Work Text:
Beau tries not to break another quill in her fist. “You know,” she says, “we won't get anywhere unless you take your head out your ass and tell me something useful.” Caduceus has given them a quiet corner of the Grove to do their work, which really means a patch of brambles that the sentient goop has just-about receded from.
Astrid, infuriatingly calm, picks her head up from the gnarled treetrunk and meets Beau’s eyes. “I am telling you.” A sweet-smelling breeze pushes her hair out of her face for a moment, revealing the long, jagged knife-scar, before settling down again. “If he had other teachers under his puppetry, then I never knew about it.”
Beau squints, but Astrid’s expression gives nothing away. “What is it?” Beau pokes the feather in her direction. “Are you still trying to work out a way to kill him, or what?”
“No,” Astrid says levelly. “If I was planning on killing him, I wouldn't be wasting time on this. On you fine-tooth-combing a million unnecessary details from my memories,” she grits her teeth, “as if you have any right-”
“I literally have the right,” Beau points out. “I'm an expositor.”
Astrid’s mouth contorts into a smile. Her teeth are sharp. “I can tell that that makes you feel good. Powerful. I'm glad, really.”
Beau throws the notebook down onto the grass, and then winces, but it doesn’t tear, and none of the pages fly away. “I am powerful, motherfucker.”
“Oh, yes?” Astrid raises an eyebrow, and then drops it. “Tell me. Are you trying to rile me into something?”
“Are you trying to rile me into something?”
“What good would that do?” Astrid huffs. “I need you, Beauregard, if I do not intend to accept charges for treason. Did you forget that part?”
“Well- What good would it do, for me to rile you up?”
Astrid shrugs. “To prove that I'm human? That I'm not some shambling mound who's very good at pretending-”
“Are you?” Beau asks. “I mean- how much of ‘you’, for whatever value of ‘you’, did Ikithon strip out, do you think? Hell, do you still feel emotions? Do you eat, do you drink, do you fuck, tell me what I'm working with here, man-”
“Yes, yes, yes and yes.”
Beau blinks. Well, she wasn’t exactly expecting her to be that forthright about it. “I- I mean, Eadwulf, I'm sure, from what Caleb said, Ikithon was real invested in you guys being together-”
“Eadwulf, sure.” Astrid pulls herself onto her feet. “Some others. On missions, of course. Sex is often a necessary part of subterfuge, you know that.”
“No,” Beau says, jumping up to stay on Astrid’s level. “No, it literally isn't.”
Astrid scoffs, and crosses her arms. “Okay, then, you've done substandard work and now you get to feel superior to me for it.”
Beau’s chest is beginning to hurt. “Nobody should ever force someone into doing that shit.”
“He didn't,” Astrid sniffs.
Beau sighs, and then steels her expression. This isn’t exactly what she was going for. “We don't have unlimited time here. I mean, unless you have some dunamancy trick up your sleeve to- You need to start giving me stuff that's useful, Astrid.”
Calling her by her name is enough to piss her off, apparently, because she reaches forward, grabs the quill out of Beau’s hand, and snaps it herself. “You need to start believing me when I tell you the truth,” she holds the sharp snapped point towards Beau’s jugular. “Because I will very happily lie if it means Ikithon is tortured for as many years as he has left in his sickly, tormented body, but that isn’t what you want, is it? You want justice, fairness,” she hisses. “So start asking better fucking questions, because Expositor” (and she says that with absolute venom) “or not-”
Beau knocks the quill out of Astrid’s hand. “You want to fucking go?- oh, yeah, this'll help our professional relationship, sure, we’ll just fight it out-”
“Yes,” Astrid smiles. “It will.” Her fingers begin to twist and Beau lunges forwards to grab at her wrists - but- a glint in Astrid’s eye, that's exactly what she wanted- Beau feels the hook under her navel that she’s being teleported- the scent of wet ferns and pine needles hits her nose, as her diaphragm tries to remove itself from out of her throat- she stumbles out from Astrid’s grip - from the foliage, they’re probably in the Pearlbow. Astrid had the kindness to teleport them somewhere private, somewhere they can’t harm anyone. She’s grinning at Beau from behind her hair. “There, used up some of my energy. Already in your favour.” She raises her hands into casting position. “Don't tell me you're afraid to fight now.”
“Motherfucker-” Beau throws herself to grab at one of Astrid’s legs and knock her down, but Astrid’s hands are ready, and she gets out the somatics for Fly in time to slip through Beau’s fingers, the momentum carrying Beau forward- she just about has the time to roll over her shoulder before she faceplants into mud and pine needles - there’s a whoosh of wind as Astrid flies up and away, and Beau scrambles for the nearest tree and throws herself up into the bottom branches, bark rough on her unbound hands, not ready for a fight- the air fills with crackling ozone as a bolt of lightning strikes the branch she was vaulting off, and then another, and another, as Beau winds herself upwards, dancing along branches just before they break, squinting against but moving towards the ultrabright flashes of light, spitting out hair from her mouth and trying not to be caught-
At last, a bald patch in the tree- and Astrid is visible, wind whipping about her face as she floats up and out of the treeline, pulling down more electricity from the clouds above with quick hands - if this branch can hold her weight, she can leap out and- and-
Got her. Now Astrid’s magic is buoying them both upwards, and Beau gives her a punch to the gut, although their bodies are pressed too close together to do much damage, and she just about misses the mark to extract Astrid’s ki and stun her - Astrid and her sharp fingernails scrabble at Beau’s hand to pull her off of her shoulder, but Beau’s legs are locked around Astrid’s waist anyway- she’s not going anywhere. But then something wild comes into Astrid’s eyes, and suddenly, with a flick of her fingers, gravity goes out from under them, and they’re falling - Astrid uses Beau’s surprise to push her off, and as Beau twists to look for the ground, for branches to use to break the fall, she gets a kick to the midriff, pushing the wind out of her and knocking her further out of reach of Astrid, although she tries-
The fall isn’t graceful, but it is slowed, if somewhat destructive to even more branches, snapping and scattering around her as she lands with a grunt and a half-hearted roll. She looks over her shoulder to see Astrid descending peacefully into the darkness of the underbrush with a swirl of leaves made from disintegrating golden light - Feather Fall.
“I never asked,” Beau spits out, frowning and picking up a reasonably sized limb and then jumping back to her feet and back towards Astrid. “You don’t have a favourite School, do you? Because your spells are all over the place.” The first swipe at Astrid’s ankles goes wide, the treebranch terribly unbalanced as she should have probably predicted, and the next Astrid dodges back from (sure, fuck Beau for not going for the head where she could actually do damage), and then the third, Astrid manages to twist together her fingers in time to create a golden net in front of her, a Shield, and the branch just bounces off and cracks. Stupid branch. And then Astrid’s hands are free to cast again, and Beau gets a cloud of something in her face, and it sticks to her lungs as she reels back and tries not to breathe it in-
“I specialise in combat, in subterfuge, not in a specific School,” Astrid says as Beau coughs, but her lungs aren’t aching - if it’s poison, well, hell, she’s immune. “To restrict oneself-”
“Jack of all trades, master of none,” Beau rounds back on her, raising her fists. “But you still have something up your sleeve- hah.”
“Fine,” Astrid spits, and the shapes of intricate runes start shining with sickly light through her woolen sleeves. “If you want to go there.”
Beau jabs at her side in the moment before the runes activate, but then Astrid is on her feet and bouncing - blocks another jab- Beau manages to sweep at her ankle, but she’s only stumbling forward for a moment, no time for Beau to take advantage, and then Astrid’s casting again, fluidly moving backwards, up and over a log barely visible in the leaves as Beau tries to tackle her out of it-
A bolt of golden light, stiff as iron, ruptures through Beau’s forehead into her mind - and, why is she fighting Astrid, anyway? She’s just a weak little wizard, standing up on that log with her robes floating about her in the breeze, hardly a threat- and her friend, an ally. Astrid smiles beatifically down at her. The runes, lit green up her forearms, are intricate, and beautiful, really. Astrid’s a good person to have on her side.
Stand down, Expositor, Astrid’s voice touches Beau’s thoughts, her mouth unmoving from its smile.
This isn’t you, Beau’s brain distantly provides, and she has just the presence of mind, from all her training, to find that thread of thought and pull on it. Charmed through enchantment, she thinks, in a voice that sounds very much like Dairon. Resist.
So she takes tune of her body, how her feet feel in her socks, how her circlet presses against her skin, and looks back up at Astrid. “Get the fuck out of my brain,” she spits, and darts forward again, ducking under Astrid’s raised arms to get in a hit at her stomach, at her groin - finds the ki point at her hip and Stuns her, finally, and keeps whaling, body hits, knocking Astrid down to the ground with her shoulder while she can’t move or speak, holds down Astrid’s weight with her knees- “You know I can counteract all of this stuff,” she pants, Astrid’s lax face slowly blinking back into a scowl as the stun wears off. “What, you want to lose?”
“H- have I lost?” Astrid spits out with effort, and then a murmured incantation, and then-
Gravity inverts again, and Beau is falling sideways away from Astrid- immense weight presses down on her limbs, her hands crushed into fists that she’s unable to open- her body spins out and she gets a glimpse of what she’s falling towards, a vacuous hole in the centre of this clearing that light is bending and consuming the very light itself-
It blinks out. Beau falls to the ground, landing in a heap of needles. Her body’s not crushed - Astrid really is pulling her punches too. “Why are you doing this?” Beau breathes. “We're on the same side. We don't need to fight.”
“Oh, we don't need to, sure,” Astrid grins. “Why, are you not enjoying this? Feel free to end the fight at any time, Beauregard.”
Beau thinks wishfully of her lightning gauntlets, but- she can settle for a knife, flicked subtly from her waistband, whistling through the air towards - green light flares almost without Astrid’s awareness, and the knife ricochets away before it can really pierce Astrid’s arm, only a tiny flick of blood in its wake. But Astrid is panting with effort, now, and starting to double over where Beau has hit her- she must be trained not to show it, but Beau is very, very good at noticing.
Beau leaps towards Astrid again, throwing kicks and punches and trying to target the sides where she’s already been hit, where she’s weak, and this time Astrid’s extra agility isn’t enough - she deflects one, but it still connects, and then the next knocks the breath out of her lungs, and then Beau has knocked Astrid onto the ground again - in the flurry of blows, she manages to grab Astrid’s hands in hers, pinned to the ground, and Beau squeezes, pulling at Astrid’s fingers so they might dislocate, so they might break-
“Stop,” Astrid says, and Beau lets go. She flexes her fingers - they seem undamaged, not that Beau’s an expert - and, either way, they’ll be going back to a literal temple full of clerics sometime soon.
Astrid doesn’t knock Beau off of her perch over Astrid’s body, on her hands and knees, so Beau doesn’t move. They just sit there, Beau looming over Astrid, breathing heavily each others’ air. With Astrid’s hair out of her face, Beau can study the jagged line where the knife tore through her skin however long ago - maybe one day Beau can get the story out of her - and the place where Astrid’s skin has melted and scarred and destroyed the definition of her chin, neck, ear. Up close, Beau can see flecks of gold in Astrid’s eyes, not just the deep wells of brown. Her pupils are blown wide, betraying an otherwise calm face. Ah, fuck. Her beloved Yasha aside - does she have the same taste in women as Caleb?
“Do not underestimate me, Beauregard,” Astrid pants. “I am very capable of making terrible decisions all by myself. If you cannot let me stand by them, then this thing- this deposition- is never going to work.”
“Okay,” Beau breathes. “Okay. You know, at some point you’ll feel better. It’ll stop feeling like such shit.”
Astrid’s face twists. “A weapon cannot get better. It can only break.” The sickly green light fades away under her sleeves.
Beau huffs a breath. Astrid, incredibly, starts to laugh. It’s a bitter thing, from deep within her chest. Beau can feel the convulsing of Astrid’s lungs under her hands. And then, breaths steadied - Astrid’s hand ghosts over Beau’s hip.
Beau's stomach swoops hotly. She pushes herself up and away, so she doesn’t lean into it. “Sex is often a necessary part of subterfuge, huh?”
Astrid turns her head to the side and spits up blood into the dirt. “What would it take to tell you that I want this?” she says lowly.
Beau looks into Astrid’s eyes. Her eyelashes are short and wet. She thinks, this is a terrible idea, and then jabs Astrid in the exact bundle of nerves in her neck to extort truth.
Astrid’s mouth opens into what could almost be considered a smile. “You're the first person who's listened,” her voice rumbles, “genuinely listened to me, and tried to get through all my layers of bullshit in a very, very long time. You are exceedingly competent. And it's been a very long day, and I would like to feel good, if only for a short time.”
Beau steadies herself. “You want me to make you feel good, is that it?” she murmurs, pressing back down onto Astrid’s body, where she’s been holding herself carefully away. “You want to have no choice in the matter?”
Astrid stares through her lashes. Her throat works around words that don’t come out. Which is probably as close to yes as Beau’s going to get.
“You mean like this?” Beau says, and breathes, and then stuns her with a strike to the sternum. Astrid’s body twitches beneath her.
“Yes- Yes. Please,” Astrid manages, when she has control back over her mouth.
Beau strikes again, under Astrid’s arm, feeling her go limp, and then shudder back to life. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” Astrid says sharply, thumbing at the closure of her trousers.
Beau stuns her again, and undoes the button herself. “Fucking let me,” she breathes against Astrid’s lips, which are stuttering with the effort to form words. “I'm taking care of you, motherfucker, wasn't that the deal?”
“W-We had no deal,” Astrid spits, pushing her trousers down her thighs. “You're doing this of your own free will.”
Gods, Astrid has an incredible manner of making questions sound like statements. “I want to do this,” Beau snarls. Stuns her again. “I want to touch you, and I want to make you feel good. Because we’ve had a very long fucking day.” There must be bruises blooming all up and down Astrid’s sides, by now.
Astrid resurfaces, just to push at her smallclothes with shaking hands. Astrid’s body hair is light brown, coarse and damp with sweat, and Beau wishes she could see how far it travels up her stomach. She rests a hand against Astrid’s heat, almost expecting her to object, to need to stun her again, but she’s behaving well, shifting around not with discomfort but out of desire, and Beau is glad Astrid’s not denying her body this. Beau dips a finger against Astrid’s wetness and starts to rub her off, a practiced motion.
“I get it, okay?” Beau murmurs, listening out for the subtle hitching of Astrid’s breath. “Everything’s completely fucked. The things you thought were true aren’t true anymore, the things that were done to you, that you thought were good, or at least okay, at least permissible, turns out they aren’t. I get it.” Beau looks up to see that tears are running down Astrid’s face, silently, and she stops.
But Astrid opens her reddened eyes to meet Beau’s, and scowls, takes Beau’s hand in her own, to guide Beau against her, a rhythm that is achingly hard and fast. So Beau keeps going.
“But what the hell else are you gonna do?” she says, and Astrid’s eyes squeeze shut again, brow furrowing. “You have to keep going. Keep living, keep getting up every fucking morning, spite the motherfuckers who want you to be broken. Refuse to break.”
“Gh-” Astrid bites, and that’s as much noise as she makes, thighs twitching and bucking into Beau’s hand.
As Astrid’s breaths re-steady, Beau slows, and then stops, not sure what to do now. She keeps her hand pressed against Astrid, in a way that is hopefully comforting, but then Astrid rolls onto her side, away from Beau, leaving her hand behind.
Beau is surreptitiously wiping her hand off on her sash when she realises, from the movement of Astrid’s lungs against her back, that she’s crying again. And Beau’s no good at comforting; when Yasha needs it, she tells Beau to press her body down with all her weight, but Beau absolutely gets the feeling that that would be the opposite of helpful for Astrid. So she reaches out and touches Astrid’s hair-
In a sudden flurry, Astrid is slapping Beau’s hand away, and then with a few muttered words, a thunderous sound claps through the trees and Beau is being pushed back, skidding through the mud and leaves five, ten feet.
“I was gonna say we should get you some water,” Beau grumbles, from the ground. “You've cried half the fucking Erdeoch out.”
“I'm fine,” Astrid says, tetchily, getting herself up on her feet. “Thank you for doing this for me,” she says with finality - like it's a weakness that she asked for help.
“I fucking enjoyed myself, asshole,” Beau says, standing up, too. She edges closer to Astrid - hell, if Astrid wants to keep getting her frustrations out, that’s fine. Beau can keep landing on her feet. “You did good,” she creeps forward. “I'm glad that you asked for what you wanted, and you let me give it to you. You did so good at letting me give it to you.”
“Stop,” Astrid says. “I’m serious.”
“Okay.” Beau stops. They stare at each other. Astrid has a long streak of mud all up the side of her trousers, her blouse - some in her hair. Beau must look about the same.
“Do you expect something back?” Astrid asks, neutrally.
“No,” Beau says.
“What if,” Astrid starts. It’s strange, to see hesitation on her face. It doesn’t feel like it belongs. “What if I wanted to?”
“Do you trust yourself to know that?”
“What the fuck else am I supposed to do, Beauregard?” Astrid’s voice bursts out, her hands clenched at her sides. “If I can't trust my own instincts - what, you want me to trust someone else’s?” she gasps - now she’s the one stalking forward. “I don't know if there's a ‘real me’, and I don't know what she would have wanted, but she's not here. I don't have her. This is all I have left,” she gestures down at herself, sharply. “I know it's not good enough, but it's all I've got.”
“No, it's good enough.” Beau says lowly. “It's good enough.”
Astrid drops her hands, her face suddenly open - fear, yes, and anger, certainly- but determination, too. “Do you want my fingers in you?”
“Yes,” Beau says plainly. “Do you want your fingers in me?”
“Yes,” Astrid stares. “I want to touch you at your very centre. I want to touch you and have you at my beck and call. I want you to go back to your office with all my statements and be shifting in your seat because you’re remembering what I’m about to do.”
“Fuck,” Beau says. “Yeah.”