Chapter Text
Despite her moaning and groaning, Ava kind of enjoys training days.
Sure, it’s not as fun as drinking with the regulars at work or staying out past midnight to pull some shenanigans with the local teens, but it’s got its perks. She gets to move around and get her blood flowing. She gets to learn cool new fight moves. She gets to reconnect with her body.
Regaining movement after being paralyzed for over a decade really puts things into perspective, and it’s impossible for Ava to take any kind of mobility for granted. She can run! She can swim (now)! She can fight (kind of)! She can get hurt! Oh, holy hell can she get hurt. But pain is a welcome sensation compared to the numb emptiness of paralysis, so even on the days she gets thrown around like a rag doll, Ava can’t say she hates these sessions.
And at least when she’s training, she feels like she’s actually doing something — working towards something — that will eventually lead to cleaning up the mess she’s made at the Vatican. She won’t just be the useless ex-quadriplegic haplessly swinging around an ancient glowing sword, collapsing every few minutes because she’s drained the one power source keeping her upright.
No. She’s gonna get ripped. She’s gonna kick ass.
“Ava.” A stern voice interrupts her fantasies of roundhouse kicking Adriel in the face. “Focus.”
“Yes, sir.”
A strained sigh. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Or that.”
Ava grins as she adjusts her grip on the sparring stick and refocuses her attention on the woman in front of her. “Yes, Bea,” she corrects, making her voice overly sweet and throwing in a wink for good measure. As expected, Beatrice’s expression remains neutral except for a slight twitch of her right eye.
That’s all she gives away before she’s lunging forward, and Ava scrambles to parry the vicious blow.
And, yeah, this too. Training means an entire day with Beatrice, the most badass fighter Ava’s ever met, all the way out in the wilderness where no one can bother them. This is like, their thing.
Of course she likes the liveliness of the bar and the quaintness of the town, but at least up here, none of the bartenders are pulling Beatrice’s attention from Ava, and none of the customers are pulling Ava’s attention from Beatrice. It’s just them, the woods, the beautiful sunshine, and the tranquil sounds of Beatrice beating the absolute shit out of her.
Ah. Sweet alone time.
“You left an opening there,” Beatrice comments a few minutes later as she wipes at the sweat on her brow, backing away from where she’d thrown Ava flat on her back for the third time today. “You’re concentrating too much on what the weapons are doing, you have to watch the wielder’s movements, too.”
All Ava can manage is a defeated “augh” as she tries to regain the breath that was knocked out of her. It’s cool. She’s cool. Pain’s cool. Pain’s a good thing. Okay, maybe it sucks ass, but she’s missed out on a lot of it; she’s got some catching up to do. She can handle this much.
At least, that’s what she tells herself as she rolls to her feet and prepares for another round of getting pommeled to the ground.
“Keep your eyes open. Use your peripherals.”
“Yeah, well. Kinda hard to with all this sweat dripping into them,” Ava jokes, making a point to mimic Beatrice’s movement to wipe at her own forehead.
Beatrice pauses, considering Ava’s point. “Yes, I guess it’s not ideal with this hot weather.”
‘Hot’ is a massive understatement by Ava’s standards. It’s late summer, there’s no shade in their little clearing, and they’ve been drilling and sparring for hours.
It’s hot as balls. She’s literally melting.
“Hey, let’s go back to the apartment for a bit for lunch,” she suggests, noting that even Beatrice is short of breath. “Cool off so we can keep our heads clear?”
Ava rushes to find a compromise when Beatrice gives her a look.
“We can come back later! Just like, maybe when it’s not a thousand degrees outside.”
And usually Beatrice refuses to indulge in these half-hearted attempts to duck out of training to goof off or laze around, but the heat must be getting to her today, because she actually nods at Ava’s suggestion. At least she attempts to look reluctant about it.
Ava smiles victoriously to herself as they pack up their gear. It’s always a win when she can get Beatrice to loosen up a bit. Like, come on. They both deserve a break, don’t they? It’s not like Adriel’s going to conquer the galaxy in the time it takes them to eat a sandwich.
The town is unusually quiet as they make their way back home, the like-minded residents probably hiding indoors during the hottest hours of the day. They pass by their bar, jam-packed with customers cooling off with a refreshing beer, and Ava longs to join them even if she has to be behind the counter.
But she knows without asking that Beatrice would never let them stray from training into a bar of all places. She was already pushing her luck by dragging them back home for a quick lunch break.
Plus, there’s one thing better than a cold drink on a hot day.
Their air-conditioned apartment. Sweet, blessed, AC.
The chilly air rushes out as soon as Ava opens the door, and she knows she’s not the only one who lets out a sigh of relief. Without ceremony, Ava shrugs off her gear and throws herself facedown on the couch.
“It’s supposed to cool down in about two hours,” Beatrice reports, checking her phone. “So a quick lunch, and then we can do some stretches in here while we wait.”
With her face buried in a cushion, Ava groans. It’s useless to complain; she knows from experience. Beatrice would just drag her off the couch and start bending Ava into a pretzel on her own if she didn’t comply.
But maybe she can deflect for a while…
“Can we watch Bones while we eat?” she asks. “Just one episode?”
Beatrice scoffs as she sets the kitchen table with the lunches they had packed for the woods. “Right. It’s always ‘just one episode,’ and five episodes later, you’re too tired to do anything productive.”
“No no, I mean it this time!” Ava says, not even sure herself whether or not she means it. She senses Beatrice’s skepticism and inevitable rebuttal and rushes to pull out her secret weapon: puppy dog eyes. “Please?” she begs, pushing out her bottom lip.
Beatrice barely spares her a glance before deflating. “Fine.”
Ava wiggles triumphantly in her seat as Beatrice joins her with their lunches. She puts on the show as Beatrice mumbles darkly about frivolous distractions interfering with their tight regimen, once again smiling to herself as she mentally tallies up the scores for the day.
Ava: 2; Beatrice: 0
She decides not to count all of the times Beatrice bodily threw her into the dirt while sparring.
Starving from all the exercise and drained from the heat, Ava scarfs down her sandwich in a matter of minutes and drains her glass with a few guttural gulps. Full, sufficiently cooled, and content, she lies back down to enjoy the rest of the episode.
“We’re starting again after this episode, Ava. Don’t get too comfortable.”
Ava hums happily. “I won’t,” she lies, utterly unconvincing.
Because how can she not? She’s fed and watered. She’s nice and cool in the AC. She’s relaxing on the couch, watching a fun show with good company. Perfect conditions for getting comfortable.
So despite Beatrice’s warning and the looming time limit, Ava settles deeper into the couch to release the built-up tension in her body, feeling the aches and pains from the morning’s training thrumming in her bones.
She doesn’t know when she drifts off, but the next thing she knows, Ava is blinking back to consciousness from a deep, dreamless sleep.
The sun is completely gone, the darkened sky outside bathing the apartment in soft blues highlighted by the glow of the TV screen. Two hours have definitely come and gone.
She looks around blearily, disoriented and confused. Why didn’t Beatrice…
Oh.
On the opposite side of the couch, Beatrice had also fallen asleep, but seemingly intentionally so. There’s a thick blanket covering both of them, and the TV volume had been lowered. Her breaths are slow and even, the side of her face pressed against the back of the couch. She’d stretched out a little in her sleep, one leg pressing against Ava’s and providing mutual heat in the now-chilly air conditioning, turning their blanket into a fluffy cocoon.
Though her head is still hazy from the unplanned nap, one clear thought pulls Ava’s mouth into a lazy smile: Beatrice let her skip the rest of training day. Better yet, she’d given in and joined Ava in slacking off.
Ava: 3; Beatrice:…
Ava blinks, staring transfixed at Beatrice’s sleeping face, at the way the low light smooths over her features and contours her jawline. There’s nothing significant about her expression, just as neutral and unreadable as it is when she’s awake, but there’s a certain tranquility to it that Ava can’t recall ever seeing before.
Obviously. Obviously, considering it’s been nonstop chaos since the day they met. Considering Beatrice had to essentially leave behind everything she knows and loves after the Vatican fiasco in order to train Ava from zero to hero in secret. All alone, separated from the Order and her sisters, working just as hard — no, much harder by far — to prepare Ava for the inevitable.
Preparations that feel infeasible on a good day and completely pointless on their worst days. Maybe Ava never asked for any of this to happen to her, but neither did Beatrice.
And this is the only reprieve Ava can even hope to provide for her. A few jokes to lighten the mood. A quick TV lunch break to get them out of the sun. A nap, as if that would even scratch the surface of the exhaustion Beatrice must be feeling.
Will there ever come a day that Beatrice can look this peaceful while she’s awake? Or will her eyes forever hold the weight of the world and the burdens of her responsibility that Ava can never help carry?
Something tightens inside Ava’s chest.
She’ll never be enough. Not for this mission, not for humanity, not for this stupid halo. And certainly not for Beatrice. But it’s not like she can back out now; neither of them can. Not when people are dying and their friends are missing and their family is fractured.
Grimacing, Ava closes her eyes again to cut herself off from the mesmerizing sight and all the anxious thoughts that come with it. But with her eyes closed, she hears a sound she hadn’t noticed when she first woke up. The reason why it was already so dark outside.
Rain, closely followed by a distant rumble of thunder.
Ava listens to the pattering on the windows, chest tightening further at the sound. Suddenly she’s lying in bed — the bed, the rickety one in the orphanage that smelled like dust and depression — staring up at the same ceiling she’d been staring at for years, watching the shadows of raindrops as they fell outside of the window behind her, listening to the sounds of a downpour. Always just watching shadows and hearing white noise. Trapped indoors, trapped in her own body.
She can’t recall the last time she’d been out in the rain, feeling the drops hit her skin.
Restless and now curious, Ava slowly crawls out from under the blanket, shivering a little in the chill of the apartment. She creeps out of the apartment and down the stairs, taking care to avoid the creaky steps that would undoubtedly wake Beatrice from her ever-light slumber. Bracing herself against the heat and humidity, she pulls open the front door.
The rain is deafening out here, much louder than Ava recalls. She gazes around in wonder at the drenched streets, the growing puddles, the dripping trees and rooftops — all of it slightly obscured through what looks like an impenetrable sheet of rain. She peers up at the sky as if she can see where all of this water is coming from.
A stray droplet hits her cheek. Another hits her arm. Tentatively, Ava holds out her hand, palm up, extending it slowly past the coverage of the roof until it’s being showered by the rain, drenching her skin in a matter of seconds. She pulls it back, a breathless little laugh escaping her.
It’s just rain. She’s experienced it as a child, and it’s really not much of a phenomenon, scientifically speaking. But it’s cool on her skin and paints their little town in a different light and shifts the mood in a way that nothing else can.
There’s another rumble of thunder, closer this time, and Ava feels it vibrate through her body. She can feel thunder. Feel an invisible, ungraspable, unreachable sound.
Maybe this is how religion is supposed to feel.
She senses more than hears Beatrice coming down the stairs behind her to join her in the doorway. They’re both silent for a while, observing the storm from the safety of the building, and when Beatrice finally speaks, her words are barely audible over the sound of the rain.
“Guess there goes the rest of our day,” she says. Ava smiles; she doesn’t sound too upset about it. Sure enough, when she looks over her shoulder, Beatrice looks more amused than disheartened.
“You’re the one who checked the weather earlier.”
“This wasn’t forecasted.”
Ava chuckles. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe they —” she gestures to the sky “— want us to take it easy today.”
“Doubtful,” Beatrice says, giving her a look. “But the weather up here is unpredictable, so this was bound to happen sooner or later. We’ll just have to call it quits for the day.”
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t put it past you to make me fight in the rain for ‘practice in unideal conditions,’” Ava teases, attempting a poor rendition of Beatrice’s accent. “Didn’t think a little hurricane like this would stop you.”
A peculiar expression crosses Beatrice’s face, new and…different. Ava watches as it shifts, unsure of whether to brace herself for a stern scolding, an exasperated lecture, or a really, really bad pun. She can’t place it to any of the dozens of Beatrice-specific expressions she’d filed away for reference, and the longer Ava stares, the harder it gets to breathe.
Then Beatrice shrugs lightly. “If you insist.” And brushes past Ava to march out into the pouring rain.
“Wha-…? Wait, you can’t —!”
But Beatrice ignores her and walks casually out into the street, looking cool as a cucumber as the rain pelts her relentlessly. About halfway across the street, she turns around and tilts her head while Ava gapes at her.
“Well this was your idea,” she says in her typical matter-of-fact tone as her hair and clothes steadily soak up more and more water.
“I was joking, obviously!” Ava yells over the rain, laughing more than actually yelling. “I’m not sparring out in the rain, are you crazy! You seriously want me to —?”
Beatrice looks away sharply and Ava stops, panicking. Did she say something wrong? Should she not have laughed?
Before she can even think of what to say, Beatrice looks up. She’s not upset or annoyed — she’s smiling. And not just smiling; Ava sees a flash of teeth and catches a quick exhale of laughter. Then she meets Ava’s eyes and suddenly Ava can’t breathe. She can’t think. She doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, and she knows she’s staring openly.
Beatrice. Grinning. Soaking wet in the rain.
Motioning for Ava to join her.
“Fine, no sparring. We’ll get a quick jog in before nightfall.” Her grin widens and Ava’s knees go weak. “How about a race to the bar?”
“R-race?” Ava repeats numbly. “You…wanna race? I — o-okay, yeah. We can do that. Hell yeah we can do that.”
The strength of the rain practically drives her into the ground as she steps out from under the safety of the roof, but Ava feels light and invincible as she jogs over to Beatrice. Her uncharacteristic grin is gone but a small smile remains, her gaze above it softening as Ava approaches.
And maybe it’s the rain shifting everything out of perspective. Maybe it’s the dooming revelation Ava experienced while watching Beatrice sleep. Or maybe it’s Beatrice herself, her unmappable transition from training Ava mercilessly to joining her in a nap to now instigating a freaking race in the rain of all things. Whatever it is, it clarifies one thing for Ava.
She wants to protect this.
This moment. This town. This wonderful, badass, disarming woman in front of her. And also this world — the world where all of these things exist and should continue existing. She’ll do and fight anything to ensure she can keep living like this, especially if it’s with Beatrice.
Pushing her now-sopping wet hair out of her eyes, Ava lines up next to Beatrice and tries to act like this is completely normal.
“Ready?” Beatrice asks, nudging Ava’s arm with her elbow. And Ava can’t help it; she risks one more glance at Beatrice and immediately regrets it.
Because now she’s done it. She’s over-analyzed everything and realized everything and now she can’t look at Beatrice without her heart aching with one more sensation she’d forgotten how to feel. It doesn’t help that Beatrice is looking at her with that small smile, the brief light of mischief still lingering in her eyes.
So no. Ava’s not ready at all.
But she nods anyway, because what else can she do?
“Ready.”