[ He does not realize he's being watched until he hears that rough voice, and Ozpin's breath catches. As Qrow speaks, he turns slowly to see the man, feeling abruptly defenseless without his cane in his hand. Without anything to lean on.
You know how many times we almost died? He does. He was watching. When he retreats deeply enough, it all goes hazy and distant, as though everything is truly happening to someone else— he can bury himself so far away that it almost stops mattering. But he was, in a sense, still watching. He still knows.
Qrow shakes and swears and is so painfully raw before him that it hurts to see, and Oz is breathless in the face of it, at a loss for what to say. I gave my whole life to you— and that is true; Qrow was as loyal to him as anyone he'd had when he was king, or when he was family. Qrow was unquestionably his. To see that shattered...
The loss hurts so desperately he wants to go away, again. He wants to retreat to that quiet, faraway corner of a place that doesn't quite exist, in the mind of a boy still separate enough to shelter behind. He wants to hide.
There is nowhere to hide, here. ]
Of course I cared.
[ He does not quite meet Qrow's eyes. He cannot. He hides behind his glasses, behind the hair that falls messy in his eyes, behind the distance between them in this strange street.
Silence hangs for a moment, and then he goes on, because there is nothing else he can do. ]
You must understand— when I first learned the truth about Salem... it took lifetimes to come to terms with what I was facing. What we are facing. It is no easy task to acknowledge that the war you are fighting... does not have an end in sight.
[ He takes a careful breath, and does look at Qrow, then. There is more vulnerability in his eyes than Qrow has ever seen in this face. But it is not the shattered expression of that boy crouched in the snow; he has found solid ground again. He has gathered all his fragile scraps of conviction. ]
But that does not make it pointless. The lives we are saving are very real. The good you've done has real value to those people. And to me.
I— [ And here he falters, for all that he'd spoken so eloquently in the solitude of his-and-Oscar's mind. ] I am sorry I left as I did.
[ He had been so afraid of this. Of feeling this. ]
ALWAYS
You know how many times we almost died? He does. He was watching. When he retreats deeply enough, it all goes hazy and distant, as though everything is truly happening to someone else— he can bury himself so far away that it almost stops mattering. But he was, in a sense, still watching. He still knows.
Qrow shakes and swears and is so painfully raw before him that it hurts to see, and Oz is breathless in the face of it, at a loss for what to say. I gave my whole life to you— and that is true; Qrow was as loyal to him as anyone he'd had when he was king, or when he was family. Qrow was unquestionably his. To see that shattered...
The loss hurts so desperately he wants to go away, again. He wants to retreat to that quiet, faraway corner of a place that doesn't quite exist, in the mind of a boy still separate enough to shelter behind. He wants to hide.
There is nowhere to hide, here. ]
Of course I cared.
[ He does not quite meet Qrow's eyes. He cannot. He hides behind his glasses, behind the hair that falls messy in his eyes, behind the distance between them in this strange street.
Silence hangs for a moment, and then he goes on, because there is nothing else he can do. ]
You must understand— when I first learned the truth about Salem... it took lifetimes to come to terms with what I was facing. What we are facing. It is no easy task to acknowledge that the war you are fighting... does not have an end in sight.
[ He takes a careful breath, and does look at Qrow, then. There is more vulnerability in his eyes than Qrow has ever seen in this face. But it is not the shattered expression of that boy crouched in the snow; he has found solid ground again. He has gathered all his fragile scraps of conviction. ]
But that does not make it pointless. The lives we are saving are very real. The good you've done has real value to those people. And to me.
I— [ And here he falters, for all that he'd spoken so eloquently in the solitude of his-and-Oscar's mind. ] I am sorry I left as I did.
[ He had been so afraid of this. Of feeling this. ]