Way Off Track

Fourteenth Meal

Clover went home that night alone with naught but a promise for a meetup at Crow Bar on Friday. A part of him was furious with the result; he had wanted to figure out where he stood with Qrow by the end of the night. At the very least, he had wanted to try and ask the man out properly. Hell, he hadn't even been able to kiss Qrow; but with all of the hubbub of a weekday evening surrounding them, they never found the chance to be alone.

The next day on his morning commute, Clover let his thoughts drift back to their goodbye. Qrow had smiled so sweetly, jokingly hugging Clover's arm so that he could stand underneath Clover's umbrella. He hadn't let go of his arm though, even when the rain had let up. The amount of restraint it had taken Clover to not brush the frazzled professor's hair out of his eyes, pulling him closer before he finally released Clover's arm and boarded the westward train, was absolutely mindboggling. Clover didn't even know how he'd managed to pull it off.

Still, progress had clearly been made. Clover perked up, looking at the doors expectantly as they rolled into the fifth station on his route. How would Qrow greet him today? Would he smile? Would he be embarrassed? It hadn't been raining that morning, so maybe the man would be less grouchy. He'll certainly be less hungover, Clover thought wryly. They had only had a few glasses each the night before, after all.

Unfortunately, Qrow didn't board the train. A pang of concern struck Clover immediately; he knew that Qrow had a class at 8:30AM to teach on Wednesdays, meaning he didn't really have much choice but to board Clover's train that day unless he wanted to run to his lecture hall. Where was he?

Before he could second-guess himself, Clover messaged Qrow. To his relief, the response was fairly immediate. The man had simply gone to work early to photocopy and go over tests.

"Are you free tonight?" Clover said aloud as he typed, shouldering his bag as the train rolled into his stop.

A few minutes later, Qrow replied with a negative; there were midterms happening that day. I'm invigilating and marking late, Qrow said. The man immediately began unloading his thoughts about the whole process onto Clover, his phone buzzing so continuously that Clover quickly turned off the vibration. He could read the rant later, but for right then, it was a little overwhelming.

Clover sighed, tucking his phone away as he stepped into AST's office. "Morning, Marrow," he said cordially, taking a moment to check over the younger man's face. He seemed much more well-rested than the previous few days. "How are you doing? And your cousin?"

Marrow froze in surprise, then beamed. "She's doing good!" he said, far brighter than Clover had seen him all week. "I brought her to school early today then came here. It's nice that it wasn't raining, huh?"

Brought her to school? Clover raised his brows, impressed. I didn't realize he was taking care of a kid. "Well, that's good to hear," he responded neutrally, turning towards his office. "Keep it up."

"Sure thing, boss!" Marrow called after him.

Clover couldn't help but smile. Things always felt a little off-kilter if the young man wasn't at his best. It would be nice to get a semblance of normalcy back in the office.

When he finally pulled out his phone again after a hectic morning of meetings and another routine, frustrating call from his mother back in Atlas, Clover took a moment to read over Qrow's morning rant. It essentially boiled down to a few things: Qrow hated invigilating; Qrow hated marking; Qrow hated lugging all the papers home, and so he would inevitably end up practically living in his office for a few days to get it all done at work.

Well, he needs to eat, doesn't he?

He smiled, silently making plans and getting ready for the afternoon's work.

By the end of the day, he felt contented with what had been accomplished. Everyone seemed on track for all of their projects, all of their clients were happy, and an email from James told him that his branch's numbers were far higher than what was projected, so clearly corporate was happy, too. With those little successes carrying him along, Clover packed up his bag, threw on his coat, and headed out into the city.

Beacon University was apparently a little calmer outside of the lunch hour. Only a few students milled about with nightfall fast approaching, the sidewalks fairly quiet. It made sense; not many classes would tend to run late into the evenings, so unless if students lived on campus or there was an event, there was little reason to linger longer than they had to.

The Department of Sociology's building was far easier to find the second time around. To his surprise, he was recognized; the same woman working the front desk smiled amicably at him, waving him upstairs when Clover stepped through the front door. With a word of thanks, Clover made his way up the narrow flight of stairs to the second floor until he was standing outside of Qrow's office.

He knocked. A crass, bitter voice growled, "This ain't office hours, so unless you're Oz, go-"

Clover opened the door and stuck his head inside. Instantly, he was struck by the sight of a few things: the massive stacks of paper piled up around him, the jacket and bag thrown haphazardly on the small table tucked into the corner, and the thick-framed, rectangular glasses perched upon Qrow's straight nose.

Qrow was halfway to yelling when he saw Clover's face, immediately going slack-jawed and losing steam. Clover grinned sheepishly, holding up what had delayed him after work: a bag of takeout. "I heard someone was annoyed about marking," he said softly. "I thought food might help. Was I right?"

The elder's face softened, the severity draining away as he pulled off his glasses. Clover sucked in a breath watching the motion, seeing how those bright red eyes focused tenderly upon him. "You read my mind, boy scout," Qrow said. "Is this what you do for community service? Feed poor, overworked, underpaid professors whose damn TAs catch a cold during peak midterm season so they can't mark?"

Clover laughed, "Nothing in the job description about feeding professors. Plenty about feeding the elderly, though-"

"Son of a-" Qrow scoffed and threw a pencil from his desk half-heartedly at him, which Clover dodged with ease. The younger pulled off his coat and dragged a chair up to sit on the other side of his desk. With a wry smile, he set out the food, handing Qrow cutlery and offering, "I don't know if I can help with written work, but if there's multiple choice or anything, I'm happy to help."

"I'm not paying you," Qrow said immediately, pushing aside the paper he had been marking in favour of taking a box of noodles.

Clover shrugged. "I accept payment in different forms," he said with a wink. To his satisfaction, Qrow blushed slightly, fumbling with his chopsticks. After a moment, Clover admitted, "You seemed stressed, so I came here. Be honest- was it too much?"

Qrow relaxed and beamed. "It's perfect, kid." Clover almost grinned back victoriously before Qrow added, "Also, there is a multiple choice section. Get ready."

"Yes sir."

Dinner was delicious, and when it was all done and Qrow kissed him at the nearly-empty station as thanks for his help, Clover knew that he had enjoyed his night grading terrible midterms with Qrow far more than their dinner at the fancy restaurant.

After all, when Qrow concentrated, he tended to stick out his tongue slightly. Thank goodness marking multiple choice didn't require that much concentration, because his attention was fixated on thick, intellectual glasses and sultry half-lidded crimson eyes and bright, shining silver tongue studs all evening.