Break My Fall
They do not need to speak, and for that, Qrow is so grateful he could weep. His head aches enough as it is, tears springing to his eyes the moment they step outside into the bright Atlesian sunshine, the reflection off of fields of pure, unbroken white tundra stinging his eyes without mercy. He squints and grimaces, bloodshot vision making him dizzy and weary, and he digs his nails into his palms as he fights to keep his hand from flying up to his chest- to his empty vest pocket.
It is empty. He needs to learn to accept that. His flask is his burden no longer; and yet, the emptiness in his pocket weighs down on him heavier than amber liquid ever could.
But it is not as simple as that. By the time the airship arrives, he has witnessed Clover's mouth open and close, open and close, open and close- working like clockwork without any of the gears, no concrete idea of what to actually say or how to say it springing forward when all he can do is watch Qrow in trepidation. Qrow detests the action, for although it is silent, his hypersensitive brain which needs to latch on to something, anything, focuses so hard upon Clover's actions that it is almost as if Qrow can hear every movement, although they are all silent.
It is driving him mad.
Yet, he does not speak up. Guilt gnaws Qrow's heart as he watches the movements out of the corner of his eye, for he can see the flush that grows upon Clover's cheeks whenever they make eye contact, whether Clover realizes it or not. It is clear that Clover has not forgotten the night before, no matter how much Qrow wishes he would.
He needs to nip this in the bud. He cannot allow this to go any further.
Their duty during this upcoming mission shall be to stand guard at the base of the frozen lake; the southernmost post shall be the entranceway, but neither Qrow nor Clover's Semblances shall do anyone any good underneath the frozen surface of the water, so they are lingering behind. It is a routine enough task- guard the entrance so that Grimm do not sneak up on those clearing out the actual nest- but that routine is deadly for Qrow; that routine provides opportunities to speak to Clover, after all.
They pass an eternity of silence between them once they are located at the entrance, each man standing guard at one side of the opening. Clover's mouth continues its routine- open, close, open, close- until Qrow can no longer stand it, finally muttering, "You got something to say?"
"…why did you leave this morning?"
"None of your business."
"I think it is," Clover adds quietly, face tightly drawn. He no longer bothers to even remotely hide his mild distress, confusion and bitterness beginning to seep into every wrinkle. "Qrow, you don't exactly jump on someone like that-"
"I didn't do shit," he hisses automatically. "Just stay away from me."
Clover scoffs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the entranceway. Qrow looks away; in his uniform, with his hair slicked back and his chiseled face illuminated by the sunlight reflecting off the snow, Clover Ebi looks far too put together, far too self-assured. It is not fair for the younger to look so calm while Qrow feels two steps from keeling over in exhaustion. "You and I both know we can't exactly avoid each other, Qrow."
He snorts bitterly, staring at his loafers. They are still too new, too crisp; they chafe his feet slightly. He shall have to get better socks, he thinks.
"Qrow, don't ignore me."
He pauses to check his Scroll, but thankfully, Team RWBY's Aura levels are still strong. Sighing, Qrow finally looks up. "Look. It was a mistake. Just forget it ever happened." Before Clover can retort, he adds, "And you and I both know I wasn't-" and he recoils, for the word tastes just as sour in his mouth as it had been to vomit up the liquor responsible for this mess right before the briefing, "-I wasn't in my right mind. And you still went for it. So now that I'm awake, and actually thinking, just… no."
To his utmost horror and surprise, Clover actually looks… disappointed. "…We were good together last night, you know. I remember."
So can Qrow. The trails carved by Clover's fingertips the night before had begun to reappear in his sensory memory during the plane ride. The alcohol which had plied his body had not been enough to erase the fact that Clover had made him feel things he hadn't felt in years, his body succumbing, twisting and writhing and leaving him in a drunken stupor that was not entirely due to the alcohol. And now, his body longs for more.
His mind wants this all to disappear. "Fuck off, Ebi."
Clover winces, turning his eyes back to scanning the horizon. "...fine."
With that, the duo keep their eyes locked away from one another for the rest of their shift, the air between them more charged than if they had been guarding electric-Dust.
They may as well have been, Qrow realizes ruefully. One wrong move, and he does not know who will snap first- nor does he know how. He just knows that everything aches.
He wants to rest.