It happens in a single instant; the silence being broken by the sound of a deafening crack. Its endless echo is all he can hear the moment he feels the impact.
What comes after is a muddled haze. He knows that his legs give out, and he knows that he hits the floor, but his mind struggles to understand why his body is failing.
At first, he is numb. It is when he begins to move that he is made aware of a strange pressure near the right side of his ribs. Leaning on his left arm, he presses his right hand against the floor to push himself up, only for his hand to slip on something slick and warm.
A burning sensation begins to spread through his chest, one that worsens as he tries to steady his breathing. It continues to intensify, until his chest is filled with nothing but searing pain. Metal rises from his throat into his mouth. He coughs and gags, flecks of red splattering onto the floor, before he finally manages to spit out a thick wad of blood.
In the end, all he can do is roll over onto his back.
A figure approaches him, coming to a stop to stand above him. The lights flicker, dim yet bright enough to make out the sight of a silver gun being leveled at his head.
A voice speaks to him, but he can't hear it over the ringing in his ears.
His bloodied hand trembles as he raises it. A desperate, futile attempt to stop the inevitable.
The trigger is pulled.
~0~
Morning finds James feeling more worn and tired than usual, so much so that is a struggle to get himself out of his bed. After the incident the previous day, he had barely slept throughout the night. A few hours, if that, despite his best efforts. No, he had been too preoccupied to sleep much, and even as he goes about preparing for the day his thoughts drift back to focus on one particular person.
The way Qrow had looked at him, fear flashing in those red eyes, sits ever present at the front of his mind.
What he wants to know is why. It is true that they have butted heads on several occasions throughout the years, and while they aren't exactly close, he has always seen Qrow as an ally—as a friend. The last thing James would ever want to do is hurt a friend.
So why did it seem like Qrow had been afraid of him?
He looks down at his Scroll, reading through the message he has typed out. It is nothing more than a simple request for Qrow to meet him in his office, but as his finger hovers over the send button, he wonders if it is the right choice. Would it be better to brush this aside? Will questioning Qrow help either of them? There is a chance it could have been a single incident, one that may never repeat.
Yet, what if it isn't? If he doesn't ask, if he lets this be, things with Qrow could worsen. What kind of friend would he be then?
That is what convinces him to press send.
It is as the confirmation appears on screen that he realizes he hasn't decided on how he's going to go about this.
He begins to pace, contemplating on what he should say. Getting answers from Qrow isn't going to be easy; James knows how prone Qrow is to deflection, especially when it comes to his own well-being. Would it be better to simply ask upfront, or should he ease into the subject? There is no way to be sure as to how Qrow will take it, and he wants to avoid an argument if possible.
Several minutes pass as he debates with himself. When he can think of nothing, he sinks into his chair. Resting his elbows on the desk, he leans forward and begins to massage his temples.
Whether he is direct or not, he has a sinking feeling that it will be a rough conversation.
Perhaps calling Qrow to his office was a mistake. Maybe he should have gone to Ruby or Yang first. They know him better than James does after all, which is regrettable to him because Qrow is his friend and he should know how to help, yet he doesn't.
In truth, the longer Qrow spends in Atlas, the more James realizes that he doesn't know as much about the man as he first thought.
With a withering sigh, he lowers his head.
He should have talked to Ruby.
Too late for that.
He is drilling a hole into his desk with his eyes, still lost in thought, when he hears the door open.
An all too familiar raspy voice croaks out, "It's too damn early in the morning for this, Jimmy."
James straightens in his seat to watch Qrow drag himself into the office with a scowl. There is a pang in his chest when he sees that the whites of Qrow's eyes are tinged pink, but he quickly realizes that it is from a lack of sleep, if the rather noticeable bags under his eyes are anything to go by.
They have that in common, at least.
"Sorry, Qrow," James says as tries to rein in his apprehension. "I'll be sure to make it up to you."
"You better," Qrow mutters. He takes a sip of the mug he's holding. "What do you need? Gonna be heading out soon, ya know."
"Ah, right, the morning meeting. How did it go?"
Qrow sucks in a breath. "It was...something."
"Did it not go well?"
A grimace flits across Qrow's face. "That's putting it lightly. I thought Yang was going to commit murder right there in front of everyone."
"That bad?"
"The teams were switched around a bit for today's missions. Yang didn't take it well, and Blake wasn't too happy about it either."
"I take it Yang lashed out."
"You bet she did. I know they don't like to be separated after everything that's happened to them, but still…" Qrow's voice is soft, eyebrows drawn together. "I get why they want to keep close, but this isn't going to be a common thing. Thankfully she calmed down a bit when Clover explained it was just a field test type of thing. Decided that she didn't want to kill him."
As Qrow talks, James watches the way his gaze shifts. From staring down at his mug to the desk, then upwards, Qrow makes an obvious effort to avoid looking directly at James.
Qrow stops for a moment to let out a small laugh before saying, "Still looked like she was gonna snap him in two, though. Especially since Nora and Ren are still together for this one."
James is not the least bit surprised. Despite his trepidation, he finds himself smiling. "Of course."
"So... are you gonna tell me why you called me in here?"
"Right. I just wanted to talk, honestly. It has been a while."
Qrow quirks an eyebrow at the obvious excuse. "We can do that whenever."
James presses his fist against his mouth and clears his throat. "I know it probably hasn't been easy to adjust."
With a shrug, Qrow turns to look out the window. "Not all that bad. Could be worse. Still not used to having a schedule, but it really seems to be helping the kids, so I don't mind putting up with it. Not like I don't have coffee to kick-start myself in the morning anyways."
"I see. And how have you been?"
"I've been…" Red eyes flicker downwards, darkening in a way that makes James tighten his hold on the armrest. He can hear it creak. "I've been okay. Like you said, I just haven't adjusted yet. You spend so long running around doing missions left and right, and… Well, I never really got used to the schedule at Signal when I was teaching, either."
James nods. Since the first day he has watched Qrow struggle with daily life in Atlas. He knows full well that Qrow is no stranger to Atlas, but the man has never melded well with how things work here.
Could the stress be the cause?
No, that would be no reason for that level of fear.
Qrow shifts to lean against the side of the desk, resting his left palm on the edge. As he begins to tap his fingers against the desk, James finds his attention drawn to the man's hand. On any other day, he could have easily dismissed it as a sign of impatience or irritation. It is Qrow, after all. Today, however, it serves only to add to his concerns for one reason: even with the movement from the tapping, he can see the subtle shaking of Qrow's hand.
When Qrow notices that James is staring, he stops tapping and instead grips the desk.
Why are his hands shaking? Why is he trying to hide it?
Between that and Qrow's refusal to look him in the eyes, an uneasy feeling begins to weigh on James's chest. Whether it is because of the incident in the hangar or another cause entirely he can't say for certain.
"Waking up at the ass-crack of dawn fucking sucks, but whatever," Qrow says with a huff, swinging his mug outwards. "It's fine."
In an attempt to push past it, James chuckles and reaches out to give Qrow a friendly pat on the arm. When his hand makes contact, the muscles in Qrow's arm tense.
James calmly pulls his hand back. "Believe me, I know."
"Do you, General Ironwood?" Qrow asks, trying his best to smile.
It's forced.
"Better than you'd think," James says as he leans back. "How are you feeling? I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but when Marrow said you had gotten sick, I thought it best not to."
"Stomach just wasn't agreeing with me yesterday, that's all. Felt better when I woke up." Qrow sits his mug down and folds his arms. "Sorry for running off so quick."
"It's quite alright. I understand. Are you sure it isn't bothering you today?"
"Little bit. Probably just nerves."
"Hmm. If you say so."
Qrow tilts his head to the side. "You got something more you wanna say."
"Yes, actually. I just wasn't sure how to broach the subject."
"Well?"
Taking in a deep breath, James closes his eyes. There is no point to continue avoiding it. It is for the best to get this over with.
"In the hangar."
"What about it? You already know I wasn't feeling good."
"That doesn't explain why you were afraid when you looked at me."
When James opens his eyes, Qrow is bent forward, his fingers digging into his arms. He stares at the floor with a strange intensity, mouth pressed into a thin line.
To James, it appears as if the man is preparing himself to take a hit.
"If anything has happened—"
"Nothing happened," Qrow says in a clipped tone. "It was just a bad day."
James frowns. He doubts that's all it was, but he isn't sure how to get Qrow to be honest with him. If he could make Qrow understand that he is simply worried and wants to help, perhaps the man would be more willing to talk to him.
"I know that things have been somewhat...rocky between us over the years," James says with a bit of hesitation, "and I admit I haven't been the easiest to approach even before Beacon. I can understand your reluctance." He does his best to smile, though he knows Qrow will not look at him. "But I want you to know that I am here for you if you need anything. We are friends, after all. If there's anything I can do, you only need to tell me."
"Like I already told you, it was just a bad day."
Frustration nips at the back of his mind. James pushes it down. "I want to help."
"Yeah, well, this isn't something you can help with."
"Are you certain?"
In an instant the fear fades from Qrow's eyes, replaced by anger as his gaze sharpens, lips pulling back into a snarl. He unfolds his arms and shoves himself away from the desk.
"Yes, I'm certain," Qrow hisses. "It's not something I want to talk about, and even if I did, it wouldn't do any good. Do you think it's gonna affect my work or something?" He scoffs. His voice drips with venom as he asks, "Is that why you're so concerned?"
James cannot bring himself to say anything in response. To learn Qrow thinks so lowly of him hurts more than he would have ever thought, each word a knife digging into an open wound. Even after making it clear that James considers them to be friends, Qrow apparently sees him as nothing more than a heartless soldier, incapable of caring.
It seems as if Qrow is going to continue his outburst, but as he turns towards James, his mouth audibly snaps shut.
Silence falls over them. Something akin to guilt twists Qrow's face as he looks away, hands gripped into fists.
At least that is what James hopes it is. It means he might be wrong about how Qrow feels towards him.
"Your effectiveness on the field is not why I'm concerned," James says. It is a struggle to keep his voice even. "There's nothing I can say that will convince you otherwise, is there?"
Qrow chooses not to answer, keeping his eyes locked on the wall. Then, taking in a deep breath, he turns around and marches out of the room.
Once the door closes, James lets himself slump in his chair, shoulders sagging. He looks at the abandoned mug.
Whatever has happened to lead to this, he is going to get to the bottom of it.