#then the way bea looks at ava when the halo lights up

[simplykorra]

beatrice + never letting go

[kaisollisto]

(Based off of the reality of having a metal ring in your back as a constant reminder of your fate and how that affects you as a person set in the Switzerland arc)

“Does it hurt?” 

Ava’s pressed face down into the pillow sleep curling around her limbs. She hums, she can’t remember what she says, she’s exhausted. Her arms are tangled beneath her pillow. She holds her fingers tightly between each other, her bones ache from the pressure but her hands no longer shake. Ava hasn’t experienced this before, a fear that haunts her at night. (She finds she cannot stop dreaming about dying. It’s stifling in the cover of night trying to figure out where she is.) 

She slowly opens her eyes and squints in the darkness. Beatrice is facing her a furrow in her brow that Ava knows she’s doing unconsciously. Ava’s lip quirks a smidgen, Beatrice looks funny. It’s a bit silly to her, Beatrice no doubt working out a solution to an unknown problem that Ava has yet to see in the middle of the night. In her sleepy state she wants to laugh at the imaginary cogs churning in Beatrice’s head. 

Beatrice scooches closer and Ava panics, her skin can taste the dust of Bea’s forearm. She hoists herself up on her elbows, turning to face Beatrice. “Wha?” Ava’s shaking off bits of sleep from her mouth when Beatrice repeats herself. 

“Does the Halo hurt?” 

She doesn’t know if she wants to answer that. Ava peers over Beatrice squinting at the harsh light of the digital clock on Beatrice’s side. Ava loves it, it reminds her of the early 2000’s and the aesthetic of waking up to an alarm to go somewhere. The clock blinks an innocent 1:43 Am, and Ava debates on letting her head thump back down. 

She turns her body on her side, she can feel the halo shifting in her back and it makes her want to throw up. The sides of the halo press against her shoulder blades and Ava resists the urge to yank it out. She grits her teeth and settles ignoring the skin of her back pulling tight to accommodate for the ring. Beatrice is still expecting an answer and Ava can’t lie to her, she pulls the covers of the sheet up to her chest hoping to bide more time for an answer. 

"Everything hurts Bea," Ava smiles, "getting my ass handed to me is hard work."

Beatrice frowns displeased but looks at her through her lashes, it's unguarded, the stress and worries of the world stay out of their room in the dead of night. Her lashes are so pretty and Ava wants to curse the soft glow of the moon. There’s just enough moonlight to illuminate her eyes but overshadow her freckles. Ava swallows down the taste of defeat, she can’t win, she thinks. 

Her gaze is soft, Beatrice is looking at her and it’s different yet the same. The same feeling in her chest constricting her lungs, the same soft gaze of Beatrice. Beatrice who likes what she sees in Ava when Ava can barely see where she begins. She doesn’t like to dwell on it, the truth of the matter being what belongs to Ava.

If she closes her eyes she can pretend just a little longer. She can give herself the hope of the future and what comes after all this. She can put down the fighting and the artifact and live. Ava doesn't want to think about it anymore, at least not tonight when Beatrice is here with her. 

Beatrice is soft. She knows it from hours and hours of training. She's felt it when Beatrice corrects her form, in the way she talks. She speaks from a place of care like she has turned the harsh words in her brain over and over to soften the syllables spoken to Ava. And Ava doesn't linger on it, the meaning behind it, (Ava didn't think she'd make it this far, finding a person who cares quite like Bea does.)

And Ava's got it bad, she knows she's fucked because Beatrice doesn’t say anything about her language and Ava can't not tell her the truth. She looks down, her hand fiddling with the bed sheet underneath them. 

"It doesn't hurt," if she thinks about it she can feel the fibers of the cotton between the pads of her fingers. "But it's very uncomfortable." She doesn't want to find the response in Beatrice's eyes, content to hear it from her voice. The soft British lilting accent that holds her just as soft as a touch. 

She waits, she can picture Bea’s mannerisms with her eyes closed but maybe she should check just to be sure. Ava peers up at Beatrice and she’s suddenly closer. Her eyes really are pretty, there’s a depth to them that Ava wants to spend an ungodly amount of time studying.

“Can I help?”

[sunshinesickies]

Warrior Nun Ava x Beatrice Sickfic

Could We Be More?

(Set during their time in the Alps aka when they’re both actually happy)

“Uh…boss?” A deep voice comes from behind Beatrice. Setting down her pencil, she looks up at him from where she sits, prompting him to continue with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

“Ava has a shift today, right?” Hans questions and Bea feels her heart skip a beat at the mere mention of Ava’s name, though her expression remains neutral. No such signs of her sudden emotions. “Yes…” She glances at her watch, “her shift started 30 minutes ago.” She informs, looking back to the Swiss bartender, her heart rate beginning to rise.

His hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “That’s the thing, well, I know you don’t like to reprimand her when she’s late but um, well, she’s still not here.” He ends with a nod, saying what he needed and swiftly turning on his heels, heading back down to the bar, leaving Beatrice’s heart pounding. Ava was never this late. She’d been so caught up in counting inventory that she hadn’t noticed the younger woman hasn’t shown up yet. How could she possibly lose track of her? It was her job to keep the Warrior Nun safe.

W-what if…no. No what ifs. Not until necessary, Bea thinks. Taking out her phone, she calls Ava, once, twice…three times, going to voicemail each time. Okay, maybe now she can worry. Immediately she shoves her things into her bag and rushes downstairs.

“Hans, you good by yourself today? I’ll double your pay and you can have all the tips from tonight.” Beatrice offers, having no doubt he can handle the bar alone, but feeling bad leaving him to do everything.

He simply nods. “Sure. Thanks boss. Did you contact Ava? Is she alright?” He anxiously asks about his friend. The young woman always seems to bring a sense of light and joy wherever she goes and her absence so far is definitely starting to be noticed by the bar’s regulars.

Beatrice lets out a sigh. “Thanks, Hans. You’re the best. And no, I’m going to look for her now.” With that, Bea rushes outside and runs practically the whole way back to the small, old apartment she’s been sharing with Ava. She actually does run the whole way up the three floors of stairs to get to their door. Stopping a moment to catch her breath, Bea then quickly enters, her bag being thrown on the kitchen table as her wide eyes scan the small apartment.

There’s no evidence that Ava’s still there. Nothing misplaced, no dishes in the sink. It was easy to see that she wasn’t in the adjoining living room or dining area. That leaves the bedroom. Bea is across the room in seconds, pausing outside Ava’s closed door and giving a gentle knock.She lets herself in when there’s no response. Squinting her eyes in the sudden darkness of the room, her eyes quickly adjust and easily make out an Ava-sized lump in the bed.

Beatrice’s whole body relaxes as she lets out the breath she’d been holding. The sight of seeing the sleeping Halo Barer, safe and sound brought her emotions back to normal. Swiftly and silently, she crosses the room and Ava’s face domes into view as she stands by the side of the bed. The younger woman is still asleep, which Bea finds odd. She knows Ava loves to sleep in occasionally but so far, during their life here in the Alps, she hasn’t missed work once.

Though, Bea thinks, she did seem abnormally tired last night. She’d skipped dinner and immediately gone to bed the second they’d gotten home, something Bea should have caught on to let her know something was off. Bea knows Ava’s been pushing herself during training and working extra hard at the bar, but the dirty-blonde always seems to have an unlimited supply of energy, always enjoying it all.

Bea watches the gentle rise and fall of Ava’s breath, looking so peaceful as she sleeps. All relaxed and adorable, curled up cozily in the blanket. Beatrice has to stop herself from reaching out to touch Ava’s face. She longs to graze her fingertips along the skin which she knows will be soft as silk.

Turning around, Bea has to tear her eyes away from Ava in order to keep control. But as she starts to walk away, leaving her to her obviously much needed rest, a small sounds stops Bea in her tracks. She turns back to see Ava’s eyes scrunch tighter, the rhythm of her breaths changing as her face twists into a distressed frown and her brows furrow slightly. The older woman immediately knows what’s going on and her suspicions are confirmed a moment later when Ava lets out a few more whimpers and starts tossing around, twisting herself deeper into the blankets as she continues to sleep.

She is having a nightmare. Bea knows them all too well. Many a night she would either wake up to a still dreaming Ava who thrashed around or a shaking Ava who had been startled awake by her night terrors. Each and every time, Beatrice is there to comfort her and it always works. Bea has learned that if she holds the Halo Barer tight and whispers soft reassurances in her ear, Ava always calms down in moments and is usually back to sleep not long after.

Reaching out a hand to gently cup her face, Bea lets her fingers graze along her cheek before ending up tangling them in the other girl’s soft, sandy brown hair. Her fingers gently scratch against her scalp in a soothing way that Ava must recognizes even in her sleep because she stops moving, quiets down and is breathing normally not even a minute later.

However, as Ava starts to relax, Beatrice’s worry only increases. The second she had touched her hand to Ava’s cheek, she’d noticed a strong heat radiating off her skin and when she felt her hair, it was slightly damp from sweat. Now Bea also notices the small beads of sweat that drip from Ava’s temples and the harsh pink blush that paints her cheeks behind her paler than normal skin.

Moving her hand to her forehead, Bea confirms that Ava is sporting a rather large fever. Everything clicks into place now and Bea sighs. She’s sick. “What am I going to do with you, Ava?” Bea speaks barely above a whisper as she gently slides her hand back down to Ava’s cheek, her fingertips as delicate as a butterfly’s touch.

It’s a useless question. Bea knows exactly what she’s going to do, she’s good at this sort of stuff. She’s going to take care of Ava to the best of her abilities. With yet another sigh, a thought bubbles in her mind. She should have known this was a possibility. While The Order doesn’t know everything about the Halo, they know it grants the barer extraordinary abilities, the ability to heal and come back from the dead. But since whatever bug Ava has isn’t life threatening, the Halo must not be doing much to ward off the sickness.

Silently, Bea carefully takes her finger from Ava’s face and walks to the door, but Ava, who must be sensing the lack of her presence, makes Bea stop in her tacks for the second time when she hears a small groan from behind her. “bea?” Ava’s voice is a raspy whisper that makes her throat catch, sending her into a small coughing fit. In the blink of an eye, Bea is by her side, her hand rubbing the girl’s back as the fit forces her into a sitting position.

“Shhh, you’re okay, breathe for me, Ava.” Beatrice takes slow, deep breaths, gently urging Ava to follow suit and soon the fit fades away. Bea holds Ava tight as she slumps against her strong body. Ava tries to murmuring something but with her dry throat and strong fever, it comes out as a raspy mix of slurred words that Bea can’t make out.

“What was that, darling?” Bea finds herself saying before she can stop herself from using the pet name, which fall from her lips so naturally, as if she’d been calling her that for years and not for the first time ever. Ava doesn’t seem to notice or react in anyway and Bea wonders if the feverish girl even hear her at all, but then Ava shifts slightly against her chest, her lips parting. “Can I have some water, please?” She whispers in a strained rasp that makes Bea wince ever so slightly at how painful it sounds. “Of course.” She speaks softly back, making quick work of untangling herself from Ava’s heavy limps and moving her so that she’s lying gently back against the pillows.

“I’ll be just a moment.” She promises, her fingers brushing a small, damp strand of hair from Ava’s face before walking to the apartment’s adjoining kitchen. Bea glances at Ava and sees her watching her, though her eyes flutter, fighting to stay open. Bea makes sure to stay in her view as she gathers a glass of water, some medicine and a cool damp cloth.

Ava watches Bea, never taking her eyes off her though it was getting harder and harder to keep them open. She’s not sure what’s going on or why she feels like this. Like she’d gotten super drunk then hit by a bus and punched into a wall. Ava tries to sit up a little straighter as Bea walks back over. She can see the worry on the older girl’s face. Ava hates that look. She hates to worry people. Hates being a burden. So she flails against the pillows for a moment, trying to get her clumsy limbs to cooperate until she’s sitting up a little more than before. Her chest feels heavy as she breathes and she’s surprised at how little energy she has after such a small movement.

As Bea approaches the small twin bed, she places a small tray on the side table, carefully holding a cup of water out to Ava. Ava mentally wills her arms to work as she reaches for the glass but Bea shakes her head, gently lowering Ava’s hands back down to her lap before bringing the glass to her dry lips. Ava takes a few slow sips, the cool water momentarily dulling the dry ache in her throat. She closes her eyes as she takes a few more and for a moment she thinks she should feel like she’s back at St. Michael’s, being bitterly taken care of by the old nuns, but she doesn’t. She wonders why the familiar action isn’t stirring up her trauma, until she opens her eyes again and meets the soft, caring gaze of Beatrice.

Beatrice. That’s the difference. Ava has never felt uncomfortable in her best friend’s presence nor has she ever felt like a burden to the quiet girl who seems to be a natural at taking are of her in a numerous amount of ways.

Ava pouts when Bea lifts the glass away from her lips and if she’d been more aware, she might have noticed the small flicker of a smile appearing and disappearing in the corner of Bea’s lips. “You have to take it slow, okay, Ava?” She sees Bea’s lips move but doesn’t quite register her words so she just nods slightly, willing to trust anything and everything that Bea has to offer. She really hasn’t known Beatrice all that long, but she’s the best friend Ava has ever had and she knows without a doubt that she would follow Bea to the end of the Earth if she’d ask her to. Ava feels her eyelids grown heavier, each passing second proving harder and harder to keep them open.

“No no, Ava wait.” She faintly registers someone’s soft voice say her name and she forces her eyes open to see a blurry Bea in front of her. Ava offers a small and her head droops slightly but she feels gentle fingers tilt it back up. “Just a moment, Ava. Then I promise you can sleep, okay?” Bea’s accented voice cuts through her foggy brain. She nods weakly, blinking fast to try and un-blurr her vision.

“Swallow this please.” Bea speaks and Ava opens her mouth, feeling Bea place a small pill on her tongue and for a second, panic swells inside her, her eyes widening, but her friend is quick to calm her. “It’s alright, Ava. I promise it’s only going to help you feel better, to help with that fever of yours.” Beatrice hums sincerely with a nod then holds the water back t Ava’s lips. “Good girl.” Bea praises when she drinks and swallows, coughing slightly as the pill feels like a rick in her tight throat. “Just rest now, Ava. Your body needs sleep.” Ava nods, her eyes already closing as she shifts to lay back down.

“Wait, Bea?” Ava mumbles, not sure what the other woman’s plan was, but hoping it doesn’t involve leaving. “Yes, Ava?” She sighs in relief when she hears Bea’s soft answer. “Wi-will you stay with me?” She pleads and immediately feels the bed dip as Bea sits down near her feet.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Ava. I promise.” Bea’s words are enough for Ava to finally relax completely and she no sooner feels something soft and cool being set gently to her forehead. It feels so good against her hot skin. But as much as her body yearns for sleep, there’s something missing, something off, keeping her awake.

After a few minutes, Beatrice can tell she hasn’t fallen asleep yet and for a moment, she isn’t sure what to do before her desire gets the best of her and she place’s her hand gently to Ava’s flushed cheek, her thumb once more grazing along her fevered skin. “Is there anything else you need?” She hums quietly as to not startle the sleepy woman. Ava is silent for a minute and Bea almost thinks she’s fallen asleep after all but then she speaks, her voice tired, slurred and maybe even a little shy.

“Will you hold me?” Ava whispers and Bea’s breath hitches slightly at her request, her heart beating a bit faster as Ava’s hand reaches out to find her own. “Please?” She adds and Be mentally kicks herself for taking too long to answer and making Ava think she wouldn’t. Of course she would. She would do anything for the woman laying in front of her. Bea smiles at Ava who looks up at her with such pleading that it breaks her heart. She nods. “Of course, Ava.” She immediately moves to get into bed next to the now contented Halo Barer. Ava’s face visibly lights up when Bea does so.

The nun pulls the blanket around them, tucking it cozily around Ava as the exhausted woman lets out a happy sigh and leans into the warmth of her friend’s comforting arms. Her head rests atop her chest and she closes her eyes. Bea’s impossibly delicate fingers start to soothingly massage her head and as awful as Ava feels, she decides right here and now that there’s no where else she’d rather be than with Bea and her kind, gentle, loving touch that she’d been void of her while life brings her an immeasurable amount of peace.

As she drifts off to sleep, a faint thought settles it’s way into her head, whether it was in a dream or not she didn’t know, but she wonders if this could possibly be more, if they could ever be more and with that, she feels Bea softly kiss her hair before sleep finally welcomes her body home.

[kendrene]

Hi Dren!! I hope you're doing well :)

For the prompt ask, 20. “It’s late, you should get some sleep.”

When Beatrice wakes up, the battered digital alarm clock Ava bought them second-hand reports it’s 3am. The nest of blankets next to her is warm, but empty. 

Her most recent dream has left a bad taste in her mouth. Her heart in the back of her throat. Adriel swooping in to take Ava away. Beatrice finding her, too late. The Halo — gone. And Ava — dead. 

That’s what has her reaching for the knife she keeps sheatherd under her pillow. What causes her to slide from underneath the covers without making a sound. If Beatrice was being logical about it, she’d admit to being overly cautious. After all, Ava may have gotten up to use the bathroom. But there’s no logic to the fear raking cold claws down her spine, and the dream — the plausibility of it — is still too vivid in her mind.

She can’t discount it.

So, she stalks through the small apartment, takes advantage of all shadows. Shannon taught her how, during her first weeks at Cat’s Cradle. One of the basic lessons, delivered in the dead of night to a class of sleepy girls ripped out of their beds. Beatrice could never forget it. Stood to attention in the moonlit nave of the cathedral, toes curled inward, the soles of her bare feet numbed by the coldness of the marble as Shannon’s voice, a gentle whisper, floated to them from the dark.

She’d explained how to walk in complete silence, talked about the soft trigonometry of shadows. Said that every surface — no matter rain, or shine or starlight — reflects a measurable quantity of light. What materials are used to bend and to absorb it, which pattern and style of clothing is best suited to a mission after dusk.

The theory of it hadn’t seemed hard. The practice — to cross the whole length of the cathedral undetected while senior sisters watched her from above like hawks — was nowhere close to easy.

At the kitchen’s threshold, finally, a sound. 

Beatrice folds her body low, crouches in the rectangle of night projected by the dresser. Extends her hand past its wooden corner, blade tilted just so. Mirrored on the edge of sharp damascus steel, the kitchen looks far away and kind of distorted, but the image is clear enough. The window has been thrown wide open to let sweet summer in, and Ava occupies a chair in front of it, her back to the door.

“Ava, what are you doing? It’s late.” Setting the knife on top of the dresser, Beatrice stands. She deliberately steps on the one floorboard that creaks, hoping Ava won’t startle. “You should get some sleep.”

°I tried.” Ava doesn’t turn. “Couldn’t fall asleep and I didn’t want to bother you. Guess I failed, uh?” 

“You didn’t. I just woke up and I—” I thought I lost you. I thought he’d found us. I was afraid you were gone. Beatrice breathes in. Pushes the words down. “I needed the toilet.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you, uh, are you coming back to bed?” 

A breeze works its way into the kitchen, scattering the maps of the area Beatrice had been studying before sleep. While not exactly cold, the wind carries a hint of a bite on its back. It makes her shiver. 

“Not yet.” Ava nods to the square of night framed by the window. “I’ve never seen a sky like this, you know? Had no idea there were so many stars.” 

The note of wonder in her voice draws Beatrice closer. She thinks, for no more than a moment, to the bed, now surely chillier than she’d left it. She could go back to it, she’s tired enough to and morning isn’t far, but the truth is she’s too used to Ava’s body next to hers, to the even breathing in her ear to fall asleep alone. Too fond of Ava’s arms, and the way they sometimes tighten around Bea’s waist in her sleep, like Ava, too, might be afraid of losing her. 

Dragging an empty chair next to Ava’s, she sits down, not quite in Ava’s space, their shoulders almost touching.

Outside the moon is low, so close to the shadowy outlines of the surrounding rooftops Beatrice swears she could simply reach up and touch it. At the end of its waning phase, it is barely a silver thread stitched into the velvet of the night, and the stars shine brighter from its absence. 

Stars. Hundreds, thousands of them. Beatrice hasn’t seen this many in years. Despite Cat’s Cradle vantage point on the hills of Antequera, light pollution from the city muddles the sky a hazy orange, making it much too bright. Only on particularly clear nights does the full spread of the stars appear, and it’s never quite like this. Not this vibrant, or this endless, the void between each pinprick of pulsing light so dark, dark, dark. 

“Do you think that’s where we go when we die?” Ava asks, hushed, causing Beatrice’s shoulders to jump. “I saw it on TV somewhere that the light of the stars is millions of years old by the time it reaches us. Some of the stars we are seeing tonight don’t actually exist anymore. But… what if it were souls, instead? Wouldn’t that be better? Maybe my mom —” Ava’s voice breaks over the word, and Beatrice dares not make a sound. Ava rarely talks about her mother. “I mean, maybe it’s people watching over us, and if souls eventually die, too, then it doesn’t matter, does it? Because they leave their light behind for us.”

Ava’s words, the idea of her dying start an ache somewhere deep in Beatrice’s chest. A pain that grows and grows, until her heart feels too heavy to keep beating against the weight of the sorrow that’s threatening to crush it, until all Beatrice can do is to hold back tears.

Her mind lingers on the brevity of life, on how that life may look sans Ava. An empty house, an emptier bed, nothingness for sky no matter the number of stars dotting it each night.

“Ava…” Ava’s gaze is still upturned, enraptured by the spectacle outside. Beatrice is glad for the respite. At least, the tears tracking down her cheeks will have a chance to dry.

“I know,” Ava rocks the chair back with a laugh that sounds a little wet. “Pretty heretical, right? I’m sure that’s what Mother Superion would say, anyway.”

“I think it’s beautiful, what you said, actually.”

“You do?” Ava half-turns, and in the uncertain glow of starlight she is beautiful, too. 

“Yeah. Um.” Beatrice clears her throat; the lump constricting it gradually softens. “People have imbued the stars with meaning since, well, since the beginning of mankind, I guess. It’s a comfort.”

“It would comfort me to leave a light on for you, after I’m gone.” The chair falls back in place with a thump. Ava pitches sideways, not shoulder to shoulder with Beatrice anymore, but nearly spilling in her lap. Beatrice’s arms automatically tighten around her.  

“You shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not going to die, Ava.” 

“Don’t make promises you know you can’t keep, Sister.” Ava pokes at her arm lightly, as if she knows Beatrice had been about to promise that, exactly. “You’re a nun. Nuns shouldn’t lie.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Beatrice admits aloud for the first time. It shocks her how easy the words come out, but perhaps it’s the fault of the dark and the quiet and an infinite sky full of stars. Nighttime makes everything more intimate, more sacred; this is the hour in which secrets that wouldn’t survive the harsh scrutiny of day can be set loose.

Beatrice almost slips Almost gives tangible form to the three words that have been brewing under her tongue. Seriously considers what might happen if she did. Would it be so bad for Ava to go into this war, knowing that she’s loved? Would it make things better? Worse?

She bites the inside of her cheek and tastes blood.

“I don’t want you to die, Ava.” She says instead. A wish, a hope, a plea to any god that might be listening and not only to her own. “And that’s the truth. Nun’s honor.”

“Good.” Ava snuggles in, face slanting into the crook of Beatrice’s neck. Her nose is icy cold. “Because as much as I don’t mind shining down to you from the sky one day, I like it better here.”

Beatrice rests her chin on the crown of Ava’s head, buries her nose in her hair. She can smell a faint trace of the cheap shampoo they share, and summer, the heat. The stars above them pale, then wink out one by one. Beatrice is glad to see the last one gone.

She likes Ava on this Earth, sleeping soundly in her arms better, too.

[daisychainsandbowties]

ava only fully understanding now what mary had lost in shannon, having picked up more of the story than mary had been willing to share in those scant few weeks before her disappearance. having had time to sit with herself and be able to look back and see the way mary had been so thoroughly wrapped around an absence, a corpse, and now in the aftermath clinging so tightly to her, to this idea of what she could have done to bea had she not survived

picking the story out of bea like unwrapping a wound. nights in switzerland with the windows open and the lights off and the whole world reduced to beatrice’s voice.

talking about mary so precisely, never slipping on the grammar. always mary is, like words alone could bring her home. but then the shift, inevitable, as beatrice draws the past out of her pocket like an old receipt and smooths it onto the table so that ava can look, breathing in a half-forgotten scent.

cedarwood and oil paint drying (‘it takes a very long time’). turpentine and a mug full of paint water and shannon’s mouth against it. charcoal dust and pencils scattered over her desk. boots propped by the door.

how mary would look at her. the glancing touches, the way they’d hold each other after missions and it made beatrice think of atoms colliding at great speed. turning into light, turning everything to dust.

beatrice looking down at her hands as the grammar shifts to shannon was.

when ava phases, her body turns to diffuse light, threads of scattered gold. she wants to ask beatrice if there’s ever a trace, a sketch, a silhouette of someone else inside that light.

she doesn’t ask, but when mary comes back she tells ava that she sees shannon everywhere. in the light falling down behind the hills. in roof tiles and old hoodies and too many pairs of boots.

‘do you see her in me?’

‘i see her in beatrice. with you it’s… more of a feeling.’

‘like a vibe?’

a slow, fond smile. ‘sure. it’s like a vibe.’

both of them roasting marshmallows on a campfire and beatrice just visible between the trees, stooping to collect more wood. when mary speaks again her voice has an ache inside it.

‘sometimes when i’m standing next to you i forget where i am, and it’s like i’m catching her light, casting her shadow.’

ava taking her hand, putting her head on mary’s shoulder and feeling a sudden surge of warmth in the halo. like a hand reaching out to grasp them both.

but all she says is, ‘you fucked up your marshmallow.’

they swap sticks so that when bea comes back she kneels next to ava, puts her hand over ava’s hand to teach her how to do it right. mary shaking with silent laughter as ava pretends to be clueless for the sake of bea saying, ‘here, like this. close but not too close to the flames.’

ava thinking too late, i’m already in the fire. i’m already alight.

kissing bea when she’s finished her demonstration and making her taste-test the perfectly cooked marshmallow. mary groaning and ava laughing into bea’s mouth, tasting sugar, carbon, fire.

watching mary sit next to the dying light as bea sets up their sleeping bags. ava privately of the opinion that they definitely don’t need two of them. then turning, seeing mary upset the ashes, look into the sky, lips moving.

maybe it’s prayer. ava knows she prayed to beatrice on the other side.

going into the tent and kissing bea slow, tender, hiding an apology in her mouth, on the inside of her arm, between her breasts. knowing she was almost an absence, like shannon. a loss, a thing of light and dust. knowing mary will never unravel it from her bones. but knowing, as she did when she kissed bea the first time, that love is worth holding, worth having. even for an instant, for the length of a kiss and a goodbye.

that a house is only ever haunted because someone lived in it, slept in it, painted its walls and ate meals in the kitchen. she wakes up in the morning and mary’s there, making coffee, telling ava that shannon always put a spoonful of sugar in hers, but no milk.

‘bittersweet?’

‘yeah.’

and ava knows from bea that mary drinks her coffee unsweetened, but sometimes with a little milk. and yet watching as mary pours out the coffee and empties a sugar packet into hers. sipping it and looking out at the trees, at the forest, at all these places shannon has never touched.

[birgittesilverbae]

i love the idea of babea au beatrice ghosting into ava’s room at the orphanage, taking in the posters on her walls and the stack of old books on her shelf, yellowed things even the libraries didn’t want anymore. ava tracking her as she stands there in the doorway & bea wondering who would possibly want to kill this girl.

(thinking of herself in the alleyway. the cold wet pieces the police would have found her reduced to if not for mary. arrested by the thought of lilith capturing that needle, of mary’s whipcrack motions in the moonlight falling on blood)

ava’s little ‘i couldn’t stand her’ and bea huffing out a real laugh, thinking the halo ought to rebel against it. snuff it out like an injury, because she feels as if the laugh cracks her open. that it lets out a little light. bea thinking, this child needs all the light i can give her.

assuring ava that they’ll make certain only good people are stationed here (some former ocs sisters, bea thinks, who know what it is to have nightmares, to feel like spare parts. ripping away from the thought because shannon)

ava nodding and ‘cool, cool.’ a thoughtful look, bea raising an eyebrow to invite it out. ava like ‘what i really want is someone to read to me. i know some places have the money to get audiobooks and stuff, but not here. do you, uh, like reading?’

bea, whose hands are accustomed to blood, to metal, looking down at her feet. ‘i did. i do.’

and so it begins, softly, with bea back at mary’s apartment looking through her old bookshelves. bea with the hood of her hoodie pulled up, stumping around in the library for books ava’s asked about, others bea just thinks she might like. ava falling in love with bea angling the page towards a slant of sunlight, in her civilian clothes, old star wars tees and shorts or slacks, looking so young. reading to ava but also getting her a phone and loading it with accessibility features so she can ask it to read to her when she can’t fall asleep. ava falling for bea’s voice, the way she grows braver over time and does voices, accents, drawing on her training for undercover assignments. she’s oddly good at this.

bea falling for ava over spun stories, soft light and old clothes and ava sending her voice texts at night so she wakes up and pulls on her boots and listens to ava say ‘good morning bea’ over and over and over again

yeah you're right and also is it possible to go one day without you hitting me over the head with a steel chair asking for a friend

[possibilistfanfiction]

argument pt 2?

[here's argument pt 1 (i guess lol); u don't need to read it for this to make sense fully but if u are so inclined & haven't read it yet it might be helpful context.]

//

you don't know what else you expected. upon a very quick reflection — once your brain reorients itself from beatrice is so hot — you realize you were foolish to think anything else, especially not without a discussion. but, still —

'what are you doing?'

it's clear what beatrice is doing, standing with jillian in one of her fancy labs. she's dressed in all black, a t-shirt delightfully tight on her biceps (focus, ava) tucked into loose pants reinforced at the knees, boots that are tougher than normal but lighter than those you would typically wear in combat — ones she prefers when fighting because it allows her quiet, stealth, full range of motion. 'trying on new armor,' she says, and if it was years ago, the spike of anger that starts in your gut and shoots up your spine — anger, and sheer panic — would have set the halo off.

jillian looks between the two of you — your fists clenched; beatrice's arms crossed over her chest — and says, 'well, i'll be looking over some specs in... another room,' and excuses herself.

wisely.

it hits you, all at once, when you look at beatrice — your fiance, your life partner — that, right now, maybe more than ever, she looks like a soldier. it's not been lost on you over the years, not with her nightmares and the quiet, chronic pain she bears with little more than a tender wince some mornings, the way she loses herself after loud noises or too many people in a crowd, her usually steady hands trembling — it's not been lost on your that beatrice has been fighting for a long time.

'you can't seriously be telling me you're not going to stop.'

'i'm fine, ava. i was cleared by my surgeon and my physical therapist to return to all normal activities.'

you're so used to gentleness, now, even with demons to fight on occasion and the lingering affects of a holy war too great to fully comprehend. you're used to beatrice's loose cotton crewnecks you like to steal; the rust-colored linen pants she loves, light in the breeze off the water. you're used to her whining for posterity about couples halloween costumes, her afternoon naps with her kitten purring on her chest softly. you're used to dates she plans meticulously that you don't even try to mess up because she's so intentional with how she loves you, full of thought and care. you're used to your big house on the beach and her laugh in the afternoon, the freckles on her shoulders, her hand in yours.

'i don't understand.' you release your fists with the progressive muscle relaxation you've worked on in therapy, then take a deep breath. 'you — you want to keep fighting?'

you're the one who changed her dressings after surgery, who took her to months and months of painful and slow-going, steady physical therapy. you're the one who washed her short hair with the gentlest hands you could, even that hurting the bone bruise along the back of her skull. you're the one who filled the prescriptions for her pain meds, who held her hand when she woke up. you're the one who loves her the most. you're the one who thought she was going to die.

'i —' she seems at a loss, for a moment, and then, 'it's my duty.'

'your duty?' it comes out shrill; so much for your muscle relaxation. 'beatrice.'

she clenches her jaw.

'you're telling me that you're, what, just fine getting fitted for new armor because your last vest got punctured by shrapnel and almost killed you?'

'ava.' it's a warning, and a tired one — exhausted from over a decade. 'you're still fighting.'

'i don't have a choice.' you hate yelling but you're overwhelmed by the idea of having to go through what you did again and again. 'don't you want — don't you want to choose?'

she swallows and leans back against the counter. 'if i —' she shakes her head.

'bea.'

'i — i can't.'

'i want to live,' you tell her, an echo of one of the first things you knew years and years ago, and her lower lip trembles. 'for so long i have wanted to live so badly, bea.'

'i know.' her voice is laced with unshed tears.

'i — do you want to?'

she sniffles and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling; it's a sure tell she's trying to compose herself but you can see her shaking, holding it in. 'i never thought i would.'

you step toward her, wait until she offers her hand. you lace your fingers together and wait. 'did you want to?'

'i didn't think — i didn't think i deserved to. i didn't think that me living a good life would be nearly as valuable as, well —'

'dying young in a blaze of glory for god?'

it takes her a moment, because it's the hardest thing in the world to hold, this grief, but then she laughs a watery little sound. 'something like that.'

'okay, but — do you want to now?'

it hangs heavy in the air. you know that she goes to therapy faithfully and you've seen her cry multiple times watching the sunset; she touches you like a benediction. but the answer is impossible to come by, sometimes — worthiness, and belief. 'who am i, ava, if not... this?'

you remember a book you'd read a few months ago, one of mary's favorites, that had made you cry often — where does it all lead? what will become of us? these were our young questions, and young answers were revealed. it leads to each other. we become ourselves. it's easy, to kiss the faithful gold band on her ring finger and then take her in your arms, put a protective hand to the back of her head. 'you're a fucking miracle,' you pray into her skin. 'you're the love of my life. you're a genius, and a black belt, and someone who avidly watches reality tv and tennis, only one of which is worthy of that kind of devotion.' you feel her laugh, snotty, into your shoulder. 'you're so pretty, and so handsome, and really funny when you want to be and sometimes even when you don't. you're remarkably forgiving; an incredible friend, a wonderful sister. you're someone who surfs because the ocean is beautiful and you want to see the sunrise. you're a very hot lesbian, and you're my fiance, and you're going to be my wife. you're my life partner. you give the world so much more than it has ever, ever deserved.' you both back up, just so you can look into her eyes. you hold her face in your hands, as gently as you can, run your thumb along a cheekbone, the constellation of freckles there that have bloomed in the sun by the sea. 'you will always serve the world, i know that about you. you're a child of god,' you say. 'you're beatrice.'

it doesn't surprise you when she kisses you gently and then tucks her face into your neck and lets out a full body sob. you rub her back through it, hold her up when her legs grow weak. eventually, as she always does, she calms and composes herself, steps back and dries her tears, runs a hand along her hair. her eyes are red but she takes a deep, steadying breath.

'thank you.'

you kiss her cheek. 'you're also my favorite.'

'now that i do know.'

you grin. 'don't get me wrong, like, fuck the military industrial complex obviously, but this is kind of a look.'

she rolls her eyes but her shoulders settle and then she looks at you seriously. 'i want to live a long life.'

'yeah?'

'so badly.'

'it's a little scary, right?'

she lets out a shaky, honest breath. 'yeah.'

'well, we'll figure it out.' you kiss her, the first of a kind stretching out ahead of you, infinite. 'i have an idea?'

she sighs, and you can't help but laugh.

(you watch her slice a plum on the shore of the lake in the alps you used to train at all those years ago, the lake you knelt down in front of her and she agreed to be your wife. the fruit is juicy and a color you can't quite bring yourself to comprehend: blood, your favorite sangria at the beach, natal dahlias. the house you stay at now — a few quiet days before you head home — is small and gorgeous, with a giant bed and a wall of windows that overlook the mountains. i love you here, you tell her — i love you like this; i love you however you are meant to be — i love you in peacetime, and you watch her slice a plum, the juice red and sticky on her fingers. she puts it to your mouth gently and the taste explodes like a kiss. she smiles and you feed her too; she sucks your finger into her mouth and you close your eyes — there will be time enough to touch her later. the water is calm, and the flowers are in bloom, and the sun shines bright.)

[stoically]

“Besides, your still a nun. Aren’t you?”

This line comes when Father Vincent attempts to join Beatrice and Ava in the van and Beatrice says no. Ava says she doesn’t trust him either but it’s better for their mission that he comes. Then she drops this line before reminding Beatrice that forgive is kind of her job. 

Proof that Ava’s salty over Beatrice turning down her ‘let’s run away’ plan. 

This season starts with Ava rearing to fight Adriel. She wants to get (back) into it. When one of Adriel’s cultists says she can’t run away from his light she shoves the guy so hard he goes flying. In public. That scene’s set up to show that Ava has changed. She’s no longer the irreverent civilian she was. She’s the Warrior Nun. In action not just in halo. So much so that she almost blows herself up when their initial plan to put the crown on Adriel fails. 

It’s not just Beatrice’s faith that was shaken by that fight. It was also Ava’s. She fell back into the old pattern of survival that she knew. Slightly different, though, because she wanted Bea to run with her. Which brings us to Beatrice’s faith (which is her business, as a nun). This whole season Beatrice’s character arc is figuring out how to be herself (how to live) without relying on the expectations of perfection in a role. Beatrice knows how to be perfect in a role. She’s way less certain how to be herself (and have that be enough for others and herself).

Except when they finally did return to the role that Beatrice can excel at, she fails. Epically. She (thinks she) gets her friend killed by her actions. Worse, the friend who was a trainee under her (Camila), who she was supposed to be looking out for. Along with Yasmine, who was not a Sister Warrior and Beatrice would assume she was also supposed to look out for. And she actively stopped the action that (might) have stopped Adriel. She failed so hard at being a Sister Warrior it was practically treason (in her mind). 

It wasn’t until that moment where her mission as a Sister Warrior was exactly opposite her feelings for Ava. With no time to think, Beatrice chose Ava. When she does have time to think, she regrets it. Not because she regrets saving Ava. Ava brings this up. Ava very pointedly says if Beatrice did what she ‘should’ have done to rescue Camila and Yasmine and the world, Ava would be dead. Beatrice ignores this. Doesn’t even go there. What Beatrice regrets is not being good enough to both do what she should have done (save everyone) and what she wanted to do (save Ava). This calls back to Bea’s first scene this season  and Ava saying “you know, you don’t have to be so perfect all the time”. In this moment, Beatrice’s greatest crisis of faith is between that part of her that hoped Ava was right and that part of her that feared Ava was wrong. Beatrice has no idea how to reconcile those parts. Other than doing what she’s always done, throw herself harder into the role given to her. No matter what it costs her. 

After the whole mind bending Crown of Thorns experience Ava appears a whole lot calmer about what she decided (did she though??). She approaches Beatrice in the van and makes a (kinda awkward) joke. “You look like you could Aikido someone into submission”. Only to get shot down with Beatrice’s “don’t test me then.”

Of course, Ava then proceeds to test Beatrice by saying Father Vincent (y’know, the guy who betrayed her and who directly killed one of Beatrice’s best friends and was tangentially responsible for the death of two others as well as releasing Adriel, that guy) was coming with them on their last ditch effort to save the world. NBD I guess. Beatrice immediately says no. Says she doesn’t trust him. Offers all the logical, mission centric reasons why this should not be allowed. Ava out logics her mission centric reasoning. Then proves she’s still salty (as much as she loves her nun wife) by practically saying “you want to be a nun? Then be a nun.” Very ‘you made your bed, now sleep in it.’ 

Ava very much wants to help Beatrice’s journey to loving herself, to being herself. And not just for the potential sexy times rewards. She thinks Beatrice is awesome and beautiful and wants Beatrice to think that too. She sometimes also gets very frustrated at how Beatrice hides behind duty to such a hypocritical degree (eg: becoming the boss after a month but Ava’s not allowed to blow their cover, being jealous of guys Ava talks to and calling it protection, pretending like she wouldn’t make the same call to save Ava). 

Which I think is why the scene where Ava’s dying after defeating Adriel is so important. Ava tells Beatrice to take the halo. Beatrice says no. Lilith offers a way to save Ava that means Earth looses the halo. Beatrice says yes. Beatrice has time to think (at least more than a split second reaction). She still chooses Ava. Living isn’t about Beatrice not fighting, it’s about Beatrice being true to herself. And the first step Beatrice took to that was choosing Ava.

[piratekane]

Has anyone asked for a 10 and 18 combo yet? 👀

not yet they haven't. so here you go.

ten: don't scare me like that eighteen: i can't lose you

Beatrice doesn't see Ava go down; she feels it.

One moment, there's a heat at her back that's so familiar - from the nights they spent back-to-back in their bed, from the days they trained back-to-back in the forests surrounding the Alps - and the next, there's an emptiness. Someone drives their fist at her. She catches it, turns his wrist over until it nearly snaps, then drives her foot into the center of his chest. His whole body deflates and he sinks to the ground.

She spins, clear eyes scanning the field. This was a routine retrieval - a grab-and-go, Ava had called it, and then suggested they go-and-grab something to eat after with a rakish grin. But between reconnaissance and arrival, the facility had obtained more guards, more security measures.

Ava had stayed at her back, sticking close. Beatrice noticed she had a tendency to do that, now that she's returned. They're hardly apart anymore; Ava is always a half of a step behind her or a half of a step ahead of her. Every time Beatrice turned to look at Ava, Ava was already looking back at her.

The attention was intoxicating. She's never been the center of someone's world before.

But Ava moves away and goes down and the emptiness Bea felt for months surges forward, nearly choking her. She spins again but things are moving too quickly, too many men, and she can't see Ava immediately.

Taking a deep breath, she centers herself. Her eyes close and she exhales. Ava is... there. This is new, too. This almost supernatural awareness of where Ava is, when she is out of reach. Beatrice focuses all her energy on that now, eyes opening just an stun baton swings down towards her. She kicks out, foot catching the man's knee and pushing it out unnaturally, eyes ahead.

Another man, another stun baton raised above his head. He's standing over Ava this time. Beatrice flicks her wrist and a throwing knife embeds itself in his arm, the baton dropping uselessly to the ground.

She follows, her body its own knife, and kicks him to his knees, jabbing two fingers into his throat. His hands goes up around it, choking out a cough, before she shoves him over. He starts to squirm away and she lets him, eyes only on Ava.

No, no, no. Ava lays there, unmoving. Beatrice drops to her knees. Her heart is pounding in her chest, beating out Ava's name over and over again. She feels for a fluttering pulse but her hands can't find the staticky rhythm of it. No, no.

Heaven took Ava once before; it's not going to get her back. Not when Beatrice is going to hold on until her fingers break.

The Halo. The Halo hasn't activated, hasn't kicked in yet. Ava said it was being - God, what did she say? Beatrice racks her mind for it. A fickle bitch. She nearly crosses herself. It had been finicky, picky about when it wanted to work. A paper cut hadn't healed all the way, leaving behind a small sliver of a cut, but the long slice down Ava's calf after she backed herself into a throwing knife was gone in a breath.

If it fails Ava now...

Beatrice takes a shaky breath and touches the Halo like she always has, presses two fingers against the top of the perfect circle, and exhales. She thinks of Ava's smile when she steals the last piece of bacon at breakfast. She thinks of Ava's laugh behind the cover of the book, Go The Fuck To Sleep. She thinks of Ava's hand sliding along her arm as she convinces Beatrice to stay in bed just a little longer. She thinks of Ava's body, warm and sleepy and pressed to her back, palm flat against her stomach as she snores gently in her ear.

She thinks - God, don't do this again and puts her fingers to the relic buried in Ava's back, believing in Ava, the highest power she knows of.

A burst of warm, golden light explodes around them. It blinds her, leaves stars in her eyes as she tries to blink her vision back into focus. She looks around when it does - bodies, strewn out along the floor in all positions; Camila and Lilith and Dora all standing with their arms over their eyes, crouched down in defense.

Ava groans under her hands. "That's one hell of a wake up call." She rolls over, body half propped up by Beatrice's knees. Her eyes flutter open and closed. "I felt that, like, all the way down to my toes. That was even better than that thing you did when you-"

"Ava," she chokes.

Ava's eyes open fully. "That thing was really good. You can't tell me it didn't completely rock your-"

"Don't scare me like that." Beatrice blinks back the tears that try to come now. "I can't-"

Ava softens, but her smile is still crooked. "Top 5 moments, for sure. Right after the time I- Hey. Hey, don't cry."

Beatrice doesn't know she is. But then Ava's hand reaches up, fingers still a little shaky and she brushes a few of them off the bottom of Beatrice's chin.

"I don't know how many times I can tell you, I can't lose you." Beatrice has to fight to get the words out, her throat closing at the idea. "You can't put me through that again."

Ava tuts but she can see the fear in Ava's eyes, the uncertainty. "Next time, I'll make sure to take your feelings into consideration."

Beatrice nods, not trusting the quiver in her voice. She runs her hand through Ava's hair, feeling a small cut fade away under her fingertips. She breathes in slowly, centering herself again. The mission means nothing to her now; they could leave and she would never care if they found what they came for. She came in with Ava and her only priority is to leave with her.

"But seriously?" Ava groans again and sits up, letting Beatrice hold onto her. "I feel like a car that's just been hotwired. It has never done that before." She turns Beatrice's hand over in hers. "What did you do?"

"I just... touched it." Beatrice frowns.

"I've always said you have the magic touch." Ava looks up as the other approach. "Lilith, don't I always say that Bea has the magic touch?"

Lilith rolls her eyes, ignoring Ava's question.

Ava leans a little heavier into Beatrice's side. "I vote Lilith goes alone the rest of the way. I definitely want to wait in the car." She lets Beatrice slide an arm under hers, standing her slowly. "Bea, we can - stop crying."

"I'm not." She is.

Ava rests her forehead in the juncture of Beatrice's neck, right where her collarbone dips in. She feels Ava breathe more than she hears it. "I'm not kidding about waiting in the car," she murmurs. "And if you want to leave an adult in charge, Dora is right there."

She hears Lilith huff, hears Dora's shoulders straighten in purpose, hears Camila laugh softly, but the sounds are drowned out by the small press of Ava's lips to the space under her chin and the squeeze of Ava's hand over hers.

They'll have time later, to figure out what happened with the Halo. They'll visit Jillian and there will be tests to run, numbers to crunch, exercises to try. Ava will hate every minute and Beatrice will have to convince her to just go along with it, make a few promises Ava will undoubtedly hold onto.

"What about tacos?" Ava asks. She grins when Beatrice gives her a withering glance. "I could settle for pancakes, if I had to."

"Ava," she chastises.

"Fine." Ava says it like it pains her. "We'll get those fancy salads you like and I'll get mine with steak, hold the lettuce. Does that satisfy Her Majesty?"

Beatrice doesn't bother with an answer, putting one foot in front of the other with Ava wrapped around her and telling herself that Ava is going to stay at her back always - even if that means she needs to tie them together for the rest of Ava's lives.

[caeliatus]

“I would have followed, if you left."

Ava’s eyes struggle to pull themselves out of their great depths to focus on Beatrice. Her irises seem to glow the same shade of light blue as the divinium fragments wedded with her flesh, flecks of the Halo’s gold slowly dimming out. Her mouth moves weakly as she asks, “What?”

“Switzerland. When you asked me to run away with you. I know I said no, but…” Beatrice trails off, eyes flicking to Jillian’s portal before them. Trying to count out how long she has left.

Ava’s eyes close briefly, and for a heart-wrenching moment Beatrice thinks she’s lost her. But then she can feel the Halo sputtering back to life in a sickly manner, and Ava’s lungs rattle with a grim drawing of finality and she says weakly, “I stayed for you. All of it—for you.”

Beatrice wipes the blood away from Ava’s brows, cradling her face in her hands. “I know, dear,” she says. “I know you did.”

Hollow desperation eats away at her insides. She has so much she wants to say—but how can she fit it into the time they have left? How can she bare her soul to Ava in the dwindling seconds before she has to go, to have Ava understand that she’s felt this way the whole time? There had to be some words, in all of the languages and knowledge Beatrice has, that can express the summation of their lives, be the pinnacle of the aching want and grief consuming her. There had to be something to be done to buy more precious moments, to stretch out the seconds just a little bit more so she could feel Ava’s body nestled against hers. Perhaps this was an opportunity long passed, etched into the little moments between them that Ava had never put together; a misstep, a smile, a laugh, a whispered conversation beneath the bedsheets as Ava showed her what a sleepover was like, even though they both had work come morning. The time to ignore the pressing matters in the world and simply exist in a world contained beneath their shared blanket had come and gone, and the worst part of it all for Beatrice was that she had never really let Ava know how she felt.

The best she can do now is to cradle Ava’s dying body and hold her with a tenderness she’d kept reserved for so long. It feels like she is being ripped in two; Ava always had a penchant for leaving her mark on things, people, places. The tears that fall down her face are hers; the shaky fingers that comes up to clumsily brush them away are Ava’s; the hand that captures it, holds it in place against her cheek is hers. She says, “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t give you up again. I gave so much already—can’t I be selfish for once? Can’t I just have you for a minute, where all of our problems don’t matter anymore?”

“That’s called the afterlife, Bea. You haven’t unlocked that yet..” Ava manages a ghost of a smile, corners of her mouth just barely twitching upwards. The Halo’s energy shimmers, coalesces, and some color creeps back into her cheeks. But the effort looks like it exhausts her. “You gotta let me go soon.”

“Does it hurt?” Beatrice asks.

“No. Not really. I can’t feel much anyways. The Halo is busy trying to keep me alive.”

“Maybe Jillian can take care of you—“

“No,” Ava says, shaking her head. “I have to go through the portal.”

“How do you know that?” Beatrice snaps, frustration and desperation welling over into her voice. Her chest has been wrenched open and her heart laid out for anyone to see. Ava had, over the course of knowing her, stepped past all of her carefully constructed walls, and picked apart her barriers and stepped into her embrace. “You do know you have no idea what will happen if you go through, right? How long it might be before I see you again—I might never see you again. I don’t want to risk it. I want you to stay.” It sounds wrong to say want, all choked with hope and pleading. It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, aside from the one time in Switzerland where she’d whispered it against a sleeping Ava’s temple the night she finally let herself admit that her vows were no longer the first priority in her life. That time had felt secret, empty— a test. This feels like leaping off a cliff, she can see the ground rising up to meet her with a stone cold indifference, and the only thing that keeps her from truly going into freefall is the weight of Ava’s body in her arms.

Ava says, “I know. It’s a shitty move. Sister Francis always thought I was a shitty person. But I can feel it. The Halo can feel it. It’s the only way.”

“Ok,” Beatrice says, hollow. Such a travesty it was to lose the only person she ever allowed herself to hold on to! How cruel of the world and God to take the one thing she held close to her. She swallows hard, throat welling up painfully as she says, “Just—before you go. Please give me a sign you’re okay in there? Anything, I don’t care what it is—just don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I’ll send a text saying Superion smells like an old lady.”

Somehow, Ava manages to get a laugh out of her. “Alright,” Beatrice says wetly. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise. So you know I can’t break it.” Ava hooks her pink around Beatrice’s, squeezes it. “See?”

“Promise you’ll be okay too. You’re not coming back from Reya’s realm until you’ve healed fully, even if it means I have to wait a little longer until I see you.”

“But—“

“Nope. No but’s. No premature returns or I swear I’l send you right back.”

Ava shuts her mouth. Beatrice smiles briefly, then leans down to kiss her. The Halo flares up, sending a hot current of heat beneath Beatrice’s skin. Ava kisses her back, chapped lips bloody face and all of her beauty and gentleness, and for a second Beatrice entertains the thought of just kissing her forever, she’d be okay with that; Ava’s lips are warm against hers and Beatrice finds herself sinking into them with a sigh that melts away the tension in her shoulders.

For a moment, the cracks in Beatrice’s heart mend themselves and it begins to beat strongly once again.

Then Ava pulls away just enough to say, “You know, you’re making it really hard for me to go.”

“You’re making it impossible for me to let you go,” breathes Beatrice. But she can feel Ava’s grip slacken as the Halo sputters out, and when Ava begins to lean heavily on her, she knows it’s time. She gingerly lifts Ava and carries her to the portal, easing her onto the stop step. The words she wants to say jam themselves into the back of her throat.

Of course, Ava has no such issue, having always had a heart big enough to love the entire world. “I love you,” she says, face distorted by the portal’s power, and then she’s slipping soundlessly out of Beatrice’s arms and vanishing to the other side before Beatrice can find an answer. The portal shuts down after that, leaving her alone in a heavy silence.

Beatrice eventually finds the courage to say the words back, but it’s to empty air, the person who holds her broken heart in their hands in an entirely different realm.

[simplykorra]

AVA: do you think its possible to fall in love with a client and have it work?

Ava stares at the unsent message, knowing that if she sends this to Chanel, it’s going to open up a can of worms she may never be able to close.

It’s terrifying, and she feels somewhere between lovestruck and stupid, because how could this happen? This is the kind of thing she makes fun of JC about.

Her whole plan has always been to make sure the line is clearly drawn in the sand. She’s had clients tell her they loved her. She’s had them offer her jobs and money and futures where she doesn’t have to work anymore just so she can be with them and only them.

It’s not new, it doesn’t make her special - that’s just a part of the job.

For Ava, it’s always been so easy to say no. To ease them away and let Suzanne handle it and then continue with her life as if nothing ever happened.

This though, she didn’t ask for this. She wasn't looking for this. Beatrice was supposed to be her big payday. Easy and uncomplicated, just a lonely rich girl who needed some arm candy and a little backup.

Halo gave that to her, she gave Beatrice everything that she had - but somewhere along the way the line in the sand got washed away by the tide and now Ava feels lost.

Because she’s never been in love before, but she’s starting to think this is what it feels like.

Beatrice is the first thing on her mind every morning, which isn’t surprising since they share a bed, but even if Ava wakes up at one in the morning to roll over, she sees Bea lying next to her and she misses her.

It’s so fucking stupid, she feels so fucking stupid because how could this possibly work?

Hey, remember when you paid me a shitload of money to pretend we were dating, do you think that would be a cute story to tell our kids?

Ava lights up her cigarette and takes the smoke deep into her lungs. “Stupid,” she sighs, because it is and she deletes the message to Chanel and decides to think about it more. She needs to think, she needs to understand what this is she’s feeling.

[quietblueriver]

Right on Time (Ch. 1)

When Ava makes the jump, she’s assuming that she’ll emerge in one of Jillian’s 1,000 rooms, or maybe in Cat’s Cradle, if she’s lucky.  Instead, when she bursts through the Arc, she’s back in Adriel’s stupid fucking upside-down cake of a church, about 20 feet from where she took a lethal hit of Divinium shrapnel (totally unnecessarily, as it turns out) and almost died.  There are at least two dozen people she doesn’t recognize gaping at her. It’s not what she’d hoped, to say the fucking least.  

When her ears stop ringing, she hears feet pounding on cement and a broken, “Ava!” And suddenly, she’s good.  Because the body hurtling toward her?  That’s exactly who she’d been hoping for. 

“Beatrice.”

And of course it’s Beatrice, still somehow graceful as she stops from a dead sprint in front of Ava.  Beatrice, who is the least composed that Ava has ever seen her, including that one time she came home early from the bar and accidentally walked in on Ava naked-lounging on their bed after a shower.  She can see Bea’s frantic eyes trying to analyze every part of her body for injury, her hands hovering as close as they possibly can to Ava’s body without actually touching her. She doesn’t let herself touch Ava, because, and Ava knows this, because she knows Beatrice, she’s worried that she’ll hurt her.  It’s very sweet and absolutely not going to work. 

Ava throws her arms around Bea, pulling her close and whispering into her neck, “It’s okay, I’m okay, I promise.” 

Ava’s senses are still acclimating to this world, so she’s hyperaware of every part of Bea. She lets herself drop into the sensations, lets everything else fall away. Bea smells different, the normal hint of cloves replaced with something much more clinical and antiseptic. There’s the familiar press of knives against her sternum and stomach, moving with every hard breath. Across Bea’s back below the straps of her knives, Ava feels cotton, smooth against the pads of her fingers and much softer than the fabric of her typical tunic, below that, the tense muscles of Bea’s shoulders and back. Ava presses in gently, curling her fingers into muscle in the way she used to when Bea was tensed up over the books in the bar, or hunched over the cutting board clearly taking out stress over Adriel on the veggie of the day. It seems to work—she lets out a breath and leans her body into Ava. 

After a moment, Bea’s arms circle her waist, holding her tightly, and she murmurs, lowly, “Ava.”  And Ava lets out a small sob of relief because Bea’s voice around Ava’s name is exactly the same as Ava remembers, the low pitch taking Ava back to nights in Switzerland, when Bea would half-wake at Ava’s return from a late shift, throw an arm around her on reflex and whisper her name into the dark of their bedroom. It was Bea at her least guarded and Ava knew it was a gift to see her that way, relived those moments as often as she could when she was stuck in the hellhole that is Reya’s realm. Bea tightens her grip, and Ava can’t believe she gets to have this again.

She lights up, literally, as she does these days, the halo sheltering Bea in its glow.

**********************

While she’d have preferred to stay wrapped up in Bea for at least a few hours before having to acknowledge anyone else’s existence, they get about a minute before other members of the OCS converge on her.  

Or, they attempt to converge on her. The second Beatrice hears movement toward them, she turns around and they almost simultaneously take a step back, all except Camila, who flings herself at Ava and then pulls Bea into a hug with them both. 

As they pull apart, Ava smiles at Cam and takes Bea’s hand, keeping her close.  She can’t help but notice the looks Bea is getting from the other sisters and randoms (former followers of Adriel? The Church? Some other badly-dressed cult?) taking up space in the basement. Bea must notice but doesn’t appear to give a shit. She keeps hold of Ava’s hand and steps forward just slightly so she stands between Ava and the strangers. Ava, having just spent who fucking knows how long getting the magic metal in her back supercharged by a god, could flatten everyone in the room without breaking a sweat, would do it without hesitation if any of them made a move toward Bea. But she doesn’t pull Bea back, just squeezes her hand and admires the set of her shoulders—protective Bea is just as hot as she remembers. 

Hotter, even, as she stands there in what must be clothes loaned from Arq-Tech security, tapered black pants tucked into familiar boots and a long-sleeved black shirt with the Arq-Tech logo on the sleeve. Ava never really thought the paramilitary vibe would do it for her but she also never thought a fucking nun’s habit would be top five on her list of turn-ons either so she’s down to roll with basically whatever at this point. She has a sudden vision of Bea as a mime. She could learn to love stripes. Ava lets herself stare for a second longer before turning back to Cam. 

Camila is smiling her biggest smile, tears in her eyes, and she reaches out to squeeze Ava’s forearm. 

“Welcome home. We missed you.” 

Ava isn’t willing to let Bea go right now, but she turns her hand somewhat awkwardly to grip Cam’s forearm back, letting her smile grow as wide as it can. She feels tears start to prick at her own eyes. 

“I missed you, too,” she wipes at her suddenly wet face, “so much.” 

Camila steps into a half-hug, wrapping her arm around Ava’s waist and leaning into her side. Unlike Bea, she’s back in her habit, the semi-tactical version, and suddenly Ava, wrapped up in two of her very favorite people, is crying harder, the weird, happy tears of disbelief she hasn’t cried since the early halo days, years ago (years ago) now. Bea presses close in concern, body still between Ava and whoever is out there, the hand not in Ava’s coming up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. Ava presses up to kiss her forehead, smiling and laughing as she comes back down. 

“I’m counting this as the next, Bea. You ready?” 

Bea’s eyes are still clouded with concern but her smile grows as big as Ava has ever seen it. She’s beautiful. 

Bea blushes. 

“Said that out loud, huh?” Ava shrugs, keeps grinning. “You should probably get used to it.” 

Camila gently jostles Ava. 

“You’re very cute, the two of you. You’ve also got an audience. Are you feeling well enough to travel? Just back to Jillian’s.” 

Ava moves forward, pulling Bea to her side, so she can see the rest of the room. Camila’s right. If anything, there are more people in the room now, most with more recognizable Arq-Tech or OCS affiliation. They’re staring at her, not even pretending to be doing anything else. But Ava sees all of their eyes keep flickering back to Bea, like they’re keeping track of exactly where she is and what she’s doing. Ava doesn’t like it, purposefully angles her body so that the halo is visible to them, lets it flash to life and hum lowly. There’s a murmur. Good. 

“Cam, who the fuck are all these people?” 

Camila ducks her head around to look at Ava’s back, comes back with a raised eyebrow.

“Thought I’d give them something to look at, at least. In fact...”

Ava smiles, decides to show off a little as she lets the halo create a dome of light and warmth around the three of them, now able to keep Cam and Bea protected with hardly a thought. It’s worth it for the looks she gets from them, delight and awe from Camila, something like relief and affection from Bea. The murmur grows louder. Ava can feel their eyes. 

“To answer your question, Cam, I feel fucking fantastic. Please get me out of this room.” 

Camila nods and starts walking toward the elevator. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

Ava falls in behind her, Bea at her side. 

*********************

Ava takes the ride as a chance to be as close to Bea as possible. Camila basically shoves the both of them at the back door before hopping into the driver’s seat. Ava climbs in first, tugging Bea in after her and throwing her legs over Bea’s lap, tucking herself into Bea’s body. Bea cradles her close. Ava’s not actually in her lap, but this is the closest comfortable option for a car ride. It’s not the safest position, but she could literally wrap the van in a bubble if she needed to (Reya fucking sucks but she did teach Ava some cool new tricks) so she’s not worried about it. 

As they pull into the road, Camila calls Superion, puts the phone on speaker. 

“Camila. Is it true?”

“Yes. She’s back.”

The tentative and hopeful “Ava?” that comes through is almost enough to make Ava cry again. 

“It’s me.” 

There’s a sob on the other end of the line. Bea’s arms tighten around her. 

“Welcome home.” 

And then Ava’s crying again, pressing her face into Bea’s neck while Bea runs her fingers through her hair. 

“We’re on our way, Mother. Half an hour so.”

“Good, good. We’ll see you soon.” 

Camila looks in the rearview, actually winks at Ava when she catches her eye. 

“Actually, could I speak to Dora? I was hoping to discuss the logistics of the Arc and revising temple clean-up timelines.”

Superion answers after a moment, confusion evident. 

“I’m sure she’s here somewhere but can it not wait?” 

“I just wanted to get a head start because of...the weather. Beatrice can keep Ava company while we discuss the details.” 

“Ah.” Superion says, obviously amused. “Yes, of course. Let me go find Sister Dora for you so that you two might discuss...the potential for rain. Hello, Beatrice.”

Ava stares out the window at the clear blue sky, wonders how it is that being very badly wing-womaned by two nuns invested in her queer lady romance isn’t even close to being the weirdest shit that’s happened to her in the last day alone. 

“Hello, Mother Superion.” 

Bea’s voice is even, because of course it is, but Ava sees the pink in her cheeks, runs her thumb along the color, watches it become more pronounced. 

“It will be nice to have you back at the house.”

“Thank you. It will be good to be back.”

Back? Has Bea been gone? She raises an eyebrow at her. Bea traces it with her thumb, murmurs, “tell you later” into Ava’s ear. She shivers and makes a kind of embarrassing, and definitely loud enough to be heard in the front seat, noise. Camila clears her throat.

“Right. Any word on Dora?”

She takes the phone off of speaker and busies herself working through what, Ava puts together from key words, is total bullshit mixed with some small talk. 

Ava takes full advantage of a moment alone-ish, letting her hands wander, tracing patterns across Bea’s sternum and over her bicep, down her arm, along her jawline and the shell of her ear, taking note of the things that make Bea’s breath hitch and filing them away for later. And, like, they’re not fucking in the back seat—everybody’s clothes are on and she’s keeping it PG—but it’s gotta be just as bad, maybe worse, in terms of shit other people don’t want to see. Because Ava’s just like, adoring Bea, or whatever, with Camila right there in the front, and she knows it’s fucking gross, way too intimate for anyone but the two of them. Ava’s pretty much beyond shame at the moment, what little she had abandoned in Reya’s realm, but she feels a little bad for subjecting Cam to their...whatever it is. Not too bad, though, because she basically gave Ava a thumbs up (a wink, actually) to all but jump Bea and Cam will 100% be giving her shit for this later, anyway. Now, though, Cam appears to be totally ignoring the rearview (really throwing traffic safety to the wind here), her voice much louder than necessary as she speaks to Dora. 

Bea lets Ava’s hands wander and keeps hers mostly still around Ava’s body, steady and sure, eyes always waiting for Ava’s when she looks for them. Ava knows that she and Bea have to talk. Of course they do. But she’s just spent a few years hanging around gods and demi-gods and angel-demons whose only understanding of physical contact is violence, not that Ava would’ve been looking to cuddle one of those total fucking egomaniacs anyway. It’s just, after the halo, she had gotten used to being tactile with the people in her life, to showing affection and care with her hands. She had taken full advantage of her ability to touch, and to let herself be touched (or to decline to be touched). And then she was alone again, able to touch but almost always through violence, able to feel but offered little more than pain. Reya touched her to mess with the halo, occasionally, and while Reya wasn’t Sister Frances, Ava always felt the echo of her, of that kind of violation, a perfunctory interest in Ava as the inhabitant of a body she was obligated to care about. 

So Ava kept the phantoms of Bea’s hand on her face, Bea’s arms around her, for as long as she could, thought over and over of the casual brushes of her hands on Bea’s back and shoulders in the bar and in their flat, of the press of her body in sleep, of the sensation of Bea’s hair, damp from the shower, when she’d cave to Ava’s begging and let her play with it, sometimes keeping in the braid Ava loved weaving over and over. 

(Bea taught Ava to braid a week into their time in the flat, after she caught Ava watching her put her own braid together before training. She brought home some colorful thread, taping it to the table in front of both of their chairs in sets of three. 

“Bea.” 

She had kissed her cheek for the first time, then, a little overwhelmed with the simple kindness of Beatrice. Bea had looked something like bashful, lifting her shoulders lightly as she sat, “It’s great for dexterity.” After a moment, quieter, “And I thought maybe you would like to learn.” 

After a night of sitting and practicing with her like she hadn’t been doing it her whole life, like there was nothing more interesting than watching Ava learn to fold the string into a pattern, Beatrice had smiled at her and said, uncharacteristically shy, “Maybe tomorrow you could try with my hair. If you’d like.” Ava had to stop herself from kissing her.)

She’d tried so hard to live on memories of touch, and it had kept her going. Now that she’s back? She’s not going to deny herself the comfort of touching Bea, of feeling Bea’s touch. They’re making up for a lot of lost time. 

“I like your new look,” Ava says as she pulls at the fabric of Bea’s sleeve. “Mercenary chic. You’re,” she makes eye contact with Bea, “killing it.”

Beatrice laughs. Ava wants to make her laugh forever. Ava is in love. 

“Dr. Salvius sent some clothes.” Bea had been gone, then. Ava bookmarked that for later. “I couldn’t wear the habit anymore. I won’t be putting it on again.” 

Ava stills her hand on Bea’s elbow, presses gently.  

“Bea.” 

She smiles at Ava. Jesus, Ava is fucked for her. Absolutely gone. It’s the best feeling in the world. 

“I knew before we went to the temple, Ava. It was always going to be my last mission for the Church. As a sister, anyway.” She eyes Camila in the front seat. “I want to talk to you about it. But later?”

“Of course,” Ava resumes the pattern she had been tracing on Bea’s forearm. 

After a moment, Bea moves her hand from Ava’s legs to touch the material of Ava’s tunic, runs her fingers along the patterns pressed into the dark leather.  She doesn’t ask, but Ava answers.

“It’s stronger there. There’s a kind of…energy that Reya wraps around it, but it doesn’t work here. She did teach me to do something like it with the halo, though—it’s pretty fucking cool. I’ll show you later.”

Ava covers Bea’s hand with her own and taps their twined fingers gently on the leather. 

“And anyway this was really only for training, for everyday stuff. There’s a whole fuckton of other armor she has for the real fights. Honestly, Bea, it’s unbelievable.”

Bea’s body stiffens for a moment before she forces herself to relax.  Ava feels the familiar pattern of intentional breathing against her body. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Bea puts a finger under her chin and holds her steady, eyes serious. 

“Ava. You said earlier that you were okay.”

Ava grins at her, “Fucking fantastic, I think I said. And I am.”

Bea rolls her eyes lightly. 

“Right, yes. Fucking fantastic.” 

Ava gasps, puts her hands over her heart. 

“Language, Sister Beatrice.” 

Beatrice leans closer, taking Ava by surprise. 

“Not a sister anymore.” 

Her voice is low, breath hot on the skin of Ava’s neck. Ava swallows. 

“Well, fuck.”

“Language, Ava,” and Ava can hear the smugness in her tone, is so happy that Bea is teasing her that she could fucking cry. Ava immediately flips her off, and Bea grabs her finger, curls it gently back in to make a fist, which she pulls close to her chest. 

“I know you said you’re okay, but Ava,” she squeezes around Ava’s wrist, serious again, “you don’t have to be. I know you want to take care of yourself and that you hate feeling like a burden. I understand why. I respect how independent you are,” a wry grin, “even when it makes my life harder.”

Ava flattens her hand and puts her palm against Bea’s sternum, feels the press of leather where the strap of her knives sits. She stays quiet as Bea breathes in.

“But Ava, you are part of a family now. You are loved, and the people who love you want to know the truth, when they ask how you are doing. They want to listen and to be happy or sad with you, or to help you, if they can. It is not weak to let yourself be loved that way. I know this must feel a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. I promise I am working on letting myself be loved, too.” Bea smiles softly at her, her eyes growing wet, and Ava traces her hand up her neck, to her cheek. “You helped me understand that I might be worth loving, Ava, for myself.” 

“Beatrice.”

Bea turns her face into Ava’s palm and presses her lips to the skin she finds. Ava’s body lights up. 

“The point being, we all want you to actually feel fucking fantastic, and we don’t need you to pretend when you aren’t.”

Ava notices suddenly that the van is actually silent. Camila is no longer half-yelling at a sister in alternating languages. She is instead quietly driving, hands at ten and two, knuckles white on the wheel. Bea has noticed, too, is watching Camila quietly. Cam is the one who speaks next. 

“I haven’t been listening. I swear. But Dora had to go and I’m waiting on someone to call back to confirm a transport plan for the Arc so I just happened to hear...”

“It’s okay, Camila.” Two voices at once. Cam makes eye contact in the rearview.

“She’s right, Ava. You’re our family. We love you. You don’t have to be okay for us to love you. We want to listen. We want to help.” 

Ava sighs, leans up to grab Cam’s shoulder and squeeze before settling back into Bea, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. 

“I...am going to need some help. I know that. But also I’m okay. It’s complicated.” 

“It’s allowed to be complicated,” Bea says, intentionally loud enough for Camila now. Camila nods. 

“I do want to talk about it. I really do. But first I want to eat like so much food. Can we please get ice cream? I really want ice cream. Also, weirdly, eggs. And a shower.” She groans in pleasure at the thought. “And, like, god, Bea, can we stay in bed for at least 4 days?”

She says it without thinking because she and Bea had been sharing a bed (in a friend way, because that’s a thing) for weeks before she left and bed had become theirs not hers, something she had held onto tightly when she was gone. She’s honest to god not even talking about sex (not that she wouldn’t ask Bea to stay in bed with her in a sex way, obviously, she just wasn’t right then because Ava would like to have an actual conversation about what’s happening between them that doesn’t involve the time pressure of a violent death or poor fucking Sister Yasmine lurking in the background). But she hears it the moment she says it and, welp, it’s out there now. Moment of loving friendship broken by Ava’s loud fucking mouth. 

Beatrice chokes on air. Camila quickly reaches up to physically turn the rearview so that she can’t see the backseat. Which, like, aggressive. Ava didn’t ask Bea to fuck right here, right now.  She didn’t ask her to fuck her at all! She pushes away the yet her brain throws at her. Not the time.

The phone rings again. Ava swears she hears a, “Thank you, Lord,” from the front before Cam is speaking loudly again. 

Bea appears to have recovered—her cheeks are only slightly pink and she can meet Ava’s eyes. “We can do whatever you want, Ava.”

Well that certainly doesn’t help Ava’s brain stay on track. Beatrice clearly sees where her mind goes because she blushes and rolls her eyes. “What I mean,” she flicks Ava’s shoulder gently, “you pervert, is that we can talk whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Camila, or Mother Superion.” 

And, right, Bea is being kind and reassuring and lovely, and Ava is grateful, resting her head on Bea’s collarbone and exhaling, “Thanks, Bea.” 

Ava goes back to tracing patterns across the parts of Bea she can reach and they’re quiet for the rest of the ride, listening to Camila loudly and unnecessarily discuss meal schedules and whether they might have a movie night for the novitiates soon.

*************************************

When they pull into the compound, Camila is still on the phone, and she turns to the backseat to smile at them before hopping out, opening the back door for them, and making her way to the entrance, which is noticeably lacking the same kind of gawking crew she had been met with at the temple. Superion coming through, Ava is sure, and she reminds herself to say thank you. Ava takes the chance to press a kiss to Bea’s cheek and begins to extricate herself. 

She’s pulling herself up and over toward the door when she feels Bea’s hands on her hips, gripping gently, and on instinct she sinks back down, and oh, yep, yeah, she’s straddling Bea. And Bea is looking at her own hands on Ava’s hips like maybe they’re magic. It’s very cute. 

“Um, hi, Bea.”

Beatrice shakes her head and looks up at Ava, eyes still full of wonder, before the panic appears to set in. She starts to move her hands but Ava is quick, trapping them against the swell of her hips with her own and settling further down. She meets Bea’s eyes and smiles. 

“It’s okay. I like it when you touch me like this. Unless it’s too much for you, and then I can...”

Ava starts to move a leg and then Bea is squeezing her hips again. 

“No. Please stay. I...I like it.” 

She runs her hands to the small of Ava’s back and lets her palms spread. It’s almost possessive. (Ava wants it to be possessive.)

“I missed you so much, Ava.” 

Her voice is so earnest and gentle and Bea that Ava feels herself start to cry again. 

“Oh my god,” Ava laughs out, moving her hands to cup Bea’s jaw, “I missed you too, Bea. So fucking much. There aren’t even...I can’t even tell you how much.” 

Beatrice lifts a hand to gently wipe away a tear and glances outside to see Camila at the call box by the gate, still on the phone. Bea meets Ava’s eyes. 

“Everyone is going to have a lot of questions for you, and I imagine Dr. Salvius will want to run quite a few tests.” She frowns slightly. “Although tell me if you need to rest and I can handle them for you. You should get whatever time you need.” 

Ava smiles at her, moves her hands to rest on her shoulders and thumbs at the dips of her collarbones beneath her shirt. 

“You’re sweet. I’m really kind of wired, Bea, but I promise I’ll tell you. I was serious about wanting to sleep, but I can’t right now.”

“Right. Good. That isn’t actually what I wanted to talk about. This might be the last moment we have alone together for a while and I couldn’t let it go without saying this." She breathes in deeply, holds Ava’s eyes. "Ava, I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Ava stops breathing for a second, can’t move, feels the halo hum at her in a gentle reminder. Bea must hear it because her face is suddenly concerned, hands moving to her waist and running over her arms like she’s checking Ava for injury. “Ava, are you…?”

Ava shakes her head, laughs. “I’m fine, Bea, promise. I’m more than fine. God. You literally,” it’s bad, she knows it’s bad, “take my breath away. The halo was just giving me a little nudge. I love you so much, Beatrice, holy shit.”

Bea is laughing and Ava is maybe the happiest she has ever been. She can feel the halo singing, waiting to shine, and she doesn’t want to stop it, but the light would be a bit much in the van.  She lets it pour through her instead, warmth and light flowing through and from her body, the still-strange feeling of the glow in her eyes. 

“Ava.” 

Bea’s voice is awed, and Ava preens a little, because yeah, it’s fucking cool that she can do this now. She lets the energy fade and presses a kiss to Bea’s forehead before sitting back against Bea’s knees. Beatrice is looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world, and the best thing is that it’s familiar, that Beatrice has looked at her that way for a long time, that Ava knows that feeling has nothing to do with the halo. She basks in it. 

Bea says again, “I love you. Ava, I tried to say it before you left and I’ve been so afraid that I was too late. I never want to worry about that again. You deserve to know how loved you are. If it’s alright with you, I want to keep telling you,” her hands move back to Ava’s hips, almost unconsciously, “to show you, just how much I....” Bea catches herself and her face flushes and my god Ava had missed her, can’t believe she’s being given this gift, lets herself raise an eyebrow teasingly but otherwise stays quiet. Bea seems to gather herself. “I want to talk to you about this more, later. I just wanted to take advantage of a moment without an audience.” She frowns briefly in that thinking-Beatrice way, a look so familiar to Ava, imagined so many times as she waded through the bullshit of Reya’s world, that she almost starts crying again. “Although, Ava, I am so proud that I am the one who gets to love you and to be loved by you. I have no interest in hiding that.” Ava watches Bea raise her chin, sees the flash in her eyes, swoons a little. “I still have some of my own…baggage to deal with." A pause. "A lot of it, honestly, but none of it has anything to do with you. I am very happy for everyone to know that I am yours. Apparently most people already knew anyway. I just wanted it to be you and me, when I told you for the first time.” 

Ava tucks a strand of Bea’s hair, escaped from her bun, behind her ear and strokes Bea’s face. 

“You’re mine?” 

“If you want me.”

“Literally never wanted anything more.”

Ava looks at Bea, hopes she can see exactly how much she means it, and then she lets her smile shift from loving to something else, lets the teasing she had pressed down bubble to the surface. 

“I mean, just to get back to what you were saying before though, you said you wanted to show me, Bea, and I was just curious if you wanted to tell me more about...”

She’s cut off by Bea’s lips on hers, and she sighs out, chills breaking out on her arms when she feels Bea look for warm skin under the hem of her shirt, pull down just slightly so that Ava is pressed even more firmly against her. 

There is a knock on the window. Of the open van door. There is a knock on the window of the open van door. 

Camila is wearing a shit-eating grin and, totally unapologetic, crosses her arms and stares at them. “Sorry to interrupt,” Ava grumbles “liar” although Camila pretends not to hear, “but Mother Superion was getting concerned. Also,” her eyes are sparkling, “you appear to have forgotten that the door is open. You could at least wait until you get to bed, Ava, seeing as you’ll be there for what was it? Four days?” 

“I liked it better when you were embarrassed, Cam.” 

“Oh, never embarrassed, just not eager to be locked in the car with you while you two discussed your sleeping arrangements. I was already trying very hard to ignore the adorable and disgusting eyes you were making at each other. I expect many movie nights in penance.” 

She tilts her head. 

“Many movie nights with very strict rules about seating. And hands.” 

Ava reaches out to shove her (Camila dodges, cackling) and very begrudgingly removes herself from Bea’s lap, holding out a hand to Bea once she has made it out of the vehicle. Bea appears to be holding up pretty well given that a month ago (two years ago? Ava’s timeline is a full disaster) Ava’s pretty sure she would have spontaneously self-immolated had they been caught in that position. She just clears her throat and climbs out gracefully, lets go of Ava’s hand briefly to straighten her shirt and close the van door before linking her hand with Ava’s again. She’s bright red and absolutely, stupidly beautiful and Ava is so happy she can feel herself glowing, doesn’t bother to stop it this time, the halo enveloping the three of them again. 

Camila raises both eyebrows, “That’s new.” 

“Yeah me and Hal got to be friends while I was over there,” Ava points a thumb over her shoulder, “so he picks up on my emotions more. It’s kind of fun.”

Beatrice says, “Hal?,” just as Camila says, “We’ll have to put you two in a bedroom on the far side of the house, then. You’ll keep us all up.” 

Ava laughs delightedly while Beatrice makes a sound in the back of her throat that’s somewhere between embarrassment and exasperation. Ava tsks and pats her cheek before turning to follow Camila toward the entrance. 

“Careful, Cam, or I’ll take it as a challenge.” 

Camila laughs again, turning her head over her shoulder to grin at them. 

“What a blessing for us all that Beatrice is here to keep you under control.” 

Before Ava can respond, she hears Bea’s throat clear and a somewhat quiet, but definitely audible, “Only if she asks me to.” 

Camila trips. Ava stops and turns slowly to face Beatrice, who is still red, may apparently now permanently be a slightly pink version of her former self, if the last few hours mean anything. But despite the blush, Bea has her head up and meets Ava’s eyes without shame, with a very attractive glimmer of pride, in fact. And this is a fun new development coming about 3 years sooner than Ava anticipated, honestly. 

“Oh my god. Sister Beatrice.”

She gets, fucking wonder of a thing, a small shrug from Bea in response. 

“Again, not a sister anymore.” 

Well then. 

Camila has turned back to face them, is looking at Beatrice like she has never met her but is so very delighted to make her acquaintance. 

“Glad you took our conversation to heart, Beatrice.” 

Ava will definitely be following up on that, but before she can start, she sees Beatrice’s face suddenly shift, become hard in a way that Bea almost never lets it be. Ava knows who Bea is, what she can do, how, even though she doesn’t seek it, she has killed and will most likely kill again. Those parts of Bea, the soldier-in-the-Army-of-God parts, are usually a well-kept secret, buried under a carefully maintained calm. But Ava sees that Bea here, eyes stone and unrepentant, jaw set. 

“It becomes easier, I have found, to let some things go when you watch a lying god leave the woman you love to die on a cement floor.”

Well, fuck, that’s a real shift in mood. Ava is back at Bea’s side in a second, wrapping her arms around her and tucking her head into her neck. 

“Beatrice.” 

Bea’s body is rigid. Ava feels the box breathing for the second time today. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Ava mirrors it, feels the body pressed against hers uncoil. Bea holds her closer for a moment before kissing the top of her head and pulling away. She gives Ava a small, reassuring smile and she’s back to normal Bea, finding Camila’s eyes over Ava’s shoulder. 

“I apologize, Camila. I am obviously still working through some of my feelings.” 

Camila is gentle, smiling at Beatrice without any hesitation. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. Come on. Mother Superion is waiting.” 

Camila opens the gate. Ava stays close to Beatrice, pressing as much of herself against Bea as possible. Bea twines their fingers together and pulls them after Cam. 

[bechloesupercorp]

Ava paced. That’s more of Bea’s thing, but the situation warranted it. The sisters were busy at mass, but Ava needed a moment alone, racking her brain for a who, why, where, treading over and over through the halls of the convent.

Bea, gone. Just her staff and a pool of fresh blood left at the end of the battle. 

Solemn footsteps fell against the stone floors, pausing at the portrait of Saint Beatrice. Saint Beatrice da Silva, patron saint of prisoners. The bound and captured-

No. Ava turned, briskly following the hall towards the courtyards. Her Bea was strong, and gracious, and free. Their time in the Alps had cemented that, between the longing glances and that final kiss, a faint tinge of iron on her lips.

Beatrice was fine. She was probably making her way back right now, after kicking ass in some sleepy little town that she got dragged off to. The Halo vibrates in her back, light pulsing with her rapid heartbeat. Blood rushes in her ears as she wills herself to calm down.

“Ava,” a soft voice rasps, breaking through the fervent flow battering the inside of her head.

She turns with a gasp, Halo falling dark. “Beatrice?!”

There. Crumpled on the floor, under dark burgeoning patches on her skin.

“Bea!” She runs, feet pounding, crashing to her knees as she reaches her love. “Bea, Bea, Bea,” she begs, hands searching for wounds, then moving to cradle her face. “Bea, look at me,” she demands, tapping her finger against a dirty cheek.

Flakes of blood break off with each tap, and Bea’s head lolls in her grasp. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” she hefts Bea’s arm over her shoulder, clinging to her side as she struggles towards the nave.

— — —

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, let us pray for the safe return of our Sister Beatrice-"

"MOTHER!"

The doors to the nave bang open, Ava staggering in, Beatrice partially slung over her shoulders. Halo pulsing in bright bursts of light, illuminating the dark red staining Beatrice’s clothes. 

Mary’s jumping pews, Lilith teleporting to catch Bea as she sags against the floor. 

“C’mon Beatrice,” Mary urges, sighing in relief when her eyes flutter open, just a crack. “That’s it, keep going little sister, open your eyes,” she coaxes, pushing up Bea’s sleeve to find her pulse. Her hand stills, eyes fixed on the skin.

Bea’s breath hitches, eyes going wide as she tries to yank herself out of their grasp. “NO! Don’t- don’t- please- I’ll listen-” she forces out through chapped lips, almost grey. She’s trembling now, eyes shooting around the room, unseeing. Blood drips down her forehead as she shakes, “Please. Please, don’t hurt them. I’ll do any-” she breaks off with a gasp, eyes rolling to the back of her head. 

Then she sinks deeper into Lilith’s side, unconscious again. 

Shock. Suppose their prayer did get answered, in a way.

"Guys," Mary starts, voice subdued, like a weight is sitting on her chest, "You should see this." She shifts Bea's sleeve up, revealing the glaring red light, just under the skin of her wrist.

It blinks. Taunting. Relentless.

Bea twitches, the edge of a paper making itself known. Ava reaches forward, pulling it gently with shaking hands.

It sends terror straight to her gut. That note, pinned to Bea's shirt collar, corners stained with blood. 

Quite obedient!

The Halo thrums with rage, unbridled energy radiating from her core. But it's the second line that sends cold fear running down her back.

I can’t wait to play again.

[kendrene]

For your mini fic: Ava and Beatrice, things you said in the grass and under the stars

Beatrice leaves Europe all-together, after.

She tries not to. Lingers for a while. Drifts from city to city, country to country, but the sun shines too brightly over Venice's canals and Paris - which Ava had said they should visit together after the war - well, Paris is a haunting.

An ocean later, another landmass crossing, Beatrice hits the West Coast, slowly working her way north where pliant sand gives way to a jagged coastline. Basalt cliffs against which the waves rage. Incessant. Hungry. The sea a low roar in her ears, never too far. Persevering even when she wanders inland, past jasper-studded beaches, and into the woods beyond.

The forests themselves are old, teeming with life both new and rotting. Fog never quite lifts off of the trees, a layer of it, gossamer-thin, persevering even on hotter days.

Beatrice settles down, and grief settles alongside her, the one companion she can tolerate in newfound solitude. It's a worn blanket. A beloved jacket she cannot bear to leave the house without. She grows new habits, easy when all of her days look the same.

She spends a lot of time hiking, getting a feel for the land. Brings books down to the beach to read; in the sun when she can, under a piece of tarpaulin hastily erected in between two trees if it rains.

It nearly always does.

Sometimes Beatrice reads aloud. Imagines it is Ava she is reading to, all the stories and facts about the cosmos Ava didn't have the chance to discover for herself. She reads until her throat is dry and sore. Reads until her voice is drenched in loss, and her heart bleeds for all the things she's lost.

Reads until daylight gives way to the first smattering of stars and the words on the page are blurred by lack of light, perhaps by tears, into a smudge.

The air is wet and salty, whips like the edge of a sharp knife against the soft skin of her cheek. Beatrice packs her book, rolls up the tarpaulin. Picks the now familiar way back in total dark.

She stumbles. Trips over something yielding. Something that snags at her ankles and brings her down to her knees, a rock catching the heel of the hand she throws out to steady herself, cutting open her palm.

It's debris, Beatrice thinks. A large piece of wood. Maybe seaweed.

It is not.

It's a body.

It's Ava. And she's not breathing.

"No. No. No.' Beatrice has prayed, she has begged for Ava to come back but not like this. Not to lose her right away again. "You can't die, please." A sob rips from her, unchecked, even as she turns her over. "I can't lose you again." Beatrice will not think of her as a corpse.

Ava's skin, her lips tinged blue by the frigid waters of the ocean and not divinium. Beatrice's mouth seeking. Ava's tasting of saltwater and the abyssal things that cannot stand to be brought into the light. Ocean waves crashing around them and over. The tide coming in - a bitter, a cold a cruel baptism. Her hands red with the cold and hurting flat to Ava's chest, pushing, pushing while her mind falls into mechanical routines.

"Breathe, goddammit." Bea's own lungs burning, alight with the effort of wrangling life back into another being. "Please Ava don't go."

"Not...going." A cough. Water sputtering down Ava's chin. Her own hand rises weakly, slick around the curve of Beatrice's cheek. Light, molten gold, shearing through the night to wash over them both. "Not going anywhere." Ava's other hand grips Beatrice by a shoulder, tugs her down to sprawl rather inelegantly over her chest. She's not exactly warm, but she's not cold anymore. The Halo brightens to a shine that makes a mockery of dawn. "I'm home."

[birgittesilverbae]

mmm mary seeing ava again and getting tackled, feeling that halo-bearer strength in ava’s grip like a ghost. thinking of all the nights she spent in the dark dreaming of shannon’s hands, her mouth, her sighs against mary’s skin. in the dark dreaming of sunrise and all the hours that have passed between them.

mary holding ava, listening to her sob and apologize and watching bea over her shoulder. looking so grown up. looking like shannon and that calm she always carried with her, turning to light and air as memory unravels her. until she’s sketches and the scent of cedarwood and a hand gripping hers, prising the motorbike helmet away and thumbing at a split lip. a kiss that felt like coming home for the first time.

and there, the hum of the halo in ava’s chest. singing along with her sobs, with her hands gripping mary’s shoulders. wondering if the halo remembers, if it loves mary in some small way.

sometimes shannon reminds her of when the moon steps in front of the sun for a second, brilliantly illuminated, shielding everything in front of it. she thinks of shannon painting with her hood pulled up, humming to herself, paint smeared on her forearms from testing the shade on the canvas of her skin, or balancing a brush. she loved to be precarious.

ava, and bea, and this is as close as i’ll ever get to you

bea and mary having sat for weeks in their mirrored hurt as the world fell to pieces around them. bea thinking of lilith and of michael and never quite losing hope as mary steels herself to catch her in what she can't help but see as the unavoidable outcome. warrior nuns, they never last. warrior nuns, they leave deep trenches carved out in people's chests with their passing.

only there's ava and she's limned gold in the sun, gold in the halo glow, with eyes only for beatrice, barreling into her arms, bea barely able to keep them both upright. a burn in her chest at the kisses, chaste and then heated and bea's cheeks bright red when they pull apart gasping for air and weeping. and then bea's motioning towards her and ava's turning and mary's eyes are veiled with tears. clutching at her like a life raft, like a reliquary, bearing the thing that shannon had guarded so dearly that she'd died for it, that last physical remnant of her brought home.

and it's not enough, it could never be enough, but there's a looseness in bea now as she steps towards them, an unfurling of muscles that have borne so much weight, and carried it so alone. and she watches beatrice take a breath, hand hovering at her abdomen, watches beatrice not shy away from reaching out for ava's hand, and watches shannon live on in her.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Prompt: “please stay”

it's rained more lately in los angeles than you ever imagined it would; you've been to the desert and lived through a summer here, the haze in the air and mirage on the pavement and a few days where it just never cooled off. but it's dreary and damp lately, parts of the city flooding, puddles everywhere. cold winds have blown in overnight, swathes of loose palm bark in your yard when you had looked outside.

it's still cold and stormy; the sea, you're sure, is angry outside — grey and infinite in its depth. most days, the wonder of the world sits in your wrists, in the junctures there, in the small bones beatrice knows all the names of. most days, the wonder is in everything: the orange poppies blooming along the hillside, and the perfect amount of lime in good guacamole, and the way beatrice tastes like cinnamon when you kiss her in the afternoon, lazily, like you've always had time.

but some days it sits heavy along your spine: you spent an eternity — eight months, earthside, but you don't know how to measure that, not really — in darkness, in nothingness, in white space so bright your eyes burned.

you didn't sleep, or eat, not like here. the halo in your back burnt and burnt and burnt, and the divinium through your organs, taken out by unknown hands, had left gaping, excruciating wounds, which eventually, because you stayed so, so still, turned into painful, barely-healed scars, half shrapnel, half burn. there was nothing, and you were nothing, and you missed your mom and your sisters and your friends and beatrice, with her steady shoulders and her reluctant laugh and her gold eyes.

it's still dark, still early, the dawn inky blue outside, stretching as a bruise against the pale skin of the sand. you roll over in your big bed — safe, piled with a soft white linen duvet; a mattress that beatrice had ordered specifically for your spine after consulting jillian and then making a spreadsheet of pros and cons between different brands and models — and take a deep breath. it's here, and it's now, you remind yourself, touch your fingers to the worst of the divinium scars, puckered along your right ribs. you place the palm of your hand against the worst of it, the opposite of stigmata, maybe, and breathe into it, let your chest expand all the way into your belly, all the way down your spine, filling your heartspace.

and then you look at beatrice, the duvet down around the middle of her bare back. the tan of her skin from the sun, the black tattoo down her spine, her hair — short and dark and messy — and the peaceful planes of her face, delicate despite it all. calm, and unworried, the bow of her lips and the freckles across her cheeks. she had told you, excitedly last night, how incredible the swells were supposed to be this morning, because of the storm, but you look at her and you think of riptides and not being able to swim and how this world, this life, bold and bright, wouldn't be much different for you than nothingness if anything happened to her. if she wasn't here with you, to eat really good ramen and grumble her way through terrible movies and steadfastly do the laundry.

you scoot closer to her, drape an arm across her waist and kiss between her shoulder blades. you've learned that bea is easy to awaken but almost impossible to really wake up when she feels relaxed and safe — but sometimes you think you know each other differently than anyone, a familiarity that has saved the world a few times over. in one of the classes you audited — philosophy, which had mostly been awful and full of gross white dudes — you had learned that recognize meant, really, to know again. to know again, and again, and again, like the veins mapped across the backs of your hands or the hue of a lover's eyes.

she stirs and blinks awake, slowly, and there they are: brown, so smart, with flecks of gold that light up in the sun, that you know even in the dark dawn.

'ava, are you okay?'

her voice is rough with sleep and slow and beautiful. you're so, so greedy, wanting this life and the next with her. you wouldn't renounce it for anything. kingdoms and realms could fall at your feet before you said anything of the sort.

'please don't go surfing this morning.' your voice is a little wobbly and she shifts onto her side, fully, to face you, concern etching a line between her brows. she looks around blearily, her features and posture sharpening in a split second.

'did something happen?'

'no,' you say, and leave the but something could alone; something always could. instead, 'i just — it's stormy, and i want to sleep in with you here.' let me love you like this, you think, and press your lips to the scar on her shoulder before you rest your forehead against hers, run a gentle hand through her hair. let me keep you safe. let me keep you warm, in this room in this bed in this house in this city of angels where nothing can hurt you, where i won't let anything touch you, not ever again. let me wake up to you again and again and again.

she doesn't fully believe you, that it's nothing, but she relents easily enough, trusting that you'll tell her if you need.

'please stay.'

she sighs, kisses you, touches the same scar against your ribs. 'okay,' she says, just like that, and you breathe into the palm of her hand.