Chapter Text
Just when Ava thinks she can’t love her life anymore than this - than Beatrice and the bar and Hans and Bea and their regulars and their apartment and Bea - she wakes up one morning to find that Hans has focused all of his energy on celebrating the most magical time of the year: Christmas in July.
She’s trailing after Bea, mind lingering on the orange zest scone she swindled out of the bakery owner a few shops down, when she’s forced to pull up to a stop behind Bea, the tip of her sneaker nearly catching Bea’s heel as she tries not to crash into her. Her hands go to Bea’s waist, fingers flexing as they settle in the tight folds of the white shirt she’s wearing.
Ava’s mind shifts, getting stuck on this instead: the way it boxes out at Bea’s set shoulders and the way it comes down to her waist and tucks into the dark wide-legged pants she seems to favor. She blinks rapidly, clearing the sudden thought of her fingers pressing down against Bea’s waistline, and swallows against the knot building in her throat.
Bea doesn’t move. Ava lifts up onto her toes, peeking up over her shoulder. Maybe the Danish guy who came here last week and put his foot through one of her less sturdy bar stools is back. Or maybe it’s the girl who comes in just to stare at Hans. Bea admitted the other day that the woman made her nervous, but Ava shrugged it off. She’s a passing tourist with a crush on a moderately handsome man with slightly floppy hair. They’ve seen tons of girls like her come in. Honestly, Ava doesn’t see the appeal, but hey, to each their own.
But no. There’s no dark-haired girl with, admittedly, slightly crazy eyes. There’s no ruddy-faced Danish guy. There’s only Hans, standing on a chair behind the bar with a string of garland in one hand and a Christmas crown in the other.
“Ava!”
Ava’s hands touch down on Bea’s waist and she slips around her side, excitement starting to buzz in the tips of fingers and toes. “What is this?”
Beatrice is still behind her but Ava doesn’t look back, eyes moving rapidly around the room as she looks at everything Hans has managed to do in less than the 12 hours it’s been since she helped him close the place down early this morning.
There’s the last strand of garland behind the bar and she follows it around the entire ceiling, stopping at the open front of the building. Lights sparkle in the fake greenery, twinkling like tiny fireflies in the sky. Red and white plastic candy canes are stuck to the walls, some threatening to fall off, held on by Christmas spirit alone. Large wreaths are tied to every post in the room, decorated with little bells that ring when Ava flicks them with her fingernail. A large tree sits in the corner with large colored bulbs wrapped around it in a confusing pattern. Ornaments hang off it and she thinks she can make out a few shot glasses on hooks wrapped around sparkling silver tinsel. She leans in and sniffs a fake poinsettia leaf near her; it smells like cinnamon.
“Hans,” she breathes. “It’s beautiful .”
“It has to come down.” Bea says a second behind her. “It’s not Christmastime.”
Hans smiles and wags a finger at Bea. It takes everything within her not to turn around and do the same. “Ah ah ah, Boss. It is not Christmastime. It’s better . It’s Christmas in July .”
Ava bounces on the tips of her toes, using a stool to balance herself. “Christmas in July, Bea.”
Bea’s eyes flicker towards her and she thinks she sees a slight twitch of her lips before it settles back into a thin line directed at Hans. “Who celebrates Christmas in July?”
“Americans.”
“Americans, Bea.”
Now Bea definitely smiles. Ava doesn’t think Hans can see it, but she can. She knows Bea is warming up to the idea, even if it is just a slight thaw. She resists the urge to close the distance between them and curl an arm around Bea’s neck, trying to show Bea what she sees; how the lights twinkle and the garland looks against the wood of the bar; how things look just a little more magical when Christmas is in the air.
She loves this idea, Christmas in July. Christmas was always her favorite holiday when she was younger. There were trees and lights and carols. Her mom told her the story of Saint Nicholas of Myra, and she would stay up late at night to listen for a sign of anyone coming. She always fell asleep, chin propped up on her pillow at the end of her bed, but she never saw him, not once. Her mom did, though, and she would tell Ava stories about his laugh and his beard and how he gave her something extra special this year, because she had been good.
Then she thinks about Beatrice and she softens. Bea probably didn’t have great memories of Christmas. She probably had drafty, wreathless houses and thoughtless presents underneath a tree with lights all one color and no tinsel. Maybe she didn’t even celebrate Christmas. Her heart beats a little harder in her chest, suddenly overcome with the image of a small Beatrice with a stern look on her face sitting in a room with nothing and snow sticking to the windows.
Before she can think twice about it, Hans is clearing his throat loudly, catching her attention. She looks back, torn between going to ease what she’s sure are terrible memories for Bea and wanting to catalog everything Hans is doing.
Hans plugs in a string of lights and it races around the bar, each little bulb coming to life around them. “Ah ha!”
Ava spins in a circle, mouth open in disbelief. “Bea,” she breathes, reaching blindly for Beatrice’s hand. She finds it easily, their fingers slotting together instinctually. She doesn’t mean to do it. She knows how Bea feels about people touching her; how she shies away from people when they pass and how she folds her arms in when she’s sitting. Ava knows this , but she just doesn’t like it applies to her. Bea always reaches back. Bea always lets Ava pull her along. Bea always lets Ava press in close on the couch or their favorite rock at the lake or in their bed and she doesn’t seem to mind.
Ava would know that. Ava might not be good at a lot of things, but she’s becoming an expert on Beatrice.
Bea’s thumb brushes over her knuckles. “It’s…”
“ Amazing, ” Ava finishes. She laughs a little, looking around in awe as she takes it all in a second time. “Hans, this is incredible.”
Hans gets down carefully, his hands on his hips as he admires his work. “I think it’s a bit less than last year, actually. I couldn’t find my inflatable Santa.”
Her eyes widen. “An inflatable Santa ?”
Next to her, Bea sighs quietly. Ava leaps forward, forgetting she’s still holding Beatrice’s hand, and feels herself pulled short before Bea is forced to follow. “Where did it go? Did you lose it?”
Hans shrugs, a faraway look in his eyes. “I moved apartments this past January, so it might have just gotten left behind. It was cute. I found it at a marketplace in Germany.”
“We should go back there,” Ava looks at him, excited as an idea starts to form in her mind.
Hans laughs. “The Christmas markets open in December. Maybe we can travel together.” He looks at Bea expectantly. “What do you think, Boss? Time off for a Christmas market?”
Ava turns sharply. Bea is closer than she expected but it doesn’t matter. She swings their hands gently in between them, squeezing Bea’s in time with her heartbeat. She bats her eyelashes a little bit, watching the way that Bea softens just a little bit.
“We don’t know how long we’ll be here for,” Bea says quietly, words just for her.
Ava sighs softly. “I know,” she murmurs. She looks down, eyes focusing in on Bea’s hand, wrapped securely around her own.
She knows this is temporary; fleeting. But she wants to live her life. She wants to go to Christmas markets and buy inflatable Santa Clauses and see the snow falling on Bea as they walk arm and arm through the stalls. She wants to find some corner cafe and drink mulled cider and listen to Bea go on about Nicholas of Myra, the Christian bishop, and how he was the patron saint of children. Bea would probably know all about him.
But Bea is right. They’re not here long. They could be gone tomorrow. Mother Superion could send the signal tonight and they would be off, leaving behind this world they’ve built up all by themselves - this small, warm, happy place where they share strudels and scones and sleeping positions. Ava hasn’t been a lot of places in her life, certainly not as many as the people who come through the bar on their way to their next big adventure, but they’ve also never been where she gets to be everyday - fingertip-distance away from Bea and always one inhale away from completely falling over herself.
She can’t ignore the feelings anymore. She thought maybe she could. And she tried. She tried almost as hard as she fought against the halo. But somewhere between arguing over sleeping on the couch and what kind of tea to keep on hand - between fighting for space as they brushed their teeth before bed and bickering about take away and staying out too late - she failed. She dropped, elbow over feet, into these feelings that felt bigger than anything she’s ever felt in her whole life. Bigger than discovering she was alive; than realizing she was suddenly a conduit for a magical energy; than standing face to face against an actual angel.
All of that pales in comparison to this all-consuming feeling that if she doesn’t stand as close to Beatrice as she possibly can, she can’t breathe.
She hears Bea swallow and watches the tip of her chin lift slightly into the air and Ava starts to grin, her smile stretching across her face so wide her cheeks hurt. She knows this look - this deep resignation that comes only when Beatrice wants to give in but feels she needs to hold out. She pulls Bea’s hand up to her chest, holding it tightly as she balances on the edge of waiting for Bea to admit this is a good idea and wanting to throw Bea headfirst into it.
“Maybe,” Bea allows.
Ava cheers slightly, looking back at Hans with that same smile. “She said yes.”
“I said maybe ,” Bea stresses. She quickly presses her thumb to one of the valleys between Ava’s knuckles.
Ava isn’t deterred. “It’s as good as a yes,” she translates.
Hans smiles back at her. “You know her best.”
“Yes, I do,” she says proudly.
Bea’s eyes soften and she glances away before she frowns a little. Ava follows her eyes and sees a man with a dark goatee staring candidly at them. He blinks rapidly when Ava meets his eyes and quickly finds whatever is in his cup to be interesting enough that he doesn’t look back up as Ava continues to stare at him.
She misses what Hans says, only pulled back when Bea squeezes her hand again. She blinks, frowning down at it before she hears Hans say her name again. Bea’s hand slides out of her and she immediately misses the way it feels.
“So you approve, then?” He asks again.
She grins again. “We totally do.”
Bea clears her throat softly but Ava ignores it, throwing an arm across Bea’s shoulders and pulling her close. “It’s our favorite holiday.”
“I’m actually partial to Boxing Day,” Bea says lightly.
Ava shrugs. “That’s basically the same day.”
“Actually-”
Hans laughs and Ava squeezes Bea’s shoulders gently. He shakes his head at them - something he’s been doing more and more of lately. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking. And usually, she’s good at reading people. Bea says it's one of the things that comes naturally to her. It’s enough of a compliment from Bea that she doesn’t care when the next thing is that she needs to keep her hands up when someone comes at her with a knife. But Hans' looks are hard to understand sometimes and they’ve been worse in the last few days, always looking at the two of them but never saying anything.
He holds up a finger silently and disappears from the main floor, heading towards the stairs that lead to the office. Ava bounces excitedly on the tips of her toes, leaning into Bea.
She sighs. “Christmas in July, Bea.”
Bea hums softly, the sound hardly loud enough for the man pointedly not looking at them to hear. Ava hears it amplified in her head, echoing around her.
Ava shakes her head. She turns Bea around, elbows locked as she holds Bea at arm’s length. “Christmas is the best, Bea. And now it happens in July, too?” She shakes Bea a little. “Two Christmases?”
Bea gently covers Ava’s hands with her own, peeling her fingers back so they’re not pinching her skin. “I don’t think this is actually a holiday, Ava. It’s just something manufactured.”
Ava smiles, amused. Her fingers slide under Bea’s, the pads of her fingertips gliding over the callouses on Bea’s hand. Years of hand-to-hand combat and knife work, right there where Ava can feel it. She marvels at how rough her hands can feel, but how soft they are when they’re coaxing her out of bed after a nightmare; how kind they can be when Ava needs a little guidance.
“It doesn’t matter,” she decides. She nods firmly. “This is my first Christmas since…” She wets her lip, feeling it tremble a little.
Bea doesn’t wait for her to continue. She smiles, just a little sadly, and nods back, words unspoken between them. She doesn’t need to say it; Bea knows. Bea always seems to know.
So she smiles, feeling a little braver, and lets the excitement start to build again. “Maybe when it’s really Christmas, we can build a snowman. You have that one scarf, with the fringe ends. It would be perfect. And Hans has a top hat. He wore it on Magicians Night, remember? Fergus laughed at him so much, I think he hid it upstairs in the office. We could use that.” She starts to think of building a small army of snowmen, each of them with black stone eyes and stick arms. “Oh, and we could watch a Christmas film. I remember one my mom showed me, with a small elf and some toys.”
“Okay,” Bea says softly. “When it snows, we can build a snowman.”
Ava’s smile widens. “And we can name him Freezy!”
“Don’t you mean Frosty?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “Freezy. He’s got to be an original. Frosty has had the center of attention long enough. This year is about sharing the spotlight.”
When Bea smiles, Ava feels a slight flutter in her chest. It beats like a bird, wings hitting the sides of her ribcage. It sends a small shiver through her body and Bea catches the motion, smile flickering briefly before Ava shakes her head minutely and Bea’s smile comes back, more sure of itself.
Hans clears his throat and Ava uses all of her training not to jump at the sound. Bea hardly blinks. She probably heard the padding of his feet against the worn floors. She probably knows where he’s been the whole time. Bea keeps telling her she’ll learn to do these things; that it takes time. She just wants it to happen now. She wants to be better, faster. She wants to be stronger. She’s going to need to protect herself against Adriel. She’s going to need to be able to protect the people she - her inner voice stumbles over the word love - cares about.
Bea slowly pulls her hands out from under Ava’s, stepping to the side and putting a little distance between them. Ava looks at her curiously, a slight frown on her face, until her attention is pulled to the pile of fabric in Hans’ arms.
“What’s that?”
He looks excited to have been asked. “If we’re going to be celebrating, we’re going to have to look the part.” He drops the pile in his arms onto the table in front of him. The pile starts to take shape: sleeves and necklines. He plucks one of the pieces out and holds it out in front of him. “Look!”
Ava looks with wide, unblinking eyes. The piece of clothing he’s holding is a sweater, red on top with a green bottom. On the front is a large caricature of a tyrannosaurus-rex in front a line of Christmas trees, red and green present boxes at its feet. There are colored lights all around the dinosaur, blinking merrily at her under the text: “Tree Rex”.
“I love it,” she exhales.
Hans grins. “Good. You’ll need to pick one out.”
Ava dives into the pile, a laugh on her lips. Beside her, Bea smiles tightly. “I’ll have to decline.”
“Not this time,” Hans interrupts before Bea can turn him down a second time. “We’ll need them for tonight.”
Bea hesitates. “Why?” she asks, voice strained like she’s already dreading the answer. Ava hears it but her attention is on detangling the sleeves of the sweaters in front of her, unsure of where to look first. There’s so much tinsel and bells and red and green that her mind is swirling.
“We’re hosting a party,” he says, slowly, as if he’s explaining it to a small child.
Bea’s eyes widen. “We haven’t planned for that.”
Hans waves away her concern. “We’ll be fine.”
Bea opens her mouth to argue but Ava slides in, voice smooth. “We can totally do that, right Bea? We can just, I don’t know, close early another night. You’re always saying we’re overstocked anyway, right?” She doesn’t wait for Bea’s answer, her entire attention focused on Hans. “What kind of party?”
Hans gestures at the sweaters they’re holding. “An Ugly Sweater Christmas party. A friend of mine, Jean-Luc, stayed with a family abroad who made their own and wore them to a party where everyone wore the most hideous sweaters. These are ugly, no?”
“They’re beautiful,” Ava says sincerely.
Bea coughs out of a laugh. “Ava, they’re…”
Ava holds up a green one and tan one. It has snowflakes on the arms, all in different sizes. The front of the sweater has a gingerbread man with a broken off leg and a candy cane crutch. “Oh Snap!” she reads. She looks up excitedly at Bea. “You could wear this one.”
“Absolutely not,” Bea says. She says it politely, a tone that leaves no room for argument. Hans shrugs, content to let it go.
But Ava isn’t. She pulls another from the pile. This one is black with a rim of snow at the bottom, glittery presents all over it and strings of brightly-colored lights. There’s a small battery box and she pushes the switch into the ‘on’ position. The colored bulbs light up, blinking. She looks at Bea, but Bea doesn’t give anything away.
“Not this one, then,” she murmurs. She searches again, this time holding up another black one, another pile of snow at the bottom. There’s a top of a house in this one, Santa Claus on the roof facing backward. A single line of yellow runs from behind him towards the ground, a small yellow light blinking as it descends down towards the bottom of the sweater.
Bea’s face twists. “Is he…”
Hans looks up. “Oh, he’s peeing, yes. I bought that one for a friend of mine who didn’t want to take it with him when he left for Greece.”
“I wonder why,” Bea mutters.
Ava won’t be swayed. She’s going to find Beatrice a sweater to wear. Because this is someone’s Christmas tradition and Ava doesn’t have many of those left. She wants to build one with Bea. Something sticks out of the pile, a large brown antler. She holds it up in front of her, eyes bright with laughter as she looks at Bea. This one has a large reindeer on the front with a cartoonish face and terrifyingly human-looking teeth. But that’s not the best part. “Look, antlers .” They shoot off the fabric of the sweater and there’s tinsel wound around them. She shakes the sweater and her eyes light up when there’s a faint bell sound. “Bea!”
Bea looks unimpressed but when Ava pushes the sweater towards her, she reluctantly touches one of the antlers. It jingles and Bea’s nose wrinkles.
A feeling of warmth ripples through her like the water lapped against her ankles the first time she stood at the edge of the ocean. It’s been happening more, the feeling coming over her at the most mundane moments. When Bea is washing dishes; when she’s making the bed; when she’s pouring over the books and there’s a slight pinch between her eyebrows as she blindly reaches for the mock cuba libre Ava made her. It comes when she looks over at Bea while she watches television and Bea reads, eyes scanning the pages, unbothered by the way Ava laughs too loudly at terrible cartoons.
Sometimes, she’s bowled over by the fact that she gets to spend every day with Bea, by the easiness of their routine and the contentedness she’s never felt before.
“Okay,” she decides when Bea pulls her hand back. “We’re going to find one.”
“Ava, I don’t need one,” Bea tries.
Ava shakes her head. “No, we’re going to find one. Right, Hans.”
Hans gestures at the large pile. “There are plenty of options.” He picks up one and nods sharply before he holds it up his chest. “I’m going to wear this one.” It’s a green background with red, thick lines running vertically and horizontally across the chest. A large velvet bow hangs off the front, the ends flapping as Hans shakes the sweater. “I’m a present, no?”
Ava grins widely and sticks her hand into the pile to pull out another one. She doesn’t like it much. It’s green with red sleeves and a… “What is this?”
Hans frowns, looking up from his sweater as he thinks about how to put it on, one arm sticking through the neck of it. “Oh, you carry a baby in it. Except, it's Santa Claus.”
Ava shakes one of the small Santa Clauses legs. “Not this one,” she decides without even asking Bea about it. She adds it to the ‘no’ pile and makes another stab at it. Her fingers curl around a soft, green and red patterned sweater with red, white, and green down the sleeves and she pulls it out triumphantly, holding it up in front of her as she tries to make out the words upside down.
“Absolutely not,” Bea says sharply. Her mouth is pressed into that thin line that seems to broker no arguments. But Ava still can’t read it and she’s not going to dismiss it before she sees what it really says. “Ava, I will not wear that.”
Ava turns the sweater around, forehead wrinkled in confusion until the sweater comes into focus and she’s staring back at Jesus’ face. He’s holding a red balloon and wearing a party hat, eyes closed with a serene smile on his face. She nearly squeals in delight, reading, “Go Jesus, It’s Your Birthday.”
She looks at Bea with wide eyes, shaking her head even as Bea goes to argue with her. “No, Bea, it’s perfect. ”
“It’s blasphemous,” Bea counters.
“It’s not.”
Bea levels her with a glare she doesn’t usually see, but Ava stands her ground. “Ava,” she warns.
Ava takes a step forward and Bea takes a step back as if she’s going to be burned if the sweater touches her. Ava smiles slowly. “Beatrice, you need to wear this sweater. It’s a sign, right from the big man himself.”
“I won’t.” Bea crosses her arms over her chest.
Ava immediately drops one hand from the sweater, winding it into the space between Bea’s arms, tugging a little so Bea’s posture loosens slightly. “It is. He’s trying to tell you that you need to enjoy the season. Embrace his message, Beatrice.”
Bea shakes her head sharply. “It’s July. It’s not even the-”
“Semantics,” Ava dismisses. “Christmas is a feeling. And since it’s his birthday, we should celebrate appropriately.”
Bea’s eyes narrow but she doesn’t pull out of Ava’s grasp. “We can celebrate his life without that hideous, sacrilegious sweater.”
She knows she won’t win this, that Bea isn’t going to put the sweater on herself, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it. With a grin, she lets go of Bea and pulls the sweater over her own head. It hangs loosely off her frame, too big for someone like her, but she doesn’t care. She pushes the sleeves up to her elbows and looks down at herself.
Hans laughs. “It doesn’t fit.”
“The least of my worries,” she says dismissively. She reaches for Bea again, smiling shyly when Bea lets herself be pulled in a step. “Don’t be mad at me,” she hums.
Bea looks guarded. “I’m not mad at you,” she says slowly.
“Look how happy he looks, Bea.” She draws one hand down the front of the sweater, watching with interest as Bea’s eyes follow it slowly. “He’s just happy to be celebrating his birthday in July. Can’t we let him have something nice?”
She watches Bea’s face carefully and nearly crows when there’s a slight twitch of Bea’s nose, a sure sign that she’s won this argument and Bea is going to give in. She holds it in, though, giving Bea the grace of coming to the conclusion on her own, and waits for Bea to sigh in that one way that makes Ava’s chest swell with affection.
“You can pray away the guilt after we have the best time celebrating Christmas in July, okay?” she offers, hoping to push Bea over the edge just a step.
A faint smile flickers on Bea’s face and Ava can’t stop her own slow one this time. There’s a faint nod and then Ava’s smile feels impossible wide, her cheeks hurting as she catches Hans’ eye and gives him a thumbs up. Bea heaves that sigh and Ava nearly kisses her right there.
That feeling is there, too. The overwhelming urge to pull Bea away from the sink and kiss her, to have her put down the book and pick up Ava instead. She swallows it back down, her cheeks flushing warm, and she ducks her head so that Bea - Bea, who reads her so well, who knows her better than anyone has known in her life, since her mom - doesn’t notice, and then claps her hands loudly, startling Hans.
“You’re going to be too warm in that,” Bea warns, not moving away and seemingly ready to change the topic.
Ava shrugs. “All in the name of celebrating, right?” She pushes out her bottom lip and drops her chin slightly, blinking up at Bea. “Come on, Bea,” she says, words just for Beatrice. “Wear one of them, just for a little bit.”
Bea doesn’t hold out as long this time. She nods, just barely, and Ava bounces on the tips of her toes as she turns back to survey the dwindling pile. Whatever one she pulls next, she’s going to make Bea wear. She starts to imagine it, Bea in a Christmas sweater with a cute Santa Claus hat on, the red pom pom hanging down on her shoulder. She can see it clear as day. She wonders if Hans has one of those.
She comes up with a black sweater with red and white peppermints on it. On the chest is a large, cartoon Santa Claus, naked from the waist up, flexing a large arm. She smiles hopefully. “You know, because you’re jacked.”
Hans looks amused. “Is she?”
“Oh, totally.” She nearly reaches out and squeezes Bea’s bicep. She loves Bea-at-work and her shirts - they fit her well - but she also loves Bea-at-training and the tank tops she wears. It might be 60% of the reason why Ava gets distracted, if she’s being honest with herself. That’s a problem for another day, she thinks.
Bea starts to shake her head, but Ava has had enough.
“This is the one,” she decides. She thrusts it at Bea, waiting expectantly until Bea slowly takes it.
“Ava,” she says just as slowly. “I don’t think-”
“Are you going to make me put it on you?” she challenges. She lifts an eyebrow in a silent question and holds back a smile when Bea hesitates for just a moment more before giving in again. Ava beams. “Great. Now put it on.”
“Now?”
Ava gestures to Hans and then herself. “We’re already wearing ours. You’re up, sister.”
It takes another minute before Bea slowly and carefully pulls it over her head, letting it settle on her frame. It’s unfair; she actually makes the sweater look good. But Ava knows that’s a win for her, so she doesn’t say anything and smiles encouragingly instead. With careful hands, she slowly pulls Bea’s low bun out of the collar of the sweater, holding her breath a little.
Bea is still, her whole body stiff. Ava nearly frowns, confused. She must be too close. Bea is clearly uncomfortable if the tension in her jawline is anything to go by. So Ava takes a small step back, a hesitant smile on her face, suddenly unsure of herself. But Bea reads it and she briefly squeezes Ava’s hand before stepping away.
Ava admires her handiwork. “Doesn’t she look perfect?” she asks Hans, eyes only on Bea.
She can feel his smile next to her. “We look the part. We just need the music.”
Ava’s eyes light up. “Bea, Christmas music!”
She has a feeling this isn’t going to be the Christmas hymns she heard her whole life, or even the classical pieces Bea probably grew up listening to. And as a woman’s voice cues up, singing, “Ah ah ahh,” she grins widely. “What’s this?”
He looks confused for a moment. “Mariah Carey?”
Ava shrugs as the woman sings. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’ve never-” Hans suddenly grins. “This is going to be wonderful.”
~
Hours later, Bea leans in and yells into her ear, “This is terrible.”
Ava wants to argue with her, but she’s elbow deep in cuba libres and moscow mules and the back of her neck is sweating where her Birthday Jesus sweater is sticking. Bea is shoulder to shoulder with her, slinging drinks out as quickly as they come in. Between the three of them, they’ve been able to fight off most of the crowd build up, but for every one person who calls it off and stumbles out into the night, another three come in.
But Ava isn’t going to let Bea know that she also thinks this is terrible. So she smiles brightly and scoops another spoonful of ice into a highball glass and carefully pours in some soda water and a lime, pushing it to the guy who ordered it. She takes a second to turn and check her hip against Bea’s.
“Come on,” she yells back, leaning in just a little so Bea can hear her. She has to repeat herself anyway as a raucous shout comes from the dancefloor. She looks at Hans, but he’s already signaled Raul, the guy who isn’t that great at pouring drinks, but is tall and wide enough that when people see him, they tend to take a step back.
She thinks, amused for a moment, that Bea could do the same thing and she’s half his size.
“Ava,” Bea sighs, her breath hot against the shell of Ava’s ear. “We’re too swamped. We didn’t plan for this.”
Ava pulls back, her nose nearly brushing Bea’s. Her breath is sweet, like the Coca Cola she had before the place ballooned and filled with tourists all looking for an excuse to go out dancing. People are in their reds and greens and whites, some with antler headbands on that they picked up from the door where Hans left them, others in red and white Santa Claus hats. The bar is hotter than it’s been in a long time, but she can’t help but smile a little bit at the way the sweater hangs on Bea, a single strand of her bun out of place and hanging in her face. She nearly pushes it back behind her ear, but Leesa, a regular, calls her name and she has to look away.
She feels Bea fall back into step next to her and she feels that affection again.
It’s almost immediately drowned out by what must be the 85th time Mariah Carey comes over the speakers. She isn’t sure how many different versions of this song they can hear but this one appears to be some kind of dance club remix, a heavy bassline undercutting what Ava would have admitted was highly impressive vocals 75 times ago. The crowd loves it, letting up a cheer just like they did the time before this and the time before that.
Hans seems to be having the time of his life, though, and she can’t help but smile a little.
So she leans back into Bea and uses one hand to steady herself on Bea’s shoulder, bottom lip brushing the flat of Bea’s cheek as she says, “We’re going to be fine.”
When she pulls back, Bea looks skeptical, but she doesn’t argue, going back to making a Sex on the Beach - a drink that had made Bea blush prettily the first time someone ordered it - before she passes it off to a waiting hand.
Another cheer goes up and Ava pushes onto her toes to see what’s going on. There’s a small crowd gathered that she struggles to see through, but someone moves and she’s suddenly looking at a woman wrapped in a man’s arms as he dips her to kiss her. Another cheer goes up when her hand presses against the side of his face and the kiss breaks, both of them smiling. One of the crowd points up above their heads where a sprig of mistletoe hangs.
She hadn’t noticed that at first, so consumed by the sweaters. It wasn’t until one of her regulars, Emmanuel, kissed his friend Rodrigo on the cheek with a laugh and pointed up at the ceiling that she even noticed Hans had hung some up around the whole bar. This isn’t the first kiss they’ve had tonight; all night people have been cheering and kissing and laughing and then ordering another round of shots.
Ava finds it charming, really. She’s heard stories of this, of kissing someone underneath the mistletoe, but she’s never seen it. She’s never had that. But she’s struck with a sudden longing for it. Her eyes skate to the side, to Bea smiling tightly at a customer who is buying another round of shots for a table of girls he most definitely is not leaving with. She’s not just longing for it with anyone; she wants it with Bea.
It goes like that for most of the night: people cheering on kisses under the mistletoe, empty glasses being replaced by a full ones, sweating through her tank top under her Christmas sweater, grimacing when Mariah Carey comes on again, fending off people offering to buy her shots, carefully watching as the same people try to offer Bea one instead. She slings drinks like she’s always been made to do this. She eeps Bea at her side and she smiles a bone-tired smile until Raul is guiding the last of the dancers back out into the streets and Hans is tiredly going around, picking up glasses people left behind and Bea is turning down the music to a dull whisper.
Bea looks just as exhausted as she does as she starts to wipe down what she can get off the bar in one pass. Ava nearly tries to convince her to go home instead; that they should just call it a night and come in early tomorrow to do the cleaning. But she knows Bea would never and that the mess would be just as daunting in the morning light. So she grabs a rag and starts wiping down sticky tables, sweeping debris onto the floor so she can sweep them up later.
Hans and Raul go outside for a cigarette and Bea immediately changes the song when Mariah Carey starts up another rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You”. Another song, softer, comes on in its place and Ava’s ears welcome the break.
She sighs heavily, body weighed down with exhaustion. “We deserve to sleep in.”
Bea smiles tightly. “It’s your morning shift.”
Ava groans and nearly drops to the floor right there. “No. No, it can’t be.”
“One a week, remember? It’s yours tomorrow.” Bea looks at the clock on the wall. “Well, today.”
Ava grabs the broom from behind the bar and leans heavily against it. “Who made that schedule? I want to talk to the boss about this. File a complaint.”
Bea’s smile is a little looser. “Be sure to put that in the box.”
Ava snorts. The box. Bea made it a few weeks ago after reading about good management strategies. She had wanted to put a simple shoebox out for people to put their thoughts in, but Ava convinced her to use some craft supplies - some construction paper and markers and a packet of stickers Ava found at the small store a few doors down. Hans had found it amusing. Raul quickly put in that he wanted a black shirt, to increase his ‘bouncer’ look.
“First thing tomorrow, boss. After I’ve slept in?” she asks, voice lifting hopefully.
Bea casts a withering glance at her and holds out the dustpan. Ava takes it with a smile, her fingers brushing over Bea’s. Ava fights off the shiver and focuses on putting down the dustpan and starting to sweep up a pile.
Bea busies herself with picking up where Hans left off, collecting glasses and stacking them on the bar to be washed. She dodges Ava with a smile when Ava tries to swat at her with the broom. Ava soaks it in, feeling like she’s being lit up from the inside as Bea smiles just for her. She loves when Bea lets her guard down and is herself outside of the walls of their apartment. She knows all these secret parts of Bea and she loves when Bea lets go a little; lets other people see glimmers of what Ava sees. And maybe Hans and Raul are outside and they don’t see it, but Ava knows Bea is unraveling slowly and her heart swells.
Ava leans heavily against the broom, a pout on her face.
Bea doesn’t look up, dumping ice into the well, but she still shakes her head and says firmly, “No, Ava. You’re not getting out of this. You helped Hans make this mess and you’re going to have to clean it up.” She softens slightly, finally looking up and meeting Ava’s eyes. “But I’ll come in with you,” she offers.
“Okay,” Ava agrees cheerfully, feeling a sudden burst of energy. For a moment, she worries it's the Halo, flaring brightly, but this isn’t that; this is just what it feels like when she looks at Bea.
Bea drifts closer, all of the glasses emptied into the well and waiting for Hans to come back inside. She smiles softly at Ava as she hums along with the Christmas song playing. They must have gotten to the end of Hans’ playlist; this is something slow that Ava doesn’t know the words to. It doesn’t stop her from using the broom handle as a microphone, humming loudly over the words.
Bea laughs a little, grabbing at the broom and Ava with it. They nearly collide, Ava’s free hand on Bea’s waist. She grins, delighted by Bea’s sudden rush of physical touch. Bea looks surprised herself, but she doesn’t flinch away and even presses in a bit.
Ava goes to say something - she’s not sure what, she doesn’t want to break the moment that seems to be settling over them like the warm blanket on their bed. She looks around the room, at the Christmas decorations around them and thinks, This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. But then she looks up, the broom still in her hand, and a knot forms in her throat.
She looks up higher, slowly, and smiles a little. “Mistletoe,” she says unnecessarily.
Bea follows her eyes up, her cheeks that pretty pink again. “Indeed.”
Ava meets her eyes, trying to tamp down the burst of excitement exploding in her chest. “You know what they say about mistletoe.”
“That the white berries are extremely toxic to humans, but valuable to other species like deer, elk, squirrels, chipmunks, and a variety of birds?” Bea says slowly.
Ava blinks owlishly. “No, not that,” she says quietly. Her hand flexes at Bea’s waist nervously, unsure of herself and hoping that the tremble she’s feeling stays out of her voice. “The… the kissing part.”
“Oh,” Bea says just as quietly. That flush spreads down her neck and under the collar of the sweater she’s still wearing. “That it is rumored to date to at least the 1500s in Europe?”
“Is it?” Ava asks lightly. Usually, she can listen to Bea go on for hours about whatever topic Ava throws her. But she’s never wanted Bea to talk less in the entire time she’s known her.
She resists the urge to vibrate out of her skin. This feels like standing on a cliff, a precipice of a moment that she’s not sure is going to go either way. This is new territory. This isn’t laying awake in the morning on the rare moments when she wakes up before Bea, tracing the lines of her face with her eyes, wondering what it would be like to do the same with her fingers. This isn’t like waiting for Bea to agree to one of her more foolish plans - like Christmas sweaters or putting in a second order of fondue even though it never settles well in her stomach.
This feels different. This feels like they’re having a conversation without words. Like they’re both waiting to see who falls first.
She wants to kiss Bea. She’s wanted to for a while but admitting that has been scary. Not because of Bea. She knows if she jumped and she was wrong, Bea would let her down gently. But Bea is her best friend - her whole world at this point - and she doesn’t want to ruin this. She doesn’t want to do something to jeopardize this peace she’s finally found in her life, the happiest she’s ever been.
It might not be Christmas, but this is the only thing on her list this year.
Bea’s tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip, and Ava’s knees weaken a little bit. Her fingers tightens at Bea’s waist and she sways in just a little. Bea’s eyes dip to Ava’s mouth. She nearly misses it but she’s staring into the depths of Bea’s eyes, waiting to see what Bea does next.
She wants, she wants . But she’s not going to take anything Bea doesn’t want to give. She’s only going to hold her breath until her lungs start to burn and she’s going to exhale in a thin stream of air - and she’s going to change her mind as soon as Bea’s eyes dip again.
Kissing Bea feels like coming through the door of their apartment and finding Bea finishing up their nightly cup of tea, blowing on it slightly to cool it off before she pushes it into Ava’s hands and urges her to take off her shoes and sit down. Kissing Bea is like pushing through blocks of concrete and knowing Bea is waiting for her on the other side. Kissing Bea is like looking across a crowded room and finding her already looking back at her, a faint smile on her face.
Kissing Bea is the both the most terrifying and easiest thing she’s ever done in her life.
The broom clatters to the ground and her hand goes to Bea’s face, fingers curling under her ear and holding her still. Bea’s mouth is soft and warm, her lips pressing perfectly into Ava’s. One of Bea’s hands goes to the small of her back, pulling Ava closer until there’s no space between them, just a long press of their bodies against each other. She can feel Bea’s rough, calloused fingers scratch against her cheek and she hums at the sensation, stomach rippling comfortably when Bea makes a noise of surprise in the back of her throat, fingers flexing against her face.
She doesn’t want to pull back. She knows she’s obsessed with this now, with having Bea this close and kissing her back. She's dreamed this for nights, one of Bea’s hands touching hers in the darkness of their bedroom as they both sank into sleep. She dreamt about falling into this moment headfirst, uncaring about catching herself at the bottom of the long, peaceful fall. She doesn’t pull back to breathe, opening her mouth under Bea’s instead. Bea moves with her, hand sliding to her neck, and she pulls Ava closer. Ava presses into her, teeth scraping against Bea’s bottom lip. She feels Bea shiver and she does it again as Bea’s fingernails scratch against her skin.
Bea finally pulls away, trading soft kisses before she rests her forehead against Ava’s. Ava studies her face, her eyes closed, smiling slightly.
“Merry Christmas,” Ava whispers, carefully moving her lips to Bea’s forehead, pressing softly there.
She feels Bea’s quiet laugh more than she hears it. “It’s July,” she whispers back as her fingers stroke down the line of Ava’s neck.
Ava mouths the words against the ridge of Beatrice’s brow. “Merry Christmas in July.”
Bea pulls Ava’s mouth back to her. “Merry Christmas in July.” She punctuates each word with a kiss.
Ava smiles into the kisses, fingers working down to rub the front of Bea’s sweater, feeling the raised outline of the muscled Santa.
“I like this look,” she breathes, still smiling.
Bea scoffs lightly. “We’re not keeping them. I think yours should be burned,” she admits. But she kisses the bite out of her words, lips traveling across Ava’s face to her cheeks.
They hear the sound softs of Hans and Raul getting closer, smell the faint whiff of smoke that precedes them as they start their walk back into the bar. Ava eases away from Bea, the hand on her hips drifting away last, thumb rubbing over her hip bone.
They’ll keep cleaning up the bar. She’ll sweep the floor and Hans will mop. Bea will load the glasses into the ancient dishwasher and Raul will put the chairs up on the tables. They’ll close the bar, the four of them stumbling out into the night knowing they’ll be back in just a few hours. Hans will split off from the group first, headed back to his apartment above the bakery. Raul will wish them a goodnight and slink back home to his wife. They’ll leave Ava and Bea alone on the streetlight-lit cobblestones, the rest of the early morning ahead of them.
Ava will steal glances at Bea as they walk home, hands brushing against each other and smiling at Bea in that sweater, knowing that she just got her Christmas wish.