Chapter Text
“Hey, Beatrice?”
Beatrice, seated at her desk, looked up from the dizzying array of knives splayed before her to see Ava standing in the doorway, haloed by the golden afternoon sun slanting through the corridor. It caught the loose frizz of her hair and set it aglow. She wouldn’t have looked amiss amongst a Byzantine chorus of angels. That is –she was a vision. Beatrice wasn’t entirely sure whether that thought could be considered blasphemy. But, she was drawn from her potentially-heretical thoughts by the unreadable expression on Ava’s face, which shot a pang of worry through her –Ava normally wore her emotions on her sleeve. “Yes?”
“You’re gay, right?”
Beatrice dropped the knife she had been polishing on the ground. It bounced, off its pommel, a fraction of a centimetre from her foot, and landed spinning on the floor between her and Ava. She watched it revolve for a second, her mind following the same pattern. “I, wh—”
What struck her first: Ava had said it so casually, like it was easy. Like she hadn’t spent her life haunted by that word. Like it wasn’t something she struggled to affix to herself even within the confines of her own mind. Like she hadn’t spent hours mouthing it in front of the mirror, watching the way her mouth shaped the word. Watching that reflexive flinch, her tell, and schooling the shiver of disgust from her face. But, of course she hadn’t –this was Ava. This wasn’t one of her demons. And even if Ava had liked women (something Beatrice resolutely refused to contemplate), Beatrice got the sense that it wouldn’t have fazed her. That she would have accepted that part of herself without fanfare, simple as breathing. Beatrice chose not to follow that pang of bitterness to its root.
“Why?” Beatrice eventually managed, proud of the way she’d schooled her voice into a semblance of normalcy.
“You are, right? Lesbisch? I didn’t misread that conversation?”
Beatrice couldn’t help the huffed, sharp laugh that escaped her, tilting her head down to hide her strained smile from Ava. She’d spent hours replaying that conversation in her mind, to the point of obsession –had she said too much? Not enough? Had Ava meant what she’d said in reply? What you are is beautiful. Beatrice tried to keep those words from her mind during the day, but they haunted her late into her nights, alone in the dark. Sometimes a balm against her restless mind. Sometimes the source of the ache.
“Yes.” Beatrice mustered at last. “Why?” She couldn’t conceal her wariness from the question –the way her voice tilted up at the end, trembling, betrayed her.
Ava took a step into Beatrice’s room. “How did you know?”
Beatrice could have laughed. She thought she might cry. She had to turn around, step away from the desk to look out her window, down into the training grounds of Cat’s Cradle. Small figures flowed through a series of offensive poses, too far away for Beatrice to make out who they were. “Know what?” she asked, buying herself some time to regain her composure.
“That you liked girls?” Ava continued, sounding more hesitant. Beatrice heard a creak of bedsprings, and cast a glance over her shoulder to see that Ava had settled herself on Beatrice’s bed. Ava was twisted to face her. Ava caught her eye, but quickly looked back down at her hands, restless in her lap. Beatrice didn’t know what to make of it.
“I, uhm,” she began ineloquently, moving to sit on the other side of the bed, her back to Ava. She couldn’t look at her as she said this. Afraid of what Ava might see on her face. “It was something that was, just, always there, for me. Like a universal constant. I was… drawn to girls.” She struggled to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I didn’t realize that not everyone felt the way I did, at first. But then my friends started becoming… interested… in boys, and I didn’t. It was the first time I was conscious of feeling different. Not that I had any cognizance of what that meant. I just really wanted to hold my friend Isabella’s hand. Wanted so bad it made my body ache.” She took a steadying breath, willing herself back into the present. Pushed down those memories, their warmth tinged now by the cold water of fear, the bitterness of shame. Pain was what made me a Sister Warrior. She had told Ava this story before, but couched in the safety of vaguer terms. “Things…. progressed. Eventually my parents found out. Caught me in flagrante delicto. Shipped me off to Catholic boarding school and, well. Here we are now.”
Beatrice felt a hand on her shoulder, radiating warmth. She looked over. Ava had moved closer, kneeling on the bed to fully face her.
“I’m sorry,” Ava whispered, looking stricken.
Beatrice twisted to half-face her. “Don’t be,” she said, conscious of the strange looping of time, the way their conversation in the ArqTech lab seemed to be replaying itself, albeit with the truth less veiled. She felt painfully exposed. Which was likely what prompted her to ask the next question –an eye for an eye. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh.” Ava withdrew her hand, suddenly giving Beatrice that nervous, wobbly smile of hers. “Y’know.” She waved a hand.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, I don’t.”
“It’s just—” Ava was looking everywhere but at her face. “I’ve always known I like boys, yanno?”
For reasons she didn’t want to investigate, Beatrice felt that like a punch to the gut. “Oh.” She began to stand up, anger seeping in. Had Ava asked her to expose the most vulnerable parts of herself just for the sake of entertainment? Had she been bored, and sought out Beatrice like she was a circus freak? Beatrice knew she was being unkind in her assessment, but she couldn’t help it. “Well. I’m glad my abnormalcy could satisfy your curiosity.”
“No.” Ava grabbed her wrist before she could pull too far away. “I wasn’t finished. I’ve always liked boys, but… I might like girls, too? That’s why I asked.”
Beatrice blinked. Once. Twice. Ava’s hand was a burning weight against her wrist. "Oh."
Ava rolled her eyes, gaze warm. “Oh,” she mimed.
“I, um. What brought you to this realization? If I might ask. That is. I don’t want to overstep—” Beatrice cut herself off. She was stumbling over her own tongue like a fool. Her cheeks felt excruciatingly warm. Her mind was stunningly blank; it felt the way her body did when it was reeling from a punch.
Ava looked away and shrugged. “Um. Girls are just really pretty, you know?”
“That’s it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I, uh, don’t mean to dissuade your journey of self-discovery, Ava. But I’m pretty sure straight girls can find other girls pretty, too.” Beatrice wasn’t too sure why she said that. Only that she was trying desperately to tamp this feeling down before it had time to name itself as hope. Damn.
Ava huffed. “Okay, how about… sexy? Do straight girls look at other girls and think, ‘Mmm, I’d rail her. Or, oh, be railed by her’?”
Beatrice choked on her own spit. She briefly wished she had Ava’s gift, so she could phase right through the floor instead of trying to find something to say to that. Her whole body burned in an excruciating combination of embarrassment and lust. Was this a precursor to the fires of Hell? Self-immolation sounded like a better alternative in this moment.
Ava must have mistaken her sputtering for actual respiratory distress, because she suddenly moved closer and put a hand on Beatrice’s back, beginning to rub soothing circles. Just like that, Beatrice was in actual respiratory distress.
Mary chose that moment to appear in the doorway, a sign of God’s eternal mercy.
Beatrice leapt to her feet. “I have to go,” she announced, voice still choked. “Pressing matters.”
Beatrice fled the room. She felt Ava’s eyes on her back as she went, and couldn’t push down a prickle of shame.
****
Mary jumped out of the way as Beatrice brushed past her, looking stricken. Subtly so, but Mary could read it in the hard gleam of her eyes, and the way her hands were crushed into fists at her sides. Mary watched Ava watch Beatrice go, caught the way Ava’s brow crumpled. God, those two needed to sort their shit out.
Mary had wanted to speak to Beatrice about OCS business. But she knew there was no point approaching her when she was in a state. So, instead Mary leaned against the door, and said, with careful nonchalance, “Do I even wanna know?”
Ava flopped down on Beatrice’s bed and pressed the base of her palms against her eyes. “I came out to Beatrice. I don’t think it went very well.”
Mary couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. Unexpected. Well. Not that unexpected. Everyone could see how those two looked at each other, how they shared private laughter and lingering touches. Mary had been pleased, if a little wary. She knew Beatrice had had a difficult time, didn’t know if she had fully reconciled her own attraction. And she knew Ava was sometimes over-eager, but also very sensitive to rejection. They were good for each other, but also a potentially volatile combination, at the wrong moment.
“Why do you say that?” Mary asked.
“You saw how she just left. And I thought I was the flight risk.” Upset bled through in the quaver of Ava’s voice.
Mary pursed her lips into a line, thinking. How to phrase this tactfully? Ugh. Since when had she become the resident OCS therapist? “Mind if I sit?”
Ava sat back up. “I’ve already warmed a spot for you,” she said, patting the end of the bed. Despite the levity of her words, there was an uncharacteristic heaviness to the set of her shoulders. Ava was trying to conceal the depth to which she had been hurt by Beatrice’s sudden departure.
Mary sighed, and sat next to her. Damn, this bed was hard. Not that she expected anything less from Beatrice. Worldly comforts? Not for her. Now, where to begin? Mary drew in a breath. “I’m sure you know Beatrice hasn’t had the easiest time… accepting herself. Her family—”
“Were dickbags?” Ava supplied.
Mary laughed. “Exactly. But, Ava, that kind of rejection, from the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally, who you trusted—” Her mind flared briefly to Vincent, the sharp sting of his betrayal fresh despite the months it had been, and she paused to collect herself. “It leaves wounds. Hard-to-heal ones. And sometimes when they’re exposed, your instinct is to protect yourself. To run away. To not let yourself get hurt again.”
Ava balled her hands into fists, and placed them in her lap with an unexpected degree of composure. “I don’t want to hurt her,” she whispered, almost quiet enough that Mary didn’t catch it.
“I know.”
“I just—” Ava paused, seemingly choosing her words with again an uncharacteristic care. Mary felt her evaluation of Ava begin to shift, ever so minutely in her mind. Maybe Beatrice really was a good influence. “I just want to make her feel loved.”
Mary stifled her comment on hormones before it could leave her mouth. Now was not the time for flippancy. “You already do,” she said instead.
Ava sounded frustrated. “No, I mean—I want to hold her, and kiss her, and I want—”
Mary held up a hand. “Spare me the details. Some things I don’t wanna picture.”
“Sorry. Hormones?” Ava looked chagrined.
Mary laughed, and then stilled. “It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?”
Ava stared off into the distance for a long moment. Mary let her think. She remembered how it had been with Shannon, and God, it had been more than a year, but the thought still made her heart feel cracked-open. That was one wound she didn’t think would ever heal.
Finally, Ava spoke. “Yeah, it is. I think. What do I do about it, Mary?”
Mary shrugged. “Be yourself. Beatrice cares about you for you.” Mary paused, then shot a teasing glance over at Ava. “God knows how.”
“Hey, I’m a fucking treasure.”
“Mhm.”
Ava grew quieter again. “But, how do I keep her from running away again?”
Mary exhaled. “Just be gentle. Beatrice knows who she is, but she’s still learning to let herself love that part of herself. Show her you care, but give her time to allow herself to accept that care. If she runs, don’t chase her. Wait for her to come back in her own time. Does that make sense?”
Ava nodded, but then frowned. “But, what if… what if she doesn’t want me, that way?”
Mary barked a laugh. “Girl, you’re blind. She’s head-over-heels for you. I’ve never seen Beatrice look at anybody the way she looks at you.”
****
Outside her room, back pressed to the cold stone beside her door, Beatrice pressed a shaking fist to her mouth. She bit down on it to prevent any sound escaping. Tears blurred her vision. Those that had already fallen wet the front of her habit where it met her neck, staining the deep blue almost black. What had she done to deserve any of this? Mary’s quiet understanding: the way she had been seen despite how carefully she’d believed she’d hidden herself. The depth of Ava’s care for her. The depth of her own wanting. Was this a test, a punishment from God, or a gift? Beatrice didn’t know, and that frightened her. Frightened her more than fighting demons, hired guns, even Adriel himself. In battle, she was level-headed. In battle, she knew herself. But in this moment, slumped against a wall with snot drying on her face– Beatrice didn’t know this girl. Who was she? What did she want? What was she allowed to want?
Beatrice heard sound from inside the room –a creak as someone stood up from her bed. She pushed herself off the wall and sprinted down the corridor, turning the corner to vanish from sight. She wasn’t ready to confront this. Not yet.
****
Ava poked her head out of the room, hearing quick footsteps on stone, and caught a flash of disappearing navy blue. Fuck.