Work Text:
lifelong love letter
The night after Ava falls thirteen stories and cracks her skull open on the pavement, Beatrice is practically Ava’s second shadow.
Ava’s so exhausted that she hardly even remembers any of the drive back to Jillian’s mansion, but what she does remember is slipping into a doze with her head on Beatrice’s shoulder, Beatrice’s strong arm wrapped around her waist for support and Beatrice’s fingers tangling (gently) in her blood-soaked hair. Ava doesn’t sleep, not really, but she does crush her face into the crook of Breatrice’s neck because she’s hurt so she can; she closes her eyes and just kind of shuts out the world for a little.
Turns out dying doesn’t get any less tiring. Who knew?
When they arrive back at the mansion, they need to debrief, and Ava knows they need to debrief, but she also needs to wash herself and sleep; god, remember sleeping? She doesn’t. She needs to remind herself.
Everyone — a bloodied Ava and Beatrice, a more bloodied Mother Superion and Yasmine, Miachael and Jillian and Camila — gathers around the table in the same meeting room they’ve kind of taken over, and Ava hasn’t let go of Beatrice’s hand yet, but that’s okay, because Beatrice’s arm is also still largely keeping her upright so she’s pretty sure Beatrice will be okay with the extra contact. She slumps into the chair that Beatrice pulls out for her with an impact that rattles her bones, sucks in a deep breath and tries valiantly to keep her eyes open. Unfortunately, when Beatrice takes the seat next to her with a muted sigh, her arm slips away from Ava’s waist. Ava misses the warmth immediately.
“Ava,” Beatrice says quietly. “You can go, if you need.”
Some people are still finding their seats—Beatrice’s voice is low, only for Ava’s ears. She meets Beatrice’s eyes and finds nothing but worry. “What?”
“I know you’re tired,” Beatrice says, even softer. “You can skip this one if you need to. We’re not going to be planning anything tonight anyways, and I’ll tell you anything you need to know tomorrow.”
But even as she says it her shoulders are stiff and the furrow in her brow only deepens, so much so that Ava can recognize that even in her sluggish state. Beatrice is still shaken by Ava’s fall and revival at the hotel, and Ava doesn’t blame her—she’s still processing herself that she’d died a second time. At some point, the Halo’s gotta get tired of reviving her. Hopefully not soon, though.
Every single one of Ava’s muscles ache — her headache has lessened over time, but there’s still a dull throb in the back of her head — and she’s more tired than she’s ever been before. She wants nothing more than to shower the blood out of her hair and go to sleep for three days straight. But she’d scared Beatrice — really scared her — and that hurts more than anything else.
Ava can’t imagine losing Beatrice. She doesn’t think she’d survive the ordeal; because if Beatrice is dead then how can Ava still be alive? After all this, after Cat’s Cradle and the Vatican and then Switzerland, Beatrice has long since become Ava’s person, and even if she wasn’t already head over heels in love with her, Beatrice would still be Ava’s favorite human in the world. She’s just incredible. And if Beatrice feels even a fraction of the same way towards Ava — and Ava knows that somehow she does — then Ava’s willing to bet that she needs comfort, too.
So Ava stays. Slowly, as not to twinge anything, she reaches over to thread her fingers back through Beatrice’s own, dropping their hands down to Ava’s lap so that Beatrice can hold her hand without worrying about someone else seeing. She leans back in her chair and tries to smile.
“I’m okay,” she croaks. “I can make it. Don’t let me fall asleep in here.”
It’s perhaps a testament to how worried Beatrice had been when she doesn’t even try to argue. Instead, she holds Ava’s hand back just as tightly and turns her eyes to Mother Superion, who’d made her wobbly way to the front of the table.
The debrief hardly lasts ten minutes, but neither of them let go the entire time.
.
.
.
When Mother Superion releases them all, it’s nearing seven in the afternoon. Ava hadn’t registered a word the entire time, being too busy trying to keep her eyes from slipping shut, but that’s okay—Beatrice can fill her in later. Everyone begins to slowly scatter — Ava guesses they’re most all going to bed, even though it’s early — and Beatrice’s arm finds its way back around Ava’s waist when she stands up—only now it’s less that she’s holding her up and more like she’s just trying to steady her. Ava probably doesn’t need her help to walk anymore, but she doesn’t pull away from the touch.
“Are you hungry?” Beatrice asks as they make their slow way out of the room and into the nearby hallway. “Need to stop by the kitchen?”
Ava shakes her head, wincing as it irritates her headache. “Just tired,” she says. “I can eat tomorrow.”
Beatrice says, “Okay,” and turns to lead them down the adjoining hallway that holds most of the rooms Jillian had given to them. The first on the left is Camila’s, the second for all of Camila’s computer equipment, and the third is Ava’s. But before they enter Ava’s living space, Beatrice deposits her gently against the doorframe of the room that faces it—which is, technically, Beatrice’s own room. “One second,” she murmurs, and disappears into the dark to retrieve whatever it is that she needs.
Beatrice’s room is hardly accurate, anyways—if anything, it’s more like Beatrice’s storage. There hasn’t been a single night since they arrived at Jillian’s that she’s actually slept in here. Ava had knocked on her door at two in the morning on the very first night and it hadn’t taken a lot of convincing to get Beatrice to come back with her into Ava’s. Ava knows she’s not the only one who misses their little bed in Switzerland. She hopes one day they’ll be able to go back there.
Beatrice quickly reappears with a pair of her pajamas hooked over her forearm, and with all the gentleness in the world, she puts Ava’s arm right back around her shoulders as they finally make it into Ava’s bedroom.
It’s not as messy as it would be if Ava slept in here alone; there aren’t any piles of anything (on the floor), though the bed is unmade, and if you count the attached bathroom, it’s almost bigger than their entire apartment had been. Rich people and their mansions. Ava can’t imagine what one or two people would’ve done with all this space.
Once inside, Ava (reluctantly) peels herself out of Beatrice’s grasp, because she’s going to have to be able to stand on her own two feet for the next bit. Beatrice never takes her eyes off her, but as Ava goes to grab a change of clothes out of the pile on the chair, she does take a seat on the bed. She starts to fiddle with her hands but stops once she remembers the dried blood that’s covering them, and Ava has to look away lest she finds herself drawn back into Beatrice’s orbit. Then she’d never get anything done.
“Are you going to need help?” Beatrice asks gently. Her voice is gravelly and soft, her eyes more dull than usual, and Ava realizes that she’s just as exhausted as Ava feels.
It’s such an easy setup—the joke is right on the tip of her tongue, but Ava just gives her a tired smile. “I’ll just be in and out. Really just gotta wash the blood out of my hair.” She’s going for relief but misses horribly; something in Beatrice’s face tightens at the reminder, and Ava winces. Shit. Wrong thing to say. “Give me five minutes,” she says then, trying for a more upbeat tone. “Then you can have a turn.”
“I’ll be here.” Beatrice says it how Ava imagines a knight would swear fealty to his Queen, full of an unimaginable devotion that’s somehow directed at Ava, and her chest swells with so much warmth that she even feels the near-depleted Halo stirring somewhat, trying to give her away. It sputters out before any hard-to-miss golden light can begin to show, but thankfully it doesn’t give out entirely. It would’ve been extremely embarrassing if Ava had just tumbled to the floor right then and there. Beatrice might’ve had a heart attack, too, and then where would they be?
Usually, Ava savors her showers. Usually, she takes as long as she’s allowed — as long as the hot water allows — and really basks in the joy of being able to take one in the first place. Usually she spends a solid half-hour in the thing, but if you don’t count the time it took her to peel out of her armor (she’ll probably have to scrub it clean tomorrow), she’s in and out of the shower in under five minutes. She would’ve been out in under four if there hadn’t been a frankly obscene amount of blood caked into the back of her head. Yowch. No wonder Bea’s so freaked.
Thankfully, it hadn’t hurt badly, which means she’d finished healing a while ago. That was good. She had long since learned that after-healing pains are a lot better than still-healing pains. Something still twinges when she goes to pull the tank-top over her head, but whatever.
She goes back into the bedroom still scrubbing her hair dry, finds Beatrice sitting on the bed looking at nothing. She’s clearly trying not to touch the pillows while her hands are covered in blood, and when she looks up at Ava again, there’s still that ring of cold terror creasing her eyelids. Ava’s blood is on her hands, her face, and she looks as if she’s only just realized it.
“Your turn?” Ava prompts, trying to call Beatrice’s attention away from all that. She drops the towel on the nearby chair and resists the urge to reach out and pull Beatrice closer. She doesn’t really want her to leave, but she knows Beatrice hates not showering after a long day. She’ll regret it if she doesn’t do it now, and then she’ll be cranky in the morning. Cranky Beatrice can be irresistibly cute, but it’s still better to get the task over with now.
After a half-second of contemplation, Beatrice hums in response and then gets up off the bed.
For an unsteady moment she seems to sway on her feet, and Ava damn nearly leaps to catch her if necessary. But then Beatrice takes another step and her gait is as strong as ever—an irritated breath huffs through her teeth. Ava relaxes, but when she goes to slip under the bedcovers with a happy groan, she doesn’t close her eyes.
Beatrice gathers her pajamas up and heads into the bathroom, but she hesitates just inside the doorframe. After a silent consideration, she turns to look Ava dead in the eye, something unreadable in her gaze.
Worried, Ava says, “Yes?”
For a moment, Beatrice doesn’t say anything, just watches Ava with eyes that seem almost sunken into her skull. Then she straightens up, swallows, and delivers her message.
“Don’t go anywhere.”
It’s not a question. She’s trying to play it off as a joke, maybe; certainly going for something close to teasing but the words instead come out half-cracked and fearful. Ava feels her heart break—just as real as her skull had those hours ago. A thousand responses come to mind: No one can kill me here, maybe; or if she was feeling up for the flirt, Want me to wait in there with you? but she doesn’t think either of those would go over well.
So Ava just shakes her head reassuringly. “I’m not going anywhere, Bea.” Then, smiling, “I don’t think I could if I tried. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you’re done.”
“Don’t stay up,” Beatrice says. Then, almost contradicting herself, “I’ll be quick.” She sends Ava one last look, and it’s so tired and pained but it’s also so warm and fucking hell, Ava physically has to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from saying something that would ruin everything she’s slowly been working them towards.
Beatrice shuts the door without another word, and Ava’s narrowly suppressed, Okay! Love you stays deep in her chest where it fucking belongs.
.
.
.
If Ava’s shower had only taken five minutes, then Beatrice’s takes less than three. Ava doesn’t sleep, but she’s out of it enough that she’s not even sure she ever hears the shower turn on at all, though it must have. It seems like one minute she’s closing her eyes, exhausted, and then the very next she’s opening them again to the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.
She forces herself to stay awake only a few minutes more. It’ll be worth it. She scoots over, too, sure to leave a large gap on the left side where Beatrice can slide in.
Beatrice spends around forty seconds puttering around the room and tidying up, and Ava would be a lot more irritated about it if she wasn’t as always struck to silence by the mere sight of Beatrice in pajamas. They’re so boring — just a sweatshirt and pants; the sweatshirt from the bar, Ava’s favorite — but they still somehow make her look so different, and Ava can’t get enough.
Still, Ava’s patience has a limit, and though it’s fine and probably smart to close the blinds (seeing as it’s not yet actually nighttime), when Beatrice resorts to folding Ava’s own towel for her, that patience snaps. “Bea,” she groans, stretching the last vowel out into a whine, “come to bed.”
Beatrice shakes her head like she’d been thinking very deeply. “Coming,” she says. Her tone is clipped, but it doesn’t sting. How could it, when Ava’s about to be allowed to fall asleep holding her?
Ava watches, too tired to even smile as Beatrice draws back the overs and settles herself into the bed without another word. She waits as Beatrice shifts around for a moment, only moving when she finally goes still. Keeping slow, as not to spook her, Ava begins to come closer. “Is this okay?”
Beatrice doesn’t reply immediately, and when she does it’s not with words. Instead, she does something she’s never done before; she reaches out for Ava herself, taking Ava into her arms with a fierce grip and tugging her towards her body.
Chest sputtering at this unusual turn of events, Ava takes the chance to press herself even closer, wrapping her arm around Beatrice’s shoulder so that she can rest her head in the crook of Beatrice’s neck. She can feel Beatrice’s heartbeat underneath her forearm, and their legs tangle together. Hesitant as always — but much less so, tonight — Beatrice places her hands gently on Ava’s back. Humming contentedly, Ava sighs.
Beatrice is so soft now. Back in their little apartment It’d taken her almost an entire month to warm up to cuddling with Ava, and even then it’d have to happen organically in order for her to be comfortable with it. Or as close to organic as Ava could fake. She’d gotten really, really good at pretending to be asleep. Back then, Beatrice would often be stiff and half-frightened whenever Ava so much as touched her, and it’d take her a long time to relax entirely.
Nowadays, under Jillian’s roof and the constant threat of death, she seems to be a lot less embarrassed about Ava’s need to hold and be held. Ava knew she’d wear her down eventually.
“I’ll move in a minute if you need me to,” Ava mumbles into Beatrice’s shoulder, aware that this isn’t typically Beatrice’s favorite configuration. Too much, probably. She gets it. “Just wanna stay here for a sec.”
She feels Beatrice nod and hardly hears the soft hmm of acceptance. “You’re perfectly fine,” she says after a beat. “I don’t want you laying on your back tonight anyways.”
By now Ava’s entirely healed, and she knows Beatrice knows it too, but she doesn’t dare argue. This is a precious gift that Beatrice has given to her, and she’s not about to do something so stupid as to point that minor little detail out to her and ruin the night altogether.
Ava’s half asleep when Beatrice speaks again.
“Ava?”
Groggily, Ava pulls her mind back out of sleeping mode, because if Beatrice is asking at this time then it’s got to be important. She doesn’t open her eyes, but fists her hand into Beatrice’s shirt so that she knows she’s listening. “Mhm?”
A beat. Then, in a sotto voice, “I know it’s not fair to ask, but—please don’t do that again.”
Ava exhales into Beatrice’s neck. “Which part?” she asks flatly. “The falling on my head part, the falling at all part, or the part where I did something stupid without thinking again?” Oops. She’d forgotten to watch her tone.
Beatrice digests that reply for a moment. Ava’s pretty sure she’s deciding whether to agree or not. Finally, she ends up with, “You’re not stupid,” which is probably the sweetest thing she could’ve said. Ava loves her so much.
Even if she’s wrong.
“If you were the Halo Bearer, you wouldn’t have fallen thirteen floors in the first place,” Ava mumbles petulantly.
A hum. “If I were the Halo Bearer,” Beatrice says, slow and thoughtful, “then I wouldn’t be worrying so much about you. But if I were the Halo Bearer, I wouldn’t know you, either.” She quiets, and Ava thinks that’s about all the fearless affection she’s got in her, but then Beatrice is barrelling on. “And I—I wouldn’t take that trade. Not ever.”
Then she goes silent, and Ava knows that’s about all the fearless affection she’s got in her. For Beatrice, that might as well have been an undying confession of love.
Ava tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. “I’m trying—”
“I know you are,” Beatrice cuts her off. Her arms are tighter around Ava now than they had been before. “I’m sorry. I’m not blaming you at all. I’m just—” She sucks in a breath through her nose. “I never want to see you like that again.”
It’s a quiet admission, said in the dark by the only person in the world, and it’s everything Beatrice could have ever given her.
I love you, Ava thinks, hoping Beatrice can’t feel the way her heartbeat has quickened. I love you. I love you. I love you too.
She doesn’t say that, of course. She can’t—she’d rather die a hundred times then push Beatrice into whatever this could be. She’ll wait forever if she has to. She’s always been selfish, but for this, for Beatrice, she can be patient instead.
So instead of I love you too, she says, “I’ll be more careful.”
Ava will be. She always is, really; she doesn't like dying — it hurts like a bitch, who knew? — but she thinks Beatrice still needs reassurance anyway. She thinks Beatrice needs it more than she likes, sometimes. That’s fine, honestly—probably means Ava’s doing a good job worming her way into her heart.
A soft breath, released directly into Ava’s hair. She hadn’t even realized Beatrice was leaning down until now. “That’s all I ask,” Beatrice says, pressed up against her. Ava shivers and hopes it wasn’t noticeable. She doesn’t respond.
Neither of them speak again. The exhaustion finally seems to creep into Beatrice’s bones, and Ava feels her relax slowly, minutely, as they lay there together. Nothing hurts anymore—Ava’s not sure if that’s just because the Halo is recovering or because of her close proximity to Beatrice, but she’s not about to complain. With the absence of pain and the near-silent room, only broken by Beatrice’s soft exhales, there’s finally nothing stopping her from slipping into a full-on coma.
She knows Beatrice will wake up early tomorrow, especially because they’re going to sleep so early. She knows Beatrice will probably try to leave the bed without disturbing Ava, and she knows that her attempts probably won’t work, but that’s okay. Ava’ll wake up early if it’s to see her. She knows that the fight’s not over yet—far from it.
If she’s being honest, she knows that she’s probably going to die again, eventually. Maybe it’ll even stick. But she’s coming around to the idea of it. In the end, isn’t that what love is; putting someone else’s life above your own? She doesn’t want to die. But she’ll do it if she has to. If it means Beatrice and the rest of her little family can live.
But she really doesn’t want to die. And Beatrice doesn't want her to, either—she knows that much. She appreciates that a lot. To somehow be worthy of Beatrice’s love… it’s unfathomable, but she’s not going to question it.
With that in mind, Ava finally drifts off to sleep, unburdened.