“Cold reflections, they tell no lies;
But eyes just scratch the surface...
Don’t shake me,
Don’t make me bear my teeth.
You really don’t wanna meet that guy.
Don’t wake me,
Don’t let it off the leash.
There’s a monster livin’ under this hide.”
-Miracle of Sound, A Dog’s Life
Golden eyes, sharp in the dark, scanned the ruined skyline. The pale moon shone overhead, casting a frosty glow over the thick clouds and illuminating the world below in a pale witch-light.
From her vantage atop the crumbling apartment complex, the girl in black searched the streets for any sign of her prey.
A searchlight passed her way from the center of the city. Like a shadow she ducked behind the chimney to avoid the glow, her eyes still darting hither and thither in search of a mark.
There. Two—one male, one female—their white masks sharply at odds with their black garb.
The golden eyes narrowed, and then, like a thought, she was gone.
“You’re boring,” the female was complaining loudly. “That’s one thing I have to hand those Huntsmen; they’ve got style. They just run in without a care in the world; they can dodge or block bullets, and then they just—”
A shot in the dark, and her head was jerking forward, blood spurting from the wound in the back of her skull. The girl with the golden eyes darted past the falling flesh and sliced the male’s weapon in two even as he raised it.
He was panicking, she could see; it was written in the wildness in the dark eyes under the mask. That would make this easy.
She swung herself around him and cast her knee into his back and he fell all to easily, face-down beside his partner.
“Where’s Adam Taurus,” her voice was slightly hoarse from lack of use, and cold as ice from lack of care.
“I don’t know,” the male mumbled, the words tumbling out on instinct—a sure indicator of truth. “Lieutenant Rivi’s in charge of this sector and—oh Oum—you killed her—Anne—”
“Thanks for your cooperation.” The girl rolled her eyes, kicked the waste of space in the side to turn him over, and brought her sword down.
She left the corpse there as she moved on.
Lieutenant Rivi, she remembered, was a bruiser if there ever was one; brutally powerful, with a massive Aura pool, and loyal beyond question. Killing him would be both good practice, and a harsh blow.
But dawn was coming, and she never moved in the daylight.
She soon found a hidden nook in one of the abandoned houses, and quickly curled up in the space between a raised bed and the floor.
She lay awake for a long time, of course. Sleep no longer came easily, if it came at all. But at length, she did drift off.
She dreamed of flaxen hair, and violet eyes, and a radiant smile.
When her silent alarm woke her, still exhausted from weeks of sleep deprivation, there were tears in her eyes and an ache in her heart. She wiped away the former and ignored the latter; it would pass in time.
There was work to be done.
She crept silently out of her hiding spot and clambered up the building’s outer wall to claim another vantage point. Golden eyes took in the gray twilight of the dusk quickly.
It was likely around 9 PM; the sun had set a couple of hours ago. She looked around and there. An encampment of the white-masked enemy, well-camouflaged, but apparent to her experienced eye.
Her fists clenched; one involuntarily clutched at her stomach.
She leapt down from the building, landing silently on the street. Moving from one shadow to another, she crept slowly towards the outpost.
The faunus were on high alert; sentries were posted at every entry, and atop a few of the buildings. The place had once been a lively downtown street corner; not, only one corner store had lights in the windows.
That was where she would find Lieutenant Rivi. Getting to him would be the first problem.
Fortunately, it seemed that luck was with her. Shouting began to spread around the camp, and gunfire cracked the air. She tensed, but they were not responding to her. Someone else was attacking the camp.
This was unusual, but not unprecedented. The Valean defenses and Atlesian military were prioritizing the security of their portion of Vale, but they did send out the occasional patrol to clear out Grimm and White Fang.
She didn’t question it. Even as the guard redirected to the breach in their perimeter, she slipped through their defenses and soon found herself just outside the Lieutenant’s headquarters.
She ducked out of cover to survey the room. The Lieutenant was studying a map intently, alone; he was capable of defending himself, and so had kept no guards. His ornate red and white mask somehow conveyed frustration, despite hiding all of his actual features save his black buzzcut.
She drew her weapon carefully, gripping the sharpened sheath tightly in her left hand and shifting the katana into its hook form.
This would be difficult.
She opened by throwing the hook in with momentum assistance from the automatic pistol in the hilt. Her opponent, agile as he was, reacted quickly, dodging out of the way and unfolding his revolving chamber chainsaw.
The hook caught on the wall and she pulled herself along the ribbon, flying through the door into light cover on the opposite side of the table from the Lieutenant.
There she stood for a moment, her golden eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on her opponent. A growl was building in his throat.
“You,” he hissed.
She was silent, opting instead to ready her weapons.
“I’ll kill you, traitor!” Lieutenant Rivi roared. “I’ll tear you apart and feed you to the Grimm!”
She just charged. Her short katana glanced off his chainblade as it began to spin, and she used the momentum of the sparking impact to spin into an attempted stab with the offhand sheath.
Rivi blocked it with the flat of his blade and thrust if forward with a yell.
Her semblance activated, and she slipped away from the strike to a position behind him, already striking. He spun, avoiding the blow, and brought his own weapon around in a wild sweep.
Her heart began to race, the thrill of combat making her really feel alive for the first time in months.
The combat, however, was cut short. A shotgun blast was heard outside and a Dust-infused projectile hit the Lieutenant in the side, throwing him into the wall.
A white glyph appeared even as he hit the masonry, shifted color into black, and he was pulled tightly against the stone, unable to move.
She looked at the doorway, and her heart stopped.
Yang Xiao Long stepped into the room, a gleaming golden prosthetic flexing as she reloaded the built-in replacement for the lost Ember Cecilia gauntlet. Her violet eyes were fixed on the attacker. “Found you,” she said, a grin gracing her features.
Blake blinked and found herself backing away. “Yang?” she whispered.
There was someone behind her. She found this out when the backed into them, her situational awareness absolutely destroyed by the impossibility before her.
Even as she tensed in preparation for an attack, there was a huff behind her. “I think you’ve been running off enough,” said Weiss’ voice firmly. “You’re not getting away this time, Blake.”
Blake relaxed but didn’t take her eyes off of the blonde before her. “You’re… okay?” she whispered disbelievingly.
Yang’s face fell. “We’ll talk about that,” she said, pulling her scroll out of her pocket and tapping a few buttons. “Give me a bit. Weiss, can you keep holding him?”
“Not likely!” Lieutenant Rivi growled, visibly throwing himself against the force holding him to the wall. “I won’t be held by some Schnee scum!”
Weiss snorted. “I can’t believe I had trouble with you last time,” she said. “Do us all a favor and be quiet, please.”
“Professor?” Yang said to her scroll, now against her ear. “We’ve found Blake, and we have a Fang officer prisoner. Can you get a bullhead sent for us?”
A pause as the other end of the line answered. “Cool,” Yang said cheerfully. “See you soon, then, Glitters!”
She hung up. “Glynda,” she told Blake by way of explanation. “She’s in charge of the Vale-native defenses now, while Ironwood coordinates the Atlesians. You probably know that already, though.”
Blake shook her head dumbly. She hadn’t been keeping up with events in the civilized parts of Vale.
Yang shrugged, the polished gold of her prosthetic catching the lamplight with a gleam. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “She’s coming personally. Probably to yell at us.” She grinned. “Just like old times.”
Weiss chuckled and stepped forward into Blake’s field of view. Myrtenaster was in her right hand, pointed steadily at the Lieutenant, even as her left arm crept around Blake’s shoulders in a gentle embrace. “It’s good to see you, Blake,” she said with a smile.
Blake blinked at her, and then at the tender smile on Yang’s face.
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes.
Glynda Goodwitch came soon with a few Atlesian troopers to pick up the prisoner. She was quick to knock the lieutenant out with a quick application of Dust before turning to her three erstwhile students.
“Miss Xiao Long,” she said with a nod once he was being loaded onto the bullhead. “It is good to see you’re as effective as ever.”
Yang beamed, and Blake had to fight the urge to avert her eyes so as not to be blinded. “Aw, you know how it is,” she said with false modesty. “I just needed a helping hand.”
Blake froze. There was the faint slapping sound of Weiss’ palm meeting the skin of her face, but other than that, there was perfect stillness for a moment.
Glynda sighed. “I should be glad you haven’t changed in the slightest,” she muttered ruefully.
Yang’s white teeth glinted in the dim light as she laughed aloud, flexing her burnished arm, her violet eyes running up and down it as though she, like Blake, was still having trouble accepting it was there. “You know you love us, Glitters,” she said lightly. Then, without acknowledging the look on Glynda-s face—as though she’d just swallowed a lemon—the younger blonde turned to Blake.
There was a hint of something in those lilac eyes now, apprehension or fear. Yang’s organic left arm came up, her hand open in in a proffering gesture.
“Well?” she asked, and her voice trembled audibly, but only slightly, and there was a smile on her face. “You coming?”
Blake twitched. “Yang,” she mumbled. “I…”
“No,” Yang interrupted gently. “No explanations, and no excuses. You just have to choose, and I’m sorry, but you need to do it now.”
“I can’t…” Blake started, tears coming to her eyes.
Weiss interrupted her this time. “I think I understand your reasons, Blake,” she said quietly, “but please… trust us?”
A beat. Blake’s heart was in her throat as Yang held her gaze steadily with those soft, vulnerable eyes, begging silently for her to make the right choice.
She swallowed. Had it really been three months since they’d seen one another?
Her eyes flickered to the golden gauntlet and the calloused palm. Her hand twitched.
Almost against her will, her hand snapped out and gripped her partner’s tightly, the warmth seeming almost to scald her fingers.
She was instantly pulled into a crushing embrace. “Thank you,” whispered Yang, her voice breaking slightly. “Thank you.”
Blake buried her face into Yang’s shoulder wordlessly, trying to stifle her tears.
Yang didn’t let go of her through the entire bullhead ride into the city center. Instead, she held Blake tightly with her left arm while her right held to a strut to keep stable.
Blake was grateful. She didn’t know if she could have kept standing through the entire flight otherwise.
Weiss and Glynda were talking in low voices on the other end of the cabin, but neither Blake nor Yang joined in the conversation; they just stood, entwined, neither willing to break from the other.
The last thing Blake remembered for a long while was the warmth of Yang’s body and the faint lavender scent of her shampoo.
She woke slowly, her eyes reluctantly fluttering open and focusing.
She was in a cot which would likely have been uncomfortable had she not gotten used to sleeping on the ground in recent weeks. As it was, she felt like she was laying on a cloud.
She almost closed her eyes and dozed again, but a flash of gold and lilac in her mind’s eye lent strength to her as she rolled out of the cot and picked herself slowly up off of the stone floor.
She seemed to be alone in a former bedroom of some derelict apartment. The gold sunlight of the morning streamed in from a window on her left, setting the room alight with a healthy shine.
She padded over to the window and looked out. She was on the second floor of a building, and the street below was, if not bustling, then at least occupied by a colorful assortment of workers and warriors trying to breathe life back into the defunct kingdom of Vale. Atlesian soldiers and their accompanying mechs—although the robots were never in a majority in any given squadron anymore—patrolled up and down the road, and builders and carpenters occupied each building, trying to rebuild them into functionality.
Blake took a deep breath in. The air seemed cleaner, somehow. Grimm had no stench, and yet their absence in this place somehow transmitted itself as a scent, fresh and crisp and clean.
There was a faint knock on her door, clearly intended to avoid waking her. She turned. “Come in,” she said, and her voice was still hoarse for lack of use.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the door snapped open and Yang rushed in. “Blake!” she exclaimed, and threw her arms around her partner. “You’re awake!”
Blake smiled slightly and hugged Yang back. Her smile faded slightly as her bare arm rubbed coldly against the cool metal of Yang’s prosthetic. “Yang,” she murmured. “It’s good to see you.”
“I missed you,” Yang said, and her voice was soft.
Blake smiled again and rested her cheek on Yang’s shoulder. At length, she pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Yang looked at her and her violet eyes were sad. “I am too,” she said softly.
Blake’s heart caught. Say something else, she begged internally. Anything else!
But Yang just turned away. “Weiss and I are downstairs,” she said. “Come down when you’re ready.”
Yang shut the door behind her with a click and for a moment Blake considered jumping out of the window. Her Aura would protect her from the fall.
Or possibly, it wouldn’t.
She shook her head to clear it and took stock of the rest of the room. Someone had changed her out of her clothes—they had been filthy after so many weeks in the field with only the occasional rare wash—and she was currently in some borrowed, yellow pyjamas. (Her breath caught at the faint thought of who they must belong to, and she couldn’t help taking a sniff and, yes, catching a whiff of lavender.)
Her usual outfit was neatly folded on an armchair in the corner, on whose arm Gambol Shroud was leaning, sheathed.
She drew the curtains and quickly stripped off the bedclothes, slipping back into the familiar corset and stockings. She strapped Gambol shroud instinctively to her belt and was about to go out before hesitating and taking the weapon off, setting it down gently on the cot before opening the curtains again and leaving the bedroom.
True to Yang’s word, she and Weiss were waiting in what must have been the flat’s kitchen, by the still-present stove and refrigerator. A small round table had been set up and they were seated at two of the four seats, mugs of coffee in their hands as they talked in low voices.
Blake only caught a snatch of the conversation as she stepped into the room. “—If she decides to leave again?” Weiss was saying.
Yang shrugged. “That’s her—” she began, and then saw Blake coming through the doorway. She smiled brilliantly. “Blake!” she greeted. “You like tea, right?”
Blake nodded, her lips twitching into a wry grin. “Yes, but don’t worry about it,” she said, crossing over to an empty seat.
Yang rolled her eyes, standing. “It’s not like tea’s hard to make,” she said, making her way to the stovetop and withdrawing a kettle from the cabinet above. “It’ll just take a minute. We don’t have anything great, though, just generic black teabags.”
Blake nodded, watching her partner work. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Yang smiled over at her. “No problem,” she said, turning on the (still functioning) tap and beginning to fill the kettle.
“How did you sleep, Blake?” Weiss asked, leaning forward slightly and setting her coffee down on the table.
Blake shrugged and said, “Fine.” Then she thought about it. “Well, actually,” she corrected. “Really well. Better than I have in months.”
Weiss smiled. “I’m glad,” she said warmly. “It’s very good to have you back.”
Blake smiled slightly, but couldn’t meet Weiss’ eyes. “I shouldn’t stay,” she said quietly.
“Ah, no,” Yang sang from the other side of the room. “Conversation for later.” She came back to the table and sat, taking a sip of her coffee. “Tea’s on,” she told Blake unnecessarily. “Should be boiling in a minute.”
Blake nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s been months since I last had any tea.”
Yang grinned. “Maybe I should just tease you by drinking yours, then.”
Weiss groaned, but Blake found herself giggling. “You’re not funny,” she told Yang contradictorily.
Yang’s smile only widened. “Nope, I’m Yang.”
“Stop,” Weiss ordered flatly. “Or I will leave.”
Yang rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, I’ll dial it back.”
“Good,” said Weiss firmly, and at that moment, the kettle whistled.
Yang stood and crossed back over to the stove. Blake watched, transfixed, as her golden fingers closed around the handle and lifted the black pot, pouring its contents into a porcelain mug held in place by her other hand on the counter.
“It really works well,” said Yang conversationally, knowing exactly where Blake was looking without looking up. “You saw how I was able to integrate something like Ember Cecilia in, and that’s not even the only trick this baby has up her sleeve.”
Yang set the kettle down and came to the table, teacup clasped gently in her metal hand. “It took me a while to…” she stopped, set the teacup down before Blake, and started again, “…but I’m glad I did. Wouldn’t be half as capable now if Ironwood hadn’t…”
“Don’t,” Weiss warned, but it was too late.
“…Handed me this opportunity,” Yang finished, with a wink at Weiss. The Schnee put her face in her hands.
Blake looked down into her cup to stifle her smile. “You seem to be dealing with it well,” she said softly.
There was a moment of silence. Blake looked up. Yang was looking away from her, and Weiss was watching their blonde teammate sadly.
“I didn’t for a while,” Yang said softly. She turned back to Blake and her smile was back in place, but it seemed a touch forced now. “It’ll need a minute to steep,” she said. “I’m sure you know when to take out the bag better than I do.”
Blake watched her for a moment before nodding. “Probably,” she agreed. “Thank you, Yang.”
Yang’s smile returned to sincerity, and her golden fingers moved slightly. “Glad to be of help,” she said, sitting back down.
“So, Blake,” Weiss asked, “have you been in touch with anyone since the battle?”
Blake shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “I got rid of my scroll after the CCT was reactivated because the Fang kept tracking me using the signal. Last contact I had with anyone was when Sun caught me before I…” Ran away.
Yang filled the silence. “I knew he was the last one to see you,” she said, nodding. “Didn’t know he’d actually talked to you on your way out. You going to get back in touch with him now, if you can?”
Blake sighed and looked down. “Maybe one day,” she said. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
‘How can you do this to me?’ Sun had asked. ‘To us? We need you here, Blake!’
‘Sun,’ she’d told him, and her voice had ben cold enough to chill the back of her throat, ‘someone I care for a lot more than you needs me to stay away. Get out of my way.’
She hadn’t realized how much he’d come to care for her until he responded to that tidbit of honesty be staggering back as though struck. ‘I thought—’ his voice had caught, then, and he’d shaken his head, staring at her sadly. ‘I can’t stop you anyway,’ he’d said, and his voice was raw. ‘Sorry I ever thought otherwise.’
He’d folded Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang from their staff form and put them away, turning from her. ‘I’ll see you around, Blake,’ He’d said stiffly.
She’d swallowed and been still for a moment, wanting to call after him, to apologize, to do something, anything but leave him this way.
But she turned and limped away, the wound in her belly slowing her progress significantly even as her Aura worked to heal it.
‘Please don’t die!’ he’d called after her, but when she turned back to see him he was already gone.
Yang was watching her concernedly. “Blake?” she asked. “You all right? You zoned out there for a bit.”
Blake shook the memory away. “Sorry,” she said. “What did I miss?”
Yang shrugged. “I just said that, whatever it was, Sun would forgive you,” she said. “He’s cool, and he really likes you.”
Blake shook her head. “I know,” she said ruefully. “That’s what it was about.”
Yang frowned. “Wait, what?”
“I told him I didn’t like him that way,” Blake said quietly, “and then I just left him there.”
Yang nodded wryly. “Didn’t want him to follow you?” she asked understandingly. “I get that, I guess. Might be the only thing you could’ve said to stop him.”
Blake shook her head. “It wasn’t anything as calculated as that,” she said quietly. “I’d have been, I don’t know… gentler about it if I was thinking straight. I just said what was true, and I was ready to fight him if he tried to stop me.”
Yang blinked at her. “Hold on,” she muttered, “hold on. Does that mean…?”
Weiss cleared her throat, and Blake, turning to her, saw that she was rolling her eyes. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she said firmly, “So that you can work through this. Yang, let me know when you finish. I need to call home.”
She stood, taking her coffee with her, and strode out of the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her.
Blake blinked at the door. “What was that about?” she asked. “And since when does Weiss call home?”
“Her dad grew up,” Yang said absently, and Blake turned to see that her blonde partner was studying her intently. “Decided to stop being as much of a scumbag. So hold on, hold on. What was that about you not liking Sun being the truth?”
Blake frowned. “I like him fine,” she protested. “But he wanted a relationship. He’s a good guy, but not exactly boyfriend material. At least, not for me.”
Yang snorted and leaned back, blinking. “Well,” she said bemusedly. “Could’ve fooled me. We agree on that, though; nice eye candy, but I wouldn’t date him either.”
Blake chuckled, shaking her head and staring at Yang blankly, an odd surge flowing through her. “Wait,” she said, “you thought I was interesting in Sun? As in, Sun Wukong, the monkey faunus?”
Yang laughed. “When you put it that way, I sound stupid,” she said.
Blake shook her head affectionately. “You are, a bit,” she said dryly. “I’m grateful to him for helping me out when I… well, when you all found out about…” she pointed at the bow atop her head. “…But he’s not for me.”
Yang nodded. “No, I get it,” she said. “Take away the layer of ick and Russel actually looks okay, but with the whole, y’know, being a scumbag thing that’s a solid ‘would not date.’”
Blake giggled.
“Quite apart from which,” Yang continued conversationally, and then stopped, studying Blake with an odd look in her eye. Then she shook her head. “Nope,” she said in a light, sing-song voice. “Done being scared. Had it up to here with that.” She gave Blake a gentle smile. “Let’s just say there’s someone else I’ve had my eye on for a while,” she said, and stood. “And if you want, we can leave it at that.”
Blake’s heart had been crawling upward through Yang’s little monologue, and by now it was in her throat. “No,” she heard herself say, “go on. Who did catch your eye, if not the,” she giggled, “inestimable Mr. Thrush?”
Yang snorted, walked around the table, and sat in Blake’s lap. She slung her organic left hand around the faunus’ neck and nuzzled into her neck. “Take a guess, sweetheart,” she said breathily.
Blake’s breath caught and she froze. “Don’t tease me like this, Yang,” she mumbled.
Yang chuckled throatily and nibbled at her human ear. “Does this feel like teasing to you, Kitty?” she asked. “‘Cause if so, I’m doing something very right.”
Blake swallowed. “Yang, please…”
“Oh, all right,” Yang said, and, pulling her face around so they were facing one another, kissed her.
Blake’s arms came up unbidden; her left wrapped around her partner’s waist, while her right came up to run along Yang’s own, feeling the place where the skin ended and the metal began in a gentle caress.
At length, they broke apart, Yang’s soft eyes meeting Blake’s own. “So?” she asked flirtatiously, but there was an undercurrent of tension in her voice. “Did I scare you away again?”
Blake laughed and cried and buried her face in Yang’s shoulder.
“So Weiss thinks she gets it,” Yang said, nodding at their white-haired teammate before turning back to Blake, “but I just don’t. Why did you leave?”
Weiss had been invited back into the room once Yang had left Blake’s lap, reluctantly saying that they’d locked her out for long enough. She had looked amusedly knowing when she entered, clearly aware from the moment she saw Yang’s face of exactly what had happened—if not in detail, then in as much detail as she wanted to.
Blake sighed. “You weren’t there for the start of the conversation,” she said quietly. “Look…” she closed her eyes. “You remember after… after your fight with Mercury, how I told you someone I knew had changed?”
Yang nodded gently. “It’s all right, Blake,” she said, her soft left hand coming to rest on Blake’s own. “It’s okay. We know what happened now, and no one blames you for any of it.”
Blake shook her head. “It was him,” she said shortly.
Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait,” she said slowly. “As in, the redhead with the mask… that was your friend?”
Blake nodded. “His name’s Adam—Adam Taurus,” she said quietly. “Bull Faunus, and one of the White Fang’s top officers. He and I grew up in the streets together, and joined the Fang at the same time, before it got… well.”
Weiss’ hands were shaking slightly. “And he did that to you?” she asked quietly. “Stabbed you, because you left?”
“Getting stabbed,” Blake said quietly, “wasn’t the problem.” She looked at Yang. “He promised to destroy everything I loved,” she mumbled, and when he saw you, and… and saw how I looked at you… he said he’d start with you.”
Yang brought up her golden hand up and studied it for a moment, moving it around so that the fingers seemed to weave the sunlight like thread between them. Then she curled them into a fist. “Well,” she said coldly. “That changes things.”
Blake curled inward.
“No asshole treats Blake like that and gets away with it,” Yang said grimly, and Blake saw that her eyes were red. “He even tried to cut your head off—I saw that much. Nope.” She punched the table with her metal arm. The wood cracked. “Not having that,” she said.
“Don’t you see?” Blake asked softly, despairingly. “Yang, that’s what he wants! Last time you got angry at him, he almost killed you! He would have if I hadn’t been able to run us away!”
Yang nodded, staring at the clenched golden fingers. “Right,” she agreed, “but there’s two things he doesn’t count on. First,” she pointed at Weiss and Blake in turn with her left hand. “When we fight as a team, we’re a hell of a lot better than when one of us charges in like an idiot. And second,” she raised her right arm from the table and began to unfold the built-in gauntlet, “what doesn’t kill us,” she raised her fist to the ceiling and fired with a resounding boom, “makes us stronger.”
“You didn’t really think you could fight him on your own?” Weiss asked Blake softly. “You know better.”
Blake shook her head. “I thought I could keep him off of all of you,” she said. “If I’d stayed with the team, you’d all be targets; if I gave myself up, he’d take me prisoner. I had to fight him hard enough that he’d have to kill me to win.”
Yang crossed the room, pulled Blake out of her chair, and closed her arms around her in a tight embrace. “Blake,” she said hoarsely, “if you ever died, that would kill me.”
“And Yang’s not the only one,” Weiss said firmly. “Whatever the White Fang or anyone in it decides to do to any of us, they had best be ready to fight all of us for it. Come now, Blake,” a wry hint entered her tone. “Surely by now you know you can count on us?”
Blake swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Yang tightened her grip. “It’s okay,” she said. “But no more running away?”
Blake’s arms closed around Yang. “No more running away,” she promised.
Yang had apparently had trouble sleeping while in Vale before she and Weiss had found Blake, so she had turned in early that night (though not before giving Blake a saucy wink and a standing invitation to join her, which Blake—if she was honest with herself—was seriously considering). Blake thus found herself alone in the kitchen with Weiss a little after sunset, lingering over a light dinner of whatever interesting foodstuffs could be scrounged together from rations.
“I’m glad you and Yang finally worked yourselves out,” Weiss said, breaking a lull in conversation. “It’s been coming for quite some time.”
Blake smiled slightly. “I guess it has,” she admitted. “Wish I’d figured that out sooner.”
Weiss chuckled. “I think we all do,” she agreed. “Oh, before I forget; as far as I know, your things are all still in the old room at Beacon. We should take a detour there before we leave Vale.”
Blake blinked. “Leave Vale?” she asked blankly. “Don’t they need us here?”
Weiss looked rueful. “I’m sure they would be grateful for the help,” she admitted, “but I think you’ll agree that rebuilding the team takes priority.”
Blake blinked. “I assumed Ruby was still on Patch,” she said slowly. “Where is she?”
Weiss shook her head. “I don’t know for certain,” she said, “although she should be on a boat traveling to Mistral right now. I last heard from her a few days ago, when she called me from Port North.”
Blake blinked at her. “Why is Ruby going to Mistral,” she asked quietly, “and why is she going alone?”
Weiss winced. “She’s not entirely alone,” she protested. “She has JNP—ehm, Jaune, Ren, and Nora with her.”
Blake sighed. Pyrrha had been confirmed dead just before she’d left; she’d heard it from the Huntsman who had come to take Yang to the hospital. “Not her own team,” she mumbled.
“And which of us was available for her to ask?” Weiss asked testily. “You were incommunicado in Vale, Yang was… well, Yang was bedridden, first with her injury and then with depression, and I was busy acting like a weak little girl in Atlas!”
Weiss let out a breath and slumped. “We all failed each other,” she said quietly, “but I think we all failed Ruby most of all.”
Blake reached across the table and put a hand on her teammate’s shoulder. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, “and we’ll show her that Team RWBY isn’t going to go down that easy.”
Weiss smiled. “Never again,” she promised. “I had my taste of being without the three of you. It isn’t for me.”
Blake smiled. “Nor me,” she agreed. “So, we’ll head for Mistral… when?”
Weiss chuckled. “Remember who you’re talking to, my dear,” she said, pulling out her scroll. “How does tomorrow afternoon sound?”
“So lean a little on your friends.
They will carry you:
Shelter from the stormy nights.
Lean a little on your friends.
They will guide you through:
You know you’re gonna be all right.”
-Miracle of Sound, Friends