walk away. With him gone, James whimpers and presses the pillow against his eyes. The pressure makes the pain marginally decrease.

Then the footsteps come back.

James tenses and- fuck, fuck, fuck. Its all he can do to clench his jaw as the pain pounds behind his eyes. Qrow rubs the back of his neck+ soothingly. James shudders. It shouldn't be as calming as it is. He refuses to remember the last person who did that whenever he had a headache.

"Relax, Jimmy."

"Sorry…"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. Can you move the pillow for me?"

James whines but does so. The bed dips as Qrow sits on the edge and then something blessedly cool is placed over James's eyes. He sighs contentedly. "Thank you…"

"It's no problem, James."

"Why do you care so much?" James whispers, "I thought you didn't like me…"

"Of course I like you, James. We're friends."

"We are?"

"Yeah. Unless you don't want to be friends."

"I do," James's breath hitches as the pain spikes for a moment, "But you always argue with me…"

Qrow sighs. "I know. I don't always agree with you, but you always do what you think is right. I can't fault you for that. I just couldn't see that when I was drunk all the time and that's not your fault. That's on me."

"Oh… I'm glad you're not drunk anymore..."

"Heh. Me too."

"My father drank himself to death." James says, somewhat deliriously. "I don't want that to happen to you too."

"Don't worry. I'm not going down that path again. And I'm sorry about your dad."

"Don't be…" James croaks, "He wasn't nice, even before the drinking…" By the end of his sentence, his voice is barely more than a breath. Qrow's hand lightly cards through James's hair before he stands up.

"Get some sleep, James. You've earned it."

James is asleep before Qrow is even out of the room.