Work Text:
BEFORE
"If I left, would you come with me?
...
"You could teach me how to dance." Ava earned Beatrice's attention with that, but the sister warrior's expression remained impassive. Even now, after so much time spent together--
(and beds mutually slept in...)
--she was impossible to read. The muscles in her delicate features were trained and obedient, allowing nothing but the soberest of emotions slip from their iron grasp. Yet Ava yearned for the tiny fragments of feeling that her companion let herself yield to. The nearly-invisible quirk of her lips to indicate amusement; the subtle knitting of her fine brows when she was worried about Ava's steadfast ways. The laughing, smiling, dancing Beatrice from her first official drink in the Swiss Alps. She loved every sparkling side to this living, multifaceted gem... She loved her Bea.
Ava ignored the tight feeling of dread and pushed with sweeter words, ones that were bound to make kindred memories resurface in the nun's head.
" I could teach you how to drink," she supplied, ignoring the way that her voice wobbled on the last word.
A beat. Long, desperate, hopeful. Ava's eyes bore into Beatrice's, waiting for her stoic brown gaze to soften, even if only momentarily. She didn't even have to agree -- the crinkle of her eyes, a smile, anything would suffice so long as it told Ava that she wasn't angry anymore. That they would warmly reconcile, return to the other sisters, and think up ways to best Adriel for good this time.
Beatrice broke their eye contact in a swift, cruel movement.
"No," she just about whispered, her voice low and quiet, "I can't."
NOW
It had been so, so awkward after that.
From the day that Ava sobbed into Beatrice's foreign embrace after a particularly tough truth from Mother Superion, they had always been the neighbouring parts of a puzzle. Their banter bounced between them with the type of chemistry seen in those explosive high school labs -- never vapid, never uncaring. The way that they moved when they fought, even, was a testimony to the closeness of their souls. Ava fought, Bea protected; Bea fought, Ava protected. High hits, low sweeps; they flowed in tandem, performing a dance learned only by time and trust.
Ava knew something was wrong when she was unable to easily manoeuvre past Beatrice as they collided in one of Dr Salvius' various hallways. She knew that a part of their unity --a part of their fitting pieces-- had shifted after their earlier conversation when her mouth immediately ran dry. When her eyes were reluctant to meet Beatrice's oval-shaped ones. Wordlessly, she shifted past her to head to her room and faced the consequence of feeling the woman's stare scorch into her back, a heat oppressive and unrelenting until she rounded the corner and practically threw herself into the safety of solitude.
What faced her now was the sad visage of a single, empty bed. It was how one would expect the guest room of a billionaire to look. Comfy, absolutely... neat, sure, but it lacked the personality -- the domesticity that Ava had become so accustomed to while living with Bea. The crumpled sheets from a night of rest and the sunken pillows from a sleepy morning; this bland structure was bereft of it all, and to say that Ava missed it sorely was an understatement. Dr Salvius' expansive villa was not a place she could call home.
She felt her jaw tighten and her heart ache as she settled onto the tidy, folded covers, letting her left-hand stray and ghost over the vacant space to her side. Bea's spot, forever and always. Ava missed her. She missed her warmth.
When Michael came in and began to preach about their fate --about Adriel and Reya but everything but Beatrice–- once more, she couldn't help but wish that it was her best friend that was sitting there instead. Plans and words of worry sounded so much softer and palatable when they came from her lips.
Hours later, when Vincent had returned to her the halo and she was readying herself to place it atop the crown of her head, she instinctively glanced to her left. In her memories from Switzerland, Bea had been there peacefully dozing, curled up, once, twice -- times that were too vast to count.
When Reya's face --glowing, godlike, and holy-- was still fresh in her memory, she still could only compare it to the perfection of Beatrice's face, lit in the warm orange light of the bedroom as she watched her lift the Crown of Thorns off of her head. Even a god -- even God themselves did not usurp her Bea's beauty. Her flawless skin, the concerned wrinkle of her brow, and the concentrated set of her jaw, all of it needed to be preserved in painting, stowed away in some high-profile museum like the one they'd raided, the Museo del Prado, for the key to defeating Adriel.
---
"I understand what we have to do."
Meeting Reya had been just as draining as it'd been enlightening.
Late into the day, Ava cradled her conscious self on her side of the bed, the pillow from earlier pushed to the far right. It was silly, clinging to the habit of making enough space to fit another woman when she no longer shared a bed with one. Nevertheless, the action resonated within her, and she found that she was able to recall her and Beatrice's days in the Alps more vividly if she abided by the heartwarming practice some nights.
Right then, she didn't want to think about the sacrifice that she was required to make nor the fate of the world come the next few days.
Right then, she yearned to commit each of Bea's characteristics to memory. If the real Beatrice was stuck in this stale limbo of silence with her, then their memories together were the next best thing to sate her wanting.
Still, the emotions of defeat didn't stop her from stiffening at the distant sound of footsteps. Ava wasn't nearly as vigilant as Beatrice or Mother Superion were, but training and living on the edge each day had made her sharper, more perceptive.
Step... step...
Her mind spun, half wishing that it wasn't Beatrice and the other half begging -- pleading that it was. Deep within, though, Ava knew that it could only be her; the other nuns had been somehow able to keep up a consistent sleep schedule, and they were not prone to aimlessly wandering at midnight. Not like how Ava and Beatrice were, at least, two like souls trained to understand only one way of rest: falling asleep together, safe in a bundle of tangled arms and legs.
If she had thought that her heart was thundering enough from just the sound of the other girl's soft, mumbled footsteps, the twist of her doorknob and the whining creak of the door's hinges proved otherwise. No preservation nor preparation could suppress her reaction: Ava snapped up in her bed with a puppy-like keenness, hoping to see and actually seeing the taller woman standing, staring at her with a conflicted expression. Though the hallway behind her was dark, shadowing the edges of her frame in an annoying, obscuring pitch, the scant light of her lamp flickered against the features that Ava adored. A soft, pointed jawline and a face smudged with neat, dark eyebrows. She had to remind herself not to get lost while studying them.
"Bea," Ava gingerly tested, speaking her name like it was a prized relic of the OCS -- something fragile, delicate. A fluttering panic exploded in her throat when she saw the shadow of Beatrice's fingers grip the doorframe, the action so hesitant and small and heartbreaking that her throat instantly tightened in response. She's leaving, Ava's mind part-whispered, part-screamed. She had to do something, say something...!
She opted for acting both physically and verbally, her movements jittery and panicked. She crawled to the edge of the bed and swung her legs out and onto the flat ground. By then, a query was spilling from her quivering lips.
"You - do you ever miss the Alps, Bea?" Her legs carried her a wary step forwards, and they only grew with more confidence when she saw that the woman did not waver, did not make any advances towards disappearing back into the shadows. When Ava was met with a puzzled silence and no response, she took it as permission to continue. "You do, right? If not, you wouldn't have looked at me like that earlier when I mentioned Hans... dancing, drinking... Remember?" Her sentence had tapered off into a pitiful plea.
The effect that the memory had on Beatrice earlier was nothing compared to what it did to her now. Her walls had come down, weary and broken from fatigue, and what remained was her softer side: the expressive Beatrice that Ava craved. Like a woman possessed, Ava drank in each twitch of the other woman's lips, every swirl of emotion in those big brown eyes, every stuttered breath as she could practically see the thoughts run through the nun's mind. She felt intoxicated by it.
She needed more.
"I miss coming home to our bed." The claim was blunt. It was risky, too, and it was just as much of a threat to Beatrice as it was a lovely admittance. Briefly, Ava felt fearful of her response, but the choked gulp that soon breached the ensuing silence was enough motivation for her to glide closer and reach forwards.
Her hands sparked with electricity as they clasped, squeezed, and gently tugged Bea's stiff ones nearer.
"...I can't sleep the same anymore, you know that? Because of you. " The shadows cast against Ava's face tilted slightly as her lips formed into a pout. Beatrice could only stare at the pink, flushed skin for so long before Ava turned away, but she did not relinquish her grip. Instead, she dragged the taller woman along with her, towards her bed.
"Ava-" was Beatrice's poor attempt at an objection. Her body, the way that it moved obediently to follow the trembling warrior nun's advances, was betraying enough. Her complaint was a courtesy if anything; something to be ignored, to not be heeded with seriousness.
Keep holding me, it requested instead.
Beatrice felt her heart sink in disappointment as her knees rested on the edge of the mattress and Ava released her firm grip, the warmth -- the lightning of their touch gone in just a blink. Ava felt like talking again now, with her shoulder blades pressed against the knitted bedframe and a safe amount of distance now placed between them.
"Don't tell me that you don't miss it, Bea," her voice was shakier now, breathless in a way that made the kneeling woman subconsciously lean forwards. "...Don't fall asleep with me in your arms for weeks and then tell me that it had no effect on you." The shorter-haired girl’s gaze mournfully crawled up Beatrice’s frame, from her clenched hands to the slight bob in the nun’s throat.
Oh.
All that Beatrice could think for a small eternity was "oh." Not even her whip-smart mind could process this; in fact, analyzing it hurt, like continuing to press one's hand into the barbs that lined a cactus. Nevertheless, though her mind could not comprehend Ava's confession, her chest responded with an immediate lurch.
She was so bold.
In any way that Beatrice read her words, the implications of them made her cheeks rosy, her mind woozy. Her heart was beating so briskly that she could hardly feel it now -- was she even alive? Somehow, she was able to muster enough poise to utter an impulsive, whisper-soft response:
"No." Indignant, convincing. "That's not it - no."
Beatrice exhaled and fought the warmth in her ears as she heard how her breath nervously shook.
"I miss you every night, Ava."
A meaner, sinister voice from within told her to expect scrutiny from the brown-haired girl. That somehow she'd read her words wrong, that there was no romantic warmth to them and that she was deceiving herself. With a bated breath, Beatrice waited for the strained, awkward smile. The ensuing, mildly panicked "oh, I didn't mean it like that". All that she received, however, was the sound of Ava's relieved exhale and the feel of it as it brushed against her sweater and drifted up her collarbone.
That --a lack of rejection, of disgust-- was acceptance in itself. Repentance, an olive branch extended. "This is normal," it said.
"You are normal."
Out of pure, frenzied relief, Beatrice fell forwards fully, drawing the smaller woman into an embrace. Ava, her puzzle piece: she fit so well in her arms, even after a small eternity spent apart. She liked the way that her chest rose contently against hers with each breath, the way that her arms snaked up to wrap around her back protectively. Their proximity just felt right, like this had been their destiny all along, not a life of fighting demons for humanity.
---
"Do you remember our first night up there?" Ava mumbled into the nun's shoulder, quieter and more resigned than Beatrice had ever heard her be. Beatrice smiled gently at the fond memory and drew her closer as she voiced her reply.
"Yes," she rested her chin atop Ava's head, where the crown of thorns had sat hours earlier, "I do. The couch, Ava. I wanted the couch." In response, Ava's laugh bubbled into her skin, and her breath warmed the spot that her head rested against. The girl's former mulishness had been just as amusing as it had been irritating at the time. "It's too small for the both of us", "I snore, Ava," and "the couch looks comfy, too," -- she had made so many excuses just to avoid spooning the warrior nun.
"But I forced you to sleep in the bed, with me." She nuzzled downwards and rested her ear on Beatrice's chest, listening to the rhythmic pulse of her heart quicken shortly after. "Oh?" she teased, glancing upwards to catch a glimpse of her companion's gaze. "Am I doing that, Bea? Is that all me?" Cheeky as always.
"...Go to sleep." That earned her another abrupt laugh from Ava.
"I'll continue, then, if you're too embarrassed to," she declared. Though Beatrice knew that letting the shorter girl's mouth run wild was a bad idea, she simply ceded and retired to drawing lazy circles across Ava's back. "I remember," she paused to let out a soft snort, "you were so stiff. Like a rock. Was it your first time sharing a bed with another girl - no, another person?"
"I'm a nun, Ava." Beatrice could feel the halo-bearer tremble back a laugh. She balled up one of her fists to tenderly hit Ava's shoulder blade in silent protest.
"Fair," Ava reasoned after catching her breath, "but then I woke up. You were holding me so tight - gosh, you were mortified when you opened your eyes. Rolled off the bed and everything."
"Ava," she groaned softly, fed up at last. "Sleep. Seriously."
After a muffled fit of giggles, she was more than happy to comply. This - Bea's touch, Bea's embrace, Bea ... she could sleep through an earthquake if she was properly nestled into her arms. Her body slackened into a stupor swiftly, knowing that it did not have to worry tonight.
No, tonight, they would rest in the comfort of each other. Beatrice, unaware of Ava's plans for sacrifice. Ava, forgetting her duty.
Just for tonight.