Yang inhaled sharply as her eyes snapped open. Her heart rate was high and her orange tank top clung to her sweaty back. Another nightmare. Her eyes drifted over to the arm sitting on her nightstand. Maybe it was time she... no. She pushed herself upright and glanced down at the empty sleeve of her right arm. This was normal now. This was who she was.

She sunk back into her bed and stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Several minutes passed and she opened them again. She rolled onto her other side, then her back. She groaned in frustration as sleep never graced her. The minutes ticked by, slowly turning to hours, and still she was awake.

Maybe she was too cold? She tried tossing her blankets over her body, but soon found herself too hot. Was it the moonlight coming in through her window? Maybe she was thirsty. After a quick trip downstairs, she set the empty glass on her nightstand and dropped onto her bed. Still, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Deep down, she knew the real reason she couldn't sleep. She would never admit it, but the truth was she was scared. She was scared of the nightmares. It was where Adam Taurus waited for her. It was where Adam Taurus killed (F/N).

Blake had told her what happened that night. How they were seconds from death when (F/N) came charging in. He had fought against Adam, allowing the two of them to escape, Blake carrying Yang's unconscious figure over her shoulder. But then the building collapsed, and no one had seen nor heard from (F/N) since.

Not knowing was the worst part. Her imagination ran wild and filled her mind with dozens of possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. Had the Grimm gotten to him? Or had it been Adam? The worst of her nightmares were the ones where she saw him die slowly. Crushed under the weight of the fallen building, struggling to breathe. He called out to her for help, but she never came. And he died alone. Thinking he'd been abandoned by the one person he thought actually loved him.

She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. Usually, (F/N) would have been there to comfort her. He was always there when she needed him. This was another reason she couldn't sleep. For the past six months she'd been sleeping next to him. Now, the lack of his arms around her brought with it a cold emptiness that no number of blankets could replace. And the cold only reminded her that he was gone.

She bit back the tears and shook her head clear.

Resigned to the fact that she wouldn't be getting anymore sleep that night, she left her bed and headed for the bathroom. Her hand sought for the switch, and she turned her face into her shoulder as the bright lights blinded her. Squinting, she reached into the shower and turned on the water. She stepped out of her cargo pants and underwear, and with some difficulty, removed her shirt and bra. She quickly ran her fingers under the water to check the temperature. Once it was warm enough, she stepped under its soothing current.

She stood with her back to the shower head, the water straightening out her golden locks. Her hand closed over a small bar of soap and she began to slowly lather it along her arms and chest. As her fingers brushed along her shoulders, she remembered her first morning with him. How his hands had rubbed up and down her arms and body as he washed over her skin with gentle care. Her breathe caught in her throat, but she refused to allow herself to cry.

She'd always considered herself strong. Nothing phased her. When people talked about her, they spoke of her courage. How she was unashamedly herself and never apologized for it. They admired her for it, and it made her a little prideful. But the truth was her loud, boisterous demeanor was a shield she used to protect herself from being hurt. She supposed it had a lot to do with her mother leaving. Though she was too young to remember it, her mother's absence had left her wounded. If her own mother didn't want her, how could anyone else? So she lied to everyone. Made them all think she didn't need anyone else. That she was fine on her own. Everyone believed the lie. Even herself.

So she refused to cry now. To admit to the pain would be to resign who she was. So she hid it from herself. She refused to acknowledge the trembling of her lower lip. And the water trailing down her face was from the shower, nothing more.

But she felt weak. Abandoned. Ruby had left her, Blake had fled, (F/N) was gone, and she was alone. A small whimper escaped her lips. Just one strangled cry. That was all it took. A single crack in the wall she had erected, and it all came crumbling down. She fell to the shower floor and brought her knees up to her chest. Her arm hugged around her legs and her wet hair fell into her face, hiding the steady flow of tears.

The mirrors fogged as time passed, the room filling with a cloud of steam that grew more and more dense with every passing minute. Eventually though, the water turned cold, and the hot vapors dissipated, the mirror regaining its reflective surface. She had long since run out of tears to cry, and still Yang sat in a huddled mass on the floor of the shower.

A loud yelp of surprise from upstairs roused her from her depressed state of indolence. Her father must have awoken and stepped unsuspectingly into the cold shower. She didn't want to have to deal with the questions of an overprotective father, so she stood and turned off the water. She grabbed a handful of her hair and squeezed, wringing the water out of her locks. Her hand found the towel that hung from the hook on the wall, and, holding it under her armpit, she wrapped it securely around her torso. Her hair was blown dry, her clothes donned, and she stepped out of the bathroom just as her father was walking down the stairs.

"Yang." He said accusingly. "Did you use all the hot water?"

She silently sighed and put on a smile. "Yeah, sorry dad." She laughed.

Tai just rolled his eyes and shook his head with a light chuckle as he walked into the kitchen. Yang followed him and stood by the stove as he pulled the eggs and bacon from the fridge. They ate in silence, or at least she did. Tai was talking about going to the mainland for some reason or another, but she wasn't really listening.

After breakfast Yang fell onto the sofa and turned on the television as Zwei hopped up beside her and curled into a ball in her lap. She hummed in acknowledgement as Tai told her he'd be back in a few hours. With a final sad look at his daughter, he stepped outside, the door closing behind him.

Normally Yang didn't like just sitting. She much preferred staying active, it helped distract her, keep her mind away from... well, anyways. She found solace in a routine. Sweep the porch, get the mail, do the dishes, feed Zwei. Chores that were doable for a person with one arm, but enough to keep her mind busy.

It soon became very apparent, however, that today would be one of those days. One of the days when she did nothing but sit on the couch or lay in her bed. She turned the TV off. There was nothing on anyways, just more news coverage on the aftermath of the attack on Beacon, and she didn't need any more reminders of what had happened that day. She swung her feet up on the couch and laid back, Zwei repositioning himself so that he was in a small ball tucked under her chest. The minutes slowly ticked by as she unconsciously rubbed her hand along Zwei's soft fur. Eventually, her eyes began to droop. Her tired mind tricked her into thinking that the warmth against her body belonged to (F/N), and this comforting thought carried her to a dreamless state of slumber.

She got maybe an hour of sleep when a tickling sensation on her cheek roused her. She moaned and clenched her eyes.

"Cut it out Zwei." She mumbled as she batted at the dog to stop him from licking her face. Eyes still closed, her brow furrowed in confusion when she felt her fingers brushing not against soft fur, but calloused skin. It felt familiar.

Her eyes opened slowly; her vision still blurred from sleep. Her hand wrapped firmly around the hand that had been brushing against her cheek. She traced her fingers over the palm and back of the hand. She could feel the callouses and scars. She swore she recognized them. She inhaled and her nostrils were greeted with a familiar scent that made her heart race. Finally, her vision cleared, and she was greeted with the sight of a human face. Your face.

"Hey gorgeous." You whispered.

Yang pushed herself up into a seated position. You looked different. What were you wearing? Where were your long, flowing robes? Where was Rhino's Charge that was always slung around your shoulder? This had to be a dream. It had to be. She was frozen. Every muscle in her body refused to move, so you moved for her. Your arms wrapped around her body and you pulled her close, holding her tightly to let her know you were here. Still, she didn't move. Her arm hung limply at her side, her mouth pressed into your shoulder, eyes wide with shock.

"It's me Yang." You said, hand stroking through her hair. God you missed the feeling of her hair tangled in your fingers. "It's me. It's (F/N). I'm here."

Her brain finally seemed to reboot, and soon her arm was clutching to the leather pads on your shoulders. You held each other for what seemed like an eternity as you whispered sweet reassurances in her ear as your fingers continued to trail through her soft golden mane.

Tears were in both your eyes when you finally separated. You placed your hands on either side of her face, gently holding her gaze to yours.

"God I've missed you." You said, giving her a watery smile.

"(F/N)?" She asked. "Is it really you?"

"Yeah," you chuckled weakly, "it's really me. I'm here."

Her hand slowly raised to touch your face. Her touch was warm, her skin smooth. You'd missed her touch. You breathed deeply and closed your eyes. And then you were sent falling backwards as a hot sting burned the right side of your face.