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She really should have thought this through, but now the monk is over her shoulder and she can’t back down now. Yasha is surprised by how easy it is to lift Beau up into her arms. With all her wiry muscles and biting sarcasm she thought it might prove to be difficult, but there is no argument from the monk. She fits over her shoulder perfectly, limp like a sleeping child. Yasha wraps an arm around her to ensure she does not slip off.
Later, she thinks about how she can’t remember the last time she willingly touched someone other than Molly, and yet she picked Beau up without a second thought. It had been an almost unconscious decision, to take the monk into her arms.
She can hear Molly snickering next to her, but she does not dare look over in her friend’s direction. She knows he will have something to say about this later, but for now she pretends that she is just doing her job, escorting guests to their seats. It did not take superb insight to tell that Beau was lying about her injured leg – which is good, because Yasha’s insight in mediocre at best. But it had seemed funny, to carry her anyways. The thing is, Yasha isn’t really a funny person.
Setting the human down at her seat, she ignores the triumphant smile and sparkle in bright blue eyes. “Uh, here you go,” she says, and goes to settle in her own spot with their confiscated weapons. Molly settles next to her as the show starts, and she can feel his eyes burning through her thick cloak. She does not look over at him.
She does not look anywhere, in fact, eyes trained on the ground. She can feel Beau’s eyes on her, watching her in a way that she is not accustom to. It makes her stomach flip in a way that is unfamiliar. Sighing, she turns her focus back to the show. She can’t wait for this night to be over.
*
Yasha has touched Beau with a sword more times than with her hands, but when she asks to be carried, she cannot say no, despite the worry about how breakable Beau looks in her arms. She thinks about the way Beau arches into her touch, how her skin had brightened as Yasha had cast healing hands on her just a bit ago. She knows Beau is unbelievably strong, but gods does she worry.
The jungle around them is warm, but Beau’s skin is even warmer against hers, sticky with sweat and blood. They are fighting against a ticking clock and an enemy that they do not even know. It is strange and frightening and they just fought a ghost of some kind, but all Yasha can focus on is Beau. It should not make her heart race in the way it does, and Yasha almost feels guilty for how she is glad that Beau’s injuries have gotten them so close. But then she feels Beau relaxed against her and the goes away for a bit.
Limp and exhausted against her, Yasha looks at Beau’s injuries and has a flash of a memory, Beau bleeding beneath her. Her grip on the monk tightens, just a bit. She wonders if she will ever be able to escape that nightmare. She has hurt Beau about as many times as she has helped her, and yet the monk had still smiled up at her as she asked to be carried.
Yasha wishes she could always do this, wishes it did not make her heart skip so many beats. She also wishes that Beau did not fit so well against her chest – it makes it that much harder when she has to let go.
*
From beneath the waterfall, Yasha glances up at Beau, a dark blue streak through the sky. Never before has she been able to resist Beau, so why start now? From her back bursts feathered wings, and she lifts up to meet the monk, colliding with her mid air. Her muscles strain against the impact but, as usual, Beau fits perfectly in her arms, and they settle their, hovering above the water.
“Wow,” she breathes out, and Yasha can feel the thumping of her heart, wonders if Beau can feel it too.
For once she does not think of the eyes of their friends on them, and instead she takes off. Up, up, up they fly, a moment of shared weightlessness between them. She can feel Beau’s arms tighten around her, bodies flush together and adrenaline pumping. Beau laughs into the wind, and it is the best sound that Yasha has ever heard.
Their bodies may be flying, but, gods, does Yasha’s heart soar.
It does not last for long, because she is not so lucky as to get more than a minute to hold Beau against her. They tumble through the air in a tangle of limbs, and Yasha did not think falling could feel so good.
“Thank you for taking me on your maiden flight,” Beau says as they stand, hair wind swept and eyes sparkling.
Yasha nods, and her mouth feels dry. “Thank you for being my first passenger,” she responds, all the while hoping that Beau will also be her second, and her third, and every one there after. But she doesn’t say that, just laughs awkwardly, and hides her smile as they make the long trip back down the mountain.
*
Beau falls asleep against her shoulder, exhausted from battle and frozen from the snow. Yasha reaches up to stroke her hair, once again surprised by how easily the monk fits against her. She is certain that her shoulder is not comfortable, but the way Beau sinks into her says that it does not matter.
She knows they will have to begin running again soon, but for now, she lets Beau rest. She needs it.
She tries not to let the other woman’s presence distract her, making quiet conversation with Jester as they continue their watch. She winds an arm around Beau’s waist to hold her steady, and finds herself quieting so she can listen to their monk’s breathing, comforted by the ever-present rise and fall of her chest. They have had close calls before, but this one was much too narrow of an escape for Yasha’s liking. She thinks of the blood pouring from Beau’s face and shivers despite the warmth of the monk against her.
Last night has made something abundantly clear to her – she can’t lose Beau. It is not an option.
She lets Beau sleep until the dome tumbles down around them, and even then she is reluctant to wake her. But the monk stirs anyways, and Yasha thinks that the hint of pink on her cheeks must be a trick of the morning light.
*
“Yasha? Are you asleep?”
Yasha blindly reaches out in Beau’s direction, then cracks an eye open. It is late, or early now, most likely, and her and Beau have flopped down next to each other, breathing heavy into the empty bedroom. It has been a long night, but Yasha will never tire of Beau. She shifts against the sheets, momentarily catching the movement in the mirror above her before her eyes are drawn back to Beau.
Beau – who is next to her in nothing but blush and bruises. She looks hopeful as Yasha turns to her, and then sheepish almost immediately after. “I – sorry, it’s nothing. You must be tired.”
The barbarian scoots closer to her, blinking mismatched eyes and reaching up to brush hair from Beau’s face with a gentleness that she never knew she possessed. “What is it, Beau?”
“It’s just,” Beau pauses, flushed. Yasha has never thought that she looked younger, here in the dying candlelight. “Gods, is this real?”
Yasha smiles at her, looks over the skin that she has mapped with lips and fingertips, that she has held on to for dear life. She has asked herself this same question, agonized over whether she deserves the happiness that she now feels. Never before has Yasha experienced the freedom of loving someone so openly, and that fact alone makes her want to scream Beau’s name to the heavens. She is going to keep trying until she gets this one right.
She leans forwards until their foreheads are pressed together, closes her eyes for a brief moment and breathes in deep. “Yes, I think it is.”
Beau’s smile lights up her whole face. “Damn,” she whispers. “That’s dope.”
Yasha laughs into the monk’s mouth as she leans in, captures her lips to give her all of the reassurance that her words cannot provide. Her and Beau have always been better at speaking through actions, and the way the human melts into her tells Yasha all that she needs to know.
A bit of mischief sparkles in Beau’s eyes as she pulls back to breathe, the exhaustion of the night’s activities finally beginning to hit her. She moves in closer. “Will you hold me?”
Yasha leans up and kisses her smile. “Always.”