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“And then he said,” Beau says, really getting into the flow of her righteous indignation, “then that fucker had the nerve to say that he didn’t have enough information. He had the fucking gall to look me in the eye and lie to my face, when he knows that I personally delivered the intel he needed -“
Yasha makes a sympathetic noise as Beau leans against the table with a scowl, recipe book propped open in front of her. Crimp the edges of the pastry neatly, she reads. Which edges? Crimp it how?
“ - I hate his stupid face and I want to punch his stupid face but Dairon says I can’t -“
Okay, back a step. Place a spoonful of filling in the centre. Right. Filling is in place. Crimp the edges -
“ - but Dairon just likes telling me not to do stuff. I mean, do you really think they would kick me out if I punched an Expositor? Even if he really deserved it? Because he does.”
“I think you should punch whoever you want,” Yasha says loyally, because she does. She folds the pastry in half decisively, working on her vague memories of what a burek ought to look like. The half-circle shape definitely looks right. “He sounds like he deserves it. Babe, how do you crimp something?”
“I wanna crimp his face,” Beau says, a wistful look in her eyes. Cute, but unhelpful. Yasha squints down at the equally unhelpful illustration at the bottom of the page instead, looking around impatiently for something that might be the right shape to leave matching indentations. She settles for one of the phallic statuettes that litter the windowsill - there’s always another that mysteriously appears every time Jester comes to visit - pummelling it indelicately along the edges to stop the filling escaping. Take that, crimping, whatever the fuck you are.
“I’m sorry you had a tough day,” she tells Beau, turning away from her culinary endeavours to rub her arm soothingly.
“Nah, it wasn’t so bad really. I guess it’s more testing my self restraint than anything. It’s probably, like, personal growth.” Beau pulls a disgusted face, before leaning over the uncooked pastries with interest, irritation forgotten. “What’re -“
Yasha slaps her hand away. “No touching! They’re not ready. But we can start on the appetisers.”
“The appetisers? I’m so absurdly attracted to you right now.”
Yasha beams, and gestures towards a plate on the table containing carefully arranged meatballs, garnished with little sprigs of green herbs. “I tried something new. I stopped by the market for beef, and the onions are fresh from the garden.”
“Literally never wanted to jump someone’s bones so much for talking about onions,” Beau says, but just grins and grabs a meatball. She groans loudly as she takes a bite.
The best part of cooking is always Beau’s face.
“Good?”
“So fucking good. What’s that spice?”
“Paprika, and a little parsley.”
“So good,” Beau says, through a mouth full of meatball. “You’re a food genius. A super hot food genius. Hey, I never asked you how your day was?”
“Quiet,” Yasha says serenely, taking a seat at the table and smiling absently. “Peaceful.”
As she starts on a third meatball, Beau hooks an ankle around one of the chairs and tugs it towards her at the same time she starts to sit into the then-empty space, a casual display of impossible dexterity. “Is quiet okay? I feel kind of bad that I’m out all day -“
“Beau,” she says, with heartfelt conviction, “it’s perfect.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She reaches over to pat Beau on the hand. “I’m going to try making bread tomorrow. I’ve always wanted to make bread.”
“You’re adorable,” Beau says fondly, and it’s funny, because Yasha never thought anyone would ever call her that. She definitely never expected to believe them, but here she is. Adorable Yasha. “I’ll be seeing Fjord again tomorrow, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Beau scowls, that halfhearted way she has when she’s talking about the Nein. It’s always for show. “For a guy with a huge, stupid hat, he talks a lot of shit about other people’s fashion choices. You don’t think the shoulder pads are too much, do you?”
“Absolutely not,” Yasha says, although maybe they are. “I think you look very imposing.”
“Yeah,” Beau says, only a little petulantly, “imposing, that’s what I’m going for.”
“Definitely,” Yasha says, and it’s funny, because she always thought that would be her. But here she is, wearing an apron. The only thing she intimidated today was some filo pastry, and she’s not even sure it worked.
Like she said, peacefully perfect.
“Anyway, we were right.” Beau reaches for another meatball. “About Driftwood Asylum and the Myriad, I mean. I know Fjord didn’t like it, but holding off just a couple of weeks longer - we’ve nailed those fuckers completely, and they haven’t got a clue. We can shut down every last one of them at the same time, get that whole shitty operation at once.”
“Amazing work, babe.”
“I mean - yeah, I should probably say something humble,” Beau says, grinning widely, “but actually, yeah. I crushed it.”
“So is that what you’ll do tomorrow? Shut it down?”
“I guess so.”
“What about Fjord? Is he happy?”
“He’s happy to shut it down, yeah.” Beau sighs, a little heavily. “This stuff is always complicated, though.”
“Emotional,” Yasha agrees, brushing a bit of flour from her sleeve. “I can imagine. Will it still be an orphanage?”
“I don’t know. I mean, for a bit, at least. I think Fjord is talking about funding it in the short term, but long term? It looks like most of the residents ended up there through nefarious means. Port Damali isn’t actually just full of homeless orphans, they wanted free labour so they made it happen.” She pauses, meatballs halfway to her mouth, before adding almost thoughtfully, “Fuckers.”
“And what about the kids?”
“I know, it’s rough. But kids are resilient.”
“I meant,” Yasha says slowly, digging her thumb absently into a groove on the wooden table, “don’t they need homes?”
“Well, yeah, Fjord isn’t going to kick them out.”
“Proper homes, though,” Yasha says, suddenly sheepish. “I meant, like, maybe - I mean, if we wanted -“
“Uh.” Beau blinks at her stupidly. “Wait, like - this home? Our home?”
“I just thought, maybe,” Yasha says, still digging at the groove in the table shyly. “We’ve got room.”
Beau says nothing for a long moment. Finally she puffs out a breath. “I - really?”
“Only if you want.”
“Wow, Yasha,” Beau says, but she’s starting to smile. “It’s not that I think it’s a bad idea, but you know I’ve still got so much I need to do, right? With the Cobalt Soul, with the Assembly…“
“Okay,” Yasha says, starting to smile too. “Okay.”
Beau raises her eyebrows. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she repeats, as serene as she’s ever felt. “You do your thing. Then you come home afterwards, and we’ll be here.”
Beau’s smile is wide. “Just like that, huh?”
“I think it could be really nice, Beau. I really do.”
“This is so fucking weird,” Beau says, grinning ear to ear. She shakes her head at Yasha’s objecting frown. “Not like that! I just mean that you’re suggesting something that is objectively unsexy. You’re suggesting we bring a child into our house to cause chaos and make us exhausted and stop us ever getting any alone time, and somehow it’s just incredibly hot. My brain is so confused.”
“There might be - oh, I don’t know - maybe a brother and sister who’d like to stay together. Some kids we can give a good home to that don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Beau practically yelps. “Some kids? First it’s one, then it’s a pair of siblings, now some - how many are you angling for?”
“I’m keeping an open mind,” Yasha says, and reaches across the table for Beau’s hand, looking her in the eyes earnestly. “What do you think?”
“I mean, I’m drawing the line at an entire troupe of orphans,” Beau says, gripping back and still grinning. “Just to be clear. I’m not ready for a whole Lionett-Nydoorin circus quite yet.”
Yasha looks at her from beneath her eyelashes “But just a couple?”
“Objectively unsexy,” Beau mutters, “would someone please tell my brain that?”
“Beau.“
“Right,” Beau says, with an edge to her grin that says she knows she’s drawing it out. “Kids. Orphanage.”
Yasha just watches her face patiently as she interlaces their fingers. The sun is low in the sky, and the light shining through the window is warm as it casts their shadows on the wall, their linked hands joining them.
“Yeah,” Beau says softly, “I think it could be really nice, too.”
Yasha squeezes her fingers. “I think three is the perfect number.”
“Cool it, Orphantaker,” Beau says, smiling nonetheless. The teasing name takes root somewhere inside Yasha’s heart, gentle and sure. It feels right. She never thought any version of it would, but here she is. “One thing at a time.”
Yasha smiles. “Sounds perfect.”
Tomorrow, she’ll start with bread.