Chapter Text
He wants to drink. He doesn’t.
He had thought, by virtue of the first few days being relatively painless in his journey to leave the bottle behind, that he had moved on. He was over the worst of it, and his old demons will slowly learn to haunt someone else, giving him the sobriety and freedom he had always been too feeble, too weak, to achieve on his own. Alcohol would be his constant companion no longer; the shame which always illuminated his heart whenever he drank around his nieces, around his old teammates, around his memories, would disappear, too.
He had been wrong, though. That peace had lasted as long as his Aura had managed to fight off every fiber of his being screaming for more, screaming to fill the void which he himself had carved into his very bones since he had first tasted liquor and the sheer peace which it had brought. His Aura had fought valiantly against the dependency that is so deeply engrained into his very being that he finds himself no longer able to think without his hands drifting to a flask that is not there, a high and low that he can no longer reach. Without his Aura there to aid him, he is defenseless against the terrors of his own mind.
Cravings are far more frightening to him than the Grimm could ever be.
He wants to drink. It is innocent, his mind whispers evilly. It is just one drink. No one will know- Yang and Ruby would understand- the officer’s mess is always open for Huntsmen, and it would be so easy to waltz in a put a drink (or twenty) on his tab, because what the hell else is he going to buy when everything is provided for him?
He does not drink. Instead, he sits in the darkened office of the Ace Operatives, silently plugging numbers into spreadsheets and handling work that is decidedly not his. He does not care, however; he will take anything to keep his mind occupied. So long as he does not have to think about unquenchable thirst and his pathetically-empty Aura, he is happy.
It takes Clover two days to crack under the pressure and finally ask what is going on with Qrow’s sudden gaunt figure, his failing strength, his desperate attempts to keep working. It takes two more days for Qrow to finally crack and tell him; the elder had wanted to keep it close to the chest, but after hearing Marrow cheerfully announce for the nth day in a row, “Let’s go to the officer’s mess and celebrate!” he had lost his temper. For that, he had no excuse.
And yet, it does not go how Qrow had imagined. Rather than mocking his weakness, Clover’s jade eyes go wide, thick brows furrowing together in horror. Then, the man closes a dropped jaw and races out of the office, leaving Qrow behind to wallow in his own pathetic nature.
There is no wallowing to be had, however. Clover returns swiftly, a worried fervour to his movements that he attempts to cover up with strained smiles and stiff motions. Even in his exhaustion, however, Qrow can see just how fearful Clover is as he looks at Qrow’s drained, broken Aura, the man’s hollowed eyes empty and feeble. To this, Clover simply places down a water bottle. Then, he unpacks the rest of the items he had brought back with him in a simple bag; there are water bottles to spare, and juice, and snacks. “I think Vine has an extra kettle,” he explains as he sets some tea which he most definitely swiped from the mess hall upon the table, “and we have more than enough money in our budget to get a coffee maker if you want that.” After a moment, he adds thoughtfully, “Actually, no- we’ll get the coffee maker. Marrow keeps stealing from that Jaune kid. It’s kind of pitiful, so at least this’ll be close enough to the briefing room that he won’t do that anymore.”
Qrow almost weeps as he realizes just what exactly the other man has so easily done for him. “You… you don’t have to,” he breathes.
That warm, comforting hand appears upon his shoulder again. “But I do,” he replies instantly. “We’re comrades, right? Besides,” and he pulls away, leaving Qrow’s chest simultaneously too warm in his thoughts and too cold in his absence, “what am I supposed to do without my partner, hm? The other Ace Ops pair off nicely. It’s been nice having someone to work with for once who can keep up; I’m not about to give that up!”
Biting back his protests, Qrow merely bows his head in thanks. There is nothing he could possible say; Clover Ebi has called him his ‘partner’, and the idea of someone else trying to step into the role which has always belonged to the one person he could never have back-
And yet… he does not hate the idea of being ‘partnered’ with Clover. He’s a good man. Qrow could probably learn something from his easy confidence. It’s not like this shall last forever, anyways.
For now, however, he shall focus on the task ahead. He won’t be of any use to anyone if his Aura is too low to function. So, he drinks his water and thanks Clover when his words finally return to him. The thirst lingers, but the support gives him a boost he never thought he’d receive.
Hopefully, with all of this help, he’ll make his girls proud. Hopefully.