Chapter Text
Yang pulled the moving trailer, hitched to her beloved bumblebee of course, into the driveway of her new house. It was too late in the night to haul all the boxes, appliances, and stuff in now but she’d start in the morning.
Pulling off her helmet and shaking out her long mane of blonde curls, she saw her. Leaning against the front door wearing casual dark clothes, in stark contrast with the light emitted by off-yellow street lamps, there she was.
Vale’s pantheress.
Gambol Shroud.
One of the best.
As part of her and Ozpin’s contract Yang got paid a very handsome amount and got a look at Gambol’s record, in exchange for her services and having to wear an engagement ring with a tracking device in it. The ring has some software in it that measures her pulse too, so if she takes it off the agency will know in an actual heartbeat. If she goes anywhere without it, their contract is void and her better half has orders to “subdue” her. Whatever that means.
A tracker? Placed on Ember Celica? Yang never thought she’d live to see the day but there it was, sat on her left ring finger. She felt a bit better about the whole thing when she noticed Gambol Shroud was wearing a matching one.
Gambol Shroud was a formidable to say the least. If she isn’t Beacon’s best agent, she’s definitely the most efficient one. Her success rate for missions? 98.3% over the course of 4 years. A lot of that success is because she almost never uses her true face. Gambol is like a magician the way she could quick-change into a disguise. This way she could be like smoke and slip through the hands of anyone who tried to catch her. You can’t take revenge on or chase someone who’s a shadow. Always stalking her prey with the look of someone else and executing her mission without leaving a trace.
That was her style.
She’s exactly what Vale needed. The kingdom wasn’t easy to be in after it fell a little over a decade ago. Yang knew that well enough. A blitzed kingdom leaves all kinds of scum sneaking in trying to rebuild it more to their liking.
Ozpin’s not the type to have that.
Which is why he sends his agents to intercept.
Gambol Shroud has been busting warehouses full of illegal substances and weaponry, arresting war criminals in apartments who snuck through Ozpin’s still half crumbled walls, and (most importantly) following leads on who destroyed his emerald city.
Yang doesn’t know her background, wasn’t in the file Harbinger gave her. But based on the spy’s accomplishments and skill set? Gambol’s been doing this for a long time, longer than she’s been with Oz. Doing it for someone who wanted to be kept out of the light.
And then there were two. Neither of them know each other's real names. The only things they know for sure are titles, rank, body count, and the impossible achievements that earned them their status.
In essence, complete strangers.
Well, that would be true. If they hadn’t seen each other one other time.
Yang had just finished lighting a foreign traitor’s penthouse on fire with them inside and was hopping the gate to get out before the fire brigade came.
Meanwhile Blake was repelling down a tall building just beside after a poisoning the drink of a corrupt countess.
It was a cloudy night which made it so picturesque when the stray moonlight illuminated the fact they had both landed on the same street not 20 feet away from the other.
Yang was wearing her black riding leathers with yellow accents and wore a black half mask.
Blake was in a cater waiter outfit with a hyper realistic mask in one hand and repelling rope in the other.
Slightly out of breath and relieved at a job finished, their eyes met for a long moment. Then they both turned running in opposite directions, Yang to her bike and Blake to her car, thinking the same thing:
‘That woman’s dangerous.’
Both of them remember that night. But they won’t say anything about it.
“Hey!” Yang calls with a smile and jogs lightly up the porch steps to her new partner.
The agent has sore muscles and a previous all-nighter written all over her face. She presses a house key into Yang’s palm.
“A spare key is taped to the bottom part of the mail slot.” Gambol Shroud says her voice is monotone and exhausted besides.
“Good to know. Let’s check out our new digs, yeah?” Yang unlocks the door and holds it open for the spy who wordlessly walks through.
The pair walk into the home. Because that’s what it was designed to look like. A home, even if it’s dark right now. It starts with a mud room and leads into a living room. Open floor plan with hardwood everywhere but the kitchen where there’s tile. Built after the attack on Vale from the looks of it.
If you turn left you’ll see it’s got an electric stove already built into the kitchen with good cabinets and half decent counter space.
Turn right it'll show you to a living room that leads to a hallway with doors to the master bedroom with its own bathroom, guest bedroom and a separate bathroom.
Both women deduced the layout while walking through the living room and both unconsciously made their way towards the master bedroom.
Opening the door there’s a queen sized bed and navy blue lounge chair already inside. On the chair is a 3 x 5 inch note card. Yang walks over and reads it out loud.
“[Congrats on your engagement! Find the proper gear in hiding spots built into the home. Go to the courthouse for your marriage certificates tomorrow at noon. Wait for a package containing further instructions.] Huh, your people are really straight forward compared to mine.” Yang fiddles with the card looking back at Gambol Shroud who is now in a set of loose pajamas.
‘What the fuck? When the hell did she have time to change??’
Gambol holds up a manila folder, “New identities.” and tosses it on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.
“We’ll take a look at ‘em tomorrow morning and then put them in the safe.” Yang takes it and shoves it in her jacket’s inner pocket.
“I’m going to bed. You’re going to sit in the chair over there and keep watch in case someone tailed you here,” The spy slumps over to the post of the soft canopy bed and looks back at her. “I know about your… reputation.” Her voice has the bite of conviction.
“What reputation?” The blonde asks and raises an eyebrow with a smile.
Blake knows that the woman knew full well what she was talking about.
She was the Dragon of the East.
Ember Celica herself.
A sun burning so bright and so beautiful that your wings would melt and you’d fall into the sea before you even knew it. If Gambol’s prowess comes from being able to synthesize a new appearance to stay undetected, then Ember’s is using her natural looks and charm to get through to people. The amount of heartstrings she’s strummed for a kill is only rivaled by the bodies she’s dropped dead or kidnapped.
Not only that but she had a flair in her work, ending it with style and making a dramatic scene that not even her clean up crew could totally remove. Working for The Nest, an independent assassin and infiltrator outfit based somewhere in the vast wilds of Anima, some character in the job came with the territory.
Luncheons at wealthy clubs, politicians calling for massages, private parties, all of them she would silver tongue her way into, find her target, and take them. There was a strange trust in the practice of relying on other people to just let you in that Gambol could never implement into her own work. She prefers to have control over the situation.
That’s not to say the spy isn’t familiar with her M.O., she’s had to play people’s hearts just like Ember a handful of times for assignments from before Ozpin’s agency. But she has to make sure the assassin knows that Gambol Shroud is nothing like her other targets. She has to make the boundary clear.
“Come near me, and I’ll kill you.” The spy says plainly but still serious, using the bedpost to pull herself onto the mattress.
“I’ve got no doubts about that.” Yang says, putting her hands up in surrender with a chuckle.
It didn’t intend to charm but Blake fails to be unswayed by that small laugh all the same. She draws the canopy bed’s curtains with a frown, lies down and turns on her side away from the assassin. ‘Damn she really is disarming. No wonder people fall into her clutches so easily.’
“You seem to know about me. But I don’t know a whole lot about you, Gambol Shroud.” She says taking off her leather jacket and putting it on the back of the chair. She pulls that chair towards the large window, and sits down looking out into the night.
“You don’t need to know a lot, just enough.” Gambol doesn’t move an inch to look at her when talking.
“Of course I do, I’m your wife now. I’ve gotta know all your little quirks and things.” Yang says casually and flicks her eyes over to the spy. Gambol Shroud answers back with nothing but silence and a cold shoulder.
‘Man, she wants to give nothing up.’ Yang thinks to herself at a loss. ‘Alright I’ll go first.’
“I can cook pretty well, but I hate doin’ the dishes.” Yang offers with a little humor.
Gambol sits up with a small groan. She thinks for a second, still not looking at Ember, calculating the game being played now.
A tit-for-tat.
I give a little, you give a little.
There could be much to learn from this. But she does have to give an answer.
“I have to take my shoes off at the door.” Gambol says a bit more curt than she meant from her fatigue.
“Same. I grew up that way. Or else your shoes-”
“Will dirty the inside with the outside.”
Blake finishes her sentence with a ghost of a smile at the familiarity of the phrase. It’s been so long since she heard her parents say those words. Since she’s heard them say anything at all…
“I also can’t let my outside clothes touch the inside soft surfaces. My bed especially.” She waves her hand across the duvet.
“That makes sense,” Yang nods along. “I normally do my laundry Tuesdays, but that depends on work, and I get my suits to the dry cleaners Fridays.” She says turning her body towards Gambol.
“I do mine whenever there’s time.” She says in an indifferent tone.
“What soap scent do you like?” The assassin asks with a tilt of her head.
The spy finally turns to look at her then. The movement wasn't anything grand. But it was with that eye contact and the connection that comes with it that made all the difference when Gambol said: “Lavender.”
There’s something in the way her hair is mussed, or how that loose sleep shirt looks on her, or those captivating her molten golden eyes (despite the dark circles underneath ‘em) that makes Yang think ‘Oh wow. She’s really really beautiful.’
Blake flinches when Ember Celica stands up from the chair so quickly, the spy grabs the blade she has under the sheets but doesn’t unsheath it just yet.
“Where are you going?” Blake asks, her eyes follow the assassin as she walks across the room.
“Out to get us some essentials.” Ember says while she twists the doorknob and-
“Wait.”
She stops in her tracks. “What?” The assassin asks and peers past the bedpost to look at Gambol.
“Can you really cook?” Blake asks slowly.
“Just shy of anything.” Ember nods with an offhanded shrug, still a little confusion in her face.
“I’ll wash the dishes. I like the repeated motions.” Blake says quietly. She thinks the chore is kinda fun sometimes. Even if she hates that it makes her fingers prune.
Yang smiles at her for a long second, knowing that she’d made a little bit of progress with the agent, before heading out through the bedroom door.
Blake falls back onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling for a minute running through the interaction 3 times in her mind. Memorizing the details, putting the bits of personality against what she already knows about the assassin and looking for weaknesses to build contingency plans upon.
Ember Celica may be her partner now, but she doesn’t trust her, and she has no idea why Ozpin does. When Blake had asked he gave a knowing smile and said she’ll be a “valuable asset” and to “not scare your new fiancé away”. Whatever that means.
‘Regardless, Ember Celica’s an assassin. A killer, no different than…How can I trust her? Who says she didn’t leave to lull me in a false sense of security and will kill me once I sleep? Leaving in the first place wouldn’t make sense seeing as she had at least 3 concealed blades on her but that could just be to get my guard down-’ Gambol’s train of thought is broken until she hears Ember’s motorcycle speed away.
She creeps beside the window and when looking down at the driveway there’s no sign of Ember or her yellow bike. ‘Someone else could’ve driven it away. I’ll stay awake for a little longer.’ She thinks walking back to the bed and passed the lounge chair.
‘She left her jacket...’
Yang had to get out of there. That woman is clearly too paranoid to truly relax with her there and the spy desperately needs sleep. Gambol didn’t seem to like her very much either so it was probably best to leave the spy be for a bit. She thanks the gods above when she finds a 24 hour grocery store.
Snagging a basket past the automatic doors she starts to walk down the isles.
‘No real perishables ‘til I get the fridge hooked up. Just some basics for now.’ Yang thinks while grabbing a couple canned goods, honey, bread, cooking oil, flour, jam, sugar, lavender laundry soap and softener. She liked the smell too.
Putting the items on the checkout conveyor belt to pay Yang tries not to get too lost in thought. She had no idea why she was in the position she’s in right now. Ozpin himself summoned her into his tower to sign the contract; despite her being a triggerman, not an agent. Her boss, Omen, explicitly warned her against forming any kind of association with old man Ozpin. But she didn’t stop Yang from doing it either, which made no sense at all.
Regardless, this job couldn’t be anything that she can’t handle with or without Gambol, just in case the spy was a lost cause and refused work with her. Yang hopes otherwise though, it might be more fun this way. She’s always been a “the more the merrier” kinda girl.
‘It’ll be interesting to see where this goes, that's for sure.’ She thinks as she says “Thank you.” to the young lady tending the register. Walking back into the house she locks the door behind her, takes her boots off in the mud room, and sets the grocery bags on the stovetop.
While unpacking her haul and sorting it all into the proper cabinets she listens for any kind of movement. Gambol must be either asleep or lying awake in an even worse mood from exhaustion. Creeping down the hall and opening the door as quietly as she could, Yang peers into the guest bedroom’s interior.
‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’
No bed. The only one in the house was in the master bedroom and taken by a cranky spy. She weighs her options and decides to bite the bullet and look into the master bedroom. Shockingly, Gambol Shroud was out cold.
When Yang enters the room properly she dares look a little closer. The spy’s all snuggled under the covers with a sheathed blade just barely peeking out from under her pillow.
‘She looks so serene sleeping. Too bad she doesn’t get a lot of it.’ Yang takes her place in the lounge chair and keeps a look out for the rest of the night.