Chapter Text
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Clover had always been a hard worker. He’d spent his life pushing to prove that his success, his worth, was based on more than just his semblance. Growing up he’d told himself he had to be perfect. By the time he realized that wasn’t possible, he’d formed new habits.
Running himself ragged, always worrying there was more he should be able to do, was one of the worst. And because of all his practice at it, one of the easiest to hide.
Except from Qrow.
They couldn’t hide their ragged edges from each other. Maybe that’s what made them such a good match. They saw the cracks in the other, oftentimes much easier than either would have liked. But they didn’t balk as they found frayed thread after frayed thread. They just sat down and helped the other man mend himself.
But some days they could just tell.
Some days they’d see the other and know that what he needed right then wasn’t their guiding support, but rather their complete care. Sometimes they stood by each other’s side and promised they’d be there every step of the way.
And sometimes they just curled around the other, sheltering him from the rest of the world, and whispering over and over how much he was loved.
Qrow knew the moment he stepped into Clover’s room that today was the latter.
As he opened the door he was surprised to see the lights still on. Usually, by the time Qrow came over in the evenings, Clover was getting ready for bed, lights already mostly out.
But they were all on. And Clover wasn’t getting out of the shower or making sure his uniform and gear were ready for the next morning, or any other part of his nightly routine.
Instead, he was sitting on the couch, long cold cup of coffee sitting close enough to the edge of the coffee table to make Qrow nervous.
Clover was wearing his glasses and pouring over a stack of papers, his scroll propped up on a stand in front of even more files. Qrow could tell by the disheveled state of his bangs, nearly falling in his face, with the rest of his hair pushed in different directions, that he’d been sitting there, frustrated, for a while.
Qrow slowly padded over to the couch, lowering himself beside his partner.
Clover made no indication that he’d noticed Qrow’s arrival, flipping over a paper and mumbling something about wrong dates and stupid mistakes.
Qrow leaned forward, carefully nudging the coffee mug a good few inches from the edge of the table. Then he sat back, his hand going to cup the base of Clover’s skull, his thumb brushing through the short, slightly cowlicked, strands of hair.
“Hey there, Captain. Work come home with you?” He joked but his voice was soft and kind.
Clover started slightly, looking up at Qrow finally; but only for a moment, before turning back to the paper in his hands.
“Oh! Hey. Yeah, sorry… just have to… I made a dumb mistake in a report earlier and need to fix some things.” he said, his voice strained with annoyance.
He took one hand from his work though, reaching and pulling Qrow’s hand from his hair and pressing a quick gentle kiss too.
“You go ahead and get ready for bed and I’ll be there in a bit. I need to finish this first.” He said before biting at his lip and squinting at something on the page in confusion.
Qrow frowned slightly as he looked down at Clover’s hand still holding his.
He was still in his full uniform.
And wearing his gloves. That settled it for Qrow.
Clover very rarely wore his gloves for long after getting home. And especially if he was tired and doing paperwork.
His hands were sensitive and easily ticklish and he wore the gloves at work to provide a bit of grounding pressure against his palms and avoid any random discomfort. It wasn’t that he never wore them off duty, they weren’t, after all, a part of his uniform but a personal effect.
But just around the house he usually took them off. And he didn’t usually like the encumberment of the extra fabric when he was trying to flip through papers.
For him to still be wearing them right then proved to Qrow that there was more going on.
He carefully took Clover’s hand in both of his, gently starting to massage it ever so slightly. “Cloves, how long have you been working on this.”
Qrow had missed dinner that night, helping the kids with a quick mission in Mantle. He had a sneaking suspicion that Clover hadn’t made it either, but without the excuse of a mission.
Clover shrugged, still not looking away from his work. “Eh. Since I got out of my meeting with the general?” He replied, obviously not really sure, or caring.
“Clover. That meeting was at 4. It’s nearly midnight.” Qrow said, restraining his own concern and frustration.
Clover glanced quickly at the clock on the wall. “Huh. Guess so. Well, this should only take another hour or so.”
“Have you eaten?”
He just nodded towards the coffee cup and a couple abandoned crackers.
“That doesn’t count, Clover.”
“It’s fine. Not really hungry.” Clover mumbled, reaching over to check something on his scroll.
Qrow sighed, leaning forward and slowly lowering the papers in Clover’s hands.
“Okay, Boy Scout. How about we leave the rest of this for in the morning and go on to bed?” Qrow asked gently, running his thumb along the back of Clover’s hand.
Clover just shook his head and ducked away, moving his papers close again. “I can’t, Qrow. I need to finish this tonight. It’s just one little mistake I’ve got to fix.”
“Is that mistake going to get someone killed before morning?” His voice was steady but his heart ached as he got a good look at Clover’s face for the first time.
His eyes behind his glasses were underlined with shallow bags and his brow was strained. His lips looked dry and red where he had been chewing anxiously.
“What? No.. I just..” Clover’s eyes flitted over all the paper still in front of him and Qrow saw him start to wilt.
“I made a stupid little mistake in a report and got dates flipped and had to redo a file that had been filled out based on it. And that didn’t take too long… but then I got worried that I might have done something similar in other places. So I need to check back through all these files and reports and make sure I didn’t miss something else stupid like that.” The words tumbled from him, practically in one breath, and he again went back to his scroll.
Qrow watched him for a moment before reaching up and slipping his glasses from his face, folding them, and placing them on the table.
“Hey!" Clover snapped, bristling as he gripped the paper tighter and looked at Qrow in frustration. When he saw his boyfriend's gentle look though he softened, sighing.
"Qrow, please. I need to fix this. I… I fucked up a tiny little thing. I should have caught it. It’s such a stupid little mistake. I should have been more thorough and checked bac-” He winced suddenly, hand flying to pinch at the bridge of his nose.
“Migraine?”
“I’m fine. I’ll just finish a few mor-”
Qrow stopped him, his face hard-set but caring. “Clover. You’re done. Your turn.”
Clover stopped at that, holding Qrow’s gaze for the first time.
‘Your turn.’
It was their little way of asking the other to trust them. To let themselves be taken care of. To let go of everything else for a little while and take a moment to just get; stop trying to give when they had nothing left.
“Qrow…” It was a pleading statement… one last attempt at holding onto the needs of the rest of the world instead of his own.
Qrow reached over, slowly pulling the last of the papers from Clover’s grip and laying them on the stack on the table. Then he moved his hand over, stretching across Clover’s lap, and turned his scroll off.
He sat back up, taking Clover’s hand as he turned, draping one leg over the edge of the couch as he sat back against the arm. He tugged gently, urging Clover towards him.
“C’mere, Cloves. Let’s see if we can get rid of that migraine.”
Clover hesitated for one last moment before giving in and following him. He scooted over until he was comfortably between Qrow’s legs. Letting out a slow sigh he placed a hand flat against Qrow’s chest, tucking the other under his chin as he leaned against the older man, ear pressed to his collarbone.
“There we go.” Qrow purred, leaning his head against the top of Clover’s as he slid his hand under the one pressed to his chest, his other arm wrapping around his hip.
He lifted Clover’s hand to his lips and placed a tender brush of a kiss to the bare patch of skin above the strap of his glove. Lowering their hands again, Qrow started to undo the strap, sliding the worn leather glove over calloused fingers.
He marveled for a moment, not for the first time, at the difference in their hands. Where Qrow’s own were pale, slender, lithe, but marked with decades of a hard life; Clover’s were large, tan, hardly scarred, but tough with callouses and scuffs from a life of equally hard work. It wasn’t that Clover’s hands were that much bigger than Qrow’s, just heftier.
And Qrow knew they were where Clover held much of his own tension and anxiety. He knew that despite their apparent strength and coarseness they were gentle, careful, sensitive; just as the rest of the Atlesian was underneath his professional demeanor.
Qrow felt eyes on him and smiled down at the man pressed against him.
“Close your eyes, Shamrock. Just relax.”
And he easily complied, his weight shifting, further melting into Qrow’s embrace.