Chapter Text
1.
The text message comes through late.
It’s nearly midnight, and the middle of the week, so the streets are empty and the restaurants are closed. Yang’s a little buzzed herself when she finds Weiss crying in a downtown bar, huddled in a corner where the hanging lights don’t reach. The walls still bear the wounds of war, the ubiquitous cracks and fissures that run up into the plaster ceiling like spiderwebs, but the booths are real leather, and the tables are topped with travertine. Some establishments have managed, despite the construction delays and material shortages, to maintain an air of luxury.
Yang arrives underdressed in a loose red flannel, gym pants, and combat boots. Her eyes sweep across the room as she takes stock of the situation. Weiss’ drink is drained. The ice has begun to melt at the bottom of the glass and her straw lies discarded on a damp napkin.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Weiss ignores her. She carries on crying into her hands, drunk and smearing makeup between her fingers. Her hair is collar-length now, or else it might not look like such a mess, tied up tight the way she used to keep it when she was better at holding things inside.
Yang slides into the booth and hooks an arm around her shoulders.
“Is it Ruby?”
Weiss’ breath hitches. Her body tenses like the string of a bow, poised to loose an arrow. She aims her watery eyes at Yang and fires a killing shot.
“She loves him,” she sobs. “She told me she fucking loves him.”
Yang’s heart twists. “Tonight?”
Weiss nods and bows forward until her forehead is resting on the table. She’s trembling violently.
“I feel like I’m dying,” she chokes.
Yang slides a hand up her spine and presses hard between her shoulder blades. It’s a reassurance, a visceral grounding, a reminder of the anchors that will hold her here when Ruby’s is gone. Yang ignores the strange tightening sensation in her chest. She ignores the seed of dread sinking into the pit of her stomach and the fertile soil it finds there.
She curls her hand around the nape of Weiss’ neck, utters a quiet, “I’m sorry, babe”, and stays like that, pressed up next to her, until Weiss has stopped shaking.
-
This bitter, unraveled version of Weiss is nothing new.
The disintegration began when Ruby vanished shortly after the end of the war. She was gone for 11 months, and in that time, a time which none of them really speak about anymore, Weiss went out of her mind with worry. She wasn’t the only one, of course, but there was something absolutely heartbreaking about it, like watching a navy wife wait for her husband to return from the sea. Of course, being a Schnee, Weiss didn’t sit around idly. She used her trust fund to pay for information and helped Yang track down leads. Rumors trickled in from the edges of civilization about a reaper in black and red, a phantom with a semblance of roses, but their efforts turned up nothing. Only cold trails.
It was Jaune, in the end, who found her. Ruby stepped off the airship in Vale, pale and ragged, with Jaune’s arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, and Yang saw the fading light in Weiss’ eyes at the station, with her white dress and her perfect hair. It all went to shit after that. Like a bad cliche. She took a pair of scissors to her perfect hair. She started wearing dark colors, slinky dresses, fishnets, and boots. She started drinking, like her mother, a warning sign Yang didn’t feel they could ignore, but which Ruby, still rattled, still disconcertingly absent, hadn’t seemed to notice.
They’re all on shaky ground these days.
Yang takes Weiss back to her place when the bartender throws them out at two because Jaune’s presence has turned Ruby and Weiss’ shared townhouse into a no-fly zone. She starts to ask whether Weiss would like to stop off and grab a change of clothes, but u-turns abruptly when Weiss’ expression darkens.
“You can just wear something of mine,” she says quickly, plunking Blake’s old helmet into Weiss’ hands. “Climb on.”
It’s a short ride from the center of town to Yang’s bombed out neighborhood by the harbor, but autumn has pushed a line of storms into the city, and the sky opens up halfway through. She takes her turns carefully, mindful of water on the uneven roads, and of Weiss, who is drunk and tired, who clutches Yang tighter each time they accelerate. They’re both soaked by the time she pulls up her long drive and into the little standalone garage in the back.
“Fucking finally,” Weiss groans, wobbling back onto her feet.
She wrings out her dress onto the garage floor and shivers. Yang’s not sure how to read her unsteadiness, whether it’s the chill or the exhaustion, but it doesn’t much matter either way. The solution is the same. She takes Weiss by the hand and leads her around to the front porch.
Yang’s apartment is dark and empty, a simple studio on the top floor of an old Victorian house. They climb a creaky wooden staircase lined with a scuffed bannister and a threadbare carpet runner. On the third floor landing, Yang struggles with the sticky lock, cursing under her breath as she uses her shoulder to force the door open. Beside her, Weiss, who is prone to impatience, says nothing. Her red-rimmed eyes remain fixed straight ahead. Her snowy hair hangs limp around her pale face.
“Hungry?” Yang asks, as they traipse inside.
“No thanks,” Weiss murmurs.
Yang flicks on a lamp, illuminating a room decorated sparsely with a heavy punching bag, workout bench, and a rack of weights. Behind a curtain, which spans the length of the attic apartment, she’s carved out a bit of bedroom space for herself, with a queen-sized bed pushed into the corner next to a round, six-paned window, an oversized chest of drawers, and some soft fairy lights draped around the ceiling. Her closet is overflowing with training gear, and she’s compensated by purchasing some shelves, onto which she’s loaded a disorganized assortment of odds and ends.
Weiss glances around silently, radiating fatigue. There are no barbs for Yang’s haphazard decorating. She only seems relieved to be near a bed.
Yang goes to her drawers and pulls out a baggy white undershirt and boxers. She holds them up to Weiss, who nods, and begins stripping off her wet dress. There isn’t time to look away when it becomes apparent that her dark bralette and panty set are sheer. Blinking quickly, Yang deposits the clothes on the end of her bed and spins around to grab a pair for herself.
“What’s wrong?” Weiss taunts unsteadily. “Am I so pathetic you can’t stand to look at me?”
Yang scoffs. “You’re naked.”
“I’m wearing shoes and underwear. So, not completely naked.”
“Fine.” Yang whirls around. “Did you want me to stare?”
Weiss meets her gaze defiantly. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Well, excuse me for being considerate,” Yang retorts, rolling her eyes.
“You don’t have to be considerate. I don’t require your consideration.”
“Okay, whatever.”
Yang unbuttons her own shirt brusquely and tosses it towards the closet. Her boots, bra, and pants come next. She’s never been shy. A glance at Weiss, however, makes her rethink her casual disregard for personal nudity. Weiss’ pale cheeks are stained pink, bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes averted. She wavers slightly on her feet as Yang tugs on a black tank top and stalks past her to the kitchen.
“Get dressed before this gets weird,” Yang says drily. “I’m not pity fucking you while you’re crying over my sister.”
“Fuck you!” Weiss squawks behind her.
Yang just laughs as she goes to the fridge. There isn’t much food, but there are a few sports drinks and cans of green tea. She grabs a couple bottles and retrieves the aspirin from the cabinet up above. It’s best to be preemptive with hangovers. She takes a quick detour to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. When she returns Weiss is already tucked between the sheets. Yang’s borrowed shirt is big enough on her to be a regular nightshirt.
“Do you ever visit Blake?” Weiss asks quietly.
She’s on her back staring at the ceiling, and her expression is as blank as her eyes are haunted. Yang stops short with the drinks and aspirin in hand. Her mind conjures up an image of a white tombstone across town. There are clothes in her closet she can’t throw out and pictures she keeps saved in a special folder on her scroll.
“Sometimes,” she murmurs, turning her head away.
Weiss sighs. “I should be grateful Ruby’s okay. I feel stupid crying over this.”
“Did you tell her how you feel?”
Weiss doesn’t answer. Yang exhales and continues over. She hands Weiss a purple sports drink and rattles out a couple of pills into the palm of her hand.
“Thanks,” Weiss says.
“You should lay off the drinking for a while.”
“Tell me something I don’t know."
She cracks her bottle, drinks a third of if in a single go, then swallows her pills and drinks some more. Yang switches off the lamp and the fairy lights and climbs in beside her. Raindrops patter against the attic window. Wind howls through the cracks in the eaves and thunder rumbles out over the bay.
“My sister’s pretty thick about feelings,” Yang says after a while. “She won’t figure it out unless you tell her.”
Weiss rolls onto her side. “What’s the point? She loves Jaune and they’re happy together. This doesn’t end well for me either way.”
Yang grunts, conceding the point. “Yeah, well. I just thought you might feel better getting it off your chest.”
“Maybe, but that’s a burden she doesn’t need.”
It’s true, Yang realizes. Ruby would only take the guilt upon herself, and this new Ruby, prone to isolation and dissociation, is more fragile than the young leader who set out for Mistral with nothing but a map and a pack of supplies. They can’t take any risks. Weiss is still thinking like a partner and a tactician. Never for the sake of her own emotions, which are messy and erratic now, thawed from their prison of ice.
“Don’t tell her,” Weiss whispers a minute later, speech slurred from fatigue.
“I won’t,” Yang whispers back.
Weiss shifts closer, tipping her forehead against Yang’s shoulder, and they drift off together.
-
Yang wakes to bright sunlight and twisted sheets, yanked from a blurry dream by the droning of a leaf blower across the street. She passes a hand over her eyes. She’s sweaty and too warm. Her tank top has ridden up around her navel and a soft head is pillowed there, together with the slender thigh resting across her own. She listens to the sound of quiet breathing, feels the slow undulation of narrow ribs against hers. It doesn't feel as strange as it should to wake up intertwined with someone new.
She blinks her eyes into focus and reaches for her scroll on the nightstand. It takes a few seconds to get the thing powered on and unlocked, but when she sees the time on the screen, she groans.
“Weiss,” she nudges her bedmate, “wake up. It’s past noon.”
Weiss stirs, but doesn’t wake. Her fingers curl into Yang’s rumpled shirt. She’s out cold. Comatose.
“Jeez,” Yang murmurs.
She sighs and lets her eyes close. Her head is heavy and thick, a consequence of the late night and the rain. It’s not the first time she’s retrieved Weiss from some back corner table after closing, it’s not even the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time Weiss has gotten so cuddly.
Yang’s fingers thread into tangled, snowy tresses and stroke softly over Weiss’ scalp.
“You made it weird,” she murmurs, as much to Weiss as to herself.
Her scroll vibrates with an incoming message from Ruby.
>is weiss with you?
Yang thinks about lying. She almost does. It’s an impulse she decides not to question, because questions lead to answers, and she doesn’t want any answers for that.
> yeah
Ruby’s response comes quick.
> is she okay?
Yang bites her lip and Weiss shifts slightly in her sleep, as if she can sense the moral dilemma bouncing back and forth like a tennis ball in her head. It takes five minutes for Yang to decide how she wants to reply.
>yeah. i think she just needed some space
Ruby replies again.
> she should’ve just said so instead of storming out.
Yang fumbles for a neutral response.
> idk sis :\
Yang hits send and exhales heavily. This is not a situation she needs to be in the middle of. If Ruby and Weiss have drama they can hash it out between themselves like adults. Like partners. Yang’s got stuff to do and bills to pay and no time for any of this.
And yet…
“Mmph.” Weiss stirs.
Her hair tickles Yang’s stomach. Her weight shifts, leg pressing infinitesimally higher, nose nudging into bare skin.
“Fuck,” Yang mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
-
Weiss won’t go home.
“It’s either here or a hotel,” she says crisply. “I’m not going back there.”
Yang lands another flurry of punches on her heavy bag and Weiss grunts with the effort of holding it in place. It’s hardly been a week and already Yang’s apartment is showing signs of hostile takeover. Shopping bags filled with new clothes sit atop Yang’s dresser. The shelves in her shower are crowded with fancy hair products and soaps, all purchased from some deluxe downtown salon. Even the fridge has been completely restocked with food. Weiss has been living hand to mouth, or as hand to mouth as any rich person could, borrowing whatever she needs and buying the rest.
It’s driving Yang a little nuts.
Not that she even minds Weiss’ presence so much as she minds the constant vigilance required to keep her own head on straight. Because they cuddle up and watch movies on her laptop every night until they both fall asleep, and Weiss orders breakfast in bed from exclusive bakeries because she’s rich enough to circumvent the sugar rationing, and Yang is actually starting to like the smell of Weiss’ perfume all over her things. She likes having Weiss around. It’s vexing.
Yang hops back and wipes her face on her sleeve. The afternoon has gotten warm, and she’s dripping sweat in her spandex shorts and cutoff shirt. Weiss, who’s been practicing some sort of acrobatic balancing act in the communal back garden, is flushed pink and swimming in another of Yang’s old shirts. With her hair pulled back and her makeup light she looks younger and brighter, less like she might go on another heartbroken bender in all black designer clothes. Yang hates that she can’t just let it be.
“You’ve gotta face Ruby sometime,” she says.
Weiss hardly blinks. “No.”
“She doesn’t even know what’s wrong.”
“The answer’s still no.”
“Weiss-“
“Look,” Weiss releases the bag and folds her arms across her chest, “I already said you could kick me out any time if I was becoming an inconvenience, so if you want me out, just say it.”
“That’s not what I want-“ Yang starts to say, but Weiss is already walking away. “Where are you going?”
“To shower. I need a night out of this dump.”
“Whoa, that’s harsh.”
Weiss smirks over her shoulder. “Sorry, but your dishwasher is crap, and those windows are definitely not sealed properly.”
“That hardly makes this a dump .”
“I’m going out!” Weiss calls, shutting the bathroom door. “You’re welcome to join me! Or not! Your choice!”
Yang rolls her eyes and wallops the bag with bone-breaking right hook. The chains shiver and creak overhead. She doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know her eyes are glowing a little bit red.
“You get 10 minutes and then I’m dragging your bony ass out of there!” she yells. “You always use up all the hot water!”
“My ass isn’t bony and you know it!” Weiss yells back.
Yang growls in frustration and throws a series of punches at the bag. She’s seen a lot of Weiss’ ass in the last week. Enough to know the exact size and shape of it. Enough to know that Weiss is absolutely right.
“Fuck!” she spits.
Yang kicks the bag hard and stomps out the door to go for a much needed run.
-
They go for dinner and drinks at a cozy little pub around the corner. There’s rubble still across the street, and the gutted, concrete skeleton of an apartment building, another monument to the horrors of war. Yang sits across from Weiss in dark denim and leather, sucking down a light beer, pretending she hasn’t noticed the provocative plunge of Weiss’ burgundy dress.
“It’s been two years,” Weiss is saying, arms folded on the table. “I’m not trying to push you into something you’re not ready for, I just think you could use a rebound.”
Yang scoffs. “I don’t want a rebound. That is exactly the last thing I want.”
“So then date someone seriously, you know what I mean. You’ve been brooding for ages, and it’s not healthy.”
Yang’s temper flares. She swallows slowly, flexing her hands, thinking calm thoughts.
“You’re one to talk,” she says, after a pause.
“Yes. I am,” Weiss retorts drolly. She points to her deadpan expression. “All the advice you’ve been giving me? You should give it to yourself sometime.”
“What’s that got to do with rebound sex?”
“I hear the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.”
“You definitely read that in a trashy magazine.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.” Weiss polishes off her cocktail and sets it aside. “Fine, suit yourself. Brood on into eternity, I guess.”
Yang glares off into the corner where a shabbily dressed man sits hunched over a brightly lit poker machine. She’s flustered, annoyed, and dead sick of being led around in circles, feeling like Weiss, somehow, always seems to get the last word. She can’t help but wonder if this conversation isn’t a proxy for something else.
“I just-” Yang sighs and runs her bionic hand through her hair. “I can’t do random hookups, okay? It’s not my thing.”
She glances back across the table and finds Weiss scrutinizing her intently.
“...It wouldn’t necessarily have to be random,” she muses, drawing the words out slowly.
Yang squints at her. Maybe she’s forcing pieces of the puzzle together that shouldn’t go together, and maybe her logic is kind of haphazard, but her heart is beating a little bit faster in her chest and the air has gotten a whole lot thicker. It’s feeling more all the time like there’s something weighty hanging over them, territory neither of them are willing to wade into.
Yang tries for levity. To clear away the lure Weiss seems to be dangling in her direction.
“I told you already,” she says, taking quick pull off her beer, “I won’t pity fuck you while you’re crying over my sister.”
Weiss snorts. “Is that so? Well, I won’t pity fuck you so you can pretend I’m Blake.”
Yang’s stomach swoops. “As if . You’d be nothing like Blake in bed.”
“You have no idea what I’d be like in bed.”
“Yeah, and I’m not trying to find out.”
“Well, that’s very close minded of you.”
“There’s nothing to be open minded about.”
“Are you calling me bad at sex?”
“No. I’m calling this conversation weird and fucked up and probably unhealthy.”
“Why is it weird and unhealthy to want to sleep with you?”
Yang’s expression turns incredulous. “Uh, because I’m Ruby’s sister?”
Weiss rolls her eyes. “Oh, thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”
“So, wait.” Yang shoves her beer away. “You’re being serious right now? You’ve actually considered it?”
“Considered what? Be more specific.”
“You know what .”
“Use your grown up words,” Weiss snarks back. “If you can’t even say it out loud, then why are we having this conversation?.”
“Ugh!” Yang tugs at her hair. “You are so obnoxious sometimes!”
“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” Weiss snaps, grabbing her purse.
She stands from the table and adjusts the hem of her short, clingy dress. She’s added a silver bar to the cartilage on her left ear and her eye makeup is smoky. She could be a completely different girl from the dainty ice princess who showed up at Beacon, and it stirs something thick and molten in Yang’s gut.
“Where are you going?” she asks tersely.
Weiss examines her hair in a compact mirror and tucks an errant lock over her ear. After a moment, she clicks the case shut and returns it to her purse.
“I’m going to find a dance floor and something stiffer than this watered down vodka soda you bought me.”
“I thought we agreed you’d take it easy.”
Weiss shoots her a narrow look. “I never agreed to anything. Just because you enjoy pontificating doesn’t mean I enjoy listening.”
Yang stands abruptly, thighs bumping against the wobbly little table. “What the hell is up with you tonight? You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Your attitude sucks.”
Weiss smirks, expression turning dark. “I’d look in a mirror if I were you, maybe take a second to calm down.”
Yang steps around the table, looming over Weiss even with her six inch heels. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”
“What’re you going to do, Yang?” Weiss’ teasing turns to scorn. “Hit me? Shove me? Pull my hair?” She leans in so close that Yang can smell the vodka on her breath. “Or maybe you’d rather push me up against a wall in the back and teach me a lesson.”
Yang’s breath snags. “Shut up.”
“Do you like it when I stay the night?”
“Shut up .”
“Do you feel guilty ‘cause I’m not her? Or maybe it just bugs you that I love your sister and not you.”
Yang shoves her away. Weiss stumbles, but she regains her footing with ease. The look on her face is vicious.
Tears sting at the corners of Yang’s eyes. “What are you trying to prove right now?” she asks thickly.
An edge of self-loathing creeps into Weiss’ expression. She turns away and shrinks into herself.
“Seriously,” Yang presses, “what are you trying to prove?”
“Nothing,” Weiss mutters.
“Stop trying to pick a fight with me. You know I hate that shit, and I’m the only lifeline you’ve got right now.”
Weiss sucks in a sharp breath and fixes wet blue eyes on Yang. The pain and longing swirling in them is devastating. Yang can only blink silently in response, all thoughts of anger and hurt derailed.
“I just want somebody to want me back,” Weiss says tremulously. “Why is that so weird to you? What’s so fucked up about wanting to be wanted ?”
Yang stares back at her dumbly, completely at a loss. Her mouth opens, but she can’t think of anything intelligent to say. There are too many walls up in her brain that she can’t punch through.
“I should…take you home,” she manages eventually.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Weiss says, tone flat. “I’ll sleep at a hotel.”
She turns to leave, but Yang catches her wrist on impulse. She doesn’t want Weiss to go, but she doesn’t know what to say that will make her stay, what will get her back home beside Yang in bed, what will fix it. She’s not sure what to do about the sadness that’s rolling off Weiss in waves.
“Ruby’s worried about you,” she says, fumbling for something, for anything. “Don’t keep running away from this.”
Weiss sniffs. “I waited for Ruby for an entire year, so she can wait until I’m ready to talk.”
With that, she shakes Yang’s hand off her wrist, and stalks out the door, throwing a glyph behind her to keep Yang pinned in the pub until she has vanished completely into the night.
-