Writer's Note: So, a bit of explanation. Distractions shares an AU with Vigilante. The thing is, sometimes I feel like just writing some character-based fluff and nothing really plot-heavy, which often means that I'm writing fairly far in the future of the AU, since I decided to go with consistent updates over chronological content. Distractions is mostly about snapshots in Blake, Weiss, and Yang's relationship, and Vigilante is/will be more about their relationship starting. At some point, I'll be going back and moving some of these chapters into the main Vigilante work (just some, not all). This is one of those, and shows the three women before they actually started their relationship.
Trust
February 2nd, 2015
"What the hell is wrong with you?" A shrill voice shrieked, a scant few bars short of shattering glass. "You are barely able to walk upright and the first thing you do is run off and nearly get yourself killed!"
Blake rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, seriously reconsidering the notion of visiting Yang at the apartment she currently shared with Weiss. Well, more 'freeloaded at' than 'shared,' she thought, one hand still fiddling with the door handle.
Under normal conditions, she would just give the two women their space. They had known each other far longer than she had; they should be capable of working through whatever row they were having. 'Should' being the operative word. Still, if Weiss was this angry, there was bound to be a fairly good reason. Especially considering the blonde probably being screamed at.
Leaving her borrowed key by the door – the one Weiss had loaned her after Blake picked the lock one too many times – the black-haired Faunus steeled herself for the oncoming warzone, and walked into the apartment.
I found Yang propped up against the kitchen counter, her jaw clenched tight, the way it got when she was doing her best to hide her pain. Weiss was screaming at her, needle and thread in hand as she furiously did her best to repair the stitches Yang had managed to tear. Again.
The shorter woman was still mid-tirade, working quickly and glaring up at the blonde all the while. "First, it was your damn need to work out constantly, and now you're already out doing god-knows-what, when the only place you should be right now is bed. You. Moron!"
Apparently satisfied at the state of Yang's wounds, Weiss re-did the dressing, then hurled the bloodstained supplies into the trash.
The heiress spun, and found Blake standing in the entryway, gold eyes glinting as she watched the two. Turning a pink that the Faunus suspected had very little to do with her anger, Weiss threw herself at the faucet, scrubbing furiously at her hands before making for the door.
"Good. You're here. Since apparently she won't listen to me, maybe you can get her to see sense!" Red-faced and fuming, the heiress stormed out of the room, hands clenched in a desperate bid to keep from wrapping them around Yang's throat.
Blake waited until she heard a door slam before making her way over to the injured blonde. Yang hadn't moved, still sitting in a chair, head propped up on one elbow. Her mouth, normally grinning in a state of near-constant amusement, was one thinly-pressed line of pain.
"Headache or stitches?"
"Mostly the stitches," Yang said with a grimace, wincing as she reached for the little orange bottle of painkillers her doctor had prescribed. Popping one of the pills into her mouth, she swallowed, her arm returning to press gingerly against the wound in her side. "So ... she's mad."
"With reason." Blake drawled, eyeing the dressing herself. Given Weiss' recently developed skill in field medicine, she wasn't too worried, but it couldn't hurt to make sure Yang wasn't in danger of bleeding out. "It sounds like you very nearly got yourself killed. Again."
"I'm fine." Leaning heavily against the counter, the blonde tried to push herself up with one arm, her muscles straining, the failing to hold her weight. Rolling her eyes, Blake gingerly wrapped her arm under her shoulders, letting Yang lean on her as she walked them slowly to Weiss' sofa.
"No, you're not. You're barely standing, and ... what were you doing, exactly?"
"Saw a purse snatcher. Figured I could at least catch him."
"That isn't the way to help yourself heal," Blake sighed, letting the brawler's grip crush her fingers as she lowered the blonde onto the couch. "You're lucky you just ripped your stitches."
"I needed to do something."
"A feeling I understand. But if you start going stir-crazy again, call me. I'm sure I can find some board game to keep you occupied."
Yang huffed a pained little laugh, her still-cracked rib and the stitches in her side complaining at the motion. Holding her hand until the pain passed, Blake sat down beside the wounded girl. With an appreciative grunt, Yang's head flopped onto the Faunus' shoulder, blonde hair splayed across the back of the couch.
"Hey, can I ask a favor?" the blonde asked, muttering against Blake's arm.
"That depends. I'm not helping you sneak out to play superhero."
"Nah. Just ... tell me if it's asking too much, but can I ..." Yang shifted to look up at her. "Can I touch your ears?"
Of all the requests Blake expected, this hadn't been on the list. For her to stay, sure. Maybe for Blake to do something to keep Yang occupied, to keep her from being bored out of her mind, but this ...
Yang kept talking, babbling on while the Faunus mulled over the request. "It's just there's a lot of research stuff says the vibrations from cats help you heal faster or something, and I figured maybe-"
"That it would be therapeutic?"
"Something like that." She grinned sheepishly, and Blake cursed the blonde's ability to look endearing and guilty at the same time. "Sorry if I shouldn't have asked."
"Yang, my ears are ... it's complicated."
The blonde nodded, shifting further away on the couch. "I'm sorry. Forget I asked."
"No, it's ... Look, it's not universal, but for some Faunus, things like their ears or a tail ... trusting someone with them is a very," she paused, trying to phrase it tactfully. "It's a very intimate act."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Outside of the whole trust issue, my ears are like any humans'. You don't exactly run around letting people tickle yours. We're not ... there. Yet."
"Yet?"
"You heard me, Miss Hero." Blake let her head rest atop Yang's for a minute, breathing in the blonde's scent. Gunpowder and citrus, mixed with sweat from the dressing across her chest. "But, I do have an idea that could work for the both of us."
"And that is?"
"You let me brush your hair."
I froze, my head still cradled against Blake's shoulder.
I've always been cautious about my hair. Weiss would say obsessive, although she'd say it with that little smirk that means she knows I'd rather be teased about it than pitied. Blake gets it. Blake understands not having a parent, and how something as simple as a haircut – something that you share with them – can mean so much to you. She understands why I'm reluctant to change it, ever since I found the picture of my mother when she was young, wild hair splayed around her face.
I haven't let anyone touch my hair after that. I cut it myself, brush it myself, style it myself. Since I came back, I've let it grow as long as it could, tired of military regulations and keeping it in a tight knot at the back of my neck. It's a lengthy, massive, wild mess, and one that I wouldn't change for anything. No one touches it but me, and most of my friends are smart enough not to bring it up.
She has a point though. For her, there can't be much that's more vulnerable, more trusting, than letting me pet her ears. It might not be the same – we both have more than enough reasons for our respective intimacy issues – but the similarity is there.
I could refuse. I know she'd understand, which was probably the point. Something just as personal, just as dangerous to give away. It'd take a lot of trust to pass that privilege to someone else. Still ... I can't ask for that trust from her and then deny it myself.
Swallowing to clear my throat, I nodded, and said the one word I couldn't have imagined myself saying.
"Okay."
Blake stiffened, just for a moment. I think she'd honestly expected me to say no. Then she slipped out from under me, settled me against the cushions, and went for a brush.
Honestly, it was ... different.
It had been years since I let anyone do this. Not since Summer died. Not since I found out about my birth mother – since I found her photo hidden away under a toolbox in the attic. I vaguely remember Summer giving me pigtails when I was young, an older me teaching Ruby how to do them herself. I remember big hands guiding mine around straw-colored hair, smaller ones trying the motions on mine before we messed with my sister's brown locks. But this ...
Blake had definitely used the right word. It absolutely qualified as 'intimate.'
Blake's touch was not the gentle reassurance of a mother, or the playful tugging of a sister. I winced at the first few tentative pulls of the brush - not from pain, although I almost expected it.
I could smell her behind me, lavender and the scent of old books still clinging faintly to her hands. Each stroke of her palm sent shivers down my spine, each touch of her hand made my heart pound in my chest. There was something about it, about giving Blake this level of control over something that important to me. Of being at her mercy. The feeling was intoxicating, somehow managing to be both relaxing and stimulating, simultaneously calming me down and driving me nuts as she worked.
If Blake noticed the effect she was having on me, she didn't acknowledge it, her other hand steadily smoothing the locks straightened by the brush. Her fingers tugged and twisted from one side to the other, working their way through yellow tangles and golden curls. Her controlling grip teased it into shape, braiding it into one long rope that lay in her capable hands.
Then she was done, her hands pulling away as the long braid laid along my spine.
"Does it hold up to your standards?" she asked, hands resting on my shoulders, her mouth barely an inch from my ear.
I looked up at her, calm golden eyes staring down at me. Unreadable, like always. She was so close. I could make out the mascara on her eyelashes, the touch of pink around her lips. I leaned back, my mouth just slightly open, waiting and welcoming ...
And felt her fingers stop my lips.
I jerked away, the motion making my ribs twinge. I coughed, trying to focus on anything other than the blast of embarrassment rushing through me.
"Sorry, I guess I read the signals wrong. I shouldn't have-"
"It's not that, trust me." Blake stepped back, looking almost as awkward as I felt. "I ... I made a promise to someone. One that you really do want me to keep."
I stared at her quizzically, waiting for an explanation that didn't come.
"Plus," she continued. "If we do this, I doubt either of us will be able to stop."
"Not sure I'd want to." I muttered, somewhat mollified by the knowledge that she did seem to want this too. Just not now.
"... three weeks. If you can wait three weeks, we'll talk. Or not. Your choice." Blake hesitated, then pushed one last curl of blonde hair behind my ear, her hand lingering on my face. Then her expression hardened, lips pursed as she glared down at me.
"But let me be clear. You go out on your own again, and after Weiss is finished ripping you a new one, I will handcuff you to your bed until you're healed. Understand, Xiao Long?"
"You know, that doesn't actually sound that bad."
Blake let out the groan she normally reserved for my puns. Flopping down on the sofa, she cautiously leaned against my shoulder, waiting to make sure she wasn't putting pressure on my ribs. "You are not going to make this next month easy for me, are you?"
I grinned, nuzzling a little deeper against her. "I'll be good. I may not get what you're up to, but I trust you."
"Yeah, I suppose you do." She just sat there for a moment, lost in thought and staring blankly at the wall. Something brushed my hand, and I looked down to see her fingers uncertainly wrapping around mine.
Slowly, carefully, Blake gripped my hand and raised it to her head. She gingerly pressed my fingers against one of her ears, the pads of my fingertips just barely brushing the black fur.
I tried to meet her eyes, watching her expression and waiting for some sign of what she wanted me to do. Cautiously, I flexed, her ear twitching at my touch, then scratched lightly at the spot where the ear met her skull. Blake held me there for a minute, then just as suddenly pulled me away, her face several shades redder.
"Three weeks," she said, and rose to leave. "Be nice to Weiss."
"I know, she worries about me."
For a moment, I could have sworn Blake was about to say something, her mouth already open before she could catch herself. Then she shook her head, sighing as she moved to the door. "Get some sleep."
Then she was gone, and all that remained was the memory of her hands on my hair, and the scent of lavender and old paper lingering in the air.
I had a feeling that sleep would be a long time coming.
