hand of the road's throw
by fruitjuicer

hand of the road's throw

fruitjuicer

Summary

"Tang Fan," she starts carefully.

Tang Fan has no such concern. "Sui Zhou," is her counter. She dumps their bag at her feet, where its gaped mouth is swiftly fed her belt and chopsticks. "Your poor delicate Qing'er," she complains. "I will find a man and his wife to show me the pity here that you won't."

Notes

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 44595355.

Chapter 1

To Tang Fan's credit, she does make it some hours into their day's travel before she decisively elects to make her grievances heard.

"Sui Zhou," comes her voice out from but a half pace behind, a burgeoning whine already strumming at its consonants. "Stop, would you? I can't catch you."

Sui Zhou is very practically so, at the speed Tang Fan's foot-dragging has reduced them both to. But— she dutifully grinds to the utter halt needed for Tang Fan to supposedly recohere them at the hip. To her surprise, though, Tang Fan only lances a hand for their bundle of possessions, slung over Sui Zhou's back.

"What do you need?" is how Sui Zhou manages to muster her query into something resembling patient curiosity, albeit thinned of much politeness.

Tang Fan gives a monosyllabic nonanswer, long fingers tugging roughly at the fabric like a novice rider to a horse's reins. Sui Zhou, graciously and with good sense, capitulates to the steering and ducks her shoulder out from the makeshift strap, leaving her other side to list, laden by the bedrolls.

"Thank you," Tang Fan sighs, ungrateful. By the time Sui Zhou has shuffled through her heel turn, Tang Fan has taken her appropriated gains off towards the roadside. There, Sui Zhou watches her promptly plop herself down on the berm, dirt kicking up from beneath her boots and backside with a whippy flourish.

Sui Zhou casts a wary glance to the sky, where the sun hangs over their heads as heavy as it does high. Tang Fan had burned most of their morning first sulking through breakfast, then skulking about their campsite while Sui Zhou packed. She had to all but haul Tang Fan off by the collar by the end of it, lest she make good on some urge to flee off into the brush in search of a new life that didn't make her walk nearly as long and far. They've made poor time, and if Sui Zhou does not get them moving again, she fears they'll be bedding down somewhere out in the wild open, all the more unsuited for Tang Fan's contrarian sensibilities.

So, "We need to keep moving," is what Sui Zhou reminds her, edges as gentled as she can make them. Tang Fan's lip curls, though she does not loft her glare from where it is pointed into the belly of their bag. "Are you tired?" she tries next. Perhaps she can carry her for a while. Truly, she's made a rod for her own back to call wife.

"I will not take another night!" Tang Fan declares. "Would you have me take another night?"

"On the road?" Sui Zhou clarifies. "At camp?" She is almost certain, but one can never know, can they, with Tang Fan.

"Yes!" Tang Fan snaps. That settles that, then. "Look at where we are," she says, snapping her sleeve vaguely towards the flanking farmland. "Surely someone will have somewhere we can sleep."

The availability of shelter is hardly the point of contention, but that they are two unfamiliar Capital men travelling together, less likely to garner warm welcome and thus generous hospitality. Sui Zhou considers, for a moment, that she may need to carry Tang Fan after all, if she cannot behove her to address that and diplomacy between them summarily dissolves.

"Tang Fan," she starts carefully.

Tang Fan has no such concern. "Sui Zhou," is her counter. She dumps their bag at her feet, where its gaped mouth is swiftly fed her belt and chopsticks. "Your poor delicate Qing'er," she complains. "I will find a man and his wife to show me the pity here that you won't."

Very well. Sui Zhou is not blind to the wisdom of ceding this ground so she can give no quarter when it will later matter. Let Tang Fan feel the victor for now: the difference between her success and her failure has always been smug to sullen, and Sui Zhou is long trained to be deft enough to adapt for and with either.

"What is your proposal, then," she relents, mindful not to exaggerate the reluctance, lest its bloat give her gambit away.

"Soreness ill suits you," Tang Fan sniffs. Satisfaction, however, suits her quite entirely, from the pretty pleased pink rosing her cheeks to the crinkles cornering her eyes as her smile splits her face wide. A treat of a sight to reparate Sui Zhou for her apparent retreat while the battle was still bloodless. "Come here," she beckons. "Help me with my hair. Something off my neck."

Tang Fan has never been one not to set her sights high, and, thinking the world of Sui Zhou, she is more than comfortable asking for the moon from her. And Sui Zhou— well. Though no and never a miracle worker, she would be remiss to disappoint after all these years of eking past muster. Tang Fan has not put great distance between them to bridge; with a few steps Sui Zhou has crossed to her side, the span of her back taking the beating brunt of the sun. Beneath the shade, Tang Fan lowers her lashes, ever so lazy, then turns her head just as faintly, hair spilling free of her shoulders. Sui Zhou slips her fingers beneath the fan of it, feeling Tang Fan's joining shiver spark across the backs of her knuckles when they graze her sweaty nape.

A braid should suffice. Sui Zhou gently teases her guan from her ponytail, tucking it within her belt for safekeeping. Then, she unravels the ties, following the ebb of Tang Fan's flow as she moves to do something inscrutable with the breast of her robes. Unpicking her undershirt, perhaps, to give herself more form.

"We wed the year past," says Tang Fan, loud enough to be unmistakably meant for the both of them. "And moved to the capital to start our new life together."

"Need it be so complicated?" Sui Zhou dares to ask. She can't remember a time when they have ever had to make actual use of one of Tang Fan's lavish backstories, at least as far as getting their way beneath a roof to squat for a night. And Tang Fan would charm the rabbit from a wolf's mouth if it meant a meal for the morning after, to the break of any character.

Tang Fan gives an indignant squawk, the rounding jerk of her head stopped short by Sui Zhou's leash on her hair. "Oh— don't be like that," she settles on, stern. "It's hardly anything to remember at all. Are you done?"

"Be still a moment," Sui Zhou tells her. She can only work so quickly, even towards a middling result.

Tang Fan gets as still as she can go, at least, which is a rather gracious concession considering. "Fine," she dismisses. And then, with Sui Zhou's captive ear, she continues to weave her tale, hands floating up to pat colour back into her cheeks. "You meant to go into business for yourself, but it never worked out for long. Now we've costed through my dowry, so we're returning home to your parents, where we'll work in the small shop they own for themselves."

"I see," says Sui Zhou, twisting the ends of Tang Fan's hair together and fastening them fast with the ties. It's a sorry enough story, she supposes, as Tang Fan's often are. She finds some joy in putting her protagonists through their paces, no matter how much she claims it's just because tribulations make for better literature. "Here."

"Let me see," Tang Fan says, all but snatching her braid from Sui Zhou's hands in her scramble. She runs her fingers over it for a few passes, before deciding it is worthy of at least a hum. "Come here," she adds, craning to look back over her shoulder, before Sui Zhou can so much as think to go. "Kiss me. I packed nothing to plump my mouth."

Sui Zhou lofts an incredulous brow. Which means for very little, really, given that she fits a steadying hand between Tang Fan's shoulder blades, leans in, and does.