[Oh that's one of the Earth religions, right, he thinks he's heard that one. Or at least, about the crosses. That had been a fun misunderstanding, in which Anna made some assumptions about his aesthetic had found out just how much Qrow fuckin hated gods. At at any rate, it's enough that even without the full context, he still more or less gets the gist of Fiddleford's point.

Qrow's not quite sure he understands quite how literal the situation is in Ozpin's case, to the point that the man had gone so far as to introduce measures to prevent himself from being able to give up and allow the apocalypse to happen. But that's not really the heart of things here, is it. He remembers one of the very first arguments he'd ever had with Oz, where he'd accused the man of being unable to love people anymore. Oz had been angry, offended, and for a moment it had been a relief to see that Oz was still capable of anger. That he wouldn't simply fall into that pleasantly distant headmaster's tone to placate him like a child.

There's another moment of quiet, and his expression softens. It's hard to argue with someone when they're right and you know it, but he's come such a ways with Oz that he has a hard time not wanting to explain that his faith in the man isn't for nothing.]

I get it. [he says, and he sounds like he means it.] I think he's scared, honestly. That he'll put himself through the pain and the door will be locked when he gets to the top. He's got a bad habit of assuming shit and making choices for people.

[He lets out a short sigh that's perhaps a little more tired than he'd like.]

I don't think Ford would've let the guy drink his blood if he hated him, but it's probably gonna take another couple years for that to get through his thick skull.

[He lets a shoulder rise and fall, vaguely, shaking his head.]

Sounds like you've got some history of your own with Ford though, huh? His last ex?