Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sky. Sea. Sky. Sea.

She hit the water and tasted blood. For a moment she hung in dazzling blue, stunned. And then her body remembered how to fight. She burst through the surface, gasping lungfuls of the sweetest air she’d ever breathed. Her limbs ached, and she’d bitten her tongue, and her ears were ringing, but she was alive. She had survived. Like she always did.

Land on the horizon. She kicked towards it, battling swells that threatened to swamp her. She couldn’t think about where she was, or what had happened to the others. Not yet. Her mind was still full of the tumble of sky and sea, and the endless darkness that had come before.

How long had she—?

No. Focus, she told herself. She hadn’t died yet, and she wasn’t about to let the ocean take her. Every time her attention began to wander, she forced it back to the task at hand. After all, wasn’t she the one who’d turned stubbornness into a fine art? Somebody had told her that once. Probably her father. Her father, who she’d left behind to play the hero, who had no idea—

She got a mouthful of seawater as her strength failed for a moment. Just keep your head up, she thought. You’re fine. You’re just fine. Focus. When she crested the waves she could see the shore, drawing nearer so slowly that she sometimes doubted she was making any progress at all. Her prosthetic arm dragged at her shoulder. She considered letting it sink, but suddenly her feet touched bottom. She dragged herself forward until she could finally stumble out onto warm sand and collapse.

For a long time all she heard was her own wheezing breath. The sun was at first pleasantly warm, then searingly hot on her back, so after a while she crawled into the shade of a palm tree.

There were no palm trees in Atlas.

Well, obviously she couldn’t be in Atlas anymore, could she? Because she’d gone through the light, and the light had led somewhere else. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. There was a glowing path beneath her, and people running and screaming, and then the fall.

She leapt to her feet.

“Blake? Weiss?” Her voice came out in a thin crackle. She coughed and tried again. “Ruby?”

No one would hear her. She could barely hear herself. After a moment she sank down again. Her chest burned, and she realized with a start that she was bleeding. Yes, that made sense, because that stranger in the crowd hadn’t been a stranger after all. She remembered the illusion dissolving. And Blake…Blake had tried to save her, and failed.

She made a sound halfway between a whimper and a groan. Her fingers tangled in her hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered, “you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re fine.” She couldn’t go to pieces now. She needed to— to find somewhere safe. She wasn’t safe out in the open. But all she could do was sit and rock and replay the moment when she’d opened her eyes just in time to see her lifeline slip away.

A black bird flew down to peck at the sand a few feet away. At first it ignored her, but eventually it looked up and regarded her with a cocked head.

She scowled at it. “What? What do you want?”

It fluttered up into a nearby branch, and its eyes caught the fading sun and gleamed red.

She stumbled upright. It was probably just a bird, but she needed to get closer, needed to make sure. It watched her limp towards it and took flight again, moving deeper into the trees.

“Wait!” Her voice was still weak, but she made her best attempt to shout anyway. “Where are you going?”

Once again the bird waited until it knew she could see it before flying. It led her on a slow chase from perch to perch, through dense undergrowth and over twisting roots. No normal animal would move so deliberately. She gritted her teeth and pressed onward.

“Why does everything have to be so complicated with you?”

No answer, of course. They reached the top of a ridge. At the bottom a creek ran over stone. The bird landed by the water and drank, ignoring her as she approached. Eventually it tipped its head back to swallow and she saw that, in the shade of the jungle, its eyes were as black as any mundane raven’s.

She growled in frustration, and the bird startled and flew away. She was alone.

She found water, drank and cleaned her wounds as best she could. The only shelter she could find was a low crook in the branches of an oak, standing gnarled and strange among the palm trees. She took her time getting as comfortable as was possible given the circumstances. It was a more vulnerable position than she would have liked, but it was the best she could manage. Then she fell into something between delirium and sleep.

In the morning, the bird was back. It watched her from a nearby twig, mantling its feathers against the early breeze. She was surprised to find herself smiling at it.

“You came back.”

It fluttered to the forest floor. She half-tumbled after it, groaning over her stiff muscles. It remained close by as she caught fish in the creek and made a meagre fire: simple tasks that required just enough thought to keep her mind off what her next steps would be.

Simple tasks they might have been, but by the time the fish were simmering over the flames, she was spent. Her wounds still burned, her aura too depleted to do more than keep her from bleeding out. She wouldn’t be going anywhere today.

“Surprised the Grimm haven’t found me,” she told the raven as she lay under the oak tree, her eyes closed against the far-away sun. “Are you keeping them away?” She laughed, coughed, calmed herself again. It was stupid to talk to a bird as if it could understand. Stupid to assume it was even the same bird. The thing was probably just waiting around for her to die in any case. But she didn’t want to let her mind wander.

“Do you know where we are?” No, that was a dangerous path to follow. Does anyone know where I am? Does Blake— see, bad idea. She opened one eye to watch the clouds beyond the interlocking branches.

“I still haven’t told anyone about you,” she said, surprising herself. “About what you are, I mean. I don’t even know why. You’ve never given me any reason to keep your secrets. I keep telling myself it’s...strategic, but I’m not really the strategic type.” She laughed, short and bitter. “I’m the type who pretends random birds are my mother.”

“But you’re not my mother. I mean, yeah, obviously you’re not her, but what I’m saying is she’s not my mother either. Summer is my mom. Was my mom.”

The bird began to wander away, hopping from branch to branch, as if losing interest in the conversation.

“Does that make you angry?” She still didn’t have the strength to shout. Despite her aches, though, she found herself getting to her feet and walking after the bird. A still body was no cure for a restless mind. Eventually she lost sight of the creature, but she kept pushing through the vines and hanging moss until she broke out onto a sandy beach much like the one she’d washed up on. Maybe it was even the same one. The sun was starting to set, bathing everything in bloody orange. Rearing against the sand was a familiar silhouette.

It took her a long time to figure out what she was looking at, because seeing Crescent Rose without Ruby was impossible. Finally she forced herself to reach out and touch the blade. It was solid under her fingers.

She wheeled around. “Ruby?” Maybe her sister was hiding somewhere just out of sight. Ruby might be a terrible trickster, but it didn’t stop her from trying. Although recently she seemed to have less energy for pranks.

No one answered. She sighed and crouched next to the weapon. It wasn’t damaged, as far as she could tell, which she decided to take as a reassuring sign. She took a few deep breaths, and she closed her eyes and remembered:

A barn, falling to pieces in the forest. Her shoulders and arms burning with exhaustion. One red gleam in the darkness, then another, then another, and then Qrow, holding her small face in his scarred and bloodied hands.

“Yang,” he said, “I need you to breathe.”

She inhaled, exhaled, counting with him, until her heart no longer felt like a bird hurling itself against a window. In the wagon Ruby slept the sleep of a child too cold and hungry to be woken by sounds of battle.

“There. Better, isn’t it?” He asked her, and she nodded, still too winded to speak. He lifted her into the wagon beside Ruby and began pulling in the direction of home. After a while he said, “you know why it’s important to breathe, and to stay calm, don’t you?”

“The Grimm,” she replied. They were the first words she’d spoken all day, and they felt strange in her mouth. “Mama said they’re worse if you’re scared.”

“Scared, yes. But also...Sad. Jealous. Angry.” There was a slight emphasis on the last word. “They’re attracted to all of our bad feelings.”

She took Ruby’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently. “It’s my fault.”

For a while, the quiet clank of the wagon’s wheels was the only sound. Then Qrow said, “what’s your fault?”

“Everything.” She took a few more deep breaths, trying to squeeze the tears back. “I keep doing everything wrong.”

“Oh, Yang…” he sounded so tired that she wished she hadn’t said anything. “You’re a good kid. You’re doing a great job looking after your sister. You shouldn’t have been allowed to come out here on your own. Your father—” he seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say. “None of this is your fault, all right?”

“Okay,” she said, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

Somehow they made it back to the house. Her father wasn’t there. Qrow carried her to her bed, and she buried her head in his shoulder and breathed him in: sweat, blood, wind. It would be the last time for a long time that he didn’t reek of alcohol.

She woke up to the confusion of angry voices downstairs: her dad, so quiet as to be almost impossible to hear, and Qrow, loud and impossible to ignore.

“I’m not talking about me, Tai. I’m talking about her.”

No matter how strange their relationship became, Qrow never had any trouble understanding who she was. She was glad that she couldn’t hear her dad. In those days, sometimes he would get it wrong.

“If you’re not careful, one day she’s gonna take Ruby and not come back,” Qrow was saying. “What happens when I’m not around?”

A low, tight rumble was all she could make out of her Tai’s reply.

“I’m not their father,” Qrow responded. “You are. And you’d better start acting like it.”

Things changed, after that. She saw more of her dad. They ate actual dinners most nights instead of cereal or stale crackers. Taiyang slowly began to rebuild his older daughter’s trust. But they didn’t see her uncle again for a long time.

She’d told Blake a tidier version of that story once, a million years ago. Gods, she’d felt invincible when she realized that she was actually getting through to Blake, there in the twilight of the Grimm Studies classroom. And when Blake had finally slept—

She started a list in her head, then, of things she would tell Blake when they finally saw each other again: how complicated things used to be between her and her father; how they still had their difficult moments; how he’d taught her that someone who loved you could still hurt you. And she would ask Blake all the things she’d been afraid to ask. Because they would see each other again. As long as Blake and Weiss and Ruby stuck together, they would be okay. She had to believe that.

Suddenly, for just a moment, she thought she understood Salem. If she’d been alone for thousands of years, abandoned even by the gods, she might be willing to burn down everything to end her loneliness.

She closed her hand around Crescent Rose’s haft.

“I can’t think like that,” she said, and realized as she said it that she was talking to weapons now as well as birds. She needed to rest.

The bird stayed with her, always at the edge of her vision.

“I wonder how they picked teams at Beacon in your day,” she said to it, staring up at the branches and seeing other branches in their place: the Emerald Forest, flying past as she tumbled through the air. “They threw us into the woods. Literally.”

How different the girl who’d half-flown, half-fallen from those cliffs was from the woman who’d splashed down into the hungry sea. She shivered, and tried to push all thoughts of falling away, focusing instead on the gold light through the leaves above her. It was a deeper gold and and a darker green in the Emerald Forest, she thought. What had she worried about under those temperate trees? Ruby. Ruby making friends. And, distantly, what the strange girl with the dark hair thought of her. She had half-hoped that it would be Blake’s unreadable eyes (or at least, unreadable then— she’d learned a thing or two) that she met first, but she had also assumed that Ruby would find her before anyone else. It was almost a relief when she’d seen inhuman eyes in the undergrowth. She always felt clearest in a good clean fight, and all her worries had melted away at the first exchange of blows. She knew herself, knew her body and what it was capable of. She welcomed the red-hot rage with open arms.

And then, just like that, black blades spun through the air to steal her thunder.

“I could’ve taken him,” she’d said, and then cringed internally. Really, Yang?

Blake had turned around without saying anything. She seemed to know that Yang would follow her. And Yang did, feeling like she wanted to hit something. Or whistle.

After a silence undercut by cicadas and songbirds, she said, “so, are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” Echoed Blake, raising her brows.

“I mean, you’re stuck with me now,” Yang said, already regretting her decision to speak. She’d intended the statement as a bit of lighthearted banter, but as it left her mouth it sounded more self-pitying than witty.

Blake gave her a calculating look. Yang scratched her head and glanced up into the trees, as if she might see something interesting there.

“I’m not disappointed,” said Blake, finally turning away. Yang had waited for her to elaborate, but she only started walking again.

Now, the sky above the jungle branches was clouding over. Yang realized that at some point during her reminiscing, the black bird had vanished. She laid a hand on Crescent Rose and closed her eyes. That day in the forest, she and Blake had moved on, climbing higher and higher and saying nothing to each other, encountering no resistance. Eventually they’d reached a bluff from which they could see for miles. A plume of smoke on the horizon drew their eyes.

“That’ll be Ruby,” Yang had announced, with the utmost confidence.

“Your sister, right?” Blake said. “Should we help her?”

“We’d probably only get in her way,” Yang had replied.

At that, Blake had smiled ever so slightly, as if she were trying to conceal the expression. “I’ve hardly spoken to her,” she’d said, “but I have a feeling you’re right.”

Eventually, despite everything, Yang slept. She dreamed of sunlight on coal-black hair.

She woke up before dawn with dread in the pit of her stomach. When she’d been in Patch, at her father’s house, she’d woken up with the same kind of sinking feeling: first she would see the flash of a blade, and then she would remember that Blake was gone. Even before she opened her eyes, those two truths had been there, waiting for her.

Maybe she was always going to end up awakening to some version of those truths.

She growled in frustration and rolled to her feet. Lying around feeling sorry for herself would get her nowhere. For a few minutes she was possessed by the singleminded desire to make a campfire, but once it was lit she found herself at loose ends again. She stared into the flames until they blurred, and she remembered another fire, in the gutted building in Mountain Glenn.

Why become a huntress?

Back then she’d wished that she’d had a better answer, one that would impress Blake and Weiss, who were both so strong and so beautiful. She had been sure that they both thought she was impulsive and directionless. Later that night, as she stood watch, she’d come up with a dozen other things she could have said, things that would have made her sound brave and thoughtful. But then Ruby had gone missing, and she’d put the conversation out of her mind. What would her answer be now? Probably something like, because I could never be anyone else.

And then Ruby had gone missing, and she’d put the conversation out of her mind until she was alone in her room in Patch. Then she’d gone over everything she and Blake had ever said to each other, and wondered when she’d given Blake a reason to run away.

“But that wasn’t really my fault,” she told the black bird, who had arrived sometime during the fire-making process and now sat nearby regarding her resentfully. “Was it?”

Blake would have left no matter what she’d done. Sometimes people were like that. Sometimes they needed to run away.

“My dad tried to tell me,” she said. “He knows it better than anyone. Because of you.”

She used a stick to resettle one of her logs, and the bird flapped up and resettled again as the fire flared. It was just a bird. Not Raven. She was having some trouble keeping that straight in her head. The past felt so close, close enough to touch, and she’d fallen out of the sky and landed in an empty jungle, and maybe none of this was real at all.

Her stomach growled. That was real enough.

“I probably should have figured out what I’m gonna eat before I started a fire,” she muttered.

The bird made a judgmental clatter. She rolled her eyes.

There was a simple pleasure in fishing, even though her hands were clumsy with exhaustion. She’d known how to look after herself for such a long time that it was second nature by now. It was looking after other people that seemed to give her trouble.

Ah, there it was again-- the self-pity. She really thought she'd gotten past that. Apparently, she had more work to do there.

After she ate (and gave the bird her scraps, which it consumed without any sign of gratitude), she lay against the trunk of a tree, drained by the effort of finding and preparing food. The sky above grew overcast. She let her thoughts flee the present, searching for something more pleasant to think about, something that wouldn't result in more misery-wallowing. When was the last time she'd felt uncomplicated happiness? Maybe the dance at Beacon. When Blake had wandered up to her through the crowds, half-shy, and Yang had taken her hand and said, "you come here often?"

"Really?" Blake smirked. "That's your line?"

"Listen," said Yang, "It's the best I could do on short notice."

"You didn't plan it ahead of time?" Blake frowned in mock disappointment.

"Planning isn't really my thing," Yang replied. "That's why we make such a good team. You're the brain. I'm the brawn."

Blake was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I think you're a little more complex than that. I know I am."

"I-- sorry, I didn't mean you're--"

"It's all right!" Blake was smiling, shaking her head. "I'm just saying you shouldn't sell yourself short. You're pretty amazing." Then she blushed. "Sorry. Was that too much?"

Yang grinned, trying to hide her own blush. "No, you're right. I am pretty amazing."

They spun around one another as the other students flowed and shifted around them. Blake was still smiling, but the expression grew distant, introspective.

“What are you thinking?” Yang asked her.

“I wanted to…say thanks, I guess.”

“For what?”

“That stuff you said last night. It kind of woke me up.” The song was ending. Blake reached up, as if she were going to touch Yang’s face or her hair, but at the last second she changed course, brushing her fingers against Yang’s shoulder. “Anyway. Um. Thank you.”

Sun appeared then, and as Yang watched Blake walk away with him, something complicated twisted her gut. She was happy for Blake. Of course she was. And she was happy for herself, still riding the high of Blake's praise. It was only later that she realized the complicated thing was jealousy.

Weiss found her, not too long after. She leaned against the wall beside Yang and asked, "where's Blake?"

"Where's Neptune?" Yang returned with a raised eyebrow.

Weiss never did anything halfway, and that included sighs. Her gusty exhalation made her bangs drift upward. "You know," she said, once the production was over, "I don't like arguing with you. With any of you."

Yang considered saying you could've fooled me, but decided against it. “All right, then, let’s not.”

They spent a while leaning against the wall, remarking on the attendees' outfits, until Ruby appeared to drag them both back onto the dance floor.

She’d thought a lot about that night later on, lying awake in her bunk, listening to the others breathing and wondering what it all meant. It took her a while to realize that what she felt for Blake was different than what she felt for her other friends. She’d had crushes before, of course; in the first few weeks at Beacon she’d quietly pined over Weiss, and that made everything even more confusing. Because her feelings for Blake weren’t the same as what she’d felt about Weiss, either. She found herself wanting not only to impress Blake, but to know her, to know what she’d think of things and be able to guess what she might say before she said it. The surge of pride she felt when Blake took her advice, the ease of fighting together, Blake’s ability to catch her off-guard with a joke or an observation, it all began to add to a greater truth.

The Vytal tournament sealed Yang’s fate. She remembered the sting of Blake’s initial mistrust. She hadn’t realized until Blake’s words, until I want to believe you, how much she needed Blake to understand that she was telling the truth. But after the conversation was over, and the others left her alone to rest, she hadn’t ruminated on how Blake’s first reaction had hurt her. Obviously it was difficult for Blake to trust others in any circumstance, but especially one that reminded her so much of what had happened with Adam. It made Blake’s trust all the more precious to Yang, and made her admire her partner all the more for wrestling with her instincts when those instincts were clearly wrong.

“Uh-oh,” she’d whispered to herself, lying in the bunk, her cheeks suddenly warm.

It was a hell of a time to realize that she was falling for someone. She was possibly in a lot of trouble, questioning her own perceptions, and she had a feeling that something big and not necessarily pleasant was coming. Too much had happened over the last few weeks that didn’t feel like coincidence. But for a few hours, her new self-awareness eclipsed everything else, and she had fallen asleep smiling that night.

She didn’t have anywhere to go, but she still felt the need to be moving. It was difficult to get anywhere in the thick undergrowth. She missed roads, and she missed her bike more than anyone should miss an object. It had been like a kind of armor when she’d ridden out to find Raven. She could gun the engine and make her problems eat dust. Maybe when she got out of here she would buy a new one, although it wouldn’t be the same. Bumblebee was pretty irreplaceable. Still, she didn’t regret how it had gone. That had been a fitting end for Adam Taurus. She only regretted that the bike alone hadn’t been enough to take him down.

She didn’t want to waste any of her precious energy thinking about him, although she didn’t mind reliving the way she and Blake had fought together. Or the way they had held each other up after it was over. Well, maybe over was the wrong word for it. They’d both known that they wouldn’t understand the full consequences of that moment for a long time, and they’d both known that they had so much more work to do, in every possible sense.

Nobody gets a fairy-tale ending, she’d told Salem.

This jungle was kind of like a fairy tale, though she hoped it wasn’t an ending. She still wasn’t completely sure she wasn’t dead, making her way through some kind of afterlife like the ones in stories. At night, the air was thick with bioluminescent insects. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. In Patch there had been fireflies, but here the ground and the air seemed to glow with them. If she had been well, and not alone, she would have turned inland to explore. There was obviously more to this place than met the eye. For now, though, all she could focus on was how hungry she was. The little creek fish she’d managed to catch weren’t doing much for her. If these had been her woods, she would have known exactly what to do.

She found narrow tracks, paths she thought had been made by animals, although maybe some hunter had walked them a long time ago. She couldn’t tell if they’d been shaped by human hands. She followed them because it was easier than pure bushwhacking, and sometimes they led her to fresh water. The bird came and went at the edge of her vision. Sometimes she ignored it, and sometimes she talked. It didn’t seem to care either way. Sometimes she gave it fish scraps. Perhaps that was why it kept coming back. The thought did occur to her, though, that it might just be waiting for her to die.

“Are you a scavenger?” She asked it.

It croaked noncommittally.

“I’m not going to die, you know. So if you’re holding out for that, you can leave.”

It flew to land on a branch fifty feet ahead, still watching her.

“I know how to survive,” she insisted.

Summer had been her first teacher. She’d taken Yang and Ruby for walks in the woods around the house, pointing out friendly weeds and toxic flowers. A huntress needed to learn how to live off the land.

“Who taught you?” She asked her mom once.

“Lots of people,” Summer had answered. “Your uncle.” She sounded like she was about to go on, but instead she only sighed.

“Who else?” Yang pressed her.

But her mom had just repeated, “lots of people, Yang.” When she’d seen her daughter’s dissatisfaction with that answer, she went on, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I remember what I was taught, and now I’m telling you.”

In the humid present, Yang stopped to look up at the bird. “She was probably talking about you. Well, not you. My—Raven.”

The creature seemed to have some kind of nut, which it was fully focused on cracking. Yang moved on. Eventually she caught and cooked more fish, forced herself to eat as much of the slimy flesh as she could bear, and lay down to rest.

The sun was already well up in the sky by the time she managed to get up the next morning. It was the hottest day yet, and she was soon dripping with sweat as she tried to think about what she would eat. She made her way down to a stream that she’d found the day before, but the water was sluggish and much warmer than she’d been expecting.

She sat with her bare feet in the water, staring down at her reflection. Her hair was wild and tangled. She wished she had the energy to finger-comb the snarls, but her arms got tired after mere minutes. She even contemplated trying a ponytail, but she wasn’t ready to completely give up on her hair yet.

She could almost feel the light touch of her father’s hands on her scalp. When she’d woken up in Patch, she’d told him, “just tie it back. I’m not going to be able to take of it the way I usually do.”

He’d looked at her for a long time before replying. “Okay, kid,” he’d said finally. “Whatever you want.”

She hadn’t wished for a mother for a long time, but when Tai stepped behind her and said, “you’re sure it’s all right?” she felt Summer’s absence more acutely than she had in years. She had to clench her fist tight to keep her semblance from flaring. Mercifully, if her father did notice, he kept any comments to himself.

Only when Yang laid down in the stream, clothes and all, did she find some relief from the heat. The sweltering air almost made her miss the storms of northern Anima. Looking out the train window, watching the blizzards pass, had been strangely peaceful, despite Blake apparently not knowing how to talk to her anymore.

It’s not like I made it easy, though, Yang thought, sitting up to splash water on her face.

She lost count of the days. As they wore on, she spent more and more time wrapped up in memory. The present was dull and hungry; the past wasn't necessarily easier, but at least it had Blake.

She tried to think back to the last time she’d made Blake laugh. Blake was slow to smile, slow to laugh, and Yang always treasured those moments when she was able to surprise an expression out of her partner. She kept those memories close, and ran her hands over them so many times that she was surprised they weren’t frayed at the edges.

Was it when she’d seen Blake’s haircut, and hadn’t known what to do with herself? No, maybe it was that night in Atlas, the last good night, before the alarms went off and everything fell to chaos. In their room she’d tried not to stare as Blake put on her makeup. When Blake had said Yang and I, and let Yang rest a hand on her shoulder, Yang had to make a stupid joke or risk blushing so scarlet that not even Ruby would miss it. Of course, then Blake had laughed, and Yang couldn’t quite control her expression. She knew Weiss noticed. Weiss always noticed.

They went out, after that, just the two of them. Well, they hadn’t really been alone, but as soon as they arrived at the club they’d found their own place on the dance floor. Yang hadn’t expected Blake of all people to be such a terrible dancer. They’d danced together at beacon, of course, but this was a different setting, less formal. With the music as loud as it was, Yang had thought that it would be impossible for Blake to miss the beat. But the girl had absolutely no rhythm. Yang’s face hurt from grinning. They couldn’t talk much, but they hadn’t needed to. Just being near one another, surrounded but unnoticed by the crowds, was enough.

Eventually they wordlessly agreed to step outside for a break. They leaned together in the alley behind the club, watching the snow fall. Blake stuck her tongue out to catch a flake. When she caught Yang staring, she said, “what?”

“I just—” Yang was about to say love, but she caught herself. “I really like that I get to see this side of you.”

Blake raised her eyebrows. “The side of me that destroys the dance floor with incompetence?”

“No. Well, yeah. I mean…” the side that doesn’t care that she can’t dance. That tries to eat snowflakes and laughs at my dumb jokes. Yang shrugged, the movement bringing her arm into contact with Blake’s. “I guess I’m just really glad we decided to do this.”

“Me too,” said Blake. Their breath steamed. They could still hear the bass pumping inside. “You know,” she added, “Snow still feels kind of magical to me.”

“I guess it must not snow much on Menagerie.”

“No. Not at all. I haven’t really gotten much chance to appreciate it.”

“We should do this again sometime,” Yang blurted, before she could lose her nerve.

“This?” Blake asked, still staring up at the falling snow. “Stand in an alley and talk about life?” Then she shifted so that she was facing Yang, and her eyes gleamed, a hand’s breadth away.

All Yang had to do was lean a few inches. Or open her mouth and say I’m trying to ask you on a date, which is something I’ve been thinking about for a super long time, and I think we should kiss, and hold hands, and all kinds of other things, because the world might be ending and also because I might be in love with you, and I promise never to call you any stupid pet names or ask you questions about your corny romance novels, and we can kick Grimm ass together until we’re old and then retire somewhere quiet—

But, like always, disaster came just in time to ruin the moment. And they had hardly had time to think after that, right up until the end.

No. It wasn’t the end. She wasn’t going to let it be the end.

What if Blake assumed that it was?

She’d already realized that everyone probably thought she was dead. And she’d been doing her best to avoid the implications of that. But what if that was it? What if she was stuck here forever, and she never saw her friends, her family, ever again? She couldn’t just leave things the way they were.

If she’d known those days of fighting in Mantle would be her last, she could have spent them with Blake. She hadn’t managed to protect Oscar, anyway, when she’d been with Ren and Jaune. They probably would have been better off without her.

But she’d been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she’d left Blake alone.

Days passed in feverish wandering. She wasn’t sure if she was going in circles or if everything just looked the same. The black bird haunted her, coming and going on whims she didn’t understand. Some days she felt well enough to catch fish and cook them over a fire, and other days all she could do was lie still. She did not encounter anyone else. Wherever she was, it seemed completely devoid of human life. Maybe that was why she hadn’t seen any Grimm yet. There was nothing particularly interesting for them here.

Often she found herself turning Crescent Rose over in her hands, trying to imagine how Ruby could have possibly lost it.

“Dad and I tried to teach her hand-to-hand,” she said. The sound of her own voice was strange after so much silence. Perched on a massive root opposite her, the black bird cocked its head, as though urging her to go on. “She never really took to it. I’ll bet she’s regretting that now.”

Abruptly she stood, startling the bird into flight. She needed a concrete goal. Something to focus on. Otherwise, her mind and her body would both continue to wander aimlessly until she lay down to sleep and didn’t get up again. She and her team had always found their way back to each other before, right? Why should this time be any different? She would find the beach again, and this time she’d follow the coastline until she found—something. She would be methodical. Careful. She would pace herself, and everything would be fine.

On the shore, sunlight glanced off the water, but in the distance she could see a billowing darkness where a storm was gathering. Every now and then distant lightning flickered in her peripheral vision. She could feel the thunder more than she could hear it; there was still plenty of time before the storm arrived.

The faraway rumble made her think of Patch, and of the way she and Ruby and Summer used to watch the clouds roll in from her parents’ bedroom on the second floor. Their mom had never told them not to be afraid— instead she’d shown them, laughing at the thunder, marveling at the lightning, opening the window to let the rain kiss their faces.

What were storms like on Menagerie? Probably spectacular. It was hot there, humid. She smiled a little, imagining a small dark-haired figure looking out at the rain. Imagining the two of them, hundreds of miles away from each other, watching the same sky.

There had been no sky above her when she fell.

She gritted her teeth and tried to banish that thought. The next long rumble was closer, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the air grew heavy, expectant. She stuck to the treeline. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she got struck by lightning now.

The first raindrops came, and she realized that she might have a new problem now, one she hadn’t expected to encounter here: Her clothes soaked through almost instantly. The last few days she’d been so hot and miserable that she hadn’t even considered that she might need shelter from the cold.

Up ahead, on the beach, through the curtains of rain, she saw…something.

It looked like a person, a small person, sitting out on the exposed sand. Maybe she was just hallucinating. She took another step, squinting.

Definitely a person.

“Hey!” She called, but her voice was still weak, and just then a crash of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. She trudged closer. And then she froze.

It was a woman. Lightning flashed, and she saw the hair: black and pink.

Neopolitan leapt to her feet. Instantly, Yang raised her arm, and was on the point of firing when she realized that Neo was facing her with her fists in the air and absolutely no weapon in sight.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the rain lashing both of them and the wind tangling their hair.

Neo lunged.

No time for thought. Yang leapt to meet her. When Neo swung, Yang caught the oncoming fist in her left hand.

“Are we really doing this?” She said, and shoved hard.

Neo stumbled backward, recovered her balance, gave a soundless snarl.

They were, in fact, doing this.

The rain and wind were roaring so loudly that they nearly drowned out the thunder. Neo came at her again, and as Yang met the charge her ears were suddenly filled with another roar: the waterfall. Her balance faltered as her mind flickered backward, to the ledge where she and Blake had put a demon to rest. Where Blake had fallen into her arms, and a small part of her had thought, even if everything else is wrong, this is right.

Neo backhanded her firmly into the present. She turned the resulting stagger into a turn and a high kick, ignoring the pain it caused, ignoring the memory that fought for her attention. This was just another enemy. She knew what to do with those.

Her aim was good, but when the kick arrived at its destination Neo wasn’t there. Yang turned wildly, rain running into her eyes, and suddenly there was an arm around her neck. Reflexively she threw her weight forward. Neopolitan flew over her head and landed hard in the sand at her feet. Instantly Yang was on her, one knee on the other woman’s chest, her hands at her neck.

“Enough,” she snarled.

Neo’s habitual expression of boredom did little to cover up her fear and exhaustion.

“I could kill you,” Yang said. “I’m armed. You’re not. You’ve almost killed me before—”

Here Neo rolled her eyes.

“And maybe you’re wishing you’d been successful. But you weren’t. You failed. And now we’re both stuck here.”

The rain was still falling, but suddenly Yang didn’t feel it. Neo’s eyes moved from her face to something behind her, and the last traces of boredom disappeared. The hairs on the back of Yang’s neck prickled. She turned, slowly, and saw two glowing red eyes above her.

“Oh, come on,” she growled.

The indistinct form of the Grimm reared back, and Yang released Neo and scrambled away just in time to dodge a huge paw tipped with vicious claws. A Beowolf, she thought, although it was hard to tell in the blinding rain.

The creature rumbled and lifted its head to sniff the air. She made use of its momentary distraction to look for Neo. But there was no flash of that ridiculous hair. The other woman seemed to have fled. She wasn’t sure whether to feel annoyed or relieved. Gritting her teeth, she settled into a defensive stance as the Grimm came at her again. The impact of its claws against her arm sent waves of numbness through her shoulder and chest.

She almost cried out for backup that wasn’t there. She’d grown so accustomed to fighting alongside her friends, these last few months, that fighting alone made her feel strange and unmoored. She might have compared it to missing a limb, but, well—

The Beowolf paused in its barrage, the red of its eyes dimming.

“What,” she said, wheezing a little, “surprised I’m not dead yet?”

It growled low in its throat and charged her. Her feet sank in the wet sand, making her stumble, and she hit the ground just as the creature leapt. She could smell it now, rank and musky, like wet fur and rotting meat.

It slid to a stop and turned, sand spraying up under its massive feet. Yang came up firing. She heard the dull impacts as she struck her target. It shook its head, apparently more irritated than deterred. And then suddenly it was right there, in front of her, its teeth inches from her face. The metal of her gauntlet buckled and shrieked as she parried. She slammed her other fist hard into the roof of the creature’s mouth, and it reared back, roaring.

She could finish this. It was just a Beowolf. She ate Beowolves for breakfast, right?

When its front paws hit the ground again, she felt the earth under her shake.

Her arm quivered with exhaustion as she raised it one last time. Now or never.

She fired.

The beast dissolved. Or maybe it was her vision dissolving. She staggered backward, and nothing came after her. All she could hear was the roar of her own blood in her ears. She needed to get back into the shelter of the trees, out of the rain, before she froze.

I’ll be fine once I’m warm, she thought, but her internal voice wasn’t very convincing. There was something very wrong with her left leg. She half-closed her eyes as she staggered up the beach, trying not to think about it.

For a moment her awareness deserted her completely. When she came back to herself again, the black bird was diving at her, shrieking, driving her away from the trees and back out onto the open ground. She threw up her arms against its onslaught. Then she was somehow facedown in the sand, rain lashing her back. She tried to get her legs under her again, but she was so tired. Maybe it would be all right to close her eyes. Just for a second.

Hands, pulling her upright.

Neo, she thought, panic lancing through her like the lightning overhead. It had to be Neo. She’d come back to finish Yang. But Yang couldn’t seem to open her eyes.

“Stop fighting me, asshole!”

Weiss? But how could Weiss be here?

Time drifted away from her again. Minutes or hours later she felt solid earth under her back, and a strange warmth suffusing her aching body. Someone touched her forehead, brief and feather-light. She wished it would never end.

Don’t leave, she wanted to say. Stay with me. The words wouldn’t come.

She dreamed her mother’s voice. Raven’s, or Summer’s— she was too far away, and she couldn’t tell the difference. The voice was telling her why it had left. It was telling her what had happened in the intervening years. Telling her how sorry it was. But she felt herself drifting even further from it, accepting that it was only a fantasy, the product of an overtaxed mind.

This could be it, she thought, and she realized that she didn’t mind. Yes, there was so much more she’d wanted to do. So many things she wanted to fix. But the world would go on without her. Her friends would take care of each other. The dark was so inviting, and eventually, she let herself fall into it. It was time for her to finally get some real rest.

Sunlight intruded on the quiet. Yang could feel it on her bare arms, warming her to her bones. She didn't quite want to open her eyes yet. It was comforting, familiar, and the ground under her was soft and forgiving. She wanted to lie here for a while and think about nothing. And she was tired of waking up to that sinking feeling, of having to remember where she was and what had happened. But now, her mind began to wander on its own, without her permission. She remembered first the two glowing points of red, and then her thoughts skipped further back to Neopolitan, and forward again to hands on her arms. Someone else was here. As long as she kept her eyes closed, and stayed still, she didn’t have to find out who it was. She could pretend that her team was close by, instead of an enemy who had nearly killed her multiple times.

Against her will, her eyes drifted open.

“Yang?”

She sat up quickly. A day ago the motion would have set off a cascade of aches and pains. Now her muscles responded without protest.

Time stood still.

Ruby. Weiss. Jaune.

Blake.

They were all there, casting their shadows on the sand of this impossible island. Ruby: nearly vibrating, always wearing her heart on her sleeve, always driven toward action. Weiss: the lines of her face hard, her mouth tucked down at the corners, still trying to mask her releif with anger even after everything. Jaune: masking his grief with a hopeful smile.

And Blake.

Blake's face was tilted downward, as if she were afraid to look at Yang directly, but those amber eyes were on Yang's.

All of them showing their bravest selves, and all of them somehow here, and alive. How was it possible? How was it possible that they kept finding each other despite literal divine forces trying to pry them apart? How was it possible that any of them could still hope, and still find goodness in each other, despite the universe doing everything in its power to drive them all to despair? She blinked, and saw the grand foyer of Haven Academy shattered. Saw Blake see her through the hole in the wall. She hadn't appreciated it enough then, had she? There were so many things she should have said and done. But there had been another enemy, and another, and then the stomach-churning thrill of the chase.

There would always be another enemy, but she might not get another chance like this one. Might not be able to touch Blake again like she'd done at Haven.

"Yang?" Ruby's voice was barely audible. "Are you...are you okay?"

She didn't even begin to know how to answer that question. For now, a nod would do.

Ruby made a sound which could only be described as a squeak and tackled her sister. Yang braced herself, expecting the impact to be painful. But she didn't hurt. For the first time in... she didn't want to think about how long. She wrapped her arms around Ruby and squeezed.

Weiss made an irritated noise, and she and Blake joined in the embrace. No matter what happened, Yang would never get tired of this: of the four of them holding each other.

”How do you feel?" That was Weiss, the too-casual tone of her words failing to conceal her worry.

Yang rolled her shoulders. "Good," she replied. "Really good, actually. Did Jaune—?”

“Yeah,” said Blake softly. Somewhere in the tangle of arms, she found Yang’s hand and squeezed it.

Yang looked over her teammates’ heads at Jaune. He sat on his heels, his arms folded over his knees, and when he met her gaze there were deep shadows under his eyes.

“Come on, Vomit Boy,” she said. “You too.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he told her.

“What…” she began after a moment, the word slightly muffled. She wasn't sure where to go from there. “What happened?”

“Yesterday Weiss found you collapsed on the beach,” Ruby answered. “You looked—pretty bad. Were you in a fight?”

“Neo was here,” said Yang. “But then a Beowolf came, and she ran.”

“Neo…” it was the first thing Yang had heard Blake say in too long, and she hated that it was the name of one of their greatest enemies.

“She didn’t have her weapon,” said Yang. “I’m not sure what happened to it. But she still tried to take me out.”

They all sat back, looking grim.

“We’ll have to deal with her,” Ruby said. “She’s alone, right?”

“As far as I know,” said Yang.

“I wonder…” Ruby shook her head. “Not now. We can worry about it in the morning. I doubt she’ll try to come after all five of us.”

“She’d better not.” Blake said fiercely.

“So,” Ruby began after a moment of tense silence, standing, “Jaune, Weiss, how about we go find some water? That would be fun, right?”

Weiss crossed her arms. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I am not letting any of you out of my sight under any—”

“What are you gonna do, follow us to the bathroom?” Ruby’s words were mocking, but her voice was gentle. “We won’t go far, I promise.”

Weiss didn’t budge. “I will absolutely follow you to the bathroom. Everything is a high-risk activity right now, Ruby. Do I need to remind you how many of our enemies are still out there?” She turned to glare at Yang and Blake. “Whatever mushy crap you two have to say to each other, you can say it in front of us.”

“Weiss… you’re going to have to let us separate at some point,” Blake said, the words taking on the weariness of the oft-repeated. They must have already had this argument, several times.

Weiss lifted her chin. “No. I’m not.”

“Weiss,” Blake repeated. “Please—”

“Don’t you please me,” snapped Weiss (Yang had to resist the very ill-advised urge to turn that statement into a dirty joke). “I watched all of you—” her voice broke, and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I watched all of you die. You can’t expect me to just— be okay.”

“No one’s expecting that,” Blake insisted.

“Well that’s what it sounds like to me! And you—!” Weiss suddenly turned on Yang, fixing her with a trademark Schnee Glare, “we need to have a talk about your reckless behavior.”

Yang put her hands up in what she hoped would come across as a placating gesture. “We can have a talk, Weiss. I promise.” She owed the other girl that much, and more. “But I think right this second might not be the best time.”

After a moment of tense silence, Jaune said, “how about a compromise?”

“A compromise?” Weiss repeated, raising her eyebrows.

“We’ll take exactly a hundred steps in that direction,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “So we’ll still be within shouting distance.”

“Hm,” Weiss said, “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

As the three walked away, Yang heard Ruby say, “another victory for the master tactician!”

“That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?” Weiss replied.

“Quiet! I’m counting steps,” said Juane.

Yang felt her shoulders loosen, just a little. It was good to know some things would never change. And Weiss wasn’t so upset that she couldn’t take Ruby down a peg. If that ever happened, then they’d be in real trouble.

Once the others had traveled their allotted one hundred steps— which didn’t get them very far at all, Yang realized, but she’d take what she could get— a charged silence settled over them.

“So,” said Blake, and at the same time Yang said, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Yang put a hand over her face. “Sorry. I, uh— you go ahead.”

“It’s all right.”

Yang glanced over at her partner, who was looking away and up, and the clear blue sky. All she wanted to do was touch her, hold her, make sure she was really there and really whole. But she held herself in check. The last thing she wanted was to startle Blake.

And then, suddenly, Blake buried her face in Yang’s shoulder and let out a barely audible sob.

“Oh,” said Yang. “Uh, okay.” She wrapped a tentative arm around the black-clad waist.

“I really thought—” Blake’s words were muffled, hardly audible. “I really thought you were—”

This wasn’t what Yang had been expecting, but then again, she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. She swallowed against the tears that were trying to escape from her own eyes.

“I’m okay,” she said. “We’re okay.” She brought her other hand up to Blake’s chin, tilted it gently upward until their eyes met.

After a long moment, Blake closed her eyes and leaned into Yang’s touch. “Remember the last time we did this?”

“Yeah.” Yang could barely get the word out. Her pulse was pounding so hard that she was sure Blake could feel it.

“There was something I wanted to do then.”

Blake, a few straggling tears still running down her face, leaned in to close the space between them. When she opened her eyes, they held a silent question.

By way of an answer, Yang pressed her lips to Blake’s.

She tasted like salt and sun. Her mouth was soft and eager, and when she reached up to tangle her fingers in Yang’s hair, Yang didn’t pull away. They held on to each other as if they might never have another chance. She didn’t think about other kisses. She didn’t think about all the choices that had led to this moment. All that mattered was Blake’s warm body pressed against hers, Blake’s exhalations against her cheek.

Eventually, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Yang pulled back.

Blake looked up at her apprehensively. “Was that… all right?”

“Yes,” Yang said, the word emerging half-sigh, half-laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting that.”

“Well,” replied Blake, smiling through her tears, “I think I might have some idea. You aren’t exactly hard to read.”

Yang grinned in response. “I guess you’re right.”

A loud whoop from the other side of the grove made them both jump. Yang glanced over her shoulder to see Ruby peering out from behind a tree, and even from a distance she could tell the expression on her sister’s face was pure mischief. So much for privacy, she thought.

Blake groaned. “Don’t dignify that with a response.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not.” Yang turned her back. Then she took Blake’s hand, a gesture that felt as natural as breathing. “Come on, let’s sit.”

There was an log on the ground by their feet, and after checking to make sure they wouldn’t squish any creatures, they both settled on the old wood.

“I want to kiss you again,” Yang said. “A lot. But I think there’s some things I should tell you first.”

Blake squeezed her hand, wordlessly encouraging.

“I had a lot of time to think, while I was lost,” she went on. “I wanted to apologize to you. There have been times when I’ve treated you in ways you didn’t deserve.” She took a deep breath. This wasn’t easy, but then, few worthwhile things were. “When I’m hurting, it’s… easy for me to get angry. It feels right. It feels more right than actually confronting the hurt.”

“Yang,” Blake said, “oh, that’s not— you don’t need to apologize for that.”

“But I do,” protested Yang. “I wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself, and I know it made me hard to be around. I wish I’d just told you how I felt.”

Blake sighed. “I think we’ve both done and said things we’re not proud of.” She glanced over at the place where Ruby, Jaune, and Weiss were pretending to ignore them. “All of us have. That’s just part of living.” She paused. “I’ll always regret running away, after Beacon. I had things I needed to do, but I wish I hadn’t just left like that.”

The waves murmured against the sand nearby. Yang sensed that Blake had more to say, so she waited, turning Blake’s hand in her own to look at the fine lines and calluses on her palm.

“I never want to be away from you,” Blake said finally. “When you fell I—” she hesitated, collecting herself.

Yang’s eyes began to sting again, and she blinked hard. She had wanted to hear those words for so long, but she knew something else was coming, something difficult.

Blake seemed to be steeling herself. “I don’t know if I should tell you this,” she said.

“I think we’ve spent too long not telling each other things,” Yang replied.

“All I could think was not again,” said Blake, her voice so quiet that Yang could hardly hear her. “I felt like I’d finally figured out what I want. I had so many things to say to you. And then you had to go and throw yourself into danger, and I just. Couldn’t.” She fixed Yang with a burning amber stare. “I tried to go after you.”

Yang held Blake’s gaze, fighting the urge to look away. She seemed to be experiencing every emotion she’d ever felt at once. It took a moment for her to find the ability to speak again. Eventually she swallowed and said, “you jumped?”

“No,” answered Blake. “But only because Weiss held me back.”

“You know I would never ever want you to do something like that,” Yang said. “For me or for anyone.”

“I know. But do you?”

Yang blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to be with someone who’s always looking for the chance to die for me.”

“I—” stammered Yang, “But I’m not.”

“Are you sure?” Blake’s voice was still soft, but firm, and she didn’t look away. “Because from where I stand, it sure seems that way.”

Yang finally broke the eye contact, turning to watch Ruby, Weiss, and Jaune, who were apparently engrossed in their own conversation. Obviously Blake had been thinking about this for a while. A defensive answer sprang to Yang’s mind, but she bit her lip and let it die away.

“You matter to me, and to Weiss and Ruby, because we care about you. Not because we expect you to jump in and try to be a hero whenever we’re in danger.”

“But that’s… that’s what huntresses are supposed to be,” Yang said.

“It’s a part of what they’re supposed to be,” countered Blake. “But no one ever said they’re supposed to be martyrs. And I’m a huntress too, Yang. I can hold my own.”

Yang wanted to tell Blake that she knew that, that she’d seen Blake fight countless times now, and she knew her partner was capable. That, though, didn’t feel like a productive response. Perhaps it was the kind of thing she’d have to prove to Blake through her actions. She also wanted to post out that sure, maybe she was reckless sometimes, but she also cared about Ruby and Weiss and Blake just as much as they cared about her, and protecting the people she cared about was part of what made her who she was. But she suspected Blake was aware of that, too.

This was always going to be complicated, she reminded herself.

“Hey,” said Blake gently, touching Yang’s shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

Yang closed her eyes. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” she said. “But…I’m not sure what you want from me. I can’t be someone I’m not.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Blake insisted. “All I’m asking is for you to promise that you’ll be a little more careful.”

Yang turned back to her partner. They watched each other for a moment. Then Yang nodded. “I can do that.”

Blake gave a tentative smile. “Good.” She reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Yang’s ear. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Night fell. They built a bonfire, piling wood high. Yang thought there wasn’t much chance that anyone would see its smoke or its light, and that even if someone did, it might not be someone who was on their side. But this was the coolest night she’d experienced on the island, and the warmth was welcome. They all settled on the soft ground, and Blake laid her head on Yang’s shoulder.

Weiss said, "I can't believe it took all of us almost dying for you two to admit your feelings for each other."

"We haven't exactly had a lot of, you know, down time," Ruby pointed out.

"True," conceded Weiss.

There was a long, comfortable silence, filled with the fire’s crackle and the nearby whispering of the waves.

Eventually, Jaune spoke, his voice reluctant. “How are we gonna get out of here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Ruby poked at the flames with a stick. “I think the best thing we can do now is get some rest. Tomorrow we can strategize. We need to let everyone know that we’re still alive.” She sighed, the gesture making her seem suddenly old. “Too many others aren’t.”

Yang didn't ask. She would find out, soon enough. "I think that's a good idea," she said.

Ruby nodded absently. Normally, seeing her sister like this, faraway and grieving, would make Yang wish that she could take Ruby and run away to a simpler world. But that kind of fantasy was a waste of time. At least they had the time to rest, even if it was only because they didn't know where to go next.

Eventually, Weiss, Jaune, and Ruby dispersed to find places for the night ahead.

"If any of you go anywhere while I'm sleeping," Weiss warned, "I can't be held responsible for what I'll do."

Soon it was just the two of them sitting by fading embers.

“We should probably try to sleep,” said Blake.

Yang was wide-awake. She stretched her arms over her head, reveling in the ease of the motion, and also reveling in the way Blake couldn’t seem to look away from her. “I don’t know if I can sleep right now.”

Blake flopped onto her back on the soft ground. “At least come lie down with me,” she said.

Yang’s face went hot, but she followed Blake’s lead and lay down. Her partner wrapped her arms around her and nuzzled into her neck. Yang made a small involuntary noise, part delight and part surprise.

“This was a mistake,” Blake said after a moment, her breath tickling Yang’s neck. “You smell.”

Yang let out a breathy laugh. “We all smell. I notice you’re not moving.”

“I’ll tolerate it. Just this once.”

Yang’s eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat was loud in her ears. “Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“Talk to me?” She was wondering, once again, how this could possibly be real, and she wanted to hear Blake’s voice.

“Talk to you about…” Blake paused to yawn. “About what?”

“Anything.”

There was a long silence. Yang wondered if the girl in her arms had fallen asleep.

She twitched a little, startled, when Blake murmured, “when did you know?”

Yang didn’t have to ask what she meant. “After my match against Mercury,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Blake scooted upward until her nose was against Yang’s cheek. “Why then?”

“The fact that you were choosing to trust me was taking up more space in my head than worrying,” said Yang. “Even though I had a lot to worry about. I just kept replaying the moment where you smiled at me in my head.”

“That’s…really sweet,” said Blake.

“What about you?”

“I knew pretty much right away.”

Yang turned her head so she could see her partner, widening her eyes in disbelief. “You did not.”

“Yeah,” Blake said. “I totally did. I just didn’t think I wanted to do anything about it.” She lowered her voice and added, “plus, I thought you were into Weiss. You were,” she insisted when Yang opened her mouth to protest. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Well, I thought you weren’t even interested in women,” said Yang. “And even if you were, I didn’t think you’d be interested in me.”

“Hmm,” said Blake, leaning in. “Well, I am.” She kissed Yang on the still-open mouth.

From somewhere nearby, there was a pointed, distinctly Weiss-like cough.

They pulled apart reluctantly. Blake rolled onto her back with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Yang whispered, “there is no way I’m sleeping.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Blake, yawning again. “There’s more where that came from.”

Yang grinned into the darkness.

Soon, Blake’s breath took on the even rhythm of sleep. Yang watched clouds pass across the moon and drift away on the gentle wind. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there before the bird appeared, a patch of darker black against the sky.

She was surprised to see it. Some part of her had thought it was just a hallucination brought on by isolation, hunger, and blood loss, but it seemed as solid now as her friends sleeping around her.

“What are you doing here?” She said, so quietly that even she could hardly hear herself.

It cocked its head at her, expectant, as if waiting for her to speak.

She touched the edge of her sleeve, where flesh met metal. “You ever wish you could go back and change one second of the past? Just one second?”

It made a quiet muttering sound and fluffed up the feathers on its head. An invitation? She went on, “if I had just waited— just waited a moment longer, maybe she wouldn’t have had to run away.” Maybe Yang wouldn’t have had to spend so long chasing down missing pieces, and accepting that some pieces were gone forever. But then again, maybe that was a lesson she’d always had to learn. And maybe Blake had always needed to run, so that she could choose to come back. They’d both been hurt, and they’d both hurt each other, and that was all right. She thought about all the people who’d loved her, about her father, Summer, Ruby, Qrow, Weiss, Blake. Even Raven, in her roundabout way, had tried to love her. It hadn’t always been fair, that love. Sometimes it had been cruel. But that was no reason to write herself or anyone else off as unworthy. That was no reason to give the world up as a lost cause. The gods themselves might disagree, if Salem did succeed in getting their attention, but in that moment Yang found she didn’t care.

“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t know how we’ll find our way to the others. I don’t even know if— if they’re all alive.” She swallowed. That was a possibility she’d refused to consider, but she couldn’t move forward by refusing to acknowledge reality. “Maybe we’ll make some choice, some split second decision, that I’ll lie awake regretting for years after. Or maybe I won’t be around to regret it.”

She watched the bird that was not her mother, and it watched her.

“I think you should go now,” she said. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

The bird took off. One moment it was there, and the next, it was gone. She couldn’t make out its silhouette against the starry sky.

She sighed. It was just an animal. It had probably only followed her in hopes of getting fed. Still, she couldn’t help but feel there had been some intelligence behind those beady black eyes.

Beside her, Blake stirred into half-wakefulness. “Were you talking to someone?”

“Just thinking aloud,” Yang replied, laying her head on her partner’s chest.

“I didn’t think you were the talking-to-yourself type,” said Blake, a smile in her voice.

“Well, being alone on a jungle island does weird things to you,” replied Yang.

There was no answer. She could tell from Blake’s breathing that she’d already slipped back into slumber. Yang closed her eyes, too. Dawn would come whether she slept or not. The passage of time, the actions of their enemies— she couldn’t control those things. But she knew she wouldn’t ever be facing them alone. If her team could find each other after falling through a hole in reality, then what could possibly keep them apart?

Eventually she fell asleep to the sound of Blake’s heart measuring out the seconds, one steady beat at a time.