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Isabela's usual razor sharp wit is of little use tonight.
There's a memorial service for Leandra in the morning; Sebastian's idea, carefully planned. Minerva is a mess, but there'd been a light in her eyes for the first time in days when Isabela had brought it up. Dim, nothing like her usual spark, but something alive all the same. It makes it easier for Isabela to breathe, seeing proof that they can bring her back from the edge, even if it's only by a few inches. Before now, Minerva had been like a shadow stalking her own halls, wandering them with a painfully blank look on her face. She's so small these days, nothing like her usual larger than life demeanor.
Tragedy stalks the Hawkes, it seems, and Carver's holed up in the Gallows, unreachable. They're all she has left, this cobbled together bunch of misfits. Isabela hopes it can be enough.
"It's getting late, love." She says gently, wrapping her fingers around Minerva's wrist in a loose hold, loose enough that the other woman can shake her off if she prefers not to be touched.
She doesn't, and something in Isabela's chest seizes.
Isabela's not sure how she'd ended up the one designated to spend this night with Minerva out of everyone in their merry band of tangled up lovers. Isn't sure why. She doesn't feel like she's any good at it, at caring for someone who's had the rug tugged out from under them like this. Someone who just keeps losing everything.
But the decision had been unanimous. Not even Anders had argued, a rarity. That makes her heart do a funny little jump, too. Minerva's skin is soft against her fingers, and the woman lets herself be lead to the tub easily enough. Lets Isabela unravel her robe, lets her trail kisses along her collarbones, steps out of her smalls when Isabela gives them a playful tug. She's not smiling, not really, but the corner of her mouth perks up to form something close.
It feels like a hard won victory, and Isabela can't resist the urge to press a kiss against the edge of Minerva's mouth, soft and full of affection. She'll regret it later, so much tenderness in one small gesture, but for now it keeps Minerva's eyes from glazing over again. That makes it worth it, she thinks.
With a bit more encouragement, Minerva's climbing into the tub, folding in on herself and sinking down to her chin in the warm water. Isabela lingers behind her, caught between wanting to give the other woman space or being close to her.
"Stay. Please." Minerva whispers, wretched and minuscule, and the decision is made for her.
Isabela drags over a stool, perches herself on it so she's level with Minerva's head. Leans in, until her lips are only a hair's width away from the other woman's ear. "Who am I to say no to a pretty girl like you?" She teases, and the choked sound she gets in response sounds enough like a laugh that it makes her stomach flip.
The surface of the water almost shimmers from the scented oils, and she lets herself take in the sight of Hawke's curves beneath it. She's only human, after all, and the fact that she's seen it all before (so many times, really) does little to curb the desire to take her in like a work of art. She allows herself the luxury of another kiss, on the tender spot behind Minerva's ear this time, and relishes the way it makes her shoulders go slack at last. When she pulls away, Minerva lets out a soft whine, and she can't help the grin that stretches so wide it nearly takes up half her face. "There you go, lovely thing. Just relax."
Isabela pushes down on her shoulders, delicately, and Minerva gets the idea. Sinks deeper into the tub, tilts her head back and lets her dark curls soak and fan out in the water. It's easy, then, for Isabela to run her fingers through the strands, working snags loose with dextrous fingers that have had more than enough practice on her own hair. It's easy work, and by the end Minerva is humming softly, eyes closed and finally looking like the world isn't about to come crashing down on her head again.
Isabela's heart gets another scare, when she's leading a slightly damp Minerva back into her chambers.
"Will you hold me?" Minerva asks, soft enough that Isabela could pretend to miss it. Could brush it off with a filthy jape, could make it mean less than it does.
But the problem is that she doesn't want to do any of those things. There's something heady about the way Minerva responds to her, the way the other woman comes back to life under her touch. It should scare her more than it does, should make her want to run for the hills, but the feeling that blooms low in her belly is warm like a shot of rum and just as intoxicating.
"No problem, love." She replies, like the words don't make her feel weak in the knees. Again, that ghost of a smile dances across Minerva's lips, and Isabela's heart picks up a rhythm that sounds strangely like it's spelling love.
Minerva slides herself into expensive, silken sheets as Isabela takes her own clothes off. Laughs, a bit breathless, when Isabela makes it into more of a dance with the sway of her hips. Makes the first move, grabs Isabela by the jaw and draws her in for a kiss that feels so much more like the ones they shared before.
There's a frantic energy to it, when Minerva moves to bury her face between Isabela's thighs, like she's trying to speak without using her words. It works just fine; Isabela understands her, message crystal clear. That thing that curls up in her chest and makes a home there has a twin in Minerva's, and they don't need to name it for it to be there anyway.
It's almost like it's sweeter, tonight, when she licks the taste of herself off Minerva's lips.