[Qrow visibly startles when the other man answers him back. He'd expected to yell into an unanswering void, then take out the rest of his feelings on a monster or two and go home. Spend some time with the girls, fall asleep in Clover's arms pretending all the things they couldn't talk about with each other didn't exist.
But Ozpin doesn't hover up above; for once, his two feet are firmly planted on the ground, standing without support. Qrow takes half a step back, a half-uttered sound of surprise squeaking through his throat as his eyes stare wide, deer in headlights--or perhaps a crow.
He's really here, isn't he. After leaving everyone to pick up his pieces, here he is again. Against his own will, quite possibly, and quite frankly somewhat miraculously. Not from a time before the Fall of Beacon, that much becomes clear immediately, but then...how? Did Sodder resurrect this body like it did Ruby's? Why was he separated from Oscar's?
But every one of these questions die on his tongue before he can think to utter them, in the face of Ozpin continuing to speak. The good you've done has real value to those people. And to me. It burns like hellfire in his chest, worse even than the pain of Tyrian's poison when he was dying on the way to Mistral. He feels like he wants to scream, to break things....to drink, just to dull the agony. Hearing him talk like this floods him with the emotions he'd felt when he was seventeen and adrift, a cursed child of misfortune who had nothing to offer but a talent at fighting, turned against the defenseless. Ozpin had a way of making people believe they could become the best versions of themselves, that they could make the world a better place if they just tried.
All Qrow ever, ever wanted was to belong. To matter. Ozpin gave him that, smashed it into a million pieces, and now hands him the shattered pieces in a mosaic of what could still be, as if he really believes that. As if it's not just another beautiful lie.
He should walk away. He should tell Oz he doesn't need him anymore, that he never wants to see his face again for the rest of his life.
He wants to. But it's a lie too, and his traitorous throat won't speak it. It's too late to sew back up the pieces of his heart he just ripped out for this man who isn't an apparition after all, so he digs his talons in and starts on the rest. Maybe if all this tainted blood is finally purged, he can try to find something like peace.]
No, I don't understand, Ozpin.
[Not Oz. He holds back that affectionate nickname, unwilling even as he bares his soul to let him have the pieces.]
I...wasn't a good person, when you met me. I get you needed time, to make sure I could be trusted. That I was yours. But--
[And here, he wavers, as though unsure he's ready to do this after all. There's no going back, though. The Rubicon, as it were, is crossed, here.]
...But wasn't it enough, when I parted ways with my own sister for you? Wasn't it enough after we lost Summer, and I still went out on your front lines, to be your eyes and ears? Wasn't it enough--
[This time, his voice really does crack. A drip of moisture lands on Ozpin's shoe.]
Wasn't it enough when Tai decided he was done, and it was just me left of our team? Would it ever have been enough?
[Before he'd met Ozpin, he'd had nothing to give except his ability to hurt people. Ozpin gave him a purpose, a reason to live more than simply survive, as it was in the tribe.
In return, Qrow gave him his life and his soul and anything else he could carve out of himself for the dream and the desperate hope that he could somehow actually leave the world a better place than he entered it, cursed harbinger of misfortune or otherwise. That he could live up to the faith Ozpin put in him.
He has nothing left to give, now. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. The anger and bitterness leeched out into something tired, drained of energy to his very bones.]
You didn't hide it to protect me. Not really. You did it to protect yourself, because you thought I wouldn't be yours anymore, if I knew.
[. . .]
That's the real funny thing, Ozpin. You would've been wrong. If you'd ever trusted me enough to give me a real choice.
cw: alcoholism reference
But Ozpin doesn't hover up above; for once, his two feet are firmly planted on the ground, standing without support. Qrow takes half a step back, a half-uttered sound of surprise squeaking through his throat as his eyes stare wide, deer in headlights--or perhaps a crow.
He's really here, isn't he. After leaving everyone to pick up his pieces, here he is again. Against his own will, quite possibly, and quite frankly somewhat miraculously. Not from a time before the Fall of Beacon, that much becomes clear immediately, but then...how? Did Sodder resurrect this body like it did Ruby's? Why was he separated from Oscar's?
But every one of these questions die on his tongue before he can think to utter them, in the face of Ozpin continuing to speak. The good you've done has real value to those people. And to me. It burns like hellfire in his chest, worse even than the pain of Tyrian's poison when he was dying on the way to Mistral. He feels like he wants to scream, to break things....to drink, just to dull the agony. Hearing him talk like this floods him with the emotions he'd felt when he was seventeen and adrift, a cursed child of misfortune who had nothing to offer but a talent at fighting, turned against the defenseless. Ozpin had a way of making people believe they could become the best versions of themselves, that they could make the world a better place if they just tried.
All Qrow ever, ever wanted was to belong. To matter. Ozpin gave him that, smashed it into a million pieces, and now hands him the shattered pieces in a mosaic of what could still be, as if he really believes that. As if it's not just another beautiful lie.
He should walk away. He should tell Oz he doesn't need him anymore, that he never wants to see his face again for the rest of his life.
He wants to. But it's a lie too, and his traitorous throat won't speak it. It's too late to sew back up the pieces of his heart he just ripped out for this man who isn't an apparition after all, so he digs his talons in and starts on the rest. Maybe if all this tainted blood is finally purged, he can try to find something like peace.]
No, I don't understand, Ozpin.
[Not Oz. He holds back that affectionate nickname, unwilling even as he bares his soul to let him have the pieces.]
I...wasn't a good person, when you met me. I get you needed time, to make sure I could be trusted. That I was yours. But--
[And here, he wavers, as though unsure he's ready to do this after all. There's no going back, though. The Rubicon, as it were, is crossed, here.]
...But wasn't it enough, when I parted ways with my own sister for you? Wasn't it enough after we lost Summer, and I still went out on your front lines, to be your eyes and ears? Wasn't it enough--
[This time, his voice really does crack. A drip of moisture lands on Ozpin's shoe.]
Wasn't it enough when Tai decided he was done, and it was just me left of our team? Would it ever have been enough?
[Before he'd met Ozpin, he'd had nothing to give except his ability to hurt people. Ozpin gave him a purpose, a reason to live more than simply survive, as it was in the tribe.
In return, Qrow gave him his life and his soul and anything else he could carve out of himself for the dream and the desperate hope that he could somehow actually leave the world a better place than he entered it, cursed harbinger of misfortune or otherwise. That he could live up to the faith Ozpin put in him.
He has nothing left to give, now. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. The anger and bitterness leeched out into something tired, drained of energy to his very bones.]
You didn't hide it to protect me. Not really. You did it to protect yourself, because you thought I wouldn't be yours anymore, if I knew.
[. . .]
That's the real funny thing, Ozpin. You would've been wrong. If you'd ever trusted me enough to give me a real choice.