Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all starts with Luna, because apparently her life now hinges on the sensibilities of a cooler than cool three-year-old.

"You no go swim?"

With a chin covered in spaghetti sauce, Luna looks accusingly at Ava, as if the redhead stepped in shit and walked it into the apartment.

"I don't know how to, just like you.” Ava runs her socks over the carpet, just in case.

"You big 'dough!"

Ava looks to Kiki for help.

Her friend looks just as exasperated as her young steed.

"Ava, you let me let you babysit her last week and you don't know how to swim? Do you know how dangerous that was?"

"You were gone for like an hour tops -- what large body of water would I have fallen into in your apartment?" She lifts her glass to her mouth, before adding, "The plug doesn't even fit the sink properly."

"That is sooo not the point, Ava Dorothy Henrietta Daniels. And stop body-shaming Denise. How she fills up her orifices is fine."

Ava snorts her drink, coughing up the liquid as her throat burns.

"You did that,” -- she gets out around coughs -- "on purpose."

Her friend smiles and chuckles, patting her on the back. "You look like a fire hydrant."

Ava huffs, clearing her throat. There's no menace to Kiki's words, only a simple statement of fact. Ava's seen what she looks like in the mirror after too much exertion. It's not a pretty picture.

She might have scared some kids on the Griffith Observatory trail once.

Still.

The gym is for chumps with borderline narcissistic disorders.

Much of LA, then.

She has standards.

She'd rather die than--

The image of her father, in his pressed funeral suit before they'd closed the coffin lid, sucks what little air she has in her lungs.

Not now.

She blinks back her tears and aims for a smile, shaking her head.

A hand slides over hers, squeezing.

"All you have to do is breathe, pancake."

Kiki is kind, and it's what Ava needs.

So, she takes a shaky breath.

"You learn swimming with Mama an' me?"

Ava turns her attention back to Luna, her sadness pushed down again. The girl is peering up at her with a spaghetti-stained smile and a look that says just try and say no.

So, she says yes.

---

She forgets all about it, her mind and energy on Deborah's set, as they rework it and argue about it and push each other for perfection, all the while trying to settle the tightness in her chest she feels every time she thinks about Jimmy and the email and how absolutely fucked she's going to be when Deborah finds out.

Priorities and all that.

So, it's a surprise when Josefina calls her back downstairs with a She wants you for blackjack and Deborah's got the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as Ava sits beside her.

"And it's like, swimming is such a performative thing there," Kiki tells Deborah as she deals out two cards. "She just had to be on, like immediately, and I'm not going to be Mama June with Honey Boo Boo, I'm just not. Even though Blake the instructor was hotter than James Bond coming out of the ocean that one time. I'm not going to exploit my child just for some eye candy, you know?"

"Just come round here," Deborah tells Kiki, tapping for another card. "I'll get Marcus to hunt down this instructor and pay for some lessons and Luna and" -- Deborah turns to Ava, the grin appearing again -- "Shaun White here can have some fun."

No, Ava thinks.

Fuck no.

"You could've at least called me Katie Ledecky if you were aiming for a redhead in the correct--"

Her word is drowned out by Deborah's gleeful yes! and Ava looks down at her cards to find the queen of diamonds with a five and six of hearts.

"Nice," Kiki says, counting out the chips.

Her boss is on a roll right now.

"I don't even own a bathing suit," Ava counters.

"Just wear those horrendous clothes from the wellness center -- you already wear such unflattering crap that it'll be just another day in the life of an embarrassing millennial."

Deborah huffs out a laugh at her own joke, and Ava feels the familiar fire in her belly when they get into it.

"Gen Z, you dinosaur, and just for that I'm gonna wear the skimpiest bikini I can find and charm the fuck out of the instructor. I'll be swimming laps before you even finish your first diet coke of the day."

"I saw Blake first," Kiki suddenly says, a hint of desperation in her voice.

Ava looks in her direction and realizes her words have been misinterpreted. She sits up and squares her shoulders.

"I'm gonna platonically charm the fuck out of Kiki's future husband, and--"

"Wife," Deborah corrects, the shit-eating grin widening.

Ava looks properly at Kiki, who nods silently.

"Blake's a girl -- right." Ava feels her face immediately redden.

"I can't believe you just misgendered someone," Deborah says in mock consternation, eyes crinkling with humor.

"Fire hydrant," Kiki adds, pointing to her face.

---

She's getting used to things that make her uncomfortable.

She's caused most of them, of course, with her trigger-happy fingers and too fast mouth, and inability to just pause and think.

Well, it was the pause that was the issue, as opposed to the thinking, although she could definitely make a successful argument that it was the thinking too.

God.

Now she's just spiraling in a Pier 30 changing room.

Ava stares down at her phone, another missed call from Jimmy notifying her once again of the impending explosion coming.

Thank fuck for the do not disturb function, otherwise she probably would've flushed it in the plane’s toilet a week ago.

That would've made Deborah cackle.

She watches as the corner of her mouth turns up in the mirror, right before the tightness in her chest returns and she has to sit down.

Maybe if I tell her it'll lessen the blow...

Yeah, right.

Hey D, I sent an email out that will basically obliterate you in equal parts as a comedian, person, and mother in the eyes of the media, your fans, and DJ. You wanna get crab rolls for dinner?

Ava shudders, feeling the cold air conditioning hit her skin. She's got to get out of this box, with its harsh lighting and mirror showcasing all her flaws, visible or otherwise.

She needs to decide.

Her suitcase is still in the trunk of her rental. She's got all her clothes in it, and the rest of her stuff in her backpack, in case Jimmy (re herself) drops the bomb at Deborah's feet (inevitable) and Ava gets locked out of La Casa De Vance forever.

So, she's prepared.

She can go live in the desert in her little car until Marcus vacates that tenant of hers and she can figure something else out in the house she can't actually afford.

She just needs her heartbeat to settle first. It's been racing more often than not nowadays, never calming while Deborah's nearby.

The simple thought of her has --

"How's everything going in there?" a voice asks suddenly from the other side of the door. "Did you need a different size, or perhaps a different color?"

"I'm okay, thanks."

She is anything but.

"Well, if you need any help I'm here."

"Sure."

She listens as the girl retreats, and then drops her head backward, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

She has a decision to make.

Well, two decisions:

Face the wrath of Deborah Marjorie Vance, or cower like a mediocre white man until it's too late and she's handed her ass and served papers,

And

Black leopard print, or blue polka dot?

She sits there shivering in the leopard until the shop assistant asks if she's alright.

---

She's feeling sorry for herself in the Vance driveway when her mother calls, because the universe likes to fuck with her and why is now any different?

Her mother barrels in with no greeting, "I need you to come and get these boxes from the garage that your father left for you."

"What boxes?"

"His bloody records that he refused to get rid of, even though he hasn't listened to them in twenty years. For heaven's sake Ava, just come and get them, you're only around the corner."

Great. She thinks I'm at college.

Ava takes a long drag of her vape. Maybe she could turn the engine back on and floor it at the nearest oversized concrete pot.

The result would be the same.

"Mom, I'm on the other side of the country, in Las Vegas, like I told you. Just take them to goodwill or some--no, wait! Find the Woody Allen records first and light them on fire and then give the rest away. No one needs to know Dad was a rape apologist. I've already been canceled once."

"Ava, what are you on about? Your father never raped anyone."

"No, Mom, I'm saying..." Ava pauses, knowing she doesn't have it in her to try and make her mother understand. She hits the vape again. "Just forget it. How many boxes are there?"

"Well, I don't know Ava, there's that much crap in here I lost Mr Cream Pie for two days. Poor thing was absolutely howling when I found him."

"Mom," Ava coaxes, annoyance growing as she notices the figure exiting the house and heading her way in silk pajamas and a robe that cost more than her college tuition.

And yep, there's her heart again.

Fuck.

Ava watches as Deborah rounds the car towards the passenger door, her mother's voice distant static in her ear. In an instant it is opened and closed, Deborah sniffing the air of the car with something close to disdain.

No, not close to. Actual.

"Ava? Ava!"

Her mother calling her name gets through, and she loudly sighs.

"Mom, I'm with my boss right now and she is incredibly demanding--"

"Finish your conversation, Ava," Deborah tells her, just to be annoying.

Ava rolls her eyes and tries to calm herself from what she's now starting to suspect is a prolonged anxiety attack. Her mother was always good at causing those back in the day, along with her very brief addiction to cough syrup freshman year.

Fuck, you're a cliche.

"Look, if Dad wanted me to have them he would've told me, right? So, the fact that he never did probably means it’s just junk. I don't have time for this--"

All at once, her phone is being taken from her by a warm hand.

"Hello, Mrs Daniels? This is Deborah Vance..."

Ava bristles in her seat as she watches this woman turn on the charm. Take control of the situation.

"Well, I can get them couriered here, that's no problem at all…"

Then Deborah is bending forward and reaching for the Pier 30 bag that’s on the floor by her feet. Ava snatches it from her hands and tucks it away from her reach, watching as Deborah mouths how rude at her.

"No, I'll make sure Ava gets them...of course...well, I've never particularly been fond of cats..."

Deborah rolls her eyes. Ava chuckles at the sight, feeling herself calm down a little.

"No, I have two corgis, Barry and Cara…yes, they are unusual names for dogs, aren't they?"

Deborah cocks her hand in the shape of a gun and points it into her mouth, shooting herself with it. Ava lets out a loud laugh.

"Listen, I'm sorry to end our conversation, but it's time I did anything else. I'll have my CEO Marcus give you a call in regard to organizing the courier…yes, of course. Goodbye Mrs Daniels."

Deborah ends the call. Ava can see a myriad of jokes brewing behind her eyes as her phone is handed back to her.

"She's like Chris Farley on Conan."

"Hmm--not your best."

"Robin Williams if Robin Williams took a Xanax."

Ava hits her vape again. "Better. But also--too soon?"

"Christ, too soon. Lenny Bruce is probably too soon for your lot."

Ava hums. Looks up through the windscreen at the outside lights of the mansion, illuminating the front yard and porch.

She really likes it here. She can admit that much.

Deborah had all but demanded she set herself up in one of the guest bedrooms, stating that they had too many rewrites to do for Ava to be going back and forth. She suspects there was a whole lot of pride in the way for Deborah to spend one more cent at Marty's hotel. Ava had eagerly agreed, wanting to get away from that shitty room and the desk clerk and finally have some actual toothpaste.

Meals are made for her, as well as her bed. Josefina and the maids wash her clothes and hang them in her closet, and Ava folds them right back up and puts them right back into her suitcase in the trunk of her car. Sneaks a fresh set in her backpack every day.

Because the end is coming.

Even if the place is starting to feel like--

"Wanna know what else gives you wrinkles?" Deborah suddenly says, making Ava jump.

She turns back to this purveyor of luxury, who is quietly looking at her, waiting for a response. Ava holds her vape up silently as an answer.

"Well, that too, but I was going to say worry. This brooding, Heathcliff thing you've been doing lately is going to turn you into Tommy Lee Jones if you're not careful."

She needs to change the subject. Get away from it now.

 "Is there a reason you couldn't wait for me in your McMansion? Were you hoping I'd worn the bikini home? Maybe offer you a lap dance?"

Ava sees blue eyes widen, and then turn away.

Deborah sighs heavily, too harsh for the close confines of the car. "Fine. I just figured you sitting out here for nearly an hour might have warranted me to…"

Deborah trails off and Ava waits for more.

"Check on you. Your Dad did just die."

"I am very aware of that fact, D." There's an edge to her voice that she can't help, that she's too tired to force down. "Go and spend some time with your real kid, Deborah. Or your dogs, since they're a better substitute than me."

Ava sees anger flare across the older woman's face as she looks back to Ava, waiting for the subsidiary bomb she's created to go off.

It doesn't.

"If you need some time off, you need to tell me." Deborah opens up the car door, stepping out into the cooling Las Vegas air. Ava watches her turn back. "Don’t be out here all night."

The car door slams and Ava shuts her eyes tight, sinking further into her seat.

---

After finding some clothes for the next day, Ava grabs her things, tucks her tail between her legs, and enters the mansion.

It's quiet, the kind of silence that tells her Deborah has gone to bed and everyone else has left for the night.

She forgoes the stairs, choosing instead to wander through the house in her socks. The sensor lights illuminate her path, her eyes roaming over artwork and books; family heirlooms and photos; glass cabinets of antique twins, shining brighter than all the lights along the Vegas strip.

She finally gathers her things and treks up the stairs towards her room, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Another email from Jimmy, telling her everything she already knows.

Everything that already hurts.

She flicks her light on and finds a carefully wrapped present in the middle of her bed, silver bow gleaming.

It has to be from…

Ava sets her things down and sits on the bed, pulling the gift into her lap. There's a manilla card attached, folded in a way that reminds her of her own offering to Deborah, before it all went to shit.

She opens it up.

Hope these match your bikini.

Please don’t die in my pool.

D.

Ava huffs out a laugh and unties the bow to open the box.

In it is a pair of bright orange swimming floaties.

It's pure Deborah Vance, and Ava feels her chest ache with something lighter, possibly something akin to affection, that brings tears to her eyes.

It's a bit, a joke to follow through on, and she'll wear them tomorrow to see the look on Deborah's face, but right now?

Right now, they just hurt.

---

"I figured you might need the help--although I'm sure those flipper-sized hands of yours will keep you buoyant."

Ava smiles around the plastic nozzle still in her mouth, a little out of breath.

A lot out of breath.

"Red really is a nice color on you," Deborah adds amusingly, gone before Ava can reply.

She's gotta give up smoking before she scares any more children.

Or drowns.

---

"You know that song from that old bald dude, where he sings about seeing a murder and it's all like, dark and murdery?"

Ava nods dumbly at Kiki's words, eyes never leaving the hourglass figure of the woman facing away from them by the pool. The ash-blonde is in a pale blue one-piece, dipping her toes into the Vance Mansion pool like she doesn't know she's hotter than the sun.

"And then it gets to the part where Mike Tyson air drums, and it's like, duh duh duh duh, duh duh duh, duh duh duh?"

She thinks his name might be Peter or Phil something -- but it's really just semantics, right? What even is a name? And why can't she remember her own right now?

That's the most glorious ass she's ever seen.

The goddess flicks her foot back and forth, testing the water, before turning abruptly toward them and straightening.

She’s stunning, with her light green eyes and cheekbo--

"Oh, Miss Lin, you're here -- I was beginning to wonder if I was being punk'd. Or perved on."

She smiles, warmly and knowingly at the same time, and Ava knows they've been caught.

The goddess is bending down a little to make eye contact with Luna, who, new to the enormity of the house and fearing its size, has firmly latched onto Kiki's leg.

"Hi Luna, you remember me, don’t you? It's Blake from the swim center. You and I are gonna have so much fun today, just you wait."

She holds out a hand for Luna to take and the little girl pauses, looking up at Kiki.

Her friend beams down at her daughter, cupping her chin. "Do you remember what I said about Miss Blake here, hmm?"

"That she…she like 'aptain Marvo."

"That's right, my little nugget, and what does Captain Marvel do?"

"She keep ever-body safe!"

"I sure do, Luna," Blake tells her sweetly. "Especially you today, and our friend here?"

Ava blinks and realizes she's being spoken to. "Ava. Daniels. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise -- you'll have to forgive me as I was told a little red-headed devil child was attending, but I'm guessing by the floaties on your arms that the Marcus I spoke to hates your guts instead."

"Yeah, that tracks."

Blake smiles and nods. "Do you mind if I start with little Miss Luna here, and then I'll get you to jump in and we'll go from there?"

"'Course."

She and Kiki watch as the goddess takes hold of the little nugget and walks them carefully around the pool to the steps.

Ava wonders if she's physically drooling.

"What were you saying about the Mike Tyson bald dude song?"

"Oh, right. Just that my pussy's pounding out the drumbeat to it. Or was. I think I climaxed already."

Ava snorts and then hisses with laughter.

Kiki slaps her arm. "Sssh, you're gonna get me in more trouble than I already am."

"Did you feel it coming in the air tonight," Ava questions, barely managing to speak, "Or was it more instantaneous?"

"Look, a girl's got needs, and believe me when I say Blake hits every one of them."

"I mean -- I'm the biggest intersectional feminist out there, pro-choice, wear my pink pussy hat, yadda yadda yadda, but that is one fine ass woman."

"But like...girl code as well?" Kiki asks carefully, unsure.

Ava meets her eyes and nods. "All yours, babe."

"Thanks, pancake."

---

Ava supposes that she has Luna beat in the fact that she can mostly touch the bottom of the pool. It's only truly the last ten feet near Deborah's pool house that she cannot.

She isn't willing to push herself there until she's sure of her capabilities. Blake seems to want to make sure Luna knows that swimming is for people who take care while doing so, and Ava isn't about to challenge that philosophy.

She can take care too.

Be an example for once in her life.

She tempers down her anxiety and plants a smile on her face, because that’s what you do in front of kids.

Or at least that's what she's heard.

Her parents had never been great bastions of that.

Something about being in the water is clawing at her.

---

Deborah had not so kindly suggested Ava get her swimming lessons done by the time their tour started in a month, lamenting that Ava's dead body in a hotel pool would be rude to the other guests and inevitably postpone the tour.

"At least for a day or two," Deborah quips.

"Your lack of sympathy is borderline psychotic, you do know that, right?"

"How do you think I got to the top, baby?"

Ava sighs loudly, disengaging herself from this losing battle, steering the conversation back to Deborah's menstrual days.

She will not be here in a month's time.

---

Her father's boxes arrive, eleven in total.

Marcus's open hostility about the quantity, about the fact she can't shift them quickly enough from the foyer to the basement, gets under her skin.

Her mother has abused Deborah's kindness most of all, and it's this that really grates.

Mentally ill and a selfish cunt.

Ava thinks about apples falling directly to the ground and never rolling away from the tree.

Decides that she'll leave them for another day.

Delay and delay and delay.

On and on and on.

---

"Okay," Blake says, "now we're gonna take a deep breath and put our faces in the water, and blow bubbles as we keep kicking. On the count of three--one, two, three!"

Luna drops her head flat into the water, and fierce bubbles form around her hair as she holds her arms out straight and kicks with all her might.

Ava has the dawning realization as she watches that a three-year-old has now surpassed her in the simplest of tasks.

She thinks of that Skinner meme from The Simpsons and sighs.

"Not going to, Ava?"

She looks at Blake, treading water on the opposite side of Luna, so at ease, she might as well be floating.

"I can pass this class with a C, right? Or can I give you a hundy to change my grade, like I did in gym class with Mr Perkins that one time?"

Blake looks revolted. "Please tell me you meant hundy and not something else."

"Eww--definitely hundy. Think his wife was a gambler...or maybe it was pills--no, coke. It was coke."

Luna splashes up, sucking in her breaths, looking at Ava. "I beat you!"

Ava smiles at her. "You sure did, worm."

Luna ponders something Very Important as she keeps kicking, endless energy that tires Ava out just by looking at her. "Worms no swim, Ava."

"Oh, of course, silly me. What am I gonna call you then?"

Luna turns her head. "Miss Bake?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Can lizards go in da water?"

"I think I've seen some videos of lizards swimming, yes. But I don't think they can swim all the time. Or they're not very good at it."

"Oh." She turns back to Ava. "Ava, I think you da lizard."

Ava can't help but laugh, along with Blake.

"Kid, you have no idea how right you are."

Blake takes pity on her and continues with, "Okay Luna, you ready to go again, I'll count you in?"

Luna yells her version of three and ducks her head once more.

Blake shakes her head, and Ava watches as something crosses her mind.

"There's one on one classes at the center sometimes. Usually, it's the rich dicks dropping their demon spawn off, so they don't have to bother with basic parenting, but I know my friend Ricky has taught a few adults by themselves, who were having trouble with nerves or a bit of fear. Or maybe a lot of fear."

There's an inflection in her voice on the last word, like it's a question, and Ava realizes she needs to say something, lest she, like, you know, drown.

Luna lifts her head though, and the moment for truth is lost.

---

She's vaping on the pool edge afterward, shirt on but not done up, feeling the warmth slowly leak out of the concrete underneath her thighs when she hears footsteps approaching.

"I've been informed you need private lessons," Deborah says by way of greeting, settling on the closest lounge chair behind Ava. "Frankly, I thought Pamela Anderson was drumming up her hours since her rate is astronomical, but then I remembered you're just that inept."

"That is a correct and factual statement," Ava replies, distracted by one of the gardeners surreptitiously approaching and leaving the backyard, disappointed she's not the big-boobed blonde he'd heard about.

"How many times has Saul checked that hose fitting?"

"Him? Once. Saw another guy four times during the lesson."

"Are you serious?! Who?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Then describe him to me for heaven’s sake.”

Ava tucks a wet leg underneath herself, turning to face her boss properly. “Skinny, slicked back hair, pornstar mustache—”

“Ramon Reyes.”

“You seriously know all your employees?” Ava questions.

Deborah tsks. “I’m not the Queen, Ava.” She pauses, shaking her head, and then spits out, "Fucking men.”

Ava takes a drag of her vape and thinks about her and Kiki's ogling of Blake three days ago.

The silence lingers.

Ava realizes she can hear the cogs working in Deborah's mind.

"Don't fire them, D. Just…tear them a new one, so they know."

"I'll tear you a new one if you don't stop calling me that."

There's only a little fire behind Deborah's words.

This is what they do.

Ava's mouth turns up. "Sorry, D."

An eye roll is bestowed upon her. “Have you seen A Few Good Men with Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson?”

“Oh yeah, his chipmunk voice is pretty funny in that.”

Deborah looks at her like she’s grown two heads. “What?”

“It’s this video where—look, it’s easier if I—have you got your phone?”

Deborah pulls it out from under her caftan. Ava lets out a huff of laughter, because of course there’s a pocket in there somewhere.

“Okay, go into YouTube and search the words scaler you can’t handle the truth. Should be the first video.”

Ava watches Deborah do so, hearing the distorted voices and laughing. Her boss is exasperated throughout the whole thing and practically flops her hand and phone in her lap. “Fuck, I’ve got flashbacks to that fucking Pentatonix video. Jesus Christ. You’re lucky it’s my phone and not my iPad cos you’d be the one going to the store.”

Ava blinks at her, but chooses to let it go instead. “Why the movie mention?”

“Oh—I was going to ask whether I should use Jack’s–-what did you call it the other…” Deborah pauses for the thought, and Ava bites her lip to hide a smile. “Right, chaotic energy. Should I use his chaotic energy at the staff meeting?”

Ava furrows her brow. “There’s staff meetings?”

“Yes, every so often when someone steps out of line.”

Ava swallows, brain stopping.

Oh, shit. That’s me.

How the fuck--

Except Deborah is waving her hand and looking in the direction of the garden now. Ava realizes she’s referring to Saul, and exhales.

Fuck.

“Can’t you like, send an email out?” Ava asks.

“Well, that’s boring. Shouldn’t you be wanting to skin them alive for looking at your pale and sad chicken tits? Or do you want the attention?”

“No—of course not. It’s not me they were…” Ava thinks of Blake in the pool, aware of Ramon each time he approached. “She’s not your employee.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to stand up for—we’ve had this discussion, Ava.”

“Yes, marble staircase, I know. Blake insinuated you hated her yesterday and you just called her Pamela Anderson.”

“Well, hate’s a strong word for—look, I told Marcus to get her no matter the cost, and she’s costing me an arm and a leg. Two legs. So sue me if I’m a bit shitty about it.”

“You have more money than the Vatican,” Ava counters, knowing without a doubt that her statement is incorrect. “Give her a break, alright? If not for my sake, then for Kiki’s.”

Deborah looks set to keep going, but then seemingly deflates. “Fine.”

Ava turns back towards the pool, flicking her remaining foot up through the water, making a tiny splash. Remembers the staff meeting. “You can’t do Nicholson either. Your health plan sucks, and mental wellbeing is expensive, and you’ll have a lawsuit on your hands.”

“I haven’t not had a lawsuit pending since the mid-90’s. Try again, dear.”

“Just go easy. Get your point across that it was inappropriate and won't be tolerated again and then…play that banjo of yours that’s collecting dust downstairs. Levity, Deborah. Use it.”

The older woman smiles. “I stole that from Steve Martin, you know.”

Ava grins to herself, wholly unsurprised. “Of course you did.”

“Wasn’t the only fiddle diddling going on that night.”

The memory of Deborah’s sweet smile, mid-sex dream, flashes across Ava’s thoughts.

She shakes the image away, and says, "Never ever say those words again…it’s just not right.”

Deborah looks her up and down. "Neither are those polka dots.”

"Well, the alternative was leopard, and only one of us is ancient enough to pull that off."

"Only one of us could grow out the mop we call our hair, buy a flower crown off the internet and make a killing on Netflix and Dancing with the Z list Stars after killing our husband and feeding him to our pet tigers."

"Oh my God, you did not watch that," Ava laments.

"I watch everything the algorithm gives me."

Ava walked into that one.

Deborah continues with, "One of the downfalls of having such a clever mind is that it sometimes doesn’t shut up at night."

Ava understands the feeling. She hasn't slept properly since her dad died.

She thinks of the boxes in the basement, cluttering up the room. Adding to the mess already down there.

The mess she's made with one email.

She can't keep avoiding it, hoping it'll go away.

She has to...

She has to go through her father's things, because she can't clean up the other issue.

(Delay, delay, delay...)

Jen S had been right back in high school when she'd called Ava a tragic, spineless nobody.

Nothing's changed, except now she has a dead father and a desperate need for a lexapro prescription.

Her chest is tight again.

She lifts the vape to her mouth and inhales, holding it in, in, in, in, until the shuffling of someone near reminds her she's not alone.

Deborah is standing beside her, holding down an open palm, looking at her expectedly, like she knows just what to do.

Ava is struck by the generosity displayed in that gaze.

"It’s getting dark," Deborah tells her, Ava watching as the soft voice registers to its occupant. A hint of steel returns to her eyes. "And you're sunburnt. When I said red looked good on you, I didn't mean do this."

"I never was good at instruction," Ava replies, lifting her hand into her companions and standing.

She's been sitting too long in the fading sun and her legs wobble, causing her to stumble. An arm shoots around her waist, steady, shifting her from the pool edge.

The move draws them closer, Ava's chest against Deborah's blouse, fingers splayed on her back, the hint of nails pressing through her shirt.

Blue eyes are surprised, but safe. Taking her in. Not minding their proximity to one another.

Her legs are jelly as the feeling comes back to them, prickly, needling.

Something shifts inside Ava then; the reasoning behind her sex dream and her initial feelings toward it bloom into something solid. A tangible fact:

Her heart is thundering in her chest.

Not just because of this woman, or from fear of what she'll do if she finds out Ava's error in judgment.

For her.

Simply for her.

And if she isn't mistaken, Deborah's face is showing --

"Jimmy called."

All at once Ava is flung back to reality, her eyes widening as Deborah tightens her hold of her, not quite restraining, but enough for Ava to know she means business.

"D, I'm so sorry. I was--"

"A complete and utter shit?" Blue eyes are fierce with indignation.

Ava swallows. "Yeah--that and lashing out--"

"To hurt me."

Ava can't stand that she has to nod.

"Well," Deborah pauses, Ava knowing she's drawing out this torture purposefully, to make a point. "You connected. Which, given those oven mitt hands of yours..."

"I'd take it back if I could. All of it. We can have a staff meeting and you can absolutely one hundred percent tell me off in front of everyone, just don’t…”

Ava silences herself.

She would.

She’d gladly erase that low point.

“Don’t give up on me.”

Not when I’ve just--

A blonde head tilts, barely there. Blue eyes soften.

Then a low laugh.

"If I knew you could swim properly, I'd push you in."

Ava smiles slowly.

It’s common ground.

“Raincheck?” she asks carefully.

Deborah nods. "Raincheck. Now get your hand off my ass."

Ava lets go, and watches as Deborah makes her way back towards the house, all the while feeling her heart beat wildly at the sight.

Shit.

You are so fucked, Daniels.

---

"I hope you're happy, Ava, because I've got another ulcer, and it's all down to you."

She doubts Jimmy is lying but thinks he might be embellishing her role in his ailment for dramatics sake.

He should've been an actor.

Or a soccer player.

Ava stretches out on her bed. "I panicked -- full-on space spin Sandy Bullocked it. Have you tried bananas?"

"Of course, I've tried bananas, what thirty plus person hasn’t had--"

"For the ulcer, Jimmy, the ulcer. My Dad used to get..."

Ava trails off, the silence of her room suddenly overwhelming.

She slides her hand underneath her bottom pillow in search of Deborah's note and draws it out.

Hope these match your bikini.

Please don’t die in my pool.

Please don't die.

Jimmy is breathing down the phone, silent in the face of her seemingly unspeakable tragedy.

She won't milk it.

Not yet.

The sudden thought makes her sick.

"He got one from Mom getting one from Bernie Madoff. Not that they had any money tied up with him, just collectively decided that the woes of Wall Street were somehow theirs as well." Ava cringes at her words. "Bananas, Jimmy. And stay the fuck away from coffee."

He huffs out a short laugh. "I'd rather..."

His sentence trails off, but Ava knows the rest.

"Sorry."

"It is what it is," she consoles, feeling her eyes prickle with moisture.

She won't milk it.

She will not cry on the phone to him.

She's fine.

She distracts herself and asks if she's being dropped.

"You're on extremely thin ice, Bernie. Deborah threatened us with half a dozen very specific and very detailed lawsuits, so I think you owe her your first-born child."

"Well, guess the jokes on her, cos this anxiety brain ain't having any. Shriveled dicks and all that."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Listen, I meant it when I said you owe her. Deborah's lawyers are paying those English morons off as we speak."

Ava sits up. "Her own money? How much?"

"A lot. Not only did you screw the pooch on this, but you pissed and shit all over it, poured gasoline over its corpse and lit the damn thing on fire."

Ava knows it’s not hyperbole.

"She really does have a funny way of telling me she cares, doesn't she?"

It's glib, but when the phone call is over and it's time to get some rest, her mind will not settle.

She walks laps through the house instead, pausing at the basement door each time her route takes her there.

---

When she does get to sleep, Ava dreams of the sun-soaked hotel room. Deborah in bed with her, kissing her neck, kissing down over her collarbone. Further and further down until she's disappeared under the sheets between Ava's legs.

She's moaning Deborah's name when someone clears their throat.

Her eyes dart across the room to find her father in his funeral suit, bathed in the sunlight from the window.

"What the hell, Dad!"

He seems entirely nonplussed by the aforementioned sex.

"You have to deal with things before you can get here."

Ava sits up, feeling Deborah's presence disappear, missing it the second it's gone.

"She knows about the email already."

Her Dad approaches, sitting on the side of the bed.

"You know what I'm talking about, Avs."

He points across the room, and Ava's eyes follow in that direction, to the closed bathroom door--

A loud beeping near her ear jars her awake.

Ava fumbles to turn off her phone, realizing two things at once:

She's drooled on her pillow,

And

Her hand is between her legs.

"Ew, ew, ew..."

She sits up lightning fast, drawing the offending appendage away.

Of course her dead dad is in her sex dream.

Her sex dream with Deborah.

She likes her boss.

Fuck.

She can't justify it any other way. Her body had reacted to Deborah's closeness yesterday. Had been reacting to her since they'd met, in one way or another. Disgust, anger, quiet hostility, begrudging, and then burgeoning friendship.

A deep care for her and her wellbeing.

Wishing the best for her. Pushing her to do her best.

Making her laugh had become second nature, as if Ava needed the sound as much as oxygen.

And she'd seen something dawning in those eyes of hers, before the subject of her betrayal had been brought up.

Had Deborah done that deliberately?

Ava thinks so.

And now the dream's back.

Her father's presence is to be expected, really. She's been avoiding the lingering presence of him in his belongings, shut off downstairs where Deborah's past work lived, as if the two separate worlds no longer mattered to Ava.

She'd done her job, learning Deborah's jokes and the way she'd told them. Made endless notes as tapes rolled and the computer eternalized.

An unexpected thing had occurred downstairs in that basement, something that Ava would've laughed at, had she realized it at the time. She'd begun to love that crazy, selfish, selfless, passionate woman in those tapes. In the articles and newspaper clippings she'd read about her.

She was a walking contradiction. Aloof and friendly, fiery and kind. Willing to forgive Ava when she had not extended the same courtesy to her sister and ex.

How much money had she spent on fixing Ava's fuckup? How much had that jet cost to get her to Mass for the funeral?

She'd turned up without so much as a text.

And now your fathers returned the favor in your brain porn.

Ava groans, flopping back down to her pillow.

She texts Kiki:

so I know weve talked about this already

but I think I'm legit into Deborah now which

is confusing but not really because she's

amazing and hot and also my dad is

clitblocking me in my sex dreams with her

The three dots that signal Kiki is texting appear, then disappear, then appear again, Ava paused in anticipation for the wisdom about to be bestowed on her.

personally I draw the line at necrophilia

incest kink, but you do you babe! x

Ava cracks up, wheezing through her laughter as her eyes flood with moisture.

She keeps laughing, even as the memory of her sunlight-soaked, funeral-suited father guts her, because if she stops laughing...

No. Not now. Not now.

Furiously wiping at her eyes, she holds it in once more.

She and Deborah have work to do, and she can't...

Delay, delay, delay...

---

The staff meeting is held in the driveway.

Deborah exits the front door with the banjo already secure at her chest.

Someone laughs, loud and hearty, among the other faint giggles and murmurs.

Deborah picks at the thing, remarkably proficient at it, playing a bouncy tune as she works her way through her very serious speech about sexual harassment.

It’s an unsettling combination.

The crowd is silent, unsure of where they stand.

Ava loves every minute of it.

She feels Kiki lean towards her as she whispers, “I am both scared to death and horrifically turned on right now.”

“But like, girl code, right?” Ava softly muses, eyes never leaving Deborah.

“All yours, babe.”

Ava begins to hope.

---

It’s just that it doesn’t last long.

Deborah is weird that day and the next, snippy and condescending, and Ava is very aware of the sudden physical space Deborah keeps between them.

She's unceremoniously dismissed early in the afternoon and is about to exit into the foyer before she turns around. "If you're still angry about the email, I'll sign whatever--"

"I'm not angry," Deborah interrupts, not looking up from a page of notes.

Yeah, right.

"Well, you might want to tell that to your face because you look like the queen in her confederacy of elected quitters’ speech. I know the algorithm recommended that one to you as well."

Deborah peels off her glasses slowly and looks across her desk towards her. "Do you have a problem with my continued employment of you? Because it sounds as if you're looking for a way out of this... incongruity."

Ava points the end of her pen at her boss. "So you admit there's discord between us?"

"Deborah sighs loudly, deliberately. "Go away, Ava."

Ava knows she's right. So she pushes.

"I know you're pissed at me, so if it is in fact about the email then I get it. You're justified in acting out. But if I take you at your word, because the late but not so great Ben Franklin was right about honesty, then the only other thing glaringly obvious that you’re pissed about is the moment we had by the pool."

Ava whacks the hammer to the nail head, watching as Deborah breaks eye contact first.

Her heart lurches into her throat.

"Go away, Ava."

The words are the same, but they've shrunk in size and force.

It's a plea.

Her eyes widen.

She's right. Deborah had felt it.

But she knows she can't push anymore.

It'll break if she does.

Ava leaves quickly and spends the rest of the day upstairs staring at the ceiling, trying to work out a strategy to win Deborah over.

---

Marcus corners her in the kitchen as she's making a PBJ that night, her successful run of avoiding him coming to an end.

He sets a stapled block of paper beside the jam jar.

"This is the new NDA for you to sign. Maybe do your best not to break this one. Although your best doesn't equate to much, does it?"

It's a dick comment, and Ava bites.

"I haven't seen Wilson in a while. How are things going with him?"

Ava watches his lips purse into a thin line and she knows she's hit him where it hurts.

He steps closer. "I know you think your shit doesn’t stink now that you and Deborah are working together, but I just want you to know one thing."

Ava turns directly at him, her smile patronizing.

"No matter how much money she spends on you, you always have, and always will be damaged goods."

It's the perfect sucker punch.

He knows it too.

Ava eats her sandwich in her car and lights up afterward, hotboxing her intrusive thoughts away.

---

The delicate balance she and Deborah had worked at achieving, involving polite jabs at one another, mixed with witty commentary and regular YouTubing/Tiktoking, has been replaced with thinly veiled scorn and distance.

She dreams of Deborah again, of her father pointing, of the closed hotel bathroom door morphing into a very familiar one. Ava jerks awake each time she goes to turn the handle, breathing hard, unable to calm down until she's mindlessly treading figure 8's through the mansion's first floor.

Josefina finds her in various makeshift sleeping positions in the morning. Ava almost always peels off a blanket that has somehow made its way over her in the night, listening as the older woman questions if her bed is too hard, too soft, not enough blankets, too many blankets, does she need any Visine for her bloodshot eyes, does she want a different soap powder used for her clothes because there must be a reason she still hasn't put her clothes in her closet like a normal --

"I'm fine," Ava interrupts on the fifth morning of their daily exchange, already suffering a headache from the wine she'd consumed the night before.

"You fell asleep at the kitchen counter," Josefina replies, as if the sentence explains everything wrong with the redhead.

"Well, comedy is like NYC. It never sleeps."

Blake is a little more accommodating than the house manager, allowing her to paddle the width of the pool, over and over again, head always above, above, above, feet always a touch away from safety.

"You need to get some proper rest, Avs, and lay off the smoking, yeah?"

Ava nods, breathing too heavily for the easy exercise.

It’s her nerves fraying.

---

The bags under her eyes have bags now. Or at least that's what Deborah tells her on Friday. Her boss offers up a whole tirade of biting observations throughout their writing session, and Ava finally buckles.

"I think we're done." She stands, pointedly dropping her notepad and pen on the desk. "I'll see if I can shake off this anxiety you've heaped on me because you can't deal with your feelings like a fucking adult."

She stalks out to her car, gunning the too-small engine and tearing down the drive.

It's no surprise that the Rolls appears in her rearview, lights flashing, horn honking.

She hasn't got a clue why Deborah's bothering, since she's damaged goods.

She can't even swim.

All she does is fuck things up, and push and push, and delay and delay--

The Rolls has gained on her.

Ava thinks, fuck this.

She's not getting cut off this time.

Ava sets her foot down, gripping the steering wheel tight.

She's going to go score some coke or molly, get fucked up, and--

She thinks suddenly of George's hotel window, smashed, the wind whipping at her face.

Her little car is holding its own against the superior one.

It won't be enough for the distance between her and the gate.

Ava drops the pedal further.

She's had enough of Deborah Vance and her stupid face and stupid attitude and stupid, hurtful words.

She glances up to the rearview and sees she's gained on the Rolls.

“Eat shit, lady,” Ava says, her eyes refocusing on the—

Kiki's car directly in her—

Ava slams on the brake and jerks the wheel sharply to the right, hitting the concrete gate post, the airbag connecting with her face as darkness --

---

Chapter Text

"You always had to do things the hard way."

Ava awakens in the sun-soaked room, sitting up to find her father by the window once more.

There's a camcorder in his hand.

"What can I say?" Ava replies. "Hereditary flaws are the worst. You gonna record me and D with that?"

Her father looks down at the device, doing some heavy pondering. "And always with a joke. I suppose you need the levity, given you've known all along why you're here."

Ava feels her heart quicken, the sunlight turning cold.

She shivers.

"Dad."

It's a plea, her voice breaking.

He points once more.

Ava closes her eyes, refusing to look, letting the silence overtake everything.

Then she hears it.

Splashing water.

Ava opens her eyes, and all at once she's standing in her parents’ bedroom, looking in through the open bathroom door to her father, younger, not so worn with age, kneeling beside the bath.

The camcorder is in his hands, and he is entirely too involved with fiddling with it to have an eye on the little redhead in the tub.

She’s splashing water, none the wiser.

"God damn battery," Ava hears him say.

She knows, somewhere deep down inside her, what's about to occur.

It's the reason her parents never taught her to swim. Why she was never allowed at pool parties in the summer. Why she's avoided bathtubs all her life.

What had Ruby called it?

An Avanomaly.

Something done with no rhyme or reason.

Like Cheerios and orange juice. Or the time she got her nipple pierced.

It's the true reason she's been unable to submerge her head in Deborah's pool, despite Blake's efforts to get her to.

There's a presence beside her, and Ava knows it’s her version of her dad. Funeral-suited and weathered by time.

By a mistake about to happen.

She feels his hand slide into hers, and Ava squeezes it tightly, bearing witness to a memory purged from her toddler mind.

"I'm just gonna go get the other battery honey bear, I'll be right back."

Thirty-two-year-old Dennis Daniels leaves his two-year-old daughter Ava Daniels in five inches of water for seventy-three seconds.

His wife Nina Daniels is the first to find their daughter face down in the tub.

Ava watches it unfold from the doorframe, unable to breathe, choking on the memory.

"Ava, wake up sweetheart. Wake up. Come on now."

It's a familiar voice, terrified, urgent.

Ava feels herself wrenched back towards it, the world blurring as she's overwhelmed with pain across her face and body.

"There you are," a different voice says, steady, calmer. Ava tries to turn her head in its direction but can't.

A blurry face enters her eye line.

"Ava, it's Blake--you've had a car accident and you need to keep your head still. It's me holding your head, honey. Just keep still."

Somehow, through her fogginess, she understands.

"Hurs," she manages, feeling something sticky on her lips.

It tastes metallic.

Her hand is squeezed, something brushing the skin there.

It's comforting. Recognizable.

A memory.

"Dee..."

"I'm here, sweetheart. You're gonna be fine. Well, that nose of yours might need some work done to it, but I know a guy. He'll fix you up as good as..."

She hears a sniffle and a shaky exhale. A throat clearing.

It hurts just as much as everything else, overwhelming her, sinking her down, down, down, to --

---

The world comes and goes, in and out, searing pain sharp against her synapses, then fading to nothingness.

Comprehension only superficial.

Ava dreams of her father in the deepest part of her subconscious, every moment with the camcorder in his hand.

A warmth remains by her side.

---

Someone is there.

Ava waits for the fogginess to dissolve, bearing the pain.

Her mother is asleep in a chair.

"Ma..."

Nina Daniels stumbles awake, coming to soothe her daughter.

Ava settles, and lets go.

She drifts back towards the darkness, neither here nor there, half-listening to how nice the private flight was, and Ava, you shaved ten years off my life.

She drifts off somewhere after She really is a lovely lady.

---

She knows she's seen by nurses, doctors, her mother ever-present, telling her she's had surgery to repair her damaged foot and thumb, that her nose will be fixed once the swelling goes down, that the neck brace is a cautionary measure.

At some stage she’s moved to a different room, something that resembles a penthouse suite with a couch and a flat-screen tv.

But it all seems like it's at a distance, happening to someone else in the room while she observes.

"That's the concussion and the drugs, honey," one of the nurses tells her. "That rib and cartilage of yours are gonna give you hell when we start weaning you off. You need to keep resting."

Ava does her best to follow orders, but without her phone she has no way of reaching Deborah, or Kiki, or doing anything other than watching daytime tv. The news has mostly moved on from her crash; there’s the occasional scrolling mention of her name at the bottom of the screen when the local news is on, but it's short and sweet and rarely provides her with new information.

Neither does her mother, who is fretful this far from home, and easily antagonized.

They’re getting into it again, voices raised, and Ava cannot hold it in any longer.

"I nearly drowned."

It’s a statement rather than a question, and her mother’s eyes widen, terror filling them. "You remember that?"

Ava does her best to nod. "He had a camera."

Her mother huffs angrily. "That fucking thing. I made him throw it out after...after that happened. No more, I said. He didn't need endless tapes of you when he had a perfectly good memory."

Ava blinks, feeling her anger dissolve. "What tapes?"

Nina Daniels sighs heavily. "I guess you haven't looked in the boxes then." She tsks, making her annoyance heard. "Ava, the point of you having them was so you'd have some good memories of him.”

"No, the point of me having them was so you didn't have to deal with a cat carcass." Ava closes her eyes. Her chest is aching. "I just need one person to be honest with me, Mom. Someone on my side. Can't you be that person?"

Her mother thinks it over, then nods, sitting back in her chair. "I'm thinking of moving down to Florida to be closer to your Uncle Paul and Aunt Linda. That's why I've been cleaning up the house."

“Fucking Florida? Well, you’ll fit in there, at least.”

Her mother narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ava’s just going around in circles. She’s frustrated and her mother is bearing the brunt of it. “Nothing. Look, I’m sorry. I think the warmer weather year-round will be good for you. Just don't turn into a republican. I've heard that particular disease is airborne down there now."

Her mother shakes her head. "Your father would've loved that joke."

Ava agrees silently.

Lets the quiet settle into the room.

Decides.

She has to be honest too.

"I'm in love with her. Deborah, I mean. I know there's a ridiculous age gap and it's obvious by the fact that I haven't seen her since I crashed my car that she doesn't want anymore to do with me, but...she made me laugh. I don't think I've ever laughed the way I do with her. And I felt like I was where I was supposed to be, finally."

Her mother tilts her head. "Honey, the nurses were adamant it was family only. I've been fielding calls from your friends and Deborah for the last few days."

Ava tries to sit up and lets out a hiss of pain. “What?”

Her mother stands quickly, approaching. "Ava, just stay still, okay? I'll talk to the nurses about letting you see--"

"Mom!"

And it kicks off again.

It's what they do.

---

The damage is this:

A badly broken nose.

Concussion.

Broken index and middle fingers on her writing hand.

Compound thumb dislocation with torn UCL on the other.

Airbag: 6

Ava: 0

Significant bruising to her rib cartilage.

One fractured rib.

The nastiest of bruises Ava has ever seen across her entire chest.

Severe whiplash.

Seatbelt: 4

Ava: 0

Broken right ankle.

Torn right ATFL.

Broken right tibia.

Concrete post: 3

Ava: 0

Life: 24,549,214

Ava Daniels: 69

Ava laughs at her own joke, her handwriting abysmal, and decides that yes, she really is losing it without her phone.

---

She's visited by two police officers, far too early in the day for her to be properly awake, or making concrete statements about the events leading up to the crash.

They’ve come to catch her off guard.

Her mother arriving for the day is Ava’s saving grace.

“Ava’s not answering any questions until the officer that leaked the photos to TMZ is stood down. And until we’ve spoken to a lawyer.”

The officers exchange looks, caught out.

The taller, bulkier one says, “It’s being investigated.”

“Deborah Vance called me three days ago to say it was being investigated then as well.” Nina stands taller. “How long does it take to find out where a bunch of photos came from? It’s a private driveway for heaven’s sake.”

The shorter, skinnier one draws up to his full height in an effort to be intimidating. “Sounds like the paparazzi to me, ma’am.”

Ava watches, dumbstruck, as her mother laughs.

“Your department is about to be sued by one of Las Vegas' richest residents, is what it sounds like. Now, if you’d like to discuss Ava’s accident with us further, you can contact Mr Raymond Hill at Hill and Associates. He’s more than happy to take your call.”

The officers have nothing, and they know it.

“We’ll be in touch,” the taller one says, jaw set like stone.

They walk out.

“That was incredible, Mom.”

Ava watches as she shrugs and picks up the tv remote from the bedside table.

“They were keeping us from Judge Joe Brown.”

---

She’s half dozing that afternoon when she feels someone brush the hair at her temple.

Ava peels her eyes open to see, the bandage over her nose still bulky, still throwing off her perspective.

It's Kiki.

In all her glorious glory.

Ava’s brain is well and truly watery, scrambled eggs.

"Oh, Pancake. Someone spread you far too thin on the frying pan. You're practically a crepe."

Ava huffs, feeling her chest ache. "Breakfast here is absolutely terrible."

Kiki laughs, but there are tears gathering in her eyes.

"Shit, don't cry, Kik. The food isn't that bad."

Her friend inhales deeply, fighting it, waving a hand in front of her face. "You scared me for a minute back there."

"If it makes you feel any better," Ava says, trying to lighten the mood, "I'd choose that post every time. But I'm so sorry."

"Don't you ruin my eyeliner with an apology." Her friend brushes at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "We need to stay on a medium to low-level heat so we can have permanent fluffy Ava goodness."

It's ridiculous and so very Kiki. Ava's heart warms, and her eyes water.

Don’t you dare cry.

"D'ya think Hallmark makes cards that say," Ava distracts herself with the tape across her nose, before Kiki lightly taps her away from it. "I'm sorry I nearly killed you with my car, best friends forever?"

She guesses by the way Kiki kisses the entirety of her face - sans nose and lips - that she's forgiven.

Kiki digs through her bag and pulls out Ava's phone, handing it to her. "You were trending on Friday night, and your phone has been blowing up."

Ava enters her pin and finds 23 missed calls, 39 missed texts, a good majority of them from Ruby, a ridiculous amount of insta requests, and a bunch of emails from random news and entertainment sites asking for a statement.

And absolutely zilch from Deborah.

It hurts.

"Also, Blake and I totally made out that night. It was so fucking hot."

Ava looks up to see Kiki grinning from ear to ear, feeling her sadness ebb into joy.

"Way to bury the lead story, K! Tell me everything right now."

---

The news articles are mostly the same.

Car Accident. Ava Daniels still in hospital for injuries sustained. Vance's comedy tour postponed until further notice. Likely police department leak.

Twitter is outraged by the privacy breach and mostly supportive of her, which she finds perplexing, given her history and the fact she was technically speeding, albeit on private property.

Deborah’s statement from Sunday afternoon is retweeted enough for her to know she needs to read it.

This past Friday, a car accident occurred on my property, in which my employee Ava Daniels was seriously hurt. She valiantly changed the course of her vehicle to avoid striking another car, which contained two of our mutual friends and a three-year-old child. I believe this act of selflessness far outweighs any initial error in judgement made by her, therefore I have declined to press charges for the property damage. It is my sincere hope that the broader public understands that Ava's seatbelt and airbag saved her life, and that she in turn saved the lives of our friends.

I am grateful to the first responders who helped her, and to the medical staff of the Desert Springs Hospital who are providing her with the greatest of care.

I would also like to acknowledge the quick thinking of our friend, who, due to her first aid training, was able to take charge while I, in turn, flailed around like a tube man at the Valley Automall.

On a more personal note, I would like to state that for the last thirty years of my career, I have ridden in the back of many chauffeured cars and limousines without a belt on. It was Ava who made me see how dangerous this habit was, both through her continued comments and the events that unfolded on Friday.

Recently I have started to wear one and will continue to do so from now on.

Please, wear yours as well.

Lastly, I would like to comment on the egregious manner in which Ava's car accident was first reported to the world by the disgusting vultures otherwise known as TMZ. It is my belief that due to the length of my drive and the security of my property that those photos were not obtained by paparazzi, or by a member of the public, as the LVMPD are claiming. The distance between the main gatehouse at the foot of my property and the one at which Ava crashed at is 3.7 miles. There is a bent slope in between said points, disguising the direction my driveway goes. An individual with a camera, who has yet to access my property, would have absolutely no idea where to point to gain such clear, defined photos of the crash. Given the many high-profile examples of police corruption, harassment, and downright criminal activity we have had in this country as of late, I'll let the public make their own minds up.

Ava has heard how litigious I can be. I have a sneaking suspicion the LVMPD are about to find out.

I will be making no further comment on this matter.

It's ballsy, and the best PR move Deborah could've made, given the circumstances.

Despite this, or perhaps because of it, Ava feels the weight of blame sink deep into her chest.

It hurts worse than her fractured rib and damaged cartilage.

No matter what she does, the thought of Deborah always seems to hurt.

She's still trying to figure out what to text her, now that she has a line of communication to her.

Nothing has sounded right so far. Or rather, too much needs to be said, and it's overwhelming her.

She keeps it simple:

I'm sorry about everything.

She does not get a reply.

---

"Ava, oh my God, are you okay?"

Ruby's voice is a balm to the wound inside of her.

She settles into the pillows, content to enjoy the freedom of brace-free neck and chin movement.

She'll never take that for granted again.

"I look like a cross between Sylvester Stallone and He Who Shall Not Be Named, but apart from that...I'm in love with my boss and I think I'm fired."

"Okaayyyy, a lot to unpack there."

Ruby laughs sweetly, and Ava joins in.

"She's the reason you were different."

Ava remembers their conversation the last time she was in LA.

"Yeah. A bigger part than I realized."

"She must be one hell of a woman."

Ava's eyes unexpectedly water at the thought of her. She wipes at them furiously, trying not to sniffle.

"She hasn't visited. And... I miss her. Which is ridiculous, because she was a total bitch to me before I tried and failed at being a Nascar driver."

"Maybe she's just feeling guilty about what happened, Avs. I distinctly recall not seeing you for a week when you ripped my shower curtain."

"Well..." Ava stops, because she has nothing. No excuse. "I just don't understand it."

"My tortoise shower curtain?"

"No, not that, although I was legit devo'd when that happened, and that psychedelic spiral one you replaced it with was fucking horrible, I'm sorry to--"

"Circle around," Ruby adds.

"--say, and what I meant was I don't understand why I feel this way about her."

"Well, maybe it is what it is. An Avanomaly, special edition. Like your grated carrot on pizza thing."

"Okay, I was schroom high that night, so it doesn't count. Also, we’ve gotta take my bathtub one off the list now cos my absent-minded father nearly drowned me in half a foot of water. But bonus for me--my swim instructor is hotter than July in Vegas."

"The Ava Dorothy Henrietta Daniels in a pool? I'm gonna need photographic evidence of this, like, immediately."

Ava smiles and pulls up Kiki's insta.

---

Kiki texts her later that night:

omg your friend rubys insta is insane, I am

legit in love with her and it. Soooooo I know

u and Deb are at the part of the movie where

the endgame couple breaks up even though

they're perfect 4 each other and hello,

ENDGAME, but I think u might have 2b the 1

to make the big grand gesture cos she's such a

🦕🦖 and just set in concrete, u know???

Harder than Lunas head when she popped

out my vajayjay, thats 4 sure.

Ava cringes, and then laughs. Texts back:

Rubes told me the same thing. Will you help me

break out of here tomorrow? I'm really over

feeling like wet 🧀🧀🧀 in a hospital gown

The three dots appear, then disappear.

Kiki’s next text is short:

👍👍👍 10am sharp. Be ready.

Ava decides.

Not quite Shawshank, but epic, nonetheless.

Morgan Freeman will be proud of her, damn it.

---

Something wakes her.

The light above her bed is on, but there's no one beside her.

It's night, and it's late.

The stronger drugs she's been on are on their way out of her system and her body aches all over, bone deep as a result.

Much, much, much worse than the time she got fucked up on PCP at Coachella.

She supposes plowing into an immovable object would outrank Beyonce.

But only just.

The pulse of damaged nasal cartilage is radiating across her face, and Ava realizes it's this that has disturbed her sleep.

"Fuck," she whispers to herself.

"Always such a lady," a voice says from the couch.

Ava jumps out of her skin, her body screaming its displeasure.

Deborah stands slowly and faces her. Ava can see her outline, but not much else. The shadows loom long over the space.

Ava thinks yet again of how ridiculous the size of this room is.

"Nice Batman impersonation you've got going there."

It's really kind of impress--

"That's what you're leading with?"

"Well, I can't exactly give you a Florence Welch interpretive dance number right now, so yeah, that's what you get. I'm not sure you deserve anything more, anyway."

There's a long, tense moment of silence, in which Ava feels herself getting worked up. "So, you thought you'd come and sit in the dark and scare the crap out of me, but have absolutely nothing to say?"

Silence, still.

"Well, blow me over with a leaf blower, the brutally honest and mouthy Deborah Vance has nothing to--"

"I saw a therapist yesterday."

Ava blinks.

Now she's flat out hallucinating from her pain.

"I'm sorry, I could've sworn you said--"

"I did. I saw a therapist. I'll be seeing her again next week."

Ava stares at this darkened shadow of a person she thought she knew.

"I'm--are you an alien? Is this a Men in Black situation? Are Thompson and Hemsworth about to burst in? Because the Deborah I know would rather die than be subjected to that humiliation again.” Ava shakes her head and the movement hurts, further angering her. “Cut the bullshit, D. It’s not funny anymore.”

“Guess I’ll email you the receipt then.” Deborah steps closer, crossing her arms. She’s still in the dark. “Who was I supposed to talk to about the damage control I’ve had to do because you decided you wanted to be Dale Earnhardt for the day? Or how I had to cancel the show because of your antics?”

"Who the fuck is Dale--my antics? You practically drag raced me down your driveway! This is your fault as much as it is mine.” Ava’s head is starting to throb. “You're not the one lying in a hospital bed in pain. You got off lightly.”

“So you think sitting in a mangled car, watching you fade in and out of consciousness with your face bloodied and your body broken was a picnic for me?” Deborah’s arms drop to her sides. “My last words to you were you look more and more like Elton John’s mid-90’s toupee every day. I was disgusted with myself and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it except hold your hand.”

Ava watches as her boss steps from the shadows into the overhead lighting around the bed, her breath catching at the sight of pale skin and exhaustion.

She hasn’t been sleeping.

“Then why say it in the first place?” Ava asks. “You spent days picking on me, instead of facing up to what was happening between us.”

Deborah looks down at her shoes, a loud exhale escaping her.

Ava knows she needs to tread carefully. “Surely there’s a reason why you put your walls up again.”

It’s silent for a long minute, but it’s different now. Ava has the distinct feeling Deborah is about to walk out the door than face this.

Her chest hurts more, creeping toward the front of her thoughts, and she realizes she’s holding her breath.

She needs to prepare herself for --

“Doctor Walters told me it was something the shrinks call reaction formation.” Deborah’s yet to look up. “You show the person the complete opposite of what you’re truly feeling to…alleviate your own…Christ, I can’t believe I’m about to use the word anxiety, but…that’s what it was. Fucking Freud.”

Ava watches as Deborah balls her fists at her sides, her body taut.

She knows this is monumental. One wrong word from her and it’ll collapse.

She decides to go with the truth. “I’ve been on and off lexapro for my anxiety since I was seventeen. That motherfucker and I are well acquainted.”

Deborah looks up then, eyes softened, concern and care in them.

Ava loves her because of that look.

“I probably should be back on it with everything…everything with my dad, and now that my mom is here and acting like I’m ten years old and incapable of adult human tasks…hey, do you think you could pay her to go home? I think a grand might do it.”

Deborah laughs. Ava sees her fists uncurl.

“Kiki chewed my ear off for fifteen minutes tonight talking about John Cusack,”—Deborah steps a little closer— “and the kid running through the airport in that schmaltzy Christmas movie, and fucking orange tic-tacs for some reason…so I think paying your mother to leave you the hell alone could be added to the apparent big, grand, expensive gestures I’ve unknowingly been making this whole time.”

Deborah’s words sink in.

Ava feels her heart stop.

“What?”

Deborah laughs briefly and points at Ava. “That fish out of water thing you’re doing right now is how I looked in the mirror tonight when my lawyers informed me I’ve spent 12.28 million dollars on you.”

“Twelve?” Ava manages to get out, although how she does it, she doesn't know, since her jaw is in her lap.

Deborah nods. “Apparently paying people to go away is a specialty of mine. Guess the conversion rate between the dollar and British pound isn’t so great, the greedy fuckers. Then there’s the jet to Massachusetts. Two hundred an hour to our friend Fanny Fun Bags” –-Deborah holds her hands over her breasts and jiggles them amusingly— “so she could teach you basic water skills every three-year-old knows. That cyst-removing operation and hospital stay of yours. This hospital room. Bribing the night nurses to let me in. Your hotel room and the dead boyfriend destroying a television. He seemed like a catch—kinda wish he were still around so I could’ve avoided this whole thing.” Deborah suddenly shuts her eyes and presses a hard hand to her forehead. “Fuck, I have to stop doing that.”

Ava’s still trying to process her boss’s deep pockets, but she notices the change in demeanor. “You okay there, D?”

Deborah drops her hand and looks back at her sharply. “I told you to stop—”

“Doing that, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Ava smiles with her teeth, long enough for the hard line of Deborah’s mouth to turn up at the corner.

“Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Oh please, you know you love me.”

Ava’s brain catches up with her mouth, and she clamps it shut, waiting for Deborah’s reaction.

The implication of Deborah’s feelings for her have laced this entire conversation, and yet Ava waits for the sting of rejection still, twenty-five years’ worth of loneliness and anxiety gripping her heart.

Except that Deborah is approaching now, moving to sit beside--

“Wait—my catheter line is there.”

Deborah jumps back and goes searching for it under the sheet and blanket.

“Hey, keep those hands where I can see them.”

The tension between them dissolves.

Ava laughs and Deborah tsks as the tube is located and eased out of harm’s way. Deborah sits.

“So, you were going to break out of Alcatraz tomorrow--today, I mean, with your nose looking like that and a needle still up your urethra?”

Ava sighs defeatedly, mumbling, “Concussion repercussion is a thing. Also, I’m gonna kill Kiki.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Ava concedes the point, changing tack. “In my defense the food here is horrendous. You may have paid top dollar for me to lounge around in luxury, but it has not translated to culinary exceptionalism.”

“And what exactly do you know about fine dining? I once saw you eat a McDonald's french fry off the ground.”

“Oh, we’re back to this now?” Ava asks, watching Deborah’s eyes brighten. “Do you know the delivery fee for Postmates? Because I do and believe me when I say I’d eat a whole potato worth of dirt-covered french fries to balance out the ledger.”

“You’re an idiot, then,” Deborah replies, her smile broadening beyond acceptable levels.

Ava pauses, noticing. “What?” She lifts her right hand to her nose and starts touching the bandage there, trying not to wince. “Have I got something on my face?”

Deborah cackles again but reaches for Ava’s hand, pulling it away.

“Oh, thank god, cos that joke hurt.”

“Once again: idiot.”

And then,

Her right hand is in Deborah’s lap, cradled there by two warm ones.

Ava watches as Deborah’s attention turns to the black splint she has around her thumb and wrist, keeping the digit straight and secure.

She’s been flickering between fucking airbag and thank fuck for the airbag these past few days, but right now she’s well and truly in the former category of thought.

“You should see the other guy.”

Deborah does not react to her joke.

Instead, she says, “I saw the bone.” She sets the tip of her index finger against the splint, where Ava’s thumb joins her hand. “Right here.”

Ava watches her quietly, wondering what that might’ve felt like. She remembers the sheer terror of trying to get home to Mass after chipping a veneer and her dad’s first stroke. But even then, or at least up until she’d gotten to the hospital and seen his grey face, she’d been on the outside of it, beyond the proximity of true helplessness. Her mother had borne that particular weight alone that night, just as Blake, Kiki, and Deborah had done in the immediate aftermath of her crash.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Deb.”

Blue eyes look up at her, and they’re glistening with unshed tears.

And Ava knows.

She knows without a doubt that she is in love with this woman.

It's the truth, infinite and raw.

And she'd nearly…

Her own eyes well up.

Ava swallows the lump in her throat, and whispers, "You're gonna get wrinkles."

She hears what can only be described as a half laugh, half sob, before Deborah is sinking down towards her chest, hands bunching in her hospital gown and gripping tight. Ava lifts her aching arms and wraps them around her, biting on her lip to keep from groaning in pain.

She doesn’t really need that rib anyway.

"I'm okay, D," she croaks out. "I'm okay."

"Don't do that again," is the strangled reply.

Ava wouldn't dream of it.

She thinks of her father in the sunlight, smiling at her now. Recalls all the moments she loved him, in the time they had together.

"I miss you," she tells him in her head.

"Miss you too, kiddo."

Then he is gone.

Ava lets everything she's been holding on to go, and sobs.

Her nose pulses, securing her in agony.

She holds Deborah closer.

It's worth it.

---

Her new nose looks like her old nose, except maybe a little smoother.

Another expense to add to Deborah’s growing list.

Ava knows that Deborah knows that Ava knows that this is how it will be.

She’s okay with that.

Her mother comes and visits one last time before her flight home, unusually giddy and light.

"How much did she pay you?" Ava asks her when she works it out.

"It's nothing like that, don't get your new nose out of joint about it." Her mother sniggers quietly at her own joke. "Deborah convinced me to rent out the house instead of selling it, so I have an income. That Marcus of hers has found a tenant already."

"Of course he has," Ava mumbles to herself. "Don't let him charge you more than ten percent commission, okay?"

"Oh no, he's only doing it for two. Deborah told me it was his way of apologizing, although I'm still not sure what he's sorry about, he's been…"

Ava tunes out, mind stumbling over the fact that Marcus has offered her an olive branch in the most Marcus way possible.

Do Hallmark make cards that say I accept your lame ass, barely there form of apology, frenemies forever?

Ava should probably check into that.

---

The potential charge of dangerous driving never eventuates under the scrutiny of the tuned-in public eye, ready to crucify at any given moment in this day and age.

Larry Lee Holsberg is suspended with pay for leaking the photos. The decision is pure optics, the LVMPD in panic mode.

Ava knows why.

Deborah and her gaggle of lawyers.

He'll be back on the force within three months, but Ava finds she doesn't care much anymore.

---

“Our first kiss will not be in a hospital bathroom while you pee.”

“Is it the bathroom that’s the issue, or the peeing, because you came in here of your own free will to hold my hand, so…”

Deborah’s jaw tightens. “Are you done?”

“With the peeing? Or with the zingers? Cos I can go all night.” Ava wiggles her eyebrows.

“The only one in this relationship who should be peeing all night is me.”

Ava stills. Squeezes Deborah’s hand.

“What?”

“You DTR’ed before me, that’s so sweet.”

“Sounds like an incurable STD, but okay.”

“Actually the medical field tend to use STI nowadays, since—”

“I swear if we’re not out of this bathroom in the next twenty seconds…”

"I'm injured, Deb. You have to give me a minute. Literally."

They make it out with three seconds to spare.

Ava takes up Deborah’s hand with her own freshly washed one, and kisses the back of it.

“Good enough for now.”

---

Her father’s boxes are lined up in front of Deborah’s office fireplace the day she gets discharged.

Well, what used to be Deborah's office.

The couch, seats, and stools have been replaced with Ava's guest room bed and furniture. Her clothes are hanging up neatly in the far corner on a clothes rack, with her suitcase beside.

Deborah's desk has been turned to face the wall, and the small analog TV and VCR player from the basement are sitting on it, ready to be used.

"Eight bedrooms in this place and not one of them is on the first floor." Deborah's voice is soft as she says it.

Ava turns to her, watching as reflection morphs into something like embarrassment.

"Incredibly ableist, right?" the older woman asks, facing Ava.

"Yeah." Ava smiles, and lets out a light laugh. "I've been dreading those stairs of yours to be honest, so this is good. Sorry you've had to ruin the aesthetic for me."

Deborah smiles, and Ava knows the joke forming in her love's mind:

That got ruined long ago when you arrived.

It isn't said.

The older woman turns away to inspect the doorway wall. "Marcus convinced me that putting up a permanent door for a few months' use would be pretty pointless, so maybe don't flash the help," --Deborah turns back to face the room-- "Actually, I'll get Damien to buy a privacy screen for you when you're done with your father's--"

"This is enough, D." Ava reaches for her hand, precariously balancing on her crutches.

Deborah shifts closer so she can achieve her goal.

Her hand is warm, as it always is.

"You've done enough. This is good." Ava looks at the space before her. "Very glad you moved all your breakable shit though, one wrong crutch swing and you'll be out thirty grand."

Deborah grins. "More like eighty, but...the point is valid."

"You're such a one-percenter," Ava tells her.

Deborah laughs loudly. "What does that make you then?"

Well...shit.

"Exactly," Deborah states.

"In my defense, I'm not really a kept woman since I've provided you with some of your best jokes."

Deborah cackles, and says, "Yeah, like that one."

Her hand is squeezed though in countenance, so Ava bites back on a retort and turns back towards the room.

It dawns on her what's missing.

"Does my rich girlfriend own a record player I could borrow?"

Deborah nods. "Haven't had the inclination to play anything on it in years.”

“You mean you’ve gotten used to the ease of Bluetooth and your phone.”

“Well…yes. You millennials have no idea of the tedium of pre-80’s music technology. Pull the vinyl out of its cover, make sure there’s no loose fabric or bits of gunk on both sides, make sure side A is up before you put it on the turntable, make sure the needle's where it’s supposed to be before carefully dropping the arm down to play, making sure said needle is in good working—”

“Will there be an end to this conversation or do I need to go make some popcorn?”

Deborah scowls at Ava, who scowls right back.

Then the older woman chuckles and lets go of Ava's hand, moving away through the hall. “The only thing I’ve seen you make in that kitchen is a goddamn mess.”

It’s the truth.

Ava shuffles her crutches to look at her. "Are you seriously leaving me without a kiss right now?"

Deborah blows one at her.

Ava sticks her tongue out in reply.

"Get to those boxes already," Deborah says before she disappears.

Ava knows it’s time.

The day slips away from her as she watches each videotape of her fathers, frozen in awe as she watches her younger self be nursed, be held, be sung to, be encouraged to roll over, crawl, balance, stand and walk.

Bathed with care and attention in the kitchen sink, in a plastic basin, in that bathtub.

Celebrated on two birthday occasions, numbered candles burning bright.

Baby food face, mashed banana face, spaghetti sauce face. Food everywhere and her mother laughing and just shaking her head.

Dennis Robert Daniels, sometimes seen but mostly heard, reaches through time and space to comfort his adult daughter.

Ava pauses the video on his smile, weeping quietly.

“I wish I’d met him,” Deborah says suddenly beside her, and Ava jumps, fumbling to wipe at her eyes as her ribs sing their discomfort.

“I n-need to put a cat b-bell on you,” Ava stutters out, clearing her throat as Deborah offers her the tissue box, kneeling down beside.

She’s freshly showered, barefaced, and smelling lovely. “Sorry. At least you’ve got your top on this time.”

Ava knows she blushes as she carefully wipes her nose. She can feel a cheeky comment brewing. “Stop flirting with me in front of my dad.”

Deborah stills, and looks at the tv screen, Dennis frozen, temporarily still a part of the world, if only in frame.

Ava watches her quietly in the low light of the lamp, even when Deborah turns her way and holds her gaze.

“It seems like the funniest joke in the world sometimes,” Deborah whispers to her, the mood between them changing. “Funnier than anything I could ever come up with.”

Ava has a feeling she knows what Deborah’s saying, but needs to check. “Us?”

Deborah’s lips turn up a little. “The timing of it. Meeting at two different stages of our lives. The dawning and the twilight.” She looks at the screen again, eyes darkening. “One day I’ll be like your father…frozen on film, and gone. Nothing more than a tapestry of tapes.”

Ava feels her eyes water again, but she knows she has to make Deborah understand.

“Look at me,” she says softly, turning directly to Deborah.

The older woman does so, looking up at Ava with eyes full of trepidation, sorrow, and a vulnerability that hurts Ava.

“I have him in here,” –Ava holds her fingers to her temple— “and I have him in here,” –she drops her hand and settles her palm over where her heart is. “He’s not just in a bunch of videotapes, D. He’s with me.”

All at once, Ava realizes the true depth of that statement.

Her Dad is still with her.

Her tears spill again, but she has to get it out. “You won’t just b-be in those tapes downstairs. You’ll be in DJ’s thoughts, and Kiki’s, and Marcus’s, and as much as it might still irk you, you’ll be remembered by Kathy and goddamn Marty and every person you have ever sued.”

Deborah breathes out a chuckle.

“You think I’ll ever forget you?” Ava asks rhetorically, swallowing hard. “You’ll be burned into my memory, and seared into my heart. You already are.”

Blue eyes water then, and Deborah’s head drops to shield herself. Ava reaches forward carefully, slipping a hand around Deborah’s neck. She kisses her forehead, marveling at the way Deborah’s face shifts back up as her lips meet the bridge of her nose. The top of her cheek. The corner of her mouth--

“Fuck, I really should’ve gone to therapy sooner, if this is the—"

Ava kisses the rest away.

---

There’s a pergola over the pool now, because of course there is.

Deborah Vance has money to burn and a penchant for expressing her love in expensive things.

Ava won’t be able to swim for another two months, but it’s there, in all its blazing white, mechanized, louvered glory. A colossus of consideration.

“I thought you said I looked good in red,” Ava quips as she eases herself down into her seat for breakfast on the terrace.

Deborah’s busy reading the Vegas Sun. “Eat your eggs, dear. We’ve got work to do.”

Ava smiles to herself.

---

“I’ve been asking for a jacuzzi for years,” DJ informs her, “And you come breezing in here with your combat boots and lesbianism and pussy-whip her into giving you a fucking pool canopy.”

“Two things, Deej. One, I’m bi, and two, technically it’s a pergola because of the vertical posts. I looked it up.”

“Whatever. If you hurt my Mom I’m burying you underneath the damn thing. Understood?”

Ava nods seriously, and lets DJ continue scribbling on her cast, unwilling to provoke the beast within.

“I guess you saw my daughter today,” Deborah says later on that night, inspecting Ava’s foot in her lap as the Criminal Intent opening credits play.

“Yeah, she was--shit, what did she write?”

Deborah grabs her phone and takes a photo, handing it to her.

“Touch my inheritance and you’ll have four D’Janked Up limbs. Nice. Really enjoyed that play on her name there. The apple did not fall—"

“Stop talking and watch the show with me.”

Ava bites her lip, holding in a laugh.

---

She says she's fine, but her ribs sing in grief when their heavy make-out sessions go too far.

"It's nothing, D, we just need to work out a position where we can--"

"No," Deborah says bluntly, already untangling herself from Ava's arms and standing from the lounge. "I'm done hurting you."

Ava eases herself up, Deborah's words dissolving her arousal.

She knows her love means it. Not just in this moment, or for any of their other failed physical encounters.

It encompasses everything.

Past, present, and future.

"You won't."

Deborah whips around, nostrils flaring. "I have and I will. You're a fool to think otherwise."

Ava knows she needs to talk her down.

She chooses frankness. "Then I'm a fool. Do you want me to spend a minute working my way up off the couch on my crutches and then another minute hobbling over to you?"

Deborah exhales loudly, telling Ava her answer.

"Then come here, sit down and talk to me. Because if you don't then you will be hurting me."

Deborah looks directly at her and Ava stares right back, defiant.

She thinks a whole minute passes before Deborah's shoulders sag and she gives up.

Stubborn old crow.

Ava breathes out a sigh of relief as a familiar body settles beside her.

---

She’s going through the second last box of her father’s records when she finds it, knowing at once it’s perfect for Kiki’s birthday present.

She sets the vinyl on the player and presses start.

Some of the songs are familiar, some not at all. She knows her dad would’ve loved the bombastic nature of the horn section, and the sweet soft melodies of the slow songs.

Deborah joins her two-thirds of the way through side B, cackling when Ava tells her about the Mike Tyson bald dude song and how it fits into their friends’ love story.

“And here I was thinking you writing off your rental car was the epitome of romance.”

She laughs some more when Ava’s crutch swing fails to hit her.

“I hope you know I’m keeping a tally for when I’m fully functional and boy oh boy are you gonna get it then.”

Deborah’s shit-eating grin appears. “You millennials and your dirty kinks.”

Ava manages to connect this time.

“Ow! Elder abuse!” Deborah yells, laughing all the same.

---

It ends with Luna, because Ava has an affinity for circles and so does she.

“Play, Mama?” the three-year-old says, looking at the carousel on the cover of the Phil Collins record.

Kiki is still laughing at the gift, eyes lit up, while Blake sits beside her, amused at her girlfriend but lost to the joke.

“No, baby girl, it’s music.” Kiki eases one of the vinyls out of the gatefold and shows it to her daughter. “This is how people used to listen to music before phones.”

“Like Miss Debby?”

The toddler beams over at her friend, and Ava feels her heart melt.

Deborah nods sweetly, before reaching around the back of the armchair for something.

The present is huge and heavy, and Ava has a fair suspicion of what it is.

“Happy Birthday Kiki,” Deborah says, handing the gift to her.

Ava’s guess is right:

It’s the same model of player Deborah had given her, fully automatic and Bluetooth enabled.

Expensive, as usual.

“Couples gifts, how cute.” Blake chuckles and gives Ava a thumbs up.

Ava holds out her bandaged right thumb in return, making the blonde smile.

“Oh, Lunabug, we can play Ava’s gift now!”

“Me do? Me do?”

Deborah stands and looks at Ava. “Do we need scissors?”

“Yeah, there was a disturbing amount of taped plastic in it. The ocean is definitely going to—”

“Children present, ADHD,” Kiki interrupts.

Right.

Scaring kids might be a regular occurrence for her, but it doesn’t need to happen today.

Luna’s too impatient to wait for Deborah to return, however, and Kiki also, so Ava does her best to tidy as they extricate the player from the packaging.

“Okay to plug it in?” Blake points towards the cabinet, already moving in that direction.

“Of course.”

Ava’s beginning to wonder where Deborah’s gotten to as she hears the tell-tale signs of the mansion speakers connecting to the player.

Luna watches with rapt attention as Blake sets the vinyl on the turntable.

“You wanna press the start button?” the blonde asks the little girl, who nods her head vigorously.

Ava smiles at the two of them, her eyes flicking to Kiki, who looks as serene as Ava has ever seen her.

“You’ve got a good one,” Ava whispers, as cheers come up through the speakers.

The drums and horns of Something Happened On The Way To Heaven start.

“You too,” Kiki replies. “Wherever she is.”

Luna is watching the vinyl turn, head already starting to sway to the music she’s never heard before. She turns back to Kiki and yells, “Mama, it's spinning!”

Kiki smiles and nods, swaying. “Ugh oh, I think I feel something coming on.”

“Pomchew dancey pardy!” Luna yells, reaching for her mother’s hands.

The two of them start dancing right there next to the record player, and Ava looks at Blake, who peers back, shrugs her shoulders, and starts bopping to the music too.

Phil has started in on the singing and Ava’s the only one left unmoving.

“You know you want to,” Kiki says above the music, easing her rambunctious dancer of a daughter away from anything breakable.

Blake has started to dance around her like an idiot, and Ava can’t help it.

She’s going to dance.

Despite the crutches and her healing rib, she’s going to dance.

She catches the rhythm, and starts to move her hips.

Blake laughs her approval, and Kiki squeals with her daughter.

“Go Ava, go Ava, go!!” her friend cheers.

Ava lets herself go where the music wants to take her, stepping her crutches around in a circle and shimmying here and there.

Luna joins her, and Ava is struck by how effortlessly energetic and carefree she is. It spurs her on, and she throws away a crutch, the aluminum frame hitting the carpet with a dull thud.

“Oh shoot, here comes the party animal!” Blake yells, in stitches.

Ava laughs, grinning widely at her.

And then there’s movement across the room.

Deborah is in the doorway of the lounge, taking in the activity, scissors in her hands.

I leave you clowns for ten minutes… Ava sees rather than hears her say, and the redhead knows with certainty that she’s going to get her love to dance, even if it kills her.

She steps her remaining crutch in Deborah’s direction, still dancing, pointing a finger.

She can hear Blake and Kiki laughing loudly, offering up loud encouragement to her.

Phil is singing about running and hiding, and Ava tunes in, eyes never leaving the blue ones ahead of her.

“Don’t make me hobble all the way over there,” Ava says loudly.

Deborah holds her hand to her ear in mockery.

“I know you can hear me, you cheeky bitch.”

She keeps dancing, keeps swaying her hips as her ribs ache, easing her cast and crutch across the floor.

You’re all I need, Ava mouths to Phil, watching as a small smile appears on Deborah’s face.

She’s going to get her to.

I love you, she mouths this time, and the smile grows.

The scissors are lightly thrown away towards the floor.

I love you is returned to her.

Ava’s face hurts from smiling so much.

Deborah’s shoulders start swaying.

Then her torso is in motion, hips, and arms finding the groove. Ava watches as she effortlessly shimmies around in a circle, snorting out a laugh at the sight.

She hears Go Deborah! from Kiki behind her and continues laughing, eyes never straying from the ones she loves.

Ava lets her last crutch go, and waits for arms to encircle her.

They do, and then they’re dancing together.

“Are you done wrecking the carpet?” Deborah asks, her eyes sparkling with humor, and happiness.

“Yes. I think we’ve found our song.”

Deborah snorts. “Our song cannot be sung by someone I slept with in ’82.”

Ava freezes. “You did not.”

Deborah laughs loudly and fully, encouraging Ava to start moving again. “I did not, but you should’ve seen your face.”

She continues absolutely cackling, and Ava takes her chance.

She kisses the grin right off Deborah’s stupid, beautiful face.

There are cheers from behind her and a very loud whoop whoop.

Ava smiles out of the kiss, and simply knows.

She points at her face. “Fire hydrant?”

Deborah nods her answer, smiling. “You’ve never looked better.”

Later, when their guests have left with the record and the silence has started to permeate the house, Deborah hands Ava a freshly poured scotch and all but flops down beside her on the lounge.

“Put a song on,” Ava says, eyes closing as she rests her head.

“You look ready for bed,” Deborah says softly.

Ava hums, and blinks awake, turning her head to take in Deborah.

“Find us our song,” Ava murmurs over the top of her glass, taking a sip. “I wanna know what it is.”

“You’re leaving this up to me?”

Ava smiles and nods. “Take it away, maestro.”

She watches as Deborah retrieves her phone, the minutes ticking by as the blonde ponders and searches.

And then:

Music.

Definitely 80’s, from what Ava knows of the era.

Male voice, singing about never seeing his love the way she looks tonight.

Well, that’s romantic.

“What’s his name?”

“Chris de Burgh, ssh, wait for the chorus.”

Ava does as she’s told, taking another sip of her scotch.

Lady in red, is dancing with me

Cheek to cheek

Ava bursts out laughing, because of course Deborah would do a bit about her skin blushing tonight as they’d danced.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Ava laughs, reaching for Deborah’s hand.

“Well, I have made a living from it, so yes.”

Deborah sinks down the lounge and mirrors Ava’s position, holding her gaze. “The next song is ours.”

“Seriously?” Ava questions, eyes narrowing.

Deborah nods.

Ava can see she means it.

“Do I get a clue at least?”

Deborah thinks for a moment, before replying with, “Buster.”

“What kind of clue is that?” Ava replies. “You know I don’t have my phone…”

Deborah rolls her eyes. “Then it’ll be a surprise, won't it? The songs nearly finished anyway.”

Ava quietens down, and the two of them drink the remainder of their drinks together as Chris finishes.

Then, a familiar piano melody begins.

Ava knows immediately.

Phil.

Of course it is.

Ava smiles softly at Deborah, who has moved to sit up.

“Will you share this dance with me?” Deborah’s voice is confident and quiet as she takes Ava's glass, like she already knows the answer.

Ava nods silently and lets her love help her up to her feet.

Her arm settles around to the small of Deborah’s back, the other held carefully by the older woman close to their chests.

Ava sighs, and settles her cheek down along Deborah’s shoulder, nuzzling close to her neck.

“Perfect song choice, D.”

Her love hums, speaking softly when she says, “Not hard when you have the perfect partner.”

Ava closes her eyes and agrees.

She doesn't think she's ever been happier in her life than at this moment.

In fact, she knows it's a certainty.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” is asked so quietly it barely reaches Ava's ears.

“No,” is the answer she gives.

But she's warm and happy and in love, so why wouldn't she…

The last thing she comprehends is a soft surface meeting her, and a familiar warm body encasing her.

---

It begins with Luna, again, because Ava doesn’t know when to quit and the little munchkin never takes no for an answer.

Or at least that’s what Deborah tells her at the front door when she gets back from the doctors, teenage-boy-armpit-smelling leg plaster now gone.

“She wanted to swim with you now that you’re, and I quote, no longer a boken lizard.” Deborah grins and leans closer, lowering her voice to say, “We’ve got time to leave the debauchery to this afternoon.”

Ava groans.

She seriously just got waxed and now she’s expected to entertain a three-year-old?

“Didn’t you like" --Ava encircles Deborah in her arms-- "literally book your Santa Fe shows around this weekend and send everyone home so we wouldn’t be disturbed?”

“Luna is a very persuasive child.”

Ava kisses Deborah's cheek. "I can be persuasive too." A kiss along her jaw. "I've been waiting two months to ravage you properly."

There's an appreciative hum from Deborah, before her lips find Ava's.

It's entirely too short for Ava's liking, and she chases Deborah’s lips, kissing them lightly.

Deborah slowly pulls away. "You can survive another few hours."

Ava groans. “You’re complete putty in that kid's hands, you do know that right?”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll get my dignity back tonight when you’re putty in mine.”

She smiles, and it's full of promise.

"I'm going to hold you to that," Ava says, lifting their hands to kiss Deborah's.

Her love looks pleased with the romantic gesture.

She's still brushed off with, "Go on, they're in the pool. I'll be out in a minute; I just have a phone call to make.”

"One last kiss?" Ava asks quickly.

Deborah sighs loudly, but relents.

It's deep and passionate, and it steals Ava's breath away.

Deborah has a shit-eating grin on her face as she heads off towards her restored office.

You're a total clit tease, woman.

Ava knows she's grinning like an idiot.

She heads outside and down the stairs towards the pool, feeling a renewed freedom in her mobility, in this thing with Deborah.

Life is good.

Kiki spots her first.

"Baby girl, look who it is."

Ava watches as Luna turns and her face lights up.

I love you too, kiddo.

“Ava Lizard! Swim with me!”

“I’m still dressed, sweetie—I can…”

Well…

Of course she can.

Yeah, she will.

Ava bends down to slip off her Nike's.

“Ugh Ava, I hope this is not a skinny dipping sesh because the pool is totes G-rated right now.”

Ava nods at her friend, offering her an acknowledged smile. “Got the memo, Kik.”

She goes as far as pulling off her socks. Gets her phone out of her back pocket and slips it in her shoe. Takes her dad's watch off and eases it into the other one.

Get in before you change your mind.

Ava takes a few steps back, inhales a deep breath, and runs along the pool edge, jumping in.

It’s an Avanomaly.

Special edition.

FIN