Work Text:
/ katherine /
( ˈkæθərɪn , ˈkæθrɪn )
noun
a female given name: from the greek word καθαρός meaning “pure”
when a baby is born their parents pen the child's name upon a sheet of paper and declare to the world their expectations for that child. they know nothing of them or who they will become. a million different things will shape the child in the years to come, but that name written on a piece of paper that stays locked away most of the time, that is the first of many that starts the molding of who they shall become.
there was nothing particularly special about the birth or naming of this child. she was born healthy to a young, well-to-do, couple. her father took the paper from the doctor and wrote 'katherine beatrice wellington' in neat cursive as her tired mother held her carefully with a look of awe upon her face. the young couple thought katherine was the perfect name for their only child, it was regal but strong, suitable for the life of the daughter of diplomats. katherine was the kind of name that a woman who would change the world would have. and their daughter was destined for greatness.
and she needed a name worthy of that greatness.
/ kate /
(keɪt)
noun
a diminutive of the name katherine, a popular female first name
the young couple that once looked at their daughter with awe and love grew distant as she aged. their daughter was not the pure, perfect girl that they expected. no, young katherine held little regard for the formality that her life demanded. she was a curious girl, more interested in the bugs out in the garden than the correct etiquette required for tea with important guests.
and so hearing the name katherine became synonymous with disappointment. only ever heard in an admonishing tone as she stepped into the foyer covered in dirt. it broke something in the young girl, though she would not realize it for years to come, to only ever hear her name in a tone laced with ice.
to be called kate was a balm to a deep hidden wound. every time her mother called her down for dinner with a yell of 'kate', hope blossomed in the girl's heart. when the cook called her kate with an affectionate tone as she snuck slices of fruit before dinner, she felt more herself than anytime her father laid his piercing gaze upon her.
but kate was like aloe, only temporarily soothing, not truly healing the burns. because kate was still katherine, and the expectations did not diminish with a diminutive. no, there was still the expectation that someday she would be katherine in all her glory.
but this young girl, sharp and clever, knew in ways she could not yet put into words that her destiny did not lie with the greatness of katherine, and that kate was just a cruel dash of hope that she could force herself into a shape that would make her parents love her.
/ kitty /
(ˈkɪtɪ)
noun
a diminutive or affectionate form of catherine or katherine
as the girl called kate grew from a child to a teenager, she became more aware of how her parents found there was something wrong with her. they gave her this great name and great life, and she just could not fit into their expectations, no matter how much she worked and worked and worked to cut herself down to their ill fitting name.
so at thirteen, when her parents sat her down one day to tell her she'd have a little brother in a few months, all she felt was relief. finally the weight of their expectations could be placed on someone else. and the weight a boy must carry was very much lighter than the burdens thrust upon her. of course, she shortly felt the guilt of that relief, her not-yet-born brother did not deserve the oppressive weight either. and on that day she vowed to bear any extra weight she needed if it meant her baby brother could have the childhood she did not.
she was there when her father picked up a pen and wrote on a simple piece of paper in his neat cursive 'james richard wellington'. he had given her brother the heavy burden of carrying his father's own name, becoming a third generation of james wellington. as the still young kate held little james and his tiny fingers wrapped around her own, she knew deep in her heart that she would do anything in this life to protect those she loved.
years passed in a blur as james quickly grew and the girl called kate threw herself into a destiny of her own choosing. she had long since learned that it would be impossible to shape herself into the woman her parents expected her to become. so she instead shaped herself into a protector, learned skills and honed her body and mind into the kind of woman who could carry any burden.
but she was not perfect and definitely not pure, things others called sin drew her in and she did little to stop it. privately she wondered why a girls lips upon her skin was called evil, all while her father bought stocks in war he did little to prevent.
so when she sat under a great oak tree with her baby brother tucked into her side and he asked 'kitty, why are you getting sent away?', the girl called kitty felt as though she had failed.
james reached out and nurtured the neglected child in her heart with every playful cry of his affectionate nickname for her. and she was leaving him to the wolves called her parents.
they were right. there was something wrong with her, though it was not her gentle sin, like they believed, no it was this failure, doomed to fail in their expected destiny, and in her chosen one.
/ sister beatrice /
(ˈbiətrɪs)
noun
a female given name: from the latin words beatus meaning "blessed" and viatrix meaning "voyager"
the order of the cruciform sword was like no other religious order their newest sister had heard of. all the sisters were young, with only the mother superion being near the age of forty. some wore their habits, some did not. some took their vows seriously, some did not, and some did not take any sort of vows at all. but they all had something in common, they were all lost, broken women.
the girl now called sister to more than just her baby brother was a prime example of this brokenness that haunted the cat's cradle. this was the end of the road for her, if she could not find worthiness here than she was sure her soul would be damned for eternity. and so she chose to follow catholic tradition to a letter. she would take her vows and forsake earthly possessions and take the name of a saint.
beatrice of silva was her chosen namesake, figuring the patron saint of prisoners was an appropriate choice as she was a prisoner in her own way, chained to impossible expectations.
she told no one that beatrice was also part of her given name, that she was not giving up everything of her past, that she had been chained since the first second she took breath. she felt selfish in this secret, even though none in cat's cradle would judge her for it. but the woman called beatrice needed them to see her as the perfect sister warrior, devout and unbreakable. if they could see the cracks in her facade than they too would know of her destiny of failure, and if she lost another family to her sins, she would be unable to bear it.
of course, as she did with everyone she touched, ava silva changed everything.
/ bea /
(hoʊm)
noun
a place where one likes to be; restful or congenial place
ava was not the first to call her bea. no, that honor belonged to shannon. her sister, her leader, her friend. when an exhausted shannon stood up from the sparring mat saying 'good job bea' with a gentle hand on her shoulder, something slotted into place in the back of bea's mind. she finally felt right. like after years of being unbalanced she finally had two feet steady on the ground. but then shannon was murdered and there was a traitor in cat's cradle. bea felt in free fall, unable to tell up from down.
logically bea knew that it was not her fault that her family was crumbling once again. but the scratchy voice of her doubts whispered she was cursed, that this was her fault, that she couldn't let go of her past and her destiny of failure was killing everyone she loved.
but then a girl just as alone as her looked at her as if bea had hung the moon. ava silva appeared like a miracle with a lust for life only someone who had theirs stolen from them could have. she looked at the world with such curiosity that bea hadn't felt since she was a young girl. and ava looked at bea with such trust and love and blatant want that bea could barely fathom it.
katherine failed the second she was born, kate failed to live up to the expectations laid before her, kitty failed at being a good enough sister, beatrice failed at being the warrior shannon needed. but bea? ava looked at bea like failure wasn't something that haunted her like a shadow, like failure was an inconceivable concept.
bea was not blind, she knew ava wanted more, wanted everything bea could offer, but ava also placed no expectations upon her. she spent all their blissful time in switzerland toeing the slowly disappearing lines around bea's heart, but never crossing them.
so when everything shattered around her and her world crumbled down in pieces as ava lie dying in her arms, the last thing ava did before slipping through into the unknown was unshackle bea, freeing her from the weight that was suffocating her.
ava told her to live her life, and bea knew then in that moment that she would, knew in her soul that ava would return to her.
and return ava did.
with a quiet whisper of 'bea' against the skin of her neck, ava healed something deep in bea's soul.
they were both finally home.