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“Where’s Amber?” are the first words the Outrider in question is able to make out as she and Mika approach the plaza, worn-out, sweaty, but alive and well. The woman who speaks them looks similarly fatigued — as do the rest of the Knights gathering after the battle — but more or less unharmed, from Amber’s cursory glance. Still, she finds herself speeding up when she hears Eula’s voice, leaving Mika to hurry after her.
“Here! I’m right as rain, don’t worry!” Amber says with a wink and two-fingered salute. Upon seeing her, Eula visibly relaxes, though some of the tension in her shoulders remains. Amber looks the other Knight up and down. Her headband is missing, her normally-pristine white sleeves are singed, and there’s a hastily-wrapped bandage around her upper arm that the blood is already beginning to seep through — which is to say, compared to how Eula usually returns home from field assignments, she’s miraculously untouched.
What really captures Amber’s attention is the small, red-clad girl gripping the hand of Eula’s uninjured arm like Eula’s a flight risk, forcing the much-taller Captain to lean forward at an awkward angle. When Klee catches Amber looking, she raises their clasped hands in the air and waves them wildly. “We’re back! Klee kept Miss Eula safe the whole way!”
Eula makes a noise between a cough and a harrumph. Her typical promises of vengeance don’t leave her lips, though; instead, she turns her head away, as if that will hide the red blooming in her cheeks.
It doesn’t, of course, and between Eula’s bashfulness and Klee’s cheer and the fact that everyone is alive and safe and no worse for wear, Amber can’t keep the smile off her face. She crouches down, patting Klee’s head appreciatively. “That’s amazing, Klee! Miss Eula was lucky to have you.”
At her words, Eula’s eyes dart down to meet Amber’s. Amber watches the other woman’s obvious relief at seeing Amber safe fight with her mortification behind her sunset eyes. It only makes Amber’s smile brighten — she’ll never tire of seeing Eula like this, walls down for no one but her. If only others knew just how much of Eula’s apparent coldness is simply a result of her complete and utter lack of social skills.
Amber gives Klee a formal salute. “Thank you for your hard work, Spark Knight,” she says, affecting an overly formal tone. “The Knights of Favonius are indebted to you for watching over our Reconnaissance Captain.”
Klee giggles in delight at the same time as Eula hisses, “Stop that,” and kicks Amber’s foot, almost causing her to lose her balance and fall over. Fortunately, even a battle-weary Outrider is still an Outrider, and Amber manages to catch herself and straighten up, laughing a bit on the way.
“Alright,” comes Jean’s voice from nearby, raised to address the entire gathering. “Everyone who’s finished their work should head back to their quarters or the Church to get some rest.”
“Aye-aye,” Amber responds before looking back down at Klee. “Wanna come with us, Klee? As a thank-you for being so good, we can have tea and moon pies!”
Klee finally lets go of her death grip on Eula — the latter immediately snatching her hand back to shake and massage it out — to clap excitedly. “Yes, yes! Can Dodoco come too?”
“Of course,” Amber says, sweeping Klee up into her arms. The girl’s a bit heavier than expected — either Amber’s more tired than she realized, or Klee’s finally starting to grow into her age. The walk to Amber’s apartment is short enough that it won’t be an issue, though. “You and Dodoco both are always welcome.”
“Is Miss Eula coming too?”
Amber glances back for confirmation, but she already knows the answer even before Eula gives her a curt nod. Eula’s name may as well be on the lease, for how often she’s there. Not that Amber’s bothered — she’d much prefer Eula to stay somewhere warm and home-y, not like the barren single room Eula’s been renting since she first moved out of her family home — but at this point, they might as well move into a bigger space together and split the rent.
Ah, well. Can’t expect Eula Lawrence of all people to be straightforward and open.
“Yep! She needs someone to take care of her after all that fighting, doesn’t she?”
“I can take care of myself,” Eula retorts disgruntledly.
Amber rolls her eyes. Typical Eula, always so reluctant to accept help. But Amber could hardly call herself a scout if she’d failed to notice the strange happenings around Mondstadt lately, not to mention how distracted Eula’s been. She’s barely stayed over at Amber’s at all in the past week, and didn’t even flinch when Amber started talking nonsense at dinner the other night to test if Eula was paying attention! Amber might’ve been offended if it was anyone else, but Eula’s only ever acted this way towards the Outrider when something is troubling her. At this point in their relationship, though, Amber knows better than to pry too hard. That, and the fact that several members of the Knights’ upper echelons were working longer hours and acting more secretive, not just Eula. Amber trusted that she’d learn more when the time was right.
Now she knows, and she understands why she was kept in the dark — still, it hurt to see Eula struggling and not be able to do anything except offer platitudes, especially during the holiday season. It’s good to have everything in the open again; hopefully now, they can enjoy Windblume worry-free.
The skies themselves seem to feel the same — the gloomy cloud cover threatening to open up and drench them all with the tears of the heavens is beginning to dissipate, letting the fading sun through once more. It’s as if Celestia itself is blessing Mondstadt’s victory.
“Nope! Miss Eula is still under Klee’s care, so she has to come have tea and pie!” Klee, bless her heart, has taken off her hat and placed it on Eula’s head. Eula’s face nearly matches the fabric in color, but Klee either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Klee’s orders!”
Amber laughs. “Hear that, Miss Eula? Klee’s orders.”
“Yes, yes,” Eula grumbles, crossing her arms like a petulant child. “I heard.”
Amber bumps Eula’s shoulder with her own, letting out another giggle. “Come on. I’ve got some moon pies pre-made in the icebox.”
Eula blinks. “When did you have time to do that?”
“Oh, you know. Now and then.” Amber shrugs as best she can with a growing child in her arms. The truth is, she’s found herself dealing with her stress by baking — a habit she blames on Eula, because Amber never cooked more than the bare minimum to survive before Eula came along and started making all sorts of things for her. Amber now knows that it’s because Eula finds gift-giving a much easier way of showing affection than anything else, but back when they first met, Amber felt bad for not returning the gesture and offered to prepare a full meal for the two of them — only for Eula to make an odd face once she made it to the cupcakes.
“They’re not… bad, per se,” Eula had said when Amber, flustered out of her mind, began apologizing, “but your batter is dry and your frosting is too dense.” And then she said something that truly surprised Amber: “If you want, I could come over this weekend and give you some pointers.”
One baking class soon turned into several, even beyond the point where Eula admitted Amber’s skills had improved as much as they were going to without professional tutelage, neither willing to give up what had gone from a weak excuse to spend time together to a special tradition all their own. Since then, when Eula’s away on particularly long or dangerous missions, Amber finds herself chasing her presence by making inordinate amounts of cakes and pies. It’s gotten to the point that the entire Reconnaissance Company jokes about the feasts that always await their return.
So: yes, Amber’s been lonely and worried while Eula’s been busy and distant and decided to cope by filling her icebox (a gift from the Chief Alchemist himself, kept pleasantly chilled by a combination of alchemy and distilled Cryo) with pre-made moon pies, because they’re Eula’s favorite and a staple of the season besides. Sue her.
The frown on Eula’s face goes from petulant to something resembling genuine concern, but before Amber can ask about it, Klee shifts in her arms and Amber nearly drops her. “Okay,” she says, a bit strained, “let’s start heading back, alright?”
It’s not a long walk to Amber’s apartment, and between Klee’s happy humming and clouds dispersing enough to make the final dying rays of sunset visible for the first time in days, Amber can almost forget about the stress of the day. If she wasn’t so exhausted, she might even break into song herself.
(Eula would roll her eyes of course, and tell her to leave the singing to the bards, but a few glasses of dandelion wine into the night and she’d join in most raucously of all.)
Eula unlocks the door for them — she’s long since had a key to Amber’s apartment, once more prompting the thought that they really should just get it over with and formally move in together already — but Klee, blessedly, takes initiative and jumps down from Amber’s arms before they climb the stairs.
“Race you!” she calls, sprinting up the stairs on all fours and not looking back to see if her challenge is accepted or not. (It isn’t.)
Eula lingers by the doorway, hand absentmindedly moving to cover the bandage on her arm. Though the battle is over, there’s still worry etched into every line of her face, and she’s biting down on her lip the way she always does when she’s losing herself in her anxieties.
Amber is not going to let Eula be anxious about anything until tomorrow morning at the very earliest, so when she reaches up to snatch Klee’s hat from the other woman’s head, she leans in and pecks Eula’s cheek with a kiss. The worry in Eula’s face disappears immediately to make way for surprise, a blush creeping in like it always does whenever Amber shows her affection, no matter how many times it’s happened already.
“Come on, Miss Eula,” Amber says, grabbing Eula’s hand, “let’s get you rested up.”
By the time they make it into Amber’s kitchen, Klee’s already availed herself of the paper and crayons Amber keeps around for occasions such as this and has sat down at the table. (It’s common for one or more of Mondstadt’s children to show up at Amber’s when they’re bored, or need a babysitter, or have a question about monsters or scouting or the Knights that would be better directed at any of her more specialized colleagues. It’s a blessing and a curse to be, in the Traveler’s words, the friendliest and most trustworthy face in Mondstadt.) A quick snap of Amber’s fingers causes the Pyro kindling in her oven to flicker to life, and she wastes no time filling the kettle with water and putting it on the stove. Eula hangs around, looking for something to do, but Amber (not unkindly) pushes her down into the seat across from Klee. “You and Klee are my guests tonight. That means you get to sit right here and enjoy yourselves while I get things ready.”
Eula mutters something about revenge that Amber can’t quite catch, but does as she’s told. Satisfied that her rules are being obeyed, Amber pulls three of the prepared moon pies out of the icebox and sets them on the baking sheet in the oven. Once that’s done, she ducks into another room and returns carrying her first-aid kit. When she sets it on the table, Eula sighs and dutifully angles her body to give Amber better access to her injured arm. Amber pulls a chair closer and starts to carefully unwrap the bandage. It’s gone stiff in the places where blood has soaked through the fabric. Ever the stoic, Eula doesn’t flinch when the last of the bandage is peeled from her skin, or even when Amber begins gently dabbing alcohol on the wound to clean it. Once the smeared blood is more or less wiped away, Amber’s relieved to find that the cut isn’t deep — it’s a bit jagged around the edges, but it should heal well enough on its own. Nothing worth dragging Eula to the nuns for.
“Shrapnel,” Eula says in a hushed tone, predicting Amber’s next question. Her eyes flicker to Klee, whose tongue is sticking out of her mouth at an angle as she colors in what is… probably a fish. “Bombs and ruin guards are not the best combination. It only grazed me, though.”
It’s become a bit of a routine, Amber treating Eula’s wounds after a mission — the ones that aren’t serious enough to warrant a trip to the Church, anyway. Eula sometimes does the same for Amber, but the nature of Amber’s position and her preference for long-ranged combat — and her greater instinct for self-preservation — mean she’s the one doing the doting more often than not. Amber doesn’t mind, though; there’s something intimate in quiet moments spent washing away the blood from Eula’s skin and stitching her back together (figuratively — Amber leaves the actual stitching to the sisters if she can help it).
That being said, she wished it happened less often — that Eula would begin to see herself in the same way Amber sees her, and treasure her safety over her desire to prove herself worthy. Some scars run deep, though, and take more than a few kind words to heal — but it’s alright. Amber will wait as long as it takes.
As Amber finishes wrapping a fresh bandage, Eula speaks up. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking toward the floor. “For my absence lately. I wanted to tell you about it, about everything, but the mission —”
“Shh. Stop talking.” Amber puts a finger to Eula’s lips. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I get it.”
“But —”
“If you really insist,” Amber says with a smile, putting her hands on her hips, “you can make it up to me by having a nice evening with me! And Klee.”
On cue, the water begins to boil. Amber jumps up to pour the tea and pull the moon pies out of the oven amid Klee’s enthusiastic affirmations. “Yeah! Play with Klee, play with Klee!”
Amber turns around, balancing three steaming mugs in her hands, prepared to pull an overly-excited Spark Knight off her injured girlfriend — and is pleasantly surprised to find that, for once, Klee has interpreted “play” as sitting on Eula’s lap and describing her crayon drawings in excruciating detail, instead of anything wildlife-endangering.
The pained look Eula gives Amber, akin to that of a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery, makes Amber briefly wonder if Eula would prefer a more physical method. She probably would; Eula treats everyone — man, woman, child, civilian or noble — with equal amounts of social ineptitude, taking the truism “actions speak louder than words” to its literal extreme. Even among the more open-minded Knights, she’s developed a reputation for aloofness that only the Reconnaissance Company and a handful of others know is a facade — Eula simply prefers friendships forged in fire, finding time spent training or on the field to build stronger bonds than small talk over tea. Ironically for her upbringing — or mostly likely in open defiance of it — the poor woman flounders in situations governed by etiquette and manners. That includes interactions with children.
Amber responds to Eula’s anguish by simply shrugging. Eula mouths a familiar promise of vengeance, bringing a smile to Amber’s lips as she places the mugs on the table, followed by three small plates of moon pies. “Careful, they’re still hot.”
As Klee puckers her lips and blows over the bit of pie she’s speared on her fork, Amber slides one of her drawings closer. It’s not bad, for someone Klee’s age — the shapes and scale of the figures are all more or less accurate, and the colors each individual is drawn in leave little room for the imagination. “Let’s see… this blue lady must be Miss Eula, right? And this big guy…” Amber gasps for dramatic effect. “A ruin guard! Good thing this powerful red knight is there to protect poor Miss Eula, huh?”
Klee nods sagely. “Miss Eula got so scared she even started crying, see?” Klee practically climbs onto the table — kicking Eula’s abdomen in the process, eliciting a grunt from the woman — to point out the blue streaks running down drawing-Eula’s blue face. “But she doesn’t have anything to worry about now that Klee and Dodoco are here to save the day!”
“I see…” Amber presses her knuckles to her lips thoughtfully. “Is this how you found her today, then?”
Eula, who’d been going for her first sip of tea, makes a choking sound. “She did not,” she says sternly.
“Hm…” Klee hums, thinking as she climbs back down into Eula’s lap. “I actually don’t remember. I was too excited to see Mr. Albedo to pay that much attention to Miss Eula. Sorry, Miss Eula,” she adds, patting the uninjured shoulder of the woman in question.
“I guess we’ll never know,” Amber sighs. If looks could kill, the one Eula shoots Amber would pierce right through her heart. They can’t, though, so Amber lives to smile mischievously over her mug at Eula’s beet-red face.
—
They carry on, trading stories — more accurately, Klee regales them with tales about her and Dodoco’s adventures, Amber asks the right questions at the right points and makes all the right reactions, and Eula tries not to lose an eye to Klee’s wildly-swinging hands — until their tea’s gone cold and Klee’s talked herself to sleep. Eula sits stiffly as the sleeping child lays her head on Eula’s chest, as if she’s afraid of breathing and waking Klee up.
Amber lets out a huff of laughter. “Give her to me. I’ll put her to bed.”
She maneuvers Klee out of Eula’s lap, carrying the menace of all Mondstadt’s fish to the couch. She plucks Dodoco from Klee’s backpack and places the plush in the sleeping girl’s arms before wrapping a well-loved quilt — a keepsake passed down from her grandfather, embroidered with fables from Liyue and Mondstadt both — around her and setting her hat nearby. Klee’s peaceful, carefree slumber gives nothing away of the city-wide battle she’d taken part in only a few hours before. Ah, the innocence of youth, Amber thinks to herself, before realizing she sounds too much like Lisa and banishing the thought.
When Amber returns to the kitchen, she finds it empty. A gentle breeze flutters the curtains hanging by the open balcony door, as though Barbatos himself is teasing her. She follows the trail to the balcony to find Eula leaning against the railing, watching the horizon pensively. Amber follows her gaze. She’s always delighted in this view: her apartment is situated just high enough to give her a glimpse past the city walls at Dragonspine’s peak, encircled by clouds even on the clearest days. Her view had been obscured during the general gloominess of the past few days, but now the imposing mountain is visible, lit by the moonlit and blotting out the stars behind it.
Amber takes her place next to Eula with a sigh, feeling the other woman’s gaze turn to her. “Klee has been put to bed, I take it?” Eula asks softly, as though she’s afraid of breaking the silence of the night. Well, almost-silence — the sounds of Mondstadt’s people drunkenly carousing through her streets waft up despite the apartment’s distance from the two major taverns. It’s more muted than is typical, though. Amber suspects that the people with the most reason to celebrate after the battle are, like Eula and herself, too exhausted to make much clamor tonight.
Amber nods. “Out like a light.” When Eula says nothing, merely looking back at Dragonspine, Amber bumps her shoulder. “What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”
Amber’s words seem to flip a switch in the other woman. Eula sags against the railing, holding her forehead in her hand. “You deserve better than this.”
A chill runs down Amber’s spine. “What do you mean?” she says, already knowing the answer. This is a conversation they have had before, on rough post-mission nights and after one too many at Dawn Winery.
“You deserve better than this,” Eula repeats, before gesturing to herself. “Better than me.”
“Eula Lawrence.” Amber cups Eula’s chin in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. Amber’s response is always the same; it will remain so until it’s burned into Eula’s memory. “You know very well that isn’t true. I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again, you hear me?”
Begrudgingly, Eula nods. Amber lets go of Eula’s face and instead grabs her hand, entwining their fingers over the railing. “What brought this on all of a sudden?”
“It’s stupid.” Eula stares down at the empty streets below. She gives Amber’s hand a squeeze. “It’s the holiday season, I think. It always makes me feel… odd.” She takes a deep breath, then continues. “I haven’t been available lately to celebrate with you, and left you to make all the preparations yourself…”
“Hey, hey,” Amber says, bumping Eula again. “I told you, it’s okay! I’m not gonna hold a grudge against you for being busy, oh you know, keeping Mondstadt from complete and utter destruction? I think that’s a perfectly good excuse for missing date night.”
Eula gives her a weak smile. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, it’s just — it’s been a long day.” She pauses. “I thought I lost Klee.”
“What?” The confession catches Amber off guard. She turns to look right at Eula.
“Back there, in the battle. I…” Eula bites her lip, letting go of Amber’s hand to touch the bandage on her other arm. “I was supposed to watch her, but then she disappeared on me, and while she was gone Albedo and the Traveler came by, and — Archons, Amber, what if I’d really lost her?” Eula’s voice breaks, Amber’s heart along with it. “And the worst of it is, in that moment, all I could think about was what they’d do to me when they found out. After all these years of doing everything right, finally there’s a place where I — where people don’t put me in a box, and I thought I’d screwed it up. I thought it was over.”
“Oh, Eula…” Amber pulls the other woman into a hug. Eula seems surprised at first, but after a moment, she lets herself relax into the embrace and hug Amber back. “I think I speak for all the Knights — or, well, the ones whose opinions really matter — when I say that if something did happen, they wouldn’t hate you. They know you. Not as well as I do” — she pulls back to stick her tongue out at Eula and give her a playful wink — “but they care about you. And they also know Klee. Believe me, no one would blame you for losing track of her when even Jean and Albedo do.” Eula lets out a sniffling laugh at that. “Everything turned out alright in the end, didn’t it? So don’t worry. And don’t start talking about how I don’t deserve you or whatever, or I’ll have to start taking my own vengeance on you,” Amber concludes, accentuating her point by poking Eula’s nose.
The taller woman blushes and lets go of Amber. Instead of answering, she turns back to look out over the balcony. “It’s a beautiful night,” she says.
Amber sees the moon reflected, bright and full, in Eula’s purple-gold eyes. Starlight looks good on you, Miss Eula.
“Yes,” she says, leaning her head on Eula’s shoulder. “Yes, it is.”