You find her in of the sim training rooms, smashing her way through a veritable horde of Beowolves and Ursa, still not changed from when you came back. Sweat shines on her face, and despite how long she must've been at it, she ignores the stumbles and slip-ups only to keep calling for more, more.

It'd be almost admirable, if it wasn't so worrisome.

Eventually, you decide that it's enough; you march over to the external controls and end the simulation, Grimm winking out of light-spun existence. As a result, Yang tumbles through where she'd expected her fist to meet resistance, ending up laid out on the floor.

Oops.

Opening the door connecting the observation room to the training room, you yell out, "Yang?" even as you move toward her, worried she might've hit something important.

Careful watch for any such signs meant, of course, that you didn't miss the slight stiffening when she heard you. So you stop in your rush toward her, caught between the opposing grips of hesitation and worry.

Yang ends that for you, sitting up with a groan. "Hey, Blake."

"Hey." It's more an automatic response than anything. You pause, before asking, "Are you oka-do I need to call a nurse?"

"Naw, naw." She flaps a hand at you, as if to bat away your worries. "I've had worse, you know that." A truth. But, remaining where you stand, you still keep one eye looking for any sign that she needs to be dragged down to the infirmary. It wouldn't be the first time she'd shrugged off serious injuries. "So what's up?"

When you finally speak, your voice is quiet. "They're awake now."

She's still, so still, her mouth barely managing to mimic the smallest of smiles when she answers. "That's good. Ruby running up the walls yet?"

"No, Weiss negotiated."

"With?"

"Two dozen strawberry macarons."

"That bad?"

"Her hand was twitching for Myrtenaster." She laughs at that, genuinely, if a bit weakly, and your resolve falters. Surely it could wait? The last thing you want to do was sour that happiness. But part of you speaks up, reminds the rest that there is a larger problem, and you have to confront it. You can't run.

So your hand clenches around a not-there hilt, and you say, "They asked for you."

Your voice was the same as it had been, but Yang flinched, as if you'd struck her. She still smiled after, though, tried to. "I'll see 'em tomorrow, 's late. Weiss'd probably yell at me for disturbing her beauty sleep."

"I don't think so." Settling down beside Yang, you take in her expression; eyes flit from forehead to chin. "Seemed like she was more worried about you." No reply. You sigh, and carefully take her hand. "Yang. It wasn't your fault. They don't blame you for what happened."

By the second word she's shaking her head, fingers curling in tightly. "If I'd just been faster, seen that fucking mole-"

"You don't know that-"

"You don't know otherwise!" she snaps, her hand pulling away as she bolted up, furious red coming up a few short inches away from your face.

You swallow. Keep your gaze steady. Eventually she closes her eyes, taking a long, steadying breath, and when she opens them again they were their normal lilac. Only then do you speak. "We can't always protect them, by ourselves, no matter how strong we get. You can't."

"I know, I know!" She sighs, one hand coming up to push back her hair. "I just. I should be able to do something. I'm here, in Beacon, isn't that proof of that? Been training years, shouldn't I be able to protect what I want to better now?" Her voice begins to rise. "But I didn't, and now I can't do anything, and I fucking hate this!"

Her fist slams against the floor, underscoring how she roars those last few words, but no cracks spread from the point of impact, with no real strength behind the blow. Thankfully. Thoughts about repair would've been distracting, with how her shoulders are beginning to shake, and her face is screwed in a way that somehow yells she doesn't want to cry. That she feels she has to keep smiling, has to go back to it as soon as possible, even for you.

Words won't work, not alone.

So you hug her. It's awkward, with how you were sitting-you were sort of perpendicular to her and your legs are somewhat in the way-and her not expecting it, but you keep holding her tight and she doesn't push you away.

Awkward. But it's nice.

You let yourself enjoy it a few moments before saying, "I'm not going to ask you to not worry, I know that'd be pointless. But please, Yang. Don't feel you have to shoulder everything by yourself."

"I'm not-" You pull back slightly to glare. "I can handle it," is her substituted, grumbled protest.

"But you don't have to do it alone." When she opens her mouth to object again, you widen your eyes a fraction, and plead. "Please. I know you've been doing it for a long time, but please. For my sake, if nothing else, as your partner. As someone who cares about you."

She gapes. Then she laughs, and it's like she's dropped a heavy load at her feet. "Using my own words against me, Belladonna?"

"Whatever works." There's a responding smile on your face. It's approaching a smirk honestly but you don't care.

Meeting her gaze, you find her face is all fondness. Peace. "So long as it's you… yeah, it'll be easier if it's you."

You can't find any words to respond to that. So you just squeeze her, lightly, before pulling back, and standing. "Ready to go, then?"

"Mm. Just one more thing." Carefully, as if afraid, she tugs your arm; you earn a pleased nod when you sit. With some further gentle manhandling, and a slight increase in heart rate on your part, she gets you to sit with your legs spread-

-and then twists about and leans against you, back against your chest, head coming to rest a little below your chin, your arms getting pulled around her, her hands coming to rest on your forearms. She glances up at you, chin jutting up proudly into the air. "Can we stay like this, for a little?"

You blink. Once, twice, three times.

Smile.

"A little. They want to see you."

You stay that way a long time.

-0-

AN: Bumblebee practice. Hope folk enjoyed.