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Eula has the strong suspicion she's being rushed back to Mondstadt. It is laudable for her company to be moving so efficiently and swiftly at the tail-end of a three-week expedition, and of course they want to be home themselves, but normally they pace themselves more slowly after such a long mission in order to be fully alert to any dangers on the road. They're also being so aggravatingly solicitous that Eula has to threaten a few with vengeance to keep them from all but tucking her into her bedroll at night.
"Do you think me incapable of caring for myself?" she snaps at her unrepentant knights, some of whom are brazen enough to smile. "It is merely a scratch. Unless it is Mika's healing skills you disregard, in which case I will take vengeance for that as well."
Only Mika is actually cowed by that, however. Eula will have to put them all through a few tough obstacle courses when they get back from their post-mission leave.
Yet she, too, wants to be home as soon as possible. Not only because of her wound, either, taken from a powerful riftwolf and still recovering gradually from its corrosion. She can smell Jean here and there as they draw closer to Mondstadt: a trace of cut-grass freshness still left at the Stone Gate that suggests that her conference with the Tianquan had gone longer than intended, another trace, mixed around with Ragnvindr's ashy reek, near the Dawn Winery, and streaked all over Amber when she meets them at the crossroads before Cider Lake.
"There you are!" Amber exclaims. "You made really good time. We just got your letter this morning. Master Jean sent me to look after- I mean look out for you on your way back!"
Which explains why her spice-warm scent is half-muffled by Jean's own. Amber is old enough to protest too much marking, though still young enough that they all feel the need to, and will normally only indulge a touch of wrists before bounding off. It's a kind gesture to try and come smelling of Eula's mate. Eula is grudgingly touched.
"There's no need for that," Eula says, not willing to entirely let go of her annoyance, but she lets Amber grab her arm and touch their wrists before she goes rushing ahead of Eula and her knights into the city proper.
Eula refuses to waver, though her feet have grown heavy and her arm aches abominably. She dismisses her knights at the Ordo's doors, seeing them off to write reports or file maps or, if they have no such responsibilities, disperse for leave, laughing and joking and telling Amber to make sure Eula gets her arm looked at. None of them are cowed by her glares at that, either. Her company has really gotten far too complacent. She'll have to design some particularly fiendish obstacle courses this time.
At least Amber only smiles at her conspiratorially and says, "I think Master Jean can take care of it," before she bounds off to pester Mika for copies of his new maps.
***
Sword drawn, Eula marches into Jean's office, and is hit full-force by her scent. It has the faint moldy edge to it that means anxiety, but her smile, when she looks up at and sees Eula there, is glad and relieved.
"Acting Grand Master," Eula says, saluting, and then closes the door behind her and sheathes her sword. Her arm aches all the more at the motion, which she stubbornly ignores. "I've come to deliver my report."
"Sit down first," Jean says, standing and coming around the desk. "We got your letter-"
"Amber told me. It isn't half so bad as you all seem to think. Do you really think a bit of corrosion could slow me down?"
"You said yourself that it lasted for four days. Five, if it's still embedded. I want to take a look."
Though Eula could resist being escorted to the couch, she doesn't. Not because she's wounded, or tired, or because it's Jean doing it--she's being gracious, that's all. She pulls up her sleeve just as graciously so that Jean can unwrap her arm and run delicate fingers over the slow-healing gash.
Her scent is almost overwhelming this close together. Eula resists the urge to lean in and catch up Jean's hand, or, more daring yet, tuck her nose against Jean's neck. There is still some formality here, while she's still making her report, before the tea comes out.
"We'll need one of Lisa's potions," Jean says after a moment and a brief glimmer of dandelions in the air. "I'll send Noelle for one, and then you can give me your report."
She releases Eula's arm slowly, as if she's just as tempted to nuzzle against her as Eula is. Made bold by that, Eula turns her wrist enough for theirs to brush as Jean pulls away. Her own beta scent won't leave much of a mark when Jean's omega anxiety is still filling the room, but Jean's smile warms nonetheless. Eula watches her curl the fingers of her other hand delicately around her wrist as she goes to the door.
Noelle must see, too, but she will keep it secret, just as she always does. Jean has insisted on being more open, since Eula's uncle was foiled, that Eula is of her pack; the knights of the Ordo still keep it quiet, though, and only their packmates know that Jean is also her mate. Lisa makes an excellent cover there. No one would look at her flouncing about on Jean's arm and think Jean would have any reason to dally with a mere Lawrence beta when she has one of Mondstadt's most desirable alphas in her pack.
It is a great relief to Eula that she isn't attracted to alphas. The only thing worse than Lisa's knowing smiles is the thought of being vulnerable to her wiles.
Eula has twenty minutes to give her report, silently grateful that Jean takes exhaustive notes and thus she can put off writing it down until her arm is actually dealt with, before Lisa herself comes waltzing in with a potion in hand. The too-rich reek of roses swirls around her, half natural and half perfume--just like an alpha, to redouble her natural scent to the point of ruining it.
Still, the potion, much as it bubbles and burns when first poured into the wound, clears away the last of the corrosion so that Jean's gentle touch can heal it clean. Moreover, Lisa has had the decency to bring them tea.
"You'll be falling over asleep in an hour or so," she tells Eula, with a superior smile, "so you ought to enjoy some time with Jean while you can. She's been so very worried since she got your letter."
"We all have," Jean says, flushing, as if the moldy edge hasn't just now begun to fade from her scent. "But if Lisa says that the potion will make you tired, then she is right that we should take tea while we can."
Now, with Eula's report given and tea set out and no concerns left that won't wait until tomorrow, Eula can lean in when Jean sits down beside her. She can even take her wrist and press her nose to it, breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass. It's bright and clear, telling her that Jean is well, and the rest of her pack hasn't let her overwork herself in Eula's absence. Her pulse beats steady and strong beneath Eula's fingers in further testament of good health.
"Here," Jean says, tugging free to put a hand to Eula's cheek, and unfastens her brooch with the other as she tilts Eula's head in.
Eula goes willingly, pressing her nose into the stronger scent at her neck, held close for hours by the fabric over it and tinged with healthy sweat. She nips lightly at Jean's neck, scarred on this side by the thin line they'd cut to form their bond, since Eula lacks an alpha's sharp canines. There's no desire in the gesture right now except the desire for reaffirmation, but that's reason enough.
Reluctantly, she lifts her head to let Jean do the same, taking in her own scent, then resting her lips against Eula's pulse-point for a long moment before she straightens. The tea Lisa has chosen is a light white, rather than any aromantics that would drown each other out upon sipping. Eula is grudgingly grateful. She can, she decides, condescend to forgive Lisa for leaning up against Jean's other side and joining them in their tea.
They talk lightly of inconsequential things, little stories of Ordo life and the misadventures of camping in the field, but Lisa wasn't wrong about her potion's soporific effect. Eula finds herself leaning heavily against Jean, and can't quite make herself rise. This close, Jean's sweet grassy scent outweighs Lisa's perfume, leaving just enough rose in the air for Eula's protective instincts to relax in the certainty that her mate has a second defender. Gradually, she does indeed fall asleep.
***
She wakes all the same when the door opens, reaching for a sword that has been taken off her in her sleep to fit her more comfortably on the couch. The moment of panic fades, though, at Kaeya's bitter-wine scent and laughing voice.
"I see we're having quite an energetic sparring session today. Should I come back later?"
Jean glances down at Eula, who shakes her head. The more of Jean's pack around her the better, her instincts insist, and she's always been easier with Kaeya, fellow beta that he is, also at Jean's side. Not that Jean couldn't protect herself--she's no Lawrence omega, to hide behind the betas of her pack and pretend it's propriety and not cowardice--but it's a comfort nonetheless.
"Stay," Jean tells him, beckoning him over. "You can use my teacup, if you would like any."
"Thank you, but I'll pass. I was just coming by to see if anyone had plans for dinner."
He takes a chair from the table and turns it about instead of claiming the other couch. When he sees Eula looking, he taps the hilt of his sword and gives her a little nod, which she returns. He has the same instincts that she does, after all. She'll watch the door, and should any threat come through it, he'll have time to react while she's still fighting off the potion and gathering her sword.
Truthfully, should any threat come through it, Jean will react faster than them both. That doesn't mean that they can relax their guard.
Jean seems to read that interplay, giving them both a fondly rueful smile. She doesn't comment, though. Instead she says, unexpectedly, "Lisa and I were hoping that Eula would come home with us tonight, as she is still recovering from her wound."
"I'm not so frail as all that," Eula reflexively retorts, sitting up straight. The room spins a little at that sudden movement, though thankfully there's no twinge down her arm. "If all I need to do is sleep it off, I can do that in the barracks."
"Yes, cutie, but the barracks aren't exactly comfortable," Lisa says, in far too sweetly reasonable a tone. "You haven't come over since before I convinced Jean to change out her bed, have you? You should really try the new one out."
"You would be more comfortable there," Jean adds. "And I haven't had a chance to cook for you for a long time, either. Let me do that tonight."
Eula flushes hot with embarrassment and annoyance. "You recall how close a call it was the last time I stole into your house."
The memory is mortifying. She's a guerilla fighter, able to evade enemies of all sorts in the field; she should have had no trouble at all in the shadows of Mondstadt's night, with only drunkards and patrolling knights about. To make it worse, she still doesn't know how Sister Rosaria had seen her. Only Kaeya's acquaintance with her and quick talking had convinced the woman that Eula was there to receive secret orders, and nothing else. Or she supposes that thin lie must have worked, at least, since the tale wasn't all over Mondstadt in the morning and Sister Barbara still smiles at Eula just as idol-bright as she does at anyone else.
"I thought," Jean says, and the mold-tinge of anxiety is coming back into her scent, though she smiles tenderly at Eula, "that we wouldn't try to sneak you in this time. You are part of my pack. Kaeya lives there too, after all. Why should it be different simply because you're a Lawrence? And if it is enough for anyone to realize that we are mates, and not pack alone... if I have not built enough trust with the people of Mondstadt by now to weather that, then I have failed far more badly than I knew."
Eula isn't willing to examine the tender feeling in her chest just yet. Instead she looks past Jean at Lisa, eyes narrowed. "And you're willing to surrender this miraculous bed to me for the night?"
"Oh, it's more than big enough for all three of us." When Eula's eyes narrow further, she laughs and waves a hand. "Do you know how many empty rooms the Gunnhildr mansion has? I have one set up entirely to sleep in when Jean insists on keeping the light on to work late."
"We should get a room together for you, too," Kaeya adds.
Lisa puts a hand to her lips. "We really should. What about the one down the hall from you with that blue wallpaper? It would suit her coloring perfectly."
"Only if Eula does wish to be more public," Jean interrupts them, catching Eula's eyes. "My one worry is that this will make you the victim of even more cruel gossip. If you would rather not face that, I will not insist. Though you still should sleep some place more comfortable than the barracks tonight."
Flush fading, Eula meets her gaze square-on and allows her other packmates to fade into the background. There is worry in Jean's eyes, but there is also hope. The same hope that sits so tenderly in Eula's chest, spreading warm behind her ribs.
"I have withstood all the gossip everyone has already thrown at me. If you're willing to take it, do you really think that I would back down?" She tosses her head haughtily, knowing the others will expect it, and then lets herself smile. "Hmmph. I'll have my revenge on you for that assumption, mark my words."
Jean smiles back, soft and glad. "I have no doubt you will."
Weary still, Eula feels herself slipping back down against the couch. Jean reaches out and puts an arm around her waist; taking the unspoken invitation, she leans in and rests her head on Jean's shoulder. Surrounded by Jean's clean scent and the chatter of her packmates, Eula drowses, pleased and tired and deeply glad to be home.