Chapter 1.

“Miss Branwen?”

Yang grumbled in response, still caught somewhere between sleep and lucidity. What could they possibly want now? Could it not wait? Please let it wait. Preferably until after coffee.  

She cracked one eye open, glaring blearily toward the woman opening the curtain by her desk—or rather, her workbench these days. The sunlight flooded the room, hitting her square in the face like it was personally offended by her habit of sleeping in. Yang groaned loudly and shoved her face back into her pillow, muffling her protest. 

“Miss Branwen, it’s nearly midday!” The woman’s voice cut through her half-hearted rebellion, sharp with exasperation. 

Yang groaned again, this time with more resignation. She knew she had no argument— Vernal always shot down letting her sleep for another few minutes. The rare times she didn’t, Yang ended up sleeping a few more hours anyway. So with a defeated sigh, Yang sat up in bed, resting against the headboard. She squinted at Vernal, voice thick with sleep. “Please tell me you’ve at least got coffee. Or at least brought me breakfast.”

Vernal huffed in response, shaking her head with disbelief, though there was a small smile on her lips. “You’re as bad as your mother. How either of you functioned as kids, I’ll never know.”

“I’ll have you know, coffee is amazing! Anyone who drinks decaf has the real problem!” Yang shot back quickly, her lips curling into a cheeky smirk. Vernal simply rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling in amusement. 

Vernal grabbed a tray off the cluttered workbench— the mystery of how it all fit together, “mechanical crap,” as Vernal called it, never ceased to amaze her— and brought it over. “Someone’s going to have to make a supply run soon,” Vernal informed Yang, who was practically inhaling her coffee. Vernal raised an eyebrow in exasperation. No matter how many times she saw the Branwens do that, it still amazed her. 

Yang paused for a moment after her third gulp, then glanced up at Vernal. “Fine, I’ll go on the supply run! But we both know I’m terrible at keeping track of what we need. That’s more your thing.” She flashed Vernal a lazy grin, clearly not concerned. 

“You’ll be fine! Just don’t get distracted by uh…” Vernal motioned vaguely at the cluttered workbench. Yang raised an eyebrow in mock offence, her smirk widening. “I’m not some crow!” Yang huffed, sticking out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “But you do like shiny things,” Vernal teased, her voice laced with amusement. 

“Fine, fine! You’ve got me there.” She threw up her hand in surrender, but her smile never faltered. “I swear on my name that I won’t get anything shiny!” Yang placed her hand on her chest, as if that would help convince Vernal. 

Vernal rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I might just hold you to that,” She replied dryly, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. Yang chuckled, giving her a playful wink. “Trust me, I’m practically allergic to the stuff now!” 

Vernal shook her head in amusement, chuckling lightly. “I’ll text you a list,” She said as she stood up. Yang tried to finish her breakfast quickly, but her attention was already shifting to Vernal as she grabbed something off the workbench.

“Working on it again?” Vernal asked, her tone losing its earlier amusement, now soft but edged with concern. Yang chewed quickly, then set the remains of her toast down, the lightheartedness leaving her expression as she turned her attention fully to Vernal. “Yeah, just tinkering with it a little. It’s been a little slow recently.” 

Vernal didn’t respond immediately. She examined the piece in her hands, as if weighing Yang’s words. “Is that why you gave it a paint job?” She tried to sound amused, but she couldn’t hide the seriousness in her tone. Not that she would want to. Yang could tell there was more to the question, but she didn’t feel like talking about it just yet. Maybe after a few more coffees, or a few beers. 

Yang shrugged, and picked up the mug of coffee. “You know how it is. You get bored one day and suddenly you’re painting your house in a new colour. At least that’s what normal people do right?” 

Vernal turned toward Yang, and raised an eyebrow. Her gaze softened as she took in Yang’s words. She didn’t push it, though— she had learned long ago that Yang tinkered when she got stressed, or when she was trying to avoid something… or someone. Instead, she brought over the contraption and set it down by Yang’s feet. 

“Need help putting it on?” She asked, her voice soft, accompanied by a kind smile.

Yang looked down at the metallic arm, now a mix of yellow and black. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal, and for a moment, it felt like getting it for the first time— heavy, alien, yet filled with a stubborn kind of hope she hadn’t realised she’d clung to back then. She raised her actual hand to what remained of her right arm, the familiar pain from years ago surfacing. 

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, ringing with concern, and the memory of blood and sweat lingered in the air. How many years has it been now? Seven? Eight? Long enough that people have come to know her for it, and stop staring when Yang looked their way. 

She remembered the day clearly, her mother had dragged her out of bed, telling her— demanding Yang to stop moping about for one damned minute. Yang groaned and whined, trying every excuse that she could think of. But when she inevitably followed her mother into the kitchen, there it was— on the kitchen table, wrapped in some neat packaging that Raven would never have bothered with. 

Yang asked Vernal about it later, but she adamantly denied her role in it. Vernal shrugged it off, claiming she didn’t even know about it. Yang hadn’t believed her then, and she didn’t believe her now. 

It took weeks of training to get used to the arm. The repair instructions left by the creator—a doctor from Atlas, Yang later found out—were written in clinical terms that might as well have been gibberish. But that didn’t stop Yang from modifying it every so often. Figuring it out gave her something to focus on, something to fight for— a way to feel like herself again, even if she wasn’t quite the same.

“Yang?” Vernal’s voice cut through her thoughts, soft but insistent, grounding her in the present. Yang blinked up at her, startled out of the storm of memories. She tried to force a warm smile, but it wavered at the edges, betraying her. 

“I should probably take a shower first, I reek of oil and sweat.” Yang forced a laugh, brushing her fingers through her messy, golden mane. The heaviness of the memories remained, but a quick shower— and the hour it would take to dry her thick hair— would help shake it off.

“Reek is putting it lightly,” Vernal said with a mock gag, dramatically holding her nose. “Honestly, it’s a miracle I’m still standing here!”

Yang rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips tugging into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t be so dramatic, Vernal. You’ve smelled worse.” 

“True,” Vernal shot back, smirking as she stepped back to give Yang space to get up. “But at least those smells didn’t come with an attitude.” 

Yang let out a soft laugh as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Careful now, or I’ll put you on butcher-duty for a month. I’m sure I’ll smell like daisies in comparison,” Yang teased, giving Vernal a sly wink.

“At least the meat won’t give me lip,” Vernal quickly shot back, rolling her eyes dramatically, clearly not taking the threat seriously. She then left the room, giving Yang a quick goodbye and a reminder of her task. 

Yang stood up and stretched, rolling her shoulders to wake up a few muscles. She stared down at the arm, her breath slow, as if she was reliving that first moment of shock. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head slightly, and pulled herself back into the present. She grabbed her towel tossed across the back of her chair, her arm and headed for the shower. 

One of the benefits of being leader, is that she could, and did, declare that they’d make a permanent camp in the area. It allowed them to set up running water and move out of shabby tents. No more moving from place to place, constantly on the run from the many enemies Raven had made. Not that they stopped searching— it’s just that no one knew they’d settled in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, by a town that— thankfully— gives them odd jobs, despite the Branwen name.

After a quick shower, and a not-so-quick drying of her hair, Yang couldn’t help but feel like her mind was a little clearer. Even if only for a moment. She pulled on a fresh set of clothes— nothing fancy, just something comfortable—and tightened the holster belt around her waist. The familiar weight of her revolver settled comfortably at her side. Even if they weren’t bandits anymore, carrying around a weapon still felt necessary. Yang double-checked her ammo, her mother’s voice ringing in her ear, reminding her incessantly to always be prepared.

Satisfied, Yang rolled up the sleeve over her stump, exposing the skin where her arm used to be. The stump was still raw in some places, though time healed the initial damage. Even after all these years, the sensation of being without her arm still hit her like a cold shock every time she had to slip the prosthetic on. 

The suction sealed into place, and the familiar heaviness of the arm settled over her. It wasn’t quite like her real arm— it still felt too foreign, too metallic— but she’d grown used to the process. The arm clicked to life, the internal mechanics humming softly for a moment before it calibrated, adjusting to her will. It always felt heavier before it powered up, and the first few moments always felt strange as she flexed her fingers, tested the response time. Better than the last time, at least.

But it still didn’t feel real, even after all this time. The haptic feedback had improved over the years; Yang had practically rebuilt the damn thing three times over with all her repairs and modifications. But the feeling of touch— of truly feeling what she had gripped— was still more of a ghost sensation, a distant echo of what it should have been. The difference between holding a glass or a shirt, had taken months to fine-tune. Sometimes it took her off guard—she still occasionally crushed a glass or flinched at heat. 

She flexed her fingers again, and rolled her shoulder as if that would somehow help make it feel more natural. It didn’t, but the familiar weight of it was grounding in its own way. 

With her clothes sorted, and her arm attached, Yang stepped outside, the warm summer sun hitting her skin. She took a moment to breathe it in, letting the warmth settle over her. The air was thick with the scent of dry earth and pine, though there was an acrid undercurrent wafting from the forge—oil and hot metal. Yang would have to ask if Finn had anything left over once she got back. 

It was peaceful— at least, as peaceful as the camp ever got. Children ran around with big smiles on their faces, while various tribesmen chatted, only stopping to wave or greet Yang. She could almost forget about the weight of leadership, the constant pressure to keep things together, keep everyone alive. Almost. Someone would always remind her— ask for a favour, or compare her leadership to her mothers.

Yang savoured the sun a little while more, knowing damn well that she wouldn’t have a working AC in the truck. Repairing it was getting increasingly frustrating, and buying a new one outright was more than she or any of the tribesmen could afford. Maybe if she sold her soul…Yang quickly shook off her worry. Scrap, tinkering, and kicking—or punching— a frustrating repair had gotten them this far. 

Yang flexed her metallic fingers again, making sure they were responsive. She had to leave her arm giving the steering wheel a death grip to retrieve a screwdriver, wrench, or whatever tool she could wedge between the two, on numerous embarrassing occasions. A couple of times, she had to rip off the steering wheel itself, practically tearing it to shreds just so she could take her arm back to her workbench. It was the wheel or the arm. A necessary sacrifice she told herself, though Finn laughing hysterically echoed in her mind ever since. 

With her fingers assuredly responsive, and the sun having warmed her face, Yang moved through the camp, passing familiar faces and giving kids a high five with her “cool arm,” as they so gently put it. 

The truck Yang needed was in its usual place, tucked beneath one of the roofed shelters that lined the mechanics yard. The large, open space served as a storage and repair area for the tribes vehicles, the makeshift roofs offering shade from the sun and protection from the occasional rain.Most folks worked on their own rides, borrowing tools from Vance, the mechanic, or using whatever they had on hand.

Yang weaved around rusted cars, a half-disassembled bike that had been left unattended for weeks now, and someone half-buried under their truck, cursing up a storm. The air was thick with the scent of oil and sun-baked metal—sharp and acrid, but familiar. At this point, she barely noticed it. 

The truck sat where it always did, its faded paint still so damn recognisable. Someone had even attached the trailer for her. Probably Vernals doing, or she got Vance to handle it— equally likely. Yang gave the trailer a couple lucky taps— an old habit that Vance drilled into her.

Yang then hopped into the driver's seat, and pulled out her phone to see if she got the list yet. Just as much as she liked driving around aimlessly, Vernal would probably want her back ASAP. She could quickly pay Pyrrha a visit though— she wasn’t surely in that much of a rush, right?

A new message had come in, the list attached along with a reminder in all caps not to grab anything shiny.

“I swore on my name, didn’t I?” Yang texted back, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she hit send. She tossed her phone into the cup holder and started up the truck, which sputtered into life with a stubborn cough, before settling into a steady growl.

“Attagirl,” Yang whispered to the machine, as if rewarding it for good behaviour. 

Her phone dinged. Vernal simply responded with an eye-roll emoji. Yang huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she shifted the truck into gear. “No faith in me at all,” she muttered to herself, though the smirk never left her lips. 

The truck rumbled forward, tires crunching against the dirt as she pulled out of the mechanics yard. And as the camp faded in the rearview mirror, Yang fired up the CD player, one of the few things that rarely needed repairs in this quickly aging machine. 

It wasn’t a long drive, a good twenty minutes—thirty at the most— but it always felt faster with a good stream of songs, where Yang couldn’t help but start bellowing along, much to the dismay of any that braved coming along with her. Thankfully for them, she was alone today and could sing as loud as she wanted without groans, moans or playful pleas. 

She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the beat, her prosthetic  thudding against the worn leather. The road stretched out ahead, straight and familiar, and Yang was comfortable enough with it to push the speed a little. Hopefully, she’d remember to slow down before the speed-trap. 

As she hit the chorus, she threw herself into it with all the enthusiasm of a rockstar at a sold-out show, her voice carrying over the rumble of the truck. The lyrics were half-right at best, but that never stopped her before, and it certainly didn’t help keep her speed in check. 

By the time she could see the first sign of buildings, her voice was already feeling the strain. “Yeah maybe not that loud next time,” Yang muttered to herself, knowing full well she’d do it again on the way back. Though, her throat was parched now… Well she could still stop at the petrol station under the guise of topping off the truck. 

The familiar building quickly came into view, its neon sign still as gaudy as when Yang first saw it. She eased off the gas, letting the vehicle slow as she pulled up to a pump. Thankfully it was just modern enough to take her card there, but she’d still need water. 

She threw the truck into park, and shut off the engine, the sudden quiet ringing in her ears. Though, there were other cars parked here, one by the other pump was left unattended— surely the owner was inside. The other car parked haphazardly in the lot… Nora, no doubt. Yang recognised that car anywhere, she helped Nora repair the damn thing more times than she’d care to count. 

Yang couldn’t help but smile as she swung the door open and hopped out of the truck. It’d be nice to see her, even if she was… excitable. 

Yang decided to top off her truck first— it felt like the natural order of things. So with a few button presses, a slow authorization of her card, and a click of the nozzle settling into place, she was good to go. Hopefully twenty was enough; the truck was a guzzling beast.

As she stepped into the building, the refreshing coolness of the AC hit her, making her momentarily forget how much she hated the AC in the truck. If only it was this comfortable. Yang glanced up at the sound of someone excitedly telling a story, and sure enough, it was Nora, gesturing wildly as she went on. Her orange hair was as distinct as her boundless energy. Yang could definitely use whatever coffee she was drinking. 

Ren, her poor target, looked up and offered Yang a friendly smile and a wave. Nora didn’t take notice— she just kept rattling on. Yang couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, giving Ren a shrug in mutual understanding for Nora’s enthusiasm. 

She moved towards the water cooler, hoping to catch snippets of Nora’s excited, rapid-fire storytelling. But despite the loud volume, the words were too jumbled to understand. 

Opening the fridge, Yang’s eyes flickered over to the reflection— a glimpse of someone else. A  second glance revealed little: just a hooded figure browsing various snacks. It was probably just the owner of the other car, she told herself. 

Though, it was strange how they tried to hide so much of themselves. Were they going to try and steal something? The prices weren’t so bad. A little higher than the stores in town, sure, but that’s to be expected. 

Maybe she was just reading too much into things—probably just someone passing through town. Shaking it off, Yang grabbed a bottle of water and made her way to the counter. Where Nora was still talking Ren’s ear off. He gave Yang another friendly smile as she waved at him. 

“Hey, you two!” Yang interrupted Nora, lest they be there all day. Nora stopped her story long enough to greet Yang—more like screeching some form of her name. Then, in her usual burst of energy, Nora practically tackled Yang into a hug. Yang gasped, struggling to breathe through the squeeze of Nora’s death hug. “Yeah yeah, I missed you too,” she managed, her words breathless. 

When Yang was finally freed, she leaned against the counter and cracked open her bottle. “Do tell Nora, what’s got you like this? 5 shots of espresso?” Yang joked, barely managing to hide her smirk behind the bottle. 

“Oh please, Ren won’t let me touch the stuff after last time.” Nora gave Ren a playful glare, but Yang could tell there was no malice in it. Nora was too sweet for that.

Yang tilted her head, still smirking. “So, what’s the occasion? Did you finally get something on your Pinterest board?” She teased, half-expecting Nora to actually say yes. Yang could see Ren trying to hide a smirk out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh haha. Very funny, Yang!” Nora stuck her tongue out at her, clearly not noticing Ren’s amused smile, or was simply less bothered by it. “I’ll have you know my Pinterest board is my pride and joy, and one day, I shall get something off it!!” Nora declared proudly.

Yang raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, your ‘pride and joy’ featured a potato-cannon that you tried to build last year. Finn still hasn’t forgiven you for nearly taking his head off,” Yang teased again. 

“I could have worked out the kinks if he let me!” Nora whined, a sense of mourning her beloved potato-cannon etched across her face. 

“Even if he did, I wouldn’t let you,” Ren stated coldly, though he still wore a smile. Nora quickly shot him another glare, but it lacked any real heat. A beat passed, tension hanging in the air— then she huffed, crossing her arms with an exaggerated pout and muttering under her breath, “you totally would have!” 

That was all it took. Yang snorted, Nora cracked a grin, and soon enough, they all burst out laughing. 

Yang wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “But seriously, what’s got you so excited today?” 

Nora practically vibrated the whole damn building with how excited she got. Words tumbled out of her mouth too fast to follow, her hands moving in their trademark wild gestures— until one of them smacked into a magazine rack, sending it toppling over and scattering its contents across the floor.

That, at least, was enough to pause her for a second. Just long enough for Yang and Ren to share another look of mutual understanding. Nora simply stared at her destruction, blinking a few times as if she could somehow will the rack back into place. Then, with a sheepish shrug, she pulled out her most effective weapon: puppy eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that, Ren.” 

Ren just waved it off, and began picking up the debris. He had seen many a magazine rack fall prey to Nora’s wild gesturing. Over time, he’d try all manner of methods to save them—but Nora, intentionally or not, always found a way. It was just part of the Nora experience. 

Yang chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “One day, Nora, you’ll bring this building down with that energy.” 

Nora waved her hand dismissively. “Pfffttt, you’re just jealous of my vitality! Anyway,” she began bouncing in place, unable to wait yet again. “I just finished a big contract! Pyrrha and I—“

“Pyrrha?!” Yang’s eyes widened in disbelief, her tone shifting to one of mild shock. “I thought she gave up that life,” Yang retorted, even scoffing at it. 

Nora paused for a moment, her eyes flickering over to Ren. They both shared a worried look, before turning back to Yang. “Oh— Sorry, Yang. I thought she told you before we left,” Nora explained, her tone apologetic. 

Yang’s brows furrowed in thought, her mind racing with worried questions. But none escaped her lips, she couldn’t— didn’t know how to ask Nora. Why didn’t Pyrrha tell her? They were supposed to be on good terms now, right? 

“Yang?” Ren’s voice cut through all those thoughts, his tone laced with concern. “You okay?” Yang looked up at him, forcing a smile as best as she could. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, really,” she reassured him, though her voice betrayed her. Nora and Ren exchanged concerned glances before both their eyes dropped to the water bottle in Yang’s hand. 

She hadn’t even realized she’d crushed it. The plastic bottle was barely recognizable now, its sides warped and crumpled in her grip. Yang stared at it for a moment before sighing and tossing it into the bin by the door.

“Sorry, it’s this damned arm. You know how it gets,” Yang chuckled half-heartedly, though she couldn’t sound wholly unbothered by it. Nora’s eyes softened with sympathy and she gently placed a hand on Yang’s metallic one. “She doesn’t blame you, no one does.” 

Her soft smile was comforting, but…

Yang’s brows furrowed again as she pulled her hand away from Nora’s. She stared at it for a long moment, lost in thought as she mulled over Nora’s words. 

“I do,” Yang muttered. She couldn’t even look up to meet their eyes, all she could do was stare at her arm, reliving that one moment. That’s why she broke it off with Pyrrha— she couldn’t look at her the same way. Yeah they might be talking again, but that’s not the same as picking up where they left off. Not after what happened. 

It wasn’t fair to Pyrrha. Yang knew that much. It felt easier to close herself off, end it, and hide behind her walls. But a part of her—a tiny part— knew that it was selfish, a mistake she could never fix. 

Nora, being Nora, didn’t let it slide. With an ease only she could manage, she reached out and gently nudged Yang’s shoulder, offering another small but genuine smile. 

“You know damn well Pyrrha’s the kindest person on Remnant! She’d never blame you, not even a little. And were she here, she’d give you the biggest, tightest hug that puts mine to shame.” 

Yang exhaled sharply, clenching her hand as tight as she could. Nora had a point—Pyrrha was just too damn kind for her own good. Maybe that’s why she didn’t give her a heads-up. She didn’t want Yang to worry. 

Yang let out a dry chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing. “If only I was half as kind,” Yang admitted, almost bitterly. “I shouldn’t have pushed her away, kept her at arm's length after—“ 

“Yang, please. Whatever happened, whatever you did, Pyrrha forgave you hundreds of times over. So please, for her, and for your sake—please have an honest conversation with her,” Nora pleaded, her voice soft but earnest. 

Yang let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause that will go over well. ‘Hey Pyrrha, sorry I broke up with you. Will you please take me back?’ And she’ll just swoon in my arms?” 

Nora gently clasped her hands on Yang’s, trying to meet her avoidant gaze. “Yang… She doesn’t want you to beg for her back. She just wants to know if you’re ok. That’s all. And if you really care about her—let her back in. She’ll understand.”

Yang scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s not that simple. Not when I got her hurt, left her because of MY mistake.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Nora refused to let go, her grip remained firm. 

“You think that’s what she sees? That you got her hurt and abandoned her?” Nora gently squeezed Yang’s hand in a comforting manner. “Or do you think she’ll want an honest conversation with the woman she loved?”

Yang swallowed, her jaw tightening—but before she could argue, Nora flashed her mischievous smirk. “Anyone ever tell you that you can be annoyingly stubborn at times?” 

Yang tried to fight the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, but it made short work of her defences and broke through. Damnit, she really hated it when Nora had a point. 

“Fine! You win. I’ll have a chat with Pyrrha, a sober one,” Yang conceded with a laugh, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. 

“That’s our girl,” Nora gushed with the sweetest smile Yang ever saw. 

When Yang declared she needed to get going, Ren offered one of his rare hugs  And she took full advantage of this rare opportunity, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Nora, of course, gave one of her signature death hugs before letting Yang leave. 

—-—————————————————————-

Back in the truck, Yang pulled out her phone. Pyrrha’s contact info staring back at her, the call button right there.

She was ready to talk—wasn’t she?

Her thumb hovered over the screen, Yang trying to make it do something—anything. It was just a simple call. Just asking if she was at the bar, if they could talk in-person.

So why did it feel so damn hard?

Her mind raced, scrambling for words. What could she say? Should she start with an apology? The panic welled up inside her, making her heart race. She could feel the weight of every passing second. The truck feeling smaller and smaller with each ragged breath, the air thick with her unease.

Suddenly, the phone screen blinked, the button she’d been eyeing pressed—unwittingly—and before she could process what had happened, the sharp sound of the phone ringing blasted through the truck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Yang’s panic spiked through the roof. Her thumb froze, refusing to cooperate, but even if she could stop it now, Pyrrha would see the missed call. It was too late to back out now. She was doomed. 

“Hey Yang, what’s up?” Pyrrha’s voice echoed out from her phone. Why did she have to answer? Maybe if she stayed silent, Pyrrha would just think it was a butt dial. Please think it was a butt a dial. 

But no such luck. The seconds stretched on, and Pyrrha’s voice came again, soft and warm, as if nothing had changed. “Yang? You there?”

Yang’s mind was a mess, no matter how many times she banged it against the wheel. She could just hang up now and pretend she never called. But it didn’t feel right. The guilt gnawed at her insides. Or was it Nora’s words? 

“Damnit,” Yang muttered under her breath, and reluctantly brought the phone to her ear.

Her stomach flipped as she heard the quiet hum of the phone line, waiting for her try say something. Anything.

“Pyrrha,” she finally breathed, her mouth dryer than she ever thought possible. “I… Uh…” She felt the lump in her throat, choking off her words.

“You’re what?” Pyrrha inquired gently. Nora was right, her kindness had no equal. 

“I—I wanted to talk to you. Really talk to you,” her words tumbled out almost as quickly as Nora’s. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, but it was no use. Those words—those simple words—had escaped her mouth, and now it was on Pyrrha to reciprocate or reject them. 

“Sure, I’m at the bar. You’ve still got the key, right?” Pyrrha replied, her smile somehow audible over the phone. Damn that sweet, sweet smile. 

“I—Yeah I think so.” Yang knew she still had the key, she’d been meaning to return it. But that always felt too difficult—too conclusive. 

The silence on the other end seemed to stretch on a little too long. Yang’s mind raced with memories of Pyrrha—their time together, how she always knew when Yang needed a stronger drink. She was perfect like that, a friend you could rely on, pour your heart out, and she’d always listen, offer advice, and a strong drink if needed. 

When Pyrrha finally spoke, her voice was warm, comforting—maybe too much for what this conversation was about. 

“Don’t tell Weiss I told you, but she thought you’d have tossed it by now.”

There was a soft chuckle from the other end, but it carried too much sadness for true amusement. Maybe Pyrrha half-believed it herself. Or maybe, deep down, she had dreaded the idea—that she’d throw it away, just like she’d thrown away everything they had. 

“I-I didn’t mean for things to end like that,” Yang admitted quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “I was… am scared, Pyrrha. Scared that you’d hate me, scared that I’ll get you hurt again.”

Yang clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay composed, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. This wasn’t how she wanted to do it—it didn’t feel right to do it over the phone. She sucked in a shaky breath, staring intensely at the steering wheel as if it held a secret to keep her from crying. But the more she tried to hold it together, the harder it became. Her breath hitched time and time again, her chest tightening like a vice. 

Damnit, hold it together. 

Her vision blurred, tears refusing to stay inside. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. 

Yang pressed the palm of her hand against her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath in a futile attempt to steady herself, but it stuttered on the way out. A broken sob escaped—her chest tightening with regret, her throat closing with grief. She hated this. Hated that she was falling apart like this. Hated that it was happening over the damn phone. 

The silence on the other end stretched on, thick and suffocating. It almost felt like a damning judgement, with Yang’s head on the chopping block. 

But those next words, they were spoken with such a kindness only Pyrrha could ever manage. 

“I never hated you, Yang. What happened wasn’t your fault. And I’m a huntress, getting hurt is part of the job after all. But after you left…” Pyrrha stopped herself. Those next words, Yang could tell they were going to be those final words. Damning in their silence. 

The tension was palpable, suffocating. Yang was frozen, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for Pyrrha’s final judgement. Tears relentlessly streaming down her cheeks. 

Finally, Pyrrha continued, her voice still soft, kind, steady. “But after you left, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I wanted to hold a grudge, hate you, but I also wanted to call you and ask how you were doing. I stared at your number for countless nights, trying to work up the courage to call you. But I had to learn to live without you, not call you for every little thing in some pathetic excuse to see my girlfriend. I have missed you—but I’ve also grieved you, Yang.”

A long, shaky breath came from the other end. “I’ve had to accept that some things can’t go back to the way they were. That maybe…maybe we’re fine just being friends. I’ve learnt that love, in and of itself, isn’t enough, Yang. It’s about commitment and trust—not just in each other, but in ourselves.” 

She was right. They couldn’t just go back to the way things were, they were no longer a phone call and a regretful sob away from rekindling. And maybe that was fine. 

But it still hurt, the way Pyrrha’s words cut through her defences, cutting deep, a painful reminder of the distance that had slowly grown between them. 

Yet, it wasn’t just the hurt—it was the warmth, the sincerity that never fully faded. The way Pyrrha mourned her and still accepted her back in, even if as a friend. The kindness in her voice, the quiet strength, it was everything Yang had been missing but didn’t know how to reach for. And now, for the first time in a long time, it felt like she was seeing clearly—seeing how much she’d taken for granted. 

Yang swallowed, trying to find the right words, but they all stuck in her throat like tar. What could she even say to that? ‘Sorry’ felt too small, and offering a bite to eat sometime felt too awkward. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, but the tears just kept coming. 

“Pyrrha, I—“ her voice cracked, and she let out a shaky breath. Why did words have to fail her now? Why couldn’t she just say anything—just say something damnit!

She let out a sharp exhale as she slammed her head into the steering wheel out of frustration. “Damnit! Why is this so hard?” She muttered under her breath. “I shouldn’t be crying right now. I—“ 

A quiet shushing came from the other end, soft but firm. 

“It’s okay,” Pyrrha said gently. “Take your time.”

There was no judgment in her voice, no impatience— just warmth, quiet understanding, and that steady kindness Nora had foretold. It was the kind of presence Yang needed more than ever, yet still so foreign after all this time apart.

“I wish I called you sooner,” Yang finally managed to admit, her voice still trembling. “But I… I never knew how to. What to say. I kept telling myself you’d never want to hear from me again, that you’d find someone else while I was gone.” She exhaled sharply, somehow feeling a sense of ease as the words started spilling out. Like a weight lifting off her shoulders. 

“I guess I was just hoping you’d call first,” Yang continued. “Tell me I’m the world's biggest idiot, and you have that lager I like waiting in the fridge for me.” 

Yang let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. It was dumb—she knew that all too well. But that didn’t soften the blow when reality finally hit her like a truck. 

Pyrrha’s own chuckle followed, light and reassuring, filling Yang with warmth. “I wouldn’t say biggest, but you definitely score pretty high on that list,” she teased. “Though, if you want that lager, I’ll have to charge you. Weiss might kill me if I just handed the stock out to my favourite customers.” 

Once again, that laugh filled the truck with its warmth, wrapping around Yang in a comforting embrace. It was familiar, easy—effortlessly bringing Yang back into its lightheartedness. 

“So I’m your favourite customer now? I feel honoured!” Yang managed to joke, her tone nearing a triumphant tune. 

Pyrrha hummed thoughtfully. “You do like to hang around, drinking and staring,” she mused. 

Yang turned red in shame. Was it that obvious? She’d been avoiding Pyrrha’s bar since the break up because of that bad habit—somehow, hearing it out loud made it even more embarrassing.

Pyrrha chuckled again when she heard Yang lightly bash her head against the wheel. “It was almost cute,” she teased.

Right. Pyrrha would never judge Yang harshly—her kindness was its own bad habit. 

Yang scoffed, forcing a smirk through her embarrassment. “Almost? I remember a certain someone calling me too adorable for my own good once or twice.” 

Yang could practically hear the eye roll coming from the other end. “Never should have fed your ego,” Pyrrha teased, though the warmth in her voice never wavered.

Then, after a beat. “Why don’t you come over? Not going to get the regulars for a couple more hours at least, so you can shed tears without ruining that precious image of yours.” 

Yang huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. It was tempting—really tempting. A drink, good company, and at least a few groans at her terrible jokes. But unfortunately, crying over drinks wasn’t on the list Vernal had sent her. 

Yang broke the news, wiping away the last traces of tears with a sigh. Part of her wished she could say screw the job, just this once—but she could already hear Vernal giving her flak just for thinking it. 

Pyrrha sighed, though it wasn’t heavy—just thoughtful. “It’s good to hear from you again, Yang.”

“Yeah you too.”

Pyrrha’s voice softened, a subtle crack of emotion lingering in her tone. “I am glad you called Yang. Really. I’ve missed you.” Pyrrha’s smile somehow spread to Yang over the phone.

Yang exhaled, letting the warmth in Pyrrha’s voice ease the weight in her chest. “I’ve missed you too,” Yang replied warmly, though she winced at how raw it sounded. She let out a breathy laugh, trying to brush it off. “Though, honestly? I think I missed your fries even more,” Yang teased.

“Naturally,” Pyrrha said, amused. “Even Weiss can’t get enough. Pretty sure she only became my bookkeeper just to get the employee discount.”

Yang snorted, a smile tugging at her lips. “No more scraping by with crappy gigs for a half-drunk crowd, bellowing along to those ballads of hers.”

“Speaking of Weiss,” Pyrrha said, half-laughing. “I hear her calling for me— and she’s got that tone.” 

Yang chuckled. “Well you best heed the Ice Queen’s summons. I don’t want to lose my favourite bar owner—not when I just got her back.”

Yang stared at her phone for a few moments longer, simply enjoying the silence it now brought. She couldn’t help but smile—a real, honest smile. It was nice. She was glad her thumb had unwittingly pressed that call button, even as she’d wrestled with her own worry. Who knew how much longer she would’ve tortured herself over it—how many times she’d put it off, made excuses, or convinced herself it wasn’t the right time.

The cab of the truck didn’t feel like it was trying to suffocate her anymore. It actually began to feel like it’s old cozy self again. And Yang let out a breath, feeling like it was trapped the entire conversation and it just escaped. 

Yang leaned back in her seat, resting her head against the back wall of the cab. She closed her eyes, letting old memories bleed in. The first time she came to town, she drove past the bar more than a few times, just getting a feel for the streets, the rhythm of the place. It was only a week after her tribe finally settled—begrudgingly settled—that she decided to grab a drink, a cold drink that the tribe's stocks could not satisfy at the time. 

When she’d stepped in, she could barely hear the music over Nora drunkenly telling some story Yang had long since forgotten. Was it about a pack of Grimm? Or had Nora simply dreamt them?

Either way, Yang remembered thinking this has to be the town eccentric, watching Nora swing her arms with reckless abandon. Then Pyrrha popped her head up from behind the bar the moment Yang took a seat—and even then, she treated her like an old friend. Warm, genuine, and endearing. Yang had met plenty of bar owners, mixologists, and self-proclaimed cocktail wizards, but Pyrrha felt different. Kinder. Like she could befriend anyone with that smile of hers. Even Weiss fell to it, eventually. 

In a way, Yang was glad she chose Kuroyiri. It hadn’t been easy settling down—nothing ever was with her tribe—but this place, with its sleepy streets and stubborn charm, had carved its way into her heart. 

This was a place worth fighting for. Worth holding onto.

The telltale sputter of a struggling engine and what sounded like muffled pleading cut through her thoughts. Yang sat up, blinking herself back into reality, her mechanic instincts flaring to life. An engine in need of saving—she could never resist the call. 

She slid out of the cab, grabbing the ever-faithful toolkit from its usual spot in the side box. After a quick glance in the rearview mirror to check if her charming smile was still in one piece, she rounded her truck, toolkit swinging in the air like a peace offering, 

As Yang approached the car—an old sedan, though the licence plate seemed suspiciously newer—the hooded stranger from the petrol station hopped out, keeping their hood tugged low.

They seemed to be wary of her, a flicker of caution in their stance. So Yang waved the toolkit again, flashing a toothy grin.

“Mechanic! I swear I come in peace!” 

The stranger eyed the toolkit for a long moment, then cast a wary glance at Yang—gold eyes briefly catching the light beneath a curtain of black hair and the shadow of her hood. Her gaze dipped, eyeing Yang’s revolver with a cautious gaze. The tension in her shoulders drew tighter, eyes fixed on the weapon for a few more seconds before lifting back up to meet Yang’s gaze. 

“I.. I don’t have much money to pay you,” the stranger admitted softly, her voice tight and uncertain. She looked down, toward the ground, shoulders drawn in like she was bracing for a blow.

Yang tilted her head, easing her grin into something gentler. “Luckily for you, I’m fine hearing a good story and a name that may be fake—just don’t try to pay me in exposure. My accountant banned those.” 

A faint tug at the strangers lips— almost a smile. Yang took that as a win and stepped towards the hood, raising an eyebrow in a silent check for permission. The stranger gave a small, hesitant nod, eyes still narrowed with caution. But it was something. A start.

Yang popped the hood open with a practiced flick and swung the support rod into place. She peered inside, her eyes scanning the engine with care. The smell of grease and old coolant hit her nose— familiar, almost comforting in its own grimy way. The stranger, though, crinkled her nose the second it reached her. Yang let out a small, amused huff as she reached into the engine. Her fingers traced along the thick cables leading to the spark plug, pulling one loose with ease.

“Spark plug’s shot,” she said, mostly to herself. “Probably the others too.” 

“Is… Is that bad?” The stranger asked softly, as she leant on her car to get a closer look.

“Eh. Depends.” Yang replied, casually. “My tri—uh, friend might have a spark plug or three lying around,” Yang assured her. 

She held the plug up to the light, squinting. “This looks like it’s been through hell!” 

A pause. 

The stranger looked down into the engine, lazily following the same cables Yang had a moment earlier. 

“Yeah,” the stranger said quietly. “It has.”

Yang gave her a moment, then leaned against the car with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve gotten my ‘payment’ Miss..?”

Her tone was light, teasing—just enough to try coaxing that almost-smile back. 

“… Blake…”

“Blake? No last name?” Yang teased again, flashing her a sly wink. 

Blake gave a small shake of her head. 

Yang tried to meet her gaze, but Blake kept her focus on the spark plug in her hand—like it was easier to face the damage than the person trying to help. 

“Well, Blake,” Yang said, emphasising her name. “I was already running a discount today—first names only for all car repairs.” 

She kept her teasing tone, hoping to salvage some semblance of a smile from Blake.

Blake huffed out a dry laugh, a real smile slipping through before she could stop it. “Lucky me!” She joked back. But when her eyes drifted past Yang, that smile softened, sadness tugging at its corners. 

Yang noticed the shift, the quiet cloud behind Blake’s eyes. 

“You’ve got good timing,” Yang said softly, tracing a finger along the worn surface of the spark plug. “If you went to the one in town, they would’ve scammed you. Mercury and Emerald are… to put it lightly, thieving bastards.”

Blake snorted, her true smile coming back. “That was you putting it lightly?!” She shot back.

Yang shrugged nonchalantly. “If you think that’s bad, you should have heard what I said when I first did business with them!” 

Blake tilted her head in mock curiosity. “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity, so do tell!” She leaned in closer, her sly smirk teasing Yang even more than her tone. 

Yang huffed a laugh, leaning a little closer herself as she placed a hand on her chest. “Now now, Blake. You can’t get all my secrets on day one. At least buy me a drink first,” Yang teased with that playful tone. Though her heart felt a twang of regret as she said it, worrying it wouldn’t land well. 

Blake let out a small laugh, pulling away. “I might just hold you to that one day,” she joked back, but it didn’t sound like she believed it herself. Blake busied herself adjusting the edge of her sleeve, as if it needed fixing. 

Yang caught the hesitation, the uncomfortable tension that bloomed in the space between. Damnit, she ruined it. That regretful heart twang easily doubled in size. 

“..Hey,” she tried, softer now, not quite sure where it was going. “I didn’t meant to—“

But Blake shook her head before she could finish. Not in annoyance, just—tired, guarded.

“It’s fine,” Blake said. It didn’t sound like she believed it. But Yang wasn’ about to push it. Test her luck any more than she already has. 

“Right,” Yang muttered quietly, pulling away herself. “I’ll call my friend, see what can get done.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly to Vance. Blake only gave a tiny, almost grateful smile and waited patiently as Yang made the call.

—-———————————————————

“What happened to you?!” Vance muttered to himself, already elbow-deep in the engine.

“Ignore him,” Yang assured Blake, waving away her concern. “He gets like this sometimes.”

The two simply watched in quiet horror as Vance pulled out more parts than should logically fit in a sedan. 

“I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to fix it… Right?” Blake whispered, eyes wide. 

Yang couldn’t respond. She didn’t have the words to explain how Vance was somehow doing more damage. 

“How did you even get here?!” Vance called out, holding up another part as if it personally offended him. Thankfully it seemed to be the last. 

“Hope? Desperation? They count, right?” Blake gave a weak shrug, pulling in her shoulders tighter, like she half-expected Vance to snap.

Vance paused, something about her tone—or maybe her posture—cut through his irritation.“I’m not so sure about hope,” he said, voice softer now. “But I’m all too familiar with desperation.” 

Blake relaxed her shoulders lightly, but she still looked uneasy. “Can it be fixed?” She asked softly, her voice barely above a murmur. Her eyes darted up and down, unable to properly look him in the eye. 

“Define ‘fixed’,” Vance muttered, squinting at the spark plug Yang pulled, then at the chaotic spread of parts littering the ground. 

“Vance,” Yang warned, her tone spilling into that familiar, bossy edge.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get it working.” He bent down,  waving her off as he started gathering his mess. 

Yang turned to Blake, ignoring the colourful words about the job spilling from his lips. “So, want a ride into town?” She asked, voice gentler now.

Blake looked up, trying—really trying— to meet her gaze. “Yeah that'd be nice.” She gave a half-smile, guarded instead of warm. Her eyes squinted, the caution returning. 

Then Yang saw it— something beneath the edge of Blake’s hood, a faint twitch of movement. Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Yang blinked, her natural teasing almost escaping her lips—but she thought better of it. Everyone had their secrets, and Blake seemed to have many. Instead Yang turned around and headed for her truck, inviting Blake to follow. 

As Blake slid into the passenger seat, Yang tilted her head and said, “You’re not secretly allergic to duct tape and rock music are you?”

Blake paused, only managing to blink as she tried to process Yang’s question.

“…No?” She responded, still unsure what the question meant. 

“Good,” Yang grinned. “Because that’s most of what’s holding this truck together. Well—that and an unhealthy amount of sarcasm.”

Blake gave a dry huff, rolling her eyes. “And I thought you were a mechanic,” she shot back. 

Yang gave her a mock-wounded look. “Hey, that is the trade secret. Don’t go spilling it to the enemy.”

Blake almost smiled again, shaking her head. “I can’t promise anything.” 

Yang gasped, putting a hand to her chest. “And here I thought I could trust you.”

“You just met me like 5 minutes ago,” Blake huffed amused. 

Yang gave a small laugh, shaking her head in amusement. “You’ve got me there.” 

Yang climbed into the driver seat, gave Blake one last glance before starting the truck and pulling out of the petrol station. 

—-——————————————————-

Back out on the road, Yang’s music playing, though she turned it way down for Blake’s sake, the two sat in relative silence. The latter kept her hands neatly on her lap, eyes fixed on the passing scenery, the few trees turning into buildings as they rolled into town. 

“You didn’t ask where I was going,” Blake suddenly spoke up, turning to Yang as she did. 

“Figured you’d want a crappy motel while you wait for your car,” Yang teased, barely glancing sideways as she gave a cheeky smirk.

Blake huffed, turning back to the window. “You really know how to treat a lady.”

“I’m just looking out for my customer,” Yang teased lightly. 

She could tell there was something on Blake’s mind, the way she drummed her fingers on her lap not in tune with the music, her quick glances before turning back to the scenery, the half-formed words on her lips. 

“Ask away,” Yang said, turning her music off. 

“Excuse me?” Blake whipped her head round, an eyebrow raised. 

“You want to ask something, don’t you?” Yang gave her a quick, friendly smile. 

“I—Uh…” Blake stumbled over her words, trying to form some semblance of a sentence. 

Yang didn’t press, nor did she tease. She kept her eyes on the road, giving Blake space to wrestle with it. 

Finally: “Why’d you help me?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been. Yang didn’t answer right away, she pondered it for a quiet moment.

“Didn’t think I needed a reason,” she said after a beat. “You looked like you needed a hand, and I’ve got two.” 

Blake’s lips parted slightly, as if surprised by the simplicity of it. Her gaze dropped to her hands. She wrestled with the answer for a few quiet moments, trying to understand it. 

“I—People don’t usually do things like that for me,” she muttered quietly, her eyes remaining glued on her hands. 

“Then people suck,” Yang said matter-of-factly. “Besides, you’re running.” 

Blake shot her head up, an eyebrow raised again. “How did you—“

Yang raised a hand, silencing her. “New plates, low hood, cautious gaze. They’re all—how do I put this… familiar signs to me.”

Blake sputtered some form of apology and begging. Again, Yang raised a hand to silence. “You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s your story, I’m sure you’ve got a good reason.”

Blake opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. Her eyes narrowed as she looked Yang up and down. Even with a quick glance, she could tell Blake doubted her intentions. 

They lapsed into silence again. Yang kept her eyes on the road, not sparing another glance at Blake who turned back to the scenery. 

After a while, they arrived at a motel. One of the two in town and just as crappy as Yang promised. 

“There she is,” Yang proclaimed with confidence. “Best crap motel this side of nowhere.”

Blake snorted, though it sounded a little forced. “Oh it’s lovely.” Her hand already reached for the handle, but she stopped and turned to Yang. 

“Thank you… for everything.” 

Yang grinned. “Always glad to be of service, Miss mystery.”

Blake rolled her eyes as she hopped out, huffing an amused laugh as well. She closed the door behind her, and started making her way to the poorly labelled office—only to stop in her tracks. 

Yang smiled to herself, figuring she’d just gotten turned around.

But she turned on her heel, quickly pacing back to the truck. She flung open Yang’s door, her eyes wide with concern.

“Wait!” She blurted out.

Yang raised an eyebrow.

“Who do I call about my car?!” 

Yang just stared at her, dumbfounded—then cracked up, laughing hysterically as she slumped against the seat. Much to the dismay of Blake, who crossed her arms and just gave Yang a narrowed stare… but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

Yang wiped a tear from her eye as she finished laughing. “I’ll give you my number,” she said, still grinning. 

Blake nodded silently, but Yang could see a hint of gratitude in that smile she was trying so hard to hide. Maybe in some way she did open up to Yang. 

After they exchanged numbers, and a little more teasing from Yang and a half-assed attempt to save herself as “Mechanic Saviour”, Blake disappeared into the motel’s office. 

Now Yang sat alone in the truck, its usual quiet coming back all at once. She sat there for a long moment before finally turning the music back on. 

Her phone buzzed.

Yang looked down at it, thinking Vernal found out about the car already. 

‘Blake:I can practically hear that music from here’ with an added eye roll emoji. 

Yang smirked, typing back quickly. ‘Admit it. You’re tapping your foot in beat to it.’

Another eye roll emoji popped up almost immediately. Yang chuckled to herself, thinking maybe Blake rolled her eyes nearly as much as Vernal did.

Yang set the phone down and leaned back in her seat. Whatever Blake’s story was, Yang had a feeling it was far from over. 

But for now, Yang needed to get the listed supplies. So with a reluctant sigh, she started the engine and drove away, briefly glancing in the rearview mirror to see the motel fade into a tiny blob. Even still, she could see someone leave the office. And give a quick wave. 

“Guess that cautious guard isn’t as unbreakable as it seemed,” Yang chuckled softly to herself.