Chapter Thirteen
Ozpin's mood didn't improve after midsummer. His meeting with the general hung heavily on his mind and Oscar watched him repeatedly try and shake it off, to not let it bother him. But it did. Oscar caught his mentor looking out the window of the office more than once, mind far away, lips pressed in a thin line. He asked more than once what he could do, but Ozpin would put on a cheerful face and say everything was fine.
Twice Oscar would come in to introduce a client and he saw Ozpin's desk unlocked, meaning he was looking at the two readings of his master. Oscar hurt to know how his guardian was suffering, and he struggled to figure out if there was anything he could do.
"Oscar," Ozpin said one day, jacket off and sleeves rolled up. "We're going to do a training reading."
Oscar dutifully took the client's seat. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I've been doing client readings for a while now." Ozpin still gave the actual reading, however, explaining the sands in a way that the client heard the truth that they needed to.
"Yes," Ozpin said, but he did not expand. Instead he placed his hand on the reader, leveling his eyes and locking them on to Oscar. "What happened to me the night of the Beacon fire?"
Oscar stiffened, shocked to hear him ask a question that wasn't about childhood. Ozpin always trained him with small, innocuous questions about his youth, training under the King of Vale. He knew broad strokes of his adult life, the ill use by the destabilizing government, the escape to Mistral, the fever, even that there was a fire at Beacon… but with that question he was, ultimately, offering to show Oscar a detailed story of a dark period of his life. Oscar was beside himself. "Are you sure?" he asked again. "I mean… are you really sure?"
"Yes," Ozpin said, eyes lowering to the sands. "I… it's very difficult to talk about. I've tried more than once but…" His lips thinned again. "This might be the best way to explain it. So then, Master Pine, what happened to me the night of the Beacon fire?"
Oscar took a deep breath, forcing the air to even out as he opened his magic and placed his hand on the fulcrum. Ozpin had given him this opportunity - a gift, really - and he did not want to waste it. He watched the fulcrum move, felt the deep hum in his blood, and he started to drift into the magic.
Education, study, teaching. Ozpin was the youngest teacher ever at Beacon at eighteen, eight months after the assassination and trying to piece together what his life might look like without his master and with a Grimm hanging over him. Uncertainty, indecision, anxiety. Even at twenty three, teaching for five years, Ozpin did not feel like he belonged. Inspiration in broad, sweeping curves, but inverted and nested inside manipulation. This was the other chieftains of the noble class approaching him, asking for readings to better consolidate their power. Struggle, isolation, misery. Ozpin gave his readings, recited the truths the people around him needed to hear, but always met with dark scoffs or twisted narratives. Ozpin tried to stay positive, tried to do his best, but the pressure grew and grew.
The rare pattern of exposure, intimacy. Ozpin had sent a courting poem, and it was posted throughout the campus, humiliating him and driving him to withdraw further. Oscar hadn't realized how alone Ozpin felt during his days at Beacon, he always talked about his students. Yes, inspiration interwoven with teaching, admiration. He loved teaching, it kept him going in his darkest days. Strife, instability, pressure - the destabilization of Vale as the kingdom started to fall apart. Fear in a large, societal curve, bound tightly in conflict to almost look like the pattern for war, but not yet.
Autumn equinox, family, isolation, misery. His sister came to see him, tried to talk him into giving some kind of reading. Jealousy, envy, resentment. His sister was a sayer, too, but never considered as gifted as Ozpin, never given the treatment she thought she deserved. Conflict again, misery, isolation. They fought, his sister throwing absolutely hateful words at him, Ozpin shocked to hear it and unable to understand where it had so suddenly come from. Separation.
And then a pattern Oscar didn't immediately know: a mix of sudden, fire, quake, burst. The building shook…? With fire…? A bombing, yes, Oscar remembered Ozpin saying something about it on very rare occasions. He was in the library, locked in a study room trying to pull himself together for an evening class. He stepped out, along with everyone else, confused as to what happened. Students came to him, full of questions he didn't have answers for. Then, the smell of smoke. The dawning realization of fire.
Guidance, small but powerful. Ozpin led every student he could get a hold of out of the building, joining the crowds outside and organizing a bucket brigade to mitigate the problem. Violence, the bombers using muskets and firing into the crowd, a bullet missing Ozpin by a hair's breadth.
Fear again, Ozpin realizing he could not find his sister. Isolation, misery, fruitless. He tried to go back into the burning building to look, to find his sister, but the musket fire was too dangerous, the bucket brigade was dissolving, everyone was running for cover.
Destruction. The building burned to the ground.
Isolation. His sister's body was never recovered.
Misery. The chieftains asked for another reading less than twenty-four hours later.
Isolation. Misery. Over and over. Isolation. Misery.
Oscar looked up, throat dry from explaining what he saw. His breathing was shallow, he'd never had a reading this clear before, to see it in such detail. His hand was shaking on the fulcrum, and there was a dizziness hedging around his vision. Ozpin was on the other side of the basin, lips thin and so much raw pain on his face, cheeks moist.
He got up, limping around Oscar and moving into the main room. Oscar had no impulse let alone energy to follow, and his guardian returned quickly with a pitcher of water and two glasses. He poured for both of them and sat back down, taking several gulps of his. Oscar did the same, struggling not to spill any of it.
"... it was the Grimm, wasn't it?" he asked finally.
"Yes," Ozpin said. "You can see the two curse words repeating in an unnatural spiral around the event. This is what it looks like when the curse is triggered."
"This has happened before, then."
Raw pain, and a heavy swallow. "... yes," Ozpin whispered, looking down and clearing the basin. "Every time I start to feel happy, every time I start to break out of my isolation..." He put his hand on the fulcrum again. "How did I first lose an apprentice?" he asked.
Oscar blinked, realizing there was going to be more than just one reading. He glanced at the door to the main seating area, and realized there were no appointments posted on the chalkboard today. He gulped, but opened his magic and started again.
Education in big, elegant swirls. Ozpin was a teacher at Haven University, thirty years old and seven years after the fire. Discovery; he was already known for discovering two new patterns in soothsaying. It wasn't much news to the country but soothsayers everywhere were amazed. Friendship, companionship, the iron wood was a close friend, admired Ozpin's readings and was fascinated with soothsaying. There was also a man of strong judgement, the color hazel. The head of the faculty…?
Learning, teaching, inspiration. Ozpin was a gifted teacher, students flocked to him to learn the art of soothsaying, the intricacies of the patterns, how to read a reading. He found students with the gift, took them on as apprentices, showed them the art of telling the truth. Office hours were crowded with students, saying hours were filled with clients, working hours had him producing paper after paper on the art of soothsaying, researching Grimm, trying to understand his curse.
Hesitation, uncertainty, secrecy. Ozpin never told anyone about his curse, even his apprentices, even his friends. He wanted to understand it himself before he tried to explain it to others. He discovered new patterns because of his research. Isolation, misery. He felt apart, even with life going as well as it was, Ozpin struggled to connect with others who did not have a Grimm looming over their heads. Struggle in bold strokes: Ozpin knew he had to keep trying, and he did. He reached out, gave what he could of himself, but it never felt like it was enough.
Another rare pattern: tragedy, combined with misfortune. Student, collapse, isolation. Ozpin was walking with two apprentices across campus. Repair work was being done on the facade of one of the buildings, there were several pallets of brick, scaffolding lifting up to elegant arches and decorative capitals of columns. Scaffolding broke, a thousand kirga of brick cascading to the ground, Ozpin and his apprentices there. Selflessness, small but powerful: Ozpin moved to push them away. Suffocation, strife, pain. They did not make it far enough, the bricks collapsed over them, one apprentice, the autumn, was crushed immediately by the weight. Luck, balance, entrapment: the scaffolding poles fell in such a way to create a small air pocket, trapping Ozpin and his other apprentice. Brothers, Oscar never knew any of this…!
Patience, the symbol small and tilted to indicate a long-suffering wait. They were trapped for hours. Suffocation again, isolation, misery. Ozpin listened to his apprentice struggle to breath, something pressed upon her, cutting off her air. Loss. She died before they could be dug out.
Rage, strong judgement, conflict: the head of the faculty confronted him, furious at the tragedy. Family…? One of the apprentices was his sister, the hazel judgment shouting and the entire floor of faculty hearing it. Misery again, Ozpin did not know how to defend himself, did not realize yet his curse had been activated. He ached for the loss of his apprentices, but the hazel judgement did not see it. The case was brought up for review: anger, opinion flipped to bias, the hazel judgement gave an unhinged, scathing remonstration of Ozpin.
Justice: Ozpin was kept on the faculty, the hazel judgement let go.
Isolation: the hazel judgement was well loved in the faculty.
Misery: several members blamed Ozpin for the firing.
Oscar let go of the reading, reaching with a shaky hand for a glass of water. The spiral was tighter this time. He glared at the reading, hurt that his guardian had been hurt so badly. The assassination must have been the first act of the curse, then the Beacon fire, now the loss of apprentices. He dreaded to think what else came about from the curse. He looked up to Ozpin, his cheeks were moist again, lips in a thin line. He was shaking, too, less noticeably. The late summer heat kept his cheeks colored, but there was a paleness to his face, too.
"What happened while I had the back breaker fever?" he asked, clearing the sand basin.
"Oz, no," Oscar said, shaking his head. "You don't have to do this."
His mentor closed his eyes. "I do," he said. "I don't have the words to explain this, the details of what it's like. I can say it in broad terms, but to describe the actual events…" His lips pressed into another line, and he shook his head. "There is a very real possibility now… The general… You need to know. You need to know what I've lived before I explain what I fear."
Oscar took a long, deep breath, and he activated his magic again.
Conflict, linked with anger and woven into superiority and fear. The war was almost upon everyone. Summer, sickness, death. The outbreak of the backbreaker fever. Uncertainty: the university watched the illness sweep through the farms first, the medical wing of the campus furiously trying to understand what had happened. Isolation, misery. Ozpin was getting tired, he loved teaching but it could not sustain his personal life. Repetition. He went to campus, taught, did readings, went home, slept. Over and over, monotonous and isolated. Other activations of the curse had worn him down, he was respected but not overly liked on campus anymore. The students still loved him, but they were not the same age as him. Apprentices he kept a safe distance from, trying to keep them safe from his curse. He was so lonely.
A new pattern, once Oscar hadn't seen before: a variation of inspiration but nested in exposure, bias, and anger. A news sheet printed an article articulating the fraudulent nature of soothsaying. Readings were publicized, analyzed for hidden meanings that sayers withheld. Pressure, fear, uncertainty in societal sweeps. The public were already tense with the new disease, the articles supposing the problems in Vale would carry over to Mistral. Opportunity: the public had at last someone to blame.
Growth, reversed and inverted to mean spread. The sickness started to leak into the city, the labor and working classes disappearing almost overnight.
Anger, in big, broad curves, linking into isolation and misery. The new term started and Ozpin had less than half the class size he normally did. Emotion nested in inspiration. Ozpin wrote a heartfelt, passionate defense of soothsaying, a two page spread explaining the people's misunderstandings, trying to ease tensions.
Failure, isolation, misery. Rotten eggs were smeared across his office door. Scam, traitor, liar, charlatan painted on his house. Now the people had a target even more specific than soothsayers.
Friendship in a small, fragile curve. The iron wood came all the way from Atlas to offer solace. A lion offering a safe space to work.
Sickness, twice the normal size to indicate the seriousness of the condition. It was linked with the pattern for sudden, fear, anxiety. Ozpin collapsed in his office, the fever boiling through him so quickly. Weakness, he could not move, could barely breathe, had no means of calling for help. The iron wood found him, shouted for help, tried to stretch him out and clear his airways. Pain, sickness, isolation, misery. Everyone with backbreaker isolated into separate wards, trying to contain the spread. The fulcrum was hazy the way Ozpin had been hazy, perceiving he was awake and very ill but unable to comprehend much beyond that. Pain, sickness again, isolation and misery again. He came to after the fever broke, bereft of all strength. The rare symbol of deformity, his knee had swollen, hardened bulges protruding out, making his leg stiff and unable to bend. He couldn't move either leg at first, the doctor's thought him paralyzed like everyone else.
And then, at last, the symbol for war. It was all over the news sheets, everyone had an opinion, the papers bled anxiety and fear and bloodthirst. Manipulation, the iron wood came, Ozpin still bedridden, asked if he could have a reading on the war. Ozpin refused. Return, the iron wood was called back home. Isolation, no one from university came to visit, not even former students. Misery, pain, patience, struggle. The recovery was agony, he had to learn to move all over again, the doctors were overwhelmed with the other patients, Ozpin hardly had any conversation.
Isolation: he was released from the hospital to no job at university.
Misery: he returned home to see the staff had left.
He didn't know what more he could do. He didn't know how he was supposed to live like this. He didn't know how he could go on.
Isolation, misery, isolation, misery, isolation, misery. The two patterns of the Grimm spiraled so tightly as to be on top of each other, pressing and pressing and pressing pressing pressing pressing down on him and he didn't know what else he could do.
"How are you still here?" Oscar said, gasping. He tried to reach for water and couldn't hold the glass, it clattered to the floor and rolled away. His cheeks were streaked in tears, he was shaking after using so much magic for such detailed readings, three in rapid succession. "How… I don't understand how you haven't…" He wiped at his eyes with shaky hands.
Ozpin didn't say anything for a long, long time, his eyes locked on the reader, the dark spiral of the Grimm's curse. One hand was hovering over the center of the spiral, just as shaky as Oscar. Ozpin's eyes were glassy and he pulled back with a sudden, shaky breath.
"It… it was a dark time," he said, reaching up and running a hand through his silver hair. "I don't know how to explain how dark it was, and I don't want you to experience it through the reader. I'm still not sure how…" His voice trailed off, and Oscar was certain, somehow, exactly how close Ozpin came.
"I… had a thought, one night," his voice was shaky, broken. "Friendships, partners, allies, these were denied me. I've resigned myself to that now. But… what about family? Salem was my only family for most of my life before the Beacon fire, and I've lived twenty years without family since. What if the family wasn't of my blood? What if they were completely unrelated to me? Would that keep them safe?"
Ozpin looked up. "That was when I first visited the orphanages."
… Oscar stumbled out of his chair, moving around the table and throwing his arms around his guardian. His father.
They took a break after that. Food came up from the Crow's Nest downstairs, and they ate mostly in silence, emotionally exhausted. Ozpin walked down the hall to use the fancy toilet, and Oscar stared blankly at Ozpin's desk in the reading room, the ceiling high shelves of herbs and supplies to recharge and maintain the reader. The desk was open, the King of Vale's two readings lying for anyone to see. Oscar looked over the first reading, the one that had so much potential. He saw echoes of Oz's first reading in the stories he had just seen. Ozpin was trying to live up to the life he thought he was supposed to live.
He frowned, looking again. He didn't see the pattern for children, nor a number or a reference to a date. Oz… wasn't supposed to have kids…?
Ozpin came back and Oscar turned to face him. "Is this why?" he asked, pointing to the king's pattern. "Is this what made you think of adopting?"
Ozpin nodded. "I've spent much of my life trying to live as I always wanted to. I surmise that is why the curse keeps activating. After the backbreaker... " His lips pressed together again. "Even soothsayers are susceptible to the bias of other people. I was treating my master's reading as a fortune. I had to give up that life and forge my own. Oscar." He sat in the client chair, looking up to his son. "Oscar, since having you, I've found happiness. I don't feel so alone. And I'm terrified."
Oscar took a seat. "You think the curse will activate again?" he guessed.
His father nodded. "Yes, moreso after the general's meeting. So many former students and apprentices are up the mountain at the Imperial Court. Each iteration of the curse gets closer and closer to me. The assassination, the Beacon fire, then losing my apprentices, then the backbreaker. I've almost died, more than once, because of this curse, and each time gets closer and closer and closer. If the curse activates again…"
"You don't think you'll survive," Oscar said, eyes doubling in size.
"You are my son," Ozpin said, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek. "You deserve to know… in case…"
Oscar shook his head. "No," he said, a weak protest to the readings he'd just seen. "No, we'll figure it out. We can work around it somehow… I can't… Oz, I don't want to lose you."
Oz reached out over the sand table, taking Oscar's hand. "... I don't want to go," he admitted, his voice cracking. "But I can't assume…"
"Hello! Professor, you here?"
Both of them quickly wiped at their eyes, Ozpin getting up shakily and moving to open the door to the main room. "Leo," he said, voice dull. Oscar followed him numbly to the main room.
Their office neighbor looked back and forth between the two. "Brother of Light," he cursed. "You both look like someone died!"
The phrasing made Oscar turn quickly to hide the spike of emotion, rubbing at his eyes again.
"Nothing so dramatic," Ozpin replied easily, though the lack of energy in his voice betrayed him. "It was a long training. It took a lot out of both of us. What can we do for you?"
"Oh, nothing important," Mr. Lionheart said brightly. "Just wanted you to know there's a rumor going about that the accountant is moving out downstairs. The space will be open for a new patron. I figured you'd want to put your name in the hat. The third floor isn't exactly a great improvement, but the space is on the east side instead of the west, so the afternoon sun won't bake you nearly as much in the summer to my mind." He looked between the two again. "You… sure you're both all right?"
"Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure," Ozpin said smoothly. "Thank you for the rumor, Leo. Any other news?"
"Only that scouts say the Vale army cleared another hundred killes. That puts them almost on the other side of the mountain range. If we're lucky we'll get an early snow and they'll be blocked off for the winter. Maybe then the Imperial Court will get off their duffs and actually take this war seriously."
"They already are," Oscar said darkly, "they've invited the Generals of the Round Table."
Mr. Lionheart balked. "They did? How did you know?"
"The sands," Ozpin said quickly with a vague gesture.
"That's… I don't rightly know if that's good or bad. I don't want the war here, Oz, that's too scary to contemplate. Atlas will do a better job, I guess, but that means we'll owe them a favor and we all know how sticky Atlas is about payment."
"Well, thank you for the gossip," Ozpin said, leaning heavily on his cane. "You'll forgive us, but now that training is done we have a lot of paperwork to do."
"Oh! Oh, yes, of course. If you need anything, let me know."
It was market day again, and Ozpin couldn't be more relieved with the cooler weather. While the office was still unbearable, the apartment was pleasant with a delightful breeze coming in. After much discussion with Oscar, the two had agreed to take the day off. Partly because they had been extremely busy, unusually so, with person after person coming in asking if loved ones were safe, or how close the Valeans were, or other anxieties, partly because they had to share a great deal of tragic news about the death of family members and offering comfort afterwards, and partly because it was just such nice weather and neither wanted to go to the office and take a moment to just enjoy it.
And maybe they needed time to process everything Ozpin had shared of his life.
Oscar set breakfast down as Ozpin finished shaving and came over.
"Thank you, Oscar," Ozpin said, giving him a hug before they sat down. "With such lovely weather, what are your plans for today?"
"The market," Oscar said, digging into the egg toast. "We don't have much growing time left. I've harvested a lot and hid it in the cellar, but I want to see what seeds there are that have a quicker germination. Something that the military can harvest and requisition and make them think we haven't been hoarding."
Ozpin nodded. "Be careful. With all the anxiety and with Vale's forces so close, the military will likely be checking for deceit and stockpiles."
"That's why no one in the building knows what I've been doing, outside of you, Nana Calavera, and Qrow."
"Very wise," Ozpin said, sipping his tea. "Have you found any books like you've been looking for?"
"No," his son scowled. "A lot of how I'm storing all that food is guesswork. I was in charge of planting and harvesting, not storing. Sometimes I helped with getting the food ready to travel to market, but that wasn't about storage. I kinda remember how our root cellar was set up and I've tried to mimic that, but we have a lot of vegetables that we didn't grow on the farm."
"Since you have the day, have you thought of the library?"
Oscar blinked. "There's a library?"
Ozpin couldn't help but laugh softly. "Yes, but it isn't exactly close. It's four milles up the mountain from here."
Eyes sparkling, Oscar smiled. "That's a great idea! Do you know if they have any books on soothsaying?"
"I doubt it," Ozpin said sadly. "Soothsaying texts were either at universities, or historical texts would mention a pattern discovered of an ancient civilization. Beacon had the largest collection of soothsaying books, but…"
"It burned…"
Ozpin nodded, not able to get any of the words past his throat.
"What about you? What are your plans?"
Ozpin pointed to the ceiling and all the herbs that had been drying over the course of the season. "Grinding and replenishing our stocks. You've been harvesting almost since spring started. We've a lot that we just haven't had the time to do with summer's oppressive heat."
His son gave a soft, embarrassed laugh.
"Also, while you've done an ample job of prepping vegetables for winter, there's not a great deal of meat. Our vegetable scraps will be good for broths and stocks over the winter, but some salted meats would be a good addition to everything. Especially jerkies as they last."
"Oh… I hadn't thought of that…"
Ozpin stood, bringing his dishes to the wash basin. "We've also been letting the laundry pile up. I'll handle that while you're out as well. Then… the weather is lovely. Since we've taken the day off, I might try reading."
Nodding, Oscar came over with his dishes as well. As usual, they washed the dishes together to avoid any food particles from hardening and sticking. Once Oscar was ready, Ozpin walked with his son down to the door.
"Be safe," he said softly, carding his fingers through Oscar's hair. "I love you."
Oscar's smile was warm and soft, and despite his growing height, he leaned forward and wrapped Ozpin in a hug.
By the brothers, he loved this child! He waved to Oscar and with the widest grin on his face. When he'd sought to adopt a child, he'd thought he'd have a companion. Someone to come home to and teach. A child that would be heading for an apprenticeship, someone that Ozpin might not spend much time with, but might alleviate the isolation he was stuck in and did not wish.
Instead…
Instead he'd found Oscar, someone with a gentle and caring heart, a warm depth of compassion and care, and against Ozpin's wildest dreams, a deep well of magic to learn soothsaying.
For so long he thought he'd never have an apprentice again.
Now he couldn't stop his chest from bursting with pride.
Heading back upstairs, he set the mortar and pestle on the table and pulled out their jars of herbs. He had a full day of grinding to do. A gentle breeze bustled through the window and Ozpin held the moment close. Serenity, contentment, and one section of his life full of happiness. The rest was horror and sadness. The war was still raging, Vale getting closer and closer to Haven. So many clients who burst into tears. Ironwood. But now, in this moment, Ozpin could acknowledge that here, in his home, he was happy to have such a good son, the one and only part of his life that was good. It was a blessing for as long as he had it.
He was setting aside another jar, getting ready to clean out the mortar and pestle for the next herb, when there was a knock on his door.
Surprised, Ozpin levered his way up and headed over to open the door.
"Qrow! What a delightful surprise," Ozpin greeted. "Come in. How can I help you?"
"Company mostly," Qrow replied. "Yang's out at the markets and if Ruby's going to be a crowmaster, she needs some time alone with my birds."
"Unsupervised?" Ozpin said, sitting back at the table with the herbs.
"Yeah. If I'm there, the crows will know it's safe. They have to know it's safe if Ruby's there, too."
"I see." Ozpin sat more to the side so that he could still somewhat face Qrow. He cleaned out the mortar and pestle and put in a new bunch of herbs, rosemary this time. "Well, how is Ruby's training?"
"Not bad," Qrow replied, leaning back on one of the leather chairs that he'd turned around. "Whoever she apprenticed under back in Patch was good. She's actually filled in some of the gaps from my filthy apprenticeship, but there's still a lot she doesn't know."
Ozpin nodded. "How many years left of her apprenticeship?"
"She's only eighteen, so two to three years."
Ozpin raised a brow. "But you quit your own apprenticeship early…"
Qrow actually blushed. "Yeah, well…. When I was with Clover… I may have started reading and trying to learn more…"
He gave a gentle smile. "He meant a great deal to you."
"Heh. Yeah," Qrow said absently, looking at Ozpin. "It's strange, looking back on those years now."
"Oh?"
"Don't get me wrong, I loved him," Qrow ran a hand through his graying hair. "He was… good for me. He always emptied the alcohol, kept me mostly sober, he was a great support. But… looking back, I was resentful every time he took my booze. I knew he was doing the right thing, but I kinda hated him for it."
Ozpin paused with the mortar and pestle, turning to face Qrow more fully. "That would have been the alcohol, correct? The addiction?"
"Probably," Qrow said, looking off to his memories. "Maybe if I got sober and stayed sober I'd have been grateful. I just remember so many arguments when my booze was gone. I said some horrible filth. But Clover was trying to change me. Looking back, he was right, but I also feel… weird, that he tried to change me."
"Change or help?" Ozpin asked softly. "Did you want to be better?"
"That part's hazy. I was in and out of the bottle for years before I met Clover. But I look back and all Clover did was remove the booze." Qrow locked his wine colored eyes to Ozpin. "You helped me see why I was drinking. That made stopping easier. Sort of."
"All the work has still fallen to you."
"Yeah, but you're just that kinda guy." Qrow gave a wry smirk. "You're also oblivious. That part's hilarious."
Ozpin chuckled, turning back to his herbs. "Ah, that's merely the difference in cultures," he replied lightly. "In Vale, every interaction with someone is viewed through the lens of friendship. A courting poem is what makes one re-evaluate meetings to look for romance."
"Heh. Hadn't thought of it that way. How does one even write a courting poem?"
"Hmm. The styles have changed over the centuries," Ozpin replied, emptying the mortar into the jar for rosemary. "I'm sure that it's different now, assuming they still even do courting poems. When I was last in Vale, rhyming patterns were quite common. Iambic pentameter and the like."
"I've got no idea what that means. Do you want any help with all that?"
Ozpin blinked. "With what, the grinding?"
Qrow's face went scarlet and he crossed his legs awkwardly. "You, Ozpin Ozma, are a filthy tease."
"Ah, I stumbled upon a Mistralan euphemism, I take it?"
Qrow rolled his eyes and stood. He came right up to Ozpin, reached around him, to grab the pestle and mortar. "You're too damn dangerous with these, I'm confiscating them."
For the briefest of moments, with Qrow's arms on either side of him, something stirred. His blood started to hum, but it wasn't magic. It was something he hadn't felt for years. And in that briefest flash, Ozpin understood: He loved this man. Somewhere along the way, beneath his nose, he'd fallen in love.
Happiness bloomed inside of him, everything in him heated, and he reached his arms through Qrow's open haori and around his waist and pulled him down into a kiss.
Qrow blinked, dumbfounded, then Ozpin was wrapped tightly into an embrace and he could feel every inch of Qrow, including strong desire. He pulled back enough to mutter, "I've been a fool… I love you…" before insistently kissing again.
"...loved you for so long…." Qrow muttered.
Ozpin couldn't feel enough as he ran his hands under Qrow's haori, he needed to be closer somehow, the pull between them that he hadn't noticed stronger, Qrow pressed all the closer until Ozpin's back hit the table, making the mortar and pestle and all those glass jars rock.
"Bed," Ozpin insisted.
"Fye and filth, yes!" Qrow replied.
Ozpin didn't even get the chance to reach for his cane, as strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him right out of his seat. Clothes were removed.
"... so beautiful…"
"... more…"
Ozpin couldn't believe how his chest burst with love. Something niggled at the back of his mind that this was a bad idea but that didn't last long as calloused hands found a spot he never knew existed and Qrow's tongue soon followed.
The breeze gently caressed bare backs, and Ozpin never knew that he could feel this way. Despite the awkwardness of his bad leg, they found a rhythm, and Ozpin briefly thought poetry was more than meter and rhyme. He couldn't kiss Qrow enough: mouth, cheeks, ears, neck, his hands couldn't explore enough: back, chest, sides, hips.
"... oh… oh…. oh… oh…. Oh!"
There was something building with the humming of his blood, the heat between them, the Brother of Light's fire that they were sharing in. Then the Brother of Darkness took his sight so that sparkles flashed across his vision.
They were panting, out of breath, sticky liquid clumped between them. At the moment, Ozpin didn't care. He mustered his strength to get up on an elbow and look down at Qrow. Because this needed to be said. Clearly and without any doubt.
"I love you," he repeated. "I love you so much. I don't know how I missed it."
Qrow, caressed his face. "That's 'cause you're oblivious, Oz."
Ozpin leaned down to kiss him softly.
They fell asleep.
Author's Notes: an emotional yo-yo from the darkest of depth so the highest of heights. Also only three scenes.
The Grimm has triggered multiple times in Oz's life, but these are the three biggest events that he chooses to show Oscar, who is now progressed enough to understand how unnatural and disquieting it is. And since Oz seems to need to suffer no matter what iteration he exists in this is the cocktail he gets. This is also the most detailed reading not only for Oscar but for the reader as well. Even his readings with Weiss didn't get into this much detail, showing how he's grown as a sayer and also what reading actually look like: words and patterns that evoke the story the question is answering.
We also finally get Oscar to call Oz his father! Well, only in his head for now, but it's really meaningful - especially as a Mistralan where family is such a high priority.
And to make up for all that angst we get an unadulterated happy moment with Qrow. Oz is slow on the uptake, but he finally figured out his feelings.
Next chapter: Oz feeling so very happy - nothing BAD can come of that... right?