[ Ozpin smiles tiredly at him. It's more watery than he would prefer to admit.
The weight of the world is already so much; he feels as though he's been violently wrenched out of that peaceful place. It dredges up old, old memories. He has to swallow against it and breathe until the shaking stops.
He almost says Good to be back. It would be, if not an outright lie, a very complicated half-truth. And, for the first time, Qrow... knows this. Qrow understands this. There is no accusation in the man, no blame. Only the relief of someone who didn't know whether this reunion would come.
Ozpin didn't, either, for a while there. He may come to regret the choice he made.
But he doesn't think he will. ]
Of course. [ His voice is raspy, but steady. ] I believe I made a promise.
[ No running away.
Gingerly, through his swimming head, he levers himself up to sitting. His clothing is a mess; there is a lot of blood, now dried; but he feels no acute pain. If what happened left any sort of mark, he will have to look for it later. For now, it's effort enough just to sit upright. ]
[Qrow remembers when Ozpin first made him that promise. He'd been reluctant to believe him at the time, still at the height of too much anger and hurt for the way the wizard had abandoned them in the snow that day. It's strange to hear the man call back to it now, to realize that it had been on his mind when he chose to return. There's a competing sense of warmth and ice in his veins simultaneously, a cocktail of emotions that sets him off balance more than any alcohol--it had been one thing to grapple with what had happened at the portals, before Oz died, to know that the same actions that saved his own life had doomed Oz to be trapped in that space as it crumbled around them. It's entirely another to process this implication. To fully realize that Oz, who had told him without the buffer of poetic, flowery words, that he wanted to stop, to rest....had sacrificed it thinking to at least some extent about about him. Qrow is not arrogant or naive enough to believe that he was the only consideration, or perhaps even a major one. But he was one, and it aches deep within his chest. He thought if he gave himself some time as a bird, he'd know what to say, but he feels even more lost for words than he did when Oz first opened his eyes.
Even so, Oz struggles to sit up, and while the silence continues to reign, instinct and muscle memory have Qrow shift naturally, without even thinking about it, such that his arm is supporting the wizard's back, allowing him to lean back against it while he gathers his stamina.
He just sits with him in silence like that for some time, he loses track of if it's only a few moments or much longer than that, and a fuzzy image comes to mind, of sitting with him like this once before, when the moon was red and the streets matched. Their history is such a tangled and confusing thing, and he is aware it only spans one human lifetime. All but meaningless in the face of eternity--and yet, these moments come for them again and again. He remembers Ozpin carrying him home when he was the one freshly revived. He remembers breaking down before him when Ruby lost her eye. He remembers a stag with antlers of Light calling out to him in desperation, shoving him bodily out of the portal to protect him.
When he speaks again, it is at the level of a bare whisper, like a secret held between only them.]
I don't know that I could've blamed you if you broke it.
[ Qrow's arm goes around his back, and for a moment he is back in the snow— not that day with Jinn, but here in Deerington, with a shivering little bird tucked against his throat and Glynda's coat in his bag. Staggering home half-slung over Qrow's shoulder, wheezing through broken ribs. Finding Qrow in the storm had been a rush of warm relief unlike anything he has felt in... years, perhaps.
Having Qrow's arm around him again now is the same.
He swallows carefully, trying to breathe away the tears in his eyes before they fall. Qrow will let him, he knows. Qrow will make no comment and hold none of it against him: he is not expected to be strong, just now. He has done enough by coming back. He cannot— will not— rest as that place would have offered him, but in another sense he can rest. He can let this quiet moment stretch out and be still in it.
Qrow whispers rough words back to him, and it feels like forgiveness. ]
Thank you.
[ It is murmured back just as low. His hand finds Qrow's arm to steady himself, and stays there. ]
But I find that...
[ He turns his head to meet Qrow's eye, and for all that Ozpin looks a wreck— tired, bloodied, flushed with fever, tears threatening to fall— he quirks a raw little smile, and the look in his eyes is purely genuine. ]
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The weight of the world is already so much; he feels as though he's been violently wrenched out of that peaceful place. It dredges up old, old memories. He has to swallow against it and breathe until the shaking stops.
He almost says Good to be back. It would be, if not an outright lie, a very complicated half-truth. And, for the first time, Qrow... knows this. Qrow understands this. There is no accusation in the man, no blame. Only the relief of someone who didn't know whether this reunion would come.
Ozpin didn't, either, for a while there. He may come to regret the choice he made.
But he doesn't think he will. ]
Of course. [ His voice is raspy, but steady. ] I believe I made a promise.
[ No running away.
Gingerly, through his swimming head, he levers himself up to sitting. His clothing is a mess; there is a lot of blood, now dried; but he feels no acute pain. If what happened left any sort of mark, he will have to look for it later. For now, it's effort enough just to sit upright. ]
no subject
Even so, Oz struggles to sit up, and while the silence continues to reign, instinct and muscle memory have Qrow shift naturally, without even thinking about it, such that his arm is supporting the wizard's back, allowing him to lean back against it while he gathers his stamina.
He just sits with him in silence like that for some time, he loses track of if it's only a few moments or much longer than that, and a fuzzy image comes to mind, of sitting with him like this once before, when the moon was red and the streets matched. Their history is such a tangled and confusing thing, and he is aware it only spans one human lifetime. All but meaningless in the face of eternity--and yet, these moments come for them again and again. He remembers Ozpin carrying him home when he was the one freshly revived. He remembers breaking down before him when Ruby lost her eye. He remembers a stag with antlers of Light calling out to him in desperation, shoving him bodily out of the portal to protect him.
When he speaks again, it is at the level of a bare whisper, like a secret held between only them.]
I don't know that I could've blamed you if you broke it.
no subject
Having Qrow's arm around him again now is the same.
He swallows carefully, trying to breathe away the tears in his eyes before they fall. Qrow will let him, he knows. Qrow will make no comment and hold none of it against him: he is not expected to be strong, just now. He has done enough by coming back. He cannot— will not— rest as that place would have offered him, but in another sense he can rest. He can let this quiet moment stretch out and be still in it.
Qrow whispers rough words back to him, and it feels like forgiveness. ]
Thank you.
[ It is murmured back just as low. His hand finds Qrow's arm to steady himself, and stays there. ]
But I find that...
[ He turns his head to meet Qrow's eye, and for all that Ozpin looks a wreck— tired, bloodied, flushed with fever, tears threatening to fall— he quirks a raw little smile, and the look in his eyes is purely genuine. ]
... I have people to keep it for.