Chapter Text
first piece
Atlas Academy was many, many things. It was proud, pristine, prestigious; those who walked its halls and survived its trials were meant to be the cream of the crop, rising above others in any combat situation. To graduate with honours from Atlas Academy meant receiving an integral placement in the Atlesian Military, where one could pay back the Kingdom for the years of care and education with distinguished service. The Academy was the embodiment of a dignified future.
Clover stepped into the communal lounge situated between the guest rooms they had offered their unexpected allies. Despite them having literally crash-landed in Mantle earlier that day, he found something even more surprising, something completely foreign to Atlas Academy awaiting him.
On a normal day, these communal lounges all looked the same. A few couches lined the sides of the walls, with study tables and individual reading booths off to one side next to tall windows. A large holoscreen, available for use before quiet hours and lights out, was embedded in the wall to the right of the door. At the back sat a small fridge, cabinets, and a sink for students who wanted snacks after the mess hall closed for the night. It was normally just a simple little room for students and guest Huntsmen to speak or relax. In reality, they were seldom occupied; it was too easy to lose track of time and break noise violations late at night, so they tended to go unused.
Today, however, every flat surface had a body sprawled across it. Everywhere Clover looked, there was a set of pyjamas, half-dried hair tied up haphazardly, towels slung over shoulders, and sleeping teenagers. He frowned, examining their faces; after a few moments, recognition set in.
These were the Beacon students who had found their way to Atlas, somehow managing to protect the Spring Relic all the way from Beacon. No wonder their bedrooms were empty.
The blond boy chuckled in his sleep, scratching an exposed belly before his arm fell off the couch upon which he had passed out; a second later, his entire body rolled off and onto the floor. He didn’t get up.
Clover crossed his arms, leaning against the wall by the door, taking in the idle scene in amused surprise. Some heroes, I guess. They didn’t exactly look like the ones who had staved off the end of the world by protecting the Spring Relic.
Either way, he hadn’t expected to find them here. In fact, he had needed to actually speak to the younger Schnee, to pass on a message from Winter.
He watched the girl in question mumble in her sleep, her head resting on the tiny brunette’s shoulder. Was there even a point in waking her?
“You’d best be quiet, bud,” a low, gravelly voice warned from behind.
Clover turned, smiling amicably at the man standing at the door. “Qrow, right?”
Qrow Branwen walked inside, arms laden in blankets. Rather than acknowledging Clover properly, he simply plopped the blankets onto a small chair and tossed one to Clover. “Ssh,” he said, holding a finger up to his lips. “Less talking, more tucking in.”
Clover didn’t know whether to laugh or to feel offended at the oblique order. However, as he watched the other Huntsman (probably only a few years older than Clover himself, judging by combination of streaks in his hair and the youth in his face) unfold the blankets and, methodically and silently, lay them onto the sleeping children sprawled on each seat, Clover’s face melted unknowingly into a smile.
There was a tenderness in Qrow’s smile as he tucked a blanket around the younger Schnee girl and the brunette by her side, making sure the girls were warm despite the chill of Atlas. That tenderness didn’t fade as he grabbed another blanket and draped it over the older blonde girl lying across three study chairs in the back of the room. Ruby and Yang- they’re his nieces, Clover recalled from the files he had glanced over earlier.
But even so, that kindness in Qrow’s actions didn’t fade, continuing to tuck in the energetic orange-haired girl and her silent Mistralian companion, along with the Faunus girl curled up in an armchair and the youngest boy passed out on the accompanying ottoman. Clover sighed, glancing down at the blanket in his own hands. There was no point just standing there, gawping at Qrow. So, he knelt down and picked up the tall young man who had fallen onto the floor, placing him back onto the couch and laying the blanket over him.
Finally, all the students were warm and safe underneath thick covers. Qrow sat down on the coffee table in front of the holoscreen, watching them all sleep with a contented grin on his face. Red eyes creased and shimmered despite his exhaustion thanks to the moonlight filtering in through the windows. From where Clover stood, all he could see was a scene so serene, it could’ve been painting; a beautiful silhouette of messy hair, a straight nose, thin lips, a proud chin; strong shoulders and toned arms, long legs crossed almost daintily at the ankle; age and experience and knowledge engrained in every wrinkle, youth and strength clear despite it all.
It was an odd thing to focus on, the warmth exuding from this Huntsmen as he looked at the sleeping faces of a bunch of ragged children. Yet, Clover couldn’t look away. It was hypnotizing.
“You need something, Mr. Ace-Ops?”
Clover gulped. “I had a message for Weiss Schnee from her sister.” Why his voice was trembling, he didn’t know.
Qrow turned his face to look at Clover, eyes half-lidded, smile fading away. “You put my nieces in cuffs. You put weapons on them.” Standing up to his full height, he added, “Gimme the message. I’ll tell Weiss.”
“What- are you their overprotective father?” Clover joked lightly.
He had not been prepared for the sudden look of what could only be called shame which welled up in Qrow’s eyes. “No. I’m not.”
Sensing Qrow’s stubbornness, Clover sighed and pulled out his Scroll. He sent the message to Qrow, having gotten his contact at his earlier debrief with the general. “There you go.”
Qrow nodded, eyes softening before he took his seat once more, focus returning to the sleeping students.
Clover could’ve left right away. Instead, he found himself looking at the affection which had returned to Qrow’s face. He didn’t know much about Qrow Branwen, but every description on-file of an efficient, deadly, intelligent, incredible Huntsman could not compare to the paternal affection, and the silent grief, that described this man before him.
Because despite all the unprofessional, messy, clumsy, vulnerable states he saw in that room… it wasn’t so cold anymore, and Clover hadn’t felt that kind of quiet warmth in Atlas Academy in a long, long time.