Work Text:
It’s seven am, and Beauregard Lionett sits in the Cobalt Soul library. This is not an unusual occurrence - expositors sometimes need an early start, of course. Although if the literary carnage of strewn papers and inkwells is anything to judge by, she’s not just arriving. She’s been researching through the night, and quite possibly much of the previous day. The research topic itself seems to have… shifted, over time, judging by the wide variety of subjects the books around her cover. That doesn’t matter. What matters is the next connection, the next clue, the next path she finds connecting one history to the next but most importantly, all the new things she’s learning. This is important.
—
It’s half past three, and she’s in the training room of the Xhorhaus, beating a punching bag to smithereens. She’s not angry, she’s not afraid. This is just - this is just a thing she needs to do. Too much energy, too much twitchiness, why does it matter if her knuckles are bleeding if this will make her brain stay still for just a moment more. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here - or, not quite. She could figure it out. But it doesn’t matter, not compared to the bag in front of her, the repeated impacts jarring her body into not rest, not comfort, but quiet.
—
it’s Tuesday, probably. Beau’s not sure. She hasn’t left her room in what’s probably three days, maybe four. Yasha would know. But Yasha’s gone. Off with Caleb as a diplomatic envoy - not Yasha’s strongest point, or her most favorite, but they needed to make a point about the Empire and Xhorhas working together. Caleb was chosen over Beau due to his approximation of representing the Assembly, or at least its sordid past. Not his favorite task either, but one that only he, not Beau, can do.
So she’s home, alone. She has work to get done. That never stops. But she just can’t drag herself to do it. It’s not even hard, just paperwork. And it sits alone at her desk, and she sits alone in her bed, and the sun rises and sets.
—
it’s dinnertime, and they’re all squeezed around a handful of tables in the Brenatto house. It’s loud, it’s raucous, and normally Beau would be in the middle of it all, teasing Fjord or egging on Jester or even wiggling her eyebrows at Essek’s disguise of the day.
But today, that energy’s just not coming. She’s twitchy, annoyed, every too-loud laugh or sudden motion causing her to tense. Banter tossed her way that she’d usually throw right back gets snapped at instead, jokes met with glares or, increasingly, growling.
She hates that she’s like this, hates that she’s doing this to her friends, and most of all hates that she can’t fix it. So she sits, and winds tighter and tighter, and tries not to snap completely.
— — —
It’s eight am and Caleb pokes his head into the Cobalt Soul. He’s quickly directed toward his goal, who’s currently engrossed in an individual’s account of pre-Calamity elven politics. Her eyes fly across the page as she scrawls incomprehensible notes, spatters of ink flying wildly. She doesn’t notice Caleb sitting down next to her until he boops her on the nose.
“Wha- oh! Hey, Caleb! Guess what I found!” she says, intense focus shifting targets.
He glances bemusedly at the wreckage of paper. “Quite a lot, it seems.”
She waves an ink-stained hand. “Okay, yeah, I’ve had a couple tangents and at one point had to do a whole loop around when I realized this one fucking guy decided to censor his shit, but-“
“One moment, meine Schwester,” he says, placing a large blueberry muffin on top of her notebook. “Eat this, then explain.”
“Ooh, nice!” she perks up. “Thanks, man!” As she seemingly inhales the muffin, Caleb begins to straighten her piles of notes and books, organizing by theme and then by era. It seems like he’s going to be here a while.
As Beau takes a deep breath to launch off into the results of her research, he smiles. It’s not like he minds.
—
It’s four in the morning, and Caduceus is sitting quietly outside the training room. He’s been listening quietly to the repeating thuds of impact for a few hours now. Only now have they started to slow in frequency, one every few seconds drifting from a few a minute to silence, and a slow sliding noise.
He peeks his head around the corner. The sliding sound was evidently Beau slumping to the floor, half against the wall. She’s staring absently at her hands, blood wicking through the wraps.
“Hey there, Beau,” he calls softly. “Mind if I come in?”
She jolts. “Oh, yeah, sure, c’mon. Oh shit, did I wake you up?”
“No, don’t worry, I was already up and heard you when I came down for tea.” Only half a lie, because he’s still really no good at that. “Mind if I take a look at your hands while I’m here?”
She starts, staring back at her hands like she’s never seen them before. “Yeah, okay.”
He sits down beside her on the floor and takes her hands, slowly and carefully unwinding the wrappings. It’s not great - bruises galore and some split skin that’s tacky with blood - but he’s seen much worse. He methodically goes over every knuckle, gently wiping off the blood as he pours in just a smidge of godly power.
As he works, Beau droops, going from upright to leaning forward almost to his shoulders. When the last one’s done, he takes the blanket that he brought and snugly wraps it around her shoulders. “How about we get you to bed now?” he suggests lightly.
Beau shrugs. “Sure, s’fine,” she slurs.
And slowly up the steps they go.
—
it’s Tuesday, and Beau’s jolted from her circling thoughts by a Sending spell. “Hi Beau! Just checking in! We’re back in Nicodranas now, for a bit, and did you know we found this new bakery, and - Shit! Fuck!”
Beau sighs. “Hey, Jes. Glad you’re back.” She knows she has twenty more words to use, but she doesn’t have the energy to use them.
An interminable time later, there’s a brisk knock on the door, one polite shave-and-a-haircut. Beau doesn’t move.
Approximately five seconds later, there’s a massive crunch and SLAM as the door is kicked down. This is followed by some low hisses of “Jester, really?” and a bright, chipper, “Don’t worry, I have mending!”
Beau is still in bed when the curtains of her room are thrown open. “Ugh, fuck, seriously guys?” she groans, blinded. When the spots fade she’s face to face with a very upbeat blue tiefling.
“Yes, seriously!” she chirps. “We brought snacks and books and only one of them’s Tusk Love and paint and hey how do you get on the roof of your house?”
“Uh… climb?” Beau says, processing. “Yasha flies?”
Fjord sighs. “I love that the question was how, just starting off with that whole assumption.”
“And I was right!”
“Yes, because all our friends are insane.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk, mister push-buttons-eat-an-orb-summon-an-evil-god-“
As they banter, Beau’s briskly scooped out of bed, dressed in clean clothes, and thrown over Jester’s shoulder. She kind of just lets it all happen. Through an impressive feat of acrobatics, she’s hauled up onto the roof of their small townhouse, in the breeze and afternoon sun. With a bamf, Fjord follows via Misty Step. He’s carrying a platter of pastries and a knapsack full of who knows what.
Jester sits down beside Beau and leans into her shoulder. “There we go! That’s much better.”
Beau’s still not up to talking yet, but she quietly agrees.
—
The dishes are being cleared when Veth stands up abruptly. “Hey, Beau, meet me outside.”
Beau tries not to snap. “Why?”
Veth grins, all teeth. “You’ll see!”
Beau steps out onto the cobbled streets of Nicodranas and comes face to face with a loaded crossbow. That is very quickly unloaded.
“Veth, what the FUCK!” she shrieks, catching the bolt out of the air. A quick glance shows that it’s one of Luc’s practice bolts, unsharpened, but it’ll still hurt.
Smirking, Veth says, “Seemed like you were spoiling for a fight. So let’s fight! What, you scared I’ll win?”
And with that, she dives at Beau’s legs.
The ensuing fight is scrabbly and rough, both Veth and Beau fighting dirty. Beau stops holding back the first time Veth bites her. Passers-by in the street watch idly, but aren’t too alarmed. They’ve seen much weirder occurrences around the Brenatto residence.
Eventually, both Beau and Veth are panting for breath, nursing various wounds and doing their level best to hide it. Bent over, with her hands on her knees, Beau looks up - well, more like directly across - to her equally winded friend.
“Hey…” she says, awkward as ever. “Uh…”
Veth socks her in the shoulder. “It’s what friends are for!” she chirps, and she lead Beau back inside.
—
Some days are better, some days are worse. Many are just fine, enough that Beau has time to hope that maybe it’s gone, maybe her brain has its shit together this time. Not quite, even after Yasha convinces her to see a doctor and she gets some advice, some much needed validation, and an alchemical recipe that Veth can synthesize. But what’s important is she’s not alone. When she flies too high or falls too low, one of her friends, of her family, is always there to help guide her back.