Chapter Text
Beau was tired. And bruised. And just fucking, bone-deep exhausted.
And worst of all, she’d locked herself out.
Once, Jester had playfully called her a walking disaster, and Beau had been hurt (not that she showed it, really). But now, as Beau stood in front of her door with the sinking realisation that her key was still in her other jeans’ pocket in their shared bathroom, she thought that disaster was a pretty good descriptor, really. Still, it wasn’t like Beau had been locked out before.
With a disgruntled huff, Beau dropped her backpack, crouched down and pulled her old lockpicks out from the depths of her bag. She was more out of practice than she realised, but still, those old skills came flooding back easily enough.
“You look like shit.”
Beau’s muscles tensed at the new voice, but she relaxed as soon as her brain caught up. Yasha. Just Yasha.
“Feel it too.” Beau admitted, standing up and tucking away the lockpicks before Yasha could see. She held her backpack loosely by her side.
But Yasha’s gaze was more focused on the bruises than on Beau’s questionable skills. For a tense few seconds, they sized each other up, silently waiting for the other to make the first move.
“I thought you were Nott.” Yasha finally says, stepping back into her apartment, leaving the door open. Beau frowned for a second, not moving from where she stood in front of her door.
After a few seconds of trying to decode what the fuck had just happened, Yasha appeared at the door again.
“Are you not coming in?” She asked, innocently puzzled.
“Oh, you were inviting me in?” Beau asked.
“Was that not obvious?” Yasha shot back, stepping back into the apartment and this time, Beau followed.
Molly and Yasha’s apartment was strange in that it was somehow both plain and ostentatious in its decor. The walls were plain (even though the landlord didn’t prohibit wallhanging decorations as long as you had permission) but the furniture was a cocktail of strange fabrics and odd prints and muted colours. The sofa had a heavy, hand-crocheted quilt draped over it that was made from roughly twenty different brightly-coloured yarns and looked well loved. A few articles of clothing were strewn about and shoes were left on the floor from where they’d just been kicked off and left. To Beau’s surprise, there were quite a few vases of all kinds of flowers dotted around the apartment.
Yasha had lead Beau into their little kitchen and handed her a drink she’d taken from the fridge. Beau had been too wrapped up in judging the interior decorations to notice until the cold glass had tapped against her exposed bicep. That shocked her enough to turn to Yasha and finally accept the drink.
“Thanks.” Beau said, taking a sip. She felt awkward being here alone with Yasha but Yasha didn’t seem to mind.
“We used to keep lilies, but they’re not good for Frumpkin.” Yasha said, looking at the same vases Beau was gazing at a moment before.
“Who’s Frumpkin?” Beau asked, absently pulling herself up onto one of the kitchen counters like she usually did in her own home. As soon as she did it, Beau realised the action was a bit too familiar but Yasha barely batted an eye so Beau figured she was used to overly-familiar people.
“Caleb’s cat. You haven’t seen him yet?” Yasha said, taking a drink.
"Well that explains why Fjord’s started sneezing.” Beau muttered. “How come Caleb gets to have a cat?”
“The landlord gave his okay when they moved in. Special circumstances, you know?” Yasha said. Beau didn’t know, but she thought better of bringing it up. Some shit should just stay in the past.
They drank in silence for a few moments. Beau definitely felt it should be more awkward than it ended up being, but she refused to let herself get too comfy with that knowledge.
“What did you mean you ‘thought I was Nott’?” Beau asked, resting her bottle on the counter beside her.
“She had a habit of picking locks.” Yasha wasn’t in the business of sharing other people’s private business, but even then Beau would like a few more answers. She was nosy, not a gossip.
“Uh huh.” Beau said, just to say something. “How long have you lived here?”
“Six months, give or take.” Yasha said. She’d finished her drink already and was tying up her hair in preparation to start cooking.
Beau happily watched as Yasha started pulling ingredients and pots out of cupboards before gathering a few things from the fridge. It wasn’t a fully domestic scene, but it was comfortable how at ease Yasha felt in Beau’s company.
“How did you get those bruises?” Yasha asked suddenly. The look in her eye was strangely intense and questions suddenly burned in Beau’s throat. Instead, she finished her drink.
“I found a MMA club a couple days after we moved in. Seemed a better alternative than picking random fights and getting kicked out of bars.” Beau answered, dipping her toes in the truth. There was still a lot she wanted to keep close to the chest.
“Did you win?” Yasha asked, seemingly sated with that answer. (Maybe Yasha just knew when to stop probing too deeply.) Beau idly wondered what answer she was expecting.
“I wouldn’t say I won,” Beau said, adding a cocky flair to her posture, “because I lost. But at least they got bruised to shit back.”
“Impressive.” Yasha said, and Beau tried not to preen at the genuine tone.
Beau’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly checked the screen. A text. From Fjord.
I just got in, you not at home?
Beau didn’t sigh, but she did let out a breath of air as she read it. Yasha looked up from the pan, a quietly curious look on her face.
“Fjord’s home.” Beau said, as if that answered some unsaid question. She slipped off the counter, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Thanks for, uh, letting me hang out here, Yasha.”
“It was no problem. Molly and I are used to unusual company.” Yasha said, taking the pan off the heat so she could see her guest out. “People are welcome any time.”
“I guess I’ll keep that in mind.” Beau said, letting Yasha open the door for her and stepping out into the hall. “Think you might wanna join my fight club with me?” She asked, a sudden image of an imaginary spar flitting through her mind.
“I- I will think about it, Beau.” Yasha promised, a ghost of a smile on her lips as Beau walked the short distance to her own front door.
Yasha watched as Beau slipped into the apartment opposite, letting the click of the lock hang in the air for a moment more. Then, Yasha stepped back and closed the door.