Chapter Text
The life of an Expositer could feel very boring at times. Hours stretched into days of nonstop research and paperwork. So as much as she loved books, when Beauregard finished her work for the Soul that day, she was happy to never open one again. At least for a little while.
“I am so sick of this,” she muttered to Caleb, who’d joined her in the last hour. They were looking into the various remaining members of the Assembly, Ludinus specifically, but as always, they could find next to nothing on him, on any of them really. But Beau had a feeling. She knew that fucker was up to something.
“Let us go home,” he nodded, reaching across the table to close Beau’s notebook before she ripped its pages out in her frustration. Then he flicked his wrist, and their supplies drifted into the air, satchels packing themselves. “Are you still up for dinner?”
“Yeah as long as not a word is said about this shit.”
“That is all fine with me.” The wizard pulled a piece of chalk from his bag before kneeling down to sketch on the study room floor. She’d seen him do it so many times that she could replicate those symbols almost perfectly if she wanted to. “Essek and I will arrive at six thirty with vegetables and additional alcohol.”
“Just let me know before, alright?”
“Ja, alright.” When he was finished with the chalk, he threw her a smile that lifted some of the weight off her shoulders. Reminded her that he was one of her very best friends. Reminded her to breathe. Then he drew some sigil in the air, whispered a word, and was gone. A burst of wind blew her hair back, but that was all that was left of Caleb Widogast for the moment.
Beau turned to leave just as there was a knock on the door.
It was very lucky that he’d lifted that small amount of weight because she was instantly annoyed, and it returned with some extra. But she managed to take a deep breath and not completely yank the door open. It was more so a forceful pull, but that was all the politeness she could muster.
“What?”
It was one of the monks-in-training. An older teenage boy she’d seen around here and there that was better, she knew, than most of his comrades in the current class.
“You have a visitor.”
“Fucking great,” she ground out, before collecting herself with another deep breathe. It certainly wasn’t his fault, but if he stayed here any longer she might shout at him. “Thanks, kid. You’re dismissed or… whatever.” Beau shooed him away with her hand, before dragging it across her face.
Caduceus, at some point, had taken the time to teach her several exercises to use to calm herself down. She struggled to remember any of them as she began to walk through the library, but twisting the ring on her finger brought some relief to her extremely overwhelmed mind.
“Yasha,” she said when she’d gotten to the stairs that led up to the front entrance, and she kissed the ring. “I might run a little late tonight. But Essek and Caleb are still coming over.”
“Just don’t be too long, baby,” came her wife’s voice, whispered like a beautiful thought in her head. A much needed light among the darkness there. “I’m making dessert! Love you.”
“I love you too.” Beau reached the top stair, suddenly feeling a lot better. As always, calling on her wife was the best of exercises to calm herself. And hopefully, she’d soon be home to see her in person. Thank fuck. She just had to get through this one visitor to reach the door, and the afternoon air of Zadash beyond it. Just one person.
Then she saw the figure who was waiting for her, and frankly, she froze.
There was her father at the front desk. Looking as fancy as ever, grinning at the receptionist in his most charming way. Obviously she didn’t know of his relations with Zeenoth, of what he’d done to her, and Beau couldn’t fault her for that but a burst of resentment sent chills rolling down her spine. “Uh—” she ran her finger along the sending stone on her wedding ring, fighting the fear. Why was she afraid? “—m-my dad’s here.”
“What?” A pause. “Do you need me?”
“I–” He looked up and saw her, shoving something like a gasp through her lips. Fucking… shit. But when his smile grew wider, as if he was delighted to see her, those walls in her mind built up like a barricade between her, her father. and the horrid emotions he walked among.
“I’m on my way.”
Beau hardly heard this because suddenly the man she resented was approaching her with all the arrogance in the world, and she intended to say something fiery, something along the lines of him having a lot of fucking nerve. But that’s not what came out. Rather, the tone she tried to make angry was that only in the way a child’s is when they’re mad at a parent, but they already know that their words are disregarded as they leave their mouth. Less intense, less punishment.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see my daughter.”
“Yeah?” Beau clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to ground herself in this moment before her thoughts drifted elsewhere. To memories. “Well, you’ve seen her, so you can leave now.”
He smiled again and her nails drew blood. It stung but it was a good sting. A sting she could handle because she couldn’t handle how painful her heart felt. Like some emotion she didn’t have the capacity to name had reached through her chest and sunk claws into that beating organ, squeezing, piercing.
Was the air growing thicker or was her struggle to breathe unrelated?
“Perhaps we should step outside.” That sounded like a great idea. It’s too bad her father was the one to suggest it. So even though her head was spinning and she had to grab the edge of the desk to steady herself, she made no move toward the door he nodded at.
“Just spit it out, dad. We both know you need something from me.”
Without the Nein at her side, she felt small. Beau hated feeling small. Like a hopeless, unloved child, and when his ‘kind’ face shifted, she saw the shadow of the threatening man that child had grown up with. The one he hid away from those outside the house. The one that it was both easier and infinitely harder to be angry with.
The last time she’d seen him, she’d caught him off guard. He’d been startled to see her, unprepared, sloppy to put on his show for her friends. It was still a good show despite that. She’d been inclined to believe it herself until Yudala notified her of Zeenoth’s imprisonment. That was when the veil had been lifted. But now he’d flipped the scales, and she knew he was going to start pushing with all the emotional leverage he could get in order to get into her head.
“I don’t believe this is the right place for a discussion. Do you have dinner plans?”
“Uh– yeah, yes. I do.”
“Are you just saying that, Beauregard?”
“Does it matter? Yes, I have dinner plans. No, I most certainly fucking won’t cancel them for you of all people.” She threw her arm out and gestured wildly at him, feeling more and more like that child. Then she remembered where she was, and sure, it wasn’t like the monks at the Soul hadn’t seen the worst of her in every stage of her development, but she still felt embarrassed.
“I am your father, young lady.”
“Fuck you.” Beau kicked off the desk to head for the door, needing to get out, but he grabbed her wrist.
Instantly she was prepared to fight, that instinct sending her through the thousands of ways she could take this man to the floor. It made anger spark through her veins, kicked muscles into gear, heart pushed to pound at a gallop. As she sped up, the world slowed down; sounds of the library disappearing for the briefest of moments. Her peripherals blurred over too, so that her focus became so tunnel visioned it was almost like she really was facing an opponent. A monster of sorts.
“What’s this?” With his grip on her wrist, he pulled her hand closer to his face, eyeing her ring.
“I’m here,” came Yasha’s voice to her head, and it might have been the only thing that saved Thoreau.
She yanked her arm free, and got to the door before another word could leave his stupid fucking mouth. And when she pushed through, she looked around frantically until she saw Yasha striding her way, her form silhouetted by the oranges and reds of the sun. She looked a lot like an angel right now, with her bright white hair cut to her shoulders, bulging muscles draped over with the lace of her blouse of the same color, its sleeves loose and see-through, black pants, Holy Avenger strapped to her back.
“Hi,” Beau managed when the aasimar reached her, annoyed at how small her voice had become. She cleared her throat, about to try again when her wife touched her neck, gingerly tilting her chin so that she couldn’t avoid looking into her eyes, and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“You’re so tense.”
“Yeah, sorry,” she whispered, except her limbs were already relaxing, breath slowing down, the world suddenly bearable again. Still, there was gooseflesh running along her arms, and she scratched at them with her fingernails as the door to the Cobalt Soul opened again, and she knew her father had exited into the street. Could feel his gaze burning into her back. “Dad, you remember Yasha,” she said, turning when she was composed well enough to face him.
“I do.” For the first time, he looked less than pleasant. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at Yasha, whose grip fell from his daughter’s neck to her waist, pinning her to her side. “You threatened me once.”
“Oh, I hardly think that was a threat, Mr. Lionett,” Yasha chuckled softly. She smelled a little bit like roasted meats. Remnants of whatever it is that awaited them back home and proof of the improved life she had that didn’t include this man. “If I had threatened you, sir, you would not have the balls to be standing in front of me right now.”
Thoreau stiffened.
Her biceps were starting to burn but she continued to rake her nails over her skin. Thinking of all the ways she’d wanted to hurt her father, all the words she’d wanted to hurl at him, pain she’d wanted to inflict. Yet, standing here before him, all of it was the very last she wanted to do. What she wanted was for him to leave. But he wasn’t going to, and she couldn’t force him.
“You should go,” said Yasha, her tone so deceptively soft sounding. But Beau knew better, and so it seemed, did Thoreau because he fell back a step. Her rage, while silent, was perhaps one of the scariest (sexiest) things Beau had ever seen. Of course it made her love her wife more, but he would not think the same.
There came several seconds of stammering before he finally managed the words: “Beauregard, please…” Immediately, she tensed. That was a foreign word on his lips, and it could only mean some sort of manipulation. “I-it has to do with your brother. I need your help.”
Shit.
“Is he alright?”
“Y-yes, for now but—”
“Then you can wait a day, Mr. Lionett,” Yasha cut in, allowing Beau a second to catch her breath seeing as it just deserted her lungs. Stupid treacherous air.
“But–”
“We can get lunch or something in the market tomorrow.” Beau had no intention of inviting him to their home. She didn’t want him to know where they lived. “That is the only fucking time I will agree to so its that or nothing, Dad.”
“Fine. Whereabouts should we meet?”
“We’ll find you.”