Break My Fall
The mission is finished in absolute silence; the only time the duo communicates is to alert the other man of Grimm, but Qrow does not need the warnings. There is a grim satisfaction which blooms within his heart as he realizes in all honestly that his skills have not waned, even though his strength and composure has. Harbinger slices through the air without hesitation, the Sabyrs which try to sneak up on their post dissolving into rancid dust within the blink of an eye as he leaps into the fray before Clover has even extended his weapon. The other man stares at him almost mournfully, his usual cheer falling away to pensive silence, the slight clench of his jaw the only indication of his frustration.
Qrow does not care. Killing the Grimm is multipurpose; he can distract himself from the creeping, lingering headache that refuses to leave his skull, begging him to quench a thirst which the water bottle in his pack cannot satiate; he can focus on a task, reminding himself that he can still do something well, at least; and he can prove to Clover that he does not need this foolish partnership that James has set up, that he does not need Clover.
It is a good thing, having that distraction. Moving his body, allowing adrenaline to course through his veins instead of liquor… it makes him simultaneously nauseous and giddy, but at the very least, he does not think of his flask. It is only in the idle moments when his fingers begin to itch, his throat growing thick, begging for lubrication. He shall hunt as many Grimm as it takes to ignore this feeling.
After all, this discomfort cannot last forever… right?
…I sure hope so.
Clover does not infringe on the bubble which Qrow has so effortlessly erected around himself, providing the other man the space he needs. There is an odd look on his face- a mix of shame, of regret and frustration, of confusion and ignorance and baffled bitterness. He is confused. He is hurt.
Does he even get what he's done wrong?
The thought brings bile up into Qrow's throat. He swallows it down. He does not put Harbinger away, not even once.
It is only once they are back at the Academy that everything comes to a head, when Ruby approaches Qrow at the end of the briefing, her silvery eyes so full of pride and innocence that he cannot speak. She is just like her mother now, the wisdom shining in her visage surprisingly beyond her years as she quietly murmurs, "You threw away your flask, didn't you, Qrow?"
He nods. He does not need her to know that there is an officer's mess on base, that he still has access to liquor whenever he should please. He does not need her to know that he has continued to make mistakes- that he cannot live without making them.
He wishes he was better.
As she whispers, "I'm really proud of you, Uncle Qrow. Thank you," Ruby speaks with such finality that he wants to weep, for she does not understand. She has seen him without his flask all week, yes; in her mind, he is clean. He is sober and he is ready to take back the life which liquor had robbed from him, and there is absolutely no way he can find the words to say that it simply does not work like that.
She hugs him. There may be muscle and incredible strength on her frame, but she is still so small, so lovely, to Qrow. Her innocent trust is so misplaced.
Trust is such a rare commodity these days, though. How can he break hers?
I won't be able to help it.
His head aches, but his heart, even more so.
Ruby waves goodbye, teasing him and announcing that they're having a video game tournament in the nearest common room to their guest quarters. "Bring your Scroll!" she calls as she leaves. He nods and smiles, his chuckles as false as can be, but her pride in his apparent health prevents him from offering any final words before she leaves the room.
Finally, it is only Qrow and Clover. He sighs, loping over to the door- he has reports to write, but no one has said anything about having to write them in the Huntsmen's offices, so he shall put on comfortable clothes and crawl into bed and type the report on his Scroll. If James has an issue, he can simply message Qrow, although it's not like Qrow cares enough to write things up to Atlas' unnecessarily obtuse standards-
"Qrow, stay."
Qrow freezes, a chill shooting down his back as he turns on his heel, looking at Clover in shock. The younger, who had been avoiding eye contact ever since their terse morning exchange, is regarding Qrow carefully. Qrow does not like that look; green eyes flash with an uncomfortable sense of knowing as he watches Qrow. Gulping, Qrow replies, "Is that an order?"
"No."
"You said it like it was a command. I'm not one of your men. I don't serve under you."
Strangely enough, a flush colours Clover's cheeks. "Good. I don't feel like dealing with power imbalances between us, anyways."
Qrow shivers, stepping back. Those words are too layered, and he refuses to parse the meaning carried by heavy-lidded, weary eyes. Clover still stands at the front of the room by the main holoscreen projector; relief washes over Qrow as he looks at the four rows of chairs neatly spread between them, for he does not need to be close to the younger. Not when he looks like this.
Not when Clover looks like he is looking into Qrow's heart. Qrow does not need Clover to look at him anymore.
"Look, man," he growls, walking backwards towards the door, "I already told you. If it's not for work, I don't want anything to do-"
"What's this about you 'throwing away a flask'?"
His feet become glued to the ground in an instant, fear and anxiety spiking through him. "It's nothing-"
"Qrow," Clover murmurs, taking the center aisle between the chairs as he strides towards Qrow, "what was Ruby talking about?"
Qrow wants to leave. He does. And yet, when Clover finally is close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, his body betrays him, melting into the warm touch of Clover's hand. Quietly, Clover says, his face as conflicted as it has been this entire day, "I… if you don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to ask, okay?"
"Not like you had the fucking right to anyways-"
"And I'm sorry."
Qrow pauses, finally looking into Clover's face. There is no lie in his eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened. I should've said no, even if you said you wanted it."
Just like that, the spell is broken and Qrow's legs find strength to move away again. He walks back to the door, flinging away Clover's hand. "Well," he spits, putting distance between them, "why didn't you?"
"I… I don't know. I made a mistake."
Those words echo behind Qrow's back as he leaves. He does not look back to see Clover's face as he says them, though.