Chapter Text
Ava loved three things about Beatrice.
Well, she loved more than three, obviously, but if she thought about them she wouldn’t be able to finish. She could write a whole trilogy of books, kiss every page, cry on every sentence and name her work What I love about you, an endless list because you’re simply precious to me. But she couldn’t do that, people would call her crazy.
Anyways, she loved three things about Bea. One: how composed and perfect she looked all the time. Her hair was always clean, neat and it smelled of that rose incense she adored to put on their apartment; it was dark brown, but recently and because Ava was really, really persistent —because “ you would look like a hot british model, Bea” — she dyed it with blonde highlights on the ends, and when the sun hit it, bathing it in gold and copper, like it was doing exactly right now…It left Ava breathless and speechless. Which were two unfortunate things to be in that moment.
She simply couldn’t look away from her.
Beatrice was sitting with her back straight, legs crossed one of top of the other, left arm on top of the table resting comfortably while the other was at her lap; she was wearing a dark blue suit, a pretty damn hot one that made her look like a movie star, a cream-colored shirt, and her hair in a perfect bun. Her make-up was simple but so, so like her. Simple, beautiful, a goddess.
She was a sight. With a Rioja wine at her left and a book, The Crystal Cave, next to it, closed but marked with a black leather in the middle. Ava gave it to her as a gift one week ago, just because. Well, not just because.
The Spanish breeze off the coast of Barcelona suited her. Not only did the sun hit her hair like a Monet painting, it reflected on her eyes too. And, well, Ava was done for.
Beautiful honey eyes looked up at her, and all the air seemed to disappear. Ava wasn’t breathing. Oh my god, she’s Aphrodite herself, she thought, panicking, because now wasn’t the time to get distracted. Beatrice was looking at her with a seemingly nonchalant look, but Ava knew her, and she knew what her lips curled up in a small gesture meant: stop being an idiot, you dork.
“Ava, focus.” She heard her voice in her earpiece. It was serious, with a hint of annoyance but laced with a softness reserved only for Ava. “What’s got you so distracted?”
“You,” she replied with a tiny and mischievous smile and watched with delight how Beatrice’s ears were getting red every passing second, “you’re pretty.”
" Concentrate. The man at the fourth table on your right. Gray hat, cigar in his mouth, he is drinking a martini with lemon: that’s him.”
Right, the mission! Don’t screw this up, Ava.
She marched over to the table, carrying a tray with a small plate of olives with her best charming smile and said:
“¿Le sirvo un poco más, señor?” She hoped her Spanish was good enough to not give her cover away. She was good at languages, but missions like this made her quite nervous. Especially with Beatrice observing every single move she made like a hawk.
The man turned to her, having been reading the newspaper. His eyes glittered with curiosity, looking at her up and down, before putting his cigar out of his mouth. He was fifty, German, and worked as a politician, a corrupt one. He was also one of the top arsonists and drug dealers of all England, and the MI6 was in charge of arresting him for good. Ava did her research, having been studying the night before with Beatrice correcting her everytime she answered something wrong. A good investigation beforehand can change the game, Ava, she had said, poking her on the nose to get her attention, which, rude , because how can she concentrate if she was touching her like that?
“No más, por favor. Gracias.” His Spanish was awful, but Ava expected that. Her eyes roamed the table until she found what she was looking for: his phone. All she had to do was take it from him, give it to Beatrice for her to hack it and find every evidence they could, and let justice be served.
“¿Aceitunas?” She offered the plate of olives with a hopeful tone and a nice smile, which seemed to get his attention even more. Ava stepped forward, almost throwing herself across the table, letting him see her cleavage as she lightly touched his hand. His eyes widened while he nodded, distracted.
Turns out she was good at pretending to be a waitress at a fancy restaurant. She quite liked it.
She made a show of resting the olives on the table with soft moves until she, accidentally , threw the remaining martini at the man's shirt.
“¡Lo siento mucho!” She exclaimed, pulling out her rag and cleaning very hard the stained shirt with one hand, making sure her neck was close enough to the man that he wouldn't be able to see anything beyond her.
“ Stop getting so close. You got him, grab the phone.”
Beatrice sounded pissed this time. Ava rolled her eyes and did as she was told, snatching the phone with her free hand in a quick and very agile move, hiding it inside her white waitress outfit’s pocket.
“Ist schon gut,” he weakly said in German, his face red and his eyes focused on her neck, unaware that he no longer had a phone, “war ein Versehen.”
She was out of his sight the next second, yelling “Ich bringe Ihnen noch einen Martini, Sir”” over her shoulder. He stood up, going to the bathroom, without stopping watching her all the way til the men’s bathrooms. Her hips moved with grace as she walked past the tables to Beatrice, passing a hand over her arm and winking.
“Got him good, huh?”
Beatrice closed her hand on Ava’s, caressing her gently, rolling her eyes.
“Well, it could be improved. Your tactics are unorthodox.”
“ Unorthodox,” Ava mocked her British accent, “please, he didn’t even realize his phone was gone. I’m good. Say I’m good, Bea. Come on.”
She didn’t expect Beatrice to actually say it, but she not only did that, she even narrowed her eyes, mouth curved to one side, and said in a soft yet hoarse tone:
“You were good, darling.”
Wow, okay. Goodbye, cruel, cruel world. Where was her grave? Oh, yeah, right at Bea’s feet. Ava was swooning, a goofy smile on her pink face. She loved three things about Beatrice, and this one was the second: her voice. Tender, attractive and deep at times. It was unbothered when she speaked to others, but speaking to Ava? Her voice dropped a few notes, filled with affection, like it was a sec ago.
“Now, give me the phone and go change. Yasmine is waiting for us in the car, in the corner, turning left when you exit the back door. Don’t be late.”
She finished with a light touch with her thumb on Ava’s hand, giving her a tiny smile. She was so pretty, Ava was hopeless. They’ve been best friends for seven years, and there was not a time when Beatrice didn’t made her feel all jelly inside. Like her guts were liquid and she had small elephants doing surf in there.
“Alright, but it’s my turn to pick a movie for tonight.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“ Shrek again?”
“Well, duh. It’s–”
“ – the best movie ever made. You say that everytime we see it, darling.” Beatrice hid the phone inside her jacked, just in time for her own cell phone to illuminate with a message. She furrowed her eyebrows, and in an instant she paled, tightening her grip on Ava’s arm with enough force to bruise it.
“What is it? Bea?” Ava said in a worried tone, trying to see who had texted her and made her so mad. When she didn’t answer, Ava grabbed her gently by the jaw, that incredibly defined jaw, making her face her. “Bea, what’s wrong? Is it Yasmine? Did something go wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s okay.”
Nothing seemed okay, but Beatrice quickly wore that serious mask she put on everytime she didn’t want to talk about…whatever was making her so angry. She turned to Ava and tried to reassure her with a quick kiss on her right cheek, her scent distracting Ava enough to release her grip on her jaw.
Oh.
Her lips were so soft it made Ava’s legs almost give up.
“Go change. Make sure nobody sees you. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“Yes, boss.”
“You are an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
“You really didn’t see him following you?” Beatrice said, annoyed, sticking a band-aid on Ava’s forehead with a gentleness that left Ava trembling. “He followed you without you noticing him, pushed and almost punched you if I hadn’t shown up. What were you thinking about?”
You. You and me. Me and you.
You. Always you.
“My knight in shining armor.” Ava said instead, pretending to faint and laughing when Beatrice caught her with a huff and mumbling under her breath a “what am I going to do with you?” Ava linked their arms together, looking over the plane window.
They were on their way to Lambeth, London, back to their apartment. Back home. Ava was nearly buzzing with excitement, wanting to get home already, shower, change into the summer pajamas that her roommate had gifted her for her 24th birthday, make dinner with her (maybe annoy her a little, just to see Beatrice’s cute face when she was trying to be patient with Ava), watch Shrek and do cuddles all night. What a life, she sighed happily, resting her head on Beatrice’s shoulder, feeling her tense up.
“Are you okay? You’ve been weird since we left Barcelona.” Since that text.
Bea’s little finger curled around Ava’s thumb, a mannerism she did when she was nervous or tired.
“You don’t have to worry, Ava. It 's nothing.” Her voice was so sad and full of sorrow that Ava lifted her head up to look at her but Beatrice refused to meet her eyes.
“I’m your best friend,” whispered Ava, running a finger along Bea’s chin, “you can tell me. At this point, I’d seen you at your worst. Remember that mission in Buenos Aires? You had to eat a ton of spicy salad because you didn’t want to offend our objective? By the way, who chooses a cover name like El Rata? He was so bad at picking and hiding it, that we caught him right away…”
She watched Beatrice laugh and Ava instantly smiled, so in love with her that she didn’t care if anyone on the plane saw her right away.
“That salad was really spicy…”
“It was! I told you not to eat it but, of course, Miss Perfect had to go all the way. I counted the times you had to go to the bathroom that night, Bea. Eight times. I was worried you were going to make me call an ambulance.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Beatrice said, finally looking at her with her soft eyes and an easy smile that could cure the whole world from any sickness, “it wasn’t eight. More like four. Maybe six times.”
“Whatever you say.” Ava smiled, because how can she not? Her best friend was as silly as she was perfect. She’s been in love with her since…pretty much since the very beginning. Ava was seventeen when the Spanish Intelligence Service recruited her, having lost both of her parents in a car accident when they were on a holiday from Portugal, leaving her with an almost broken spine. A convent took her but she lived robbing tourists in Madrid, being wild and free, until the local police got her and the SIS noticed her skills. Despite her delicate back, she worked well, and it wasn’t long before the MI6 wanted her, along with her best friend at the time, Camila.
Guess who was then in charge of training her? Beatrice Jones, eighteen at that time, with her honey eyes, her immaculate posture and gentle expressions. Beatrice never treated her like she was fragile, more like a diamond waiting to be polished. She cared for her, like no one ever did. Ava Silva was bound to love her, in any universe, she was sure of that.
“So, what is it? Who do I have to punch?” Ava insisted, watching as the girl she was in love with refused to look at her once more, opting to look at their connected hands instead. Ava almost swore her eyes were getting red, as if she was going to cry in any minute.
“It 's just… “ Beatrice sighed, she seemed stressed, “maybe we could have dinner on our balcony instead. I think it’s going to be a nice night. Put some candles on, perhaps some music? That UB40 vinyl disk you love so much.”
“That does sounds nice–”
Wait. Is this a date? She screamed in her mind. Was Beatrice asking her on a date at their apartment? That could explain her strange behavior. Oh, fuck, does she—does she love me too, like I do? Like I want her to? It was too good to be true, she was dying just by thinking about it, but she just couldn’t help the big smile that spread on her face. How many nights had she spent praying, even if she really didn’t believe in God? It doesn’t matter, she had thought, if there is one, He sent Beatrice to me.
She wanted to cry. Of happiness. God, was this really happening? Maybe she is reading too much into it. They did dinners with just the two of them every night, nothing out of the ordinary. However, the way Beatrice asked her? Perhaps she wanted to tell her something important.
That she noticed the way I look at her and that she doesn’t feel the same way. Or that she does. God, let it be the latter.
She tried to calm down. Failed, miserably. Tried again.
“It sounds wonderful, Bea.” She answered finally, with a poorly British accent again. Beatrice smiled, a weak and timid smile, but a beautiful one nevertheless.
“What do you want for dinner? I could cook your favorite dish.”
“Pizza?”
Beatrice laughed, resting her hand on Ava’s chest for a moment, a moment too long.
“No, silly. Medium rare beef sirloin steak with mashed potatoes and creamed spinach.”
“Oh, fancy. I like it when my woman knows her stuff. Food stuff, to be more precise,” Ava said, winking. Beatrice went red, coughed and then whispered:
“Your woman?”
Ava nodded, kissing her in the corner of her mouth, silently saying I wish you were mine and kissing her forehead next, this meant a silent I will cherish you forever, even if you could only cook fried eggs and sausages.
She didn’t notice Beatrice closing her eyes, grabbing Ava’s shirt in a fist, shuddering and trembling. She didn’t notice the weak whimper Beatrice let out, like the pained sound a deer makes when a hunter hits the shot in a totally wrong place and hurts it more than he should have. It meant you’re my best friend and it also meant this isn’t going to be easy.
“If I have a premonition and tell you the plane is going to explode, please don’t be your stubborn self and listen to me.” Ava joked, returning to her previous position with her head in Beatrice’s shoulder, pulling her jacket more tightly, feeling colder.
“You have to stop watching everything Lilith recommends,” replied Beatrice, taking off her scarf and securing it around her best friend’s neck, “and even if I do listen to you, isn’t Death going to kill us anyway?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Ava buried her face closer to Beatrice, smiling, “that way I can be the one saving you for once.”
Beatrice didn’t say anything, but Ava felt a pressure on her head, like a hand and long fingers.
Everything was perfect. Their little apartment looked so cozy, only with the kitchen lights on, Ava’s favorite incense on, You Don’t Call Anymore by UB40 softly filling the ambient with a dancey vibe, Beatrice with her green apron neatly tied on her waist, her strong arms flexing while she cut some potatoes, it was like a dream. They’ve been in Barcelona for a week, searching for their objective, preparing everything and elaborating a plan; it felt good to finally come home to rest for a couple of days. Just the two of them.
Ava finished putting the candles on their balcony, walking into the kitchen with little jumps and turns, dancing and mumbling quietly the song to herself. She stopped behind Beatrice, circling her waist with her arms in a back hug, sniffing the air and smiling.
“Cheira bem, linda.” She knew Bea liked hearing her speak Portuguese, not having many opportunities to do it in their daily life. She knew Ava missed her home country, so she always encouraged the girl.
Beatrice hummed, the tips of her ears red, and kept slicing. Ava smirked and whispered with a croaky voice:
“What’s taters, precious? What’s taters, eh?”
Beatrice tried to fight it, but her lips eventually crooked into a smile, whispering back:
“Po–tay–toes. Boil’em, mash’em, stick’em in a stew…”
“Lovely big golden chips with a nice piece of fried fish.” Laughed Ava into her roommate’s nape, tightening her grip on her waist and swaying a little to the music, her smile growing bigger when she felt Beatrice moving too almost unnoticeably.
“I shouldn’t have introduced you to Lord of the Rings, it is a mistake I’m never making again,” complained Beatrice, shaking her head, “and your Gollum voice is terrible.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ava gasped, jumping into the counter, helping her and passing her another potato. “I actually think we should go as Frodo and Gollum on Halloween. Just imagine Mary’s face, it would be priceless.”
Beatrice touched her knee briefly with the back of her hand, smiling.
“I thought we were going as Legolas and Gimli?”
“Oh, ha, ha, funny. It’s because I’m short, isn’t it? You wound me. Deeply.” Ava took a lock of Beatrice’s hair between her fingers and delicately put it behind her right ear. “What about Aragorn and Arwen? You would look beautiful as an elf, you have cute ears.”
Beatrice stopped chopping, her cheeks turning pink. It was these kind of comfortable moments with her that made Ava feel so content and grateful. Just simply being able to feel Beatrice and share her laughter made her a little emotional. And maybe the universe, or God, was mocking her, because UB40’s Can’t Help Falling In Love came in next, just as Beatrice let the potatoes sink in a pan with water. And it was a simple thing, just the girl she liked cooking, cooking for her , but it made her tear up.
But I can’t help
Falling in love with you
It took her a while to realize Beatrice was looking at her with an affectionate gaze, taking her hands and making her do a spin, laughing when Ava almost tripped. They danced with each other, doing silly moves, giggling against the other. Ava was horrible at dancing, but Beatrice often found it endearing, or so she tells her.
Take my hand
Take my whole life too
Beatrice lifted a hand and touched her cheek, tracing it with her nails gently. Ava was once again speechless. Her best friend always treated her with so much care, maybe a lot more than she deserved. Ava let out a breathy whimper, smiling shyly. God, she was smitten. She had it bad. But it clicked then, she had to tell her how she felt. She didn’t want to hide her feelings anymore, and besides, Beatrice must like her too, right? There were too many shared and knowing looks between them, too many acts of love: a gift, a favorite meal, Beatrice folding her t-shirts when Ava forgot to, Beatrice opening the windows at exactly seven in the morning because she knew Ava gets too warm when they wake up, or Ava buying her black tea but of a certain brand because she knew others made her sick, accepting doing at least one silent prayer before eating because Beatrice grew up under a strict Catholic roof, or singing her Cool Rider from Grease 2 even if Bea said she hated that movie, Ava knew deep down she adored it, especially that song.
Their affection for the other was visible at every corner of their apartment, and even out of it. Before every mission, Beatrice insisted in adjusting Ava’s earpiece herself ( “you’re incapable of doing it yourself, darling, it keeps falling and you end up throwing it away when you think I’m not looking”), and if they had missions together —which were 99% of the time— Beatrice was glued to Ava’s side, not leaving her for a sec. Ava, for her part, made a routine of going through every detailed information they had beforehand with Beatrice to assure a victorious outcome because she knew that not being ready enough made her best friend insecure.
So, yeah. Ava will tell her how she feels. Tonight. Screw it.
While Beatrice finished cooking, Ava placed the dishes on their balcony table. Beatrice was right, the night was perfect. Lambeth was a peaceful district, and their apartment one of the highest in their whole neighborhood. The candles she had set before gave the whole night a nice touch. Yeah, this will be perfect. Everything is perfect, Ava thought, now I just have to grow a pair and tell her.
Beatrice served the food, the smell was delicious. The candle lights painted pretty warm touches on her face and her eyes shone. Ava couldn’t resist it any longer.
“Bea,” she said before she could stop herself, “I need to talk to you.”
She must have sounded nervous, or scared, because her best friend looked at her alarmed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ava laughed, twisting the cutlery in her fingers, “just peachy. Um, remember when we said that if we hadn't married by the time we were 25, we would marry each other?”
Beatrice, who at that moment was serving herself some wine, missed and ended up pouring the red liquid on the ground.
“What?”
“We said it! We were drunk, of course, but…”
“Oh. Yes. But it actually was if we hadn’t married by 28, darling.”
Well, semantics. Ava took a deep breath, okay, I’m just going to say it. Beatrice, I like you. I’m in love with you. She opened her mouth, but the words died at the tip of her tongue when she noticed something unusual. A third dish. She furrowed her eyebrows, did I put a third one by mistake?
“Bea, why is there a third dish?”
The look on Beatrice’s face will haunt her til the end of times. She looked distraught, pale and horrified.
“Ava, there’s something I need to tell you. I should have told you sooner, but I was scared. I still am. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking not telling you, you are my best friend, and I love you–”
“What’s going on, Bea? You’re scaring me.” Ava asked, feeling quite shaken hearing Beatrice say I love you to her in that way, like she was terrified.
“I’m getting married.” Blurted out Beatrice, eyes widening.
If this were a movie, Ava would look right into the camera, whispered a what the fuck? and the movie would end there. But life isn’t a movie, oh, how was Ava beginning to understand that. Fairytales? For children. Twisted love stories that will never come true. Wishes and dreams that were only that, for the open hearted like her.
“What?” She said, having to sit down. The world was spinning around her.
“I– Remember Lucía?”
Ava felt sick.
“You broke up with her months ago.”
“I know, but–”
“Beatrice, you only dated for half a year. Less.”
“I know, Ava!” Beatrice sat down too, letting out a shaky breath, hands on her face, frustrated. “My parents think she’s good for me, and you know how homophobic they were, so this is a huge step.”
Ava was going to faint any minute now. She closed her eyes, feeling tears already.
“You’re marrying Lucía because your parents want you to?”
“No! Of course not. They are just persistent in me settling down. And Lucía, she is wonderful. I liked her a lot. We decided to try again–”
“By marrying,” snapped Ava, gripping a fork so hard her hand hurt, “you missed like, ten steps.” Her chest hurt, her heart hurt, she felt like she was going to explode. How could everything fall apart so fast?
“It’s not like that, Ava.” Before this, her name in Bea’s lips? Felt like a goddamn prayer. Now? More like a ghost laughing at her face saying “she was never meant to be yours, you fool” .
“Then explain it to me,” she begged, controlling herself to not cry right there in front of her best friend, “because none of this makes sense.”
Beatrice looked devastated.
“I know, I’m so sorry. It’s new for me too, we only decided this a week ago, and she texted me today to say she was coming over to officially tell you and to ask you to—”
“You decided to get married before we traveled to Barcelona? You knew for a whole week. And didn’t tell me.” Ava stood up, needing to get away from Beatrice. Her throat burnt, she wanted to scream. This was a nightmare. She quickly turned to her then.
“And she’s coming over?”
Beatrice winced.
“She wants to get your blessing too. You are my—”
Best friend. Yes. And that’s all I’ll ever be. I lost my chance. God, I lost her.
The doorbell rang, and Ava's heart sank. Beatrice looked like a kicked cat.
Ava loved three things about Beatrice. The third one: she loved her. And now she was going to lose her forever.