The roar of icy wind is the first thing he is aware of, a terrible noise that rattles inside his skull and drowns out all other sounds. When he opens his eyes, the world around him is a hazy blur of white and gray, the falling snow so thick that it hides Mantle from sight. His body aches, pain throbbing outward from his side, and there is a heavy exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders that slows his movements. Every heaving breath he takes causes the cold air to sting his lungs, and each one is expelled from his mouth in a cloud of pale mist.
A single dark shape breaks the monotony of the tundra, the face of a man he has only just begun to know coming into focus. Piercing red eyes meet his, brimming with a swirl of emotions. Sorrow, anger, fear—all directed at him, yet not. Above all else, there is betrayal, so strong that it twists his chest with regret.
What led to this?
The wind carries the echo of a word spoken to him in desperation. "Why?"
Cold steel splits his chest in two.
Clover wakes with a start.
His hand flies to his chest, almost of its own accord, and trails his trembling fingers across his skin. There is not so much as a blemish on him, yet he feels as if his chest has been carved open. Even though he knows he has no injuries, he is still somewhat surprised to see his hand free of blood when he holds it up. There should be, a part of him whispers. There should be blood coating his palm. The thought churns his stomach, making him bite the inside of his cheek, and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Once his heart decides it no longer wants to tear itself free of his ribcage, he lowers his arms to his sides and stares up at the ceiling.
Though the details of the dream are already fading, the sensation of metal buried inside him remains.
He has had his share of unpleasant dreams, but that one felt different, as if it had been real.
A quick glance at the clock tells him he has only slept a few scant hours. The wise choice would be to get more rest, but he finds the idea unappealing. Instead, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up, resigning himself to what is sure to be a long day.
Heaving a sigh, he climbs out of bed and heads into the bathroom. With that feeling still lingering, he grabs the counter and leans forward to check his reflection in the mirror. Tired teal eyes greet him, the skin underneath sporting a slight discoloration from lack of sleep. He runs a hand through his mussed hair and lowers his gaze. There are marks on his arms, but they are only faint red indentations in his skin, no doubt caused by the bedsheets. He shifts to his chest. Just as he thought, he finds nothing there.
Why does it feel wrong to be standing here?
His fingers curl against the counter.
A warm shower helps to loosen his tense muscles, but it does nothing for the dread weighing down his very being. He keeps expecting to look down and see a weapon bursting from his chest. Not once does he see anything. Why would he? It was nothing more than a nightmare.
After he has dried off, he drops onto the edge of the bed and absentmindedly rubs his chest.
It is the alarm, hours later, that drags him from his thoughts. Upon checking his Scroll, he realizes it is the second alarm.
Should he be concerned that he spent so long staring at nothing?
He had perfected his morning routine years ago, but the bone-deep tiredness he feels makes him move sluggishly, struggling to simply clothe himself. He does a quick comb through of his hair and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother putting in the effort of styling it. By the time he is stumbling out of his room, he is already several minutes late for the morning meeting.
In the end, he arrives well after the other teams have left, with his teammates being the only ones still gathered inside. Waiting for him, of course. As he walks into the room and approaches them, Marrow pins his gaze on him, his expression caught between confusion and concern. With how snippy Clover had been yesterday and being late today, he can't blame Marrow for being worried about him.
"You feeling alright?" Marrow asks.
"I was having a hard time sleeping," Clover answers. "Just one of those nights, unfortunately."
"Okay..."
"I take it our young friends have left for their missions?"
"Yeah."
"You were taking so long, and they were all itching to go, so..." Harriet trails off with a shrug of her shoulders.
"And Qrow?"
"He requested a solo mission," Vine explains.
A frown tugs at Clover's lips.
"Looked even more tired than yesterday, too," Elm adds. "I thought he was gonna pass out in the middle of the meeting."
"Maybe it's for the best that he got some time to himself," Marrow says. "Might give him a chance to think things through. Figure things out, you know?"
Doubtful, Clover thinks. Instead of voicing that thought, he lets out a sigh and says, "Maybe, but if he is in such rough shape, he shouldn't be on any missions alone."
Cocking her head to the side, Harriet asks in an almost mocking tone, "Would you want to try to tell him no?"
Fear jolts down his spine, blazing red eyes flashing in his mind, flesh and bone giving way under sharpened metal. He opts not to answer and instead turns his attention to the mission list.
"A calmer day today," he says, hearing Harriet snort at his redirection.
Though Marrow laughs, there is no humor in it. "Hopefully. Considering how yesterday went..."
"Don't jinx it," Elm says.
Clover scrolls through the accepted missions. Most are simple jobs with little to no danger, but there is one request for a Huntsman to deal with a small group of Grimm spotted gathered a ways off from Mantle, far enough not to pose a significant threat to the city but close enough to be a cause for concern. Of course, Qrow is the one who took it. Worry stirs in his gut at the thought of Qrow out in the tundra alone. The sound of the voices around him begins to fade, until all he can hear is frozen wind and his own heartbeat.
A hand drops down on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze that jolts him out of his thoughts.
"Escorting a shipment," he says as he accepts the mission. "Any objections?"
No one objects.
~0~
The mission turns out to be an easier, more relaxing one, at least in comparison to all their recent ones. Even so, Clover finds himself moving in odd ways throughout the day, attempting to maneuver around an obstruction in his chest that isn't there. It reaches a point where each of his team members asks in turn whether he is sick or injured, and they eye him warily when he does his best to assure him he is well. Physically, he is mostly fine, save for the lack of sleep. Mentally? Who can say. There must be something wrong with him for him to be feeling like this, for a nightmare of all things to linger in such a way.
Their escort job ends without much fanfare. After only a couple of interruptions from Grimm, all of which are easily dealt with, the shipment arrives at Amity, and they return to Atlas.
The moment they disembark, Clover scans the room. It isn't until his eyes fall on Qrow that he feels the knot of tension in his stomach ease a bit.
Qrow is fine. Or, at the very least, not any worse than he was before he left. He exchanges a few short words with his nieces and ignores everyone else as he leaves the hangar.
"Everything alright?" Clover asks as he approaches the two.
"Guess he finished up too quickly," Ruby says, "so he went to help a couple Huntsman from Mantle take out some Grimm that were sneaking around the wall."
"Ah."
Why had he been so worried about Qrow in the first place? He has seen time and time again what Qrow is capable of.
He pauses on that thought, remembering yesterday's mission and their previous excursion in the abandoned facility.
Does he truly know what Qrow is capable of?
"Should be asking if you're okay," Yang says, drawing his attention back to her as she scrutinizes his face. "You look like shit. No offense."
Clover rubs the bridge of his nose. "Lacking sleep, but otherwise, I'm fine."
"Think a nap would help?" Ruby asks.
"Doubt I could," he replies, "but I'll consider it."
Having said that, he excuses himself, bids them a good day, and makes his way out of the room before any further questions can be asked. He has far too much on his mind to hold a proper conversation, and while he can't be sure that Ruby or Yang would push the subject, he would rather avoid the possibility altogether.
As he trudges down a random hallway, his mind drifts back to Qrow.
He once thought he had gotten a good read on Qrow's abilities during their time as partners, but as he thinks about each mission they have gone on together these past few weeks, he comes to the realization that he has seen only a fraction of what Qrow can do. The man has kept his cards hidden well, that is for certain, to the point of even keeping his comrades in the dark. Why be so cautious around those he trusts? Fear? Uncertainty?
It could be for an entirely different reason.
His refusal to tell the truth. The anger.
The threat.
Maybe Qrow doesn't trust them.
There is a distinct twinge in his chest, seizing his heart and lungs. It lasts only a second, but it is long enough to throw him off. His footsteps falter, feet tangling together. One hand lashes out to the wall, the other raises to provide balance, and he catches himself in time to keep from toppling over. Sucking in a breath, Clover slides his hand down his face and leans against the wall.
He is starting to hate his body.
Once his chest has settled enough, he pushes away from the wall and continues walking. When he left the hangar, he had no particular destination in mind, but he finds himself approaching the training room.
A passing thought drifts through his mind when he reaches the door.
How would he fare in a fight against Qrow?
A chill grips Clover. He recalls the feeling he had watching Qrow tear apart Grimm like a wild animal, and how glad he was to know they are allies instead of enemies.
Before he would have assumed he stood a chance, but knowing what he knows now, he isn't so sure.
Logic dictates this is a terrible idea, one he should be working to avoid rather than fulfill. Nevertheless, he enters the room and checks the list. There are no training sessions or matches scheduled for today, so he reserves a half-hour slot for himself. With that done, he hurries out of the room and down the hallway, intent on finding Qrow.
The first place Clover checks is Qrow's room, but when he doesn't find the man there, he goes over every place he knows Qrow frequents. The usual spots are dead ends, and so he turns his attention to the areas Qrow goes to less often. He is heading for one of the lounges when Marrow intercepts him, a hand grabbing hold of his arm. His expression must not be as calm as he thought, because Marrow's brows pinch together.
"Hey," Marrow says quietly, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Clover answers, shaking himself free.
"Don't lie to me. You're practically sprinting down the hallway. What's got you freaking out?"
"Nothing," he repeats. "I was just looking for Qrow."
A sharp frown twists Marrow's lips. "Uh-huh. So why did you reserve the training room if you weren't going to use it?"
When Clover doesn't answer, Marrow steps forward, concerned. "Just tell me what you're doing."
Clover sighs. "Making a decision that is likely to end poorly."
"What? What do you mean by that?"
As Clover walks away, he can hear Marrow take a few short steps as if to follow before giving up.
To his relief, he does find Qrow in the lounge. There is no one else inside, which makes Clover wonder if Qrow drove off whoever might have been there or if they left of their own volition once he entered. He is sitting in the corner of the room, curled up in one of the chairs, holding a book in his hands. Most would probably assume he is relaxed, but to Clover, the sight is akin to that of a nervous animal. An odd comparison, he thinks, and he isn't sure why his mind settles on that of all things. It is an apt description considering Qrow's recent behavior.
"Qrow."
The man tightens his grip on the book. He flips the page and taps his foot against the table, clearly annoyed at having his downtime interrupted.
Realizing that Clover isn't going to leave, he snaps the book shut.
"What do you want?"
"If you don't mind, I'd like to make a request."
Qrow tilts his head just enough for Clover to know that he is going to listen.
"Would you be willing to consider a sparring match?"
It takes a moment for Qrow to react, his eyebrows slowly drawing inward and his eyes narrowing. When he finally turns his gaze to Clover, his face makes it clear he thinks Clover has lost his mind.
"You want to spar?" he asks, incredulous.
"I thought it would be a good idea to test my skills against yours."
"Why?"
I want to know if I can hold my own against you.
No, that's not quite right, is it? He should be honest with himself.
Yesterday, the mere thought of having to fight Qrow paralyzed him, a fear overtaking him unlike any he had felt before. There was—and still is—a deep-seated feeling in his gut that they had fought once and that he lost, even though such a thing never happened. Between how real the sensation of metal in his chest feels and the guilt that so often plagues Qrow's eyes when he so much as looks at Clover, a part of him can't help but believe it's true. In truth, he never wants to have to face Qrow as an enemy, both out of fear and because of their unfortunately tenuous friendship.
I want to know if I'll ever need to.
A single sparring match could never provide an answer for that, despite how much he wishes it could.
"Your performance during the mission yesterday made me realize I've been lacking in my training," Clover says instead. "After all, there's never a time when you can't improve."
Swinging his legs around, Qrow sits up and tosses the book on the table. Keeping one hand on it, he digs the fingers of the other into his pants, twisting the fabric. From the way Qrow works his jaw, Clover can tell he is chewing the inside of his cheek. It is as if the mere thought of them facing off under friendly terms unsettles him.
Why treat a simple sparring request with such gravitas?
After a few minutes, he moves his hand off the book and points at Clover.
"If I agree to this," Qrow says, fighting to keep his voice even, "you never ask me to do anything like this again."
Clover blinks. "...Of course."
"Then let's get this over with." Scowling, Qrow gets to his feet. "I'll meet you in the training room."
He brushes past Clover, bumping their shoulders together. Clover watches him for a moment before following him out, and they split to go down opposite hallways.
There is a chance what he told Marrow will end up being an understatement.
He shouldn't be feeling this anxious over a sparring match of all things, and yet here he is. It is a struggle for him not to pace, and he ends up leaning against the wall to keep from doing so.
Even if Qrow is sleep deprived and physically unwell, he is still a formidable foe. James had been right about Qrow's skills, and each mission Clover goes on with him continues to prove that. The fact that Qrow can function at all with how little sleep he has gotten serves as further proof.
Clover reaches down to press his hand against Kingfisher.
This certainly isn't the smartest idea he's ever had, but he isn't going to back out of it now.
The door opens, and he raises his head to see Qrow enter. A spike of nervousness seizes him when his eyes fall on Harbinger, but his attention is quickly diverted. It is Team RWBY walking onto the observation deck that distracts him, and he watches them sit down before shooting a curious glance at Qrow.
"Ruby spotted me grabbing Harbinger," Qrow mutters. "Kept bugging me until I told her what we were doing. She wanted to watch, so the others tagged along."
"Right..."
"How serious do you want this to be?" Qrow asks.
Clover feels the prick of ice in his lungs. "No Aura breaks. First down loses."
A grunt is his only answer.
"I set the blocks to randomize," he says, "to make this more of a challenge. I hope that's alright."
A spark of irritation flashes in Qrow's eyes, but he doesn't let it slip into his voice. "Fine by me."
Qrow draws Harbinger, shifting it to its tonfa form.
For a moment, fear floods Clover's veins, and he has to fight down the feeling. This is nothing more than a friendly sparring match between comrades. He has no reason to fear Qrow.
Do I?
Kingfisher is a heavy weight in his hands.
Qrow slides one foot back and moves the other forward, leaning slightly as he lowers his center of gravity. The hand holding Harbinger shifts to his side, prepped for a swing, while the other moves in front of him for balance. With the position he is in, an attack aimed at Clover's left side is the most obvious course of action. Such blatant advertising of his intentions would make that a poor choice, which must mean he plans on a feint as his first move. As Qrow tenses, preparing himself to strike, Clover gets ready to defend his right side.
Just as he predicted, Qrow lunges to the right, but when Clover moves to block the oncoming blow, Qrow redirects his movement to the left and swings. The change leaves Clover barely any time to intercept the blade in an admittedly sloppy attempt at a block. He shoves against it, but Qrow breaks away, stepping to the side and throwing Clover off-balance. When he starts to tilt forward, a second swing comes his way, forcing him to hastily regain his footing and whirl backwards to avoid it.
Luck sides with him in that moment, a pillar of blocks materializing between them. Or so he thinks. He is given little more than the span of a breath before Qrow is on him again, swinging the instant he rounds the corner. The attack misses, hitting the pillar instead, and Clover uses the opportunity to aim a jab at Qrow's ribs. A shot from Harbinger rings out, and Qrow uses the force of it to knock himself out of the way. He then follows with another swing that Clover blocks.
Clover clenches his jaw. No progress is going to be made if he stays on the defensive.
If he can find a way to pressure Qrow, he just might be able to win this match, and that means he needs to go on the offensive. As Qrow takes a step back, Clover charges forward.
None of his attacks make contact. Every swing and jab either falls short or is swiftly blocked, and he finds himself being pushed back once more. It is clear that Qrow's lack of sleep is having almost no effect on his fighting prowess. What's more is that he is reading Clover's every move with little effort, as if he knows what Clover will do before he ever makes a decision.
If anything, Clover's attempts at landing a hit are causing this to be far more difficult.
The moment an opening presents itself, Clover takes advantage of it, dropping down to catch Qrow's ankle with his hook. Even as he does, Qrow is already moving. Harbinger shifts into its scythe form mid-swing and catches Kingfisher, preventing it from touching him. A foot slams against the side of Clover's head, sending him reeling. He manages to force himself into a roll and lands on his feet, shoving himself up and turning back to his opponent.
When he sees the darkening of Qrow's gaze, a shiver runs down his spine.
Even if they are just sparring, Qrow is terrifying. That he is treating this as a serious fight even more so. He can tell Qrow is trying to keep his cool, but Clover can feel the underlying frantic energy threatening to burst forth. Why a simple sparring match is eliciting this kind of reaction from Qrow is a mystery.
Or is the fact he's facing down Clover the cause?
We've fought before. But they never have. What reason would they have to fight?
This is no time for his mind to wander.
Qrow takes a step forward, and Clover swings Kingfisher. The line flies out, aiming to wrap around Qrow's arm, but Qrow snags the line to stop it. With it clutched tightly in his fist, he drags it toward him. At the first tug, Clover releases Kingfisher to keep from being pulled forward. To his surprise, Qrow reels his hand back and snaps it to the side. The movement turns Kingfisher into a makeshift whip, sending it back at Clover. In the time it takes for Clover to step out of the way and reach up to grab it, Qrow rushes forward. The scythe comes at him in a downward arc, and Clover barely manages to block with Kingfisher, knocking the attack off trajectory. Qrow uses the momentum to spin around and ram his heel into Clover's ribs.
The force of the hit knocks him to the side, and he nearly falls, only just managing to catch himself and get back to his feet.
Qrow doesn't give him a chance to stand straight. A fist slams into his face, making him reel back and stagger.
He hears more than sees Qrow swing Harbinger, followed by metal catching his ankles. Having already lost his balance, he can do nothing to prevent his feet from being swept out from underneath him. It is a good thing his Aura is still up, because his head smacks against the floor with a rather loud thud.
The sound of Harbinger once again shifting reaches his ears, and he raises his head.
Silver fills his vision.
What he sees is the tip of Harbinger, hovering just shy of an inch in front of his face. He slides his gaze up along the blade until his eyes settle on Qrow.
Horror fills those widened red eyes, the fury painting Qrow's face fading as his twisted mouth falls open. His expression shifts between disbelief and shock, unable to settle on a single emotion. A tremor seizes his arm, causing Harbinger to tremble, until he jerks the sword back and hastily drops it as if burned. His eyes never leave Clover, even as he backs away with unsteady steps, his hands continuing to shake.
Startled, Clover quietly says, "Qrow?"
With how angry Qrow had been when the match began, Clover would never have expected a reaction like this. The man before him is less like a seasoned hunter and more like a frightened animal. Making sure to leave Kingfisher on the floor, he slowly pushes himself up to his knees and then to his feet.
Just as he considers approaching Qrow, the man turns on his heel and rushes out of the room.
"Qrow, wait!"
Torn between the desire to chase after Qrow and the mixture of fear and confusion swirling inside his chest, Clover finds himself rooted in place, his feet refusing to heed his commands. He has only a vague awareness of voices and movement around him, and before long he finds himself standing there alone, his turbulent thoughts his only company.
A mirthless laugh slips from his lips. For a moment, he let himself think he could beat Qrow, and it only led to him being thoroughly trounced. Knowing that he underestimated Qrow makes the defeat all the worse.
Of course he won. He did before.
The memory of metal cutting through flesh rises to the surface, his stomach rolling painfully.
Though he is afraid of what he might see, he looks down at Harbinger.
Blood coats the once pristine blade.
He blinks and it's gone. He reaches up and rubs at his eyes, but it remains spotless, not even a single hint of red on it. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he checks his chest once more. There is nothing there.
Maybe he is losing his mind.
"Hey."
The voice is a welcome distraction, and he raises his head to see Yang standing in the doorway with her arms folded. Though she fixes a rather sharp glare on him, it does little to hide how unsettled she is.
"Come on," she says, nodding her head towards the hallway.
"Are you sure?"
"You got a problem with apologizing to him?"
"No."
"Then get your ass in gear and help us find him."
Normally he would reprimand her and remind her that he is technically her superior. Today, however, he can't bring himself to. Not when he knows she is right. So, instead of doing that, he draws himself up, buries the awful thoughts plaguing his mind, and forces his feet forward to follow Yang out into the hallway. He does wonder how Qrow managed to slip away, considering the speed Ruby boasts, but at this point he is no longer surprised. If he has learned anything of late, it is that Qrow is capable of some truly strange things. Not a single word is spoken to him when they join the others; all he receives is a collection of disappointed looks before they all set off.
Unfortunately, their search is fruitless. Just as before, Qrow is in none of his usual spots, and Clover isn't surprised to see the lounge empty. Considering just how upset Qrow was when he ran out, it makes sense that he would find a new place to hide away. He would suggest getting the others to help, but considering most of his decisions today have been terrible, he suspects that would be another mistake to add to the tally.
"I hate how good he is at disappearing," Ruby grumbles.
"He has a talent for it, doesn't he?" Clover says.
Icy blue eyes drill into him. "Why did you challenge him to a fight in the first place?" Weiss asks with a frown. "You know he hasn't been feeling well lately."
It is true; he knew the moment it crossed his mind that it was a terrible idea, and yet he still made that choice. The only purpose had been to ease his own mind, with poor results.
"I thought letting off some steam would help us both."
Blake raises an eyebrow at him. "You're a poor liar."
"Next time you upset him, I'm breaking your leg," Yang growls.
Sounds like Nora, he muses. No wonder they're friends. "That could be considered an act of treason."
He says it in a lighter tone, or at least attempts to, but it only serves to further anger Yang.
"You think I care?"
"I imagine not. That said, I'd rather not be on the receiving end of one of your punches."
"Then I guess you should be more careful, huh?"
Advice that he will do his best to follow.
Ruby presses her lips together, drumming her fingers against her arm. "Maybe we should check the roof."
"Do you think he's up there?" Blake asks.
"I don't know. It's just a feeling I have."
Shrugging her shoulders, Yang says, "One of the only places we haven't looked yet. Might as well."
With that settled, they defer to Clover. Though they have all been here a while, he has more intimate knowledge of the academy's layout, so they allow him to take the lead. There are quite a few roof access points, but he settles on heading for the nearest one; it would have offered Qrow the quickest escape route, and with how eager he was to leave, it seems unlikely he would bother with any other.
Thankfully, Clover is right in his assumption. When they exit onto the roof, they find Qrow sitting huddled against the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest and his head hanging between his knees. Ruby is the first to approach him, followed by Yang, and after a brief glance at each other, Blake and Weiss join them. Clover hangs back. Qrow is more than likely aware of his presence, but he is unsure whether or not he will make things worse. He settles on keeping his distance. His desire to apologize is the only reason he stays.
"Uncle Qrow?" Ruby says softly.
When he refuses to answer her, Yang steps closer. "Come on. Talk to us."
Qrow is silent at first, before he slowly shakes his head. His fingers twitch, curling inward with a subtle tremble in his shoulders. His voice is low, nothing more than a whisper, as he forces himself to say, "I want to drink."
Unable to bring himself to look at any of them, he keeps his eyes locked on the floor, sinking further into himself. His words cause a ripple of uncertainty through them, a clear sign that none of them anticipated the confession.
It is Weiss who crouches down at his side, placing a steady and careful hand on his shoulder. "It's good that you told us."
The distinct feeling that Clover shouldn't listen to this washes over him. Still, he can't just leave, and so he walks over to the railing to put space between them, letting the wind swallow their hushed conversation. The setting sun bathes the sky in a beautiful orange, and he chooses to watch the wispy clouds drift past, just so he can have something to focus on. It has been a while since he let himself simply take in the sights around him, and he can't even enjoy it.
How long has it been since that first incident in the mess hall, when he sat with Qrow through a panic attack? A week at least, though it feels much longer. He remembers the look on Qrow's face then, a mirror of his reaction to downing Clover. Since then, Qrow has refused to look him in the eyes. He wishes he knew why. There always seems to be a lingering sense of guilt and anger when they interact, but what reason would Qrow have to feel that way? Not once has Qrow ever truly wronged him. Yes, there was the threat, but it was little more than Qrow expressing a desire to fight, not endanger Clover's life, and he expressed remorse for even saying it.
Though Clover doesn't know what he has done to warrant the anger, aside from showing Qrow concern.
Approaching footsteps catch his attention. He turns to find Yang there. She jerks her head, motioning to Qrow, and Clover nods. He watches her leave with her team before he walks over to Qrow.
"Don't know why I agreed to that," Qrow mutters. "Stupid."
It takes a beat longer than it should for Clover to realize he's talking about the sparring match.
"What caused your reaction?"
"Bad memories."
Guilt claws its way up his throat. "I'm sorry. If I had known it would upset you so much..."
Qrow doesn't look at him, instead turning his head towards the sunset. "Knew it was a bad idea. Agreed anyway."
"Still..."
"Stop blaming yourself for my decisions."
"I'm not," Clover says, "but I shouldn't have asked, considering you haven't felt well."
"Yeah, well, you did."
A tense silence falls between them, the air sending a chill through Clover. He rubs his chest, trying to push back the sound of roaring wind. Maybe he should have waited to apologize, given Qrow space to calm down on his own before talking to him. Clover knows there is no point dwelling on that now when it's already too late, yet he can't help but wonder if this all would have gone better if he had.
His good luck has certainly been failing him today.
"You gonna tell me the real reason why?"
Blinking, Clover shifts his attention back to his companion. Right. The sparring match. What can he say? He had been telling the truth when he said he wanted to test himself against Qrow, but explaining that a nightmare was the spark for it seems utterly ridiculous. There is a fair chance it could worsen Qrow's mood, which is the last thing Clover wants at the moment. Qrow is already upset enough without hearing that Clover wanted to fight because of a dream, and he can't simply recycle his previous excuse when Qrow knows it was a lie.
When he doesn't answer, Qrow drags himself to his feet, keeping his gaze turned away.
"Then don't bitch at me for not being honest."
There is a hint of anger in his voice, but he sounds more tired than anything, worn thin by the events of the past week. The training room fiasco certainly hasn't helped, only serving to add to the ever-growing stress Qrow is experiencing, wearing him down further.
Making Qrow worse is the only thing Clover has accomplished today.
Not knowing what else to say, Clover finds himself repeating, "I'm sorry."
Qrow hesitates at the door, his mouth twitching. He raises his gaze, his eyes stopping just short of Clover's face. He does his best to keep his expression neutral, but despite his efforts, the doubt creeps up to the surface. It is an undeniable sign that he doesn't believe the apology.
It makes Clover's chest clench.
"Sure," Qrow mutters.
He slinks back inside, defeated.
Clover leans against the wall and drops his head into his hands.