Archive of Our Own

“Hey, look, it’s the prettyboy and her boyfriend!”

The attention settles warm against the buzz Qrow had picked up, drinking with Tai, and he’s preening before he recognizes the undercurrent of contempt. Honestly, that settles in alright too. The thing that had looked at all the disbelieving faces when he’d walked out in Tai’s skirt and said I can work with this gives that skirt an extra swish as he turns to meet the morons they’d shown up in class.

“Not bad yourself, handsome,” he simpers at the one who’d spoken, letting his gaze rake unabashedly over them both.

There’s not much to see, truthfully – just two urbs who can’t decide where to put their eyes. Qrow’s almost offended. If Beacon’s students are so useless, what are he and Raven doing studying to take them out? A few new scars would chase them off.

Even that would be more effort than these assholes deserve.

But Qrow does feel pretty tonight, and more than that, petty, and there’s something to be said for the faces they make as he slips a hand up his skirt. How they bloom into terror as he yanks out the knife he’d strapped there.

“Looking for a double date?” he taunts, giving the knife a twirl. Tai, picking up on his drift, cracks his knuckles over Qrow’s shoulder, and Qrow smirks. “I can’t speak for Sunshine here, but I can take you both on by myself if you wanna go.”

“No weapons outside the classrooms,” Asshole 1 blusters. It does nothing to cover his flinch. “If you start a fight, they’ll expel you!”

“And what do you call this, huh?” Tai growls.

Asshole 2 elbows his patsy. “Nah, let’s leave ‘em,” he advises, tossing his hair. “She isn’t worth it anyway.”

The idiots scurry off, tails between their legs. Qrow whistles the notes for coward and shit on you at their backs, smug in the knowledge that they have no clue what he’s saying and already planning a few unfortunate accidents.

“You know you don’t have to take that, right?”

His partner’s still tense, all stiff shoulders and bouncing feet as he glances around the streetcorners. It’s late enough that there aren’t any witnesses, but Qrow isn’t gonna break him of a good habit.

“Take what?” he scoffs. “Them calling you my boyfriend? It’s not like you’re into me.” Which is a shame, but it's not like Qrow’s a stranger to bad luck, and it saves him having to watch out for Raven knifing him in his sleep. “Or did you mean implying I’m a slut?”

“You kinda are,” Tai snorts. “Most people wear shorts under the skirt, y'know.”

There’s something powerful about that, too. Nobody here can take him as a ‘piece. No one here even knows what that means.

Qrow grins and sets his arms behind his head. “I’m doing everyone a favor and you know it.”

Tai boxes him in his unprotected side. Qrow nearly falls over, squawking, and glares at him when he snickers.

“Nah, but. I meant the whole…” Tai won’t meet his eyes. “Calling you a girl. Thing.”

Qrow shrugs. “Not like it matters.”

“It does!” Tai glares him down, heated enough that Qrow leans out of hitting range. “They said it because they knew it was wrong and wanted it to hurt, and you just played into it. Like you didn’t even care.”

“Uh, cause I don’t?”

Tai crosses his arms, unconvinced.

“Look, have you ever seen me take stuff lying down?” Qrow pushes his bangs out of his face. “Even if I cared what some idiots called me” – and he’s had that cut out of him years ago – “I wouldn’t care about that.”

Tai squints at him, disbelieving. Qrow rolls his eyes. “I told you, Raven and I weren’t raised with that bullshit. What’s in your pants only matters if someone wants it.” It being whatever valuables you’ve shoved down there. “As long as you can fight, who cares what people call you?”

Tai looks away again. One hand twitches towards his chest.

“Is this about that thing you wear under your shirt?” Qrow asks, before he can think better of it.

Tai yelps. “Y-you know about that?!”

Qrow shrugs. Raven and I went through your laundry for weapons sounds like a pretty good way to get punched. “You always change in the bathroom,” he says instead. “Seemed like you were hiding something.”

“And you never asked about it?”

“Why would I?” Searching through hampers is one thing – leaving anything unattended in the open might as well be sticking a sign on it saying “free to good home.” But a bandit’s personal stash, hidden in trick compartments or sewn into clothing, is off-limits, and dragging out someone’s secrets is a great way to lose an eye. “I don't care that much about your weird bathroom habits, Xiao Long.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Tai runs a hand through his hair. “So… um. I’m trans.”

Qrow squints at him. “Is that another one of your guys’ piss pictograms?”

Tai chokes, grabbing for the wall before he topples over. “Piss pictograms?”

“Yeah, you know. Pink triangle for stalls, blue for–”

“Uh… I mean, kind of?” he splutters. “Some places have unisex stalls, but those are really meant for other people. I use the men’s.”

“...cause you're a man?” Qrow fills in.

“Right, yeah! Exactly.” Tai scratches his neck. “But, uh. I used to use the women’s.”

Qrow blinks at him.

“The one with the skirt,” Tai clarifies, unnecessarily.

“Oooooookay,” Qrow drawls, just as confused. This is my problem, why?

But they still aren't moving, because Tai is still staring at him, which means Qrow is missing something.

For lack of anything better to say: “That how you got this?” he asks, motioning down at the too-short skirt he's claimed. It’s pretty ridiculous that how someone pisses could determine which uniform they get – what, did Beacon have someone with a checklist watching them pick? – but the urbs seem to love ridiculously overcomplicating things, so that tracks. “They send you the wrong uniform?”

“I just had to get rid of it,” Tai says miserably. “I figured if I stole your pants I could play it off as a prank. We’d both order new sets, rah rah team bonding, and it wouldn’t be a big deal. No one would even care after the first day.”

Qrow snorts and cocks his hip. “How’d that work out for you?”

Tai is quiet. For a second, Qrow wonders if he said the wrong thing, but then Tai’s snickering explodes into laughter. “They didn’t even fit!” he howls, and remembering the giant cuffs Tai had folded (and every time he'd tripped over them when they came loose) sets Qrow off too.

Someone cusses them out from a window, and they yelp and scurry on, staggering back onto campus at last. “Okay, okay,” Tai says, “so you don’t care about gender. We’ve been calling you ‘he,’ but…”

Qrow shrugs, sitting back while Tai fumbles his ID out. (Qrow’s card never works. He rarely minds – the pity’s good for finding other beds.) “‘s what everyone usually calls me,” he says easily.

“Yeah, but. Do you like it?” Tai glances at him as he swipes them in. “Could call you ‘she,’ if you want,” he offers. “‘They’ maybe. Something else?”

“He, she, it, whatever.” Qrow burps, brushing past him to their dorm. “Told you: I really don’t care.”

It’s only been a year since Team STRQ’s graduation, but the knowledge that Ozpin is actually a who-knows-how-old, honest-to-gods wizard has turned Qrow’s old debate partner into a stranger. A chieftain, not just of the school Qrow’s learned to call home or the network of warriors and legends who once walked its halls, but of Vale as a whole – maybe even the world. A shining defender, standing against the dark. A storybook hero come to life.

Unseen age still curls his hands where they rest over his cane. All those centuries, all those lives, must be heavy.

He’s taken Qrow’s suggestion and gotten a pair of glasses to hide his too-honest face. But hesitance and cautious, rueful hope show clearly around the tiny lenses – rendering the advice useless.

“I… understand that this has been a lot to take in,” he murmurs. “If you – either of you – have changed your mind…”

Qrow snorts, a smirk tugging at his lips. “When have I ever changed my mind on something, Oz?”

Oz blinks. An answering smirk hovers in the corners of his own. “Our debates about utilitarianism come to mind.”

“Come on, that doesn’t count!” Qrow protests with a grin. “No ethical framework’s gonna work a hundred percent of the time. Just cause I can see where it screws up doesn’t mean I don’t think it makes sense.”

Ozpin restrains a chuckle. “Yes, well. Much as I’d love to continue debating such things with you, I believe we have other things to discuss. If you’re sure you’d like to go ahead” – he glances at Qrow, who rolls his eyes but gives an obliging nod – “then that leaves you, Raven. What are your feelings?”

Raven steps up next to her brother. “If Qrow is going through with it, I’m certainly not going to turn back,” she scoffs. Her back is stiff, and her glance is cold when she meets Qrow’s probing look, but her words are resolute. “I’m no coward. If you say this will help us fight, I’ll do it.”

Ozpin evaluates her. “This power isn't meant to be used as a weapon,” he cautions. “Think of it more like… another aspect of yourselves. It might give us access to places that would otherwise be impenetrable, and it will certainly show us things we could never have learned without it, but it is not a gun. It will never stand against one in a contest of strength, and time may show you consequences you regret.” His gaze drifts back to Qrow again. “This isn't a choice either of you should make lightly.”

Raven tips her chin up and stands strong. “How many more times are you gonna make us say it?” Qrow complains. “Just do it already.”

Ozpin laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Call it the paranoid ramblings of an old man.” But there’s bitterness in the crook of his smile as he rounds the desk to stand in front of them. Flickerings of something flinty and almost grim, an observation smothered by the regality that falls over his shoulders like a cloak when he slams Long Memory’s butt into the floor between them.

“Close your eyes,” the wizard orders.

Qrow obeys.

He’d scoffed, when Oz had told him he’d be moving office: not just taking on old Headmaster Pastoria’s, but setting up shop in the clocktower. Hollowing it out to live amongst the gears. But with his eyes closed, Qrow isn’t standing in Ozpin’s architecturally stupid power play. There is only the clicking and churning of the mechanisms, the clockwork turning at the heart of the world, carrying him higher and higher over the spread of land below.

Something grand and ancient runs over him. The center of the center. A venerable tree, roots stretching to touch every part of Remnant.

Qrow shrinks back. Is met with laughter, a wave of affection, apology.

The wash of– of care, interest, protectiveness– It’s overwhelming. Qrow wants to hide. Qrow wants to drown in it. Qrow wants to demand what this has to do with them becoming spies, what this is, what any of this is, but what he manages is a small and pathetic ?

He, all he is, all of it, is cupped in expansive hands. Just a boy, at the mercy of a god –

– but that isn't quite right, is it?

He swirls in, around “boy,” a liquid sloshing dispassionately through mesh-soft walls, but there’s a kernel of him, too, crystallized around an empty space.

Dispossessed.

Removed.

Green-leafed boughs tap the crystal. Spin it– spin him– tumbling, inside-out, the little house he built from jeering isolation becoming joy of flight, fine, I’ll be your bad luck charm, spitting blood that falls backwards (no one thinks to look up) as it mocks catch me from the cliff.

Giant hands mold it like glass. Tug it up and over Qrow’s head, teasing out wings, pinching up feathers. Clockwork opens spinning eyes – it sees, it sees the world for what it is, and it knows it will never forget.

The bird-Qrow cracks through the egg.

“We saw a biiiig bird today,” Ruby enthuses, throwing a chicken nugget across the room when she flings her hands apart to demonstrate. “A black one!”

“Yeah?” Qrow smirks. Zwei pounces on the discarded meat, much to Tai’s disgruntlement, and something in Qrow sighs happily and relaxes. “Was it handsome?”

“Uncle Qroooooow, birds can't be handsome!” his littlest niece scolds. “It was pretty. The most prettiest bird ever!”

“It can't be the ‘most prettiest’ bird either,” Yang teases. “At least, not until you give it that flower crown you said you were gonna make.”

“Oh yeah!” She turns big, silver eyes on Qrow. “Do you think a bird would stick around long enough for me to build a tiara –”

“You said it was a flower crown.”

Ruby sticks her tongue out. “A tiara,” she emphasizes, stretching out the syllables, “that turns into a little-bitty chain axe made of grenades?” She thinks for a moment. “Also a teeny tutu. And maybe a cape. Made of fire!”

“Why do you want to put a tutu on a bird?” he asks warily, instead of any of the other questions he wants to ask, like How exactly do you plan to make a cape out of fire? Knowing Ruby, the only reason there aren't schematics of it at the table is because they aren't having mashed potatoes to draw them in.

“So it can be a princess, duh!” Ruby lays head on wistful hand and sighs dreamily into the kitchen. “I wanna be a princess.”

“I thought you wanted to be a huntress,” Yang points out.

“A princess-huntress.”

“There’s no such thing as a princess-huntress, Ruby.”

“So?”

Tai clears his throat, still a little awkward claiming authority at the table. “If you're going to fight, do it outside, please. And wait until you're done with dinner.”

Ruby shovels the last of her plate into her face in record speed. “‘m goin oushide,” she says around a mouthful of oven fries, bouncing up and out the door before anyone can say otherwise.

“Ruby!” Yang complains, half-standing to go after her. She gazes forlornly at her half-filled plate.

Tai sighs, giving the quiet evening up for a loss. “You wanna be done, too?” he offers. “I can put your leftovers in the fridge.”

Yang’s hands clench, restless, at her sides. “What about–”

“I'll take care of dishes,” Tai promises. “Your uncle will help.”

Qrow winces. Well, he'd been half-thinking about offering anyway, and it's not like Tai ever asks much. “What he said. Go on, firecracker. Kick your sister’s butt.”

Yang grins fiercely at him, despite – or maybe because of – her dad’s disapproval, and races after her sister as Tai begins collecting plates.

Tai raises an eyebrow as he clears Qrow’s place. “You gonna make good on that?” he asks mildly.

“Yeah– yeah, sorry.” Qrow lurches into action, wincing as his elbow knocks a glass to the floor. “Shit.”

“It's fine, we got plastic.”

“Right.”

They dance around each other, Qrow washing, Tai drying, reaching in to grab the wet things as they're done so there's no room to fumble a handoff.

“Does it ever bother you?” Tai asks at last, watching the kids wrestle through the window. “That they talk about you like that?”

Qrow fondly rolls his eyes. “I already have to turn Ruby down when she begs to redesign my gear. It's not like it's that much different.”

Honestly, it warms him. That he can be as small and inhuman, as vulnerable, as he likes, and they still… love it. Without it being because it is him.

Tai gives him a teasing glance. “So you don't mind being called a pretty bird?”

Qrow leans over and bends to kiss Tai’s neck. His voice is husky when he answers, “Ask me that again when the kids’ve gone to bed.”

He’s a ball of feathers on James’s desk, having promised to stop tossing pens over the side so long as James spares a hand to scritch under his chin the way Qrow likes – for a given value of “promised,” anyway. James had accepted a caw as agreement instead of pushing for verbal confirmation, which, Qrow thinks smugly, will make it his own fault when Qrow decides he’s worked too late and starts providing incentive to close up for the night. If Jimmy won’t keep an eye on the clock, Qrow will, and that is a threat.

Mmm… after some more petting, though. Preening is good.

Despite his intentions, the bird isn’t the best at keeping time beyond “dark” and “light,” and its instincts are unfairly lulled by creature comforts. Clover winds up being the one to find them both once the auto-lights go down.

“I see you’ve got a visitor,” his other partner says lightly, stretching fingers out by Qrow’s head.

The bird greets them with a friendly nibble. “Ah– yes,” James replies, stealing his other hand back while Qrow’s distracted. “I think it mistook my office for its nest. It’s been making a nuisance of itself all day.”

Clover frowns. “He,” he corrects.

“Hm?” James looks up from his reports, eyebrows furrowed. “No, the crow.”

A little wrinkle burns itself between Clover’s eyes before he smooths it out, pulling Captain Ebi on like a publicity mask. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he starts, “and I realize I may be overstepping, but that is Qrow, correct?”

James leans back, puzzled but regarding Clover with due seriousness. “It is.”

Qrow looks between the two of them, ruffling his feathers as the tension rises. “Then– I can understand a bit of teasing, sir, and how you speak to Qrow on your time is none of my business, but wouldn’t it be ‘he’?”

Clover’s voice is mild, but there’s reproach in the stiff lines of his shoulders, and Qrow decides this has gone far enough. Hopping to the floor gives him enough cover to stretch out, trading wings for arms and feathers for hair and skin, and he parks said newly-featherless ass back on James’s desk. “It’s cute watching you get worked up on my account, babe, but it’s fine,” he assures. “I would’ve bitten him if it bugged me.”

James coughs. Qrow shoots him a knowing smirk. “Hey, no complaining. You love it.”

A pale pink flush climbs James’s cheeks. “One would think that rather defeats the purpose,” he observes, studiously avoiding Clover’s eyes.

Clover humors him and ignores the by-play. “Alright,” he agrees. “But I’m not sure I understand, still.”

“What, that Jimmy likes getting bit?”

“Qrow,” James snaps.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “don’t cross the streams.” He tips back and makes kissy-noises until James sighs harshly and leans close enough for an apology-peck.

Clover covers a smile with a cough. “The bird thing,” he clarifies. “It’s still… you in there, right?”

“More or less.”

“So wouldn’t ‘it’ be dehumanizing?” Clover asks. “Denying you agency. Personhood. You’re not an animal.”

Qrow’s lips tighten. “That’s… kinda the point,” he mutters, one hand finding the back of his neck as he looks away. “I mean. I’m kinda… not a person. So.”

“That’s why I’ve been using ‘it,’” James adds cautiously. “He’s a person, but it’s a bird.” He sends a look to Qrow. “At least, that’s how I assumed it worked.”

“Right, but…” Clover folds his arms contemplatively. “If the bird is you, shouldn’t it – he – use the same pronouns you do?”

“Sure, but I don’t –” Qrow cuts himself off, eyes widening. “Huh,” he says, slowly. “Actually. Could you…” He turns to James and demands, “Talk about me like you would the bird.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Qrow decided to come pester me at work the other day, but forgot about the glass and rammed right into it,” he obligingly informs Clover.

Clover snorts. “Did you really?”

Qrow puffs his chest out and glares, huffing, “You try seeing something transparent at thirty miles an hour. And that wasn’t what I meant, asshole.”

“Really? Hm.” James considers him, setting the reports aside at last. “Qrow’s been making a nuisance of… itself all day,” he says slowly. “It’s rather difficult to get any work done when it insists I pay attention to it instead.”

A shiver runs down Qrow’s back. “Keep going.”

James comes around the desk and takes Qrow’s hand, a faint smile on his lips as Qrow leans into him. “It’s very thoughtful of it to try to keep me from working so hard, but I wish it would put half that care into taking care of itself,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the top of Qrow’s head. “But that’s what we’re for, I suppose.”

“Jaaaames,” Qrow whines, burying its red face in James’s shoulder. “I said talk about me, not get all sappy on me.”

“Mm. My mistake.”

Qrow turns pleading eyes on Clover. “Make him stop,” it complains.

“Sorry,” Clover smirks, dropping a hand to tousle its hair himself. “I’m with James, here.”

Qrow hmphs and turns back into James’s side. “Traitor.”

Clover’s smile softens, before he steels himself to return to the matter at hand. “So… how is this supposed to work, exactly?” he asks, because the others might be satisfied dancing around the issue but he’d rather know what he’s working with, thanks. “Do you want us to call you ‘it’? I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that, but I’ll try, if that’s what you want.”

“Good thing it’s my pronouns, not yours,” Qrow shoots back. “But, uh. I dunno. Maybe sometimes? I’m still fine with he/him – and everything else,” it pauses to grumble. “Nobody ever uses those. But… yeah.” It ducks its head. “I’d, uh. I’d like that, I think.”

James and Clover exchange a glance. “I’ll make a note of it,” James says, soft as the first snowfall.

“Me too,” Clover promises, because like hell is he going to say anything else.

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
[A picture, taken from above, of Qrow asleep against Clover’s shoulder in the back of a supply truck.] It fell asleep on me. Does that put me ahead in the boyfriend sweepstakes? ;)

James:
I’ve already ordered a coffee machine, to be sent to its quarters.

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
Ooh. Good idea

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
Do you have its emblem on file?

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
I’m gonna grab a thermos. That ought to keep its hands nice and warm, too ;)

James:
That won’t bring up too many bad memories, will it?

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
Nvm, found it! :D

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
Good to know. :) I’ll be placing the order, then

James:
I've seen what you look like in the mornings. Getting you to take breakfast is a lost cause, so if putting the coffee in your room is what it takes to keep you awake and reasonably functional on the field, it's a worthwhile investment. ...Although I must note, given your tendencies, that caffeine is no substitute for a healthy sleep schedule.
Best bird reacted: 🙄

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
You're my partner. I like getting you nice things.

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
Try again.

James:
I love you, too.

Lucky Charm 🍀😉❤️:
💖💞💝