Alright, here we go! Always feels super weird to finish something short right after a long fic, but here we are. Hope y'all enjoy!

Yang

Blake is broken.

There's a lot of that going around lately. Yang can't look in the mirror without remembering everything she was—should be—isn't.

Sometimes it helps, having her dad around, and sometimes it really doesn't. He knows what it's like to sit in bed for hours wondering why it's so hard to swing his legs over the side and get up. But didn't he get through so much worse than this? Isn't it fucked up that she's shutting down over a few pounds of flesh and bone like that could ever compare to Summer?

She admits all that, one night. And he smiles and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, "You got me through it. Remember? You're way stronger than me, Yang. You're gonna be okay." And she will. Probably. Breaking wasn't the end of his story, after all... but it sure as hell feels like the end of her own. How is she supposed to believe it'll be better someday when she can't even imagine what better would look like?

The simple answer seems to be that she can't, but life keeps happening to her anyway. There's the day she picks up the broom for the first time. The morning she finally gets up the courage to put on her new arm. The moment she climbs on Bumblebee and does what the Yang she used to be would have done, in a way that Yang wouldn't have known to do it. Somewhere in there, somehow, she stops hating herself.

It's amazing how much easier it is to get better when she actually feels like she deserves to. How good it is to feel steady again. And how it only takes one look at Blake to unravel it all, like the tide came in and knocked her off her feet. She's not sure which way is up, anymore. Or how to breathe.

Okay. Okay, so she's not as better as she thought she was. That doesn't mean she can't get her own bag. She doesn't need Blake hovering like this, like her dad used to when she first woke up. Like she's still broken. She's not. Not anymore. And if it's getting a little harder to act whole in front of the others, well. That's for her to know.

It's late at night. She's on her back on the floor, her left arm folded across her stomach and her right splayed out as wide as it'll go, which isn't very since her prosthetic is on a counter ten feet away. It reminds her uncomfortably of Brunswick, but there's no helping it. Saphron and Terra only have the one guest bed and the couch, and Maria and Qrow claimed those. She's just glad team RWBY is sleeping in the kitchen rather than the basement.

Well. Some of them are sleeping. Yang sighs and turns over onto her side. It's fine, she grumbles at herself. You can sleep now. You'll wake up. She shuts her eyes and listens to the others breathe. Weiss is muttering softly from where she's stretched out under the kitchen table with one of the couch cushions. Ruby is curled up in the open doorway that leads to the hall. Probably a good thing she tends to wake up early, because someone's definitely going to trip over her tomorrow morning. Blake...

There's a sharp intake of breath. Yang's eyes snap open.

For a second she thinks she must have imagined it—but then it happens again, quieter this time. Blake is keeping her breathing as slow and deep as she can, but every so often it hitches and stutters. Like she's trying to cry without making any noise. She's very, very good at it.

Yang pushes herself up onto her elbow, but Blake's on her right side and it's hard to look over and keep her balance at the same time. So she sits up all the way, her eyes straining into the dark. The shaky breathing stops.

It's so quiet that making a sound feels wrong. Yang scoots closer, every movement glacially slow, like she's moving through a dream. Then she's finally close enough to make out Blake's outline. She's on her side, facing the wall, her arms tucked around her stomach. Looking sound asleep, except for the fact that she's still holding her breath.

"Blake?"

She must sense the jig is up, because she whispers back, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't."

Yang waits for a while for Blake to say something. She doesn't. A year ago, she could've just reached out and squeezed her shoulder. A year ago, she could've pulled her into a two-armed hug. A year ago, she wouldn't have been crying on Jaune's sister's kitchen floor in the first place.

"What's wrong?" she asks instead.

Blake lets out a shaky breath. "I hope you don't expect the whole ten page essay right now."

Yang rubs her right bicep, just above the cap. "Maybe just the summary."

"I guess I'm a little shaken up. But it's fine, really."

There's a heavy silence. Both of them are thinking about the long clawed fingers reaching out, the leaden paralysis. Blake's dull acceptance.

"It's okay not to be okay."

"I know," Blake says, too quickly.

"I'm here. Whatever you need."

"It's okay. Really. You should go back to sleep."

Old Yang would have known just how to push. New Yang chokes on the fear of going too far and waking up to an empty space, and goes back to sleep.

What follows is the longest day of her life—but somehow that night she doesn't pass out the instant her head hits the pillow.

It's dark, or as dark as it ever gets in the city that never sleeps. She's out on a balcony, bracing herself against the railing and the bitter Atlesian wind. Trying to freeze away that same nightmare. She doesn't hear anything, but something tells her to turn, and when she does Blake is standing in the doorway with her hands tucked under her arms.

"H-hey," she says, wincing as another gust picks up.

"Hey."

Yang starts to shrug out of her coat, and Blake puts both hands out. "No, no. You don't have to—"

She sighs. And then, before she can think better of it, she holds it open instead. Blake tucks herself in under her arm. For a minute they just stand there, and she's so cold that it shocks Yang right out of her thoughts. The ghosts of her dream fade. But once her partner stops shivering, there's nothing to distract her from the fluttering warmth in the pit of her stomach.

"Couldn't sleep?" Blake asks.

"Nah. It's way too cold in there."

"So you... went outside."

"Yep!"

"Right." Blake smirks. Then it fades into a frown, and she leans further into Yang's side. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Yeah," she admits, glancing away. "It's fine, though. They're getting better."

Blake's quiet for a while. They stand there, looking out towards distant lights in the sky. Not stars, not this close to the city. Just the fleet.

"You can talk to me, you know." Blake fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. "What I said about protecting each other... I didn't mean just on the battlefield."

"They're getting better," Yang says again. Because they should be. Blake is back and Adam is dead, and maybe they won't go away just like that, but they should be getting better.

"...Okay."

She waits, expecting Blake to head back inside and go back to sleep. Instead, Yang feels the weight of her head on her shoulder. "I'm here," she murmurs. "Whatever you need."

Isn't it funny? She's said that to Blake so many times, but hearing it scares her more than Salem.

Blake sighs and pulls away—not completely, just enough to turn so Yang can't see her face. "I'm sorry. I know I'm probably the last person you want to open up to right now."

"Huh?"

"And I don't want to push, I just hope you'll talk to someone. Maybe Ruby or Weiss?"

"Blake." Yang squeezes her shoulder. "That's not what I meant. I'm fine."

She doesn't say anything. Probably because they both know that's not true.

"I will be fine," Yang corrects herself. "I've had this stupid nightmare enough times to know how this works. I'll be tired and out of it for a bit, but I'll be better by tomorrow. There's no point unloading on someone else."

Blake frowns, but she doesn't argue this time. She moves as if to go towards the door.

"Wait." Yang swallows. "What... what was that?"

"What?" But Blake won't meet her eye, which means she knows exactly what.

"Why would you be the last person I'd want to talk to?"

Her shoulders curl in. "I only meant... it makes sense if you're not ready to trust me yet."

"I thought we were past this. That's what it means to protect each other—it's trusting each other."

"I'm sorry. I—"

"Blake." Yang takes her hand and squeezes it. "I'm not angry. I'm really not. I just wish you'd stop punishing yourself. I want to move on. I want to go back to normal."

"I don't."

Yang flinches back. But Blake doesn't turn on her heel and disappear back inside—she stands her ground.

"Normal was me taking and taking everything you had to give, like some kind of parasite. I won't do that again. I won't take you for granted like that. And if you don't want to talk about something, that's okay. You don't owe me anything. But I can't let you take care of me like before. I have to earn it."

Yang opens her mouth to push back—love shouldn't be something you earn. She doesn't want something transactional. But there's a difference between trading and reciprocating, and... when was the last time she reciprocated? Not the caring and support she likes to give other people, but the vulnerability that comes from letting someone else take care of her. She's done it with Weiss, and with her dad... but only when she had to. Only when there was nothing left of her to give.

She shuts her eyes. "I'm scared," she admits. "I don't know why. It's easier to focus on other people, and let my problems sort themselves out."

Blake leans against the railing, shivering when her palms touch cold metal. "Does it feel like they'll leave, if you admit you need them?"

All the breath whooshes out of her at once. "Oh."

"I won't. No one will, Yang—you deserve everything you give to other people, a thousand times over."

It's suddenly very difficult to speak. "Yeah. Well. You deserve all that, too. You don't have to earn it like you said."

"Don't I?"

"You've made mistakes, but so have I. You think I never wished my dad would've kicked my ass for letting Ruby go off alone like that?"

"It's not the same."

"No," Yang says, thinking of her talk with Weiss. "It's not. But even if your regrets are heavier than most, we all have them. And maybe... maybe you could forgive yourself someday, like you'd forgive someone else."

Blake's silence is telling.

Yang sighs and tilts her head back, staring out into the night sky. It looks so empty without the stars, but the shattered moon shines bright and beautiful.

"Do you ever feel broken?"

Blake makes a noise—the scornful half-laugh she reserves only for herself. "All the time."

"I did too. For a really long time."

"But you're not! You're strong, Yang. You're not broken."

It's the way she says it—something clicks into place, and Yang finally understands what's been missing all this time. Why it's felt so much like speaking almost the right language whenever she tries to banish Blake's self-loathing. Yang knows that a break is an event—a knock at the door that tears the world apart at its seams. Someone's taught Blake that broken is something you are.

"I was," she says, and smiles. "For a long time it felt like I was going in circles—I could only start to get better once I stopped hating myself." She risks a glance to her left, and puts her arm back around Blake's shoulders. "I wish I knew how, so I could tell you. I wish you could see yourself like I do. Because you are worth it, Blake. And being broken doesn't mean your story ends. You keep on growing, and changing, and healing."

Blake looks away. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just... can't."

"Then... trust that I believe that. Trust me to choose who I think is worth caring about."

"You're doing it again."

"Huh?"

Blake moves in closer. Her eyes are narrowed, and there's a fierceness in them that Yang hasn't seen in a long time. "If I'm really worth anything, you need to trust me when I tell you that you could never ask too much from me. Because you deserve so much more than all of me, and even if you don't think that, I do. I won't give up on you if you need help."

"Okay." It comes out as a croak. Yang swallows. "Okay," she says again, and this time she can feel the strength of it, like roots spreading out from her feet to anchor her. "I trust you."

Blake's eyes catch the moonlight, and for an instant they glow from the inside. "I trust you, too."

It's like a wall comes down between them. Not that it's all fixed—Yang still has to swallow that spike of anxiety whenever Blake asks if she's okay and the answer is no. But for the first time it feels like they've stopped chasing the impossible hope of getting back to where they were. Even if in some ways they're not there yet, in other ways they're better.

The only trouble is that Yang's old crush—the one she's been trying unsuccessfully to kill since the fall of Beacon—doesn't feel like a crush anymore. It's gotten deeper and stronger and scarier than that.

But it's fine. Completely and totally fine! Until Blake taps her on the shoulder, the morning of their first real mission in Atlas, and Yang goes completely nonverbal. It turns out her hair is even curlier when it doesn't have gravity weighing it down, and with most of it gone her ears are much more prominent. They're half perked, which gives her expression a nervous, hopeful look even though she's trying to keep it neutral.

"I've been thinking about what you said."

There are a lot of stupid things Yang could respond with. By the time she realizes that, "Cool!" is one of them, it's already too late.

Blake's eyes flick down, and Yang notices for the first time that she's holding out her sword. The whole thing, now—there's a band of gold around the place where it snapped.

"Oh," she breathes. Which is also an incredibly stupid thing to say.

"It's called Kintsugi. I guess... I wanted a reminder that it's okay to be a little broken sometimes."

Yang realizes what's about to come out of her mouth just soon enough to be horrified by how cheesy it is... but not soon enough to stop it. "It's beautiful." She is definitely not looking at the sword.

Blake has definitely noticed. She brushes a lock of hair self-consciously behind her ear... but she's smiling. All of a sudden the sick mess of anxiety in the pit of Yang's stomach melts away. It's been so lonely, running the thought of them over and over in her head without quite knowing what they should be to one another. Now she thinks she doesn't have to. They can figure that out together.

The silence has gone on a beat too long. "I like your hair," Yang says softly.

"Thanks." Blake's smile goes wide and crooked in a way Yang's never seen before—and wants to see again, every day for the rest of their lives. "I guess I wanted a change, too."

Over the next few weeks they gravitate towards one another, so slowly that they don't have to acknowledge that they're moving at all. It makes everything new, which she thinks is exactly what Blake needs. At the same time, when they go to a club with loud music and louder people and dance like a pair of teenagers with nothing more important to do, it feels very normal. Which is exactly what Yang's been missing.

It probably should've occurred to at least one of them that luxuriating in the time they have might not be a great idea when they're fighting a war against an ancient evil Grimm goddess. But it didn't, and it's a long time before they have a moment to themselves again.

Blake steals it for them by grabbing Yang's arm and leading her away from the others the first time there's enough of a lull in the action. Like most lulls in the action these days, it's the calm before the storm. "This isn't a goodbye," she says, and doesn't let go. "I just... I know I haven't been able to talk about it. This. You and me."

"You don't have to. We've talked about the really important stuff, right?"

"You're so patient."

Yang can't help her incredulous laugh. "Nobody's ever called me that before."

Blake smirks. "You don't say."

"I mean, people have told me I'm im-patient. And stubborn, and reckless, and—"

Blake steps closer, and Yang forgets what she was going to say.

"Close your eyes."

She does—and now Blake is so close she can feel it. One of her hands slides over her shoulder. The other cups her jaw, and she must feel Yang's heart racing because she pauses. "Is this okay?"

Yang definitely can't talk right now, so she leans forward. Just enough to show her, yes. It's a little too far—they bump noses, and Blake laughs, and she's still smiling when she presses their lips together.

It's several minutes before they come back to themselves, reluctantly, because Weiss is yelling at them to, "Get in here and tell Jaune his plan is terrible!"

"Well," Blake sighs. "That was nice while it lasted."

Yang groans and rests their foreheads together. Her chest aches like her heart is trying to stop itself, like if it only could then this moment would never end. Because once it ends they'll be in another moment, and then another, a whole terrifying future full of unpredictable moments. She doesn't want for them to be broken again.

But they can't be invulnerable. All they can do is try and fail and try again, and trust themselves to wear their cracks and dents with grace.