Blake sits down. The hammock sways under her weight, and for a moment the loss of balance echoes the unsteadiness of her heart. She grips the edge and makes herself focus on her surroundings - the smooth rope under her fingers, the protective shade of the cherry trees, the way morning sunlight falls through their foliage like shredded ribbons of golden dust.
Yang sits down as well, facing her, back leaning against the cotton cloth, one leg dangling from the side. The hammock is wide enough that they're not touching. Blake stares at the inches of space between them, wishing desperately for the comfort of Yang's touch, knowing there's only one person responsible for the distance between them - and it's not Yang.
"So," Yang says. She speaks softly, but it's so quiet in the garden, she might as well have yelled.
Blake swallows. "I… I don't know how to…" She pauses, swallows again, her mouth dry, her throat closing up. It's hard, when you've kept a secret for so long, to begin unraveling the thread. She closes her eyes, fighting a wave of anxiety and guilt. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have said something sooner. She shouldn't have come to Patch. She shouldn't have left Menagerie in the first place…
"Hey, look at me." Yang's words interrupt the panicked whirlwind of Blake's thoughts.
Blake opens her eyes, and finds Yang's gaze on her, warm and stable. "Breathe," Yang adds, no louder than a whisper. Blake keeps her eyes on Yang's face, and feels her lungs expand automatically, obeying the command. She inhales, exhales, in and out, mirroring the gentle swing of the hammock.
Yang smiles, approvingly. "Start at the beginning."
So Blake does. "I told you about my friend Ilia."
"The one from Atlas University? Cute brunette, Pol Sci major? Yeah, I remember."
"I met Ilia in Menagerie almost four years ago - we went to the same high school. I was 15, and I didn't know much about politics, but I knew I wanted to do something. She was a senior, handing out flyers on campus about an upcoming march for the environment, and she was more than happy to answer my questions. We talked for hours, that first day."
Blake can't help smiling at the memory. "She was so passionate, and knowledgable, and cool. I ended up going to the march with her, and then we started hanging out a lot. She gave me books, and took me to protests. I loved all of it."
She sobers up, glancing at Yang. "You have to understand, it wasn't just a hobby to either of us. The environmental movement in Menagerie is crucial - our economy, our lifestyle, our actual survival is at stake. Overfishing, ocean pollution, oil spills, global warming - all of this could destroy us."
She pauses, and Yang nods, listening intently. "All I wanted was to do the right thing. Fight for my people. Change the world." She rolls her eyes, self-deprecating, but the corner of Yang's mouth lifts.
"Of course, you did," Yang says, her tone fond. Blake suddenly realizes how much she's missed Yang's easy, genuine affection - it makes her light-headed, like she stood up too fast.
"One day," Blake says, determined to stay on track, "Ilia told me about an activist group she'd started frequenting - people involved in more radical stuff than marches and flyers. She asked if I wanted to meet with them, I said yes. And that's how I joined the White Fang."
The night has fallen, and she follows Ilia through the narrow, winding streets of Kuo-Kuana's old town. Blake's heart beats fast with anticipation, caught between nerves and excitement. Ilia leads them to a dingy bar with dirty windows, and she glances at Blake, her hand on the doorknob, waiting for one last confirmation before they go in. Blake nods, firmly. Ilia opens the door.
Inside, the room is smokey and dark and uninviting, but the man standing behind the counter takes one look at Ilia and gestures with his chin towards the backdoor. They make their way across the bar, through the door and down a flight of steps, until they find themselves in the cellar. This room, to Blake's relief, is well-lit and clean, and filled with maybe thirty people, scattered around tables, talking and drinking. A few glance curiously at the two newcomers before resuming their conversations. Blake wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans, and tries to look like she isn't very obviously younger than everyone else.
She barely has time to sit at a table, beside Ilia, when the crowd hushes suddenly, as a man appears down the stairs. He's tall, in his mid-twenties, with bright red hair and a confident smile. One of his eyes is closed, old scars marring the skin around it - but the other one is a piercing bright blue, and Blake finds herself drawn to his gaze.
"That's Adam," Ilia whispers to her. "He's…" Someone to their right shushes her and Ilia falls silent. Adam walks in front of the tables, and starts talking, and Blake - Blake can't take her eyes off him. His voice is smooth, like polished metal - his words sharp and passionate. The way he moves, the way he talks - everything about him is magnetic, enticing. The crowd clearly loves him, and at the end of his speech, Blake thinks she does too.
After the meeting, she steps outside the bar and into the street, in need of fresh air, trying to compose herself while she waits for Ilia. She checks her phone - there's a missed call from her parents. She's busy texting them careful lies about her whereabouts when she hears the door of the bar open, then close. She looks up, and her heart misses a beat.
"I've seen you before. You were at the march last week," Adam says. He lights a cigarette, watching her with an expression that makes Blake feel exposed, somehow. "Ilia said you're interested in what we do?"
"Yeah," she says. Her voice is too high, childish, and she cringes internally. She squares her shoulders. "I'm Blake. Blake Belladonna," she states, extending a hand.
Adam smiles, showing his teeth. He shakes her hand.
"Belladonna, huh? Your parents were really inspiring, back in the day. Too bad they stopped fighting for the cause, but I suppose not everyone has what it takes." He pauses and quietly assesses Blake, and her stomach aches with a confusing mix of shame and eagerness to prove herself. "Do you have what it takes, Blake?"
"I'm not like them," she shrugs, faking confidence. She looks at him under her eyelashes. "I won't disappoint you."
He grins and offers her a cigarette. "Good." She's never smoked before, but she accepts it, and lets him light the cigarette for her.
"I could use someone like you, Blake Belladonna. Someone with principles, someone I can trust," Adam says, as she takes her first drag. The middle of her chest burns, and she doesn't know if it's because of his words or the smoke. She focuses hard on not coughing.
"I can tell you're special," he adds, softly. Blake takes another drag, and basks in his approval.
Blake presses her knife against the soft flesh of the tomato, and juice spills on her fingers, dripping on the cutting board. She repeats the gesture and puts the thin slices on a plate. On the other side of the kitchen table, Yang is spreading a generous amount of mustard and mayonnaise on toasted bread. They're making sandwiches for lunch, alone. Summer, Tai and Ruby are out for the day, and the house is quiet and still.
Blake has spent the past couple hours telling Yang about her time with the White Fang, until her stomach started growling, and Yang suggested they eat something.
Those were busy years, between schoolwork and protests and sits-in and some decidedly less legal actions. And even though she was considered too young and inexperienced to participate directly in any of these, Blake still helped, delivering messages or serving as lookout. Busy times, yes, and stressful, but how intoxicating, the feeling that you're actually doing something, that you're changing the world.
Of course, she hid it all from her parents, but she had Ilia, for a while. And when Ilia left at the end of the first year to go study at Atlas University on a scholarship, she had Adam.
"What did you even do with him? Wasn't he like, way older?" Yang asks, piling slices of cheese and deli meat on her sandwich. She hasn't said much, all that time, only ever interrupting Blake to ask for details or clarification.
"He was kind of a mentor, I guess. He taught me history and political theory, insisted on giving me some self-defense training. He was always asking me to do stuff for him, small errands, some favor or another."
Blake snorts, derisively. "He never had to beg for my attention, or ask twice for anything. He knew from the very beginning that I was in love with him, so he exploited it as much as he could, but…"
Yang's knife falls on the floor, the clattering of metal on tiles cutting Blake off. She looks up to see Yang staring at her with grave eyes. "Blake… Did he… Were you…"
"No, it wasn't like that," Blake says, quickly. Her voice sounds too defensive, even to her ears, and Yang's jaw clenches. "I… we never dated," Blake insists. "He did kiss me, once, but I wanted it. I was in love with him, I told you."
"You were a kid," Yang counters, very quietly.
The memory, buried deep in Blake's heart, surfaces, bursting the thick membrane of denial that was hiding it from her consciousness. A White Fang meeting, in that same old bar. Adam, furious because one of his followers had opposed a new plan of his - fuming as he sat back down while people debated. The way he grabbed Blake's wrist, so tight it left bruises, and tugged until she had no choice but to sit on his lap. His mouth on hers, his arm around her, the way he kissed her like it was revenge, more a display of power than an act of love.
Blake rests both hands flat on the table, dizzy, as every emotion she felt at the time rushes to her chest: surprise, pride, shame, disgust. Yang clears her throat. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to tell you how to feel about it. I just… I think we both know whatever he did wasn't okay."
"He always liked that I wanted him," Blake says, swallowing bile, words coming out of her mouth painfully, like thorns she has to rip out of her flesh. And yes, she knows Adam hurt her, but she's never been brave enough to confront the extent of it before. "He liked having influence on people, having their undivided attention. One time, he got really mad because I hung out with Sun instead of meeting up with him. He yelled at me that I was loosing focus, getting distracted, that he was disappointed in me. I was so upset, I told Sun we couldn't hang out after school anymore. I pretended I didn't have the time."
Yang puts both halves of her sandwich on a plate, looking at Blake with saddened eyes. "Fucking asshole."
"He was also constantly criticizing my parents, painting them in the worst light, and I…" Blake takes a shuddering breath, guilt simmering in her stomach, the bitter taste of it on the back of her tongue. "I did too. I got into fights with them, and refused to talk to them. I called them cowards, sellouts…"
Tears fill her eyes, but she blinks them away, and stares at the cutting board - at the sharp-edged knife in her hands. "It took me a while, almost two years, to realize what he was doing, isolating me from everyone else. It's also around that time that I started having doubts about the White Fang. What we did just didn't seem right, or even useful. But Adam would not tolerate anyone questioning his decisions, and I was still craving his praise, so I never really dared to voice my concerns."
"Yeah, I can see why," Yang says, somber. Her eyes are dark, the line of her mouth angry, and Blake's not sure that she deserves any of Yang's fierce protectiveness. She looks away.
"And then, one night, he asked me to go with him on a mission - to actually do something with him. I had been waiting for an offer like that since I joined the White Fang. I thought it was the happiest moment of my life."
They meet at the rendezvous point, on the far end of the docks, late at night. Blake is wearing all black like he asked, trepidation tingling down to the tip of her fingers. The place is empty, dark, eerily silent compared to the rest of the city. Adam pulls his hood down, hiding his face. He looks a little on edge, adjusting the shoulder strap of his backpack with jerky fingers.
"Follow me. Be quiet," he orders, curtly. She nods, too wired to speak.
The two of them make their way quietly down the ladder and onto the wooden plank leading to the boats. The ocean is calm, the air filled with brine and salt. Blake has only been told the strict minimum: they're here to sabotage a fishing boat involved in blast fishing, the questionable method of lighting dynamite to stun the fish, destroying coral reefs in the process. The goal is to teach the crew a lesson.
Adam guides her towards the right boat, and they climb up onto the deck. "Do a loop, make sure we're alone, then join me in the engine room," he tells her. He opens his backpack, showing her the content with a grin. "I'll set the charges."
The charges? Blake stares, unblinking, at the explosives in Adam's bag. This is more than sabotage - this will make the boat explode. "What about the crew members?" she asks, disbelief coloring her voice, horror creeping down her spine.
Adam's grin turns cruel. "What about them?"
He walks out without another word, uncaring, and Blake doesn't move.The reality of the situation hits her so hard she feels numb. If this mission goes through, people will die - innocent or not, they will die. She grips the railing, breathing hard. She knows this is wrong. She has a choice to make.
Blake takes her phone out of her pocket, and dials the number.
A few minutes later, she finds her way down to the engine room. The door is wide open, the key still in the lock. Adam is inside, fiddling with the charges. Blake takes a few steps closer, eyeing the dirty workbench in the middle of the room, instinctively taking note of anything that looks like a weapon. A heavy wrench. A rusty hammer. A dented fishing knife.
"Adam, we have to go." Her voice resonates loudly, in the quiet. He ignores her, bent over the explosives, not even bothering to look at her.
Blake clenches her fists, unclenches them. Her stomach tightens. She's expecting a fight. "The police are on their way. We have to go, now."
That gets Adam's attention. He pauses, and stands up, slowly facing her. His good eye narrows.
"What did you do?"
Blake feels nauseous, but she stays still, firmly rooted on her feet. "What I had to. You can't just kill people, Adam, that's insane."
"You don't understand," he growls, slowly advancing on her. "I'm working for some important people. Powerful people who will take care of us. Of Menagerie. This is bigger than a few dead fishermen who should have known better than to piss off my employers."
Blake frowns, trying to make sense of what he's saying, but all of a sudden Adam leaps towards her, moving with inhuman speed. She jumps back, a little too slow. Bright, sharp pain flares above her knee, and something warm and wet trickles down her leg.
The fishing knife is in Adam's hand, his smile predatory. "Oh, Blake," he says, as she watches blood ooze from the deep cut on her thigh, voice cloyingly sweet. "You should know, I don't take too well to betrayal."
Blake throws the wrench at his head - it hits him with a disturbing thud, but she doesn't wait to check, she turns around and runs towards the door, slamming it shut behind her. She turns the key in the lock, takes a shuddering breath. Her leg hurts, her cheeks are wet with tears. On the other side, Adam is pounding against the door, yelling her name, yelling insults and threats and promises of revenge.
Blake runs. She makes it out to the docks right as the police cars arrive, and then, she keeps running, breathless, terrified, and covered in blood.
The living room is silent but for the unfaltering song of cicadas, the familiar sound filtering through the open window. It's late at night, everyone else is asleep already, which leaves the two of them curled up on the couch, half lit by the soft orange glow of a small table lamp. Blake shifts, uncomfortable, waiting for Yang to say something, anything, dread rising inside her chest. Instead of talking, Yang extends an arm, hesitantly, towards Blake's lap.
Her fingers hover above Blake's bare thigh, above her scar. Blake yearns for her touch, and doesn't know how to ask for it, and after a few seconds, Yang retracts her hand.
"Oh, Blake. I had no idea," she whispers, eyes still stuck on the scar.
Blake looks down at her knees, "It all made sense, after that night. The incoherence of some of the White Fang's actions, the endless funds, Adam's disregard for any idea that wasn't his… He never cared about the cause. It was never about doing the right thing for him. He was just using all of us to get money from whoever hired him. The destruction, the violence, that was a bonus. He was only ever in this for a fucking power trip."
"What you did…" Yang swallows, looking at her with an expression Blake's never seen before, and her heart drops. This is it. The one thing she was afraid of: loosing Yang because of her past mistakes. She braces herself for the judgment, for the rejection.
But Yang's eyes are kind and full of admiration. "Blake, that was so fucking brave of you."
Blake's eyes grow watery, despite herself, as relief mixed with incredulity fills her chest. "I wasn't brave, though," she protests, shakily. "I ran. I left before the police arrived, and Adam went to jail. I was too ashamed to tell my parents what happened - so instead I told them I wanted to leave Menagerie, and I did. I had gotten into a good number of colleges, but I chose Beacon because it was the farthest away. I needed distance from everything, from Adam and the White Fang and his promise of revenge. That's why I didn't go back to Menagerie for the summer. I'm still running."
"And now, he's here?" Yang asks, though the frown on her face proves she already knows the answer.
"I got a call from Ilia, in early July. He got out on good behavior - I'm guessing whoever he answers to had something to do with it. Ilia is spending the summer in Menagerie, and she heard he was looking for me. I thought that he wouldn't find me here, that he wouldn't follow me to Patch. But last week, I…" Tears spill from her eyes, and she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I received a postcard. From him. Ever since, I know he's been watching me. Playing with me. He's just waiting for the right moment and he'll… "
She grinds her teeth, willing herself to stop crying, and lifts her head to meet Yang's gaze. "I didn't know how to deal with him, and you, at the same time. That's why I asked for some distance. That's why I… I didn't know how to even begin to explain any of it, Yang. I'm so…"
"No, Blake, God, don't…" Yang stutters, exhales, tries again. "Please don't even think about apologizing to me. You have nothing to apologize for. Let's just focus on getting you out of this. Your safety is all that matters right now." She pauses, clearly expecting an answer. All Blake can do is nod, still fighting back tears.
"What do you want to do?" Yang asks, voice gentle.
She's looking at her, open and patient, and under her eyes, Blake finds it easy to be brave.
"I think… I don't want to run anymore."
Blake thought she'd feel lighter. Isn't it the goal of a confession, to be granted relief and peace of mind in exchange for exposing your sins?
Instead, she's still as tense as she's been for the past week, waiting for Adam to make a move. And though she's glad Yang knows, she can't help the creeping fear that she's crushed any romantic interest Yang ever had in her. A small, naive part of her hoped that after she told the truth, things would revert back to the way they were. She indulged, somewhat guiltily, in fantasies of Yang touching her again, kissing her, holding her tight while she whispered sweet, loving, comforting words in her ear. But of course, none of that happens. Nothing changes, between them ; they still sleep in separate beds, and don't talk about their relationship.
And it's not fair, Blake's well aware of that. She's the one who ended it, and Yang has been nothing but respectful. But it hurts nonetheless.
I'm still in love with you, she thinks, desperate to confess to that as well, and anxious that she's lost the right to do so.
For her part, Yang seems to focus entirely on finding a solution to Blake's problem. So they lay their towels on the sand away from everyone else, and Blake tries not to stare at the tanned skin bared by Yang's swimsuit, at the splatter of freckles on her cheekbones, at the adorable way she frowns when she's deep in thoughts.
Together, they come up with a plan. They decide against telling Yang's parents right away.
"They'll probably call the police, which is understandable," Blake explains, " but if Adam finds out that the police is looking for him, and I guarantee you he would, he'll run, hide for a while, and come back when I least expect it. This needs to end now."
"So we gotta take him by surprise," Yang says, pensive. She glances at Blake with unusual shyness. "Blake, I need to ask… If the police is involved in any way, would that get you in trouble with the law?"
Blake shakes her head. "No. It's true that I'm technically complicit in a lot of the White Fang's illegal actions, but I was still a minor at the time, and it's unlikely I'd get charged with any crime. And neither Adam nor his employers want me in court - I know way too much about everything he's done." She sighs, tracing with one finger the floral pattern on her towel. "Even if that wasn't the case, it's a risk I'd be willing to take. Anything is better than this."
"Okay," Yang says. A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips when she looks up at Blake, and Blake's ribcage tightens around her heart. "In that case, I think I have an idea."
The next time the house phone rings, Blake is ready. She picks up the phone.
"Adam," she says, calmly. Her voice doesn't shake, and for a brief moment she feels a bright, powerful flash of pride.
Silence, at first, then laughter - ugly, triumphant, mocking laughter that erodes Blake's composure like acid on metal. "Hello, Blake. It's been too long."
"Leave me alone," Blake declares, putting all her anger into her words, crafting them like weapons.
Adam hisses. "Do you realize you've ruined my life?"
"What do you want from me? An apology?" Blake retorts, sharp. "Because you're not getting one."
"I want to see you, Blake," he says. His voice turns syrupy-sweet, sticking to her skin like poison. "I just want to talk. Don't you owe me that, at least?"
Blake smiles to herself - she's got him - and stays silent a little longer than necessary. "Come on, darling," Adam insists, with the kind of cajoling, wolfish tone that would have made her cave immediately, not so long ago. Now, it just makes her furious. "I know you've missed me."
"Alright," she answers, sounding purposefully small and hesitant. "I guess we can meet. Maybe at the top of the southern cliff, in Patch?"
"Tonight," Adam says briskly, switching his tone from coaxing to cold and demanding. Blake's stomach twists ; it's a tactic he's used countless times on her, to keep her on her toes. "Be there at 8PM, and come alone. Don't bring that new friend of yours, the blond girl."
He hangs up, abruptly, but Blake doesn't move, hand frozen on the phone, spine locked in place at the mere allusion to Yang. The fear she's managed to contain since she started talking to Yang comes back all at once, a torrential downpour that has her suffocating, struggling to breathe. Blake puts down the phone, very slowly. There's a mirror on the opposite side of the hallway, facing the telephone stand, and she stares at her reflection, watches the way her jaw twitches, the tense line of her shoulders, the wildness in her eyes. Whatever happens, she thinks, resolutely meeting her own gaze, swallowing down her terror, I won't let him hurt her.
Yang finds her still standing in the hallway, a few minutes later, and Blake fills her in on her conversation with Adam.
"You're sure he won't figure out it's a trap?" Yang asks, hands rubbing the back of her neck, like she always does when she's feeling unsure.
Blake shakes her head. "He likes feeling in control. I just had to make him think it was his idea." She bites the inside of her cheeks, glancing at Yang. "I still think I should go alone."
Yang crosses her arms and leans against the wall, the picture of determination. "No way. He's dangerous - you said it yourself. We're doing this together."
Blake sits on the bench at the top of the cliff, and wishes she'd brought a sweater. The sun has long drowned below the horizon line, and the wind is surprisingly chilly up here. She remembers watching the ocean with Yang from that very bench a few weeks ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed. She recalls a few other memorable nights of her summer, while she waits. Her first evening in Patch, meeting Yang's family. Lying on the grass with Yang, smoking cigarettes and talking of secrets. Their excursion to Vale. Skinny dipping. And on the same night, their first kiss.
Blake thought she'd be a nervous mess, waiting for Adam to come, but Yang is hiding nearby, close enough to hear her if she needs help, and Blake feels calm, her hands steady on her lap. She's ready for this to end.
"I told you not to bring her."
She whirls around and the world stops.
Adam is standing a dozen feet behind her, holding Yang in front of him, twisting her right arm behind her back in an obviously painful position. He's pressing a knife to her throat.
Fear congeals in Blake's stomach, dripping ice into her veins. She can't look away from the edge of the knife touching Yang's skin. She can't move at all. "I knew you would be too afraid to come alone," Adam spits out. "Coward."
Yang bucks against him, and he must tighten his hold on her because she lets out a groan of pain. Blake takes a step forward, talking, pleading, before she can even think it through. "Adam, please, don't hurt her. Please! You can do whatever you want to me, just let her go."
Yang's eyes widen, her mouth opening like she wants to argue. Adam snickers. "I spent so long waiting for you to be alone, only to have you deliver yourself to me. Oh, darling, you never were the brightest girl."
He kicks Yang in the back of her legs, making her drop to her knees, and then slams one foot between her shoulder blades, sending her sprawled to the ground, gasping for breath.
Blake launches herself at him. Her knuckles hit his left cheekbone. The shock reverberates through her arm, and he staggers back, surprised. Blake breathes through her nose, like he taught her during their self-defense sessions, and rams her heel into his right knee. He grunts, but this time he holds his ground, and easily deflects her next hit.
Sweat runs down Blake's spine, drenching her shirt. She takes a step backward, and shivers, from the cold, from the fear. She knows she won't win an outright fight against Adam - he's the one who trained her after all, and he's physically much stronger than her. She glances to the side. Yang is still on the ground, unmoving. Oh, God, what if she's really hurt? What if…
Distracted, she doesn't see him coming, and suddenly his hand is around her throat, chocking her. "No," she lets out, weakly, clutching at his forearm with both hands, digging her nails into his skin. He doesn't budge. She can't breathe.
Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, as he starts pushing her toward the edge of the cliff. No, she wants to say, again, but her voice is gone, crushed under Adam's hand. Black spots swirl in her vision. The rumble of waves crashing against the cliff echoes far, far below her.
And, right as she's about to give up, she hears the sound of a struggle.
"Get away from her!" Yang yells. Adam's grip on Blake's throat relaxes, and Blake reacts immediately, punching him in the nose. He lets out a shout of pain, stumbling back as Yang rushes to her, concern written all over her face. Blake, panting, grabs Yang's hand in her own, holding onto her like a lifeline, and together they face Adam. He still has a knife, and he's grinning like a madman.
But the tide has turned. Blake hears hurried footsteps coming their way, and torchlights shine bright on Adam. She lets out a breath of relief. Patch's routine police patrol is right on time, just like Yang said they would.
"Police! Drop the weapon!"
Adam looks around, then turns toward Blake again. "What did you do?" he screams, furor contorting his face into an ugly mask.
She stares him down, squeezing Yang's hand. "It's over, Adam."
Afterward, once they've taken Adam away, Blake slumps to her knees, right on the edge of the cliff where she's still standing, and shakes and shakes as tears stream down her face. The adrenaline has worn off - the valve keeping her emotions at bay releases abruptly and it all comes pouring out of her, like a river overflowing after the snow melts. Yang kneels in front of her, and gathers Blake in her arms.
They're surrounded by police officers with torchlights talking loudly to each other, but as soon as Yang hugs her, Blake feels like she just slipped underwater. All the noise and lights dim, becoming distant and distorted, and only Yang remains, Yang and the way she cups the back of Blake's head so tenderly.
"We're okay, you're okay," Yang says, over and over, whispering the words into her hair as Blake sobs in her arms.
It's a long, long night.
The police officers drive them back to the small police station of the island, where they get checked out for injuries - Yang's back is a little bruised, same with Blake's neck, but nothing serious. Twenty minutes later, Tai and Summer barge in, worried sick, with Ruby in tow. They engulf the two of them in a group hug so fierce it makes new tears spill from Blake's eyes, but everyone else is also crying at this point so she doesn't feel embarrassed. She half-expects a lecture, but Tai and Summer barely say anything at all, too obviously relieved that they're safe, listening as Yang explains it all.
Then the police gets Blake's parents on the phone - and that prompts even more crying. By the time she's finally led to a private office to give her statement, Blake's head is foggy, her eyes sore, and she can barely think. She listens to the officer, but can't really process anything. The words spin, almost meaningless, in her mind - witness, minor, statute of limitations, no charges, going away for good. The only thing she knows is that she's free, at last.
In the early hours of the morning, when they finally make it back to Yang's bedroom, Blake feels like a whole new person, like she's shed an old skin, shaken grief and fear and guilt off her shoulders, the past no longer weighting her down. Every part of her is raw - but it's hers.
Yang flops down on her bed after they change into their pajamas, yawning. Blake lingers in between the two beds, not sure where she stands.
Their eyes meet. Yang scoots over to one side, welcoming. Her blond curls fall on the white pillow like a golden crown, and her smile is still bright as ever despite what they just went through, and Blake is drawn to her light like a sunflower to the sun. Yet she can't shake the worry, persistent, that she doesn't quite deserve what Yang is offering.
"Yang, I'm…" Blake forces the words out of her mouth. "I'm sorry he hurt you because of me. I'm sorry I kept so many secrets from you. I'm sorry I shut you out because I was too scared to…"
"Blake," Yang interrupts her, with a shake of her head. "I told you, you don't need to apologize." She pats the empty side of her bed. "Come here." A pause - Blake doesn't move, uncertain. "If you want to," Yang adds, softly, and her careful tone is what dispels the last of Blake's hesitation. She lies down besides Yang, and rests her head on the pillow. The bed smells like her, and Blake feels dizzy with joy and exhaustion.
"You okay?" Yang asks, in a low murmur, turning to face her.
Blake rolls on her side as well, and presses her palm against Yang's, interlacing their fingers. "I am now."
They fall asleep holding hands.
It's past midday when they wake up. Blake's arm is curled around Yang's waist, her forehead resting against Yang's back. The closeness feels right - like coming home. Blake presses a shy kiss onto the nape of Yang's neck, and Yang chuckles, turning around to face her.
"How are you feeling?"
"Different," Blake says, truthfully, smiling when Yang can't help yawning. "Good. You?"
"Never been better! There's nothing like waking up with a pretty girl in my bed," Yang replies with a cheeky grin. Blake's heart lurches, and her eyes flick towards Yang's smiling mouth, and the tongue peeking between her teeth.
"Can I kiss you?" she asks. Her voice comes out hoarse, wanting.
Yang licks her lips, half-lidded eyes looking up at Blake. "Please."
So Blake kisses her. It's not the first time, so she's not sure why the touch of Yang's lips against her own knocks the breath out of her lungs, why the wet slide of Yang's tongue on her bottom lip makes her tremble like she's never been kissed before.
But everything feels real and heavy with intention, like maybe this time they aren't simply crashing into each other, but deliberately choosing each other. Blake tugs Yang's lip between her teeth, releases it with a wet pop, and moves to straddle Yang's hips.
Yang smiles, a little dazedly, and rests her hands on Blake's thighs, just below the rim of her purple nightdress. Yang's palms are warm on Blake's bare skin, and she swallows, pushing an errand curl of blond hair away from Yang's face, before her fingers trail down the pale slope of her neck, her sharp collarbones, her golden, round shoulders. She leans down to kiss Yang again, and follows with her tongue the line of her jaw, one hand splayed almost possessively on Yang's stomach, feeling with delight the muscles tensing underneath her fingers. "Is this ok?" Blake murmurs as she sneaks her hand under the thin tank top Yang wears at night.
"Fuck yeah," Yang lets out, a little shakily. Blake obliges, eagerly touching Yang's abs, fingers crawling up slowly, counting her ribs, until they brush against the side of Yang's breasts, and Yang's hands tighten on her thighs.
Yang breathes out, and pushes Blake's nightdress a little higher on her legs, her hands going around to the back of Blake's thighs, and then up until Yang is shamelessly cupping her ass. She grins and pushes downward, grinding Blake on her lap. Blake has to bite her lip to keep herself from whimpering, and she doesn't miss the blush on Yang's cheeks, dusting her skin pink. She kisses Yang again, softly, amused, and whispers into her mouth: "I want to see you naked."
"Demanding," Yang comments, teasing and breathless all at once. She drops a kiss on Blake's chin. "I like it."
Blake hops off her so Yang can dispose of her pajamas. When she lies back down, naked, Yang's blush deepens, and for the first time ever, Blake reads self-consciousness in her eyes. So Blake covers Yang's naked body with her own, relishing in the warmth and smoothness of Yang's bare skin. Her legs press against Yang's legs, hips slotted together, and Blake leaves a trail of wet kisses on Yang's chest, her breasts, her neck. She wants to kiss every inch of her, ever freckle, every pore. She's drunk on the feeling of Yang's skin under her lips, the smell of her, the tiny noises she makes when Blake's teeth graze her. Slowly, carefully, Blake's mouth descends towards Yang's hips, until she's ghosting kisses between Yang's legs, and Yang arches off the bed, gasping.
"Blake," she chokes out, staring at her in awe, wide-eyed and beautiful.
Blake smiles from between her thighs. "Let me take care of you."
Yang's eyes soften, filled with an emotion that has Blake's heart beating hard and fast inside her chest. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that, right?"
"I want to," Blake says, seriously, rising to her knees to look at her.
She's still wearing her nightdress, and the sight of Yang naked and waiting for her, letting her take control without hesitation, makes gratitude coalesce with the burning desire in Blake's stomach. So Blake presses the flat of her tongue against Yang, and licks until Yang's entire body tenses and shakes, her pleasure lost in a silent cry.
Afterwards, Blake pulls off her nightdress and lies down beside Yang, stroking her hair as she waits for Yang's breath to even out. Eventually, Yang sits up, and moves until she's kneeling between Blake's legs. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, eyes roaming Blake's naked body.
Her hands curl around Blake's thighs, and she stares at Blake in the eye as she spreads her legs open, holding her there, laid bare before her, nothing secret anymore. Blake's whole body burns, her cheeks reddening under Yang's hungry eyes, wetness growing between her legs - she feels exposed, and vulnerable, and completely safe. There's nowhere to hide - nothing to hide. Yang runs her hands over her skin, cupping Blake's breasts, teasing her nipples with the pad of her thumbs until Blake has to muffle her moans against the back of her hand.
Yang's fingers rest on the dip of her throat. "Can I?" she asks, careful. Blake nods, and Yang's fingertips brush the faint red marks on her neck, her touch light and loving. She slides down the length of Blake's body, gentle, and presses tender lips against Blake's scar, and Blake has to close her eyes, love flooding her chest, threatening to make her cry.
But Yang's attention is relentless, and she shudders as nails scratch the tender skin of her inner thighs, grunting when Yang replaces them with her teeth, biting and sucking a constellation of bruises. "I've been wanting to mark you since you first kissed me," Yang confides, licking the sting away.
Blake growls, tries to grind against Yang's mouth, growing desperate with the need for pressure, to no avail. Yang laughs, watching her squirm under her, delighted, and it's the most beautiful sound in the world.
"Demanding and impatient. What am I gonna do with you, Belladonna?"
"Well, fuck me, hopefully," Blake says, just a tad petulant, and as she's about to insist, Yang thrusts two fingers inside her without warning. Blake's voice catches in her throat, and she moans, loud and unabashed.
Annoyingly, Yang doesn't move, so Blake starts rolling her hips, fucking herself on Yang's fingers, and oh, it's overwhelming, the feeling of Yang above her, against her, inside her. She gets into a rhythm, pleasure building up steadily in her lower stomach, until suddenly Yang pulls out.
Blake twitches and shifts, frustrated, whiny, while Yang inspects her fingers.
"You're so wet for me, baby."
Fuck. Blake's mouth opens, not expecting Yang's words, nor the way she says them, smug and hot and wicked, and desire throbs between her legs, breathtaking in its intensity, pulsating in her stomach and in her thighs, drowning everything else. Yang hesitates for a few seconds before she pushes her fingers inside Blake's mouth, slowly. Blake closes her mouth around Yang's fingers, and licks them clean, tasting herself, eyes locked onto Yang's. Her cheeks burn, but Yang is blushing too, the tip of her ears bright pink, something like worship in her eyes. She slides her fingers out, and wipes Blake's mouth with her thumb.
"I've never done that with anyone else," she says, low and earnest, staring at Blake's swollen lips. Yang's had sex before, they both have - but Blake knows what she means, how different this feels, sharing this kind of intimacy and trust.
They look at each other, caught in the moment. Yang is still pressing her thumb against Blake's lower lip, and the weight of it grounds Blake, like an anchor. There's reverence in Yang's touch, devotion in her eyes - Blake's heart feels so full, it's almost painful, but the good kind of pain, the one that makes you feel alive. The words she wants to say push against her teeth - I love you - but Blake swallows them down, for now. Instead, she kisses Yang's thumb, gently, and tenderness blooms between her ribs when Yang's lips curve into the softest smile.
Then she bites Yang's finger, playfully, challenging. Yang shakes her head, still smiling, and puts her hand back where Blake wants it.
Blake comes with Yang's name on her lips, and it tastes like freedom.
