Don't Say "I Told You So"

How It Always Goes

This is stupid. This is leading a pair of Apathy away from a pack to calm a farming community down kind of stupid. Qrow shivers, and he knows it's not from Solitas cold. He has almost fifteen years over Clover, but the more he trembles, the more his mouth runs dry, the more his nerves thrum in his ears like a warped tune from a broken jukebox, the more he feels like a dirty old man.

The third airship in the fourth hanger is the Ace Ops' personal transportation, and as Qrow had found out the first time they did this, where Clover takes you to make the first move. Now, the fourth time Qrow showed up when asked, he holds his hands out and sighs. "We have to stop doing this."

Clover wrinkles his nose. He smells like fresh mint as he leans against the cargo compartment in the airship. "Why? If you want to stop, fine. We can pretend this never happened, but I still want to know. For myself."

"For one, we work together," He scratches the scruff on his jaw. "And that tends to fall apart. Fast. I wasn't sure about that part of it the first time we..." Qrow remembers--Clover's hands on his chest, his mouth, sweat, gasping, every touch a reminder of the drought and of course, the high as the first rains came. "did this."

Clover didn't seem disappointed. He shrugs. "Respectable reason as any, but from what Winter has told me, you rarely play by the rules. The two of us are huntsmen, but you're not Atlas military."

"That, I am not."

His gaze drops to Clover's shoes. Atlas standard-issue for the Ace Ops and special operatives like Schnee. Qrow presses his lips into a hard line. It was months ago that he may as well have been wearing Ozpin standard-issue, for all the humiliating blind loyalty routine he did. Never knowing what the wizard had behind the curtain. Never knowing, really, what the orders were for. Who they'd hurt. And how many people had Qrow hurt following Oz's orders?

The worst part's that he'll never know. And he'll never know how much Oz knew about what happened to his team. To Summer.

Yet, here is this young bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Atlesian operative, lucky and charming with eyes full of something as addictive as scotch: hope. Qrow had tasted it the last few times they'd done this, and now, as he tells Clover he wants to stop, all he wants is to reach out to touch him.

"If this is about your semblance," Clover says, "I want you to know I'm not afraid. Our semblances cancel each other out."

Qrow sighs. "Mine's had longer to get worse. We don't know that for sure."

"I'm willing to try if you are. If you still want to stop, that's fine with me, but you won't ever lose me as a friend. As someone to be here when you need me." He flashes a bright smile.

The wind howls outside the hanger, chills the metal until Qrow stands straight. His back protests the movement and clicks, but it gives him the angle, the confidence to broach the subject. "And if Jimmy's orders tell you otherwise? Say it was the worst case scenario with Salem on our doorstep." He cups Clover's cheek in his hand, hates how the calluses feel against cheekbone. "I don't think you're prepared for what's ahead."

Clover doesn't pull away, but he doesn't smile either. Instead his brow knits, the corners of his mouth tug into a frown. He holds Qrow's hand and steps closer. "I graduated top of my class from Atlas Academy. I've been a special operative for years. What could the world possibly have for me that I'm not prepared for?"

In a flash, between the beats of his heart, Qrow remembers her voice. "I can do this. Don't ask me not to go. I expected this from Tai, but not you. Not from the man I fell in love with."

"Hey, look at me." Clover asks, his hand under Qrow's chin but ever defiant, he closes his eyes.

Two steps closer. Clover's hand moves to his chest, over his heart as it pounds. "What are you so afraid of?"

Damn it. Qrow moves in and crushes his mouth against Clover's. The two of them race, Qrow forward, Clover backward till the horseshoe on his belt cracks against the hanger wall. Hands move to Qrow's belt, but the older huntsman holds them over Clover's head.

Stars, it's been so long since he held someone. He knows it's why he started this thing with Clover to start with. They're kindred spirits, friends, appreciative of each other. And while their teams see indomitable huntsmen spitting in the face of Grimm, here in this hangar they shed it all. They're not even Qrow and Clover in here, just two warriors in need of relief from a stressful life. But now it's becoming different. They take meals together, showers too if no one's around to hear what inevitably follows.

It's becoming worse. Though he has chanted it to himself a million times not to, Qrow has begun to give a damn.

He presses his body to Clover's and when they break apart, Qrow licks his lips. "I don't want to stop, but I need to. When bad luck follows everywhere you go, you start to pick up on the signs. Things like this, good things happening to me of all people, is one of them."

"Good things are allowed to happen to you, Qrow." Clover huffs and wrenches one hand free to grab him by the collar.

He rumbles like pleasant thunder as the younger huntsman yanks him closer to kiss again. Qrow is convinced his semblance took a nap to give him Clover. "Not to me." He migrates south to melt all that confidence in his hands like chocolate. "Not like this."

Clover shoves him back, eyes narrowed. He unclips his belt and unbuttons his shirt. "Then let me convince you otherwise."

Qrow rolls his eyes, but flexes as he fiddles with his belt slowly, just to drive Clover nuts. "Might take a while."

Clover swats his hands away and kisses him. "We'll make time."