Work Text:
i.
Holding on for dear life to the crossbow bolt embedded in the scapula of a Nevermore as the monster careens high above the open desert, Robyn Hill regrets her life choices.
“Are you crazy ?” she yells.
Winter Schnee dodges another swipe from the Grimm’s talons. She shouldn’t be this close, but Robyn wouldn’t have heard her insane idea otherwise. The Maiden hurls a reply back. “Would you rather try asking it nicely to let you off? Trust me!”
Before Robyn can decide how to respond to that , the Nevermore screeches, the sound piercing her skull like an arrow. Unable to cover her ears, Robyn squeezes her eyes shut. She struggles to keep her grip as the Nevermore bucks and rolls, each beat of its wings nearly shaking her loose.
Ears ringing painfully, Robyn opens her eyes to blasts of white magic arcing across the tilting sky. Between the strands of hair whipping across her face, a lone white figure comes into focus. Winter’s gaze snaps onto hers, and Robyn’s breath hitches.
For one long, timeless moment, all she can see are those icy eyes bleeding blue flame, and all she can hear is the thud of her own heart.
Robyn lets go.
The wind whips past her as she plummets, stealing the breath straight from her lungs. Ground rushing towards her, she barely has time to register what she’s done—
—when something—some one —slams into her from behind. Strong hands grasp under her arms, yanking her out of free fall.
The first thing out of Robyn’s mouth is “Well, there goes my streak of not getting caught by the cops,” followed by half a second of sheer panic that Winter might go ahead and drop her after all. Thank the Brothers they can’t see each other’s faces. In her mind’s eye, an exasperated Fiona shakes her head.
Somewhere behind and above them, the Nevermore screams its displeasure.
Right. Priorities.
“Thanks, I mean,” Robyn says. “Are we far enough away from the city?”
“We damn well better be, by now,” Winter growls, voice right next to Robyn’s ear, and though Robyn expects this she still starts. “The rest are taken care of, it’s just this one left. Do you still have any bolts?”
“Yeah.”
“I haven’t been able to hit any of its weak spots. My strikes are glancing off it; I’m just making it mad.” With the whump of the Nevermore’s wings almost upon them, Winter banks hard to the right, and Robyn’s stomach lurches. “You’ve got better aim than me.”
“Say that last part again? I don’t think I heard you right,” Robyn says, because clearly she has no sense of self-preservation.
“ Hill .”
“Killjoy.” Robyn kicks her legs and rolls her left shoulder experimentally, but the attempted maneuvers only confirm what she already supposed. “I won’t be able to get a good angle like this; you’ll have to set me down.”
Winter abruptly changes course again—which Robyn is pretty sure ties her intestines into a knot; is she doing this on purpose ?—and explodes into a burst of speed that puts some distance between them and the Nevermore. With rolling dunes extending in every direction, there’s no particularly advantageous terrain in sight, so Winter touches down atop a nearby dune.
Robyn’s never been so thankful to to have her feet on the ground. She rocks on her heels, relishing the feeling. “Right. Get me a clear view of its face, within 100 meters.”
Winter gives Robyn a look, eyebrows raised. Her normally tidy hair is thoroughly wind-mussed, a look that’s surprisingly dashing, though Robyn would never admit that out loud.
Robyn flashes a grin and winks at her. “Just trust me, Snowflake.”
Winter snorts. “Fair enough.” She shoots back into the sky, buffeting Robyn in her wake.
Though it’s hardly the craziest thing that’s happened in the last few months, people being able to fly is weird . Robyn still isn’t used to it.
In the distance, the Nevermore shrieks as it catches sight of the Maiden again. Robyn activates her crossbow, the device’s metal wings fanning open over her arm, and pulls up her hood to shield her eyes. The desert is bright, but Robyn was trained on the Solitas tundra; even without sunglasses, the shimmering sand isn't anywhere near as bad as sunlight on snow. She sets the Nevermore in her sights, mindful of the white figure darting around it like a mirage. Icy magic, flashing under the sun, glances off the Nevermore as Winter weaves back towards Robyn’s position, drawing the Grimm with her. But the beast twists around on itself trying to catch the tiny pest bothering it, making a clear shot impossible, and even at this distance Robyn can see the Maiden’s aura flickering.
“Come on, Schnee, quit toying with it . . .”
As soon as they're within Robyn's range, Winter breaks away, and with only a moment’s delay the Nevermore peels after her with a furious screech. Winter pulls up short, brandishing her sword. Facing the giant Grimm, she hovers, unmoving, as it closes the gap—neck extended, face in full view.
Fucking insane woman.
The Nevermore’s beak yawns wide.
Robyn pulls the trigger.
Her bolt flies true, of course. It hits the monster directly in one of its ember eyes, cutting its screech off abruptly. Winter tears out of the way just in time as the Nevermore plows headfirst into a nearby ridge with more momentum than a speeding train, sending ripples across the desert.
Robyn recognizes the danger only a split second before it reaches her, and only has time to yell in alarm as the dune she’s perched on destabilizes. She’s sucked down, down, with nothing for her flailing hands to grab on to, sand already engulfing her to the shoulders, Winter too far to reach her in time—
A force stronger than the pull of the sand yanks her upwards, wrenching her free to hover half a dozen feet above the undulating sand.
Robyn gasps for air, heart hammering in her chest, desert slowly stilling beneath her dangling feet. Following the pull, she glances up to find a giant black glyph rotating slowly above her, stark against the bright sky and pulsing with energy. Its source is unmistakable: farther beyond, Winter hovers in midair, eyes blazing with power, sword outstretched in Robyn’s direction.
But behind her, the Nevermore, in its death throes, isn’t finished yet.
“Watch out!” Robyn yells, too late.
She can only watch, helpless, as a flailing wing swats the Maiden from the sky.
The glyph dissolves, dumping Robyn unceremoniously to the ground. Spitting out sand, she barely pauses to catch her breath before hauling herself to her feet. Finally having the presence of mind to deactivate her crossbow, she turns towards the Grimm. Displaced dust hangs in the air above where the Nevermore’s twitching corpse lays in a brand-new scar on the desert’s face, shrouding the vicinity in a thick cloud.
Robyn breaks into a run.
The Grimm’s final spasms have ceased by the time Robyn is close enough to make out its features through the dust, leaving the whole area damningly silent and still. She slows, desperately searching for any sign of movement within the murk.
“Schnee!” she calls, voice echoing strangely.
There’s a glint in her periphery, and Robyn whirls.
It’s a few moments before she catches it again, a flash of sunlight on steel, and her stomach sinks. Winter’s sword stands upright a little ways from the Grimm, impaled in the sand, reflecting the few sunbeams that break through the cloud. Retrieving the weapon, Robyn circles outward from where it had fallen.
“Schnee!”
A cough breaks the silence, followed by muffled rustling. When Robyn hones in on the source of the sound, an unmistakable head of white hair materializes from the gloom.
Robyn’s shoulders instantly loosen, and she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
She jogs over as Winter pushes herself up to sit. Most of her hair has escaped her ponytail, and her rumpled clothes certainly aren’t white anymore, but she’s still in one piece. Which is more than a lot of people can say after taking a direct hit from a Nevermore.
“That was fun, but let’s never do this again,” Robyn says, infusing a lightness to her voice that she doesn’t feel. She drops to a crouch in front of Winter, setting the sword beside them. “You good?”
Winter nods, sand cascading from her hair. Her blue eyes seem a little dimmer, though that might just be their murky surroundings. “Just bruised.” She grimaces, lifting an arm, and bright red flashes from a jagged tear in her jacket along her bicep. “And this.”
“How did . . . ?” Robyn’s jaw tightens as the realization hits her. “Your aura is gone.”
“Shattered during impact. I’m lucky it didn’t give out before.”
Robyn just shakes her head. “You’re insane, Snowflake, you know that?”
Winter, instead of answering, starts to shrug her jacket off. Robyn instinctively reaches out to help her, but Winter waves her away. “I can patch this up. You see about calling us a ride,” she says. Reaching for her sword, she turns away and begins slicing strips from the bottom of her jacket, clearly done with the conversation.
Robyn scowls, annoyed at being brushed off, and at Winter assuming she’d just take an order. But if Robyn’s learned anything in the last few months, it's that Winter is just as stubborn as herself. And as brusque as Winter was about it, she does have a point about their needing a ride. So Robyn settles for rolling her eyes and pulls out her scroll, wandering off to see if she can get a message back to the refugee camp or the city.
By the time the dust cloud has settled, allowing the full force of the Vacuan sun to beat down, Robyn has to concede that they’re simply too far from the city to have service. With a growl of frustration, she lowers her scroll. The adrenaline from the fight is finally fading, and a throbbing headache has begun from squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the endless sand. Grumbling, she pulls up her hood to cast at least a little shadow over her face.
The last of the Nevermore’s corpse dissolves into the air like a heat mirage as she tramps back. Winter has finished wrapping her arm and managed to slip her jacket back on. She stands with a grunt and sheathes her sword, her heeled boots discarded in the sand next to her.
“Well, the good news is we definitely got the Nevermore far enough away from the city,” Robyn says as she approaches, “but the bad news is we got it far enough away that there’s no service out here. I can’t even tell how far away we are.”
Winter’s perma-frown intensifies. “That is unfortunate.” She clasps her hands behind her back with barely a wince and glances down, the pose of a contemplating soldier, though her disheveled appearance and stockinged feet subvert the image. “Without my Maiden abilities, it’s unlikely we can make it back on our own.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d rather start walking than just sit here roasting,” Robyn says.
Winter nods. “I agree. The closer we get to the city, the more likely we are to get within service range or be picked up by search patrols.”
“So why’d you take your boots off?”
“They’re not well designed for walking on terrain as unstable as sand, which doesn’t matter on ground as firm and packed as around the city, or when I can fly. But in our current circumstances, much more of a liability.”
Right, the heels. “That’s fair,” Robyn says, “but what about protecting you from the heat? The sand is scalding. Especially with your aura shattered.”
“My stockings are well insulated, albeit with cold in mind, but they should be adequate at preventing debilitating burns.” Winter squints up at the sky. “The fight led us northeast from the city, yes?”
Robyn follows her gaze, judging the position of the sun, and she’s reminded that they’d have taken the same survival classes at the academy, if several years apart. “What was the degree difference for Vacuan latitudes?” Robyn wonders out loud. “Something between 30 and 40 degrees?”
“36.7 degrees,” Winter says briskly.
“Cut me some slack, it’s been like a decade,” Robyn grumbles. She thinks she imagines it, but Winter’s lips may have twitched. “That would put us . . . .” Mentally drawing lines in the sky, she scans the horizon, then points. “That way.”
“The same direction I came up with,” Winter agrees. She steps up next to Robyn, who suddenly registers just how much shorter the other woman actually is without heels. She opens her mouth—
“Don’t,” Winter says flatly.
“You don’t know what I was going to say!”
“Something that would end with your foot in your mouth, almost certainly.”
Insane and insufferable.
Winter turns towards the direction they had decided, squares her shoulders, and glances up—yes, up—at Robyn. “Shall we, Hill?”
They set off side by side. Robyn’s boots sink into the sand with each step, making each lift of her foot more effort than it should be. Winter trudges along next to her without complaint. (Robyn supposes there are worse people to be stranded with.) Rolling dunes stretch out before them to a horizon so bright Robyn can’t tell where sand meets sky. When she glances back, all trace of the Nevermore is gone. The impact crater remains behind as evidence, at least until the next sandstorm erases it from the face of the desert.
“Thanks for the save, back there,” she says. “Both of them.”
“Of course,” Winter replies. “A good sol—a good huntress should always have her comrades’ backs.”
“I’m sorry it ended up being at the cost of your aura.”
“It is unfortunate that I am unable to fly us back,” Winter agrees.
Robyn blinks. “That’s . . . well, that’s a bummer, yeah, but it’s not exactly what I meant.”
Winter keeps her gaze solidly ahead. “I do not regret my decision in the least.”
Robyn considers that for a moment, then smirks. “You know, Snowflake, under that top layer of permafrost, you’re not as cold as you make yourself out to be.”
“Don’t push it, Hill.”
ii.
The fourth time Winter stumbles, Robyn thinks, Fuck it.
She catches the other woman by her good shoulder again, but this time, instead of steadying her, she eases them both down to the sand.
Winter glares at her, a scathing rebuke likely on her tongue, but Robyn beats her to it. “Let me look at your arm.”
“It’s already bound. There isn’t anything else that can be done without medical supplies.”
“I can make sure it’s not getting any worse .”
“There isn’t anything to be done , Hill.” Winter shoves Robyn’s hands away like she has every time, and clambers gracelessly to her feet with a grunt before turning her striking gaze back on Robyn. The effect isn’t at all hindered by the bright sunburn staining her nose and cheeks. “The best course of action is to keep going. Your aura must be near depleted, and the both of us stranded in the desert without protection is something we should avoid.” She begins to bring her hands behind her back again, but winces and drops them to her sides instead. “Anything from your scroll?” Winter’s, they had discovered, had broken in her fall.
It’s a blatant change of subject, and Robyn narrows her eyes, but it has been a while since she’s checked it, so she grudgingly pulls out the device and powers it on. “Still nothing,” she grumbles.
“Then we should keep going,” Winter says with an air of finality.
Two sand dunes later, Winter’s good arm is slung across Robyn’s shoulders. She’d protested, but Robyn had simply ignored her, and Winter let it drop. It’s more than a little awkward with the height difference, but they’re making better progress than with Winter stumbling every three steps.
Not that there’s anything to show for it. As they crest the lastest dune, there’s still no sight of civilization. Robyn groans in frustration.
“Ugh. Everything looks the same ,” she complains. “Reminds me of those scouting missions out on the tundra, back in the academy. Except hotter.”
“A lot hotter,” Winter agrees. Her usually pale face is flushed, sweat soaking her forehead. Even Robyn is probably starting to burn by this point.
“I had really hoped someone would have found us by now,” Robyn mutters as they start down the other side.
Winter starts to reply, but trails off as she stumbles, slipping from Robyn’s grasp.
“Ah, shit—” Robyn tightens her grip on Winter and digs her heels into the sand, leaning backwards to keep them both from tumbling forward down the slope. They both fall heavily onto their asses, sand cascading around them.
Robyn blows out a breath and glances over. “You good, Snowfla—”
Winter’s head hangs to the side, eyes rolled back in her head.
“Hey. Hey .” Alarmed, Robyn gives her a shake. “Snap out of it, Schnee!”
Winter groans, eyes cracking open.
Robyn searches her face. “What was that about?”
“Just . . . got a bit lightheaded,” Winter says, slightly breathless. She licks her cracked lips. “I think the dehydration is getting to me.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Robyn is ridiculously thirsty (though she’s trying not to think about it), but at least she still has her aura intact to stave off the worst effects. “You need a minute?”
Winter closes her eyes briefly, but sets her jaw and opens them again after only a moment. “We should keep moving.”
“ . . . Nah, we’re taking a minute,” Robyn decides, and throws her arm around Winter’s shoulders to keep her from trying to get up.
Winter purses her lips in clear disapproval.
“Look, a break isn’t going to hurt, and it might even help,” Robyn says. “ I could certainly use one, and despite what Atlas propaganda might’ve wanted us to believe, you’re not a machine, Snowflake.”
Winter blinks at her, face going slightly slack, but in an instant her expression returns to its usual perma-frown. “Fine,” she says, pushing Robyn’s arm away. “But only for a few minutes.”
The 10-minute timer on Robyn’s scroll goes off all too soon. She hits the button with a sigh and clambers to her feet, already sore and achy. Winter, to her surprise, accepts the hand offered to help her up. But before she’s even halfway upright, Winter hisses and doubles over.
“Don’t you dare pass out again,” Robyn says.
“No, I . . . ” Clutching her calf, Winter grits her teeth and breathes out forcefully. “It’s nothing. Just a muscle cramp.”
“Right,” Robyn mutters, not missing the way Winter sways as she straightens. “We need to get you out of the sun.”
Winter raises an eyebrow. “You as well.”
“No argument there.” Robyn gestures towards Winter’s arm. “C’mere. I still don’t trust you not to faceplant in the sand every other step.” At Winter’s side-eye she considers threatening or I’ll leave you here, but Winter might actually agree with that option.
But Winter, resigned, just sighs and acquiesces.
They fall into a routine where every half hour, they stop for Robyn to check her scroll. Robyn becomes more and more frustrated as each time the empty service indicator blinks back at her, and by the fifth time, she wants to throw the useless device as far as she can. She’s hot, and thirsty, and sore, and tired . The sun beats down on them as mercilessly as ever, and Winter’s been leaning on her more and more. The woman is heavy .
Robyn curses. “Still no service.”
“Unacceptable,” Winter says. “I have to . . . report in to General Ironwood.”
Robyn turns her head sharply. “ What ?”
“Increased . . . bandit activity . . . in Mistral.” Winter’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, staring somewhere beyond Robyn’s shoulder. There’s no sheen to her red face, and when Robyn dares to brush her fingers across her forehead, they come away dry. She’s stopped sweating.
Okay.
Okay.
They need to get out of the sun, now . Winter is deteriorating by the minute, and Robyn’s not sure how much of her own diminishing aura is left. She scans the horizon again, and while the pyramid city hasn’t magically materialized, there’s a dark, blurry line in the distance that breaks up the endless ivory-gold. Robyn hopes to the Brothers that it’s real and not any farther away than it seems.
“C’mon, Snowflake. Don’t flake out on me just yet.”
“Never,” Winter mutters. “Gotta get to the rendezvous.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Robyn blows out a breath. “Try and stay awake for me, yeah? Hey, have I ever told you how I met May?”
Winter huffs, lips actually curving up a little. “ ’S gotta be a good one.”
Spirits lifting, Robyn grins. “Oh, it is .”
Tightening her hold on the Maiden, Robyn pushes forward once more.
iii.
Robyn doesn’t stop to check her scroll again, and time fades into the background.
She’d given up talking a while ago; Winter had clearly passed the point of being able to listen, and it was just wasting energy and making Robyn’s dry throat drier. At some point the wind had picked up, and with blowing sand peppering Robyn’s face every time she’d raised her head, eventually she’d just stopped looking ahead. So it’s a bit of a surprise when suddenly, a few footsteps in front of them, the ground drops away.
“Hold up,” Robyn croaks, forcing the words up her scratchy throat, and the two of them stagger to a halt. Tightening her grip around Winter’s waist, she releases the arm across her shoulders for just long enough to wipe some of the grit from her eyes.
Ahead of them, the ground slopes downward sharply for about 20 meters until it meets a wall of jagged rock that extends as far as Robyn can make out in either direction, melting into the waves of heat rising into the desert air. With the sun past its peak, slowly inching towards the western horizon, the foot of the ravine is cast into blessed, blessed shadow. And, along the base of the wall—
A tiny, winding stream.
Thank fuck .
“Getting down there is going to be a trip,” Robyn mutters. She gives Winter a small shake. “Hold on tight, Snowflake. This is going to be tricky, and I don’t want either of us taking a tumble. I don’t really want to test my aura right now, and you definitely don’t want to.” She shifts to get a more secure grip wrapped around Winter’s waist, and is relieved when Winter weakly tries to pull her own arm farther across Robyn’s shoulders.
The trip down is frustratingly slow. Winter has no balance at this point, and Robyn herself is dizzy and exhausted enough that she’s not much better. But step by shaky step, they stagger towards the bottom, and when they pass into the shade, the relief from the sun is stark enough that Robyn gasps.
When the ground levels out to meet the floor of the gorge, Robyn lowers them to the ground as steadily as she can, and both of them all but collapse. Robyn crawls the last few feet to the little stream and shoves her face into it without a second thought. It’s lukewarm, and muddy, and gritty, and who knows what kind of gross things could be in it, but she doesn’t care.
She sits back, gasping, when she eventually needs to breathe. Next to her, Winter lies prone, having drunk her fill also.
With a sigh, Robyn falls onto her back, relieved to be out of the sun at last and to finally, finally be done walking, at least for now. She takes a few minutes to catch her breath, relishing the rest, then pulls out her scroll.
Still no bars.
No messages.
No nothing .
Groaning in frustration, she drops the device. “How’re you doing over there, Snowflake?”
No answer.
Robyn sits up. “Schnee?”
Winter, eyes closed, doesn’t stir.
“Ah, shit, not again,” Robyn mutters, determined to be annoyed instead of concerned. She scrabbles over to the other woman and shakes her good shoulder. “Hey! Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”
Winter doesn’t rouse.
Robyn reaches over and splashes water on her face. That gets a weak groan and a nose wrinkle that warps the scar across her face, which is encouraging. Robyn shakes her shoulder again. “Winter!”
Winter’s eyes crack open, slivers of ice in her sunburnt face. “Penny?” she slurs. “How’d y’ get in here?”
Robyn blinks, thrown. “Uh . . .”
Yeah, she’s concerned. Robyn pulls off a glove and presses the back of her hand to Winter’s forehead. It’s hot to the touch, and given her current mental state, Robyn doesn’t think it’s just from the sunburn.
“Let’s get you out of these extra layers, now that we’re out of the sun,” Robyn says, helping Winter up to sit. She doesn’t expect Winter to register any of that, but to her surprise, Winter nods tiredly.
The first thing to come off are Winter’s stockings and gloves, to help cool her extremities. Her pants are too tight to roll up, so Robyn pulls out her pocketknife and cuts a slit up to the knee on each side. Winter ends up needing to help her locate the clasp to the decorative sash-belt thing over her jacket, as cleverly hidden as it is.
It doesn’t hit Robyn until she’s loosening Winter’s tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons of her dress shirt that she’s undressing Winter Schnee .
Not like that , of course, but still . . .
Robyn, you useless lesbian , Joanna’s voice sighs.
She hopes her face is sunburnt enough to cover her blush, and selfishly a little glad Winter’s too out of it to notice anyway.
As she helps Winter ease out of her jacket, Robyn finds that the bandage on her arm has come loose, and a trickle of bright red leaks out from underneath it. “Hey,” Robyn says, tapping her good shoulder. “I need to take a look at your injury.”
Slumped against the stone wall, Winter’s only response is a flicker of her eyelids. Robyn grabs her pocketknife again and slices the knot, but rather than falling away, the fabric sticks to Winter’s arm. Unwrapping meets resistance, and Winter flinches with a pained noise.
“Sorry, sorry.” Congealed blood comes away with the fabric, pulling bits of skin and the start of scabs with them. Winter yelps—a sound Robyn would never have guessed she could make—and tries to pull her arm away.
“ ‘Nothing to be done’, my ass,” Robyn mutters. Grit and sand are embedded in the still-bleeding wound, and as unsanitary as the stream probably is, the debris needs to be washed out. Thank goodness she has gloves. She cuts another strip from the bottom of Winter’s ever-shortening jacket and wets it thoroughly in the stream.
“This is going to hurt,” Robyn warns, though Winter can’t seem to hear her.
Robyn tries her best to be gentle, but she knows what she’s doing is painful. And Winter doesn’t make it easy, flinching away at every touch, trying to twist from her grasp. It’s a bit jarring to see the stoic ex-soldier like this, but Robyn tries not to dwell on it, to focus on her task.
“Please stop,” Winter gasps at last, free hand pulling weakly at Robyn’s arm.
Tightening her grip, Robyn sets her jaw. “Hang on, Snowflake, I gotta take care of this.”
“Father, please .”
Robyn freezes.
“I'll behave. I promise.” Winter’s voice is broken. “I won't disobey again.”
The weight of her words hits Robyn like a slap to the face. The red of Winter’s wound bleeds into Robyn’s vision as fury replaces shock. “That absolute bastard ,” she snarls aloud.
For the first time, she wishes that the snake with a mustache was still alive, so she could tear him limb from limb herself.
“ . . . wasn’t Weiss or Whitley, promise . . . I won’t do it again.”
Robyn forces herself to take a deep breath, long and slow. Jaques Schnee lies dead beneath the rubble of Atlas, as just an end as he deserved, and cursing his name won’t help Winter now. “Get it together, Hill,” she mutters, relaxing fists she hadn’t realized she’d been clenching. Swallowing the bile in her throat, she reaches out again.
Winter flinches away from her, unable to fully swallow a cry, and Robyn wants to throw up.
It's for your own good , she wants to say. But had Jaques used that phrase, too?
“It’s almost over,” she finds herself saying instead. To herself or to Winter, she’s not sure. “It’s almost done. Almost over.”
By the time Robyn judges she’s cleaned the wound as best she can, Winter has given up fighting. She’s slipped down to the ground, limp, tear tracks on her cheeks. Wetting a fresh strip of fabric, Robyn wrings out the excess water and layers it atop the open gash before beginning to rewrap it. She works as quickly as she can, murmuring apologies.
When she’s finally finished she tears off a final strip of fabric, wets it in the stream, and lays it across Winter’s forehead. There’s barely anything left of the jacket, so Robyn unwinds her scarf from her neck and pillows that under Winter’s head. Winter’s perpetual frown pinches her face, and her breathing is shallow, but at least she’s resting.
Robyn hopes to the Brothers her sleep is dreamless.
Having done all she can for now, Robyn sits back, and all at once her own exhaustion hits her like a supply truck.
There’s a crick in her neck from stooping over for so long, her feet are throbbing from the hours of walking, and even though the shade provides incredible relief, it’s still fucking hot . She wants nothing more than to keel over and pass out herself, but she forces herself to stand and stretch, grimacing as she rubs her tight, sore muscles. After another long drink from the stream she peels off her own excess layers of clothing and sticks her bare feet into the water. It feels divine .
With a long sigh, she flops onto her back, the rocky ground welcoming enough.
She’s not exactly surprised to learn Jaques Schnee abused his kids to such an extent. Brothers know he’d committed a myriad of other horrible crimes. But it feels . . . wrong , to learn it this way, because of pain and delirium. This is the type of thing Winter should be able to choose to share, with someone she trusts, with someone she feels safe with.
Not like this.
Robyn rubs a hand across her face and sighs again. This is definitely not any of her business, and she imagines Winter will be less than thrilled that she has this sort of knowledge. Should she just . . . not tell her? Robyn wears her heart on her sleeve and has always been a terrible liar (which is fitting, given her semblance), but it’s not like Winter would have any cause to suspect anything. It’s not like she’ll remember any of this. Probably.
Assuming they’re found by someone soon enough for it to matter. . .
Robyn shuts that line of thought down immediately. They’ll be fine. Winter will be fine. Once she gets medical care and her aura regenerates, she’ll be back to her aggravating self in no time, and Robyn will wish she was unconscious again.
No matter how far out they still are, search parties should come through soon. She knows her girls won’t stop searching for her, and well, their little resistance can’t afford to lose a Maiden.
Her scroll pings.
Robyn scrambles upright, swearing, fumbling for her belt, only belatedly remembering she’d dropped the stupid device. She scrabbles over and grabs it, answering the call without bothering to check who it’s from.
“Robyn! Thank the Brothers—” “Did you get her? Is she okay?”
“Fiona!” Robyn grins, giddy with relief. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Is that May behind you? I’m fine. Tired and sore, but fine.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know, which is kind of the problem. The last Nevermore flew us who knows how far out into the desert before we did it in, far enough that our scrolls didn’t have service, and Winter’s aura shattered, so she couldn’t fly us back—”
“Her aura—?” “That can happen to Maidens?” “—Is she okay?”
Robyn sobers. “No.” She glances over at the unconscious woman, who’s beginning to stir. “The heat’s gotten to her. We found some shade, and water, which has helped a little, but she needs immediate medical attention.”
“May, let base know.” “Aye aye.” “Navigation says we’ll be at your location in 10 minutes.”
Robyn nods. “I’ll need your help to get Winter on board. She’s pretty out of it.”
“Since when are you on a first-name basis with a fucking Schn—”
Feeling her face heat, Robyn ends the call.
iv.
Roused by the voices, Winter doggedly tries to push herself up, using the ravine wall as a level. She’s nearly to a sit, but she’s trembling so hard Robyn’s afraid her arms will give out and she’ll hit her head on the way back down.
“Hey, whoa there!” Robyn drops down next to Winter, hands going to her shoulders. “Take it easy!”
“Gotta . . . gotta . . . go . . .” Winter’s eyes, fever-bright, fix on something Robyn can’t see as she tries weakly to pull away, and Robyn’s heart sinks.
“There’s a shuttle coming. They’ll be here soon.”
“Gotta get . . . away . . .”
“ Winter .” Robyn takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay .”
As Robyn rubs her thumb across her knuckles, Winter slowly comes back from wherever she’d gone. Her intense eyes focus on Robyn’s, softening as a flicker of recognition flashes through them. “. . . Robyn?”
Relief floods Robyn. “Yeah, it's me.” She tucks Winter’s long bangs behind her ear, away from her face. “I’ve got you, Snowflake.”
With a long, deep sigh, Winter's eyes flutter closed. All the tension in her body releases, and she melts into Robyn's embrace.
Robyn just sits there, frozen, as Winter’s breaths gradually even out. Hand still resting in Robyn’s, her brow smooths, permafrown finally gone.
With a sigh of her own, Robyn brings her other arm up around Winter’s back, holding her close. “Yeah, okay.”
Robyn shifts to get comfortable, settling back to lean against the ravine walI. She tries her best not to disturb Winter, but she needn’t have worried; the woman is out cold. Robyn settles in to wait, head dropping, cheek resting against Winter’s hair.
It’s not a scene she could ever have imagined: sitting in the middle of nowhere, with Winter fucking Schnee of all people sleeping on her shoulder, after having brought down a Nevermore together and trekking across the desert on foot.
But, well . . . despite the circumstances, she can’t pretend, even to herself, that she minds.
Robyn looks up towards the twilight sky, waiting for the twinkle of an approaching airship.
This will be fun to explain to Fiona and May when they get here.