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Nothing seems to go right.
Adriel, gaining more strength and followers by the seconds, becoming more powerful faster than the OCS can come up with ways to stop him, the demon infestations getting out of hand, every door falling shut before they can reach it, every plan failing miserably and epically— and the halo, giving out on Ava more and more as time passes, abandoning her when she needs it most.
Ava slams her fist against the wall as the halo gutters and shuts down yet again. Frustration, rage and helplessness, all boil savagely in her veins, driving her off the edge. She lets out a wild sound, somewhere between a shout and a curse, and drives her fist into the wall once again. The cement cracks and so does the skin across Ava's knuckles and the bones beneath it.
She shakes out her hand to get rid of the pain that begins to bloom throughout her arm, knows it would heal soon enough. It does nothing to subdue her anger and vexation, though, and she aims a kick at the table, sends it crashing and breaking against the opposite wall. Ava's dimly aware that the property she's currently destroying isn't hers, that the rest of OCS and possibly even Jillian Salvius can hear her rampaging all the way across the halls and the lobbies of the kind doctor's compound. Momentarily, she feels shame and guilt for her actions but then she remembers where she is and why she is angry and thinks of every plan and course of action that has been thwarted over the last few days, leaving them with no options, no solutions, no hope.
She can't stop Adriel, can't defeat him, can't save the world. She's going to disappoint, let everyone down— she's going to fail.
The third punch leaves a smear of blood against the beige paint and Ava slumps down to the floor, back against the wall and her head in her hands. Pain pulses in her fingers, her forearm, her head but it pales in comparison to the gripping fear of looming failure that's surely waiting for her.
The door to her room opens and shuts quietly. Ava doesn't open her eyes, she's in no mood to entertain anyone right now, "Go away, please."
Footsteps sound against the floor and Ava feels Beatrice before she even reaches her. She realizes how attuned she is to Beatrice's presence around her, to Beatrice's existence in any given space— she can recognize Bea by the sound of her breath, the way the air in Ava's own lungs shifts when she's there.
Bea lowers herself to the floor beside Ava, not saying a word. She straightens her legs in front of her as compared to Ava's pulled up knees and folds her arms in her lap. Ava doesn't need to look at her to know what she's doing, she can feel each movement of Bea's body somewhere in her own.
Wordlessly, Bea extends a hand to gingerly pry Ava's injured one away from her face. Ava lets her, doesn't think she'd be able to stop her even if she wanted to, which she doesn't. Not even a little.
Beatrice places Ava's hand in her own, her thumb carefully swiping under her busted knuckles, tracing the purpling bruises and the torn skin with a touch that's barely even there— Ava feels it being branded into her soul. Her fingers flutter against Bea's palm, desperate to find purchase in the space between her fingers, to grip her warm and calloused skin and let it comfort her, strengthen her, make her feel substantial again. She stares down at Bea's hand around her own, counts the silver scars marring her delicate skin, souvenirs of her faith and her strength. She thinks, for the millionth time, Bea has an artist's hands— delicate and slender, made to hold a paintbrush or a chisel or to dance atop a piano's keys— Ava marvels at how proficient they are at handling lethal weapons, how these nimble fingers spin and fling knives and daggers with a dexterity too exquisite for human comprehension, absolutely beautiful and deadly.
Bea's fingers keep up their soothing brushes across Ava's knuckles until the halo flickers to life in her back and her battered skin begins to knit itself back together, the bones mending over the fractures and the bruises slowly fading. Once she's fully healed, Bea slips her fingers through hers, pressing their palms together, her other hand covering on top.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Ava shakes her head, then nods, then falters, "I don't know what we're going to do, Bea."
Bea leans her head back against the wall, her thumb slipping down to brush against the inside of Ava's wrist, "We'll figure it out, Ava. There has to be a way. And we'll find it."
Ava isn't a believer, has never been one to easily believe, easily trust— but when Bea says something, talks to her in that low and measured voice with the solidity of mountains in it— Ava finds that she believes her beyond belief itself.
Bea turns to look at her and their eyes meet across the few inches between them, the contact lingering and withholding. Then Bea lets her eyes slowly, excruciatingly fall to Ava's mouth, her thumb ceasing it's motion against Ava's pulse and she swears she stops breathing with it— her heart kicks up a storm, wild and untamed— Ava is all too certain the halo has singed a circle into the wall behind her.
"It's going to be okay." Bea whispers, solemn and sure.
Ava can do little else than nod and lean her head against Bea's shoulder, scared of what she might do if she lets Bea look at her like that for another second.
—————
Ava dreams about it again.
The same dream she’s had over and over, a hundred different times, on too many nights to count; Beatrice’s hand being ripped out of hers, Beatrice being torn to shreds by a tarask, a dozen tarasks, Beatrice with a dozen bullets in her chest, Beatrice speared with a sword through her gut, Beatrice drowning in blood on the floor, Beatrice broken and twisted and cold at Adriel’s feet— Beatrice dead, again and again and again— in a thousand ways.
Ava screams and screams and screams as Beatrice crumples in front of her again, sliced apart by blades and talons, gone long before Ava reaches her, brown eyes glazed and still, the ghost of her last breath rolling down a cheek in the form of a single tear. Ava gathers her in her arms and cries into hair matted with blood and begs for her to come back, to not leave Ava, not like this, not yet. She clutches Bea to herself and curses her for leaving Ava despite her promises, for leaving her after making sure Ava couldn't live without her, for leaving her when she was supposed to stay.
She wakes up with a silent gasp, though her eyes remain shut and her limbs locked in place, the paralysis taking hold of her every nerve. Ava tries with all her might but can’t open her eyes, can’t open her mouth to call for help, can’t breathe at all. A noise roars in her ears, deafening and damning, it sounds like her own screams and Ava can’t tell if it’s now or an echo of her dream.
She lies there, helpless, gripped with terror, unable to truly wake up, and so very desperate.
The screaming in her head slowly starts to tunnel into a singular sound, clearing into a repetitive word and Ava gives it all she has to focus on it, to grasp it, hoping that it would pull her through.
“Ava.”
She knows that voice. Remembers it somewhere in the vacancy of her chest.
“Ava.”
The voice sounds near, somewhere close by but so far away too, far off in the darkness.
“Ava.”
There's hands on her, Ava faintly realizes, gentle hands with little pressure against her skin. Warm. Grounding. Familiar.
"Ava."
Her eyes fly open, her paralyzed body unlocking in the same instance and she lunges without thought, grappling with the hands on her, pushing until she’s tackled another body straight onto the ground with a crash.
When the haze of terror and panic clouding her mind shifts, Ava finds a pair of wrists in her hands that she’s pinned roughly to the ground, a chest heaving under her knee and Beatrice looking up at her with eyes that show no fear, no shock. Her face is calm and collected, soft in all its truth, her hands in Ava’s death-grip are loose and open in surrender.
“Ava,” She says again, a whisper and a prayer, and Ava recognizes it as the beckon that pulled her, as it always does, through the dark and right back home, “Ava, it’s okay— it’s me, you’re not alone. It’s okay.”
The room around her comes into focus— Ava and Bea's shared room at Jillian's compound, draped in moonlight and silence, save for the rasp and rattle of Ava's frenzied breath. She tightens her grip on Beatrice's wrists, hard enough to grind the bones underneath— Beatrice doesn’t move an inch, stays right where she is, not a single hitch in her breath, “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Beatrice’s eyes shine up at her like twin pools bathed in starlight, Ava can see her reflection in them, can see herself more clearly than she ever could in any mirror. She watches as a tear splatters against Bea’s cheekbone and then another on the edge of her mouth— Bea doesn’t even flinch as the salt of Ava’s tears dissolves against her lips. She keeps her eyes on Ava, allows her tears to break free and splash against Bea’s skin, allows her the time and space to escape the horrors of her own mind and come back to this, to her.
“You’re okay.”
Ava scrambles back, off of Bea and further and further until her back hits the wall. She pulls her knees tight against her chest and wraps her arms around them, holding herself together for the fear of coming apart entirely and irreparably.
“I’m not,” Her voice rasps out through the water in her throat, “I’m not.”
And then Beatrice is kneeling in front of her, her hands on Ava’s arms, sliding down to her wrists and then covering her clasped hands, “You are. Of course, you are. I promise.”
Bea's hair is untied, falling around her face and Ava desperately wishes to inch up and touch it, just to feel that this is real. She looks at Beatrice and thinks of her vacant eyes and her blood staining Ava’s very soul— she looks at Beatrice’s hands against her knuckles and thinks of cold skin and limp fingers, “Bea,” She tries to say but it’s a sob rather than a word, Beatrice understands it all the same.
She softly pries Ava’s hands open and pulls her in and Ava falls into her like a star falls from the sky, curls herself in the circle of Beatrice’s arms, burrows herself in her chest until she feels Bea’s heartbeat on her own skin— she clings to it, to the sensation and rhythm of it, with a desperation that makes her bones ache. Bea’s arms around her tighten as if she’s trying to press Ava right through her skin, to hide her in a place behind her ribcage where Ava will be safe, untouched and unseen. Ava thinks she would give up heaven to be in that place.
There are fingers in her hair, against her skull, holding her head fast against Beatrice’s collarbone. There’s a hand on her back that traces paths from her spine to her neck, along her shoulder blades and her waist— a little taste of what salvation is like.
“I won’t make it, Bea,” She feels the tears drip down her nose, disappearing into Beatrice's shirt, “I can’t.”
“What?” Bea’s hands come to rest beneath her jaw, pulling her back softly so she can meet her eyes— Beatrice's expression is gentle, even through her confusion, “Ava, no. You will make it, of course you will— I promised you, didn’t? I will get you through this.”
“It’s not me,” Ava reaches up, clutching at the fingers cradling her face, blinks through tears that never seem to cease, “It’s you. I know— I know— one way or another, we’re not making it out of this unscathed. And even if you keep your promise, even if I come out of it but something happens to you—” She chokes violently, on her words, on her breath, on the mere thought of it, “I won’t make it, if you— I’ll die, Bea. I will.”
It’s as close as she dares to get to admitting the truth— the truth that lives and breathes in her blood, the truth that brings her alive, brings her out of every adversity, the truth that is more divine than anything she’s ever fought for and against— that it’s not the halo that’s keeping her tethered to life, it’s Bea; Ava’s reason for everything.
Hands on Ava’s face, holding Ava’s very pulse in her palms, Bea looks at her with so much devastation it could level countries to the ground. The moonlight that streams through the window catches in Beatrice’s eyes, igniting them and the whole world along them. There’s an emotion in the depth of them, something Ava can’t place, can’t name, can’t understand yet— but it tugs at her until her heart comes apart at the seams, pulls at her soul until her entire being unspools like thread— Ava wants to ruin herself for it.
“It’s going to be okay,” Bea tells her, fingertips spasming against Ava’s pulse, her voice quiet and a little unsteady, “We’re going to make it. You and me and everyone else. One day soon, this will be over and we’ll make it.”
Ava doesn’t mean to but more tears escape from her— all the fear and pain and heartbreak of all those dreams over all these weeks coming out of her at once, as if the dam has broken and she has little power to stop it. But she’s in Beatrice’s arms— holding her, touching her, breathing in the air laced with Bea’s perfume— so she doesn’t want to stop. She wants to let it all out, spend herself until there’s nothing left. She doesn’t try to force herself to keep it in, not with Bea, never with Bea because she’s the only one with whom Ava can allow herself as much vulnerability as she wants and know that she'll be safe, that all pieces will be picked and gently put back together.
“We’ll survive this war, Ava— I promise,” Beatrice’s hands shift to her face, wiping away Ava’s tears with a feather touch, her warmth seeping through Ava’s skin like sunlight, “I’m sorry I had to tell you no before— but when this is over and we’ve made it, we’ll go back to the Alps like you wanted,” She traces her thumb under Ava’s eye, her voice soft and her touch softer, “We’ll buy that little apartment above the bakery you like so much, we’ll get our jobs back at that atrocious bar,” Her mouth twitches a little but her eyes and smile both betray the tears she holding back, “spend Friday nights whiling away there after work— you could teach me how to drink, I could teach you how to dance.”
The sound that escapes Ava is caught between a laugh and a broken sob and she drops her forehead against the column of Bea’s throat, Bea's hair falling across Ava's cheek and if she focuses hard enough, she can taste the citrus in her mouth and hear Bea’s unrestrained laughter against her ear, she can see Bea shinning like a miracle under the dim lights, her eyes closed and her hair cascading and untamed— if she focuses hard enough, she can relive her breathlessness as she watched Bea and realized that there could never be anyone else. Ever.
Bea pulls back slightly once again, the back of her fingers chasing away Ava's tears, "Please, don't cry, Ava," She says quietly, shakily, "It pains me to watch you cry."
The sorrow in her eyes takes to Ava's heart like a wrecking ball and Ava would give her anything she wanted, do anything she wanted.
"Okay," She whispers and then tries for a trembling chuckle, her hands joining Bea's on her face, "Okay, if we survive this, like you said, I promise I won't cry anymore."
Bea's eyes crinkle at the corners and her mouth lifts a fraction into a smile, "Would you, really?"
She says it like she doesn't believe her.
"Yes." Ava says and it's the truth.
Beatrice lets out a soft hum, her eyes still crinkled and Ava curls herself back against her chest.
“We’re going to be okay,” She feels a brush of Bea’s lips against her hair, feels her deep inhale of breath under her cheek as Bea steels herself, “I got you.”
Ava clenches the fabric of Bea’s shirt in her fists and presses into her as far as their bodies would allow, buries her face in the curve of her neck and thinks take me— take me apart, have me and keep me until the sun takes its last breath; I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours— more yours than I am of my own flesh and blood— and I always will be, in this life and the next.
—————
Michael tells Ava his plan, the one chance they have at defeating Adriel— at the cost of Ava’s life, both their lives.
Ava shuts him down, again and again and again, because she can’t die— she can’t sacrifice herself and die in a war she’s supposed to survive— she has to survive because there’s a life waiting for her in a small town in the swiss mountains.
She can’t die.
Ava tells him there’s no heaven— she doesn’t tell him she’s already found it; in brown eyes and careful smiles and hands that wreak destruction upon masses and hold Ava’s face with infinite tenderness.
She tells him no, they’ll find another way.
Because they have to. Because she can’t give up heaven to chase after a version of it that doesn’t mean anything to her.
—————
Ava and Beatrice stand shoulder to shoulder as the discussion around the room grows in heat and volume.
Everyone is speaking over each other, arguing over which course of action would be best suited to tackle the mission ahead— no one seems to know what to do, nothing seems good enough, no plan seems competent enough to stand against Adriel with all his might.
The more the arguments grow— the more hopeless the situation becomes— the more fear begins to pool in Ava’s stomach. Knowing what’s at stake— everything that’s at stake— her nerves start to pile and her heartbeat picks up, crossing the threshold of normal and into the early stages of a panic attack.
It’s when her vision begins to dim at the corners and her breath seems to be coming with some difficulty, she reaches blindly, desperately and grasps at Bea’s hand at her side. It takes half a heartbeat for Bea’s palm to envelop Ava’s tightly, her fingers carding through Ava’s and she holds her hand firmly, steadily— tethers Ava to sense and strength, to herself. And Ava holds on to her like a lifeline, like the only thing keeping her from drowning or dying or wasting away.
And she realizes in that moment that it’s true— that is what Bea is to her. Because through it all, the insanity and the mayhem, all the death and the destruction— throughout this entire war, it’s Beatrice Ava has sought out at every turn, her hand she has reached for in the face of gods and demons and angels and divinity. She has reached for Bea’s hands every time she woke up in the middle of the night for weeks, driven out of her mind by her fears— and when she stood before a church full of demons, outnumbered and outmatched— and every time she couldn’t move because the halo gave out and Bea’s hand in hers was the only relief for the drowning panic she’d felt.
Ava turns her head to look at Beatrice who’s looking at Michael with a frown between her eyes, while Mother Superion and Jillian argue over tactics, before she drops her eyes to where their hands are clasped tightly together and the roaring ocean inside Ava’s heart finds a little peace— as long as she has this, it’ll be okay.
—————
Ava puts on the crown of thorns and finds herself face to face with Reya;
Reya, who tells her that all the dreams she’s been having weren’t just dreams, they were visions; a hundred different versions of the same future that awaited Ava if she didn’t put an end to Adriel before he laid waste to the whole world and everyone in it.
Reya, who tells her if she chooses to deviate from Reya’s proposed plan, if she chooses to save herself— this would be Bea’s fate; dead, in a hundred different realities, in a hundred different ways. Because there’s only one way to kill Adriel and going about it any other way would result in Ava’s visions coming to fruition.
Reya, who tells her she has to die, so that Bea can live.
Ava wakes up and sees Beatrice across the room;
Bea, whose eyes glimmer with wonder and a universe of tenderness in her voice as she asks after Ava, asks her if she’s okay.
Bea, who hesitates and waits, makes sure Ava is alright— always making sure Ava’s alright.
Bea, who would willingly, gladly give up the world for Ava, give her life for Ava.
Bea, who wouldn’t think twice if she knew, who would choose Ava— above and over anything, everything— always, every time.
Bea, whose life means more to Ava than her own, the first and only thing that has ever meant more.
Bea, who taught Ava what it is to truly live.
Bea, who Ava would die for.
Bea, who Ava loves.
So she draws the curtains close and writes her a letter, tears it apart and writes another one— then writes fifty more, each ending up in the fireplace, until the last one. Her tears stain the pages far more than the ink does, but she’s helpless to stop it, to stop them being the thing that will finally confess to Bea how much Ava loves her, how much she has loved her all this time.
I love you, she writes with salt and ink, I’m sorry. This was the only way. I did everything I could to find another one but there wasn’t. You would’ve done the same if you knew. Would you consider it cruel of me to ask for your forgiveness? I love you, Bea— it’s a horrible, selfish thing to say but in all the world, you are what I love most. I want you to know, I’m not a hero and I’m not a martyr. I’m as selfish as I were the day you met me. I want you to know I was willing to let the world end, before it came down to you— I wasn’t willing to let you die. I would let everything turn to dust, so long as you live. I want you to know that. I’ll put my sword through Adriel’s throat, him and a hundred gods, so you can live. You told me you’d get me through this war, I want you to know that you did. Now it’s my turn to get you through. When this is all over, leave this place behind, leave it all behind. Go somewhere far away and live, Bea— for yourself, for the first time. Live and love and make mistakes and learn— be anything you want, everything you want, be happy, be free.
She tucks the letter in Bea’s suitcase, folded within her favorite sweater.
She sits next to Beatrice in the van and Beatrice looks at her like she knows Ava is hiding something. She offers Bea her best smile, cracks terrible puns and hopes to god it helps. Bea’s hands rest on her knees, balled into fists and she’s stiff, every line of her taut with anticipation and stress and anger. Ava can’t stop herself reaching out and brushing her finger tentatively against the back of Bea’s fist. There’s a quiet intake of breath and then Bea slowly opens her fist, turning her palm up and Ava threads their fingers together, nearly tearing up at the feeling, at the thought that this is the last time.
She holds on to Bea until they disembark.
She tells Bea the truth— well, at least part of it. The rest she leaves for the letter that awaits Bea. She talks and Beatrice’s rage and pain, her sense of betrayal feels as though it could blow up the entire building. She talks and watches Bea, watches her until every detail of her burns and imprints itself behind Ava’s eyelids and she thinks it would be enough to last an eternity.
Ava kisses Bea and realizes that all her life has accumulated to this— this one moment, one breath, one kiss is the apotheosis of everything she is, everything she has ever wanted.
She fights with everything she has, gives it the best of her, all of her— but it’s not enough. So she does the only thing left to do— she thinks of Bea’s eyes, the shape of her mouth, the sound of her voice and pulls the trigger.
Death doesn’t take mercy on her, doesn’t come easy. What does come in its stead is Beatrice voice calling Ava’s name, the sound of running footsteps, Bea’s arms sliding around Ava’s shredded body— she drops her head on Bea’s shoulder, tucks her face in her neck and reaches for Bea’s hand and thinks this is a far better and easier death than she had imagined; here in the halo of Beatrice's arms— their hands melded together— held by her, loved by her, she would die happy.
But it doesn’t pan out, because of course it doesn’t, and the universe demands yet even more of her and she’s forced to use the halo, use the last bit of her strength, to get rid of Adriel, once and for all. Beatrice stands right next to her through it all, never wavering for a single moment, keeping Ava upright, her hand firm and steady around Ava’s the whole time.
Ava finds herself on the floor once again— only this time, she’s not alone; Beatrice— true-blue as ever, loyal to her promise that Ava would never be alone again and come to think of it, Ava hasn’t been alone, never since Beatrice, not really— is cradling her against her chest, hands clutching Ava so tight as if she could keep her here with the sheer force of her embrace. Ava can feel the last of her life seeping out of her limbs, her blood filling her lungs, her breath fractured and fading— yet Bea holds her tight, keeps her close and tells her she’ll make it, as she always has— and it pulls a watery laugh out of Ava despite everything, because even now, as she lays here dying, Bea still wouldn’t give up on her. It makes Ava’s heart brim with love, so much so, she’s scared it’ll come seeping out of her skin.
Bea holds her and refuses to let go and her tears fall like a meteor shower and Ava wants to reach out and touch her, hold her but her body gives out on her, the damage to her limbs too severe for even the halo to fix. But with Beatrice looking at her like that, with her heart shattering in her eyes, with her face crumpled in a kind of pain Ava has never seen before— it makes Ava want to tear herself out of her own body just to be able to hold Bea.
Lilith and Beatrice carry her to the arc and Ava finds herself seated against the edge of it, held up by Bea’s hands and strength. Tears cling to Beatrice's eyelashes just as she clings to Ava, not ready to let her go, not able to let her go either. Ava thinks she’s never seen a person in so much pain as Bea in this moment, it makes her want to die, makes her want to torch the entire universe and break its husk apart just so she can fix the fissures in Beatrice’s heart, so that she wouldn’t hurt so much.
She asks Beatrice to let her go so she can come back to her, because she will always come back to her— through time and otherworldly dimensions, through heaven and through hell, Ava will come back to her. And she knows that Bea knows it because she nods and breathes in, readies herself to let go.
And Ava reaches for Bea’s hand, as always, one last time and grabs it with all the tattered strength left in her body. She grasps it hard enough that the touch leaves an imprint against her palm, a reminder of what she has to come home for.
The last of her own tears break free and she tucks her thumb inside Bea’s palm and says, “I love you.”
It’s simple. It’s short. It’s too much and not enough at all.
And Bea smiles at her, pearly tears rolling across soft skin and Ava knows it’ll be enough to get her through.
Until she finds her way home.