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It was always going to be like this.
Beau knows that now. She can see it, plain as day. Every part of her body feels disconnected, cold and distant as she stands outside in the dark. Within the last forty-eight hours, every emotional reserve that she’s stowed away for protection has been tapped beyond repair.
Her armor is gone.
And with it, those fucking rose-colored glasses of denial she’s been hanging onto with both hands since Nott brought up the possibility of leaving the Nein.
“Beau,” someone keeps saying insistently, concern and possibly frustration ebbing into their voice. “Beau, what did you promise? What did you offer? Beau?”
She doesn’t know how to answer.
She just looks up, squinting at the sky, begging the tears not to fall. The tears don’t listen, of course. They’ve stopped listening to her lately. Serves her right.
Beau didn’t offer anything to the Dealmaker that wasn’t already inevitable. Her mind hums at the emergence of that word again. Inevitable . Things she can’t change, no matter how far she runs or how hard she hits.
These people are the best thing that has ever happened to her. She has nowhere to go after this is done. She can’t ever beat this life with them. And honestly, exile isn’t anything she hasn’t already contemplated—long ago, long before the Nein, before she had hope of any kind of future.
She hadn’t really expected to live past nineteen, and she’s already far exceeded that goal. She’d rather go out on a high note.
“You guys are gonna be fine,” she says—or tries to. Her throat is so tight and swollen that her voice sounds closer to broken glass. “You guys will be fine.”
“Fine?” It’s Jester speaking. Beau is almost sure of it. “Fine? Beau, what happened? Why—why are you—what did she do to you?”
“Nothing.”
And for once in her life, it’s the honest fucking truth.
This isn’t forever. These people… have destinies far beyond pit fighting and even peace negotiations. They will eventually, inevitably, disperse far and wide to make their marks on the world and other people. Leaving her alone. With no one. With nothing.
Why not start now?
“It’s okay,” she hears herself whisper hoarsely. “It’s all gonna be okay. I’ve already made up my mind.”
Her father sees right through her. He’s always done that, always managed to brush aside any semblance of a life she’s built for herself. He’s pushed aside friends, ideas, Beau herself for so many years, and just when she’d finally thought she could outrun him, just when she was finally feeling happy for the first time in for fucking ever, he’s done it again. He’s made her feel so fucking small.
So insignificant.
Beau hasn’t felt this… heavy in years. She’s almost forgotten what it felt like.
Leave it to her shitty fucking father and her shitty fucking family to bring her right back to the beginning, right back to where she was before she met the Nein.
She thinks about TJ, and that’s almost enough to make her break. She’s spent so long… pretending he doesn’t exist. A better version of her. The version her father always wanted. He’s so innocent. He deserves someone to raise him, and if she can’t give him a better fucking parent, she can certainly give Nott’s son his mother back. A meaningless gesture for TJ, but it’s all she can manage. Destiny is a really shitty thing.
Beau laughs through her sobs—a little manic—and thinks about TJ’s wide, uncorrupted eyes, about the way he still clung to her mother—a beacon of absolute trust. Beau remembers, vaguely, faintly, when she used to do the same right up until the day came when she realized her mother couldn’t save her. No one could fucking save her.
And no one can save her now. She doesn’t want them to. Her mind has been made up, and if Beauregard Lionett is anything at all, she’s a stubborn bitch.
“Beau,” she hears someone say again, trying to pull her back out, trying to bring her back to the group. “Beau, what did you offer?”
She wishes they’d stop fucking asking.
Her throat is too tight, her mind is too cloudy, to even form words enough for a response. She’s moving in slow motion compared to them.
She’ll be okay on her own. She’s been a loner for most of her life. She’s used to it, used to falling asleep in some strange bed. She’s used to waking up alone. Eating alone. Traveling alone. Beau used to be something of an expert at all that.
You can only really depend on yourself, she thinks, still staring up at the sky. She wonders if it’ll be the same sky as the one she’ll watch when she’s exiled. It would be a bit of comfort, to know that her family—both families—might be living under the same one. And definitely not a comfort she’ll be afforded.
She can’t give TJ the mother he deserves. Or the sister.
But she can give it to Luc.
Luc deserves a mother.
“I’ll be okay,” she says again. “You guys will be okay.”
There’s almost… a sick sense of relief that comes with the acceptance. The growing fear of her happiness being ripped away, the unfamiliar and unsettling moments of pure fucking joy with these people, the increasingly expected levels of euphoria - all of that has been settled now. No more worrying. No more waiting for some big bad danger to take it all away.
It’s better this way.
It’s better.
///
Yasha has been watching Beau.
Everyone else is concerned with Jester, Jester who is hurrying them away from the Dealmaker’s hut in cryptic phrases, Jester who’s suddenly convinced Nott is free from her curse, Jester who still has her hands and her head but seems strangely fearful—glancing over her shoulder no matter how far they walk.
The rest of the party is clamoring over each other, asking questions, engaging, laughing, even, at the bizarre turn of events. And once Jester explains, that laughter is released in full—with Nott hugging her legs, and Fjord clapping Jester on the shoulder.
Except Beau.
Beau does not engage.
She hardly even reacts, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she leans forward slightly—a terrifyingly blank look in her eyes and mouth parted just a little. Yasha doubts she’s even fully aware of what’s transpired.
“I’ll be okay,” she keeps mumbling, her foot—usually so light and nimble—catching on a root and causing her to pitch forward dangerously. “It’ll be fine.”
Caleb falls in line with Yasha, and she realizes he’s looking over at Beau, too. A small flow of relief courses through her, thankful that someone else has noticed her state. She’s not always good at handling this sort of thing, and to be honest, neither is Caleb, but two sets of eyes are better than one.
“Beauregard is, uh, out of it, ja?” Caleb says quietly as they walk—the others still making Jester give a play-by-play account of her victory with the cupcake ahead.
Yasha nods, sneaking another glance. She doesn’t know why she’s trying to be subtle. Beau definitely isn’t aware enough to notice.
Suddenly, Beau stops walking—head lifting a few inches. “Stop.” Her voice is wrecked, soundly hardly anything like the usual cocky, confident Beauregard that Yasha has come to know. “We - we have to go back. I have to… I have to go back.”
At once, Caleb is at her side, gently coaxing her forward.
“Jester needs us to move,” he tells her, just loud enough for Yasha to hear. “Forward, not back.”
“No.” Beau shakes her head, slow and disjointed. “No, no, no, no—”
“What’s happening back there?” Jester has turned now, holding out her hands to stop Fjord, Cad, and Nott. “Did Beau get attacked?”
“She’s in shock, I think,” Yasha sighs, folding her arms and taking a breath to steady herself. “Or something like it.”
Beau had cried in Kamordah—and the days leading up to it, although she’d thought no one else could tell—harder than Yasha had ever seen her cry. But she’d been… present. Angry and sad and scared, too, maybe, but responsive.
This is far scarier than that.
“From the witch?” Jester comes up beside her, watching Caleb talk to Beau quietly a few feet away. “Did something happen? Did she do something to her?”
“I don’t think so.” Yasha heard the way Beau spoke about leaving, about having reached her peak. “I think she’s… gone someplace dark. In her mind.” She and Caleb share a look—one of total understanding.
“Should we stop for the night?” Fjord calls. “Cad and I did a sweep. We should be good to set up camp if we want.”
Jester fidgets nervously. “What about… what if my spell doesn’t hold? What if she comes after us?”
“It’s far more likely we’ll be attacked by something in these woods first,” Fjord assures her with a shrug. “Better to have a… fully rested party.” He glances at Beau as he says it, and Yasha knows Beau would hate the way they’re all looking at her right now if she weren’t so… gone.
“Give her some space,” Yasha says—not loudly, but firm enough for people to listen. “She doesn’t need us all over her.”
She relieves Caleb of his post beside Beauregard for exactly eleven minutes—enough time for him to set up their magical hut and file everyone inside.
“We’re gonna head inside, okay?” Yasha tells Beau, unsure of whether or not to touch her. She’s been in a space similar to this before—more than once.
“Stay on task, Widogast,” Beau mumbles to herself, arms still wrapped in a death grip around her stomach.
“Yeah.” Yasha makes eye contact with Caleb inside, who nods. “Yeah, that… that sounds about right.”
Beau actually makes it inside the dome before she starts hyperventilating. If Yasha is honest, the proximity and sudden increase in body heat might’ve been a contributing factor—something she should’ve thought about prior.
Beau sits for a few moments against the side of the dome, looking off at nothing and chest heaving with increasing severity. It takes only a few moments before Yasha recognizes the way Beau’s breathing turns shallow—her blue eyes widening in panic.
“Yasha.” Beside her, Caleb jerks his head out of the dome. “Get her out.”
“I don’t want to touch her, I don’t think,” Yasha confesses, staring down at her hands. She’s hurt Beauregard. Her hands have driven a sword straight through her chest, the chest that’s struggling to take in any oxygen at the moment—
“Yasha.” Caleb’s eyes lock on hers, and for a moment, all she can see is the years and years of enduring. He’s been here. She’s been here. They might be the only two in the dome who truly understand. “This isn’t about you.”
And Yasha listens. She moves over to Beau, who’s now leaning all the way forward over her crossed legs—gasping and shaking.
“I, uh,” Yasha inhales. “I am going to touch you. If that’s okay. Fresh air will help.”
She guides Beauregard to her feet—more support than anything else. Yasha can feel the Nein looking at them now, concern overtaking any polite disregard.
“Yasha—” Jester’s hands are close to her face, fearfully motioning to Beau. “Does she need healing? I can heal her, I think. I might have some spells.”
“Let’s all just…” Caleb shifts to face the others, his face screwed up in old pain. “Let’s just take a breath, ja? Give Beauregard some space. Maybe we should discuss where we’re going next. Caduceus, you wanted to visit somewhere?”
Yasha can hear the soothing vibration of Cad’s voice as he takes over, giving her enough space to help Beau outside the dome and to the side of a tree.
Yasha can’t help looking around a bit, nervous that the night air itself might attack or reveal some sort of new danger. She forces her voice to stay quiet—almost whispering.
Beau leans against the tree. The unshed tears in her eyes have been pushed out, trailing down her cheeks. Yasha racks her brains for what Zuala used to do when she would have moments like these, extending that wonderfully calming force Yasha misses so terribly.
“You know,” she starts, voice low. “One time, back before I met all of you, my tribe went hunting for a few days. We weren’t supposed to be gone long from the others, but Zuala—” she stops, forcing herself to swallow the ache that always comes with the mention of her wife. “Zuala found this beautiful patch of flowers. They weren’t really flowers—Xhorhas doesn’t have anything quite as lovely as you have here in the Empire. But they were white and small and probably just little seed pouches for plants. It was beautiful. Like… snow that wasn’t cold.”
Beau doesn’t give any indication that she’s listening, but Yasha can see the way her erratic gasping has slowed a little. She knows it doesn’t really matter what she’s saying… just that she’s here. And talking about nothing of importance.
“I could… smell the rain in the air,” Yasha continues, knowing Zuala used to ground her using the senses. “I could feel the soft earth under my boots. Could see the way the white little seeds scattered in the air. It was peaceful. Calm. I go there a lot in my mind—when I’m upset or scared. I go back there, and just… watch. Listen.”
Beau’s legs give out, and she drops to her knees—the mud of the earth splattering just a bit as her hands come forward to sink into it.
Awkwardly, Yasha leans down to rub circles on her back. She cringes a little, hoping it doesn’t cause Beau more pain or discomfort. Or embarrassment.
Finally, exhausted, Beau’s body slumps forward a little. Yasha’s reflexes catch her, leaning her back against the tree trunk—the bark wet and dark from the evening mist.
Beau leans her head back against it, sucking in air for the first time in a couple tense minutes. Yasha silently offers out her waterskin, which Beau accepts—eyes still unfocused and faraway.
“That’s good.” Yasha swallows, feeling heat rush up into her cheeks for some reason. “That’s… yeah, that’s good.”
After another few moments, the waterskin slips from Beau’s lips. She blinks several times. “You have to let me go.” Her voice sounds cold and distant and void of any emotion.
Yasha sighs. “We can’t, Beau. You know that.”
“Fine. Doesn’t matter. You will eventually.”
“I just got you back.” Yasha shakes her head, brows furrowing. “I mean. All of you. I can’t lose you again.”
“You will.” Beau shakes her head. “Eventually. This won’t last forever.”
“You keep saying that.” Yasha forces herself to steady her own breathing. “Why are you so set on believing your life should end in misery?”
“It just will, Yasha.” Beau stares just over her shoulder. “I attract it. And Luc deserves a mother, and TJ deserves a better home, and I can only give one of those things.”
“It’s not your responsibility to give either.”
“It’s not my responsibility.” Another tear rolls down Beau’s cheek. “It’s my fortune. It makes sense—don’t you see? I don’t… have anything past this. Don’t deserve the kind of love… and family… I have here. It’s going to go away—get taken away—and I can’t handle not knowing when. Better now. Right now. I’m comfortable on my own. I’ll be okay.”
“You know,” Yasha looks down at her hands. “I don’t deserve this either.”
She’s not looking at Beau anymore, but she can feel the attention shift - just ever so slightly. Beau’s heavy heaves turn quieter. Slower. “What?”
“I don’t.” Yasha finally raises her head. “I hurt a lot of people, Beau.”
“Yasha, that wasn’t—”
“Yes, it was.” She holds out her hands, twisting them. “These. My hands did it. They killed people. Your people. You. And I don’t deserve to lie there next to everyone in that dome. I'm still struggling with it, to be truthful with you. But I don’t think it’s… what we deserve that matters. I think it’s—well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s not that. We don’t always get what we deserve. Sometimes we get… something better.”
Beau’s eyes are staring at her now, focus returning. She’s coming back. Yasha can see her now. “Maybe so.”
“It hurts.” Yasha thinks about the ring where she’d taken hit after hit, thinks of the way the word champion still sends cold chills up her spine, thinks about the way she’d craved the release of pain and unconsciousness. “You and I, we find comfort in that.”
“Yeah.” Beau nods a tiny bit.
Yasha swallows hard, seeing a flash of Zuala in her mind. “Take it from someone who has lost… a lot in this life.” She tries not to think about the Dealmaker’s words, about the possibility of bringing her wife back. “It’s usually… sudden. And terrible.”
“Wow, some pep talk.”
“No, Beau, listen.” Yasha shakes her head. “I wouldn’t trade… my time with my wife. For anything. Not even if I knew how it would end.”
Beau’s shoulders shake just a little, and Yasha realizes she’s shivering. But she’s attentive. She doesn’t say anything after Yasha finishes, and Yasha doesn’t mind. She prefers the silence anyway.
They sit there, tears still rolling silently down Beau’s cheeks, until Yasha finds it in herself to speak again.
“Maybe stick to… throwing fights like me instead of self-sacrifice, yeah?” she says finally, teasing now—hoping the gentle, sad smile on her face is enough to convey that. “We can work up to that.”
The corner of Beau’s mouth actually does twitch a little. “Okay,” she promises shakily. And then—“Fuck, I’m so cold.”
“We can go back to the dome if you want.” Yasha points a little ways off to where their friends are surely pretending not to watch. “Warmer there.”
Beau nods, trying to push herself up into a standing position, but between her physical and emotional exhaustion, her arms shake as they try to support her weight.
“Here.” Yasha reaches out to aid. “Let me.”
“I’m fine.” Beau doesn’t push the hand away, though.
“I know.”
“Yasha?” Beau turns to her, glassy-eyed but no longer quite so far away. “Just tell everyone we were two-fingers deep over here or something.”
Before Yasha really knew Beau, she might’ve flinched at the suggestion, wanted to beg forgiveness in front of Zuala’s memory, but she knows better now. The comment isn’t for her. Beau’s protection is made up of flirtations and hard-punches.
Yasha continues to lead her back towards the dome. “Oh, I’m sure you have that covered.”
Just as they duck through the magical barrier, Yasha feels a brush of lips by her ear as Beauregard leans in. “Thank you,” comes the choked whisper.
And Yasha smiles.