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Heartsick: Chapter 1

Me, several weeks ago: Okay so IronCharms week doesn’t start until the last week of August, I’ve got time

Me, today, five minutes before midnight: Let’s just double check the dates- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE 15TH?!

WELP I’m a little late on this but... surprise! I wrote a James/Qrow/Clover fic! I’ve been wanting to do this one for a loooong while, and a random spark of inspiration had me finally dedicating some serious time to it.

This story is completely and utterly dedicated to Pidgeon Postal (who I’d tag but, tumblr won’t let me). It is a loving sequel to their story Heartless - which if you haven’t read, go do so! It’s well, kind of required anyways, as this story won’t make much sense if you haven’t read it.

I’ve honestly wanted to write this sequel ever since I first read Heartless well over a year ago - and am glad for the opportunity to finally do so! So welcome... to another multi-chapter story that will be posted throughout the entire week! Bonus? This one is actually complete LOL

(And if you haven’t already, go give Pidgeon some love for all their fantastic stories!)

Day 1: Affection

Dedicated to: PidgeonPostal

Rating: T

Words: 1.4K

Summary: It's been five months since James recovered his true heart, Clover gained a metal one and Qrow's became more attuned to the woods than ever before. Five months since Tyrian's poison was eradicated from the soil. Five months... since Clover, Qrow and James agreed on a group partnership (and that was honestly the best part). Like the tree tops reaching for the sky, it seemed like there was nowhere for the three of them to go but up. So why, then, did Clover feel like he was being cut down at his roots? [Witch AU]

Ao3 Link: In Which Clover’s Day Begins

~

Mornings were a ritual. Like magic, but softer, touched warm by the morning light.

Clover was always awake first; a surprise, at first, as James had always been the earliest riser. But reintroduction to his heart and, perhaps, the calm that came from living in a stress-free environment had changed the old general’s habits in ways that he didn’t entirely dislike.

So up he was, tapping his hands along the enchanted pantry as he asked confidently for ingredients. One after the other the counter got lined with whatever concoction he’d decided upon for breakfast (a fact that even after five months still made Qrow jealous with the ease he’d do it). He knew he had the power to ask it for precisely what he wanted, ready-made and serviceable to eat, but he’d always had a thing for cooking from scratch.

It's the only way it can be made with love, he’d tease sometimes between dropped kisses on his lovers’ cheeks. Qrow groused over the grandstanding, but rarely hid smiles, while James was simple in politeness but vocally appreciative.

Clover enjoyed those moments enough to keep doing it. The only days he cheated were on mornings that he didn’t spring out of bed but drag himself out. Where nights of half-remembered nightmares kept him tossing and sweat-soaked. Things that twisted at him, like blood on his hands that never left no matter how much he cleaned; the bodies of Mantle’s lost haunting after him as much as James’ dull and lifeless eyes looking upon it without so much as a twitch did.

Those were bad days.

But today was a good one.

So, he got to work.

By the time James got up, the cranberry-orange muffins had almost finished baking and coffee was done brewing.

“Morning!” Clover greeted, already pouring him a cup. Black with two sugars, just like he liked.

James accepted it and the peck on the lips with a sleepy smile. “Good morning. You certainly are… perky.”

He snorted. That sounded more like something Qrow would say. “Aren’t I usually?”

Always, he wished he could say. Because that had been the norm. But despite all the luck in the world, his new, metallic heart came with side effects. Inconsistencies with his emotions that felt very much like a floating spell had been placed onto them, and the wielder was tossing him between highs and lows at random.

(Sometimes, he thought the nightmares were part of that change. But no, he’d dug that grave with his bare hands. It was only right he’d lie in it.)

“I just don’t know where you get the energy.” James replied, blowing along the top of the steaming mug. When he did, the branches of the trees imprinted along the face of it shivered, like they’d been touched by a breeze.

They spent the morning like that, Clover cooking as he chattered with James about nothing, really. Small talk about plans for the day or how the garden was coming along. It was so unlike before, when they and the other officials would be up before the sun, plotting strategy and the room would be tense with an under-currant of fear as they fought a war they were losing fast.

Different, in a good way that Clover embraced as hard as he could.

When breakfast was just about done, Clover tapped the head of the miniature blackbird perched on the edge of the cuckoo clock. It came alive, flying on wooden wings out of the kitchen and down the hall – and though neither of them could hear it when it sang, they certainly heard Qrow’s grumbling as he came trudging out of the bedroom only minutes later, the bird perched on his shoulder. It flew back to the clock while the lanky man sat down at his spot.

Clover made sure to have his coffee already waiting. A shot of cream turned the liquid to a sandy cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon left a speckling of golden-brown dusting the top. When Qrow rose it to drink, the snow blanketing over the picturesque little cottage town fell to the rim, turning the once winter-laden village into a bright summer’s day. The snowfall dropped back into place when he set the cup back down.

“Mornin’,” Qrow finally greeted, the natural gravel in his voice always a bit deeper after waking.

James took up the attention of their sleepy third while Clover plated the food. Toast lightly buttered, only his powdered with a bit of sugar. Sausages that still sizzled with a bit of extra pepper atop James’ and eggs made over easy for him and James but scrambled for Qrow. A muffin for each of them. The daffodils on the edges of each plate danced on their stems as he set them down.

Left only long enough to pour his own drink. He pulled down another mug from the cabinet, his favorite today. The minute he touched it, the stark white mug turned into a brilliant teal green, the color of his own magic reflecting back at him. Even when he let it go to grab the pot, the hue stayed; if he let it be for ten minutes, it would start to go through lighter and lighter iterations of green before it turned back to white. He filled the cup with what his lovers considered an egregious amount of cream and sugar and took his seat.

In the short span of time, Qrow had pushed his own chair closer to James, using the lack of distance as an excuse to snuggle against him. It was cute and filled Clover with a sense of affection.

But, like oil on water, it was sullied by a strange sense of envy and loneliness.

He blamed it on his dumb, fake heart and took a gulp of too-sweet coffee to drown it out.

Qrow huffed at the sight. Complained, with no heat behind it, “Thought I told you not to use that one.”

Clover winked. “You can punish me for it later.”

Qrow almost choked on his eggs.

Despite the teasing, he knew how important the bit of ceramic was. Had learned it well the first time he pulled it down and the other man almost had an aneurysm over it. Apparently, it had been a gift from an old friend Qrow’d lost two decades before. Though she was gone, the magic she’d constructed the mug with lived on. The last reminder he would ever have of her.

It was probably only because of Clover’s own magic, a touch of luck in most things he did, that Qrow even allowed him to use it at all.

After a moment, James pitched in, “I swear you’re insatiable.”

“For you two? Never.” Clover promised, spearing a sausage, mimicking a motion towards his lips that even had James a little flustered.

The morning passed much the same as any other.

~

Though it was weeks into autumn, the weather had remained unusually hot and humid. Clover didn’t favor it, used to the dry air of a frozen tundra that didn’t cling to him like the mugginess in the forest air did, sticking sweat to his skin like a second layer, unwanted and uncomfortable.

The long baths he took in the basement hot springs more than made up for it though.

He’d tried, without success, to pull James in with him, but the other thought it silly to do so when he would only dirty himself again once he went back to his garden. Qrow he may have won over, but the other mage probably was only just getting back from his journey he’d set out on after breakfast – some hurt he’d detected in the forest that needed mending. His attunement with the forest had been increased ever since he’d chased out Tyrian from the soil and roots.

Normally, Clover had the patience to wait for one of them; certainly, a bath was more fun that way. But today, the humidity was higher than normal. It probably meant a storm was coming soon. With the heaviness feeling particularly unpleasant to the point it was beginning to irritate, it didn’t take much mental prodding to get him down to the basement for a little dip and relaxation.

By the time he emerged a good hour later, he was feeling refreshed, a towel around his waist. He used another to toss his hair – it was getting long, he’d had to trim it soon – as he headed towards the kitchen, intent on scourging up a snack.

As he crept down the hall, something small and low to the ground passed by, its movements squeaking like rusted bolts with every step it took.

He gave it a glance as he passed it.

The dragon, constructed out of roller chains and other scrap metal in the likeness to the God of Light, looked back.

Clover’s mouth dropped open. “What the-?”

The dragon, small as it was, emitted a thundering roar.

Then it pounced.

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