After the Winter
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"You'll always be my sunny little dragon," he whispers against her skin- unbearably bare, unbearably weak. The colour of her scalp is frightening in its pallor, her creased forehead and pale brows contrasting horribly in the backlight of the window streaming in the afternoon rays behind them. Her cheeks are splotchy, red and rubbed raw after an entire afternoon of weeping, eyes bare of mascara, puffy with tears. She is but a caricature of the brilliant, smiling, confidant young woman she had been barely weeks before, a vision from a nightmare from which no one could wake up.
"I'm not," she gasps, burying her head against his shoulder. "I'm not anymore."
"Shh, Yang," he breathes. "Who are you?"
Drawing in a stuttering breath, she straightens her back slightly. "Y-Yang Xiao Long."
"And who am I?" he asks gently.
Despite it all, a crooked smile grows upon her lips. Wryly, she hiccups with all the familiarity in the world for this lifelong exchange of theirs, "…Taiyang Xiao Long."
"That's right," he murmurs, drawing her back into his arms. "You're my big girl. You'll always be a part of me, and we're going to make it through together, okay?"
She nods, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her own thin arms trembling with the effort- with the sobs which begin to wrack her body properly.
"I love you, Yang."
"I love you too, Dad," she sobs quietly against his shoulder.
Qrow watches this interaction from the doorway, arms crossed, biting his lip. He longs to walk in, to gather up the two of them in his arms; these are two of the most precious people in the world, and yet with them holding one another like this, he cannot help but feel like a foreigner, like a sick voyeur to their intimate exchange.
A snort slips out as he absently thanks the heavens that he had left Ruby at home, for she is not ready to see her older sister like this: fragile, weak.
Taiyang's arms have never so easily wrapped around Yang like this, but now, it is clear just how different their statures are. The image is almost sickening to Qrow. After all, without a single golden lock to be seen, his niece is so much smaller than he remembers- so much younger.
She is just a child, still. It does not matter what age she has. She will always be their little girl, his little firecracker, her father's sunny little dragon, the picture-perfect golden reflection of her mother's best qualities. She should not be going through this.
The pressure in his chest only grows more intense as her monitor beeps, a constant reminder of her constant companion- the pump which keeps her going. It'll be time to change the solution soon. He does not want to watch it happen. It always makes him feel sick, watching the liquid from each new sack seep through thin tubing into her veins. He detests every part of this whole miserable experience, from the sterility of barren white walls to the royal blue of the privacy curtains, from the creaking of the visitor benches to the squeaking of Yang's bed. He hates all of it.
A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of thoughts, dragging his attention away from the weeping father and daughter. It is the nurse who stands there, a warm smile on thin lips, understanding shining in jade eyes. "She's doing great," the broad, built man murmurs. "Just have faith."
Qrow wants to fight back- for what, he doesn't know. When the younger man envelops him in a warm, gentle hug, however, he does not pull away. A part of him feels shame for seeking comfort so automatically for his grief.
Yang will be fine. She's far stronger than him, in any case- far stronger than a weary old man who cannot bear to face the grief of his family- who chooses instead to crumble outside of his niece's hospital room in the arms of another.