Work Text:
There are so many things that Beatrice has to do. So many places she has to clean up, people she has to notify, responsibilities she has to hand off. Not a single one of those things involves the OCS or Adriel or death. Well, no, that’s not entirely true.
Beatrice wouldn’t have to explain to the owner of the pub that she can no longer be the manager if it wasn’t for Adriel. She wouldn’t have to tell that same owner that they would need to hire a new bartender if it wasn’t for death. She wouldn’t have to break her lease if it wasn’t for the OCS calling them back.
She has dozens of things to do so she starts with the easiest.
She packs up the room Ava was staying in at Jillian’s estate. It's a fool's errand if she’s ever seen one. In the hours she sat waiting in front of the Arc, the others had packed up the room, packed up Ava’s last days into one single bag. Seeing the singular bag, the final tomb of Ava’s belongings, what she found important enough to bring with her, not knowing if she would ever return to Switzerland brought on a new wave of despair and hopelessness.
Beatrice had packed light, she always had. Most of her weapons were with Camila and Mother Superion save for her three favorite knives and collapsible staff. She only brought two casual outfits knowing that as soon as they were back in the fold she’d be in her tactical habit or some disguise.
Ava packed more, way more. Her favorite jackets, multiple pairs of shoes, her softest t-shirts, sweaters and coveralls, her own disguises, four pairs of pajamas.
Beatrice scoffs at the pajamas. At Ava thinking they would have four nights of peaceful sleep. She scoffs to cover up how painful it is to think about the promise of one single travel bag.
Ava had not meant for this to be the end. Had not intended to only wear one set of pajamas, had never intended to fall asleep in the same clothes she was wearing during the day because she was so exhausted from the fighting. None of this was supposed to have happened.
Beatrice was not meant to be packing up things that weren’t hers. She wasn’t meant to have to carry two bags with her back to Switzerland. She was only ever supposed to protect Ava, keep the halo safe, keep Ava close and she had failed so miserably at her one task.
She flits around the room, eyes brimming, the features of the room blurring and swimming the longer she checks to make sure the others actually packed everything. It’s a dizzying thing, trying to contain sadness but Beatrice has practice, years of practice. She wont let her tears fall, won’t let them confirm her sadness. They’ll distort her vision and the world itself, but never fall.
A lap around, no more than six steps and her inquisition is over. Her easy task is over. All she has to do is pick up that bag and leave the room. All she has to do is pick up the last vestige of a living Ava and leave. Two steps towards the bed, a single grab, and four steps out the door.
Beatrice maps the actions over and over in her head. Step, grab, step. It’s simple, it’s all so simple but the thought of those steps dig barbs into her achilles and she would rather throw herself from the window than let those barbs dig far enough in to impede her. Halt her and keep her in this tomb of scents and feelings and memories.
Her resolve breaks what holds her in place, the spikes falling away with each step. She picks up the bag and turns to leave only to turn back around at the sound of something falling from beneath the bag.
A folded piece of paper.
She thinks it's some note from Camila or Mother Superion. Something that says she’ll get through this or past this. Something that attempts to convince her that taking steps and breathing isn’t the hardest thing in the world when you no longer have the thing that makes your heart beat standing beside you.
She almost leaves it there, almost walks out the door, makes up a story in her head to tell Camila that she hadn’t seen it when she is asked about it later. But something pulls her back. Something makes her look closer at the handwriting on the letter, her name spelled out in clear lettering.
If she hadn’t looked, if she had gone with her lie, she would have missed the looping of the letter B, missed the script that she had watched go from blocky scratches to intelligible words. A script that resembles her own with just a touch of Ava’s flair when Beatrice no longer needed to guide her hand during lessons.
She would have missed the small heart at the end of her name. She would have missed the chance to exist in Ava’s thoughts one last time.
Her knees buckle, catching herself on Ava’s bed before she hits the ground, burying her fingers in the soft fabric, swearing to herself that she can still feel the warmth Ava’s body left behind even days later. The folded piece of paper shakes in her hands, too heavy and too light in its transience. Once she reads this, Beatrice knows that there will be nothing new of Ava. Nothing left for Beatrice to discover or learn.
She could hold on to it, wait until she couldn’t bear another moment without Ava. Keep the weight in her pocket until every muscle shook with excursion from carrying it for too long. She could wait to open it when Ava comes back but she knows when can’t hold a candle to the deep darkness of if that consumes her.
She opens it backwards, Ava’s words hidden from view, giving her one final chance to wait. Her name looks up at her from the page, begging her to turn it over, begging for a second of relief from the pain in her heart.
A second of relief is worth it, a second of Ava is worth it even if this is the last second before it too becomes a memory. When the first tear falls on the top of her hand, nudging her to move, she flips over the letter.
Dear Beatrice,
By the time
As you probably know
Fuck this is hard
Bea. I hope I told and if I didn’t, well, here goes everything.
I love you. Now and in my next and in my every if I get to have a say.
You said you couldn’t run with me when I asked but I hope you start running. Run to the things you want and need outside of what has been asked of you.
Please let yourself want to live. I’d say live for me but that feels selfish.
Live for yourself. Live the way you want.
I love you.
Always yours,
Ava