Archive of Our Own ^beta

Some nights, Ava can’t fall asleep. Some nights, she stares at the dubious water stain on the ceiling above her, mapping out the constellations in the dots and picturing what they could be. Some nights, she rolls over and faces the wall and wonders what the person in the next apartment is doing. 

Most nights, she rolls over and stares at Bea, mapping her freckles like the stars in the sky and knowing they don’t hold a candle to the curve of Bea’s cheek as it presses into the pillow. 

Tonight, she’s too wired, too high on the feeling of liquor in her veins. She stayed late after her shift, laughing and dancing with Fergus and Leesa and Enza. Bea had told her it was fine, her hand accidentally brushing Ava’s as she closed the office door for the night and said she’d meet Ava at home.

(Home. Home, home, home. )

But it means she can’t sleep, and Bea being so close is not helping. Ava rolls over and studies her face. She’s so relaxed when she sleeps, so carefree. The tension she carries in the bow of her lips and her shoulders fades into nothing, replaced by a deep relaxation that Ava wishes she always had. She wants that for Bea, wants her to be able to feel like she can be at peace. The weight of what they’re here to do fades away when they curl up in their bed to sleep, knee to knee or Ava’s front pressed to Bea’s back - something Bea allows because of the nightmares that plagued their early days. Nightmares of Adriel, hands reaching deep into her center; of Mary under a writhing pile of possessed people, all trying to tear her apart. 

Bea shifts on the pillow, her forehead wrinkling slightly as something passes in her mind. Ava wants to reach up and press a fingertip to it and smooth it out. She settles for tucking her hand up under her chin as she watches Bea. Her free hand presses flat in the space between them, fingers spread and reaching towards Bea.

Some mornings, she wakes up wrapped around Bea, the Halo humming under her skin. Some mornings, she wakes up and Bea is already awake but still in bed, blinking those wide eyes at her as the sleep clears in them. Ava always smiles, the motion just a half second behind as she wakes up more fully. Some mornings, Bea smiles softly and buries her face in the pillow as Ava laughs and pats her on the top of the head gently.

Bea is not as much of a morning person as Ava imagined she would be. But she’s finding that each little thing she learns makes these feelings stretch and grow. Just when she thinks they can’t be any deeper, Bea will do something like fall asleep on the couch with a book on her chest, a lock of hair across her forehead. Or she’ll hide a laugh when Ava goes out of her way to make her smile with some joke far too ridiculous to be funny. Pulling smiles out of Bea becomes her favorite pastime - more than swimming, more than talking to people she should find fascinating.

Beatrice is fascinating. She pulls Ava’s attention every time.

Bea shifts again, that pinched look deeping on her face. Ava frowns. She wonders what Bea is dreaming about. She wonders what Bea’s dreams are every night. Some nights she smiles while she sleeps. Ava wonders if she’s thinking about their life here in Switzerland: the way they spend their nights quietly but nearly touching, the days at the bar while Bea hovers in Ava’s orbit. She wonders if she’s thinking about Ava at all, if she makes Bea happy. 

But some nights, she looks like this, like the weight of the world is coming down on her shoulders, like she’s pushing a rock up a hill each night and it never goes anywhere. Bea is always quieter on those mornings, taking a second longer to smile. Ava tries her hardest then, regaling Bea with tales of the bar when she’s not there, terrible jokes she’s picked up from passing tourists, things she remembers about her childhood. It always works, Bea always eventually smiles and shakes her head softly in that exasperated but fond way Ava loves. 

Ava’s favorite job is making Beatrice smile. She’s never wanted to be better at something more than anything in her life.

Bea whimpers and Ava’s frown deepens. There’s a slight twitch in her face muscles as something passes. Ava shifts a little closer, their knees touching. Bea recoils from the touch, twisting her legs away until she’s almost flat on her back. Ava follows her, a hand hovering over Bea’s chest. She can see the way Bea’s hands grab for the sheet as she grips it with white knuckles. The whimpering grows louder, and Bea turns her head away from Ava, pressing it deeper into the pillow.

Ava rises up on her elbow and hovers over Bea, unsure what to do. Bea’s head twists again, turning back to Ava. In the dim light flickering in through the window, Ava can make out the flat press of her lips and the lines across her forehead. Bea’s legs move restlessly in the sheets, kicking at some invisible force. Ava’s hand is suspended over Bea’s chest, wanting to press down and settle her; ground her to the bed. But Bea turns away again, back arching up off the bed as the whimper grows louder. 

Ava hesitates. She doesn’t know if she should wake Bea up, if that’s the right move. Ava has had nightmares before, has woken up with Bea’s warm and strong hand on her shoulder. Bea would apologize for waking her up but Ava didn’t care. She didn’t want to be where she was in her mind; she wanted to be in her bed with Bea’s arms around her, calming her down.

But what if Bea doesn’t want that?

Bea keens now, low and long. Her hand scrambles in the sheets, reaching for something and failing to come up with it. Her legs work like she’s running from something that seems like is going to catch up to her. Her shoulders press into the mattress and her back arches up as her face twists in pain.

I don’t care .

Ava pushes a hand down against the center of Bea’s chest, leading her back down against the mattress. She slides a little closer until her chest is pressed to Bea’s shoulder. She ducks her head and whispers, “Bea. Bea, wake up.”

Bea whines again but she doesn’t move away from Ava. She turns her head, forehead against Ava’s collarbone. Ava can feel the harsh, hot breath against her skin.

Her voice stays low. “It’s okay, Bea. You can wake up.” She spreads her fingers and her finger presses against the hollow of Bea’s throat. Her skin is hot through the shirt she’s wearing. “Come on, Bea.”

She feels Bea wake up more than she sees it. There’s a sharp inhale of air and the sudden stilling of Bea’s legs in the sheets. Her body tenses, her breath coming hard, and Ava exhales loudly, trying to get Bea to match her. She presses down gently against Bea’s chest again, hoping it feels comforting and grounding. Bea doesn’t move but her breathing slows and some of the tension starts to fade.

Ava slides in closer until even the thin sheet wouldn’t fit between them. She doesn’t miss the way Bea tenses up again for just a moment, and she doesn’t miss the way Bea exhales purposefully before it’s gone again.

“I’m sorry,” Bea says in a scratchy voice.

Her “No,” is quick. She shakes her head to emphasize her point. “No, don’t apologize.”

Bea turns her head. If she’s surprised Ava is this close, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t give anything away. Ava resists the urge to let her hand wander up Bea’s throat and curl it around the back of Bea’s head, digging into her hair. She wants Bea to know that she’s safe here, that she can fall apart and Ava won’t think any less of her. But the words don’t feel like they’re going to be enough.

“I didn’t intend to-”

“No one intends to-”

“It won’t happen again.”

Ava gives in now, slipping her hot hand to Bea’s neck and feeling the pulse point there. “It’s okay if it does.”

Bea blinks up at her, eyes wide and just a little wet in the corners. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again before the words come. Ava shakes her head slightly. Bea doesn’t need to say anything. She thumbs Bea’s pulse, reminding both of them that they’re still there, still alive. Bea is still pulled straight, a tension rod trembling within her, but Ava can feel it starting to dissipate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The whisper settles between them.

Bea is quiet for a long moment. “It was just a bad dream.” She’s still looking up at Ava though, and she gives Bea just a moment more. “It was…” She clears her throat and tries again. “It was about you.”

Ava’s heart clenches in her chest. She doesn’t want Bea to have bad dreams at all - least of all about her . She presses her thumb firmly to Bea’s throat. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“It did,” Bea whispers back. Ava knows it’s the dark that’s letting her speak. Bea is always so stoic, always so unwilling to let anyone into her mind. Ava likes to think she’s digging through the layers, that she’s the only one who gets to see Bea like this. But this is a different Bea, completely shaken and hanging on by a thread.

Her voice is still breathless when she says, “Adriel, he found us. He found you. And before I could stop him, he-he took you. I couldn’t follow.” Her throat bobs as she swallows. Ava feels it under her touch. “I tried to follow. I did.”

“I know you did,” Ava breathes. “Of course you did.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Bea’s voice is strangled with guilt. “I failed you.”

Ava shakes her head, her hair brushes across Bea’s chin. “No, you didn’t. You could never.”

The tears gather in the corner of Bea’s eyes now, threatening to spill down her cheek. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she says firmly. She’s never believed anything more in her life. “You would never . I have never, never trusted anyone more in my life, Beatrice. Not like I trust you. And I know you would never, ever fail me.” Bea shakes her head but Ava drops hers, forehead pressing to Bea’s temple. Her lips brush against Bea’s eyebrow. “Please believe me.” She tries for something funny but her voice feels strangled as she says, “You blew up the Vatican for me, remember? You have never done anything but save me every time.”

Bea trembles under her. “Ava…”

“Believe me ,” she whispers. “Trust me.”

It takes another moment before Bea gives a short, shaking nod. “I do,” she exhales. 

Ava swallows back a lump in her throat and takes a deep breath in, steadying herself. She smiles tremulously and slides her hand to Bea’s opposite shoulder, curling around the tense muscle. “Come here.”

“Ava…”

She shakes her head, gently pulling Bea towards her. There’s an initial moment of resistance but Bea gives in after just a second, letting Ava turn her over until their fronts are pressed together, Bea’s breath hot against her collarbone and her hand lingering on Ava’s spine. 

She thinks of being younger and having nightmares. Her mom would crawl into bed with her, cradle her against her chest, and sing her lullabies until she finally fell back into a dreamless sleep. She’s never been this person, the one giving comfort, but she feels like, for Bea, it will be easy. She shifts her arms, cradling Bea’s back as gently as she can, her hold still loose enough for Bea to roll away if she wants to. She doesn’t think Bea will; the hand at her spine tightens in her thin t-shirt. 

She remembers her mom again, the way she would press kisses to Ava’s forehead and whisper assurances that she would protect Ava from whatever was coming. She believed her, trusted that her mom would keep the nightmares at bay. She always did. It was one of the things she missed most about her mom when she was in the orphanage; when the nightmares came, no one was there to wake her up and hold her hand and tell her things were going to be okay.

She wants Bea to know it will be okay.

She presses her lips to Bea’s forehead, feeling the slightly damp skin under her mouth. She tries to tell Bea, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere and I’ll catch you when you fall, I promise. The last of the tension fades from her body, and she melts against Ava’s side, one hand curled into the front of Ava’s shirt. Ava lingers and hopes Bea can hear her: You’re safe here and I will protect you from anything that tries to hurt you and I think I…

Bea exhales softly and Ava pulls away a little, tipping her head until her forehead is pressed to Bea’s. “You can fall asleep.”

Bea hesitates. “I don’t-”

“I’m here,” she promises. “I’ll protect you.” She tries for a sure smile. “Warrior Nun, right? It’s my job to protect you.”

She feels Bea’s hiccuped-laugh. “I believe we’re here for me to protect you.”

Ava shakes her head. “Fine. We protect each other. I’ve got you, Bea. I won’t let go.” She dusts her lips against Bea’s forehead again. “I promise I won’t let go.”

She thinks Bea might argue for a moment, but then she gives a nod Ava feels against her mouth and her hand flattens against Ava’s spin, just under the Halo. Ava smiles to herself, victorious. She smooths her hand against Bea’s neck, feeling her pulse strong and sure and steady now.

It doesn’t take too long for Bea to fall asleep again, her hand slack against Ava’s back. She breathes out noisily, breath tickling Ava’s collarbone. Her body is slack in Ava’s hold, sleep sinking heavily into her bones. Ava draws idle shapes and words into Bea’s shoulder, circles and A+B until sleep threatens to take her too.

She tips her head back down and lets her lips rest against Bea’s forehead. “I’ve got you,” she breathes out, the words sluggish. A part of Bea must hear them because she slides deeper into Ava’s hold, one leg tangling between Ava’s. 

Ava smiles tiredly and closes her eyes, letting sleep take her over as her grip tightens on Bea. She’ll protect her, no matter the cost.

~

“Bandages, bandages, where are the bandages,” Ava mutters to herself as she drops to the cabinet below the sink, pulling open the small doors. She looks back over her shoulder, the space between her eyebrows wrinkled in worry as she hears the scrap of a kitchen chair against the linoleum floor. 

She focuses back on the cabinet. Where would they keep the bandages? With the first aid kit, obviously. But why would Bea hide it in a time like this? Why would she hide it at all? That doesn’t make much tactical sense. And Beatrice is nothing if not tactical. 

“They’re in here,” Bea calls from the kitchen.

Of course. Ava hastily attempts to close the cabinet doors and only barely succeeds, one hanging open as she levitates to her feet, skipping the bathroom floor to touch down on the hardwood of the living room. If it wasn’t a straight line to the kitchen, she’d phase right through the wall. Anything to get to Bea fast, to stop the bleeding.

“Honestly, Ava, it’s not that-”

She cuts Bea off. “It’s bad.” When Bea goes to stand up, Ava pushes her down gently - and it must be an indication of how much it hurts Bea, because she goes willingly, sinking back down into the seat with a weary sigh, cradling her arm to her chest. Ava’s eyes linger for a moment before she spins in a circle, searching for where Bea might have stashed the first aid kit.

“With the-”

“Mugs, right,” Ava finishes. 

So, an obvious and tactically sound place for them to be. Within reach of the knives Ava is so fond of trying to use. It’s no matter that Ava heals within seconds of cutting herself; she likes making Bea go through the motions of putting on the bandage and patting her hand comfortingly before she goes back to instructing Ava on how to uniformly dice carrots for the soup Bea insists they make.

Ava just really enjoys the way Bea frets over her each time. She likes knowing all of Bea’s attention has shifted to her, that she has all of Bea’s focus on her. Sometimes, being considered is enough for Ava. Being at the forefront of Bea’s mind is more than enough. 

She finds it’s her favorite place to be these days.

She opens the cabinet and winces as the old hinges creak more than they should. She doesn’t spare a glance over her shoulder; she can imagine the slight wrinkle of Bea’s forehead, the only indicator that she disapproves of something. There, right next to the mug that has DISNEY WORLD, PARIS on it in big block letters, the ‘O’ a silhouette of Mickey Mouse, is the neatly organized first aid kit that Bea put together with the supplies they found at the small general store in town.

Bea shifts in her seat and Ava doesn’t miss the slight hiss as she jostles her shoulder. It spurs her on. She pulls out small packets of burn and antibiotic cream, large gauze pads, alcohol wipes. She considers them for a moment before she grabs a handful of the gauze and the antiseptic spray she finds. Plastering on a wide smile, she turns and holds out her meager offerings.

Bea sighs. “Ava, this isn’t necessary.”

Ava shakes a finger, clicking her tongue. “The girl with blood dripping down her arm doesn’t get a say.”

“It’s hardly dripping .”

“And besides, I’ve always wanted to play nurse.” She winks when Bea’s eyes narrow, then cut to the side. The set line of her jaw twitches, and Ava takes a victorious step forward, pulling their second chair around and settling on it. She makes a detour at the sink to wet a cloth and then drops the first aid supplies on the table. Grabbing the bottom of Bea’s chair, she tugs hard. Her knees press into the side of Bea’s thigh and she adjusts, spreading her legs and pulling again until the side of Bea’s chair is flush with the front of hers.

Defeat rests in Bea’s eyes. Ava only smiles at it and peels back Bea’s shirt as far as she can, but she can’t see the source of the blood. She frowns, trying to roll up Bea’s sleeve. Nothing. She sits back in her seat, considers her options, and nods resolutely.

“The shirt has to come off.”

Bea snaps to attention, mouth turned down in a frown. “What?”

“It has to come off. I can’t get to it from the top or the bottom. There’s no way I’ll be able to clean it this way.” Her hands are already starting to crawl their way across her thighs to Bea’s, fingertips inching up the thick canvas pants she’s wearing. She gets them wound into the shirt Bea has on before Bea startles herself out of whatever silent movie was playing in her head. Her hand quickly covers Ava’s, squeezing tightly.

“Is that really necessary?” Ava notices the slight crack in the armor, the slight tremble of her voice.

Ava has been living with Beatrice for over a month now. They’ve seen each other at their worst moments - each of them crying in separate rooms as Mary’s fate hung above their heads and they each tried to carry their own guilt - the better moments - Ava singing off-key and pulling Bea into a kind of broken dance she remembered seeing on television once as they celebrated their new jobs - and all the moments in between. She’s seen Beatrice burn dinner, tiptoe in a towel across the living room to the bedroom, writhe around in bed as a nightmare hovered at the edge of her sleep, read novels in multiple languages, and try to fix the broken toaster that came with the apartment. 

And with each moment, each milestone, this… thing for Bea grows deeper and deeper. It feels silly to call it a crush, too juvenile for someone like Beatrice. But she’s closer to calling it love with every day that passes. It’s devotion at the very least. It’s there when Bea wordlessly presses a cup of tea into her hand and gently brushes leaves off her shoulder while they’re training. When Bea stays late to walk her home and they end up shoulder to shoulder, to fight off the cool night breeze. When Bea double checks to make sure Ava is ready to roll over and close her eyes before turning out the light - that’s when this thing swells in her chest and makes her feel like she really is running on water.

She puts on her most serious face. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Bea hesitates for another moment before the line of her jaw clicks back into place and she nods, melting slightly under Ava’s fingertips. With her good arm, she starts to work that side of her shirt up, eyes darting to Ava’s before she turns slightly away. 

Ava waits patiently. Bea is going to realize in a moment that she can’t get her shirt off with just one hand. And she’ll ask for help, eyes aimed at the floor and cheeks flushed. Ava can already see it.

It takes a moment more before Bea sighs and turns back to her. Her eyes narrow when she catches the tail end of Ava’s smile. “Don’t laugh.”

Ava forces her mouth back into a thin line that lasts all of a few moments. “You just look very-” Adorable. Endearing. Lovely. “-determined. To do this on your own. But that’s what I’m here for!” She doesn’t wait for Bea to say anything else, hands grabbing for the hem of Bea’s shirt.

Bea’s skin is warm under the fabric. She curls it up in her hand and works it slowly up Bea’s torso. She can feel abdominal muscles rippling against the back of her knuckles as she pushes higher and higher. Her fingertips graze the band of a sports bra and she quickly shifts, moving to the sides so there’s nothing but ribs under her touch. Bea lifts her arms carefully, the wince visible on her face. Ava tries not to look down at the long stretch of smooth skin she suddenly wants to map with her fingers. She refocuses on the tasks before her instead: push the shirt up and over the hinge of Bea’s shoulders, roll the fabric over the point of her chin, slide it across Bea’s forehead and back against her hair until she’s finally free.

She doesn’t realize how close they are until Bea’s arms drop and Ava can feel her breath against her face.

“This is what you’re here for?” Bea asks, her whisper like a gunshot between them.

Ava smiles, throat bobbing. “That’s what I’m here for.”

A bird squawks outside and Ava blinks once, twice, then sits back in her seat and smiles a little stronger than before. Her eyes drift to Bea’s cut. And really, she should get points for not noticing the way Bea looks in a sports bra because she is being very admirable about things. Instead, she focuses on the dripping blood, drying quickly into a rusty red.

“You’ll need-”

Ava holds up a hand. “I’ve got this.”

Bea’s eyes narrow as Ava reaches for the cloth.

“Have you done this before?”

Ava smiles crookedly as she says, “No. But I watched a lot of that show M*A*S*H . Sister Frances was a fan of Alan Alda.”

Bea opens her mouth to argue and Ava cuts her off, dabbing at the area around the cut, cleaning the blood away. The cloth quickly stains red as Ava works in small circles up to the cut. She brushes against it carefully. Cleaned, it’s not as serious as Ava thought it was—a small cut, but something warranting some care. She puts down the cloth, waving a hand in a fanning motion to dry it before she picks up the antiseptic spray.

“I think this one stings.” She sprays it, missing the cut the first time. Her second attempt is better, right in the center of the razor thin cut. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Ava,” Bea says gently, like she was waiting for this to come up. “We were training. Things like this are bound to happen.”

It’s not supposed to happen, though. She made a promise; she was going to protect Bea, not be the one to cause her harm. Promises mean more to her now when she sees the ones Bea makes and how she always follows through. She wants to do that, wants to be someone Bea can rely on. She wants her words to mean something to Bea. She wants Bea to know how much she means to her. And hurting her after promising she’d take care of her… The guilt settles in her chest and makes it hard to breathe for a moment.

She sprays the antiseptic again, quickly using the gauze to wipe up the dripping liquid. “Still, I should have been more careful. Like you said, we’re training. I could have pulled up.” She gently blots the spray away. “Next time-”

“Next time, we might be facing Adriel. I am capable of dodging these kinds of things.” Her forehead wrinkles in thought. “I usually am…”

Ava opens the bandage, tongue poking between her teeth as she studies the best way to apply it. “You are,” she agrees absently. She blinks back up at Bea. “What happened?”

That slight crinkle of confusion doesn’t fade away. “I’m not sure,” she says softly. It lingers there for another moment before Bea blinks it away. “It’s no matter. It won’t happen again.” Her eyes dart to Ava. “And it’s not something you have to feel bad about.”

Ava opens her mouth to argue, but she can’t deny that she wasn’t thinking it was all her fault. So she just makes up her mind and presses the bandage to Bea’s skin carefully, trying to be gentle. She must succeed; Bea hardly flinches as Ava’s fingertips dance across her arm, making sure the bandage is sealed.

“Thank you,” Bea says lightly. Her fingers flex on her thigh, her hand dangerously close to Ava’s knee.

“Ah ah,” Ava tuts. 

She carefully wraps her hand around Bea’s forearm, pulling her arm closer, something taking over her. Instinct, maybe. A desire to tell Bea she's sorry, that she didn’t mean to hurt her. Dipping her head, she presses her lips to the bandage. Some of Bea’s warm skin brushes against her bottom lip and her tongue nearly darts from her mouth, the idea catching her off guard and distracting her enough that she doesn’t notice the way Bea inhales sharply and the muscles in her arm just barely coil. She exhales softly and blinks and comes back to herself, sitting back and hoping her smile looks steadier than it feels.

“There.”

Bea blinks down at her. “Do they do this on M*A*S*H ?” she asks, voice slightly strangled. 

Ava smooths her thumbs against Bea’s skin and feels it loosen. “No.” Her voice softens as she says, “My mom used to do that. When I’d skin my knee or get a papercut or something like that.” A flicker of sadness flutters in her chest. “I used to call them ‘better-better kisses,’ because it always made me feel… I don’t know. Better. Even though I know it can’t really do anything, it always felt like it did.” She ducks her head. “That’s silly, I know. ‘Kissing it better’ isn’t, like, scientifically proven or anything. I doubt any doctor would prescribe it for anything except to stop a little kid from crying. And you’re not crying. You’re actually handling this like-”

Bea’s eyes soften as she ducks her head to meet Ava’s. “It feels much better now.” Her hand does drift to Ava’s knee now, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Ava.”

Ava sits back, hands still curled around Bea’s arm. “You’re welcome.” 

They sit in silence for a moment. Bea’s skin is warm under her touch and Ava soaks it in. She likes this, the way Bea doesn’t shy away from her anymore; the way that Bea lets her body relax against Ava’s touch instead of stiffening each time Ava’s fingertips brush against her. She thinks of Bea behind a wall and she’s standing in front of with dirt-stained hands as she pulls each brick down. They’re falling quickly, one brick right after another. Bea relaxes into her and Ava soaks it up like the afternoon sun. 

She straightens up and smiles brightly. Thinking about her mom always leaves her with a little prickle of pain in her heart but it’s been ebbing away quicker these days, the longer she spends time with people she considers her family. Bea gives her a soft smile and Ava feels braver than she’s felt in a long time.

“What do you say we go get something to eat?” She scoots her chair back a little, putting some distance between them. Bea’s hand drops off her knee and rests against the chair. “Or go for a walk in town?”

“That’d be nice.” Bea stands, stretching her arm out. She smiles when she notices Ava watching the movement. “It’s fine. You did an admirable job cleaning it.”

Ava smiles brightly, pleased with herself. The Halo hums and she thinks she might lift off the floor. But Bea might not appreciate that. So she stands and curls her hands around the back of her chair, pulling it back onto two legs. 

“Maybe we could stop at the library?” Bea asks hesitantly. “There’s a book I’m looking for.”

Ava nods. “Definitely. You’re just going to need to… put on a shirt, first.”

Bea looks down, seemingly surprised to find that she’s not wearing one. Ava gets to see how far the blush goes down, disappearing under the polyester of the bra. She doesn’t meet Ava’s eyes. “Of course. Just give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ava says, voice a little loud. Bea doesn’t react to it, disappearing into the living room and then into their bedroom, closing the door behind her. Ava exhales noisily, her hands tightening on the back of the chair. “Okay, Ava. Focus.”

She tidies up the kitchen, throwing out the used medical supplies and putting the cloth in the sink to be rinsed out later. She spares a glance over her shoulder to the closed bedroom door. Kissing it better. What were you thinking? But she knows she was thinking that she needs to know what Beatrice’s skin feels like under purposeful lips for a while now - longer than they’ve been in Switzerland, at least. Her hands have already mapped out Bea’s hands and wrists and elbows. But her mouth is far behind.

She thinks Bea must feel it too.

The door opens behind her and Bea comes back out in one of those buttoned shirts she’s so fond of. “Shall we?”

Ava smiles brightly, pushing the thought from her mind. “Lead the way.”

–

The sound of a spoon clinking softly in a mug wakes Ava up. It’s usually her alarm clock, a sure sign that she’s alone in bed and Bea is starting on her morning routine. 

Ava smiles sleepily, pressing her face into the pillow. In these moments before she’s truly awake, she can imagine whatever she wants. And what she wants to imagine is that she’s a university student on sabbatical, or a tourist backpacking through Europe who found a home in the Alps, someone who has settled here for that time with her favorite person. She imagines that she and Bea are simple people who enjoy their work at a small bar where they meet all kinds of people, and at the end of the night they go home to their one-bedroom apartment and share takeaway containers and control of the tv remote - though Bea usually lets her win. She imagines they’re two people slowly falling in love in the middle of the gorgeous Swiss Alps, who have all the time in the world to do so. 

And in these first moments of the day, it’s true. Adriel is pushed to the back of her mind. The OCS doesn’t exist. She doesn’t have God’s holiest weapon burned into her back. And maybe she hasn’t been to very many places in her life, but this one - with Beatrice - is her favorite one by far. 

They’ve been here for over a month at this point, and sometimes Ava forgets their mission. She gets swept up in the day-to-day. In the way Bea studies her over a fresh cup of tea; in the way they move around the bar when there’s no customers; in the way that they curl up at the end of the night, Bea with a book and Ava with some German soap opera on. It’s easier than anything in her life has ever been.

She breathes in the smell of Bea’s shampoo and decides she needs to face the day. With a groan, she pushes up and feels her back stretch with the motion. The Halo ripples under her skin. She swings her legs around and plants her feet on the floor, stretching her arms above her head. She feels her shoulder click but the pain doesn’t come. 

Bea is still stirring her tea, the spoon against the ceramic mug. Ava listens to it like it's her favorite song. She follows its sound across the apartment, smiling dreamily when Bea lifts an eyebrow over the lip of the mug.

“Sleep well?”

Ava blinks slowly. “Best sleep I’ve gotten all week.”

Bea’s smile presses against the mug. “You said that yesterday.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” Ava spies the empty mug next to Bea on the counter. “Is that for me?”

Bea puts down her mug and quickly pulls the kettle off the stove, pouring steaming hot water into the cup Ava considers to be hers. Bea has one respectable mug - gray with a single navy blue stripe around it. Ava leans more towards the novelty mugs, the ones in the bargain bins that gather dust because no one wants to take them home. Her collection fills the cupboard: one with a large sunflower that’s a little too close to neon, clear hand-painted; one with a cartoon Goofy on it; one with World’s Best Dad in German stenciled on it; another with dainty blue flowers, among others.

This morning, Bea has pulled down a mug with a smiling doberman on it. She dunks a tea bag filled with loose leaves into the water a few times before she lets it sink to the bottom of the mug before adding a small cube of sugar. She doesn’t make the move to hand it to Ava; she’s learned that Ava is slightly clumsy in the morning, body still waking up a little slower than she’d like it too. Her hands aren’t as steady, weighed down from not using them during the night. Bea waits in the morning until Ava has successfully managed not to drop the bread on her way to the toaster before she’ll slide the cup closer.

That, and it’s steaming hot. Ava doesn’t like the way it feels against her palms.

She shuffles her way to the counter, pulling the bread from the bread box she insisted they buy. I’ve always wanted one , she told Bea. She’s not sure she even needed to say it. She pouted a bit and Bea had already given in before she spoke. She likes the way the wood clacks as the small panel clicks into place. She takes a piece of fresh bread from the bag and carefully ties it back up again.

Bea shifts her weight. Ava tracks the move out of the corner of her eye. But it isn’t until her hands start to twist together that Ava knows she’s on the verge of saying something she’s slightly afraid of saying.

Ava pads past her, slides the bread into the toaster, and turns to face her.

“It’s our day off,” she reminds Bea.

Bea’s eyes narrow slightly. “How did you-”

“Mind reading. New perk of the Halo.” Ava grins almost immediately, softening the look with a hand on Bea’s. Bea’s fingers still under hers. “I just know you, Bea. I can read your tells.”

“I don’t have tells.”

Ava chuckles. “You most certainly do. You fidget when you’re going to say something you’re afraid is going to make me upset.” She squeezes Bea’s hand. “Lucky for you, I find it endearing.”

Bea’s eyes narrow further. “I am not afraid of making you upset.”

They both know it’s a lie. They both do the sensible thing and don’t say it out loud.

Ava leans back against the counter, still holding Bea’s fingers in her own. “So, what do you want to do instead of our day off?” She leans in a little, her shoulder pressed to Bea’s upper arm, bare thanks to the tank top she’s picked out this morning. “Train?”

Bea doesn’t answer for a second before she sighs. “Yes. I was thinking we could try and use the Halo a little today. If you’re agreeable to that.”

“For you? I could be.” Ava turns and rests her forehead against Bea’s arm. She’s still tired, still sleepy, and the idea of going out to train doesn’t sound appealing at all. But for Bea, there’s not much she wouldn’t do. 

There are times when she thinks Bea knows that. There are times where Ava has a passing thought that she has to know. But Bea doesn’t push it, doesn’t take advantage of it. She simply asks Ava for something and Ava gives in happily.

“It’s okay to say no,” Bea - kind, steady, honest - says. “We can go into town and shop around.”

Ava smiles, feeling Bea’s bicep ripple under her cheek. “You hate ‘shopping around’.”

“For you? I don’t.”

Ava hopes Bea doesn’t hear the catch of breath in her throat. She’s sure Bea feels it though. She has to. She’s the most observant person Ava has ever met, cataloging things that have no significance to Ava and saving them for later. She remembers their neighbor’s grocery schedule and offers to carry the old woman’s bags upstairs. She recalls the one time Hans said he hates the mid-afternoon shift and tries to only schedule them with Ava. And as she’s just demonstrated this morning, she knows Ava likes her tea with one sugar and always keeps it on hand, even though Ava is sure it offends her. Ava imagines her mind as a library card catalog, drawers and drawers of cards on their surroundings.

Ava ignores the flush on her face and laughs, ignoring that too when it sounds a little shaky. “Well, flatter a girl, why don’t you?” She leans away, the small of her back pressed against the formica counter behind her. “I don’t know what we’d go shopping for, anyway. We don’t really need anything.”

She looks around their apartment. It’s filled with small knick knacks that Ava has picked up on their shopping trips. She smiles when she remembers the pained look on Bea’s face as she picked up things that were increasingly hideous. Ava only stopped when Bea told her, through clenched teeth, that, yes , the image of a frog with large bulbous eyes and a washed-out green color was perfect for their bathroom. 

She settled on a small picture of a cat playing with a ball of yarn on a wooden floor that looked soft to the touch. She named it Jovin and talks to it while she brushes her teeth. She’s never heard Bea do the same, but maybe she does when Ava is out of the apartment. Ava hopes.

Bea hums now, the sound nearly drowned out by the pop of the toaster. Ava turns around and does what she always does: grabs the toast with quick hands, letting out soft hisses as the crumbs sear her fingertips. Bea tuts, that sound loud enough, and hands her a plate. Ava tosses the toast back and forth for a second before dropping it onto the plate. She turns to reach for the strawberry jam she likes onto to find Bea already holding it and a knife in her hands, offering them to her.

“You do like me.” Bea doesn’t say anything but she does roll her eyes. Ava grins. “Did you want to split this?”

Bea considers this for a moment and Ava takes it as a yes, slathering on the jam and cutting it crookedly. She offers Bea the slightly bigger half, biting into her so Bea can’t convince her to switch. Bea sighs heavily, aware of what Ava did, but takes the toast and a more dignified bite. 

They stand there, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a piece of toast. Ava has never been happier in her whole life.

“We can train,” she says through a mouthful of toast. She knows there’s crumbs in the corner of her mouth, jam smeared across her lips. 

Bea doesn’t turn her head but Ava knows she can see it. “I’ve been wanting to finish my book,” is all she says.

“Only if you’re sure.” Ava picks up her tea and blows on it, sipping it. It’s still nearly scalding but she welcomes the way it clears her mouth of the sticky, sweet jam. “I would hate to ruin your plans.”

“Since when have you cared about that?” she asks without malice. She shoulders Ava gently, a small smile on her face. “I might actually get some reading done without your incessant television shows playing.”

“Oh, no, sister. It’s movie marathon day, if we’re not doing anything.” Ava wiggles her eyebrows. Bea hates her attempts at movie marathons, calling her choices an insult to film. She reminds Bea there’s a big difference between films and movies and only one of those categories is actually interesting.

Bea’s voice is flat when she says, “Training sounds like a good idea, actually.”

Ava laughs, the sound filling the space between them. She catches Bea’s smile when she turns her head. “You’ve committed now. But we’re going to need things. Popcorn. We have no soda left, do we? And candy.”

Bea heaves a halfhearted disgruntled sigh. “I’m going to regret this,” she says, speaking to herself.

Ava takes another sip of her tea, putting it down as she grabs the napkin under it, wiping haphazardly at her face. She pushes off the counter, twisting neatly on her heel as she fires two finger guns at Bea. “This is going to be the best day off.”

“You said that last time,” Bea points out.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” 

She’s already running through a mental shopping list. Bea has a soft spot for gummy candy that caught Ava by surprise. She’ll have to stock up on those, if she’s looking to entice Bea into putting her book down and joining her as she makes her way through the Die Hard series. There’s something romantic about John McClane hunting down Eastern German terrorists to get back to his estranged wife; Bea will definitely see that if she just gives Bruce-Willis-at-his-peak a chance.

She watches Bea turn to the counter and start to tidy up. She puts Ava’s mug aside, sweeping the crumbs from the toast into her hand to dust them into the sink. She screws the cap back on the jam and puts it in the spot in the refrigerator reserved for jam. She rinses off the knife Ava used, putting it in the sink. She dampens a washcloth and wipes down the counter.

Ava is nearly bowled over by the sudden flare of affection in her chest. It warms her better than the tea Bea just made her, curls her toes in like snuggling down under a thick blanket. She has to steady herself against the doorway, fingers digging into the wood. She’s enamored with Bea, hooked on every little thing she learns about her, hoarding them to study them later. She feels like she could never learn enough, that Bea would continue to surprise her every day of their lives together.

But more than that, being with Bea is the safest she’s ever been. She knows she can jump and Bea is going to be there. She knows she can run and Bea is just a step behind her. She knows she can fall and Bea will catch her. Bea is her constant - the one thing she has to keep her sane. It goes beyond that, it’s deeper than that for Ava. Out of all the people she’s met and the ones who have tried to turn her into something she’s not, something she can’t be, Bea is the only one who has let her explore who she’s wanted to be.

She’d pick Bea. Out of all the people in the world, out of 8 billion of them, she’d pick Bea over every single one.

The weight of that has her crossing the room, her body moving before her mind can catch up. She nearly slams into Bea, knocking them over. But Bea is solid and steady, hands braced against the counter as Ava rests her head against the curve of Bea’s shoulder blade.

Bea breathes out. “Ava?”

Ava doesn’t answer, content to hold onto Bea and soak in her warmth. Bea’s back ripples under her cheek as she lifts a hand slowly and drops it over Ava’s, just above her navel. Her fingers are cold against Ava’s from the water she just ran over the knife but it doesn’t do anything to cool down the way Ava’s skin feels like it’s on fire.

“Ava.”

“You’re my favorite person,” Ava breathes. Before she can stop herself, she lifts onto the tips of her toes and brushes her mouth to the soft skin just above the hem of Bea’s tank top. She does it tentatively, carefully. She just needs to be close, to make Bea understand. She feels Bea inhale sharply and stiffen slightly but she doesn’t pull away from Bea right away, choosing instead to mutter, “I don’t tell you that enough,” against her skin.

The hand on hers flexes just slightly; Bea heard her. Ava pulls away then, squeezing Bea’s hips before her hands drop off and back down to her sides. Bea doesn’t turn around, her hands back and curled around the countertop. Her spine is straightened, like she’s being pulled by an imaginary string upright. Ava watches the muscles in her back ripple as she breathes in and then she takes another step back.

She heads back into their bedroom, stopping in the doorway to look back over her shoulder, just once. Bea is still there, still faced away from her and still as can be. She can see her hand, still curled into the counter, knuckles slightly discolored. 

Ava worries she overstepped, worries that she pushed too hard. Maybe she should have settled with a hug, squeezing Bea tightly to let her know how much she appreciate her. Maybe that would have been enough for Bea. She just doesn’t know that it would have been enough for her . She lifts a hand to her bottom lip, touching it carefully as if she’s going to wipe away the feeling of Bea’s skin. She lingers just a moment more, staring at the back of the woman who has given up everything to be here with her.

Her hand drifts back to her side and she curls her fingers in, stopping herself from walking back into the kitchen and grabbing Bea and-

“I would like some gummy candies.” Bea’s voice rings clear and steady.

Ava grins. “I knew it .”

Bea doesn’t answer her, purposefully picking up her empty mug and rinsing it in the kitchen sink. Ava watches the slope of her shoulders, though, and catches the slight shake that means she’s laughing. Ava lets a smile bloom on her face, and then she does turn away, intent on finding clothes so she can go out and buy Bea her gummy candies and her favorite chocolates. Maybe she can convince Bea to pick up the flavored popcorn instead of just the butter kind.

And all the while, that affection simmers like warm hot chocolate on a stove. Ava leans into it, lets it wash over her, and knows she can’t be the only one feeling its effects.

~

Ava pushes her way through the crowd back to the bar. The bottles of vodka in her arms threaten to topple as a large university student, laughing too loud, bumps into her. In her mind, she’s watching two days of wages drop and break against the ground. 

Just as she gives in and accepts her fate and the dent in their funds, two strong hands grab one of the bottles on top, shifting the center of gravity and giving Ava a chance at steadying the rest of the shaking pile. She looks up, relieved, and Bea smiles quickly back at her.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she exhales, the words swallowed up by the noise. She makes it the last few steps to the bar, lining up the bottles. Bea reaches past her, placing the one in her hand next to them. “Seriously, where did all these people come from?”

Bea leans against the bar and looks around. The crowd has grown considerably since lunch. And for some reason, everyone wants a drink with vodka in it. They ripped through the open bottles they had on the shelf and now Ava has brought down three more, just to be sure. But the crowd is also loud, drowning out the music playing and sucking up all the tables, leaving Bea with nowhere to sit.

“I’m assuming there’s something happening in town. Or maybe the next one.” Bea has to lean forward to say it, her lips brushing against the shell of Ava’s ear. “It’s good for business.”

Ava grins. “But bad for my feet. I haven’t even gotten a chance to sit down with you and make Hans do all the work.”

She feels Bea’s smile more than she sees it. “I’m sure Hans appreciates that.”

“He doesn’t appreciate me nearly as much as he should.” Ava pulls back and sees the laugh in Bea’s eyes. She grins and leans in again. “Do you want me to go fight for your seat back?” She looks over Bea’s shoulder. There’s a guy sitting where Bea usually does, bare biceps as large as his head. She sizes him up. She might be able to take him on. She’s littler than he is and Bea has been teaching her to play to her strengths. “I could,” she decides, nodding. “I want to.”

Bea’s hand drops to her wrist, fingers squeezing around the bone. “While I appreciate the chivalry, that’s not necessary. I can go upstairs and work there.”

She fights off a smile. She is being chivalrous and it’s time Bea noticed those things. But then she pouts. “But if you’re upstairs, I can’t see you.”

“You can hardly see me down here.” Bea’s fingers start to drift off her wrist and Ava turns over her hand, catching them and lacing them with her own. “Besides, I can handle most distractions, but this is a little much.”

“A perfect time to hone your skills,” Ava points out. Her thumb brushes over the ridge of Bea’s knuckles, feeling each valley and peak. There are calluses there, the result of years engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Ava likes tracing them, imagining what left these marks. She doesn’t ask but she wants to; she wants to be regaled by the stories, Bea’s voice captivating. Instead, she does this: holds Bea’s hand and lets her fingertips track them from where they start to where they end.

If Bea minds, she doesn’t say so. She doesn’t pull away. In the depths of her heart, Ava hopes Bea likes it. She has to, Ava’s mind supplies. Because she’s been letting it happen. She’s been lingering, giving Ava enough time to catch up: drifting past her slowly so Ava can run a finger down over her wrist; letting Ava take her hand as they wander home after work; leaning in on movie nights until Ava’s head is resting against Bea’s shoulder. 

And it spurs Ava on enough that she keeps doing it. It’s purely selfish, of course. Bea’s touch grounds her, gives her comfort. She’s practically craving it at this point. If she doesn’t touch Bea, her fingers are restless. If she can’t brush an arm against Bea’s while they’re shoulder to shoulder at the sink washing and drying dishes, she feels a little strung out - like the Halo is out of power and she’s waiting anxiously for it to come back online. If she can’t run her foot along the curve of Bea’s calf at night, she can’t fall asleep, shaking in the sheets.

And Bea never backs down, never moves away, never rolls to the other side of the bed. She lets Ava take and never asks for anything back. God , does Ava want to her ask.

She isn’t going to lie to herself. This thing for Bea bubbles up and over. She’s young and she still has so much to learn, but she knows this is what love feels like. It’s more intoxicating than anything she felt for JC - and that had felt so big. But her feelings for Bea are all-consuming without overwhelming her. They’re like the warm ocean tide and she’s never wanted to swim so badly in her whole life.

Bea smiles a little. “While I appreciate the generous offer of ‘honing my skills’ as you say, I’m afraid I’ll just be in the way.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a great bartender.” Ava tries to lie but Bea sees right through her. Of all the things Beatrice has mastered easily, bartending is not one of them. Not everyone appreciates her stoic demeanor. “You’re very pretty to look at?” she tries.

Bea rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Ava.”

Ava brightly, winking. “You’re very welcome, Beatrice.”

Hans looks pointedly over his shoulder and Ava snaps to attention, her fingers sliding off Bea’s wrist. “Well, back to the grind. Stop being a bad boss and let me work.”

Bea doesn’t dignify that with a response, turning and disappearing into the crowd. Ava watches her go, imagining that this is how people on boats look like when they watch land disappear. They want to jump back in and swim towards it, but they’re stuck as it rocks in the water, staring dreamily at it.

Hans says her name and she startles, turning to the first face she finds and asking what it wants to drink.

The rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur. She doesn’t know how many drinks she makes, only that the Halo feels like it’s starting to sweat under her skin. The sun is starting to set in the sky and the lights they have running through the place start to flicker on. The crowd slowly thins out and Ava drifts into the liminal time between her lunch and dinner break - a time where Bea wanders back down from the attic and gets a cold soda to drink at her favorite table while they clean up the lunchtime rush. 

Ava steals glances at her as she wipes down the bar, cleaning up the sticky spots where the liquor spilled over the rim of a glass. Bea has her usual papers spread out in front of her; Ava knows she’s trying to balance the sudden summer influx. Her arm starts to slow, lazily wiping down the wood as she imagines what Bea would do if she went over there and took away the papers, pulled Bea to her feet and-

“Ava?” She blinks. Hans is in front of her, head ducked in concern as his eyes roam her face. “Are you alright?”

Ava quickly plasters on a smile. “Of course I am. Just got…”

Hans looks over his shoulder. “Distracted?”

She thinks she does an admirable job of hiding the way her cheeks flush. Hans is the best kind of bartender: quick with a joke and perceptive . He’s always watching her watch Beatrice, a look of interest on his face as he studies the two of them. She knows because while he’s perceptive, he’s not always quick. She catches him sometimes before he has a chance to look away.

It should make her nervous. They’re trying to blend in and longing looks across the room always get noticed. But he’s kind and lets her linger at Bea’s side for a moment longer than he probably should, fighting off crowds so that Ava can hand-deliver a drink Bea didn’t ask for.

“Thinking about dinner,” she says, trying to save face. “I think Bea wants to make that chicken stew you mentioned.”

Now Hans is the one doing an admirable job of hiding his amusement. “Ah, yes. The chicken stew. It was good, no? The red pepper flakes are important.”

She nods firmly, rubbing more furiously at the sticky bar top. “Red pepper flakes, got it.”

He slowly puts his hand down over hers, stilling the washcloth as she scrubs at the wood. He smiles crookedly. “If you put a hole in it, I believe you might need to replace it.”

“Oh, right.” Ava throws the towel at the small pile growing under the bar. She’ll need to clean those up in a bit. “My bad.”

“A forgivable offense.” Hans grabs a glass and fills it with soda and lime juice, picking a lime out of the citrus container and pushing it across the bar towards her. “She is due for one, yes?”

Ava doesn’t wait for another invitation, picking up the glass and slipping around pulled out chairs and crooked tables until she’s standing at Bea’s, a wide smile on her face. It takes Bea a moment to look up but Ava knows she clocked her approach from the moment Ava twisted on the tips of her toes. Beatrice is nothing if not observant; Ava likes to think she’s extra observant of her.

“Just a moment,” Bea says in a low voice. She scribbles down another number, studying it before she nods in satisfaction and puts down her pencil, looking up at Ava.

Again, there’s something about being under Bea’s total attention that takes Ava’s breath away. Her gaze can be so… intense, so focused. Ava feels like the only person in the room when Bea looks at her with dark, hooded eyes; like the apocalypse could be raging around them and Ava would never know, as long as Bea was looking at her.

Ava places the glass down with a flourish. “Your afternoon drink, m’lady.” She grins a little when Bea looks down, a slight flush on her face.

“Thank you.” Bea lifts the glass to her lips and takes a small sip. She smiles. “Tell Hans he did a good job.”

Ava pushes her bottom lip out in a pout. “Maybe I remembered.”

The withering look Bea gives her is softened by the warm smile on her face.

“I was going to.” Ava shrugs a shoulder, a small ripple of annoyance burrowing in her head. “He just beat me to it.”

She knows she’s pouting like a small child, but she really was going to get Bea and drink and Hans really did beat her to it and so maybe Ava is selfish and wants Bea’s smiles all to herself. That doesn’t make her a bad person. It just makes her… She swallows back the word jealous .

Bea puts the drink down and looks expectantly at Ava. “Is everything okay?”

“Totally,” Ava says brightly. She pushes away the annoyance. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh.”

Ava hates the way Bea sometimes seems so surprised to find that someone is interested in how she’s doing. The familiar ‘ If I meet her parents, I’ll… ” thought comes with her next breath. Bea deserves to have someone asking how she’s doing, how she’s feeling, if she needs anything all the time. She knows the OCS was better, but Mother Superion certainly lacked a little bit of… warmth, sometimes. And Bea can be so stoic, she’s sure people just assumed she was good, didn’t push when Bea didn’t expand on that.

Though, she likes to think she can read Bea better than anyone else. She knows when things aren’t good. She knows when Bea is worried, when that slight wrinkle appears between her eyes. She knows when Bea is amused, how the corner of her mouth twitches into a quick smile. She knows when Bea is exasperated, that heavy sigh she lets out. She knows when Bea is focused, a look of steely determination in her eyes. She knows when Bea is happy , her smile stretching from ear to ear.

She also knows when Bea is tired, a line of exhaustion across her forehead. And the books never fail to make her tired as she wades through years of past mistakes, working to right things long established before her.

Bea finally says, “I’m good,” and nods firmly.

Ava pulls out the seat across from Bea and drops into it. “You look like the books are kicking your ass.”

Bea sighs softly. “Gustav’s bookkeeping is less than stellar. It’s a wonder he kept this place open as long as he has. He was bleeding money, letting distributors upsell him, and lowballing his merchandise.” She picks up her pencil again, idly spinning it between her fingers. Ava watches, mesmerized by it, and nearly misses Bea saying, “But it’s not something I can’t solve.”

“There’s not much you can’t do,” Ava admits, voice quieter than she wants it to be. She blinks and straightens up a little. “I mean, you’re just, like, a genius.”

“I’m hardly a genius,” Bea says with a slight smile. “But I am quite skilled in many things,” she admits.

Ava grins. “And modest. Is that pride I hear, Beatrice.”

Bea’s cheeks flush again. “No,” she says quickly. “Just-”

“I’m kidding.” Ava reaches across the table, catching Bea’s hand in hers. She turns it over, running her thumb along Bea’s lifeline. “You should be proud of your skills. Not everyone can master what you have.”

“You just haven’t had the time to practice.” Bea is looking at their hands. Her gaze lingers on them while Ava’s eyes linger on Bea.

“You’ll teach me?”

Bea looks back up. “Whatever you want to know.”

The words hold a weight that steals Ava’s breath. She smiles, feeling it tremble slightly. Bea has always been the one willing to teach her, willing to work through things with her. She sat patiently while Ava painstakingly worked on her handwriting. She stands calmly and lets Ava figure out how to use the Halo. For everyone who wanted something from her in the last few months, Beatrice has been one of the only ones who took the time to let her work her way there, gently correcting her mistakes. 

“Why’re you like this?” she murmurs.

Bea sits back a little, eyes confused. Her hand starts to slide out of Ava’s, but Ava grips it tightly.

“Amazing,” she finishes. “Why’re you so amazing?”

“I’m hardly amazing,” Bea says, that blush spreading. Her freckles stand out.

“You’re also kindhearted,” Ava continues. “Perceptive. Loyal. Patient. Forgiving. Generous. What’s that word that means you’re good at getting back up when things go to shit? Resilient? Brave.” She smiles, squeezing Bea’s hand with each word.

Bea swallows, her throat bobbing. “Yes, well,” she finally says after a moment.

Ava doesn’t make a joke about Bea being speechless. She doesn’t want to cheapen the moment. So she just squeezes Bea’s hand one more time and pulls away gently, sitting back in her seat. “Better get back to it, I guess.”

There’s a shout from the street and both of them tense, bodies kicking into fight mode. She doesn’t get up right away; Bea’s eyes cut to her and tell her to stay still. But the shout quickly becomes a laugh and both of them settle back into their seats. The laugh becomes louder, closer, and Ava stares curiously as a man enters the back, a large guitar in his hands. He strums it quickly, a melody that Ava doesn’t recognize, but a cheer goes up around him. Ava sits back in her seat and grins as the bar starts to liven up around them.

Hans throws his hands up in the air, a large smile on his face. Another man with a second guitar comes in, strumming in time with the first. One of their regulars, Lars, gets up out of his seat and starts to clap his hands in time with the music, beaming. Two women in the corner - the mojito ladies, Ava calls them in her mind - stand as well, clapping and grabbing each other’s hands as they start a complicated dance. Ava laughs, looking around excitedly as people start to dance.

Hans comes out from behind the bar, his feet moving in a way that shows why he’s so quick on his feet as he moves around her while serving. He has his hands high above his head, clapping on beat. He calls Ava’s name with a laugh and she finds herself bobbing in her seat, trying to follow the melody.

A man at a nearby table grabs the hand of a woman and twirls her to her feet. Ava laughs, loud and bright and still under the music. Hans calls her name again and Ava jumps to her feet, hands curled around the back of the chair as she looks at Bea.

“Dance with me!”

Bea shakes her head quickly. “Oh, no.”

Ava rolls her eyes and holds out a hand. “Let loose, Beatrice. Dance with me!”

“I don’t know how,” Bea calls back. She looks at Ava’s hand.

Ava jumps on the tips of her toes, swaying her hips in time to the music. She slides closer to Bea, eyes imploring. “You can’t tell me you didn’t learn dancing in any of your fancy schools.”

Bea looks amused for a moment. “I certainly didn’t learn this dance.”

She grabs for Bea’s hand, pulling Bea up and out of her seat an inch as she holds Bea’s hand to her chest. 

Bea starts to shake her head and Ava laughs a little. “I’m sorry, did I not ask you the right way? Is there a bow involved? Do I need to send flowers ahead of time with my intentions?” She tightens her grip on Bea’s hand slightly as bows clumsily. She feels Bea’s hand shake in a laugh. “Oh, come on, Bea.” She pushes out her bottom lip. “For me?”

She thinks Bea is going to give in for just a moment before Hans calls Ava’s name one more time and Bea looks away. It’s too much, Ava knows. She’s pushing a little too hard. They’re in public, not the safety of their apartment where Bea is freer with physical affection, with fingers brushing as they reach for the same dishes and their shoulders pressed together in bed. So she smiles again and lifts Bea’s hand higher, closer. 

“It’s okay,” she breathes against Bea’s skin. Bea’s hand hovers at her chin. “One day, I’ll get you to dance with me.”

She looks around quickly. Everyone is dancing, focused on the music and their feet. Hans has swept someone else up for a moment. She meets Bea’s eyes for a moment, still grinning, and then bows her head, pressing her mouth to the smooth skin of Bea’s hand. She can feel the ridge of Bea’s knuckles under her lips and she tightens her grip just slightly. Her eyes follow Bea's wrist to her elbow and up to her shoulder, over the collar of Bea’s shirt and to her face. There’s a slight flush to her cheeks, her mouth open just slightly. Ava closes her eyes and keeps her lips pressed against Bea’s warm skin for just a moment more before she pulls back.

One of the guitars moves towards them and Ava startles, laughing. She holds Bea’s hand for a moment longer before she carefully lowers it back down. She doesn’t get a chance to say anything she wants to say; Hans grabs her by the shoulder and turns her around, hands already maneuvering her into position. She looks over her shoulder at Bea, catching the tail end of the affection in her eyes.

She lets Hans sweep her away, lets Hans spin her in circles that don't make sense.

Bea is her center each time, keeping her from becoming dizzy. Ava’s eyes always find her in the crowd, always pull her back, and Ava smiles brightly each time, trying to tell Bea: one day, this will be us. One day, we’ll dance for the whole world to see.

You’ll see what I see when I look at you. And you’ll like yourself as much as I do.

For now, she touches her bottom lip and imagines Bea’s skin against it.