Chapter Text
Beau’s notebooks are strewn across the table in front of her where she sits, back hunched, one hand tapping a quill against a sheet of paper with notes scribbled on it, droplets of ink flying across and obscuring some of the letters.
Yasha sits in front of the fire, Molly’s now cleaned and dried coat in her hands, as she tries to decipher the symbols, looking for meaning but finding none.
Time goes by in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire accompanied by the tapping of her quill the only sounds to fill the room.
The third time Beau’s head slips out of the hand propped under her chin, Yasha speaks up.
“Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?”
Yasha’s voice is soft, but Beau still jumps, having forgotten she wasn’t alone in her room. She wonders when she’d begun to let her guard down, to be so focused on what she’s working on that she doesn’t notice her surroundings.
“It feels like I’m almost there, like the answer is right in front of me but I can’t find it, you know? It’s frustrating.” She snarls the last word.
“Then maybe you should take a break,” Yasha suggests. “Come back with a clear mind, you know?”
“I could tell you the same thing. Doesn’t seem you’ve gotten much out of that coat either.”
“You’re right,” Yasha says and she sounds so sad that Beau curses herself for her words.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Yasha sounds confused now, and Beau thinks she should just learn to shut her mouth, especially in front of Yasha.
“I don’t like it when you’re sad,” she replies, and yes, she absolutely needs to shut up now before she embarreses herself further.
Yasha smiles at that, as small and gentle as all of the smiles Beau has come to associate with her. She does not blush. Not at all. It’s just the firelight that makes it seem like it, that’s all.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Yasha says, rising from the chair and letting Molly’s coat drape over the armrest.
“Make me,” Beau says, as petulant as a child, because she’s not ready to quit her research for the night, not yet, not when she’s this close.
Fire dances in Yasha’s eyes.
Before she knows it, Yasha’s swept her up in her arms, walking towards the door leading to the bedroom. Beau’s arms instinctually goes around Yasha’s neck, mind wandering to the other times she’s been held like this by Yasha.
Next thing, she’s thrown down on the bed.
“You know this won’t make me sleep right?” Beau asks, sitting up.
“Take off your top,” is the only reply from Yasha as she climbs into bed after her.
“Wait, what?” She looks up at Yasha, reading nothing on her face. “You mean we’re gonna do this? I heard you yesterday, you know, about the…”
“No,” Yasha interrupts. “Well, not tonight. Your mind isn’t in the right place. I’m just going to help you relax.”
“Uhh, you know asking me to take my clothes off is having, like, the opposite effect, right?”
There’s a fondness in Yasha’s eyes, and some hint of the heat that was present the previous, and so far only, time they had sex. It had also been present when she spotted the mirror and commented on the usefulness.
“Just listen to me Beau, please?”
“I always am,” Beau replies before she can stop the words from escaping past her lips, and yepp, she’s once again failed at shutting up before she emabresses herself. Story of my life, she thinks.
“You weren’t a moment ago,” Yasha points out and Beau’s heart flutters at the teasing tone.
“Okay, I’ll listen.”
“Let me help you then, if that makes it easier.”
Yasha reaches out and helps Beau remove the vest and short top before the undergarment. Beau sees Yasha’s eyes linger at her breasts, but not act on it.
“Lie on your stomach.”
Beau does, not having the energy to protest. Because yes, she’s tired, more so than she wants to admit even to herself, the exhaustion seeping into her bones.
She doesn’t have the chance to ask Yasha’s plans before the taller woman straddling her, sitting on her ass, warm hands on her lower back before they push down, and then up her back.
It’s painful and good and really makes her realise just how sore she is.
Beau groans, hands fisting in the sheets. It’s been too long since she’s gotten a massage, and their adventures and the recent hours spent going through books and notes have not made things better.
“Fuck,” she says through clenched teeth when Yasha kneads a particularily painful knot.
“I’m sorry, am I hurting you?”
“It’s fine. I’m just, ah, more sore than I thought.”
“You know, it would be easier if you would relax.”
“Kinda hard when you’re sitting on my ass.”
Yasha’s hands are no longer in her back, and Beau feels the other woman shift slightly.
“You want me to stop then?”
“No.” Shit. Once again, answered too fast.
Yasha laughs, and Beau’s heart skips a beat. There’s something about hearing Yasha laugh, hearing her happy. It’s always been such a rare thing, but lately she’s sounded free, her laughter coming more easily.
A questioning hum escapes Yasha, before she moves off of Beau.
“What’re you doing?” Beau mumbles into the bed, trying to turn her head to see what Yasha’s up to.
“I just figured..” she appears in Beau’s view holding something. “Thank you Caleb.”
“Just figured what?”
The answer is cold oil being poured on her back. It smells like sandalwood and something she can’t quite pick up on.
“That he knows you,” Yasha answers as she returns to her former position, working the oil into Beau’s skin.
It quickly warms up, and even though the pain in her muscles still tell her that she’s not taken proper care of them, Beau still begins to relax as Yasha rubs and kneads, and before long her eyes start to drift closed, as she sighs in pleasure.
She briefly registers Yasha moving off of her and sitting on the bed next to her.
“Goodnight Beau,” Yasha whispers, voice so soft and low that Beau barely makes out the words.
Struggling to stay awake for even a second longer, Beau reaches out a hand towards Yasha, somehow finding one of hers.
“Please stay,” she manages to say, voice slurred with sleep.
“Okay.”