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That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot.
The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound.
But all at once, I knew you loved me.
An unheard-of thing, love audible in water falling.
The Teapot by Robert Bly, from “Talking into the Ear of a Donkey”.
—
Beatrice had spent her time after the first three drinks trying to let loose without completely blowing her cover. Not their cover, not hers and Ava’s, just her own. Ava wanted her to have fun. She would try to do that, since that’s what Ava wanted.
She’d do just about anything Ava wanted. That’s what she was trying to hide.
She fought against the urge to glance down at Ava’s chest when she pulled off her cardigan, leaving her in a… very revealing top. She fought against the urge to relax against Ava’s body when Ava reached her arms around her neck and gently (so, so gently) pulled her hair loose from its bun, combing her fingers through it tenderly. She fought the urge to trace the drop of liquor down from Ava’s lips to her chin with her thumb when a bit of her drink missed her mouth.
Ava, with her bright smile and honest, open enthusiasm, begged Beatrice to dance, pulling her desperately by the hands. Beatrice stopped fighting.
—
Dancing with Ava is like being possessed. Well - maybe in her line of work she shouldn’t use that word so freely, but it is enrapturing. Intoxicating. She barely remembers to be careful, letting her hands slide across Ava’s arms and her legs move her to the thumping bass of the music blaring through the club.
She can’t remember if she’s ever felt this close to another person. She is completely engulfed in Ava - every move Ava makes, Beatrice follows. Ava’s arms go above her head as she sways to the music, and Beatrice bites her lip. Beautiful. Ava is unbelievably beautiful.
When they take a brief break at a table, sipping cocktails instead of pounding back another shot, Ava brings up something Beatrice had mentioned a long time ago and that Ava naturally misconstrued as Beatrice being “royalty”. Trying to convince Ava she is wrong is a lesson in futility, so Beatrice changes her approach from describing what she is not - royalty - to what she is - a free-wheeling… secret... ass kicking…” She’s lost the plot. She’s lost herself in Ava’s eyes, bright with her inebriation. But she knows what will make Ava laugh, so she pushes on, “... nun.” Ava’s exclamation of amusement makes Beatrice feel almost drunker than the alcohol has. She loves when Ava laughs. Loves to see the lines of worry which are, these days, nearly constantly present on her forehead and around her eyes briefly smooth away under the force of her laughter. She loves when Ava laughs, but she especially loves when she is the one who causes it.
Three more shots, as spaced out through the hours of dancing as they are, are enough to keep her senses somehow both dulled and heightened. She doesn’t feel the burst of shame she has become accustomed to each time Ava touches her, each time she allows Ava to touch her. She is living for it. Her whole body is humming from Ava’s proximity, from the sight of her and scent of her and feel of her in Beatrice’s space.
Beatrice lets her body lead rather than her mind for once. She closes her eyes, twisting her body with a small smile. When she opens them again a few moments later, her eyes find Ava immediately, as they always do. Her breath stutters in her chest when she finds Ava watching her back, lips parted in awe, eyes wide with something akin to wonder. She can’t imagine why Ava would be looking at her like that; all she knows is she wants to be closer.
Beatrice moves forward, draping her arms over Ava’s shoulders loosely. “What?” Beatrice asks, returning her warm gaze while still swaying slightly to the music.
Ava swallows, reaching out to rest her hands on Beatrice’s hips. “Nothing, Bea.”
“No, it’s not nothing. You’re watching me.” Even Beatrice herself doesn’t know what answer she wants here. She’s terrified but exhilarated, her nerve endings feel raw with the desire to hold onto Ava and never let go.
“Yes,” Ava responds simply, lips quirking up into a shy smile.
Beatrice slides one of her hands up Ava’s shoulder, resting it on the side of her neck. Suddenly, losing her confidence, she glances away, blushing.
Ava is much more observant than Beatrice would have ever thought her capable of when they first met. “Hey,” Ava says softly. She doesn’t seem to know how to continue. She grabs Beatrice’s hand where it’s still pressed against her neck and pulls it to the side of her face. She turns her head slightly, pressing a slow, warm kiss in the center of the palm.
Beatrice takes in a shuddering breath, looking back up from the floor at Ava reverentially pressing her cheek back into Beatrice’s hand. Ava looks back at her, still in awe. Worshipful. Saint Ava, Beatrice thinks absurdly, which causes a slow-burning anxiety to build in her chest.
She’s not sure what is showing on her face. It should be nothing, given she spent so many years trying to train all emotion out of herself. Maybe it’s just that Ava can read her. Whatever it is, Ava adjusts so she can take both of Beatrice’s hands, pulling her into a spin. Beatrice laughs despite herself.
“Are you having fun?” Ava asks as she spins Beatrice back toward her.
“Yes,” Beatrice finds herself answering honestly. Ava grins. “Are you?”
“So much. This is…” she looks suddenly very wistful, shrugging. Hands still tangled with Beatrice’s, she smiles again. “I never thought I’d have this. I’m glad you’re here with me. Thank you.”
For yet another time that night, Beatrice finds her breath taken away by the woman in front of her. She lets the alcohol that’s still numbing her normal resistance to casual affection lead her to pull Ava closer, wrapping her arms around her. Ava immediately hugs her back, pressing her face into Beatrice’s neck.
“Thank you for sharing it with me, Ava,” she mumbles against Ava’s ear. Ava nods slightly against her, wrapping her arms tighter around Beatrice’s waist. They stand like that for a moment, barely noticing the crush of dancing people around them. Finally, Beatrice feels the unmistakable press of lips against the side of her neck, just above the collar of her shirt. She swallows a gasp as Ava pulls away. She doesn’t go far, just resting her hands back on Beatrice’s hips.
“Come on, Bea. We should get home and get some rest if we’re still training tomorrow.”
Beatrice grins, taking Ava’s hands again. “Since when are you the responsible one?”
Instead of laughing, like Beatrice expected, Ava just smiles at her softly and tugs on her hands, leading them toward the exit. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”
Beatrice doesn’t know what to say to that.
—
When they get home, Beatrice feels mostly steady on her feet but she still allows Ava to push her to the couch and bring her a glass of water. “Drink,” Ava says. “I’m going to make toast.”
“Toast?” Beatrice asks between sips of her water.
“Mhmm. They say bread is a good way to help prevent a hangover.”
Beatrice just shrugs, finishing her glass of water and leaning back against the couch, letting her thoughts drift as she stares at the water-stained ceiling of their apartment. Their apartment. For someone who had taken vows of poverty, she was getting far too much pleasure out of calling things her own. Calling things theirs. She loved owning things with Ava, even knowing it was all horribly temporary. She loved seeing how much Ava loved it, too; her soft, secret smile as she ran her hand over the back of their shitty second hand couch or the corner of the ancient television set they’d found on the curb.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Ava asks softly, breaking her out of her reverie and handing over a plate of toast. The toast is just the right amount of toasted: not black, but a beautiful golden brown in the center. She’d covered it in a thin layer of orange marmalade. It was exactly how Beatrice liked it. Beatrice looked up at Ava, her chest feeling so tender she thought she might cry. “Bea?”
The way Ava said her name made her far more honest than she ever dared to be. More honest than she ever should be.
“I’m thinking about you, Ava. About how happy I am to be here with you. To have our own place, our own life, even for a small amount of time.”
Ava exhales sharply, her expression so open it hit Beatrice’s chest as hard as Ava’s well-placed kick would during their training. “Beatrice…” she says softly, then seemed to change her mind about something, shaking her head briefly. “Yeah. Me too. These past two months have been more than I could've ever hoped for."
Beatrice nods, looking down at her plate.
Springing back into action as she carries the now empty water glass back to the kitchen, Ava glances back and must notice Beatrice looking instead of eating because she says "Is the toast okay, Bea?"
"It's perfect. You're perfect."
Ava shakes her head, not answering. Her back is to Beatrice as she refills the water glass. Beatrice wishes she could see her face. She always wants to see Ava's face.
She turns back and Ava's mouth is twisted into a small, melancholy smile. She sets the cup down on the coffee table, moving to sit next to Beatrice.
"I think you're perfect, Beatrice. I think I'm very lucky to get to know you this way."
Beatrice rolls her eyes, finally taking a bite out of her toast.
"I'm serious. I wish you could see how wonderful you are. You're… you're one of the best people I've ever met."
Beatrice giggles, swallowing her bite of toast. "Darling, you've not met that many people."
This time Ava rolls her eyes. "Shut up. Let me compliment you. You're incredible, Bea. I'm better for knowing you."
Beatrice feels her lips turning up into a soft smile. She reaches out with the hand that isn't sticky with marmalade and catches Ava's chin, turning her toward her gently. "I'm better for knowing you too, Ava."
Ava's answering smile is breathtaking. Beatrice strokes her fingers across her cheek. She doesn't break eye contact as she brushes her thumb across Ava's bottom lip. She feels Ava's shaky exhale and bites her own lip.
"Beatrice," Ava whispers.
"Ava," Beatrice whispers in return. She slowly drags her thumb across Ava's bottom lip again. "Ava, I want…" She can't finish her sentence, but Ava seems to understand, of course.
"I know. I know, Bea." Ava leans forward to press their foreheads together. Beatrice can feel Ava's breath against her lips. She feels like she's on fire. She wants. She wants.
Beatrice moves infinitesimally closer, feeling Ava's sigh in response. To her dismay, Ava pulls back, but her disappointment is short-lived as Ava stretches up and presses a slow kiss to her forehead. Beatrice makes a tiny, embarrassing noise in the back of her throat.
Ava pulls back fully, briefly tracing her fingers across Beatrice’s cheek. “I don’t want to push you into anything, Bea. We’ve both been drinking and I know that - I know things are more complicated for you.”
Beatrice shakes her head, grasping Ava’s fingers tightly in hers. “You haven’t pushed me into anything, Ava. Everything I’m doing has been because I want to.”
Ava nods, but her smile is on the edge of sad. “We’ve still both been drinking. You’re far too important to me to not… to not be careful.”
Ava. Careful. Ava, who is literally known for punching first and planning later. For jumping into danger without considering potential consequences. Ava wants to be careful with her. Beatrice nods, feeling her eyes go misty with the force of her affection. “Okay. You’re right.”
Ava wiggles in her seat, mouth splitting into a grin. “I love it when you say that.”
Beatrice rolls her eyes, taking another bite of her toast. Ava goes back to the kitchen, presumably to get her own food ready. “Drink that other glass of water,” she calls behind her.
“Yes, mother.” Ava’s responding laugh settles down between Beatrice’s ribs. She hopes it stays there, tucked near her heart, for the rest of her life.
—
Beatrice shamelessly tugs Ava down into bed with her a while later, immediately turning to snuggle into her. Ava responds readily, wrapping her arm around her and allowing Beatrice to tuck her face into her chest. Ava runs her fingers slowly through her hair. Beatrice hums in pleasure.
Ava presses a sweet kiss onto the crown of Beatrice’s head. “Get some sleep, sweet girl.”
Despite herself, Beatrice can already feel her limbs going loose with exhaustion, her thoughts connecting more slowly.
“Mm,” Beatrice mumbles against her. “Don’t wanna.”
“Why?” Ava asks softly, continuing her ministrations in Beatrice’s hair.
“Feels nice when you touch me.”
She can feel Ava’s smile pressed against her head. “I’ll touch you again tomorrow, Bea. You need to rest.”
“Promise?” Beatrice manages, fighting the weight of her own tongue in her mouth.
She barely hears Ava’s whispered affirmative before she’s going down, down, sinking into the warm darkness within Ava’s arms.
—
Unsurprisingly, Beatrice can count the number of times that Ava has woken up before her over the last two months on one hand. Normally Beatrice is up and completely ready for the day before Ava finally begins to stir, and usually she only stirs because Beatrice begins the long, slow process of getting her out of bed to start training.
Today is not one of those days.
Beatrice wakes slowly, stretching and rubbing at her eyes with a sigh. A small amount of golden light is coming into their room through the crack in the curtains, casting the room in a lovely, warm glow. She reaches her arm out to find Ava and is surprised when she finds the space next to her empty.
She focuses her senses and hears the familiar sound of water from the kitchen faucet splashing into their tea kettle. Not only was Ava awake early, she was making Beatrice her morning tea.
All at once, Beatrice could see everything clearly. It was made known to her the path of life.
She crawls out of bed, walking silently to the kitchen. She finds Ava standing in front of the kitchen sink, gazing out the window as the kettle warms on the stove-top. Beatrice comes up behind her, wrapping her arms around her middle and tucking her chin in the curve of her shoulder. Ava’s hands immediately come up to hold Beatrice’s arms against her.
“Good morning, darling.” Beatrice mumbles against Ava’s ear, relishing in the way Ava shivers in response.
“Morning, Bea,” Ava returns, voice warm and sweet as Beatrice knows her cup of tea will be. “I’m making your tea.”
Beatrice presses her smile against Ava’s neck. “I know. I love you, Ava.”
Ava spins in her arms, lips parted and eyes wide with surprise. “You… you love me?”
“I love you,” Beatrice confirms, heart soaring with the joy of being able to say it aloud.
“I love you,” Ava says, voice going a little high. “I love you, I love you.” She nearly jumps into Beatrice’s arms, wrapping herself tightly around her.
Beatrice laughs tearfully. “I know,” she replies. “I know, Ava. You’re making me tea.”