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Sometimes, Tai hated coaxing Qrow through the nights.
He hadn’t been on the field, hadn’t seen what Qrow had, but the lack of knowing cast shadows which haunted all the same. It wasn’t like Tai was untouched by Grimm and tragedy. He had two daughters to sing to sleep, one chasing ghosts and one feet in the grave already, and one stubborn, pickled bird, grieving the life of everything he’d ever touched like Tai wasn’t here and holding him.
It was easy to resent the ways Qrow let himself fall apart.
Easy to forget the ways his bird reached back and held them all tight. For all the nights Tai spent rubbing Qrow’s back in the bathroom, all the shirts soaked through with tears or worse, there were soft-croaked lullabies when Tai couldn’t bring himself to look at his own children and a thousand chores crossed off before they could reach him.
But other nights, Tai stumbled out of bed and went slack with relief to find Qrow slumped over at the table. Even here in Atlas, a shared suite next to the kids and within calling range of the Ace Ops and James both, Qrow went to him for help.
(Which is to say, collapsed at the first place he could call safe without choking on it and made himself vulnerable there, trusting Tai to find him before he’d have to laugh it off. But Tai knew how Branwens worked by now.)
Qrow didn’t stir when Tai walked into the kitchen, but Tai saw his shoulders tense – a half-second at the footfall before relaxing. A good sign, maybe. Or maybe his partner was just too worn out to protest. Hugging a sigh in the slow expansion of his chest, Tai found the mugs and started the process of hot cocoa.
Tai hummed snippets while it boiled, or he thought he did; it was late, he was tired, and he couldn’t entirely keep hold of where he was, only it’s time to stir the milk now and I hope they still stock vanilla. Qrow watched him, probably. That was generally a safe bet.
He set the mugs down and waited.
Qrow had to know by now that Tai always waited for him to sip first. If not for the sake of feeding him, then for the ritual of it. But if that mattered to Qrow, he showed no sign; only took the first hummingbird swallow and waited for Tai to catch up. Another exchange unspoken between the two of them, except for the slight widening of Qrow’s eyes.
Why the surprise? It was just cocoa. Tai took another sip – too sweet, maybe? Yes. There was that cloying, plasticky note, distant under the warm satisfaction, but far too obvious now that his attention had found it.
Why had it been cocoa?
He didn’t even like cocoa. Except… Oh.
Except for the other life in which he did.
Qrow gave him one of the small, soft smiles he only ever wore at home and nodded to where Tai’s knuckles had gone white around the mug handle, resting at the furthest end of arm’s reach. “Was wondering if you’d noticed,” he rasped. “You made it just like he did.”
Qrow’s own hands were tucked around his mug like it could warm him from the inside out. His eyes crinkled with every sip, small and smaller every time the rim brushed his lips. Rationing out his happiness. And oh, it hurt not to leap to the stove again.
It was stupid to ask if Qrow missed him. Ozpin. The question hovered on Tai’s tongue; he didn’t want to hear the answer. But Qrow must have seen it in his eyes, because he was the one who broke the silence.
“Do you miss before?”
Before…? There were so many befores to miss. Qrow nodded to the cocoa – before him. Before you were him.
Tai ran a hand through his hair. “I can barely remember,” he admitted in a ragged whisper. “I know how the merge works, I know I’m not the same – I know I am the same – but, gods, it’s like looking back to a different country.”
“I keep trying to think what this might look like,” Qrow said. “If it’s ever over.”
If it’s ever over. Heartache swept him like an ancient tide.
It was so different, going swimming in those days. The water sparkled and filled every hold of him with quasar possibility, and he was so large in his skin, not this shriveledbentugly thing, twisted under the weight of the world.
(She was there.) (He could drown, now.)
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Tai answered.
Qrow’s hands shifted around his (empty) mug. He sat back, sighing. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”