XI
Firelight
Yang opened her eyes and found herself in a blank expanse.
She took a few tentative steps. None made a sound as she trod over some even, characterless surface. It induced her anxiety, like everything about the place. There were things absent here, things one doesn't notice until they've gone missing. It was strangely lightless; no sign of sun or moon, not giant lamp nor shadow that followed her. Rather, it seemed like she was walking through a dense fog that itself was imperceptible, yet somehow still obscured everything.
"Hello!" Yang shouted. Her voice disappeared into the sky, not an echo to be heard.
There was no way of telling her direction. She grit her teeth, it was maddening. Were it not for the pull of gravity, Yang could not tell which way was up or down. Her thoughts snowballed, verges on avalanche, but before she let it overcome her, she buried her worries and simply picked a direction. She walked.
Lost but confident that she could get herself to a point of reference, Yang pressed on. She continued that way for a long time, an immeasurable time. She searched her pockets for her scroll but she must have forgotten it. As the minutes became hours and nothing changed, Yang's perseverance began to wane. Weariness dug into her muscles with taloned fingers and her boots seemed to become leaden. Even the blandness of the scenery started to make her eyes water. She began forcing herself blink.
A not insignificant part of Yang wanted to stop. The loneliness and growing hopelessness made her want to collapse and cry out. Around her, nothing, and no one that she could reach out to. Her shouts wouldn't carry. She knew she couldn't stop; no one was coming to help her. Yang had to help herself.
She sighed, and she continued her aimless journey in the last direction she remembered moving towards.
The next step missed the ground.
Nothing about the surroundings had changed. But she was falling.
Her heart jumped to her throat, and a harsh pivot strained her core as she tried to catch onto something. She flipped violently, her hands flailed out towards her former position as she torqued, and by will or luck alone she managed to gain purchase on something solid.
The force jarred her shoulders. Her muscles complained, pulled to the limit without warning. A small cry of pain escaped between clenched teeth, and Yang forced a few rapid breaths to help compose herself and get her floundering heartbeat under control. She let out a long breath and tapped her head against the surface of whatever it was she was hanging onto, an even and hard precipice as inscrutable as the rest of the blank environment.
"Yang!"
A new voice. Not her own. Utterly alien in this place. Too warm and filled with concern for a locale as devoid as life as this monotone wasteland.
Yang looked up by instinct. Out of the blankness materialized Blake, her figure blazing with color in the dead white. Her skin glowed with heat and life, and her eyes shone like mirrored gold, but the beauty of her features was deeply scarred by the flaw of fear. Black hair swirled around her as if in a gale, but Yang could feel no wind here.
Blake's reached her hand out to her from further above, upon that invisible ledge. Yang searched but found nothing, no handhold to use to to close the distance. Fearing that once she let go she would be unable to regain her current grip, she decided she had to throw herself upwards. But already she was so tired from walking and hanging on.
I'm sorry, Blake.
A longing erupted in her chest, and Yang tensed her shoulders.
This weight is too much for me. Too much for you.
Yang's muscles went taut and pulled against her handholds with all her might.
I'm sorry I hurt you.
She hurtled. But already it felt like too little. Still her hand shot out towards Blake's.
I hope you'll understand.
Their fingertips brushed. Her hand grasped and closed on air.
One day.
A noise tore through the blank infinity. Blake's voice. It drove a knife through her chest. Above, her terrified face disappeared into the fog. Once absent winds were suddenly in her ears, howling as she plummeted.
She was falling. The shadows crept in on Yang's vision. Her heart beat out of time. She was falling.
Yang heaved in her bed like her soul was trying to escape. Lilac eyes snapped open and darted wildly as she fought for air. The dark of the room crushed in on all sides. Yang reached for the nightstand, grasping.
Nothing.
Confusion set in as she flailed. She stopped, forced herself to be still, and took a moment to study her racing thoughts. The hammering in her chest was the only sound in the still, and as she caught her breath the torrent in her ears came down to a dull roar. Soon, only the buzzing in her head remained.
Yang remembered. She hadn't worn her prosthetic to bed. The ghost of her missing arm burned at the end of her right bicep, and she touched its end with a wince that she tried to hide out of habit.
The weight of her body seemed greater suddenly, and she let herself fall back into the bed. There she lied for a few minutes, collecting her thoughts while she wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. Details of her dream were already sinking into obscurity.
She remembered the falling. An empty world. No beginning and no end. She was lost and alone. She slipped and...
Blake was there.
A deep breath escaped her in tatters. Hazy memories from before began to surface. What had she done?
Yang felt the tears collecting. She forced them down. It was an effort and it took a few minutes. After gathering herself, Yang swallowed, found her throat dry, and looked to the wall against her bed.
Her partner was sleeping on the other side. Mere feet from each other yet worlds apart. So close, but so far.
Her left hand pressed against the wall, her fingers curling against it as her frustration simmered. She glared into the dark, but anger turned to sorrow as her mind began allocating blame. Yang knew she created this mess, beginning with her mercurial flight. She couldn't even begin to think of how to make things right.
She kicked her feet out, enduring a loathsome clawing in her stomach. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her head hung, she combed her fingers lamely through her hair. Now acclimated to the dark, her eyes flit about the shadows. Eventually she located her scroll on the floor and checked the time. 04:23, its face read. Next to where she found her scroll and jacket was the photo of her team that she'd carried across Anima with herself. She picked it up tenderly, as though it might crumble if it was further mishandled, and set it on the nightstand.
Sleep fled before Yang as more of her mental faculties began to ignite. She donned her prosthetic, carefully fitting it until the tell-tale click of its mount sounded. She flexed her robotic fingers a few times and looked at the palm.
Even several months after deciding to accept the artificial limb as part of her new reality, there still felt like there was a disconnect, like she was piloting a part of herself by wire. It made her constantly aware of a part of herself that was no longer there. She worried, in a way that was distinctly not like herself, about how she was perceived.
Blake did not deserve that.
Her heart was in the right place, but Yang knew how Blake would feel seeing her as she was. She struggled to brush her own hair. Only recently had she developed enough dexterity to passingly maneuver a pair of chopsticks again. The traitorous nerves in her remaining hand forced her to act to preserve her dignity, and her broken mind made her a danger to those closest to her. How could anyone see her in such a pathetic state and believe that she was still qualified to be a huntress, much less one's partner?
Blake deserved better.
A single tear cut a cold trail across her cheek. Yang rubbed it out angrily and wished she didn't have these emotions.
Sleep was a lost cause. Yang traded her pajama pants for her denim and threw on her jacket.
It wasn't over. As long as she could still take another step, she would.
In the predawn gloom, the Mistrali crags were still clear and free of clouds. Fog filled the valley below, and the wind was fresh and cold. Yang sat in the middle of the yard, staring out into the lonely world.
She planted her hands on her knees and closed her eyes. Finding her center, Yang straightened her back and her chin tilted slightly upwards. She swelled her chest with the mountain air. The slight taste of dew and lime danced at the back of her throat, and the air she breathed came back up in steaming wreaths that spirited against her face. She repeated the practice precisely a number of times over several minutes.
This helped bring her down from the heights of anxiety. The focus took her mind off of wild imaginings that set her thinking. Errant thoughts were given a chance to arise and pass. Yang knew she wasn't good at letting go, whether it was dwelling on something or obsessively pursuing answers. For thinking too much on something, she acted without thinking.
Acting without thinking cost her an arm.
Yang exhaled and decided she was done with meditation. She threw her legs out from their crossed position beneath her, pivoted onto her belly, and began a set of push-ups. One-handed. Because using a mechanical implement was… cheating, really. They came easily at first, as always, but the real objective was to get herself warmed up. Again she shifted, from one exercise to the next until she felt her heart beating in her ears. The heat that radiated from her body before long pushed back against the cold air, a thin sheen of sweat gathered on her brow.
Once she was finished with warm-ups, she shot up to her feet and walked to the fence. The yard was spacious, but the cliff made it seem more constrained than it actually was. She gazed off again into the darkened sky for a long moment, then she walked back to the center of the yard.
Her jacket came off. With a puff of dust it hit the open ground, and Yang walked a few paces from it. She faced towards the cliff and rolled her shoulders.
Yang planted her feet, left foot leading. She raised her hands into a boxing stance and focused. Her breathing stilled. She felt the force from the ground up. She twisted at the waist and threw a hard right, the air seeming to pop at the end. She held her pose, then she returned to her basic stance and repeated the motion. Until it became instinct, repetition was the path to perfection. For so long, all of her muscles knew exactly how to move, where to contract, how to extend to deliver the maximal payload of force.
Her artificial arm introduced a new dynamic. The lack of feedback combined with her initial hyperawareness of what it was doing and where it was in relation to the rest of her body made her more conscientious about her fighting style. It hearkened a change in Yang's attitude towards combat. Visceral pleasure became secondary to utility. Instead of all-out brawling, counterpunching found more of a place in her repertoire. So many have thought of her as exclusively a pugilist, but Yang liked it that way; the flutter kicks always caught them by surprise.
Several minutes of practicing the same punch grew monotonous before long. Yang shot her left hand in combination without considering it, and from there she fell into a mental spar.
Her clone came at her. She had a wild hook in store for her. Yang ducked the imaginary assault on the open side. Two piston-like hooks were her response. Then she hooked her lead foot back to trip with her heel. And finally, her hammering collarbreaker punctuated the series. Oof, GG, Shadow Yang.
Yang felt her heart drum in the still. The rush of blood was in her ears. The sky had brightened to a pale blue but still the land remained dark. Between everything, she'd spent close to an hour out here already. Sweat trickled down her back and arms. The fog also began to creep up from the valley, ghostly tendrils slithering across the edges of the yard.
Yang took a breath and stared off into the dawn sky.
After a moment's rest and contemplation, Yang settled into another bout of shadowboxing.
This time, more loose. Time to Yang out.
"Heh," she said to herself. Her hands whipped out to their sides with a snap, and she danced with an invisible adversary for a moment. A jab tested. She lunged forward, a feint. Suddenly, she shuffled back, her hands up to deflect; right, left, right. She ducked low and threw an elbow, then she exploded with a left cross that turned her in place. The toe of her back foot left a semicircle gouge in the earth, bringing her around to face the house.
Her eyes widened, a sharp breath forcing her lips apart.
Blake.
Their regard met with startling force. Still dressed in her yukata, Blake had at some point seated herself on the stoop leading out of the training room. Yang had no way of knowing when, as this was Blake and her approach was always silent. Her hair was somewhat disheveled, like she had just gotten out of bed, but her eyes were large and attentive.
Her feline ears betrayed fear, leaned back. Blake got rapidly to her feet.
"Wait!" said Yang, the word leaping from her throat before she could think. Always before she could think. She didn't have a thought to follow it and hesitated. Her hand hung in the air, open and pleading for a moment.
Blake stopped mid-step and glanced back, her ears still flattened against her head. She clutched a fist close to her chest. Gold irises glittered from beneath her raven hair, but they avoided direct contact yet.
"I didn't want to interrupt you," she said, an attempt to excuse herself. Yang grimaced. Blake's voice was still haggard, maybe moreso than when they last spoke. She relaxed her stance and she walked slowly towards Blake, picking up her jacket along the way.
"I was just blowing off some steam," Yang said, playing off the surprise at suddenly seeing her. Blake lowered that tensed hand from her chest, some color returning to her fingers; her feline ears raised back up to their rested position, but her face went slack. She considered Yang directly, eyes bemused.
"Really."
Yang stared and gradually screwed up her brows, wondering how she'd misspoken. Then she realized that she was literally throwing off steam from her skin, her body heat visible in the morning chill.
"That was… not on-purpose," Yang said, an implied I swear in her eyes.
Blake studied Yang for a moment, and then her lips quirked at the edges. A soft smile emerged. Yang felt her jaw unwind, and her teeth thanked her for the relaxation. But too soon, Blake's expression waned and she was gazing off to Yang's side, drawing her yukata close.
Yang watched and cast her eyes about, knowing she was partially responsible for the tension. Her throat knotted and she swallowed uncomfortably, searching for words that would sound right. Blake's eyes seemed a little puffy, like she had been crying for a while. Not recently, but still the signs were there. Self-loathing crept at the recesses of her mind, but Yang let her defiance flare, a torch to ward off the shadow of doubt.
"How's your throat?" she asked, just above the sound of the trade winds' passage.
"A little worse," said Blake, an eye winced shut. "But it'll get better through the day."
Yang thought about what she could do. She had no intention of holding Blake to a conversation sounding like that, although she sensed that's exactly what Blake herself wanted. Her anxiety creeping, Yang focused on Blake's health first. If Yang was honest with herself, that was her priority anyway. She could work on herself later.
"Do you want some tea?" Yang smiled, gesturing towards her own throat with her left hand. "I used to make some for Ruby whenever she got a sore throat. She's not much of a tea drinker, but…"
Blake's gaze returned to Yang, and when she reflected the smile it felt like a homecoming.
"I would like that," Blake said. Evidently tired of contending with the cold, Blake turned and led the way back into the house.
Yang cast her gaze back towards the eastern sky. The sun began to peek over the limestone bluffs, and with a sigh of relief she felt like she had finally taken a step towards making things right.
One step at a time.
The morning light did not reach the inside of the house. Quiet and dark, the two navigated the stairs and parlor with the same caution they exercised in the mines. Yang hadn't turned any lights on to avoid disturbing the other residents of the house, and Blake simply didn't need them. Now on the way back, Yang relied on Blake to lead the way.
Midway through the parlor, Blake halted and Yang stumbled into her. She thought she saw Blake shoot her a glance over her shoulder, but Yang had her hands full keeping herself and her partner upright.
"H-hey, watch it!" Blake said through her teeth.
"Sorry!" Yang winced and promptly took her hands off of Blake's waist. Her throat cleared, and she directed her attention towards other thoughts. "What are you doing?"
The shadows composing Blake's ears fanned minutely. "There's someone else in the kitchen."
Yang lofted a brow. "So?" she said, her voice returning to a normal timbre. "Let's go say hi." Yang brushed lightly around Blake. She thought she heard a hiccup from her partner, but thought nothing of it besides how strangely cute it was.
Blake, who had been holding her breath, heaved a sigh and dropped all pretenses of stealth. Yang led them to the kitchen, but she found it… dark. Yang stood in the archway, her brows furrowed.
"Blake, there's no one—"
Light flooded the room, and fire prickled at Yang's eyes. At the same time she heard Blake's cry from close behind. Yang brought up the back of her left hand to wipe away the defensive tears. Her vision cleared, and from the blur resolved a pastel-colored figure, the glowering personification of perky aggression.
Nora Valkyrie stood beside the lightswitch, a spatula spinning effortlessly in the palm of her other hand. A crooked grin crept across her lips as she set her eyes upon them like Beowolves on a couple of hapless hikers.
"Did you two sneak out again?" she asked with feigned severity, her turquoise eyes narrow but loaded with suggestion.
Yang forced her eyes to open to their normal width, slowly adjusting to the glare of the lamp. She wasn't as dense as she let on sometimes, and Nora's joke struck a nerve with all the force of her beloved hammer. It was a joke, right? Yang laughed warily, for Nora, also, was more perceptive than she seemed.
"What are you even talking about?" Yang asked, ignorance feigned.
The grin Nora wore broadened still. "Oh, don't play dumb," she said as she snapped the spatula up in her fingers. "You and Blake went on an adventure without us! And now you're sneaking back in again?—awfully suh-spi-shus to me!"
Yang heard the sound of Blake's hand smacking into her forehead. It took a moment but it made sense that Ruby or Weiss must have told JNR about the 'adventure' Nora was referring to. As the realization dawned in Yang's eyes, Nora's grin expanded to frightening proportions.
"I, uh. Yeah." Such was the eloquence Yang could muster. A moment passed in silence, and she decided to voice her skepticism. "How long were you waiting in the dark?"
"Oh, not too long," Nora answered vaguely, her eyes again squinted with unspecified mischief.
Yang cleared her throat. Her eyes swept the kitchen and found a glaring omission in the present company. "And where's Ren?"
Nora giggled. "Ren's just getting the things from the pantry." Her voice dropped low, conspiratorial. "We're making... pancakes!" she growled. She practically vibrated, her bouncy ginger hair shaking around her rosy cheeks.
Yang looked back towards Blake, who was the picture of misery. If Blake had any thoughts about the way the conversation was going, she didn't interject, but she was certainly showing hints. Looking back to Nora, Yang offered up a shrug.
"Need any help?"
"Oh, no," said Nora, the spatula in her grip wantonly reflecting light. "Ren and I can handle it. You can go ahead and make your tea, and then you and Blake can relax while we take care of breakfast!"
She twitched her eye at Nora's inflections.
"That's awfully generous of you." Blake finally put in her two lien, and what must have been the roughness commanded Nora's attention. Her grin vanished, replaced by the look of someone who had just heard a mouse growl.
"Yeah," she said, whispering as though Blake wasn't able to hear, "definitely get her that tea."
Blake went to sit in the parlor while Yang remained in the kitchen, exposed to the radiation of Nora's morning mood. She wasn't the type to pry—Nora's methods were much less subtle and about as tactical as the grenade launcher she her hammer doubled as. For a mercy, Ren came back up from the pantry with his arms full of dry ingredients and stole Nora's attention away. Yang could finally resume avoiding the question of her relationship with Blake.
Yang glanced into the parlor occasionally and witnessed Blake going through the stages of choosing a read. The first look, she was fingering through the spines of a few books lying on the coffee table. The next, she had one of them open in her lap. And then… she was still on the first page. Either it wasn't very interesting or Blake couldn't focus on the activity.
The kettle whistled, and Nora, unable to help herself, yelled, "It's ready!" Ren shook his head and muttered an aside about "inside voices" as Yang walked up to the range. Ren grabbed the tea service while Yang measured out the tea leaves and fed them into the kettle. She then searched through the cabinets and found the honey jar, and she added a generous dollop to the cup intended for Blake. And she added some for herself, because heck.
The noise levels were like night and day when Yang crossed the threshold into the parlor. Finally there was some quiet, but Yang found that it lacked tranquility.
At the center of it was Blake. Her chosen book sat closed in her lap, the attempt to read it surrendered. Instead, Blake stared off and only acknowledged Yang when she announced her arrival.
"Tea for two!" she said, attempting to brighten her partner's gloom. For her efforts, Yang got a glum smile. The tea tray and all its goods were set down on the table, and she reached out for the teapot. Yang stopped short. Her attention shifted and she noticed Blake watching her hands carefully. Yang twitched her fingers and made a low sound in her throat, and carefully she poured the tea out, her left hand maneuvering the kettle.
Steam spilled from the earthenware cups once Yang was finished, and she gave Blake's a quick stirring with one of the spoons she brought out. Properly mixed, she set the drink in front of Blake. With the scent of fragrant mint filling the air around them, Yang walked around the table and eased into the sofa to Blake's right.
"Drink up," Yang said, then busying herself with cooling her own serving. "You'll feel better afterward." Her eyes drifted to the closed book.
The urge to go for the low hanging fruit was overwhelming. What's the matter, Blake? Not smutty enough for you? At this point she was willing to go over the top if it meant getting Blake to crack her melancholy, but her better senses told her to avoid that one while scalding hot liquid was within reach.
Yang shifted her eyes between the various subjects. Blake, the tea, the inscrutable distance at which she was staring. Yang smothered her mischievous urges and expressed it with a sigh.
"I'm listening."
Blake flicked an ear. Her head turned slowly and she addressed Yang with the same watchful gaze she had seen out in the yard. She stared for a moment, amber eyes gleaming and searching, but inwardly as well. Their eyes met and the gaze lingered, like Blake was trying to read her thoughts, and she Blake's. A sense of discomfort began to filter in and Yang averted her eyes, busying herself with her drink for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked at the table, waiting for Blake to say something.
Blake finally turned her attention away from Yang, if only for a moment. She brought the tea to her lips and took a small sip. Her head recoiled, a glare set on the cup.
"Careful!" Yang said, her posture straightening.
"I'm fine," Blake said. "It's just… very sweet. How much honey did you put in this?"
"I totally eyeballed it." Yang sighed and brought her shoulders close. "Is it… too much? Want me to make you another cup?"
Something clattered in the kitchen. Nora's incoherent yelling followed, arresting both Blake and Yang's attention.
"No," Blake said after a the surprised moment, giving a gentle shake of her head. "This is good. Thank you." She brought the cup close to her face and closed her eyes, letting the steam curl against her face.
Another silence lapsed between them. Yang was vaguely aware of the thumping upstairs, Ruby's muffled voice shouting "Dibs!" and the racing sound that followed. A door slammed and the shower started up across the house moments later.
Yang cleared her throat with the same caution one might use while tending wounds. Blake continued to stare at her tea, occasionally taking a sip. Still she remained distant and distracted. It didn't give Yang much to go on; she may as well start with small talk.
"Did you rest okay?" Immediately she felt stupid. The swollen eyes, disheveled hair, distant expression—it all bespoke fitful sleep, if any. She knew better, and she knew Blake knew she knew better. Yang did her best to hide her discomfort.
"I managed," Blake answered into her drink. Her hands trembled just so, as if catching a chill. Yang continued staring with widened eyes, watching for the tells.
"You're doing it again," Blake said, after a breath, her gaze never leaving her drink's surface.
Yang furrowed her brows. "What am I doing?" she asked.
"The deflecting."
Oh. That.
Yang pressed her lips together, stilling her mouth before she spoke impulsively. That seemed to be the theme for the day. Feeling the heat of an invisible spotlight, Yang shrank a little into her seat.
"I guess you're upset," Yang said, attempting some manner of stoicism while her body failed to reinforce it.
"A little." Blake turned her tired eyes on Yang. The light from the kitchen danced across the surface of her irises and underlined them with a gold glow, and despite their fatigue the sharpness they held hit Yang in the chest like a punch. She couldn't keep up her air of casual detachment. Her lips drew down, and she allowed her concern surface past the doting veneer.
They remained quiet for a long moment, the only sound being the din of food preparation in the kitchen. Nora had apparently taken leave for the moment.
"I'm sorry, Blake." Yang was quick with her words, like ripping the bandage off a raw wound.
Blake's expression softened. "No, Yang," she said, words quivered. "I was the one in the wrong. I didn't respect your personal space. I should have known better, and… I…"
"Hey, Blake…"
"I'm sorry." Her voice dropped, breaking into silence mid-apology.
Yang hadn't forgotten. She was as shocked to see Blake standing in the room as Blake seemed to be at her arrival. Confusion turned to embarrassment when she realized that Blake had gone over the pieces of her insecurity, seen the fractures in her well-maintained facade. Her pride was wounded, and her confidence was shaken. Most of all, her heart was broken. Never did she want Blake to see her in such a low state.
It was having someone dear in one's home while broken glass and picture frames laid scattered about. Her heart wanted Blake to stay near, but not if she would cause her pain like that.
"Why did you do it?" Yang asked, her voice soft and curious more than demanding.
Blake didn't respond right away. This time her eyes did move away, back to her tea. She took a sip, as though to steady herself and take more time to think. Blake's cup tapped loudly as it was set down and her hands folded together atop her knees.
"Because... you were avoiding me." She fought a frown on her face, but Blake held herself neutral, even though her eyes did reflect a fearful light. "I know that's selfish. I got caught up in the urge to find out why and… I was wrong."
Blake's ears wilted, and Yang knew that sign. Guilt, self-flagellation, loathing. Even now Blake resisted the show of weakness in the way she bit on the inside of her lower lip. If there was something Yang could do without seeing, it was watching Blake cry. It was enough of a stake in her heart that Blake felt like she had to be making this apology, and Yang didn't want to prolong the heartache any longer. Hers or Blake's.
She swallowed the seed of doubt growing in her throat and allowed herself to simply act. Wordlessly she brushed an errant strand of hair from Blake's face. Unexpected as it was, it drew out a surprised glance, a little gasp. There was a half-smile waiting for her at the originating end of the gesture, an expression meant to convey forgiveness. It was a more eloquent response than whatever Yang could figure out in words. Sensing the need for elaboration, she attempted it anyway.
"I don't know what to do." Yang tried to keep up the smile, but her face went hard before the melancholy could trickle out, her demeanor become stone. "I'm just trying to put one foot in front of the other." It felt suddenly like she was sliding towards the precipice again.
Rarely was Yang afraid of kicking doors down or making leaps across dark expanses. A lack of fright termed either reckless or adventurous marked her from the time she began training to be a huntress. She always believed that by might of arm or strength of heart she could push through any hardship that confronted her or her friends.
But of all the adversarial thoughts that she had encountered, the one that she was a harmful presence to Blake, even unintentionally? It overwhelmed her with despair. It stung with the sort of pain that caused her to shove all thoughts aside, to act on instinct as if her survival depended on it.
Yang stared down at the cup and noticed the ripples in the surface of her tea. Her hand jittered.
She felt the blood drain from her fingertips. Her stomach clenched. She ground her teeth and the urge to hide away bubbled up from a void in her chest.
Suddenly, a soft touch enveloped her hand, a cool contact that sent a pleasant tingle rippling over her skin and up her spine.
The shakes ceased, instead replaced by the preoccupation with Blake's hand. The pad of her thumb caressed the ridges of Yang's hand, close to the scars on her knuckles, the wages of her earlier anger. Blake gathered the rest of her fingers in the palm, curled over the heel of Yang's hand.
Yang's chest rose with a quick breath, the sound of which seemed to give Blake hesitation. But she continued her ministrations after a second, and Yang glanced up at Blake and found her gazing off.
"Let me walk beside you," Blake said after a long moment. "Lean on me when you're tired. That's all I'm asking."
Yang assessed Blake for a few seconds. Determination shone through her tired exterior and it was clear that Blake had made her decision. Sighing, Yang took the teacup in her right hand and set it on the table. Her throat tightened with emotion.
"I don't want to take you down with me, Blake."
"I know," Blake said, her eyes shifting to regard Yang. A spark lit up those golden eyes and set her senses afire, such that it felt like electricity filled the air around them. "But you're willing to do anything for me, or any of us. You're carrying so much. Just please… don't shut me out."
Yang felt dumbstruck. For once in her life, she had no glib remark or ireful riposte in the chamber. Looking down at their joined hands, the way Blake's fit over hers like a mold, all Yang could do was blink a set of wide lilac eyes.
This was allowed to continue in silence until Blake, with a clearer voice, asked, "What are you thinking?"
Yang wasn't quite sure herself. Her mind was a storm. One voice screamed at the danger of letting Blake get too close to her fire, of the risk of burning her and pushing her away for good. Another reminded that Blake was a big girl and could make her own decisions, and more importantly was making the decision to be close to her. And lastly, there was the one that was telling her to own up to her mistakes.
"I can't let Ruby cover up for my screwups," Yang said after a thoughtful moment. She took an unsteady breath. "I need to tell Professor Ozpin and Uncle Qrow about yesterday."
Out of the corner of her eye, Yang saw Blake give a short nod.
"We'll tell them," said Blake, her voice a balm on her anxiety.
She wasn't used to sheepishly admitting mistakes, but Yang had a feeling that it would come to light anyway. Further, when it did, it would be her little sister in the line of fire. Of all things, she couldn't allow that, even if Ruby decided upon it. She wouldn't let her be an accomplice to her missteps.
And that besides, Yang did want to give the information they'd gathered to Haven for the benefit of Mistral and its people.
It was going to hurt.
But she knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the outcome of the looming conversation, the warmth cupping her hand served to remind Yang that she would have at least one person to share the burden with. The gratitude she felt swelling within also tugged at her lips, and she smiled at Blake, simply thankful that she was there.
Not long after Ruby was up, the rest of the house followed. Weiss followed, then Oscar. Jaune was the unlucky one who had to wait last for the shower to free up. When everyone had finally congregated, Nora and Ren presented the most enormous spread of pancakes any of them had likely ever seen. To say that this was a pancake feast fit for a king of eld would have been an understatement. The sheer volume of pancakes would have presented a challenge for even the most ravenous groups of huntsmen and huntresses in training, but this group included Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose and Nora Valkyrie. The pancakes never stood a chance. The carnage that ensued stood alongside the Battle of Vacuo in its horror.
There was a warmth as the eight of them huddled around the table and bathed in the light of each other's company. Sweet maple and tangy butter flavored the air between the friendly banter and occasional fork fencing. For the most part, breakfast was filled with small talk and laughter, as well as speculation as to the next step in their journey. Cabin fever was beginning to set in among them, especially the members of JNR who had apparently been staying in the house for close to a month at this point.
When at last the platters lay empty and conversation gave way to reclining and groaning gratitude to the cooks, the process of cleaning up began. Since they were there to see it begin, Yang volunteered herself and Blake to help Nora and Ren with the dishes. Yang found that she was in a better place of mind to deal with Nora's insinuations, not that they happened anyhow; Nora inflicted most of her adoration on Ren, as usual.
When they finished up, Blake split from Yang to join the others in the yard for their morning exercises. Yang chose to step out of the house to wait for Qrow.
His semblance compelled him to stay away from the main group most of the time, just far enough to not risk influencing their fortunes but close enough to observe them in case of an emergency. Yang couldn't be sure of when he was arriving, but she knew he would eventually. When he finally showed up, Yang was waiting for him by the front door.
"Hey, Firecracker," he said as he sauntered up to the house. If Yang didn't know better, she'd think he was completely disinterested in anything she had to say. This was normally where their interactions would end lately, but...
"Hey, Qrow?"
He halted mid-step and looked back to Yang, having picked up the obvious inflection in her voice. He said nothing but the full attention of his narrowed red eyes was on her.
"Can you… get Ozpin? I need to talk to you guys."
Qrow narrowed his eyes further. Did he sense her unease? Did he already somehow know? Yang stuck out her chest and did her best to look unintimidated by the suspicion. Confident, businesslike. None of the things that she actually was.
"What's going on, Yang?" His tone was demanding and he was clearly not buying her act.
"I'd rather say it all just once," she said, her courage flaming out like an aging Dust engine. "So, uh, can you please get Oscar and meet us in the study?"
"Us?" He raised a brow.
"Yeah. Me and Blake."
Qrow initially seemed doubtful, his brows askew and nothing more. But the moment Yang brought her partner into the equation, Qrow's demeanor took a sharp turn from indifference to unvarnished irritation.
"Oh geez." He dragged a hand down his face. "What did you guys do?"
"What were you thinking?!"
Whatever Qrow was dreading, Yang was sure they had exceeded expectations. He was up. He was pacing. Unable to be still, Qrow shuffled off to the far end of the room and grumbled as he tugged the flask from his coat pocket.
Yang's shoulders were up close to her ears, her chin tucked into the neck guard of her jacket. She was a shell away from becoming a turtle herself. Were it so easy.
Blake seemed to be in a similarly miserable state, but Yang could see that she was trying to be strong and supportive. She remained quiet, still enough to pass as a statue, unemotional except for the frown that seemed to be permanently engraved in her face.
The study was a relatively small room. It was lined with fully populated bookshelves, and a writing desk in the corner by the lone window sat robbed of its chair. That was where Qrow had been sitting before the part about the Beringel sent him flying to his feet to take a breather. Presently, it lied on the floor upon its backrest.
Two couches occupied the center of the room, separated by a low table. Yang and Blake were seated on the one closest to the door, and Oscar sat across from them. He had a distinctly professorial air about him as he clutched the familiar cane in both hands and leaned upon it. The glint in his mottled hazel eyes indicated that it wasn't quite Oscar that sat across from the pair.
"Yeah," Yang said quietly. "I messed up." She took a small breath and immediately released it. "But it wasn't for nothing." Yang shifted and Blake gave her some space. She dug her scroll out of her jacket and set it on the table, its interface open. She tapped through a few menus and brought up a projection of the map with the coordinates to the mine highlighted in orange and red.
"Anyway, this is where the mine's at. I thought… Haven Academy might want to know about it."
Oscar, or rather Ozpin, studied the holographic projection for a long moment. He gave a nod, apparently satisfied with whatever he had seen in the map, and tapped his cane on the wooden floor.
"I must admit that I am impressed by the way that you turned a misadventure into an opportunity, Miss Xiao Long."
A small smirk tipped Yang's lips. Despite her feelings about Ozpin's trustworthiness, he was still their mentor, and some validation did go a short way towards softening the blow to her pride.
Ozpin looked back up at the map. "As you may have learned, Mistral had many Dust mines in the area that it operated with the aid of Mantle. In the years following the Great War, many of these locations were lost or abandoned." He paused and glanced warily towards Blake. Yang followed his gaze, and Blake nodded as though she understood something unsaid.
"Needless to say," Ozpin continued, "these mines are places with high levels of Grimm activity. The two of you are quite lucky to have survived, as unprepared and isolated as you were."
"I know," Yang said, feeling her resolve dim. "I'll be more careful from now on."
"Hm. I trust you will be, Miss Xiao Long." Ozpin looked back towards Blake. "You've had little to say, Miss Belladonna."
Blake sat up straight when she was addressed, her eyes widening suddenly.
"Care to share your thoughts?"
She looked towards Yang, as though to ask for guidance, but Yang had nothing to offer but a shrug. As far as she knew, they'd already explained everything. The mines, the mysterious Grimm, the trek through the woods. Only a few personal details were omitted, something she felt that she and Blake were on the same page about.
Looking back towards Ozpin, Blake opened her mouth to speak. But she stopped; a soft crinkle sounded as she sat back in the couch. It was then that she reached into the inside of her coat and pulled out the map of the mines.
"Whoa." Yang widened her eyes. "I forgot you still had that."
"I did, too," she said as she dropped the folded up square on the table top. "This should help anyone who ventures into that… place." Blake didn't bother to veil her contempt for the facility.
"Fascinating." Ozpin leaned back and looked over at Qrow, who was busy with composing himself as he growled at a bookshelf.
"Lien for your thoughts, Qrow?" asked Ozpin, his tone half mocking the disgruntled man.
"Oh, I've got a lot of them," he snarled. He rounded immediately on Yang.
"You need to get a grip, Yang. You're gonna get yourself killed."
Yang scowled and opened her mouth to protest, but immediately her jaw shut and words of rebellion she wasn't even sure of growled unintelligibly through her teeth. Don't say anything, don't say anything…
Qrow tilted his head, his folded arms tensing across his chest. "If not yourself, then someone else." Yang needed no elaboration on what Qrow was implying. She growled again, but she managed to remain wordless. He wasn't wrong, but she already knew that; it was her awareness of that mistake that made her come clean. Getting the same lesson she had already learned the hard way made her feel patronized.
No words were shared for a long moment, and the air stifled.
"Whatever," Qrow finally muttered, the screwcap of his flask the only other sound in the room.
Yang clutched at the couch cushion with her left hand to still it. Her anger bubbled beneath the surface, but she was determined to keep it lidded. Instead, frustration manifested on her face. She put the table in the center of her vision, and if she stared any harder she might have set it on fire.
"Well, at any rate…" Ozpin took a sip from the lone coffee mug on the table. He looked up and drifted his eyes over Yang, then Blake. "The two of you have uncovered an ongoing problem here in Mistral." With a serious look he nodded to Qrow.
"Yeah, that's still a thing…" Qrow rubbed the back of his neck, looking exhausted all of a sudden.
"What are you guys talking about?" Blake looked between everyone, genuinely out of the loop.
"The missing huntsmen," Yang said without looking up.
"Yeah," Qrow answered gruffly. "When we got into Mistral, I tried to meet up with some old buddies of mine." He walked over to the window and leaned a hand against the wall, stare fixed on the outside. "But they're all gone. Every single one of 'em. Missing or worse, and Leo's the one that sold 'em out. I'm sure of it."
"The loss of so many seasoned huntsmen and huntresses has led to a crisis in Mistral," Ozpin said, elaborating. "The creatures of Grimm have overrun previously secure areas, and stronger individuals now roam closer to settlements than ever before. There are positions that Mistral's security forces cannot afford to let fall, like the relay towers, so the farms and villages suffer."
"So let's help them," said Blake, her voice clear and resolved. All eyes turned on her, and a small smile tugged at the end of Yang's lips.
"Spoken like a true huntress." Ozpin smiled wryly. But quickly, a more grave air stole the twinkle from his eyes. "We will speak to the council and obtain clearance. However…"
Yang furrowed her brows and leaned forward, her hair spilling over her shoulders. "However?"
Ozpin leaned forward, supporting his weight on the cane.
"You will be precluded from participating in these missions."
Off to her side, Blake gasped. It took a little longer for Yang to process the statement. She felt her features unwind, fall slack as though disconnected from their muscles. Her mouth came open in disbelief.
Yang's skin felt cold, but her chest burned like a crucible. An anger was rising in her heart and she could feel its beating in her head.
"What?" Yang said in a hush.
"It is regrettable," Ozpin continued, "but after the ordeal you and Miss Belladonna have endured, I believe it is wise for the two of you to take it easy for a few days."
"No!" Yang thundered to her feet, stopping short of throwing the table. "You can't! Ruby and Weiss, they—!"
"Yang—"
"Qrow? You're agreeing with him?!"
"Miss Xiao Long, please calm down."
The heat had spread throughout her body until even her hair felt like it was on fire. Yang's chest heaved with harsh pants as she tried to control her racing thoughts.
This was it.
She'd revealed too much of her weakness. Her brokenness. She was being cast aside like a liability when the rest of her team needed her. It was just as she feared—she trusted in herself to do the right thing and it exploded in her face.
Her legs wobbled and she fell back into the couch. She looked towards Blake, who was quiet throughout the outburst. Her ears were flattened out and a fearful pallor had come over her. Yang bit on her lip and hung her head between her knees. She gripped at her hair as her head throbbed.
Ozpin cleared his throat. As the atmosphere cooled down, he spoke. "Nobody here doubts your passion, Miss Xiao Long. But I sense that you are still in need of rest. Take it, and don't worry about your sister. She is a fine young huntress, as are the rest of your group."
Yang shook her head weakly. She looked over to Blake, as though for guidance, but she herself looked defeated, in a way. Blake expressed her discontent in a more subtle way; her eyes were fixed at a point on the ground, and her shoulders slumped.
"Qrow?" Ozpin said, turning in his seat. "Gather the rest of the students in the living room. We should discuss this with them."
"Right." Qrow took a swig from his flask and regarded Yang skeptically.
Yang shook. She was being left behind again. She had crawled back from her maiming, reconditioned herself, struggled with crippling illusions day and night, overcome her anxieties to confront Raven, and retrieved the damned relic. Still it wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
Adrenaline flooded her system and Yang pushed to her feet.
"Whatever," she spat, and her heavy bootfalls carried across the study. Yang restrained herself from ripping the door off its hinges before she stormed through the house. She registered familiar voices but avoided all glances, ignored all greetings, and she strode across the parlor to the stairwell leading down.
Finally, she arrived in the yard. Her legs folded and she hit the ground hard on her backside. Shakily Yang released a breath she must have been holding from the moment she left the study, but she got out here so quickly it couldn't have been that long. Her thoughts swam, and for a while it felt like she was back in the colorless burn of her dreams.
They had decided to accept the mission, and more if time permitted. It made sense; the need for huntsmen did not grow less because the academy was not in session, and they would need funds for whatever lay ahead of them anyway. In the course of helping the people of Mistral, they would be helping themselves as well. Ruby and Jaune were quick to pull the trigger on the suggestion, thinking it a great idea. Weiss was less eager, but couldn't argue with the pragmatism of it. Nora trembled at the promise of wanton destruction, and Ren was simply glad to be able to contribute to easing the woes of fellow Anima natives.
Oscar seemed reluctant to stay behind, but he admitted he was still too much of a novice to accompany even junior huntsmen on a mission. Besides that, the relic needed to be guarded. Few were more qualified to do that than Ozpin. Between him, and Qrow, and Blake and Yang, the sentiment seemed to be that the mysterious lamp could only be more secure if it was locked back up in the vault from which it came.
But there was a glaring omission from the proceedings, and it was that of Yang. Blake to a lesser extent—she was among them when the decision was made—but Yang's absence was as conspicuous as a day when the sun didn't rise. When it had been made clear that neither Yang nor Blake would be joining them, the sense of excitement instantly soured.
Blake sat amongst the throng, despondent and distracted. Everyone saw Yang as she stalked through, and since then she had been sitting in the yard, brooding. That was early in the afternoon; now, the day grew long and the sky yellowed with age. Long since plunged into the house's shadow, the yard grew cold, and soon the sunset would be upon the tumbled land.
When finally the group dispersed to make their preparations, Blake and her teammates went down the stairwell and stopped short of the yard.
Yang was seated in the same position that she had been in for hours already. Wisps of her blonde hair trailed listlessly in the easterly winds, and the world around her seemed darker even than the shadow the house created. Blake frowned, a pang on her heart, as she looked back towards Ruby and Weiss, begging for help as loudly as her eyes alone could manage.
Weiss planted her hands on her hips and huffed. "Shouldn't we go speak to her?" Less a question than a statement, Weiss' hand cut impatient shapes in the air, while her eyes glowed with genuine concern.
"Yeah…" Ruby did not sound confident, however. Blake understood; when Yang withdrew, it was difficult if not impossible to reach her.
For her part, Blake felt shackled by their experience yesterday. Was it right to approach Yang when she was feeling weak? Did she actually want to be alone? The same feeling of urgency, the desire to push upon Yang's outer defenses, grew dangerously strong.
"Yang?" Ruby called out, her voice meek. Yang's shoulders gave a start, and clearly she wasn't expecting company. Stiffly, Yang straightened out her posture and looked back. Her hair obscured most of her face, but Blake could clearly see the shine on Yang's eyes.
"Hey," Yang croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hey, Ruby. Weiss… Blake." She looked back towards the cliff, her elbows gathered on her knees.
Together, the three of them walked up to Yang and picked a spot. They sat around her, and Blake noted the hesitation that she and Ruby attended her with. Weiss showed no such trepidation to approaching their melancholy teammate, and Blake found a new admiration for her confidence.
When Yang showed no protest at them being there, Ruby scooted close and draped her arms over her shoulders. Yang squeezed her eyes shut and placed her left hand up on one of Ruby's elbows, returning the embrace the best that she could.
"Shouldn't you and Weiss be getting ready to go?" Yang said, chiding words with a tone too weak to be a scold.
Gradually, the younger sister tightened her embrace.
"Why did you tell them?" Ruby asked, and her voice was more pointed this time. Blake found it odd for Ruby to seem upset, but then it made sense since they had a plan and Yang, for whatever reason, decided to go against it.
Yang hiccuped a laugh, dry and rueful as the air around them. "I couldn't let you take the L for me. I'm your Big Sis, not a big sissy."
Ruby slumped sadly, her eyes swimming with conflicted emotion. Unable or unwilling to continue with words, Ruby buried her face in the bushel of Yang's wild mane. Her arms squeezed around Yang's shoulders. They swayed gently, although it wasn't clear which one of the two started it. In observing them, Blake saw the familial bond that tied them together, stronger than Atlesian steel and pacific as the Shallow Sea. The force of Ruby's love was almost overwhelming to Blake, and she began to feel like an intruder on an intimate moment.
She turned her eyes to her idle hands. A curse on herself rose at the back of her mind for her inability to act so freely, so unbound by trepidation. Even presently, she became aware of how selfish her thoughts were, turning to herself when Yang sat brokenhearted in this cold place.
Blake glanced across Ruby towards Weiss, and Weiss returned her look with a piercing stare. She widened her eyes and silently questioned Weiss' look, furrowing her brows and pointing at herself as though she'd been bled by Weiss' glare. Weiss shook her head rapidly and pointed sharply towards Yang. It dawned on Blake what Weiss was trying to say.
She needs you.
Blake raised a hand and hesitated, doubting her approach. She took a peek back over Ruby's shoulder and saw that Weiss was watching her in kind, her eyes sparking with wordless criticism. Relenting, Blake closed the distance between herself and Yang. Her hand touched upon Yang's knee and invited a longing fluorite gaze.
Yang took her hand off of Ruby's elbow momentarily, prompting the girl to pull her head out of her sister's hair to see what was happening. Blake found Yang's hand extended to her, beckoning. Blake glanced quickly between Yang and Ruby, wordlessly seeking permission. Ruby simply smiled as she nestled against Yang's hair, the vaguest of nods removing all doubt.
Blake tentatively laid her fingers on Yang's hand; she was promptly pulled into the embrace by her partner. Enveloped by her warmth, Blake tried to express even a fraction of the adoration that Ruby showed for Yang, not to compete but to contribute. She flicked an ear as she heard Ruby whisper, "Get in here, Weiss!" And soon, Weiss also was curled up under Yang's other arm.
They sat together like that for a while, it seemed, even though it wasn't that long. Blake was acutely aware of the changes in Yang's demeanor since they had approached her. Her head was rested against Yang's shoulder, close to her chest. Her heartbeat was strong and calm, and her breaths were deep and steady. When the sky was streaked in red and gold and the crickets emerged from their hideaways to ring in the evening, Yang gave an appreciative squeeze to her teammates before releasing her hold on them.
"I'm sorry, guys." She sniffed and thumbed her nose. "I'm letting you guys down."
"Don't apologize!" Ruby said, still clinging to Yang's shoulders.
"You've got nothing to be sorry about," said Weiss, chipping in.
Blake searched for words. Her quiet was as conspicuous as if she were screaming, and the attention of her teammates fell on her.
"Can you guys… give us a minute?"
Ruby and Weiss gave each other a curious look, and Ruby sought Yang's counsel.
"You guys go on ahead," said Yang, patting Ruby's joined arms amicably. "You've got a big day tomorrow. Don't let us keep you up."
"Okay." Ruby sounded uncertain, but she dropped from her sister's back and got to her feet. "... I love you," she said in a small voice.
"Love you too, sis."
Ruby squeaked suddenly, and she found her wrist seized by Weiss. "Okay, let's go," she said. "We're overstaying our welcome."
Blake blinked as she caught what seemed like an approving glance from Weiss. She and Yang watched the two go, disappear into the training room door. Blake couldn't suppress a chuckle at the way Ruby flailed her free arm waving goodbye. Another sniff from Yang shifted her attention back to her partner.
"Did you want to talk, Blake?" Yang moved to sit on her heels and brushed her thumb under her eyes to dry them.
"Nothing too heavy," Blake said, putting a small smile on her face. "I just wanted to say, it's okay to take some time for yourself and rest."
Yang tilted her head, and Blake wondered if the words sounded familiar to her yet.
"The stuff I told you to get you to go to the dance?"
Blake gently raised her brows, and a smirk played across her lips. "You're telling me that you told me that story about your mom and the concern about my fixation on the White Fang just to get me to go to the dance?"
Lilac eyes went wide, mouth open, and Yang generally looked like she'd just gotten her tail stuck in a trap. "N-no, of course not!" The way her eyes darted it looked like Yang was searching for an excuse. "I was just worried you were going to burn yourself out—" The way Yang's words trailed off, it seemed like she realized the parallels at play.
Blake simply watched, her eyes a rose gold with the red sky's light. The ends of her lips quirked upwards, but she kept a mien of studiousness.
"You said that to me in the mines, too." Yang put a hand through her hair and frowned at the ground. "I've been a jerk." She sighed. "Can you… forgive me?"
"Can you forgive yourself?"
Yang raised her eyes, and it looked like she had never been faced with a more impossible question before. She took a long moment to look inward. Her gaze was unsteady, and her lips pinched together as an internal fight took place, something perhaps like the shadowboxing Blake had witnessed here in the dawn.
"Yeah." Yang took a breath. She looked up and into Blake's eyes. "Yeah. I can."
"Then yes."
With that exchange of words, it felt like a shadow had lifted from between them. Yang appeared to take on a semblance of luminosity as she rose to her feet, light and airy as the starlight itself. Blake stood after her and dusted the seat of her coat. The distraction took Blake's attention off of Yang long enough for the taller woman to cross the space between them unexpectedly. When Blake turned back around, she was caught in an embrace. Blake sank into it, sighing in relief.
She knew that it wasn't done. The path they walked had to be taken a step at a time, a day at a time. But for the moment, Blake was content. Unlike at the cliffs, she sensed no ambivalence or hesitation. Yang had finally decided to reach out to her.
They stood together in the firelight of the retreating day for a little while longer. When at last the stars began to rise in the east, Yang nudged Blake, who was nearly asleep on her feet, and together they went back inside to rejoin their teammates.
I think the main takeaway from this chapter is that Nora likes pancakes. These updates are getting beefier and beefier despite merciless editing. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, eh? If you have an opinion on it, or anything else in the story, please feel free to let me know. Feedback is always appreciated!